#and then has to face 'huh. i guess...geralt was right'

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Cinema

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Pairing: barista!Mike (Hellraiser) x reader (you)

Summary: Mike takes you to see a terrible horror movie...

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Fluff. More fluff. Then some more fluff. Shenanigans. A makeout sesh... A cop. We're definitely still cockblocking Mikey. I'm still not apologizing for that...

If you like this fic, please let me know 🥰 and reblog so that others may see it too! <3

@deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss @geralts-yenn @ylva-syverson

Mike has taken you to what absolutely has to be the worst horror movie of all time. At least, that’s what the reviews said when you looked up the plot online beforehand. You don’t like horror, and this one is no different, yet you are here. All that proves, if you really think about it (which you don’t), is how much you really like Mike.

As you are waiting in line to get into the cinema, you can already tell that pretty much everyone – all forty or so people – is here for the same reason. Because the one thing these sucky horror movies are good for, is a good, old-fashioned, socially sanctioned make out sesh in the dark. You hate how perfect these dumb films are for it, and you especially hate that they genuinely scare you…

“I’ve never been here before,” you say as your eyes wander the foyer of the building. It’s a relatively new theater, but not so new that not having been here isn’t a scathing indictment of your nonexistent dating life.

“Really? I’ve been here a ton of times,” Mike says casually. It takes a few beats for him to realize what he’s said. “Eh… with friends…”

“Eh… on dates,” you correct him, and watch his ears go a little red from embarrassment.

“Well, they threw all these terrible scary movies at me the last year and a half… what was I supposed to do? Go see them alone?” he fake-complains.

“Oh, you went to see them, huh?” you tease. “What were they about, Mike?”

“Eh… People getting killed?” The girl in front of you just snorts outright, and one of the guys behind you does a half decent job at hiding his laughter in a suspicious cough. You follow the example of the girl.

“Mike, you idiot,” you blurt out. The look on his face is absolutely priceless; he looks mortified, and it somehow looks good on him. So good, even, that you grab the front of his jacket with both hands and pull him closer. When he looks at you, the expression of terror morphs into a smirk.

Finally, it’s time to find your seats. You follow Mike through the just a tad too dimly lit room. He somehow managed to get seats all the way in the back. They always sell out the quickest because… well… less people can watch you stick your tongue down your date’s throat there. Which is a nice thought, even though everyone who’s here is paired off and planning on doing approximately exactly the same – meaning no one will actually be watching you. Oh well. Mike also bought you popcorn, so he can stay, despite his outrageously obvious moves.

“This one,” Mike says as he sinks down on what should have been two seats, but isn’t.

“You know they have normal seats,” you say as you look around the room.

“Sweetcheeks, why are you making it sound like you don’t want to be near me?”

You sit down, putting as much distance between you and Mike as the small loveseat will allow. “I don’t know?” Because you don’t want him to think you’re easy? “This is a little transparent and… I have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” What is wrong with you?

“Hey, are you here with Mike?” Oh god no… Some girl approaches you as you’re washing your hands, giving you a pitiful look when you nod. “Have you met his cats yet? Poor you.” She and another girl – looks like a friend of hers, you’re guessing they’re on a double date – laugh, and it almost sounds evil.

“Actually, I have,” you answer. “They’re adorable. And Mike is great.”

“They sleep in his bed. It’s weird,” the girl throws back at you, her voice absolutely dripping with contempt. You have to get out of here before you punch this bitch, but she stops you as you make a beeline for the door. “Hey! I’m just trying to help. He’s a weirdo.”

“He’s a vet,” you yell, “they tend to like animals. And it’s not weird. It’s sweet. Now get out of my way, I’m on a date.” You roll your eyes and push little miss spoilsport out of the way, leaving her there with a hideous grimace of disbelief on her pointy face. Okay, maybe she doesn’t look that bad, but you’ve had it with that cunt.

“Hey,” Mike says nervously when you come back to your seat.

“Hey,” you snap, still not over what just happened in the bathroom. When you look at Mike, there’s concern on his face.

“What’s wrong, Sweetcheeks?” he asks, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Have I ever told you you’re a great guy, and that I really like spending time with you?” you quietly blurt out as you sit down – close to him, this time. So close, in fact, that you’re almost in his lap.

“Eh, no you haven’t, thanks? Where is this coming from?” He looks a little flustered, clearly not expecting your compliment, or you sitting so close to him. You can’t blame him. Minutes ago, you were halfway through tearing him a new one for being a little obvious about wanting to make out with you.

“Some horrible troll-” You emphasize the word and speak up a little as aforementioned horrible troll passes by your seat – yes, you’re being petty, and yes, you’re going to keep being petty. “-attacked me in the bathroom calling you weird, and I need you to know that you’re not. And I really like being here with you, and I don’t actually care that you’re not being more subtle about this. I kind of like this. It’s cozy.”

“We don’t have to do anything, I just thought… you told me you get scared and I want to be able to hold you if you do,” he whispers, a little uneasy – and cleverly omitting the ‘easier to make out this way’ portion of his transparent plan, so you raise an eyebrow at him to coax the rest of the truth from him. “Baby, we’ve been cockblocked by cats, caught by my parents in their room and I was put on house arrest for three weeks… I just want you close. We can always just watch the movie.”

When he says that last bit, you laugh. “Then you really should have picked a better movie.”

You eat your popcorn during the commercials and the first five minutes of the movie. It’s plenty of time to determine the whole thing is absolute crap – and that the world probably could have done without yet another Hellraiser movie. In fact, you’re starting to regret not spending these five minutes making out with Mike. Luckily, with the way Mike kisses, he makes up for those five minutes within seconds.

Another lucky thing would be the fact that Mike still clearly realizes that you are, in fact, in a public place, which means he isn’t as handsy as he was last time… The last thing you need is to get caught somewhere on your way to half naked in a movie theater, that would be… bad. Let’s leave it at that. Now, that doesn’t mean Mike isn’t all over you in any way he can get away with – of course he is, and you want him to, but man, it makes you wish you were at his place right now, and his cats would leave you the fuck alone, and the turtles wouldn’t be slurping up all attention, and his parents wouldn’t walk in on you.

You stay snuggled up to Mike for the duration of the movie, and even though the few snippets you’ve seen are so horrible you can’t even describe it, you’re sad when it’s over. Hand in hand, you leave the cinema, walking towards his car just about as slowly as you can manage.

“I don’t want this date to end,” you confess as you finally get to the car. His parents are home tonight, he already mentioned that, and so is your roommate. Mike says nothing, and with slightly heated cheeks you get into the car.

“Doesn’t have to be over,” he mumbles when he’s also seated and the doors are closed. You look at him, shock apparent on your face, and shake your head by means of a question. Mike makes a vague gesture around him. Does he mean…? He can’t be serious!

“In your car?” you blurt out in disbelief. Absolutely the fuck not!

“God, you’re hot.” So, you caved. Who cares? You’re young, and you’re finally alone, and it’s Mike’s hands sliding up your sides, underneath your blouse and his hands feel good, and there’s no cats to sit on anyone’s head, or… You’re not even overly worried about a serial killer showing up – which is a very normal fear for you after having watched a horror movie, but your little movie date with Mike involved so little actual watching that you’re not scared now.

“Babe?” Mike takes a short break from feeling you up to check if you’re okay, although he never actually takes his lips off your neck. Is ‘pulling on the hem of his shirt until he finally takes it off’ and answer to his question? Apparently. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him into another kiss. You used to think his enthusiasm was a little bit childish, but you have to admit; these weeks have taken their toll on you, too. At this point, you’re almost just as bad as he is, clawing at his back, impatiently dragging his mouth back to yours.

He's surprisingly strong, and not-so-surprisingly good at maneuvering you around in the backseat of this car. Ten bucks says it’s not the first – or second, or third – time he’s done this… Mike pulls you into lap, and the sigh that you let out as you straddle his thighs morphs into a chuckle.

“You’re happy,” you tease as soon as you feel his erection rub against you.

“Cats, parents, grounded,” he mumbles while kissing down your neck, towards your chest. With a few swift moves, he opens enough of your blouse to be able to reach your boobs.

“How on earth did you… That was fast!” you exclaim, staring at your now mostly naked chest in disbelief.

“I stick needles in squirming hamsters on occasion. Can’t do that without at least a little dexterity,” Mike deadpans. If there’s a good response to that out there, you sure as hell don’t know what it is.

You bite your lip and hold down a chuckle when Mike’s hands find their way into the back pockets of your jeans, squeezing your ass through the fabric and pulling you closer against him. When you roll your hips, he moans – the sound is music to your ears. There’s something about teasing this guy that’s… fun and easy but at the same time insanely satisfying. The way he squirms underneath you, the way he gets impatient and sloppy – well, sloppier… You’ve never felt like someone wanted you this much – and not just because he wants to see your tits, perhaps?

Somehow, Mike manages to get you onto your back in the backseat. It’s a less practical position, but it works – kinda – and that’s good enough for you. For all your talk about Mike being eager and impatient, this whole waiting thing is definitely also starting to take its toll on you.

Soon, it’s your hands in his back pockets – as soon as you’re done mapping every muscle in his back, that is. He grinds his hips into you. You’re wet, you’re ready; you need him. Slowly, one of your hands moves to the front of his jeans, struggles with the button for a moment, then…

Three raps on the window, Mike pulling away from you, buttoning his jeans, while you hastily try to button your blouse again. Before you can make yourself completely decent, another knock, and Mike rolling down the window.

“Officer,” he sighs, “good evening.”

“Michael.” The cop knows him by name? That’s not a good thing… Especially considering the fact that Mike turns around to you with a horrified look on his face.

“I swear he only knows my name because mom and I take care of the dogs!” Sounds plausible.

“Go home, kids,” the officer warns you both before walking away.

Mike kisses you again before reaching down to pick his shirt up off the floor.

“Sorry,” he says softly. “I know it was a horrible idea, I just…”

“You want to have sex with me,” you reply. He seems taken aback by your directness, but after a short while, he shakes his head, much to your surprise.

“I mean…” He sighs deeply. “Please don’t think that’s all there is to it. I really like you.”

“You’re just a little impatient,” you tease. He rolls his eyes before crawling back into the front seat, then he helps you get back in the passenger seat.

“C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”

#mike hellraiser #mike hellraiser fic #mike (hellraiser) #hellraiser mike #mike (hellraiser) x reader #hellraiser mike x reader #mikey x reader #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters

[of-toussaint]

5, 9 and 16 :D

YEAH :D

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

It's less that fandom ruined the pairing as that I have decided I'm supremely uninterested in ever hearing an opinion about it again. When I was just getting into the witcher fandom, I ran across a few Geralt/Eskel fics that were like "huh, this is really cute, I like this a lot actually <3 " and didn't think more about it than that. Childhood-best-friends-to-lovers? Comrades-in-arms who share a unique perspective on their struggles? Sure! I'll read that! Sounds great.

And then I actually.... looked at the fandom presence on tumblr. :-/

I still like the ship, in the way I like most ships, which is "one possibility in a universe of them." But if I have to read one more bad-faith take about how shipping two unrelated characters constitutes incest, or one more unnecessarily reactionary "disliking this ship makes you a BIGOTED ANTI" rant, I think I will simply perish. So I'm not doing that anymore. I'm going to sit in my corner and play with my paper dolls (the characters) with my friends (people who don't make me participate in drama).

9. Most disliked character(s)? Why?

OH MY GOD EMHYR. Sorry to anyone who does like him! You're valid, and I support your right to love the bastard man. Lord knows I love a good redemption arc (or just delight in villainy), and his whole... aesthetic, I guess is the word I want? is cool. But I look at him, and I see a man with a punchable face.

This is roughly how I feel about Vilgefortz and Syanna, but more so.

16. If you could change anything in the show, what would you change?

Netflix, I am showing up at your door with a baseball bat. I could almost forgive EskeLeshy, which was at least interesting, but... Yennefer would never in a thousand million years have betrayed Ciri. I can excuse many things, but that one was. just. no.

#thanks for the ask! #ask game #tagging this just in case as #discourse #i have more rants in me today that i thought i did! this is fun

[yeraskier]

the one where geralt and jaskier finally get together and suddenly everyone in their lives begins vaguely threatening geralt (teen audiences and up, fluff and humor and soft geraskier and a meddling found family)

read on ao3

Jaskier releases a heavy breath and drops his full weight on Geralt, which the witcher accepts it without even a huff.

“Gods,” he pants, “that was—”

“Yeah,” Geralt agrees.

He trails gentle fingers down Jaskier’s sweat-slicked spine, relishing in the way the younger man shivers under his touch.

“Do you think they know?” Jaskier questions.

He knows what Jaskier means, of course. The two of them have been official, as Jaskier likes to put it, for nearly three weeks, but they’ve decided to keep things private for a while. They have been going about the keep the same as they had before their first kiss. But, hidden behind the closed doors of their rooms, they cling to each other and they talk about the future and they share the sweetest words and the sweetest kisses.

Truthfully, everyone has probably already put the pieces together. Sure, they’ve been trying to be subtle but Jaskier has become even more handsy than usual, and Geralt… Geralt cannot stop finding excuses to steal Jaskier away from whatever he’s doing just so they can kiss. He may be a tad obsessed with kissing the man, but he doesn’t think he’s at fault. This is Jaskier’s fault— Jaskier and his unfairly soft lips and skilled tongue. His fault.

So being discreet hasn’t been the easiest, but they’ve tried their best. They have tried hard enough that everyone around them at least understands that they don’t want their newfound relationship to be public. He’s thankful for it, it’s given them a chance to navigate this whole thing on their own. They aren’t exactly done navigating yet, but they’re doing a pretty great job, in Geralt’s opinion— he may be biased.

Tonight was their first time truly falling into bed together, something that was also Jaskier’s fault. The two of them have been holding out since they started this relationship— since before they started this relationship— and tonight, Jaskier performed a new ballad, one that spoke of a love so intense, it swallows him whole. He had his eyes on Geralt nearly the entire time he sang it. That was the last straw.

Geralt had barely waited for them to be within the confines of his room before pouncing onto the bard with a new flame. Jaskier got the message quickly and was more than delighted to return the sentiments.

That was three hours ago. Everything since then has been utter bliss, but there’s no way the entire keep hasn’t heard them. Even if they hadn’t, the witchers will smell them tomorrow.

This is it, he supposes. Cat’s out of the bag, or whatever it is Jaskier says. There’s no way anyone in this keep will simply ignore the sheer volume of the noise they’ve been making since they got in here.

Geralt hums. “If they didn’t know before, they definitely do now.”

“Well,” Jaskier sighs as he pushes himself up on unsteady arms, “time to face the music, darling.”

Geralt slides his hands over Jaskier’s hips, slides them down Jaskier’s arse. “We don’t need to do that now, do we?”

The bard smirks, bending down to capture his lips in a kiss.

His cock might end up chafing by morning. Geralt is okay with that.

The entire keep may know what’s been going on between them by morning. Geralt is okay with that too.

—

It starts with Eskel.

“Given the way you two absolutely reek, I’m guessing you finally told Jaskier how you feel.”

Geralt turns to his brother, meaning to tell him to fuck off, but the memory of what had conspired last night and that morning only makes him smile.

“Hm.”

Eskel smiles in return. “Aw, look at you blushing. That bard really brings out the best in you, huh?”

“I think he brings out the best in everyone,” Geralt says.

“And I think you’re right,” Eskel tells him, “he is a great man. You’re lucky to have him.”

“I am,” he agrees.

“Don’t mess it up,” he says as he claps Geralt on the shoulder. Eskel’s tone remains neutral when he says it, but something in his eye adds the …or else… before his features fade into something kinder.

Eskel walks away after one final smile and Geralt is left standing there wondering what the fuck just happened.

—

Lambert practically tackles him less than an hour after Eskel’s visit. 

“You finally did it, you little shite,” Lambert exclaims directly into his ears, “finally grew a pair and got with the bard! I always knew you had it in you.”

Geralt glares but doesn’t shove him off. It’s progress.

“Just going to put it out there now, if you hurt him, I promise to be there to lick his wounds and… other things.” This time Geralt does shove him, with a lot more force than necessary, too. His lips quirk as Lambert stumbles but the redheaded witcher seems unaffected as he shrugs, “just some incentive to not hurt him.”

Incentive indeed. 

Lambert nudges him with a soft smile, a way to smoothen over his words. Geralt knows he wouldn’t do it, that’s what matters.

Once Lambert leaves, Cöen pokes his head through the door, startling Geralt. “I do not intend to sleep with your bard, but if you hurt him, we will be having words.”

—

Vesemir is the most subtle about it.

He walks right up to Geralt and goes, “so you and the bard, huh?”

“Yes, me and the bard,” Geralt confirms.

The older witcher smiles and lays a hand on his shoulder. Then he squeezes, just on the right side of too tight, just enough to have Geralt slightly hunching to the side.

Vesemir levels him with that stare that still scares him to this day and Geralt gets the message.

—

Yennefer isn’t subtle about it at all.

“I can’t believe you finally grew a pair and confessed your feelings to Jaskier.”

“Hm. That’s what Lambert said.” Sort of.

She grins, tilting her head to the side menacingly. “If you hurt him—”

“You’ll maim me or turn me into a toad or cut off my balls. Yes, I know.”

Yennefer hums, pleased. “Well, as long as you know.”

“Remember when you liked me more than you liked Jaskier?” Geralt asks, “I miss those days.”

Yennefer smiles sweetly and pats him on the cheek twice. “Aw, it’s sweet of you to assume that I ever liked you more than Jaskier.”

She’s kidding. He thinks.

—

“If you guys break up, I’m going with Jaskier.”

Geralt gives her a pointed look. “Ciri… I’m your father.”

She shrugs, “so is Jaskier now that you two are together.”

“Hm.”

She makes a good point, but perhaps Jaskier became such a figure for her long before they got together.

—

“So, I hear congratulations are in order.”

Geralt grunts. Triss smiles.

“It was about time you and the bard got together, he’s wanted you for a very long time.” Geralt doesn’t bother questioning how she would know that. “It would a real shame if you were to hurt him, you know?”

He should’ve seen that coming.

The witcher turns to her with an exasperated look, “you two aren’t even friends!”

Triss laughs. “Oh please, Jaskier is friends with everyone.”

He is beginning to see that.

“Also, I’ve soundproofed you and Jaskier’s rooms. It was mostly for the rest of our sakes, but you’re welcome anyway.”

—

“Alright, you’ve been pouting all day. Come here and tell your favorite bard what’s gotten you all grumpy.”

“You’re the only bard I know,” Geralt points out with a raised brow.

Jaskier waves a careless hand in the air. “Technicalities. Now come.”

Geralt goes easily, taking a spot next to Jaskier on the bed. He lays on his back for a moment and frowns. It takes one knowing grin from Jaskier to get the witcher to lay his head on the younger man’s chest. Jaskier runs calming fingers through his hair, the tension easing from Geralt’s shoulders with every gentle scratch against his scalp.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Jaskier questions disarmingly.

Geralt sighs. “Everyone keeps sending vague threats my way about what’ll happen if I break your heart.”

Startled laughter bubbles from Jaskier’s lips. Geralt lifts his head to glare at his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s not funny.”

“Yes, that explains why you can’t stop laughing,” the witcher says flatly.

“Oh, darling,” Jaskier says, stroking the back of his fingers against one of Geralt’s cheeks. It’s an apology, one Geralt accepts. “If it’s any consolation, I’m sure you can take them. Well, the men at least. The women in our lives are absolutely terrifying.”

Geralt grunts and rests his head back on Jaskier’s chest. He fiddles with the buttons of Jaskier’s mostly open doublet and briefly entertains the thought of undoing the rest as he worries at his bottom lip idly before releasing it. He must ask. “You don’t think I’ll hurt you again, do you?”

Jaskier hums as he traces four identical lines across the side of Geralt’s head with his fingertips. “Not intentionally.”

“But you think I will?”

“I think you can,” he clarifies, “the same as I can hurt you. That’s the risk that comes with loving someone so.”

Geralt snuggles in closer to the bard and the hand in his hair moves to his shoulder. “Has anyone come up and spoken to you about our relationship?”

“Everyone has.”

“But no threats.” It isn’t a question.

Jaskier shrugs. “My endless charm and kindness.”

Geralt rolls his eyes.

“I saw that,” says the bard.

“No, you didn’t.”

“True, but you’ve just confirmed what I know that you did.” Jaskier accuses as he pulls him closer, resting his cheek atop Geralt’s head. “You know they mean no harm, right?”

“I know,” he grunts, “still not fair that you didn’t get lectured.”

Jaskier chuckles lightly and presses a kiss into Geralt’s hair. “You know, it is unfair and we must amend that immediately.”

Suddenly, the bard is no longer beside Geralt, he’s off the bed and standing in front of the mirror in the room. 

Geralt sits up on the bed and eyes his lover skeptically. “Jaskier, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to give myself a talking-to.”

“Jaskier.”

“Hush, my love,” the bard says, raising his index finger to quite Geralt, “it must be done.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Geralt groans, rather dramatically, and flops back down on the bed. He looks at Jaskier because he’s unable to do anything else but look at the bard when they’re in the same room, but he’s still scolding the man.

“Now you listen to me, you young devastatingly gorgeous man,” Jaskier begins, pointing a finger at the mirror, at himself. “You’ve spent over twenty years pining after that entirely stunning being in your bed right now.” Geralt can’t help but perk up at the words. He didn’t know that. How did he not know that?

“He’s yours, and you are his. It took years and years of obnoxious flirting…” When the fuck did Jaskier flirt with him? “...and talking his ear off…” That he did. “...but you finally got him. And you are going to do everything in your power to make sure you two stay together for as long as possible, even if you may have to do Yennefer’s bidding for the rest of your days to get her to work on an immortality spell.” Wait.

“Jaskier, you want to—”

“You best do everything in your power to keep that man over there happy,” Jaskier utters fiercely.

…spend forever with me?

“Because that man, that marvelous, impeccable man over there, has made you the happiest man on this entire continent. Gods, he’s made you the happiest person on this entire continent. It’s only fair that you give him everything you can— the world, if you can.”

Then, Jaskier does the most ludicrous thing of all.

“Because you love him,” he says, easy as ever as if it isn’t the first time those words have been spoken between them.

Did they confess their feelings and decide to give the whole romantic relationship thing a try? Yes. Did those confessions involve the word love? No. Geralt feels the same, of course, he feels the same, but he said nothing because he thought it was too soon. They are so new, he didn’t want to scare Jaskier away. Except, here the bard is, now rambling about his undying love for Geralt and Geralt’s vision has gone blurry with tears that threaten to fall and he needs Jaskier in his space right now. Right now, right now, right now.

Geralt’s lips are on Jaskier’s so fast it’s almost like he had been standing beside him the entire time, and not laying down on the bed several feet away from him.

Whatever Jaskier was going to say next dies on his tongue with an mmph, which is good because Geralt doesn’t think he’d be able to handle another word.

He wants to kiss Jaskier always, he wants to kiss Jaskier forever, and apparently, that’s what Jaskier wants too. Geralt betrays his wants for a moment, just long enough to pull back and say, “I love you, too.”

Jaskier smiles so wide that the next time Geralt kisses him, his lips mostly meet teeth before the bard gets with the program and kisses him back properly, snaking his arms around the witcher’s waist.

And so they kiss. They kiss and they kiss and they kiss, just like they want to do always, just like they want to do forever.

And if Geralt’s a sobbing mess as they kiss, well, that’ll be a secret just for the two of them.

#heres my apology for the hurt no comfort from yesterday #please accept it #have ALL the comfort #and ALLLL the soft tender loving-ness #soft geraskier is my home that was just a mini detour #the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #my writing

[samstree]

(The reverse trope series: un-love potion.)

“Drink this and I’ll forget all about you?” 

Jaskier holds the two small vials to the sunlight, the yellow liquid within sloshing gently, casting spots of golden shade onto his face.

“No, all your memories of me will still be there,” Geralt explains.

“Only gets rid of the ‘loving you’ part then.”

Geralt stays silent, and as always, Jaskier understands his silence.

“Right.” the bard whispers. Brown hair gets ruffled in the cool breeze, brushing over his eyes and making his expression inscrutable in the shadows.

Early spring is treating Jaskier well. His cheeks are rosy-pink and his eyes bright like the cloudless sky. Every year Geralt would find him at the end of winter, and every year the same breathtaking cornflower blues greet him with flowing adoration.

Not this year.

“Poetic, isn’t it?” Jaskier says, still transfixed by the vials. “A magical potion that cures you of love. A fitting end.”

“To us?”

“Us.”

A weight sinks into Geralt’s chest, or rather, it never left. It’s been choking the breath out of him, sucking the life away from him since he acquired these elixirs at the farthest end of the continent. They are the worst choice he will ever make, and yet—

“It’s for the best,” Geralt pleads. For what, he’s not sure.

“Yes.” Jaskier finally looks up. The blue of his eyes unsettling like the sea before a storm. There’s violence hidden in the deep end, under the calm surface. “That’s why I asked you to find them, dea—Geralt. It’s for the best.”

The witcher averts his gaze, only to find countless dandelions peppering the meadow they’re standing on. Even the ground is reminding him of their time together, of Jaskier lying in a field of dandelions, lute pillowed on his stomach, grinning and singing like a fool.

He misses Jaskier.

“Remembering that day, huh?” Jaskier reads him like an open book. “We can still remember. After.”

“It won’t be the same.”

“I imagine not.”

Another breeze drowns out Jaskier’s heartbeat, obscuring his emotions when he hands Geralt one of the vials. Geralt is painfully aware of the split second when their fingers brush against each other.

It’s the last time he will get to touch Jaskier.

Geralt closes his fingers around the cold glass and wonders if he can tell Jaskier for the last time. Just one last time, for old time’s sake.

“Jaskier, I—”

“Don’t. Just…don’t.” For the first time today, Jaskier’s perfect façade cracks, the determination in his eyes wavering. He exhales, composing himself. “We had our time, and now it’s over. We can’t go down that road, Geralt, not again. We both agreed.”

“We did.”

“It will stop hurting.”

“It will.”

And there’s nothing more to it.

“Wait until I turn around, will you? We deserve some dignity.” Jaskier flashes out his trademark smile, the one that Geralt has fallen for over and over again. “At least, at the end.”

“Of course. Whatever you need, Jask.”

“Goodbye, Geralt.”

Jaskier is the first to turn, and Geralt follows. The flowers crush under both their feet as the distance stretches. Geralt can’t stop himself now, nor Jaskier.

He uncorks the vial and hears the same pop from behind. The liquid stares at him, almost an amber gold under the sun.

Amber is my favorite color. Do you know why? Jaskier’s voice echoes in Geralt’s head. It reminds me of the eyes of my favorite person in the whole wide world. Three guesses who!

Geralt holds up the vial, his feet taking him forward stubbornly because turning back will only make it more painful for Jaskier.

He empties the content into the wind.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #hurt no comfort #angst #reverse trope #love potion but the other way #geralt of rivia has feelings #break-up #jaskier #geralt #geralt x jaskier

[havenoffandoms]

Hey congrats on 900 followers! Would I be able to request the touch starved prompt from your list with the pairing Aiden/Lambert please? Love all your writing!

Hello!! Thanks for requesting this prompt and this pairing! I’ve been on a right Lambden kick recently, so I felt inspired. I hope you like it! 

Prompt 13: Touch-Starved

Pairing: Aiden x Lambert

Warnings: None

Prompt List

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together. Being stabbed to death in his sleep comes to mind, or having Aiden go all batshit crazy if Lambert dared to beat him at Gwent. Lambert has heard many rumours about Cat witchers in his long life. Cats are batshit crazy. Cats are emotionally volatile. Cats are backstabbing sons of bitches… literally and metaphorically. Cats are bad. Cats are evil, etc, etc. All these rumours circulated in Kaer Morhen long before Lambert even set foot in that ramshackle castle. He was too young to have witnessed the Tournament, but he heard the older witchers talk. Later in his life, when only a handful of wolf witchers were left after the sacking, Eskel gave Lambert a more detailed account of the Tournament.

“The Cats betrayed us, went on a rampage. Killed many wolf witchers in the process. Geralt and I lost many friends that day,” Eskel told him one evening, when the oldest surviving wolf was too far in his cup to notice that he was oversharing. “Radowit’s court mage Astrogarus promised the Cats monopoly on killing monsters within Kaedwen in exchange for attacking the Wolves during the tournament. Turns out Radowit was a backstabbing motherfucker himself. He ordered his soldiers to shoot all of the remaining witchers of both schools in the arena.”

“Lemme guess,” Lambert spoke, his own speech slightly slurred, “pretty boy saved the day?” 

Eskel shook his head. “Fled. Mousesack helped him escape the massacre. Poor bastard never forgave himself for abandonin’ our brothers, but what choice did he have?”

Don’t get Lambert wrong. He’s not saying that Aiden is harmless, far from it. The guy’s lethal with his swords, deadly with a pair of daggers, not to mention a stealthy and clever thief. Aiden is mercurial, hot-tempered and a bit feral when he wants to be, and his morals are at best dubious. Whereas wolf witchers had their emotions beaten out of them at a young age, cat witchers feel too much, too strongly. Lambert’s witnessed Aiden flip tables when peasants beat him at Gwent, but he’s also witnessed the Cat shed a tear after bringing the news to a mother that her son did not survive the ghoul attack two villages down the road. 

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but the Cat had never ceased to surprise him. The most unexpected trait Aiden has displayed to date is his insatiable need for physical contact. It’s not like Lambert hates being touched - he’s only human, albeit a mutated one, but still human. He enjoys a hug as much as the next person, especially when said hug comes from one of his brothers (or, dare he say, Vesemir) at the end of a long and difficult year on the Path. Lambert has also never begrudged a bed partner a post-coital cuddle session. Aiden’s need for physical contact is… on a whole different level. 

The first time it happened, Lambert almost shoved the Cat off him and sent him packing, until he realised that Aiden was not only hugging him, but clinging onto him. His sharp nails were digging in the soft material of Lambert’s shirt, the fabric creaking in protest under the firm grip. When Lambert looked down, he noticed the pinched eyebrows and tears trailing down Aiden’s face. It wasn’t until a broken sob pushed past the Cat’s lips that Lambert reluctantly returned the embrace, arms wound tightly around Aiden’s trembling body. Aiden eventually settled in the safety of Lambert’s arms, his features softening as he sank back into a peaceful slumber. 

Neither mentioned the previous evening’s impromptu cuddling session, but from that moment one, it was like someone had flicked a switch. Aiden came up with every possible fucking excuse to touch Lambert. Their hands would always accidentally graze each other when they packed up camp, or tacked up the horses. Aiden would bump shoulders with him when they were travelling on foot. If they sat next to one another in a tavern, Aiden would press his leg against Lambert’s, and if they were facing each other, a tentative foot would gently nudge Lambert’s shin and linger there. It’s not like Aiden was trying to hide his intentions, either. They rarely paid for two rooms anymore, because even if they did, Aiden would always end up in Lambert’s bed anyway, arms wound around Lambert’s body like a koala clinging to its mother.

Lambert doesn’t hate Aiden’s need for physical proximity, he’s just… confused by it. Aiden rarely takes any lovers to bed, even though he clearly craves physical intimacy. Lambert is more than happy to cuddle with Aiden, especially when they are forced to sleep under the stars and the early autumn frosts begin to settle over the region. It saves them from lighting a campfire, which may attract the wrong kind of attention to them. That’s all that’s ever transpired between the two, though… cuddling. Lambert enjoys the cuddling as much as Aiden does, but for Aiden it seems to be about more than mere enjoyment. The Cat simply refuses to go without physical intimacy which at times can be… alright, it can feel overbearing, but Lambert’s not about to complain, not when most humans turn away from him in disgust and contempt when he tries to chat them up. 

Over the course of the next few weeks, Aiden almost develops a form of separation anxiety. He refuses to let Lambert out of his sight, going so far as to follow the man everywhere, and that’s the moment when Lambert snaps. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks, his tone hiding none of the irritation he feels at being tailed by this overgrown tomcat. Aiden stops dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide at Lambert’s words. 

“Huh?” 

“You’ve been following me since this morning… I have errands to run and it’s hard to do that when you’re breathing down my neck!”

Lambert instantly regrets his words the minute they leave his mouth. Aiden’s shoulders visibly sag at Lambert’s comment, his content expression melting into something sadder and the sight tugs at the wolf’s heartstrings in all the wrong ways. Aiden averts Lambert’s eyes shyly, the tip of his ears turning a pretty shade of pink as embarrassment washes over him. Lambert heaves a sigh. Way to act like a fucking dick. 

“Sorry, Aiden. I… I didn’t mean to sound like an ass, but-”

“It’s alright, I… I knew this moment would come eventually.”

“What are you talking about?” Lambert asks, a confused frown etched on his face. Aiden doesn’t look at him when he replies in a voice far too small to belong to the lethal, cocky witcher Lambert has come to know over the past few months. 

“You’re gonna ask me to leave for good. I get it. I… I’ll go back to the room and pack my things.” 

As Aiden turns around to leave, Lambert’s hand shoots out and grabs a hold of Aiden’s wrist. Before Lambert’s brain has a chance to catch up, he finds himself pulling Aiden into a nearby alley, away from prying eyes of judgemental humans meandering the stalls of the midweek market. Aiden looks so unsure now, so vulnerable like this, and it makes Lambert want to wrap the Cat up in warm blankets and cuddle him and forget the world for a while. Instead, he settles on pressing Aiden’s back against the wall and draping himself around the Cat witcher as much as he can. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Lambert breathes in the air pocket between them as he locks eyes with Aiden, “you’ve just been… especially clingy recently. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Aiden averts his eyes once again, but Lambert is quick to grip the other man’s chin and force Aiden to meet his gaze. Even that simple touch pulls a small hiss from Aiden, whose eyes flutter shut as he relishes in the feeling of Lambert touching him anywhere. Lambert purses his lips, eager for an answer. 

“Aiden-”

“Winter is around the corner,” Aiden whispers, his tongue darting out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Lambert’s frown deepens. 

“And?”

His question is met with a pointed eye roll from Aiden. 

“And… wolves return to their dens for winter, don’t they? I was just… enjoying the last few weeks in your company before you leave and never come back.”

As the final piece of the puzzle slots into place, understanding dawns on Lambert. He pulls away from Aiden and the small whimper the loss of contact triggers does not go unnoticed. Something old and fragile aches in Lambert’s chest as the meaning of Aiden’s words sink in. Aiden isn’t just worried about being separated from Lambert for a few months, but he’s worried that Lambert will never come back.The wolf links his fingers with his Cat’s, squeezing softly as he leans into Aiden’s space and rubs his bearded cheek against Aiden’s jawline. The latter quickly melts under the soft ministrations, the soft content rumble deepening into a continuous purr as Lambert nuzzles the crook of Aiden’s neck. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

“Yeah, right,” Aiden snorts in response, “cause you’re so good with feelings and shit.”

“Not everyone’s a sappy sentimental bitch like you are,” Lambert teases gently, earning himself a half-hearted slap up the back of the head. “I don’t have to go back to Kaer Morhen this winter.”

Aiden tenses, his soft purring stopping abruptly as he takes in Lambert’s words. Lambert continues to rub his cheek against Aiden’s jaw, his neck, his cheek… wherever he can reach, the action meant to soothe the brewing storm in Aiden’s mind.

“It’s your home,” Aiden offers weakly, “I don’t want… I… it’s your home.” 

“I can send a letter to the old man. Let him know I’m alive. We could find a den somewhere else… an attic somewhere, or an abandoned castle.” Lambert nuzzles the spot right behind Aiden’s ear, earning a pleased hum from the Cat. “Or you could come with me.”

“Sure. Cause that’s gonna end well…” 

“That’s settled then. I’m spending winter with you.”

Aiden pushes Lambert away, their eyes meeting once again but this time, Aiden searches for any trace of a lie in Lambert’s amber gaze. He finds none, because Lambert is one hundred percent honest in his offer. He would ditch Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel for a year to spend it with Aiden… and the thought should scare him more than it does, truthfully. He’s only known the Cat for a few months, and yet… well, maybe Lambert was dreading the winter as well. How about that? It’s not like he felt equally anxious about leaving Aiden, it’s just… fuck off. 

“You mean that?” 

“Mhm. Fair warning… I hate the cold. If I’m spending the winter with you, you’ll have to find a way to keep me warm or I will bite your head off.” 

In Aiden’s defence, he does keep Lambert warm all winter long. Their cuddling finally turns into something more, and from the moment Lambert and Aiden cross that fateful line there is no going back. Aiden becomes insatiable, always seeking Lambert’s body in some shape or form, never letting the wolf out of his sight again.  Lambert may have been apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but it turns out that all his worries were for nothing. Turns out Cat witchers are still crazy, and feral, and mercurial… a tad possessive as well, something Lambert doesn’t hate... but they’re also the cuddliest sons of bitches on the Continent. 

Lambert can live with that, he thinks. 

Request a prompt.

#havenwrites #fluff #angst #the witcher #wiedzmin #lambert the witcher #the witcher lambert #lambert #aiden #aiden the witcher #the witcher aiden #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #Lambden #laiden #lambert x aiden #aiden x lambert #aiden/lambert #lambert/aiden #soft #prompt fill #requests open

[all-hail-the-witcher]

5 times geralt wrote jaskiers name wrong on his coffee cup plus 1 time he didnt need to: part 1

its @natskier‘s birthday and hhh nat fucking slaps and her birthday fic accidentally became a 5+1 and yeah. here's part 1. 

___

ship: geraskier, modern

warnings: lamberts a bitch, geralt has feelings, jaskiers a little shit

editing: yes

words: 1.1k

genre: slow burn adjacent cause the boys are hella fucking impatient oops

___

“Geralt! Get your bitch ass up here and work the register!”

Geralt didn't even bother opening the door of the breakroom. “Fuck your boyfriend when you’re not on the clock!”

The door to the breakroom swung open and a very disgruntled Lambert glared down at him, arms crossed over his chest. One of his bright red curls fell out of his bun and hit him in the eye. Geralt had to hold his hand in front of his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

“If you paid attention, you’d know that Aiden is out of town. I’m going to the bank to get change you fucking piss biscuit.” Lambert pointed at him angrily. “If you burn the place down it’s coming out of your damn paycheck.”

Geralt groaned as the door slammed shut behind Lambert, but he still got up and walked begrudgingly to the front. Getting fired by his father would have been nothing short of embarrassing.

He made sure that his apron was tied correctly as he walked up to the register. Eskel was making the drinks, which was the job that Geralt usually preferred because it involved less interaction with the customers. But Lambert really hadn’t given him much of an option.

The bell above the door chimed and Geralt put on his best customer service smile.

“Hi, welcome to Kaer for More Coffee, what can I get for you?”

“Just a black coffee. Large. Dark roast”

Geralt punched the order into the register without looking up. Then he grabbed a cup off of the stack, pulled the sharpie from behind his ear and scribbled the order on the side. The routine was so familiar he could probably do it in his sleep. Not that he would ever admit that though because then Lambert would definitely try to get him to do it.

“Name?” he asked, still not looking up.

Whatever the customer said got lost in the noise of the shop.

“Could you repeat that?” Geralt asked, looking up for the first time and holy fuck.

The man standing at his register was abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous. He had dark brown hair that was falling in his bright blue eyes and the little smile on his face that showed off his dimples made Geralt nearly melt. It took all of his willpower to not drop the cup in his hand and keep his eyes on the man’s face instead of the bit of chest hair peeking out from his scandalously unbuttoned, peach colored shirt. It was almost like he was tryingto make him swoon.

“Jasper.”

Or at least that was what Geralt thought that he said. Eskel chose that exact moment to knock over a sack of espresso beans.

Geralt clumsily scrawled his name on the cup. Seeing that Eskel was otherwise occupied and he didn't want to keep the attractive man waiting, Geralt went to grab him his coffee. It wasn't like there were any other customers waiting.

Geralt filled the cup, double and triple checking that he had the right roast before sliding the order across the counter.

“Jasper!” he called out.

The attractive man was standing on his phone, not making any move to come and get his coffee.

“Jasper!” Geralt called out again, hoping to get his attention.

Still nothing. The man was scrolling like his life depended on it and it honestly didn't help that he had the cutest look of concentration on his face: slightly furrowed brows and an adorable frown line creasing his forehead.

“Hey,” Geralt said. “Your coffee’s ready.”

This time the man looked up, slightly surprised to see Geralt holding out the cup.

“Is that mine?” He asked, gesturing to the cup.

Geralt nodded. “Large black dark roast.”

“But you didn't call out my name,” the man said, crossing his arms.

“Yes I did.” Geralt cocked his head in confusion. “Twice.”

The man took the cup from him skeptically, spun it until he could see the name that Geralt had written on it and laughed.

“Well darling,” he said. “I didn't respond because my name isn't Jasper.”

Geralt spluttered, momentarily distracted by the fact that such an attractive person had just called him darling. He tried desperately to ignore the swell of heat in his stomach. “But you said-”

“I didn't say Jasper.” The man took a sip of his coffee and tried and failed not to wince. Geralt didn't blame him. Black coffee was terrible. “I guess I’ll just have to come back tomorrow and remedy this issue, won’t I, uh,” the man squinted at his name tag, “Gerald.”

“That’s not-”

“Oh I know,” the man smiled, taking another large gulp of his disgusting coffee. This time he couldn't hide the wince at all. “I’ll get your name right when you get mine right.”

And then he had the audacity to turn and walk out of the shop. Without putting any milk or sugar in his coffee, Geralt couldn't help but note.

Geralt stared transfixed at the door that the man had just walked out of. What the hell had just happened?

Unluckily for him, he didn't have much time to ponder that because Lambert walked through the very same door not two seconds later.

“What happened, pretty boy?” Lambert asked, opening the drawer of the cash register and putting in the change that he had gotten. “Did that door tell you that your hair looks terrible straightened? Cause I’ve been telling you that for at least the last three years.”

Geralt opened his mouth to respond but Eskel beat him to it.

“A hot guy came in and ordered and Geralt wrote his name wrong on the cup.”

Geralt turned away from the door to hide his blush. The way that Eskel said it made it sound so much worse than it was. It had been an honest mistake! It wasn't his fault that Eskel had dropped the damn espresso beans right when he had said his name!

Lambert tisked disapprovingly. “Of course the one time you manage to find someone who actually likes that mop on your head, you don't even manage to learn his name. Now I can’t stalk him on Instagram! Geralt, you really need to be more considerate of these things.”

Geralt threw an empty cup at him.

“Fuck off, you know I’m right!” Lambert groaned. “And I could get you written up for harassment in the workplace! What if you injured me and I couldn't work anymore, huh?”

“Lamb, it was a paper cup,” Geralt sighed. “And considering our dad is our boss, he would have seen straight through your dramatics.”

Thankfully, any further retorts from Lambert were cut off by the bell above the door ringing.

“Hi, welcome to Kaer for More Coffee what can….”

Geralt used the distraction to slip back into the break room. He still had another 10 minutes left on his break and he fully intended to use them to mope over the fact that an attractive man had shown actual interest in him and he’d somehow managed to not get his name.

Lambert would never let him live this down.

___

hehehehe :)) dumbasses

tag list: (inbox me to be added)

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#the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #witcher fanfic #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #modern geraskier #saph scribbles

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Interviews - Henry Cavill x wife/actress reader

Summary: You and Henry have been married for a couple years now, and when you’re both part of the Witcher cast, fun interviews are to be had.

Warning: nothing but a good time, btw I’ve never written anything like this so I hope it’s good enough that I might feel motivated to write more

-Readers Witcher character is loosely based off my Geralt fic from here (just a little self promotion), but in this case you play a full vampire in this Witcher universe

The days have been long and grueling, filming hours upon hours of stunts and regular acting had taken its toll. Not to mention the countless times in hair and make up paired with costume changes and traveling to film on certain locations.

To say being apart of Netflix’s The Witcher was full of tiring days and some accidental bruises would be a huge understatement. But none of that mattered, nor did you bother to complain when through the thick and thin of it all did you have Henry with you along the way. And your favorite big slobbery bear, Kal whenever he was allowed on set.

Fortunately for you in the beginning of all the craziness, the casting and writers had wanted you specifically for the part of Y/C/N in the new series before Henry even auditioned for the role of Geralt, that was soon given to him after you accepted your fresh role of vampiric heroine.

It was ironically strange in a good way, you had watched your dork of a husband play the Witcher: Wild Hunt a few times before, eventually learning of what Geralt of Rivia was, who Y/C/N was in the story, who Yennefer and Ciri were, Tris and even Jaskier.

Who would have thought that you’d finally get to snag a role side by side with Henry in quite literally one of the most fantastic shows you’ve ever heard of. You didn’t even need to see the show yet to know how well it was most likely to be reviewed. Being a key character in the grand storyline was enough to convince you of how amazing it would most certainly turn out in the finished product.

And after all was said and done, you couldn’t believe how well loved and popular the show truly became in the following months after shooting and its eventual release onto Netflix. The after parties and cast celebrations truly made you blessedly grateful for pulling through to the vary end.

Then again you had your mans Henry by your side every step of the way. He was your rock and you were most definitely his. You know life on set would have been far less entertaining and dreadfully long if not for the lovely company of your dear Witcher, Henry. And so far after the fact, you and a good portion of the cast have been placed in random interviews for the majority of the day.

Reason being, The Witcher has at long last finally premiered and as per usual the people and media live for those cast interviews that always reveal some interesting events. So far this morning you’ve done some interviews with Anya that have gone perfectly fine since the two of you seem to click so well.

Also it helps ease the anxiety of your fellow newer cast mates to the world of continuous interviews with an experienced veteran actor like yourself, who’s gone round the ring more times then you can count. Though you can’t help but wonder how Henry’s doing, considering you’ve been separated since the sessions began at 10am, you’ve had lunch and now it’s about 1 in the afternoon with more hours to go.

Luckily for you, you’ve just been informed of another interview with the man of the hour himself. Saying your goodbyes and well wishes to your fellow cast mates, you stand and follow the guide into the advised place. Aka some really nice hotel room that’s been done up real nice for efficient interviewing, complete with the Witcher insignia on a large background poster and three chairs that happen to look rather comfy.

The camera and sound people nod in acknowledgment as you walk in, you nod back no doubt making their day with your friendliness and adorable smile that quite literally lights up a room. Soon you spot the bubbly yet nervous interviewee who instantly welcomes you into her space like you’re an old friend.

You sit, a bit confused as to where your partner happens to be at the moment, the interviewer, Lauren makes small talk before a door opens and her big bright doe eyes go wide in nervous excitement. A telling smile upon her face as she shifts in her chair before looking back to you again with a happy grin.

Henry says a quick hello to the behind the scenes crew before waving to Lauren, you smirk while watching him get comfortable next to you, “Well, well, well. Get lost on your way up, you know they have guides for a reason.” You tease as he chuckles at your humorous jab, relieved to see you again after a couple hours apart.

“Traffic.” He quips with a shrug.

“Uh huh.” You mutter with a shake of your head before drawing your attention back to Laura, “Can’t take him anywhere I swear, he does this all the time.”

She laughs as Henry pretends to gasp at your teasing, you chuckle along with them before she finally collects herself, “Well, welcome back to London. It’s fantastic to have you both in town once again, and your big beautiful faces all over Leicester Square.”

You both laugh, “Right.” Says Henry, “I guess we do look pretty cool.”

“Hell yeah, I mean where else can I see myself with a giant sword on a building? And anyways look at this beautiful mug,” You say gently squeezing Henry’s cheeks in your hand, “he’s literally killing it out there.” They laugh as you give Hen another playful squeeze before letting go and setting your arm against the chairs cushioned armrest. 

“Alight let’s start.” She says enthusiastically before glancing down at her cards then back up to you and Henry. Then into one of the two the cameras, “Hi I’m Lauren from Entertainment Weekly and today we’re here with the two stars of Netflix’s The Witcher.” She says enthusiastically while giving a nod to you two, indicating that the camera is now focused on you both, “Henry Cavill and Y/N Cavill.”

You both smile in acknowledgment as Henry gives a slight nod, “How you doing?”

“I’m great,” She beams, “So, I’ll get right into it, what do you like most about the story? What really drew you into the script that made you say, yes this is going to be awesome?”

Slapping a hand against Henry’s muscular leg, you hum, “I’ll let Hen take this one he’s a real expert on the linguistics of the whole show.”

“Thanks Y/N/N.” Replies Henry, bemused that you’re making him take the first question.

You nod to him knowingly with a smirk, “Of course.” Knowing how much he loves to talk about the show and also because you’d rather have him use his energy to talk about it then do that yourself. Priorities, right, though in your defense it’s been a long day.

“Well I absolutely love the games and the books themselves are phenomenal works of literature.” He explains, his face glowing with that usual glimmer of excitement in his eyes, “The story and the world of the Witcher is just so rich and full of potential that when I signed on for the show, I immediately knew it would be amazing, no doubt.”

You lean into the arm of you chair, “And of course I was there so that’s always a bonus.”

“That too.” He smiles adorably, “That too of course.”

Lauren smiles, “Great. So, what was it like working together, how was it having your characters interact with one another?”

You smile, setting a hand against Henry’s forearm, “This guy right here.” You deadpan before waving him off dramatically, “So annoying, my god he whined all the time and he was such a drama queen dear lord so ugh....” You start cackling before you can even finish the sentence causing Henry to loose it as well and with that the interviewer.

Shaking your head you rest your hand against his shoulder, “I joke, he was a gem to work with as usual...I mean I feel incredibly blessed to be able to act alongside my husband for months and months every single day. It’s a rarity in this line of work and I’m grateful to have shared this experience...and I guess more so this whole adventure with him as well.”

The interviewer aww’s as Henry tilts his head to lean into your hand that’s still resting atop his shoulder before pulling away just as quickly, the intimate sentiment not going unnoticed by you or Lauren who looks to be enjoying your loving yet calm energy with one another. “That’s so sweet, what about you Henry?”

“Oh yes absolutely,” Agrees Henry to your recent statement, “not only did I have her by my side through it all but the dynamic of our characters interacting together was so fun to shoot. I think the audience will really be able to see their relationship grow on screen into something strong and beautiful like in the books.”

Slow clapping you give him a curt nod of approval, “Well said.”

Lauren smirks, “Seems like it. Well, I was able to catch the premier yesterday and I gotta say...it was fantastic! I couldn’t believe how diffident the two of you looked from how you are now.” She gushes enthusiastically.

The corners of Henry’s lips curl into a proud smile for the fellow crew of the Witcher’s, “Oh that’s great then, honestly we gotta give all the props to the costume and makeup team, they’re so talented and know how to make us look like real badasses.” He adds.

You nod in agreement before grinning at a positive memory of your first interaction with Henry as Geralt, “Oh for sure, I remember during the early stages of production when our characters met each other for the first time, before this we came to set together but went separate ways to shoot our own stuff in the meantime so I never got a real look at him.” You recall with a bright smile as Henry watches your every move, beaming just the same.

“It was so funny, I was in the tent with Freya Allen, the wonderful girl who plays Ciri, and then suddenly her eyes got all big and nervous and I was like, that’s not me right? Something weird didn’t just happen with my costume? And then I turned around to find this man, wig on, face a mess, and his eyes looked so fearsome and different...it was a bit startling.” You say with a chuckle, “I clearly wasn’t expecting to see Geralt right then and there. He just looked so unlike Henry.”

“Yeah, I was almost hurt.” Laughs Henry, “She had to like squint and make sure it was me.”

Rolling your eyes, you shrug, “He had some real creepy looking colored contacts, yunno?”

Henry fake scoffs, “You’re one to talk, I mean when I first say her, Y/N’s eyes were red and she had fake blood spattered all over her face and shirt. Oh, and not to mention those fangs they put on your teeth...we probably traumatized poor Freya that day.”

“Oh shit you’re right!” You exclaim with a snort of concealed laughter, “God I completely forgot about how I looked...now since I think about it, I did that a lot too. I would just walk up to people and be completely oblivious as to what kind of nightmare I looked like, honestly I might have scared one of our producers a couple of times.” You add with a half nervous laugh, it’s true, you did scare some of the crew unintentionally. Most of the time.

Lauren lightly chuckles, “That sounds like you were quite the sight to see then.” She says before glancing back down at her notes, “Alright I have’ta ask, is there anything that you two took home with you from set?”

“Besides Henry every night,” He holds back a laugh while covering his mouth as you nonchalantly continue, “Uh, yes actually I got to take home Y/C/N’s wolf ring that I loved so much and just thought was the coolist thing ever and....uh, I might have stolen some socks too.”

“So that’s why after filming the amount of socks of yours I had to fold increased?” Wonders Henry with a surprised snort of realization.

Turning your head to give him a “no shit” kinda look, you look back at Lauren, pointing your thumb at Henry, “Master sleuth right here, but hey, he folds my laundry.”

“Aw that’s great.” Adds Lauren with a smile before turning her attention to Henry, “What about you Henry? Take anything from set?”

“More then Y/N did actually...”

“He just about took the whole makeup trailer most nights, I swear.”

Henry chuckles, “That. Is true.” He agrees with a nod, “Interesting enough, at home I’ve got Geralt’s armor hung up in our living room and a multitude of other nicknacks that I’ve collected during filming.” He adds, glancing over to you, “So uh, yeah, we were fairly lucky to be able to snag what we could.”

Lauren smiles, absentmindedly shuffling her cards, “That’s awesome to have such special memorabilia, you guys really are fortunate.” She adds before reading off from another card, “Alright you two, care to play a game called guess the image? Witcher style.”

Your face perks up at this, you’re a sucker for interview games and Henry knows it, “Are you reading my mind or something, I have been waiting all day for someone to ask about playing a game.” You gush rather enthusiastically. 

He smiles at your adorableness and how excited you’ve just become, Lauren grins, happy that her suggestion has been so well received, “Okay so how it works is, I’ll show you an image on my iPad and then you have to guess who or what I’m showing you.”

“Oh, cool I’ve heard of this,” You reply, turning to Henry with a smirk, “Loser has to clean Kal’s yard poop for a week.”

Rolling his gorgeous blue eyes he chuckles, “You’re on.”

“Alright, the stakes are high, you two ready?” Beams Lauren, holding her iPad to her chest as she awaits an answer.

“Yes, I’m ready to kick his ass.” You quip, leaning an arm against your chair while Henry does about the same, though he does his best to contain his laughter.

“Okay, first image.” She holds up the device to show some sort of weird golden thing, it’s shiny and hard, worst part is that you’re not entirely sure what the hell it could be.

Sensing your confusion Henry nudges your shoulder, though you ignore it before he smartly answers, “Oh, is that...Renfri’s brooch?” Little shit knows exactly what that is, of course he does.

Lauren claps, “Correct.” Zooming out of the image to show the full picture of the golden brooch, “Right on, that’s one point for Mr. Cavill.”

You scoff playfully, “Beginners luck.” While Henry side eyes you with a humorous grin upon his plush lips, he nudges your arm, “I’m going to really enjoy not cleaning up Kal’s grass turds for awhile.” He mutters lightheartedly, though you know deep down he’s being serious, no way is he going to win this, you think. You won’t have it, hopefully the next few pictures aren’t as difficult, Kal duty is not fun by any means.

“Shut up.” You grumble with a dismissive wave of your hand, though just teasing of course.

“Okay next image.” This time the blurred photo looks much more familiar, soon it clicks as to what the obscured blurriness actually is, yes!

“Got it! Anya’s er I guess Yennefer’s dress from the fight at Sodden.” Lauren giggles, zooming the image out to reveal Yennefer in her tasseled blue and purple dress from the battle at Sodden Hill. “I’m amazing I know.” You boast at Henry with a casual little bow in your seat.

“It’s the second question.” He deadpans, eyes crinkling in amusement as you shake your head at him.

“Pffff get outta here.” You mutter back, gently pushing his arm off of your chairs armrest and setting yours in its place while he gives you a fake shocked expression.

In turn you can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips, so instead of saying some sassy remark that would no doubt get a reaction out of him, you turn your attention back over to Lauren who’s looking over her notes again.

“Fantastic,” She says, glancing back up at you and Henry, “you’re both tied with one point each. Alright, anyone know what this is?” She asks showing something red and fuzzy, a bit of dirty skin showing from one corner but with The Witcher this bloody image could literally be anything.

The both of you squint, puzzled as to what this could be, “Y/N you got any ideas.” Wonders Henry, brows furrowed as his face contorts into deep concentrated thought.

Raising a brow, you hum, “If I knew I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair point.” He chuckles.

Lauren smiles, “Any guesses?”

 After a few concentrated moments, Henry shrugs in defeat,  “I’m stumped.” He admits as you study the image harder, mind racing to put the pieces together as to what the hell you’re looking at.

“No, I think I might know this....erm is it...me?” You wonder, voice raising in question, hoping to be correct about this or face the teasing of Henry.

Lauren quickly zooms out of the obscured image, “It is!” She says excitedly, revealing the picture of you from your characters debut in episode 2 where you save a girl from a werewolf, your mouth is covered in blood and so is most of your costumes chest area and left arm from the struggle. Not to mention the make-up teams fun 20 minutes of throwing fake sticky blood all over you to get the right look for the taxing scene.

You grimace a bit, “Oh god that was quite the day on set,” You recall with a half smile, “I was doing stunts all day covered in that red syrupy dye, I think it took a week to get out of my skin.”

Henry suddenly snorts with laughter, “Right! That reminds me, I thought Kal had gotten cut or something, it was just Y/N who had hugged him not realizing she still had some fake blood on her arm.”

“Jeez that’s right, I felt so bad, but I couldn’t stop laughing once we realized it was just me.”

Lauren grins, excited to hear some hidden information about little things that happens behind the scenes, “Oh wow that must have been a sight, alright Henry, Y/N’s taken the lead with a two to one score.” She says as you playfully nudge his strong shoulder. “Second to last image, what is this?”

Without missing a single beat Henry replies, “Jaskier.”

Squinting at the image you lean closer to the iPad, “How the hell do you see Jaskier?”

Smiling the interviewer zooms out to reveal the bards full outfit from the banquet scene, though he’s in the background of a fight between Geralt and some Cintran knights. “Right on!” She exclaims as you lean back into your seat dumbfounded, shoulder flush against Henry’s as he clutches your arm and squeezes it affectionately.

Ignoring his silent show of victory you shrug, “And they say he’s just another pretty face,” Earning a laugh from Lauren and some of the crew as you smirk at the camera, face them shifting to apologetic, “also I’m so sorry Joey you beautiful bastard apparently I’m blind. Uh, we don’t have to dwell on it, Lauren whatcha got?”

“You guys are both tied with two points each, last chance to win.” She replies before glancing down at her iPad, “Alright, what is this?” She asks, her iPad showing that of fuzzy bright colors, with a small corner smear of dull white that clearly wouldn’t make much sense to the untrained eye.

Smirking you glance at a puzzled Henry before sitting up in your seat, feeling rather good about yourself, “Would that happen to be, Hen in Stregobor’s illusion?” You answer with, though sounding a bit as a question considering you aren’t entirely confident as to what image this is.

Lauren’s brows raise in surprise, “Henry, looks like we have a winner. Y/N you are correct.” She beams, enlarging the image to reveal Geralt’s side profile as he talks to the old wizard while the background stays colorful and shrouded in various arrays of sunlight..

Shaking your fist victoriously in the air you give a couple enthusiastic whoop whoops while Henry simply takes it like a champ, “Have fun cleaning up Karl’s monster turds, cause this lucky lady doesn’t have to.” You boast as Henry and the crew laugh.

“Well that was something,” Beams Lauren, “I’m so glad to have chatted for a bit about your guys’ amazing new series, and maybe ended a relationship in the process.” She says jokingly as both you and Henry chuckle.

Patting his thigh affectionately, you smirk, “He’s a tough old bear, but yeah, it was awesome having you talk to us.”

“Yes, take care now.” Adds Henry while the interviewer Lauren stands, saying her goodbyes as she goes to exit the room.

The camera crew take a small break to adjust things and whatnot as you and Henry wait patiently for the next interviewer. He turns, an adorable smile pulling at his lips while you pretend to ignore his fiery gaze. “Well that went pretty well, minus the fact that I’m on Kal poop duty for a week...but uh...” He leans in close to you now, “I missed you all morning.”

Breaking out into a smile you raise a brow, “Boring without me huh?”

“Always.”

You casually shrug, “I figured as much. Don’t worry, we have a hotel all to ourselves tonight.” Your brows wiggle suggestively causing your blue eyed lover to shake his head with amusement.

“Say it louder next time.” He jokes.

Side eyeing the oblivious crew you begin to speak a couple octaves louder, “Henry I can’t wait to fu..” Suddenly his hand presses against your mouth before you’re able to call any attention to yourself. He gives you a warning look before slowly pulling his hand from your mouth.

You grin mischievously, “I wasn’t gonna say that...”

“Sure Y/N,” He mutters in your ear as a new interviewer walks into the room and finds their chair, “and I’m wasn’t going to make you scream tonight.”

Your brows raise in surprise and admittedly slight arousal at his choice of wording in this room of all places. Eyeing him up, face still showing surprise, you finally break out into a satisfied smirk. “You know what? I think you should consider changing your offer.”

He thinks deeply for a moment, though you know he’s only pretending to get you riled up, “Hrmm...maybe, possibly, should I? Should we? You are my co-star after all, that wouldn’t be very professional now would it Y/N?” He states with a shit eating grin, all done while the crew and interviewer get ready, minding their business and completely unaware to yourself and Henry’s teasing.

Scoffing playfully you lightly swat his arm, “We are way past being professional.”

He chuckles, looking from you to the rest of the room, “Oh, they have no idea.”

#the witcher x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill

[contemplativepancakes]

number one wiener eater

written for the @lambertbigbang, with art by the amazing @geralt-of-riviass here! Make sure to check it out :D (also a ginormous thanks to @hoomhum for betaing and helping me work out the extremely complicated logistics of bathroom stall sex). Read on ao3 here!

When Lambert loses the hot dog eating contest that he’s won for the past three years in a row, there’s nothing he would love more than to find who beat him and punch them in the face. Unfortunately, he was too busy throwing up to know who the winner was.

All he knows is that he’s kind of maybe in love with the guy who held his hair while he puked. (8k, explicit, lambden, cw: vomiting, semi public sex)

Lambert’s gonna puke. He keeps stuffing the buns in his mouth, but they’re like glue, and his jaw refuses to work. He swallows, but nothing goes down. He takes a desperate gulp of water and sputters on it. Jerking his head up to glance at the countdown clock, he silently curses as he sees he has seconds left. He shoves what he can into his already full mouth, raising his hands up as the judge shouts for them to stop.

He takes a second to glance down the long line of other competitive eaters, but a wave of nausea hits him, and he looks at the ground, determined on keeping everything down. He keeps chewing and working to swallow as the judge takes away the plate to weigh it. Another comes down the aisle casting a critical eye at their tables, making sure that not too much food went onto the ground or table instead of their mouths.

It’s blazing outside today, and sweat coats Lambert’s face. Acid burns up his throat, but he chokes it back. He’s not a lightweight.

Lambert’s won this contest the past three years in a row, and he’s pretty sure he has this one in the bag. It’s no Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest, and he’s no Joey Chestnut, but he’s at least good, and the prize money is decent enough. He’s had his eye on an inflatable jacuzzi—for the women, Geralt. And the men—and he’s excited to make his maybe ill-advised purchase.

He waits for them to announce the winner, bouncing his foot on the ground to give himself something to focus on besides the rising wave of whatever’s churning in his gut.

When the judges stand up on their small podium, a hush falls over the small crowd gathered. Lambert directs his attention to them, but a bright burst of nausea hits him and sends sweat dripping down his back, and he doesn’t manage to hear anything after that.

He pukes.

“Oh jeez, are you okay?” a voice comes from somewhere on his left.

“Fine,” Lambert grunts, wiping his mouth and grimacing at the burning taste left in his mouth. Definitely more pleasant as the hot dogs were going down than up.

“Are you sure? You seem shaky.”

“I’m fine,” Lambert grumbles, and finally looks up at the guy, who puts his hands up in surrender.

“Just checking.”

He starts to heave again, and he reaches for the pail thoughtfully provided for them by the contest sponsors.

“Yep, you sure seem fine!” the other man chirps.

Lambert retches one more time, and the man hands him a napkin. Lambert takes it suspiciously, wondering if this is a reporter or something. He’s not sure why someone would want to deal with this.

The man hands him a bottle of water next, and Lambert purses his lips as he twists the top off. He squints at him. “Who are you?” he finally asks.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Aiden.”

All that does is give Lambert a name, not answer his question, but he doesn’t comment further, just offers his own name in a grunt.

“Oh, I know who you are.”

“You a fan?”

“You could say that,” Aiden says with a grin, and Lambert rolls his eyes.

“They didn’t tell me competitive eating gets you groupies.”

Aiden gives him a full throated laugh at that, and Lambert curses himself when he catches himself thinking that it sounds kind of nice. Those are exactly the kind of thoughts he doesn’t want to be having. Especially not for some weirdo that stopped to what, hold his hair while he puked? Who does that? If he’s not careful, he’s going to end up in an ice bath one kidney short.

Lambert wipes his mouth with the back of his hand again, surreptitiously checking his breath. It’s not peaches and cream, that’s for sure.

Lambert sets the pail down and faces Aiden, trying to flat out dislike him at how white his teeth are, how perfectly coiffed his dark curly hair is even in this heat, but he fails as Aiden continues to be nothing but nice to him, making small talk as Lambert tries to pull himself together.

After Lambert’s fully sat up instead of half way hunched over, expecting another vomiting wave to hit him, Aiden straightens up, too. “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then, huh?”

Lambert’s confused for a second, because he’s never seen Aiden before, but he decides he’s going to take this as a good sign. Or maybe a bad sign for the fate of his kidneys, whatever the case may be.

“I would hope so,” Lambert settles on, deciding that sounds like a good mix of hopeful and not at all like he’s desperate for a little human contact.

Aiden gives him a little half wave that has no right to be as adorable as it is when a grown man does it, and Lambert frowns and tamps down the feelings rising in his gut. No, he’s not going to call them butterflies. He’s not a twelve year old; he doesn’t get crushes, and he certainly doesn’t get butterflies in his stomach.

Lambert eventually manages to get up and walks away from the contest, sadly bereft of the prize money. He missed the announcement of the winner while he was busy throwing up, but he caught the disappointed looks some of the spectators were casting him, so he knows it isn’t him. He doesn’t even want to know who it was. He’ll just dwell endlessly. His stomach is still roiling as he clambers into his car, but at this point, he’s not sure why.

It’s what he ate, he’s sure.

-

Lambert slams his kitchen cupboard door shut. “I don’t want to talk about it, Geralt,” he mutters.

Geralt always wants to hash every detail of his competitions, and while normally Lambert is happy to indulge him, he just doesn’t want to talk about this one, okay?

It has everything to do with him losing and absolutely nothing to do with Aiden. Nothing at all.

“Okay, fine,” Geralt says, raising his hands and backing up. “No need to get so grouchy about it.”

Lambert scowls. “I’m not grouchy.”

“Right. Prove it.”

“Fine.” Lambert crosses his arms.

Geralt grins. “Return my library book for me? It’s due today, and there’s no way I’m making it over to that side of town today, I’m slammed.”

“Yeah? You’re so slammed you had time to come here and harass me?”

Geralt reaches forward to ruffle Lambert’s hair, and Lambert knocks his hand away. “Not harassment. Just brotherly concern. Have you seen the wikipedia page for competitive eating? And you expect me not to worry?” Geralt scoffs.

Lambert rolls his eyes. “Stop being so over protective, mom.”

“Deal. If you return my book.”

Lambert rolls his eyes, but he takes the book. He looks down at the title, then back up at Geralt, raising his eyebrows. “Really? Twilight?”

“I didn’t even think you knew how to read, Lamb,” Geralt deflects.

Lambert huffs. “I don’t know if I want to embarrass myself by returning this, but whatever. If anyone asks, it’s my sister’s book. You owe me.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one in the lead on favors.”

“I doubt it.”

Lambert makes a show of taking the book between his pinched thumb and forefinger, Geralt rolling his eyes all the while. “I know, I know. You hear vampire, and you can’t help yourself,” Lambert says.

Geralt shrugs before clapping his hands on his thighs. “All right, I better get going. I have to pick Ciri up from school.”

“And you couldn’t have gone after to the library with her?”

“She has martial arts.”

Lambert sighs. He can help Geralt out this once, he supposes.

Geralt leaves and Lambert eyes the book setting on his coffee table. He guesses he might as well go now, and he can poke around and see if there’s anything that catches his eye. He hasn’t been to the library in nearly a year, but it might be a nice change of pace.

Lambert clambers to his feet, stopping to grab his wallet and keys before walking out to his car.

He hits every red light between his apartment and the library, and his good mood has nearly evaporated by the time he gets there. That changes when he walks in the door and sees who’s sitting at the front desk. “Aiden?” he doesn’t squeak.

Aiden looks up from where he’s typing furiously at a computer, and his face breaks out into a wide grin that makes Lambert’s stomach flip. “Lambert!”

Lambert looks down at the book he’s carrying and immediately hides it behind his back. Aiden quirks an eyebrow at him. “Got a return?”

“Yes, well, I mean, no—”

Aiden stretches out a hand, and Lambert resigns himself to his fate. He gives Aiden the book. Aiden barely glances at the cover, just gives Lambert a small smile and scans the barcode.

“I’m returning that for my brother,” Lambert can’t stop himself from saying.

Aiden glances back up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Aiden nods once. “Likely story.”

Lambert splutters and then stops when he sees the shit eating grin Aiden’s giving him.

“Hey, all reading is good reading,” Aiden says. “I’m not going to rag on you.”

“It’s my brother’s,” Lambert mumbles again, but he shakes his head in defeat.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

Lambert would normally rather die before asking for help, but he thinks it might be okay if it's Aiden he’s asking for it from. He wouldn’t have offered if he was busy or something, right?

The organ harvesting alarms start going off in Lambert’s brain again, but he dismisses them. Someone so nice surely isn’t going to cut anything out of him. And even if he does, Lambert would bet Aiden would give the good drugs, so he wouldn’t even feel it. He seems nice like that.

Yeah, that’d be okay.

Lambert moves farther into the library, going between the stacks where no one can see him. He’s not sure what books he should get to try and recover the remaining shreds of his dignity.

He whips out his phone and searches long classic books. He scrolls down the page a little frantically until he lands on War and Peace. He’s heard of that before. He’s pretty sure it’s a well regarded book. What if Aiden thinks he’s a pretentious dick? Okay, maybe he is, a little, but he doesn’t want to give him that impression right off the bat. Lambert’s already ruined his first, and second impression, he doesn’t want to mess up the third.

Lambert makes his way down the aisles, squinting as he looks for the Ts. He pulls out the book with a flourish after he finally finds it, weighing its impressive heft in his hand. He cracks it open and finds it to be suitably dense. He makes his way back up to the circulation desk, where Aiden’s scanning in returns from their self service slot.

Why didn’t Lambert just use that? He could slap himself. Well, he guesses he wouldn’t have seen Aiden if he did that, so at risk of sounding like a creepy stalker, he’s glad he came in.

Lambert thunks the book down on the counter. Aiden looks at it, then up to Lambert, a grin spreading across his face. “Just a bit of light reading for you then?”

Heat rises to Lambert’s cheeks, not sure if he’s being mocked or not. He shrugs. “It’s been on my list.”

Aiden holds a hand out, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Uh…”

“I need your library card,” Aiden says patiently.

“Right. Um, let’s see here.”

Lambert hasn’t been to the library since the last time he came with Ciri to pick out movies they were going to watch while she stayed with him, and he pulls out his wallet. He holds it open to thumb through it, wondering why the fuck he feels the need to carry so many gift cards around that he’s never going to use. Foil crinkles as he goes through everything, and he resolutely does not make eye contact with Aiden.

It’s no use, though. “You’re not supposed to carry those around in your wallet, you know,” he says conversationally. “Wears holes in them.”

There’s a quip on Lambert’s tongue about using them often enough that he doesn’t have to worry about that, but he bites it back. He’s not a creep who would say that at someone’s job.

After another painful ten seconds, Lambert gives up on finding the card. He thinks he remembers them giving him a miniature one for it, too, so he looks on his key chain instead, filled as it is with at least twenty different discount cards and various baubles Ciri’s made for him.

“I can tell you’re a fine connoisseur of our goods,” Aiden comments.

“Shut up,” Lambert grouses, finally finding the little card and setting the whole thing down for Aiden.

Aiden scans it, keys and cards jingling against each other, and frowns. “It’s expired,” he says apologetically.

Lambert wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole, especially as Aiden fingers the rooster on it that Eskel gave him after he came out. He should get around to cleaning off his keyring.

“I guess I know you really were returning that book for your brother?” Aiden offers.

Despite himself, Lambert smiles. “I guess you do.” Lambert swallows. “So what do I have to do to renew it? I think I might have to start coming here more often.”

Aiden gives him a tiny grin, and they get the card renewed, then the book checked out. “I’ll be expecting a report on how it was when you return it,” Aiden says of War and Peace, tucking the receipt into the book.

Lambert’s not sure if he had been entirely convinced he was actually going to read it, but he finds himself saying, “You bet.”

Aiden flashes him a smile that Lambert would best describe as feral, and as he walks out to his car, Lambert wonders what exactly he’s gotten himself into.

-

Later that night finds Geralt back on Lambert’s couch. “I thought you were so busy,” Lambert complains.

“Well, Ciri’s at her martial arts class now and your apartment was close. What do you have to eat?”

Lambert rolls his eyes and resists the urge to shove Geralt’s feet off his coffee table. “Nothing for you.”

Geralt gets up to survey the refrigerator.

“If you put a finger on my burrito, I’ll end you,” Lambert threatens.

Lambert can practically hear Geralt rolling his eyes as he heaves a heavy sigh. “Do not drink out of the jug either.”

Geralt groans again. “Like you don’t?”

“Well, I’m the one who buys it. All you do is come over and eat my food like you don’t have any of your own.”

Geralt comes back to the couch after some muttering and putting something in the microwave. Lambert resists the urge to strangle him. When Geralt comes back, it’s with chinese takeout that’s been in the refrigerator for at least two weeks. Lambert doesn’t say anything.

He watches with a raised eyebrow as Geralt slurps down the noodles, mildly impressed at his stomach of steel. He’s always thought Geralt would be a good competitive eater.

When Geralt finally puts the chop sticks down and comes back up for air, he brightens and reaches into his pocket. “Here, I saved this for you.”

Geralt hands a folded up newspaper clipping to him, and Lambert scowls upon seeing the picture of the hot dog eating contest sign. He crumples it up and tosses it at Geralt’s head.

Geralt’s hand automatically comes up and bats it away, making it fall to the floor. “Jeez, I try to do one nice thing…”

“Don’t act like being nice was your motivation.”

Geralt gives him a cheshire cat grin. “You’re too easy to rile up, you know that?”

“Yeah, thanks a lot for that, shit lips. By the way, you’re welcome for taking back your book. I nearly got laughed out of the library.”

Geralt smirks at him. Fortunately for Geralt, there’s nothing for Lambert to throw at him again within arms reach.

“I see you even got a book. That’s some heavy reading,” Geralt says, a look of mock seriousness pasted on his face.

“Shut up.”

“That’d take you at least three years to read.”

“Shut up,” Lambert says again, putting his hands over his ears.

“Almost seems like you got that just to impress someone; I’ve never known you to have an interest in the classics before.”

Lambert looks at the book sitting on the coffee table and considers just braining Geralt with it. Surely a jury would be understanding that sometimes you just have to hit your stupid as fuck brother upside the head with a three pound book.

Not guilty, for sure.

Lambert snaps out of his daydream to look pointedly at the clock. “Exactly how long is Ciri’s class?”

Geralt checks his watch. “Shit, I gotta go.”

Lambert grouses as Geralt puts on his jacket and leaves his bowl on the table for Lambert. “I’m not a maid!” he shouts after Geralt’s retreating back.

Geralt flips him off and then blows him a kiss, leaving Lambert to wonder if he’s just broken a record for the world’s longest eye roll.

Lambert looks back to the book. He guesses he has nothing better to do…

-

Lambert makes it through the book much more quickly than he anticipated; once he gets past the dry as fuck language, it’s actually kind of interesting.

He’s excited but also dreading going back to the library. This time he should probably be better prepared when he goes in, so he doesn’t have to frantically flick through his phone hidden in the middle of the stacks trying to find something to check out that’s not going to make him look like an idiot.

He searches for something interesting sounding, but maybe something that’s not going to make Aiden laugh at him this time. Well, maybe he can make him laugh in a good way instead of making fun of him, Lambert muses as he scrolls through book titles.

And so, the next time when he goes to the library, he surprises a laugh out of Aiden when he slams A Treatise of Cocks and Hens onto the counter to check out.

“You into animal husbandry now?” Aiden snickers.

“I’ve been considering some laying hens,” Lambert says in mock seriousness. “Why, you got any advice?”

“Ah. Eggs, nature’s perfect food,” he says sagely. “I am sure that is the only reason why you’ve chosen this particular book.”

“Yep.”

Aiden grins. “Huh. Very interesting. Well, I’ll be expecting a report back. By the way, how was War and Peace?”

“Surprisingly not terrible.”

Aiden drums his fingers on the counter, scrutinizing him. “Huh.”

“What do you mean, ‘huh?’”

“A man can’t say ‘huh’ without being ruthlessly interrogated now? What is this country coming to?”

Lambert shakes his head at the dramatics and finally remembers to hand over his library card. Aiden scans it, then his book, a small smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. The receipt prints, and Lambert holds out his hand for it, but Aiden takes it and scribbles something down before tucking it in the book.

“Just...personalized service for our valued members,” he says with a wink.

“I’m not paying for anything; I don’t think you need to try that hard.”

“Are you complaining?”

Lambert shakes his head hastily. “Definitely not.”

Aiden slides the book across the counter to him. “Come back soon,” he says with a cheeky wave.

Lambert barely resists the urge to stick his tongue out at him, and where did that come from, but he manages to make it out of the library without making a total ass of himself. When he gets out to his car, he slides behind the wheel and takes the receipt out of the bag.

On it is a number, one Lambert hopes like fuck is Aiden’s and not just some cruel joke, and the words, Text me what you learned from this book. I want to learn all about it (;

Lambert traces his fingers over the word cock on the cover.

He can’t believe that actually worked.

-

When he tells Geralt the news, Geralt howls with laughter.

Predictably, Geralt is eating his food again, and is being absolutely no help in assisting Lambert with choosing the clothes he should wear on his date. He had somehow worked up the nerve to text Aiden, and after a week of sending waffling texts back and forth, they’re going to a bar together. Shit, Lambert hasn’t been on a date in forever.

“Calm down,” Geralt says around a mouthful of pasta from Lambert’s bed, watching his eyes dart back and forth around his closet. “Wear a button down,” he advises. “That’s respectable.”

“Not like I’m trying too hard?”

Geralt hums. “Maybe.”

Lambert scowls at him. “Why are you even here if you’re not going to help?”

Geralt points a fork to his bowl. “Dude, you made bolognese. Where else am I going to be?”

“Don’t you have a kid or something you need to watch?” Lambert asks, but it’s without heat.

“She’s with Yen tonight. I wanted a front row seat to this shit show, and they’re going to an opera or something. I don’t ask questions.”

“Wow, thank you for your enthusiastic support.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you care this much before,” Geralt observes.

“Yeah, well, he’s nice. I’ve never dated someone who’s nice before.”

“I can only hope he rubs off on you.”

Lambert nods. “We can only hope.”

Geralt throws a pillow at him. “Don’t be a pervert.”

“Hey! You’re the one who said it, not me.”

Geralt sets the bowl down, balancing precariously on Lambert’s bed and claps his hands over his ears. “I do not want to think about you doing any of that. You’re going to be 12 to me forever.”

“Geralt, you are six years older than me.”

“And?”

Lambert shakes his head as he pulls out a polo before discarding it.

Why the hell does he even have that? He wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a fucking polo.

In the end, Lambert settles on nothing too out of the norm from his typical style. He doesn’t want Aiden to get the wrong idea, and he’s sure Aiden won’t hesitate in making fun of him if he tries too hard. He wets his comb and runs it through his hair, but it’s really too short to stick up in odd angles, which is exactly the way he likes it.

He shoos Geralt out of his apartment as he leaves. “I can’t leave you unsupervised to poke through my things,” he says, and Geralt doesn’t even argue with him about it, which is highly concerning because that means it’s true.

Lambert’s heart is jackrabbiting against his chest as he walks out to his car. He gives Geralt a gruff goodbye before ducking into his car, plugging his phone into the radio and cranking the volume up. He tries to focus on the lyrics instead of the pounding in his chest that he can feel pulsating in his wrists. He scrolls through his songs until he finds something by Minor Threat so he can turn it up and drown out the rest of his thoughts.

He’s meeting Aiden at the bar, because Geralt told him it was weird to pick someone up on the first date, and that Aiden was an Independent Man, whatever that meant. He probably shouldn’t listen to Geralt.

He beats his fingers in rapid bursts on his steering wheel in time with the music until he gets there, and then he checks his phone to see it’s way too early to go in yet. God, he’s messing this up already. He scrolls through his social media feeds while he waits until his phone buzzes with an incoming picture. He clicks over to it, to see—himself, hunched over behind the steering wheel of his car. It’s taken through a window, and it’s sort of definitely mega creepy.

Aiden: you coming in, or do you just plan on sitting out there all night?

Lambert checks the time again and verifies that no, he’s still 20 minutes early. A small smile crawls across his face.

He gets out and walks into the bar, looking around. Aiden waves to him, and he’s sitting at a booth, not even at the bar.

“Wow. Classy.” Lambert comments as he slides in next to him.

Shit, should he have sat across from him? Aiden apparently doesn’t mind by the way he immediately presses against Lambert.

“Can’t believe I got you out of your academic setting,” Aiden smirks. “How goes the chicken husbandry?”

“I’m considering building a coop,” Lambert says on reflex.

“I can’t even tell if you’re joking.”

Lambert grins. “Only mostly. Don’t you think that would be cute, or whatever?”

“What, you in a frilly apron collecting eggs? Yeah, I could get behind that.”

Lambert’s face gets hot almost instantly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I think it should be.” Aiden quirks an eyebrow at him in challenge, one which Lambert immediately cops out of.

“What do you want to drink?”

Lambert stands up with Aiden’s order and goes to the bar to get it, wondering what Geralt’s opinion on how the bill should be split is.

When he comes back, Aiden’s checking his phone, but he quickly sets it down when Lambert slips in beside him again.

“Just letting my friend know I’m not dead,” he says brightly. “I sent her the picture of you, and that’s already shady enough to be perfect for America’s Most Wanted, so I’d keep that in mind.”

Lambert snorts. “Noted,” he says, passing over the beer.

Aiden takes a gulp, and Lambert’s gaze doesn’t linger on how Aiden’s lips wrap around the bottle, not one bit.

Aiden sets the bottle down on the table with a clunk, liquid making its way dangerously close to the top, but none splashes out.

“So tell me about yourself, besides the fact that you eat too many hot dogs, read long books in the hopes of impressing librarians, and are blue printing a chicken coop.”

Lambert drums his fingers on the table and shrugs. “I’m not that interesting. And who said I was trying to impress you?”

Aiden shrugs and takes another drink of his beer, setting it back down and swiping a finger through the condensation. “Aren’t you?”

Lambert stands up abruptly. “Come on, pool table’s empty.”

“I think you’re going to have to show me how to handle my stick.”

Lambert groans and shoves at him. “That was so bad. That was terrible. I’m not rewarding you for that.”

Aiden grins at him, and they play pool, with Aiden exaggerating his cue handling the entire time. If Lambert has to watch him run his hands down its length one more time…

“What exactly are you angling for, here, hmm?” Lambert asks, sidling up next to him and nudging him out of the way so he can take aim for the cue ball.

Aiden shrugs. “Whatever you’re willing to give me.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. “I’m easy.”

Lambert squeezes his eyes shut for a second at the mental image that provides before gulping. “I, uh, haven’t really been with anyone in a while. Might be a little rusty.”

Aiden crowds behind him and wraps his arms around Lambert’s waist. “Just like riding a bike,” he says into his ear.

Lambert leans down and hits the cue ball, knocking the black eight into the middle pocket. “Well, shit.” They both know he did it on purpose.

Aiden takes Lambert’s hand for a second, and Lambert has to make a conscious effort not to short circuit. “Meet me in the bathroom,” he murmurs before turning away, leaving Lambert to fidget uncomfortably. He knocks all the balls into the pockets and hangs up their cues, dithering a little to try not to make this too obvious. Jesus, he feels like he’s 22 again, only this time he’s doing it with someone he actually likes and not just to get a reaction out of his dad when he found out.

Lambert sets his hands on the pool table and takes a deep breath before heading to the bathroom. He walks in, noting that no, this isn’t a single stall, and anyone could walk on them. His heart beats a little faster.

Aiden’s at the sink washing his hands, and Lambert walks up behind him, mouthing at his neck and wrapping his arms around him.

“Took you long enough,” Aiden says, leaning back into him. “Come on.” Aiden tugs him into a stall and slides the lock shut behind them.

It’s a tight squeeze, two grown men in one tiny stall, and to be honest, it’s a little disgusting. Lambert leans past Aiden to close the toilet seat so he doesn’t have to look at the piss stains.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does that offend your delicate sensibilities?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

Aiden’s grin drops for a second. “You want to do this, right?”

Lambert tugs Aiden against him sharply and kisses him hard before pulling back. “Oh, yeah. Enthusiastically. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Lambert yanks Aiden’s shirt out of his pants, putting his hands on Aiden’s torso, enjoying the soft flesh and moving his way up until he can brush his thumb over Aiden’s nipple. Aiden leans back in to kiss him again, shoving his hands down Lambert’s pants where he’s growing steadily harder.

Aiden strokes him inside his underwear, and Lambert forgot how fucking good this feels. He still has one ear on the door, waiting for someone else to come inside the restroom. He’s not sure what they’re going to do if that happens, so he supposes he better move this along.

Lambert leans his head back against the stall door as Aiden jerks him to full hardness, their kiss turning into something uncoordinated and sloppy.

“Feel good?” Aiden murmurs.

“Fuck, yeah,” Lambert says, and his eyes get wide as Aiden drops to his knees.

Aiden pulls him out of his pants, finally unbuttoning them and relieving some of the pressure. Lambert winces as he looks down at the mystery stains on the floor, but Aiden’s unaffected. Lambert bites down on his lip as he looks down at Aiden, leaning forward to take him into his mouth.

“Wait,” he says, and his voice sounds far away. He fumbles for his wallet, thumbing through it to find the condom from the other day.

Aiden laughs and quirks an eyebrow at him.

“It’s a new one,” Lambert says defensively.

Aiden takes it from and tears it open, rolling it down Lambert’s length. “Good?” he asks, and Lambert eagerly nods.

Warm heat envelopes him, and he instinctively threads a hand through Aiden’s hair. Aiden seems to like that, and he starts doing something to the sensitive spot just under Lambert’s head that has him panting after a minute.

The door to the bathroom creaks open then, and Lambert tugs on Aiden’s hair urgently, but Aiden doesn’t let up, if anything, just increases whatever he’s doing down there until Lambert can barely see straight, let alone keep his noises to himself.

There’s the sound of someone unzipping themselves, and Lambert looks down at Aiden incredulously. Does this person really not notice them? Judging by the intensity of the stream they let out, Lambert’s guessing not.

Aiden brings his hand up to stroke the part of Lambert’s cock not in his mouth and keeps up the steady rhythm of his mouth. It feels incredible, tight wet heat around his cock, and Lambert’s concerned his lip is going to bleed if he keeps biting it this hard. A whine starts emanating from him as Aiden increases his speed.

The urinal finally flushes, and Aiden determinedly licks at the underside of Lambert’s cock, making him gasp. Lambert gives a little yank on his hair; he knows Aiden did that on purpose. Aiden looks up at him as innocently as he can with a mouth full of cock.

It’s obscene.

The person doesn’t even wash their hands before they leave, but Lambert can’t find it in him to bemoan their lack of hygiene, he’s just glad for some semblance of privacy again as he lets out a broken moan.

Aiden keeps it up, bobbing back and forth and twisting his hands around Lambert’s cock until he gasps, coming as his legs nearly give out from underneath him. “Fuck,” he says vehemently, panting as he tries to catch his beath. “Mild mannered librarian by day... But you’re sure something else at night, huh?” Lambert tugs a hand through Aiden’s coarse curls, delighting in the way they’re so pullable and soft.

Aiden hums and pulls off, Lambert’s eyes catching on the trail of saliva that follows Aiden’s lips, still connected to Lambert’s cock. “I don’t know about mild mannered.”

Aiden pulls off the condom and knots it, tucking it back into its original foil and putting it on top of the toilet paper dispenser before Lambert fists a hand in the collar of Aiden’s shirt and pulls him to his feet, kissing him messily and reveling in the taste of Aiden’s mouth. He reaches down between them, surprised to find Aiden still fully hard. He maneuvers Aiden around until his back is to the stall door instead of Lambert. Lambert squeezes him before getting to his knees himself, clumsy and unpracticed.

It’s been too long.

Lambert’s knees hit the hard floor, the cold tiles leaching warmth from his legs, even through his jeans. He finds himself not even caring about the ever present ammonia stench and the piss stains everywhere he looks. He unbuttons Aiden’s pants and unzips them, trying not to roll his eyes at the fact that he wore slacks to a bar. How difficult does he think Lambert is to impress, exactly, because Lambert would be the first to tell you it’s not that hard.

Speaking of things that are hard...Lambert jerks his fist along Aiden’s cock a few times, before pulling out another condom and putting it on him, moving forward to take the head into his mouth.

“Jesus, how many of those do you carry around?” Aiden asks, a little breathless.

Lambert pulls off for a moment. “I used to be a boy scout.”

“Liar,” Aiden hisses, but then his head is thudding back against the stall door as Lambert does a particularly clever twist of his fist. He keeps it moving along Aiden’s cock as he gets the head sloppy with spit, paying special attention to the sensitive spot on the underside.

Aiden twitches under his ministrations, and Lambert looks up at him, satisfied as he sees Aiden’s head is still leaned back against the stall door, his eyes squeezed shut.

Lambert hums as he takes more into his mouth, bobbing his head back and forth as he moves his hand farther back to play with Aiden’s balls. He rolls them gently in his hands, running his thumb over the soft skin.

When he looks back up at Aiden, he’s staring at Lambert with undisguised want and he’s visibly restraining himself from being louder. Lambert’s just glad that no one else has come into the bathroom. There’s no question about what’s happening here, not with the slick sounds they’re making.

Lambert starts to suck on Aiden’s cock, then, and a quiet swear comes out of Aiden and his hands fly down, scrambling for purchase in Lambert’s hair, but it’s too short for him to do anything but comb at it uselessly. He ends up with one of his hands on the back of Lambert’s head, just resting there, his fingertips coming down occasionally to brush at Lambert’s neck.

Part of Lambert rebels at the tenderness, but another part of him revels in it, and he keeps the steady motion up until Aiden’s hips are starting to jerk minutely.

Lambert presses a hand against him, holding his hips in place against the stall while he tongues the vein on the underside of Aiden’s cock. He comes after what seems like both a small eternity and no time at all, a moan punching out of him.

Aiden brushes his thumb over the corner of Lambert’s mouth and brings it back up to suck it into his own, Lambert tracking the movement with the corner of his eye. Lambert buttons up his pants and attempts to straighten his shirt, but it might be a lost cause with how many wrinkles are in it from how Aiden had rucked it up. Lambert pulls the condom off and wraps it in toilet paper, setting it on top of the one from earlier.

Lambert cracks the stall door open to throw the condoms into the trash, wincing when he misses.

“That was literally three feet away, dude.”

Lambert scowls at him as he gingerly picks it up and places it in the bin. “Don’t call me dude after I just sucked your cock.”

Lambert shuts the stall door again, waiting for Aiden to be a little bit more presentable.

Aiden tugs his shirt down and smoothes his hand over it, and Lambert tucks him back into his pants and buttons up his pants for him. “Thanks, babe,” he says with a shit eating grin.

Aiden pats Lambert’s hand fondly, and it gives Lambert a warm feeling even as he rolls his eyes. Lambert unlocks the door, and they stumble out together. Aiden leans against him, still very much in Lambert’s personal space and with his hair a mess. “So. You want to do this again sometime?”

All Lambert can do is nod.

-

“Sometime” happens quite frequently over the next several months. After...years of not being in a relationship, and certainly not having regular sex, Lambert’s not complaing.

He brings Aiden lunch at the library occasionally, since he has to work weekends, and Aiden ends up at Lambert’s cooking meals for him more than once in a while. Geralt appreciates the variety, at any rate.

When Geralt met Aiden for the first time, Geralt did a double take, and Lambert still doesn’t know what that’s about, and he doesn’t think he wants to know, either. If Geralt has ever slept with Aiden, he...doesn’t know what he’ll do. Scream, at the very least.

They’re at Aiden’s tonight, and Lambert’s digging through his refrigerator. “Why the fuck do you have all this lettuce? You’d think you were the professional eater,” he gripes as he shoves no less than six heads of the lettuce out of the way to get to the milk.

Aiden snorts behind him. “You’d think, huh?”

Lambert’s distracted from the discovery by Aiden’s arms wrapping around his waist. Lambert turns around in the hold to put his arms around Aiden’s neck and tug him even closer. Aiden grinds his hips against him, but Lambert pushes him back a little. “We haven’t even eaten supper yet,” he chides.

Aiden sighs, a long, put upon thing. “I’m going to die of blue balls.”

“I think you’ll be just fine.”

“What’s next? You say you have a headache?” Aiden puts a hand over his forehead dramatically.

“No, I’ll just tell you to fuck off if I’m not interested. Don’t worry.”

Aiden leans in to bite at Lambert’s ear lobe, and Lambert shoves his face away. “Fuck off.”

“Aw, Lamb,” Aiden wheedles.

“Food, then sex. God, you’re insatiable.”

“Thank you.” Aiden looks entirely too pleased with himself, and Lambert rolls his eyes.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t, you love me,” Aiden says in a sing song voice.

Lambert groans, burying his face in his hands. “I never should have told you that.”

Aiden sobers for a moment. “I’m so glad you did. I love you, too.”

“Stop being such a sap and help me make supper.”

Aiden rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it; you’re allergic to feelings. I see how it is. You tell a man something once after the best blow job of your life and then just expect him to forget about it.”

“It was really nice,” Lambert admits.

“That would be because I am the number one wiener eater,” he says proudly.

Lambert shoves him. “Don’t be disgusting.”

Aiden just grins at him unabashedly, pulling the chef’s knife out of their drawer and brandishing it a little too familiarly for Lambert’s comfort. Lambert rolls his eyes. “Here, chop these for me.”

Aiden sets to work and within an hour, they have a comforting meal pulled together. Lambert portions the pasta out onto plates, and they make quick work of it, both of them having tiny portions. Lambert is mainly on semi solids and liquids in preparation for his next contest, and Aiden, he guesses, is being supportive. When they’re done, Aiden looks at his watch and stands up, yawning. “I’m going to have to take a rain check, if you’ll survive.”

Lambert rolls his eyes at him. “I think I’ll live. It was your idea, anyway.”

Aiden makes a face at him, but pulls him into a kiss anyway. “I have a few last minute prep things to do for tomorrow.”

“Like what? Do you need help?” Lambert asks, frowning, wondering if Aiden is making a celebratory cake for him, or something. That might be jumping the gun a bit.

“Hey, I can’t give away all of my secrets, can I?”

“I suppose not,” Lambert says, squinting at him.

“All right, well, I’ll see you then. We can ride together, okay?”

Lambert nods his assent as Aiden practically shoos him out the door. It’s still light outside, and this is possibly the first time he’s left Aiden’s apartment while the evening light has shined on him the whole time he’s known Aiden. He squints into the sun as he clambers into his car.

Well, whatever. He has stuff he should be doing, anyway. Eyes on the prize, he coaches himself as he pops in a few sticks of gum. He’s got this. He’s so, totally got this, and nothing is going to distract him from winning.

-

The next day finds Lambert frowning at his phone, as Aiden tells him something, speaking way too quickly. “Sorry, I know I said I would ride with you but Gunther is out sick and I’m going to have to work up until, like, the very last minute before the contest…”

“Well, you don’t have to come,” Lambert says, concerned that maybe expecting Aiden to attend is asking too much, especially when his work is short staffed.

Aiden just laughs. “I bet you’d just love that, huh?”

Lambert is a little puzzled on why Aiden would say that, and he’s trying to think of a reply when someone shouts something in the background of the call. “Hey, I have to go. Love you, bye!”

There’s the beep of a disconnected call, and Lambert brings the phone down from his ear to stare at it. That was… a little bizarre. Well, whatever. He can’t have anything distracting him now. There’s no way he’s going to lose two contests in a row, not after he had to wait months for the next one to come around.

Lambert drives to the contest, pointedly not noting how empty his passenger seat is without Aiden in it. He looks forward to spending time with him, so to have it cancelled always leaves him feeling melancholy.

He clenches his jaw and turns up the radio, his fingers tapping a frantic rhythm on the wheel.

By the time he arrives, anxiety is coiling in his gut and he’s already sweating. He sits in his car for a moment, blasting the air conditioning. If he loses again, is he officially a has been? He takes a deep breath as he gets out, walking up to the judges and turning in his paperwork.

He turns to look for Aiden in the crowd, but he doesn’t see him, so he must not be here yet. Lambert sighs as he searches the table lined with hot dogs for an empty seat, stopping when he sees—Aiden?

Lambert stares at Aiden with a slack jaw. “You’re—you—competing? What?”

“Lamb, what are you talking about? Are you okay? You don’t look so good.” Aiden pushes his chair back and hurries over to him, bringing a hand up to put on Lambert’s forehead, but Lambert swats him away.

“When did you sign up?” Lambert finally gets out.

Aiden squints. “Right after the last one? For real, are you alright?”

“The last one?” Lambert echoes.

“Yes. The last one. The one that I won?”

Lambert’s mouth flaps.

“That you won?” he practically screeches. He’s feeling a little dizzy.

“Did you get hit on the head?” Aiden asks, looking around nervously like he’s trying to find someone to ask for help. “Who do you think won that last contest, Lamb?”

Lambert sputters. “I don’t know; I was a little preoccupied!”

“Did you not look it up after? Oh my god, I thought you knew,” Aiden says in horror.

Lambert wants to cry, honestly. “It was you?”

“I felt bad when you were throwing up! You were puking and you didn’t even win! Sue me for being nice!”

Realization dawns on Lambert that this is why Geralt could barely contain his laughter after meeting Aiden. He did try to give him that newspaper clipping, after all. Surely it had a picture of the winner in it.

“Why did you think I was even there in the first place?” Aiden finally asks.

Lambert lets that settle over him for a moment. He still feels a little sick, but inexplicably he feels better, now that Aiden is in this with him. He pauses for a second of it. Now that he’s aware Aiden is in this with him. “Well, no one is allowed to beat me but you.”

“Deal. Hey, what did I tell you?”

Lambert groans. Aiden tells him lots of things, and his brain is not exactly cooperating with him at the moment. “I don’t know.”

Aiden nudges him with his elbow and gives him a meaningful raise of his eyebrow. “No, I think you do. Go on, don’t be afraid to admit it.”

What it must be pops into his head, and Lambert heaves a long suffering sigh, and he hopes it's one he’s going to be continuing to give for quite a while. “You’re the number one wiener eater.”

Aiden beams.

#the witcher #lambert #aiden #lambden #modern au #humor #contemplative writing

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Hi love!

Can I please beg for Tangled Geraskier?

Rapunzel Jask. You know I’m a sucker for angst so including the scene where he cuts her hair would slay me 💖💖💖💖💖

TYILYYYYY

Hello, Stina dear! Sorry this took me actual months to write, but it broke me out of my writer’s block and for that I am eternally grateful.

I chose several pieces of the Tangled narrative to write Geralt and Jaskier into... enjoy! 

2k-ish words (please leave me comments I’m so tired my dudes)

tw: blood, injury, major character (near) death, if you’ve seen Tangled you’ve seen this

---

“So,” Jaskier smiles playfully up at the thief sitting beside him. “Roger Eric, huh?”

Geralt rolls his eyes but Jaskier catches the flush that settles high on his companion’s cheekbones. “It was… It’s a long and boring story about a lot of sad little children that I’m sure you don’t want to hear on such a lovely evening.”

Jaskier scoots closer, until the sides of their arms are pressed too tightly together for even a slip of paper to slide between, and leans his weight against the thief. He bats his thick eyelashes and pouts his lip in a way that always seems to work with his Father. “C’mon, Geralt, please won’t you tell me? Just one little story? I told you about my magical hair, after all.”

“Hmm,” the thief glares dawn at the doe-eyed blonde for a moment before nervously clearing his throat. “Fine. I… I got the name Geralt of Rivia from a collection of short stories that I used to read the other boys at the orphanage in Kaedwen; they were all about this knight who was loyal and brave and courageous despite his hideous appearance. He was rejected by princesses and noble women but was beloved by the people. Having been born with white hair… well, a lot of the folks that came looking for children thought I was under a spell or curse so…. I wasn’t their first choice for adoption.”

“You and Geralt were a lot alike, then. Different. Special… Kind.”

“I wouldn’t say I was spe-”

Jaskier’s hand darts forward and his long, slender musician’s fingers grasp Geralt by the wrist. The fledgling bard clings onto his escort tightly, his large blue eyes suddenly brimming up with tears. “Don’t you dare say you aren’t special, Geralt Roger Eric whatever your surname really is. I’ll never forgive you if you spew such nonsense where my delicate ears can hear it.”

Geralt swallows thickly and glances away. Jaskier always looks so sweet and sincere; the features on his boyish face flicker in and out of focus as patterns of light thrown by their small campfire play across his pale skin. His gaze is intense, focused on Geralt and Geralt alone. The thief panics and asks: “What is it, Jaskier? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You saved me, you know. You saved me from those men back there at the inn, you saved me from being trapped in the tower all my life, you saved me from getting lost in the forest, you… you’re a good person, Geralt. Don’t let the world or the Captain of the Guard or anyone else change your mind, do you understand me? You are-” Jaskier’s hands scrabble frantically to grasp Geralt’s, as if the white-haired man might disappear entirely if Jaskier so much as loosens his grip “- you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me since I’ve been locked in that foul, awful tower!”

“Well I…” Geralt clears his throat again. He stands slowly, disentangling his hangs from Jaskier’s as he takes a slow step back. And then another. “I should go get more firewood.”

Despite the uneasiness in their parting, Jaskier smiles after him. 

The momentary spell cast by their closeness is only broken when Jaskier hears a familiar voice from just behind him: “Well, I thought he’d never leave!”

The blonde jumps up from his seat and spins on his heel to face the black-cloaked wizard. “Father? How… How did you find me?”

Stregobor wraps his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders and squeezes so tightly that it feels more like a threat than an embrace. “It was easy, I simply followed the sound of absolute betrayal.”

Jaskier flinches and tries to pull away but cannot yet escape. 

“I just brought you this,” his Father continues. He finally releases Jaskier and hands his son the worn leather satchel he’d found hidden in his tower. “If this Geralt creature really is the man you think him to be -and don’t deny it, little flower, I can read your thoughts- give this back to him and see how long he stays.”

“Father, I-”

“Goodbye, my child. See you soon, I’m sure. Just remember that Father knows best!”

And in a swirl of black smoke and confusion, Stregobor disappears.

---

“Why do you look so scared?” Geralt asks. He slows the small gondola he’s rented to a stop, turning it slightly more to the side so that they have a better vantage point to see the lanterns spread over the harbor from the city. Jaskier sighs deeply and shakes a stray flower petal away from his eyes, the enormous golden braid shifting ever-so-slightly against his shoulders.

“I’ve been looking out a window for eighteen years,” he says softly. Nervously. “What if… What if it’s not what I expected? I’m terrified to see what it all looks like up close because what if it doesn’t meet my expectations? What if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?”

“It will be,” Geralt replies without thinking. 

“And what if it is?” Jaskier queries, voice growing frantic. “What if it’s even more spectacular than I could have ever hoped? Then my dream will have been fulfilled and I’ll just… go back to the tower again.”

“You’ll just have to find a new dream, I guess,” Geralt offers. When Jaskier settles down into the boat a bit more comfortably and smiles shyly back at him, the thief knows he’s hit the right mark for once. Behind Geralt, the first lantern lights up the sky. Jaskier gasps and points, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement; Geralt is utterly enchanted by his easy beauty. The thief digs two paper lanterns out from beneath his seat and offers one to Jaskier, giddy when he grins even more excitedly than before. “I got this for you… I hope you like it.”

“Oh, I love it! And I have something for you, too.” Jaskier turns and pulls something from behind him. The bardling hands Geralt his very own satchel, which the thief briefly accepts and then drops to the floor without a second thought. The anxious blonde musician beams over at him more gloriously than the midday sun and then turns away, blushing a sweet shade of pink. “I should have given it to you earlier, but I was so scared… and now I’m not! I’m not scared anymore!”

“Good,” Geralt smiles back. He’s elated. It feels as if his heart is glowing twice as brightly as any of the lanterns floating past and around them. “That’s very good.”

I know what my dream is now, Jaskier. Now that you’re here by my side I never want to see you frown again. You don’t deserve to be hidden away in a tower where your art is stifled… even if you don’t want to love me back in that way, I’ll still protect you. I want to see how you see the world, Jaskier. I lo-

“Geralt! Look! That one has runes painted on it, what does it say!?”

---

Geralt pulls his daggers from his belt but before he can stab them into the craigy stone wall and begin his ascent, the familiar tresses of Jaskier’s long golden hair topple down to reach him. Thank fuck, he’s still alive. 

“Jaskier! I thought I’d never see you again!” he calls as he grabs hold of the thick blonde strands. 

The thief climbs quickly, his arms and legs nearly cramping with the effort to hurry back to Jaskier. As he hauls himself through the large window and into the tower proper, however, he’s met with a confusing and unsettling sight: Jaskier stands across the room, a cloth gag pulled tightly between his teeth, his hands manacled together behind him. A short length of spare chain attached to the manacles keeps the frightened, struggling blonde tethered against one of the building’s thick support beams. Someone had knocked down a mirror or vase during the previous fighting; shards of pottery and silver lie scattered across the floor, working as a weak barrier to keep Geralt away from the bound man. Jaskier screams out in warning as their eyes meet: “Ghmphh!”

If Jaskier is being held captive then who let his hair do-

Before Geralt can finish fully forming his question, a bright flash of pain arcs out from his side and sends him toppling to his knees. A wet, sticky heat begins to spread from a spot beneath his ribs and when he presses his hand against his shirt it comes way red. 

Oh. Oh, no...

He hears Stregobor’s voice addressing the sobbing blonde, “Now look what you’ve done, Jaskier.”

Geralt collapses to his knees and then falls to his side, curling up in the fetal position and clutching at the wound as if that will be any help at all. He knows he’s doomed, but there must be some way for him to help Jaskier… to save his… his love. 

“Don’t worry, little flower, our secret will die with your little thief, here, and then we’ll be safe again. Just the two of us.”

Jaskier keens loudly and the sharp, desperate sound of it makes something deep in Geralt’s heart ache. The younger man pulls and yanks against the chains that hold him in place, his bare feet slipping against the polished floor as he tries and fails to reach the wounded Geralt. 

Stregobor yanks at the lead, pulling Jaskier back harshly by the arms. The young musician’s shoulders burn with the strain of it but Jaskier pulls forward anyway, uncaring. He must save Geralt, he must. The wizard tugs him back again, more roughly, and the jarring movement loosens his gag. He spits it from his mouth and cries out: “Stregobor! Strego- Father, listen to me!”

The wizard pauses, his interest piqued by Jaskier’s use of the word Father given the circumstances. “Yes, child?”

“Father,” Jaskier pants, turning to look at the man who’d held him captive for eighteen years. The man who kidnapped him from his cradle and forced him to grow up without the love of his real parents. The man who had, mere moments ago, stabbed the love of Jaskier’s life with the full intention of killing him. “I want you to know that I won’t stop fighting you. Every moment of every day for the rest of my life will be spent trying to get away from you. I will scream and kick and struggle and yell and you will have to keep me caged away as a bird or a mouse to make me stay by your side unless-” Jaskier pauses to take a breath, his shoulders sagging as his gaze drops submissively to the floor between them “-unless you let me save this man. Let me save Geralt’s life and I will follow you all around the Continent without a single word of complaint. I will never attempt to run away or hide from you, not once. Everything will go back to being exactly like it was before, Father, I swear on his life.”

Stregobor considers for a moment. 

He nods. 

“Alright, then. Let’s be quick about it, little flower.”

He removes the shackles from Jaskier and clamps them tightly around Geralt’s wrists instead, securing him to the bannister at the foot of the stairs. To keep him from following us, he remarks offhandedly. 

Jaskier pads his way across the floor as quickly as he can in his bare feet and falls to the ground at Geralt’s side. He pulls the wounded thief against his side to steady him and gathers two heavy handfuls of his own long hair. “I’m so sorry! Everything is going to be okay now, Geralt, I swear it.”

Geralt shoves his hands away weakly, “No, Jaskier.”

“You have to trust me, Geralt, I-”

“I c-can’t let you d-do this,” Geralt grunts, teeth gritted against the pain. 

Jaskier stares down at him, tears already gathering at the corners of his sky-blue eyes. His voice trembles when he whispers, “And I can’t let you die. I won’t let you die.”

“But if you do th-this then you-” Geralt coughs and Jaskier wipes a trickle of blood away from the corner of the thief’s mouth “-you will die.”

“Shh,” Jaskier quiets him, dropping one fistfull of blonde tresses to cup Geralt’s face instead. “Everything will be alright.”

Geralt smiles sadly up at Jaskier, his decision already having been made. He lets the back of his knuckles ghost across the musician’s peach-soft cheek. Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and then open again, curious. “Jaskier, I…”

The thief uses the last of his strength to push up into a sitting position. The hand on Jaskier’s face slides back and gathers his hair at the back of his neck. Geralt’s other hand comes up, a shard of glass gripped tightly in his fist, and slices through the long blonde strands. He watches as Jaskier’s hair turns from radiant gold to chestnut brown. Geralt falls back with a short, sharp sound of agony, his vision already fading around the edges. The shard of mirror, dagger-sharp around the edges, clatters to the ground beside Jaskier. 

“No!” Stregobor screams, gathering up an armful of Jaskier’s still-blonde hair. The golden hue is already fading, shifting to match the short brown hair still fluffed around his head. The lost prince watches with wide, horrified eyes as the wizard trips over a loose floorboard and goes careening out the open window. 

More worrying than his kidnapper’s death, however, is the man lying in his arms, breathing shallowly. Jaskier gathers Geralt close, tucking the thief’s head against his neck and wrapping his arms around the older man’s broad shoulders. “No, no, no, no, Geralt. Stay with me, okay? Stay with me, right here.”

He grabbed at Geralt’s hand, holding it against the top of his head as he sang desperately. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back was once was mi-”

“Jaskier!” Geralt says, pulling his hand down to cup the prince’s face. He can feel his limbs growing cold and numb, distant from him and out of his control. “You… You were my new dream.”

Jaskier sobs, clinging to Geralt with all he’s worth. “And you were mine.”

Geralt manages to smile up into those beautiful blue eyes one last time. And then the world goes dark and his hand falls to the floor, limp.

---

Jaskier buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck and screams. He throws back his head and howls like a wounded animal, his heart shattering to pieces within the confines of his chest cavity. Then he quiets himself down, adjusts Geralt’s body on his lap, and finishes the song the way he’s been taught to do: “Heal what has been hurt, change the Fates’ design, save what has been lost… bring back what once was mine.”

A single tear falls from his eye and lands on Geralt’s cheek. A cheek that will never blush again, never turn up in a smile, never-

A faint yellow glow catches Jaskier’s vision, just from the corner of his eye. He turns his head to look at Geralt’s wound and gasps: the outline of a golden flower covers his abdomen, glowing so brightly that Jaskier must hide his eyes and turn away to keep from being blinded. When the glow fades enough that can safely look back again, Geralt’s wound is gone and the blood that was once staining his jerkin has disappeared. 

He leans over the white-haired thief with bated breath, waiting for a movement or a breath or something… anything. 

After a long moment, two honey-hazel eyes blink open. Geralt inhales quietly and then asks, with the sweetest smile Jaskier has ever seen in all his eighteen years of life, “Did I ever tell you I had a thing for brunettes?”

Jaskier squeals with glee and throws himself into Geralt’s waiting arms, pressing their eager mouths together for the first kiss of their Happily Ever After. 

#geraskier #geraskier tangled au #rapunzel jaskier #flynn ryder geralt #geraskier fluff #geraskier getting together #bouncey's endless au collection #protective geralt #soft geralt #geralt whump #tangled #blood mention #blood tw #injury tw #death but only for a minute #tangled au #goob prompt fills

[reveniemus]

8 or 21 or 31 for the hug prompts. love your new look 😉💖

thank you!! i am obsessed with this photoshoot 😭😭 also i hope you enjoy some angst i guess?? bc i write that now???

geraskier in angst major, no. 1

pairing: gen with lite!geraskier rating: teen warnings: implied torture, mild descriptions of injuries jaskier is not having a good time

on ao3

Never say never, his mother had always said, and yet, Jaskier had foolishly done just that. He thought he was never going to feel anything worse than the heartache of what happened on the mountain, and yet, this moment was a very strong contender. It was such an obvious thing too, and Jaskier knew if Geralt had been there, he would’ve tutted at him for being so oblivious to the fact that the men giving him the eye were not, in fact, looking for a one night tumble.

Then again, if Geralt had been there, Jaskier wouldn’t have been flouncing about in a crowded tavern in plain view of some Nilfgaardian soldiers out of uniform. He would’ve been curled up in a bedroll on the forest floor, eating rabbit or deer and scribbling in his notebook while Geralt sharpened his swords.

“Bard’s tougher than he looks, huh?” he hears one of the guards say after he’s taken yet another beating. “That’s the third one today and he’s still conscious, somehow.”

“Barely. I bet if he got another one today, he’d tell us everything,” his companion says, and Jaskier’s body involuntarily winces at the thought of another beating so soon to his last one.

“Think the captain will let us? It’s not like we’re getting anywhere with the other prisoners,” the first one says, and he must lean against the bars because the scraping sound of metal against metal rings in Jaskier’s ears.

“Most likely. We haven’t tried branding yet,” the second voice answers, the gleeful tone to his voice making Jaskier’s stomach curl. Thankfully, it sounds like they’re finally, finally walking away and Jaskier lets himself relax when the sounds of their conversation dissipate.

He takes a deep breath and even that small, miniscule amount of movement makes his body ache. Jaskier tries to remember the things Geralt used to say about managing pain. The first step was to take inventory of his body to figure out what was wrong. It’s hard to do on his side, so Jaskier shifts, his face scrunching up as he lays on his back. It isn’t comfortable and the movement makes his bones feel like they’re on fire. How is it possible to feel this much pain and survive?

Okay, he can do this. He can take inventory of his body, just like Geralt used to.

Deep breath.

Something aches on his calf, near his ankle. Twisting it shoots pain up his leg, and Jasker bites down on his bottom lip to stop from making a noise. He can’t let the soldiers know he’s conscious enough to make noise.

Deep breath.

There’s a cut on his right upper thigh. He doesn’t know when he acquired it. This last beating? The one before? It’s not actively bleeding anymore, which is good. He thinks it means they didn’t hit anything major.

Deep breath.

A stabbing pain shoots up his left arm. Fuck. He hopes it’s not a break, because the implications of it makes his heart ache. Then again, he doesn’t know when he’ll see his lute again, so maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Deep breath.

His abdomen feels heavy. Is this what internal bleeding feels like? He should’ve asked Geralt how to know if you’re bleeding internally. Jaskier thinks he’d be colder if he were bleeding internally, or number.

Deep breath.

Jaskier’s head is pounding — not enough to distract from the rest of his pain, but just enough that his thoughts are verging on disjointed. Geralt would yell at him for not being able to focus.

Deep breath.

That definitely means there’s a head injury though. Jaskier remembers when Geralt had fought two fiends and they’d knocked him around. He had insisted that Jaskier not let him sleep, that it would make a head injury worse. Jaskier isn’t sure what worse means when the main part of your body that keeps things running is already hurt, but he thinks it means he shouldn’t sleep.

Deep breath.

If he’s asleep, though, he won’t feel the pain of his injuries. Jaskier closes his eyes, knowing Geralt would hit him for genuinely contemplating falling asleep while he’s got a definitive head injury.

Deep — Jaskier is jolted out of his breathing routine by a loud clanging noise, followed by thumps and screams and the sound of running. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, grimacing with the motion, to peer past the bars of his cell.

He should move back, maybe hide in the shadows and hope that whoever is attacking the prison will leave him alone. If he can have time to heal, he can get out of here and find … who? Geralt made it very clear he didn’t want Jaskier around, and it wasn’t like Jaskier could go around and find his old acquaintances. Anyone who was associated with him could be in danger because of his association with the White Wolf.

Maybe he could turn this prison into his home after whoever is out there finishes off the Nilfgaardians. Jaskier lays back down, closing his eyes and taking deep, slow breaths as the noises of fighting seem to get closer. If he lies here, maybe they’ll think this cell is empty of viable prisoners and they’ll keep going.

“Fuck,” he hears a voice grunt before the door to his cell opens. The voice seems familiar, but Jaskier can feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness and his already-vaguely-disjointed thoughts connect even less and less. “Please don’t be dead,” the voice says, and Jaskier vaguely feels a warm body next to him. The immediacy of the movement makes him flinch, and he hears another curse from the voice.

Familiarity blooms inside him, and he winces. His mind is playing tricks on him, it seems, maybe the Nilfgaardians decided an illusion would be more useful than a branding. Jaskier tries to curl into himself, but the pain that courses through him makes him scream.

“Jaskier, please, don’t move,” the voice whispers, gruff and gentle, and Jaskier whimpers as a hand brushes back his hair.

“Please, I don’t know anything, I swear,” he pleads, fighting back tears.

“It’s okay, Jask, you’re safe,” the voice murmurs, and Jaskier whines. The illusion feels so real it makes his heart ache, reminds him of the moments he clung to when Geralt’s fingers would barely brush over his skin when they were making camp, or when Jaskier made a stupid decision that got him hurt.

Suddenly, Jaskier is being tugged up, and he’s shocked into looking up. His eyes widen when he sees a shock of long white hair and amber eyes, a soft whisper escaping his lips.

“Yes, it’s me. We have to keep moving,” Geralt says, and Jaskier feels arms on his waist as he somehow gets on his feet. “Can you stand?” he asks, his eyes glittering with concern in a way that makes Jaskier’s head spin.

“You’re here,” he whispers, leaning back a little as Geralt’s hand moves from his waist. It’s not far, he can feel the heat of it against the ragged remains of his chemise, and Jaskier feels more light headed than he has in weeks.

“Careful,” the witcher murmurs, catching Jaskier’s arm as he sways on the spot. “I’ve got you, Julek.” His arm wraps around Jaskier’s waist and he brings him closer.

Jaskier inhales Geralt’s scent, a mix of leather and horse that’s difficult to duplicate, much less recreate in an illusion, and ignoring the sharp ache in his lungs at the movement. He’s probably got a broken rib, he realizes, as he involuntarily leans into Geralt more. “You’re here,” he repeats, his eyes fluttering.

“I am, but don’t fall asleep on me yet. You’ve got a nasty head wound,” Geralt says, his voice gruff and stern and the familiar tendrils of it makes Jaskier’s heart warm.

“Y’know, even if this was a dream, it’s a nice dream. I hoped this would be my last,” Jaskier whispers, like it’s a secret, as he leans into Geralt, wrapping an arm around the witcher’s waist. He has no balance, so he feels the sway of his body as he tries to recalibrate his center of gravity.

“It’s not a dream, and it sure as hell won’t be your last one.” Geralt’s response is angry, almost aggressive, and Jaskier thinks maybe he’s far too out of it to be affected by that. “Yen’s outside with a portal waiting for me to get you out of here,” he continues, tightening his grip around Jaskier’s waist and moving out of the cell.

Jaskier makes a soft noise, burying his face in Geralt’s neck as the witcher half-carries him out of the keep. “You came for me,” he mumbles, voice slurring as darkness starts to take a hold of his consciousness.

“I always will,” Geralt whispers. Or maybe it’s just a part of Jaskier’s dream. “You’re not dreaming, Jaskier, and I need you to stay awake.”

Did he say that aloud? Oh. Did that mean he was definitely dreaming or definitely not? Jaskier is about to say something else, he thinks, but putting words together has become very difficult. What a useless wordsmith he is, isn’t he? Not able to put words together! What a sorry excuse of a bard.

“What’s he babbling about?” a sultry feminine voice asks, and Jaskier’s body jerks, the pain shooting from his possibly-twisted ankle as he tries to run off. “Bard, what are you doing? Has he been doing this the whole time?”

“Hm,” Geralt grunts, shifting to hoist Jaskier towards the shimmering portal that’s just outside of his fuzzy eyeline.

“Why didn’t you Axii him like one of your horses?” Yennefer asks, her voice coming closer as Jaskier’s arm lifts and loops over someone’s neck. A lilac and gooseberries someone.

Geralt lets out a grunt that, if he were in the right state of mind, Jaskier would be able to translate, but for now, he knows there’s an underlying layer of softness to it that he wants to hold close to his heart.

“Oh, you stupid witcher,” Yennefer mumbles before Jaskier feels chaos surrounding him. It’s the last thing he consciously notes for himself before his vision goes black and his mind goes empty.

#hello i tried a thing i hope it's okay #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #the witcher #witcher fic #geralt of rivia #a sprinkling of #yennefer of vengerberg #hurt/mild comfort #or as they say in the gallery #whump the bard #kali writes

[charmed-asylum]

RUMOR HAS IT

DARK STEVE ROGERS X OC MINI FIC

Reqested by  @sage1998c request: Hi I was wondering if you would please consider doing a dark Steve high school au story starting Kat Graham as the main oc/face claim. I would really appreciate it if you would think about it.  

WARNING: ALOT OF CRAZY SHIT!!! I never did a dark fic I am going to miss a few but let start with the basics NO ONE UNDER AGE OF 18 SHOULD READ THIS. BLACK MAIL/ SEX/ YANDRE/ RECORDING OF SEX WITHOUT SHARE AGRREEMENT/ ETC ETC

 SUMMERY: Life was perfect for American boy, aka Steve Rogers. Great friends, hot cheerleader girlfriend, love and adore by everyone. Everything was perfect till senior year when Angelina came around and an anonymous gossip column, Rumor Has It, threatening to expose everyone's dirty laundry. 

~ MASTERLIST~ 

SNEAK PEEK // Angelina OC 

TAGGED: @geralt-jaskier20 @hypersonicxd-blog @muralskins @readermia @muralskins@david-winters-93@alagalaska @SAGE1998C

Thick FOG COVERED Rear WINDOWS of his navy blue 1967 Chevy Camaro. A deep moan came from his mouth as he digs deeper into her wet centerfold. His colossal hand holds tighter to her tiny neck, trying to take all his thoughts else were. “OHHHH FU FUCK. HARDER,” Jane shout from behind his thick fingers. His eyes squeeze tighter; he was close still but so far. Think think think of something Peggy beast No. Jane wet means you sure hit new heights with her. She is enjoying it. He opens his ocean blue eyes and gazed back at Jane; her back was arched, moving closer to his cock. Trying to get more. Greedy bitch. 

He couldn’t wait until he was destroying her. By the end of her fifth orgasm (pushing her fourth ), she would know to never mess with him again. She ends this fuckin blog once together. Finally, end his bad luck streak. All this was messing with him mentally and psychically. Maybe after this, he can finally get in with Angelina. Fuck now; she was a piece of art. Body carve from god himself. He thought Peggy was an angel, his perfect dame, but then Angelina came back into his life. Right when he needed her. It’s been forever since he saw her. Just then, Jane let at whining cries for him. That and imagining it Angelina and her virgin pussy finally help him release. God, that’s it, he thought to himself. It has been happening a lot. Lately, he felt he was in love. He knows it even though he is young. No matter what it is, he was thinking about her. He can’t sleep, eat, think.

Whenever he had a chance to stop thinking of her, it’s about this FUCKING BLOG. RUMORS HAS IT. STUPID SHIT! It already got a few of his friends, and even though he is unstoppable invisible. His fears he was going to be next. That’s why Jane has to be the person behind it. No one else knows Thor secret besides him, Thor and his family, her, and that child’s family. So stupid. So Thor was involved in an accident and drunk and got a child in a fucking coma. With one peek at the camera, he stares back at the feedback, good he is still out of frame. 

Jane utters another whimper. Almost there, he thought to himself. Jane’s sparkling baby pink cat claw nails scratch deep into his pecks and across his ample shoulders. The sight of her nail polish reminds him of a dress Angelina once wear. The last time he saw her, matter of fact, was 12 years ago. She was only three years younger than her. He can taste the chunky chocolate chips that melted into the cookies. He can hear the playful voice she uses when she would pretend to play house. He was daddy, and she was mommy. No matter what he did, she always looked up at him like he was god-like. He was the only one who could ever make her feel safe. Even as a weak, pathetic boy like him. Maybe she was that high he felt once and had been trying to get ever since. He can remember like it was yesterday when they share their 1st kiss. She wanted it; she kisses him sweet dreams of a cloud 9 type of kiss. He would have relished that kiss if he had any common sense instead of screaming around like an idiot. He accidentally pushed her away and made her hurt herself. Even though he was the cause of that pain, it was him she looks at to save her. Make her feel better. Fuck, where did that pretty brown eye with pink tails in tutu little girl go? 

She turns into a fuckin unstoppable beast, a storm of everything that drove him crazy. Everything he saw was wrong with the world. Still, he wanted more. Man, he had to get Jane to understand she was messing up his chance to be with his little angel. God’s gift to him for what he has done what he has accomplished. 

“OH STEVEEEEEE” Jane shouted, her legs clenching tight around Steve waisted her mouth in the notch of her neck. Five 

“I told you I could make you come at least five times. Having the best sex you ever got, huh. Tell me I’m better no one can ever fuck you. Not even your stupid boyfriend, Thor,” Steve said breathlessly.

Jane nods and whimpers softly. It’s you. 

“A no. Doll, I need you to shout it louder for the camera,” he whispered into her ear.

So far into her sexual bliss high, she did not hear him say that but instead agree with him. 

He smiles, now holding the camera close to her wet fold. Jane lay back, eyes close, dazed. With a flash, her eyes peak open to see the phone filming her. She pushes up only to be pushed back down with one finger by Steve, still holding the camera. One hand holds down her arms above her head. A Pitch of Steve’s sweat drips onto her.

“Come on, Jane Baby. Say hi to the camera. Man, I made many sex tapes, but you are the first girl I made come without much effort. That is how much of a gold digger slut you are. Your boyfriend hasn’t even cleaned out his locker, but you are already begging to suck my cock. Tiss. Now now, what are we going to do, huh? One-click, and this goes quicker than one of your rumors. By the time you get out of this car, everyone will know what a dirty slut you are. No more Thor, no more ivy school options. The only thing you can do is give yourself to homeless people. Right, where you belong” Steve chuckle watching Jane cry, begging him to stop. 

“But why Jane baby, you were holding me with an iron fist singing my name to the high heavens. Haha, you bitch. It would be best if you had someone to teach you—the right way. Don’t worry; I do that. Mmm. Would you like me to show you the right way? Show you how to be a lady, not trashy dirty whore” He said, proceeding close, sniffing her dark locks. Could Angelina still smell like sweet sugar and honey? Wonder if she uses a different shampoo than whores like Jane or Peggy. I bet she sounds different too. 

“Please don’t. Do this I. I. I do anything. Please don’t post the video,” Jane said between each sob. Her tiny wrist was starting to burn from the tight grip. 

“Oh, no amount of tears or begging to go to stop me. No. You are going to shut up and listen to me bitch. One-stop your blogging, shut it down, and then redact it all. I don’t care what you say, but you end this shit. THEN you’re going to be Thor’s slave. Do whatever he wants behind closed doors, and in front, you will hold tight to his arm to every court hearing throughout the trials. I don’t care if you miss school; I look or hear you miss anything. I’m posting this gem here. Understand,” He said, tilting his head to the side.

“Bu Bu bu it was not me I not the person behind it. I promise I got mad at Thor yes, he was flirting with girls at all the games. But I promise Steve I never do that. But I admit it if that what you want me to do,” She said, crying with chubby tears. He looks deep into her eyes, trying to see if she was lying. Maybe she didn’t. She was like him in a way, using Thor to better herself. He loosens his hold but remains on top. He savors this for future use, but he won’t tell that. Yet. No, he was going to have a bit of fun with this one.

“Not enough. Huh, I guess that’s bye-bye to a bright future. Or else. You come here and show me just how much you want me to keep this little homemade video a secret. Huh. Make it quick. I got a date with destiny, or should I say, little angel. Remember, you use those pearly whites teeth, or don’t swallow all of it up. Bye-bye future, “Steve says with a huge grind and dark eyes darker the midnight sky. 

#dark marvel #dark fic #dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #dark steve x you #steve rogers #steve x you #chris evans x you #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x black!oc #Angelina oc #jane foster #captain america #marvel #rumor has it #dark marvel fic #mini fanfiction #request #dark steve

[nashibirne]

Painkiller - 1

This is part 1 of my second, longer Henry Cavill fic. Slow-burn-friends-to-lovers again, I just like this kind of story and I hope you're gonna like it too.

One important note: I'm a curvy woman myself and the last OFC I shipped with Henry was curvy too, so I decided the OFC in this story should be different. She's lean and without curves and I hope I portrayed her and her thoughts on her bodily features, that come up in later chapters, well. I know you very slim babes out there have body issues too and I hope you find yourself represented in this story. 

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC (Ella)

Summary: Henry meets a woman that he really likes right from the beginning, but it starts with pain...

Warnings: None, I guess. Smut in upcoming chapters but not yet

Unbeta'ed! English is not my first language so please be warned. 

Taglist: @hell1129-blog @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @lunedelorient @agniavateira @mis-lil-red

Next parts can be found here

Here we go....

*****

1

It started with pain for both of them. 

"Oooof." The punch came unexpected and hit her hard right under her eye, sharp pain radiating from her cheekbone through her skull, leaving her dizzy and disoriented for a moment. It felt like someone had sounded a gong inside her head. Loud and hard. She squeezed her eyes shut and raised her hands reflexively up to her face, throwing away the cup in her hand without thinking about it.

"Ouch..." The glass mug hit his back almost the same moment he heard the woman that was sitting behind him on a barstool wince in pain when his elbow met her cheekbone only centimeters below her eye. A hot liquid ran down his spine leaving a burning trace that hurt like hell. The mug fell to the floor beside his feet, surprisingly undamaged.

He turned around, his face red from the attempt to suppress the pain, facing the woman he had just accidentally hit.

"Oh shit... I'm so sorry. Are...are you okay?" He stammered, waving his hands about wildly, unsure whether to comfort her through a touch or to stay away from her.

She blinked several times before looking at him, her hurt eye was watering and the skin below it was dark red. She started rubbing the aching spot, still blinking continuously.

"Hey, are you alright?" he repeated with a troubled expression.

"Yeah...yeah. I'm fine I guess." She shook her head to get rid of the blur and tried a smile, clinging on to the edge of the bar.

"I'm so so sorry. It really was an accident. I didn't see you. I was gesticulating a little too wildly, talking to my friend over here." He turned around to introduce her to his set assistant Marc but he was nowhere to be seen. So no support was to be expected from this side. How the hell has he managed to vanish this fast, he wondered.

"You have an invisible friend you talk to at parties?" she said looking at him suspiciously.

"I swear he was there just a second ago..." Now his face was red from embarrassment rather than pain and he ran his hand over the burning area on his back unconsciously.

"Oh no...my Darjeeling." she looked at the big light brown spot, that was spread all over the back of his white shirt.  "I spilled my tea on you. That must burn like fire. I'm so sorry." Her eyes were wide with shock...well at least the one that hadn't involuntarily got to know his elbow.

"Oh no...no worries. I'm fine...hardly noticed it. What about your eye?"

"Well, I guess I'm going to have a very pretty shiner tomorrow."

He turned around to the Bartender. "Could we have some ice please?" The man took a look at her and started shoveling some ice cubes into a little plastic bag immediately. With a nod he gave it to her and she pressed it onto the bruise carefully.

"Sorry. Again." He gave her a sheepish smile. "Let me order you a new cup of tea, okay?"

"I'd prefer something harder now to be honest. A coke please." She grinned and gave him a wink with her good eye which instantly made him feel less guilty and much better.

"You're a real badass, huh? A big party and you drink tea first and now even a coke?" He gave her a cheeky smile. "Not as badass as you. You show up with the invisible man and beat up innocent, unsuspecting women." she answered quick-wittedly and then they simultaneously burst out laughing.

"I'm Henry, by the way." He said when they had calmed down, offering her his hand.

"Ella." she said, shaking it. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. Though the circumstances are suboptimal."

"Nevermind. Tomorrow I can tell all my friends Henry Cavill hit on me at a party and it won't even be a lie."

He laughed out loud.

"Damn...you've recognized me."

"Yeah...you should have worn the Clark Kent glasses." She replied with a grin. "Without them it wasn't too hard to figure it out. Plus this is the Witcher wrap party so I was kind of expecting to see you."

"Fair enough."

"Is your back really ok? The tea was boiling hot, I bet you have a heavy burn..."

"I'm good...you know...Man of Steel...tea can't hurt me." he grinned widely.

"Uh-huh...and I thought you might use one of Geralt's magic potions to ease the pain."

"Maybe we should use something like that on your cheek."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry. A black eye will match my badass personality perfectly." She removed the ice bag and touched the area below her lower lid with her fingertips, managing to give him a nonchalant smile.

"You're not part of the team, are you? I don't think I've ever seen you before. Are you here by yourself or with someone?" Henry tried to sound as casual as possible when in fact he was dying to know whether she was single or not.

"No, I'm here with a friend. He's part of the props master team and I helped him to find some special antiquarian books and maps. That's why he asked me to accompany him tonight. As a treat and as a thank you."

"And where is your friend?" Henry scanned the room for someone who was looking for her. Fuming with jealousy maybe. But there was no one.

"I don't have a clue. He went to find the restrooms a while ago..." she shrugged. "He promised to be back soon but maybe he ran into the cute waiter he was drooling over earlier and now they're making out in the storage room or something." Ella grinned, rolling her eyes.

"I see." Henry laughed, relieved that her friend apparently was a gay friend. "Well, then I regard it as my duty to keep you company till he returns."

"How very chivalrous." she raised her eyebrows, an amused smile playing on her lips. "But I think you're already off the hook. There he comes." She nodded at a tall, athletic looking man that approached them with a guilty look on his handsome face. He was in his late-twenties and looked like a member of a motorcycle club, dressed in leather trousers, a white t-shirt and heavy black biker boots. His arms were both completely covered with tattoos, nose and eyebrow were pierced and he had tunnels in both earlobes. He held a black leather jacket in one hand, running the other hand through his thick black hair. Henry recognized him immediately. He had been on set quite a few times and his co-star Freya had a huge crush on him, talking about him almost non-stop. 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." The guy said when he was in earshot, raising his hands defensively. "It wasn't my fault. I ran right into my boss and she insisted on having a drink with me."

"Only one?" Ella grinned at him. "You look a little tipsy."

"And you look fucked up. Shit, Elsie...what happened to your face?" He came closer, inspecting her eye, lightly touching the bruise, which made her flinch.

"He beat me up." Ella cocked her head, looking at Henry, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Accidentally!" Henry clarified hastily.

"How's that even possible?"

"It's complicated." Ella laughed. "I'll tell you later. You know each other?" She looked back and forth between them.

"Sure. You're Jackson, right?" Henry said with a big friendly smile.

"Um..yes. I am." The surprise was written all over Jackson's face. "And you are Henry Cavill and you know my name..."

"I saw you on set a few times and heard Fr...someone...call you by your name."

"Oh, wow...that's pretty dope." 

"Yeah...dope." Henry laughed. "Well... I'm gonna leave you to it then. I spotted my invisible friend over there and I really have a bone to pick with him." 

***

Henry just couldn't stop looking at her. He was standing on the other side of the room with Marc and some other members of the team, having a beer and some tiny bits of finger food. The others were chatting and laughing but he wasn't really able to follow their conversation. He rather watched Ella sitting at the bar, talking to Jackson, touching her bruise from time to time. To Henry's big relief she seemed to be alright but he still couldn't stop observing her. 

He probably wouldn't have noticed her under normal circumstances, sitting there all on her own, trying to stay in the background. She wasn't the kind of woman that turned everybody's heads when she entered a room. She was attractive for sure, but not in an eye-catching way. She had more of a girl-next-door aura than being a bomb-shell. More pretty than hot, more down-to-earth than extravagant, more being game for anything than drama queen and for all these reasons she was exactly Henry's type. 

She was quite tall, almost eye to eye with him, but then again she was wearing sky-high Louboutins. She wore her ebony-black hair in a cute pixie cut which matched her pretty face with the big green eyes perfectly. She was very lean but not skinny and though Henry normally prefered curvy women he liked her slim stature. It simply suited her really well. Just like the black pantsuit she wore, the tight trousers that showed off her long, well-formed legs and the short, waisted jacket that she wore open over a close-fitting red top that matched the soles of her shoes.

But what really captivated him was her personality. Henry liked the way she had handled that whole awkward situation. Instead of getting angry or behaving bitchy she had been so calm, understanding and humorous, so completely unpretentious, Henry was still impressed. She knew who he was but she didn't make a fuss about it. She could have easily tried to take advantage of the situation but she had not. She had simply treated him like an ordinary bloke and he appreciated that very much. Ella seemed to be a smart and interesting woman. A woman he wanted to learn more about, a woman who inspired his hunting instinct and at the same time there was something about her that made him feel insecure. Maybe because their first encounter was more of a meet-brute than a meet-cute and he was still embarrassed about it.

When he looked at her again he smirked, raising his glass a little. She laughed before she returned the smile.

*****

"He keeps on checking you out." Jackson said when he noticed the glances Henry gave Ella.

"He's not checking me out, Jax."

"So why does he look at you again and again?" 

"Maybe he's concerned I'm going to sue him for bodily harm." Ella grinned.

"I doubt that. I think he's into you."

"Oh come on...don't be silly. He's Henry Cavill and I'm...well, I'm...me."

"You seemed to get along very well when I watched you from afar."

"He was being polite, because he almost knocked me out."

"You laughed a lot." Jackson pointed out.

"Yeah, he's a funny guy. Very quick-witted."

"And handsome." 

"Oh yes. He's breathtaking. It should be illegal to be this attractive and nice." Ella sighed.

"Look! He's doing it again. He's glancing at you."

Ella turned to Henry's direction, locking eyes with him. When he raised his glass with a sexy smirk she laughed and smiled back.

"See?" Jackson asked triumphantly.

"Okay, okay. But I still think he's just being nice because he has a guilty conscience. If he was interested in me he would have asked for my number or something."

"Maybe he's a little shy." Jackson wasn't willing to give up that easily.

"Yeah...sure." Ella laughed giving her best friend a playful head slap. "Let's drop the topic, okay." 

"If you insist..." Jackson rolled his eyes.

"I do. Besides...I really have a bad headache. I can't think straight right now."

"Maybe a mild concussion. Let's call an Uber and get you home, Elsie. You have to rest."

"Yeah, maybe you're right."

****

When Henry realized that Ella and Jackson were about to leave the party he started to panic. If he let her go now he wouldn't see her again but he really wanted to. So he hastily made his way through the crowd, parting it with his body like Moses parted the Red Sea with his staff. He didn't know what exactly he was going to do or say but it shouldn't be that hard. A flirtatious line, a bright smile, ask for her number. Easy.

"Ella!" 

She turned around when she heard her name, surprised to see Henry, his gestures indicating to her that she should wait for him. She tugged at Jackson's shirt to make him wait too, nodding in Henry's direction. Her friend just raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

"Ella." Henry repeated when he reached her, almost tripping over his own feet.

"Yes?" she looked at him expectantly.

"I...um..." He gave her a lopsided smile. "I was wondering if you maybe want to give me your number so I can...um...check on you tomorrow. To make sure you're fine and...well..yeah...just in case your eye gets worse or something." 

That didn't come out half as smooth as planned. 

"Oh...yeah. Sure." Ella agreed without hesitation though she was pretty surprised. Surprised and happy that he wanted to stay in touch. Even if it was just to make sure she wasn't hurt badly. Henry gave her his phone and she typed in her number and her name, screwing up her eyes because her headache was killing her.

"Are you okay?" Henry placed a hand on her shoulder, a concerned look on his face.

"Yeah. I'm fine. It's just...my head hurts a little."

"Shit. This is all my fault. You might possibly have a concussion. I should take you to hospital. You need to see a doctor, Ella."

"No, it's okay. I just need a painkiller and a good night's sleep. My brother can take a look at me tomorrow, he's a paramedic."

"Really?" He didn't sound convinced.

"Really." She smiled at him, patting his hand that still rested on her shoulder, warm and soothing. Her touch made his body tingle in a way it hadn't tingled for a very long time.

"I'm gonna get her home and make sure she'll be fine." Jackson threw in. "I can stay the night, keep an eye on you, Elsie. Just in case, okay?"

"Okay." Ella agreed, turning to her friend with a grateful nod.

"Thanks, Jackson. That really makes me feel better." Henry was visibly relieved.

"Yeah, no biggie. And don't worry. I won't touch her. I would of course if I was straight  because she's really great. But I'm not and well...yeah...she's single by the way." Jackson blurted out.

"Jax!" Ella's cheeks turned deep red.

"That's...um...good to know." Henry grinned, blushing a little too.

****

tbc

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #cavillry #henry cavill fanfic #friends to lovers #friends to lovers fan fic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x ofc

[queenxxxsupreme]

Hi Love!

Can I ask for Lambert having soft spot on reader and actually taking care of her but still being asshole around her? And Eskel developing feelings for her, but feeling really bitter about her relation with Lambert. And one day wolves were drinking together and Lambert blurted out that reader may be interested in Eskel because she often talks about him and stares at him from afar.

A/N: This might have turned into a two part-er but I’m not sure, it just depends on how everyone likes/doesn’t like this, but anywho I did change this a bit because I wanted to keep Eskel’s feelings/reactions in character but I hope you like this! Also, I really enjoy making Lambert the reader’s wing man xD

***

You hummed softly as you brushed Scorpion’s coat. You had busied yourself all afternoon with tending to the animals in the stable at Kaer Morhen, wanting to help Eskel out and take some of the responsibility off of him. He was usually the one to tend to the animals after all. He claimed the goats- Lil Bleater especially -and he seemed to have an affinity for the few hens kept in the stable as well as the horses. Even Roach, who rarely let anyone aside from Geralt touch her, preferred Eskel’s company. 

“Hope you’re gonna brush out mine next.” Lambert spoke as he moved into the stable atop Champion, his horse. “Wouldn’t want ole Champ feeling left out, would you?”

“You can brush him while I finish up Scorpion’s mane.” 

“That’s not fair. You’re picking favorites.” He climbed down from Champion. He guided the horse down to the stable on the very end, peeking into Roach’s stable. “Roach didn’t even get brushed down!” 

“That’s because Roach is very picky about who brushes her. If Geralt was here, she’d be okay with me brushing her. But since he isn’t around, she wants nothing to do with me.” You glanced over to Roach’s stall. The mare was peering out of her stall, eyeing you. “She’s only giving me attention now because she knows I have carrot pieces in my pockets.”

“I swear, Geralt keeps picking meaner and meaner horses every time.” Lambert sighed, shaking his head. He approached you, holding his hand out. “Gimme one of those pieces of carrots for Champ.”

“Brush him down.” You said as you placed the chunk of carrot into the witcher’s palm. 

Lambert rolled his eyes. He moved back to Champ, patting the horse’s shoulder. 

“Sorry, boy. Guess it doesn’t surprise me Y/N doesn’t like you much.”

“Lambert.” 

“Her favorite is Scorpion. Big surprise, I know.” He muttered, unbuckling the saddle. 

“I don’t pick favorites!” You exclaimed, placing the brush and picked a different one up for Scorpion’s mane. 

“Sure you do! Why else would you spend all day out here in the stables of all places tending to a bunch of stinking animals and brushing down one horse?”

You glared at Lambert out of the corner of your eye. 

“Don’t worry, pipsqueak. Your secret is safe with me.” Lambert put the saddle over a couple bales of hay and turned to face you, a sly grin coming to his lips. “But oh, the stories these horses could tell if they talked.”

“Shut up, Lambert.”

“All the conversations we’ve had around them.” He snickered, pulling off the saddle blanket and throwing it over the wall to Champion’s stall. Lambert paused to think about the different conversations. He scrunched his nose up. “Like a couple of teenage girls.”

“Lambert!” You groaned.

“I’m just teasing you, kid.” Lamberet chuckled. He picked up the brush you had put down and began to brush off Champion.

“You’re a dick.”

“That’s why you love me.” 

The doors to the stable opened and in walked Eskel. 

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Lambert said. 

“Lambert. Y/N.”

You gave the dark haired witcher a timid smile, nodding your head once in acknowledgement. 

“Y/N here’s spent nearly all day in here with your mangy animals, Eskel.” Lambert told him. 

“They aren’t mangy.” Eskel sighed, moving towards Scorpion. The horse perked his ears up upon seeing Eskel. “Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate it. You’ve saved me quite a bit of work.”

“It was nothing, Eskel.” You shook your head with a smile. “I was already in here brushing my own horse down. Figured I’d help out.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“It was no bother.”

Eskel nodded, a little smile tugging at the scarred corner of his lips. 

“Thank you again.”

You meant to do the polite thing and say you’re welcome or no problem, but all you found yourself doing was smiling stupidly at him and somewhat nodding your head. 

Lambert let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. No wonder you hadn’t gotten anywhere with Eskel. 

“Come on, Y/N.”

You turned your head to watch the young wolf leave the stable. You excused yourself from Eskel and slipped out, following Lambert towards the keep. 

“That was fucking painful.”

“Wh-What was?” You looked over at him, brows furrowed together. 

“That back there. Were you not there? Did you not feel the awkward tension in the air? You stood there like an idiot.”

Your stomach twisted up into knots. You crossed your arms and diverted your gaze to the ground as you walked. 

“M’only telling you this ‘cause I don’t want you to make yourself look like a fool again. Especially not around someone you…. someone you’re interested in.” Lambert pushed the heavy door to the keep open with his shoulder. 

“I-I didn’t think you’d be wanting us to….” You trailed off, following behind him. “He’s your brother.”

“Don’t make this any weirder than it has to be, pipsqueak.”

You put your hand on Lambert’s arm, making him stop. 

“Thank you, Lambert. For everything. For helping me and for-for not letting me make too much of an idiot out of myself.”

He looked down at you, a little grin creeping on to his lips. 

“Don’t worry, kid. You manage to do that by yourself just fine.” He patted your arm. “Come on. I need your help in the kitchen getting dinner ready.”

***

Dinner had long since been over. You went to bed some time ago, favoring a good book underneath a warm blanket rather than staying up and drinking with the wolves. 

The three brothers sat around the dinner table drinking and making conversation. Well, Geralt and Lambert were making conversation. Eskel was too busy gazing at his tankard to join his brothers. 

“You’re being awfully quiet.” Lambert commented, glancing over to Eskel. 

“Just tired.”

“Sure, buddy.” The young wolf rolled his eyes. “You’ve been staring at your drink all night like it might get up and walk away.”

Eskel shifted in his seat, shrugging his broad shoulders. 

“Been thinking, I guess.”

“About what?”

Eskel said nothing.

“What’s he thinking about, Geralt?”

“Why are you asking me?” Geralt swirled the liquor in the bottom of his mug around. 

“‘Cause you can practically read his mind. You two have some sort of weird twin power thing going on.”

“Except we aren’t twins.” Eskel pointed out.

“Right, which makes it even more weird and freakish. So come on. You wanna talk about what’s bothering you or do you want a distraction? I’ve got a good idea for a distraction.”

“About Y/N.” Geralt hiccuped. Lambert furrowed his brow. Eskel stiffened up, sending the White Wolf a glare. “It’s just Lambert, Eskel.”

“What about Y/N?” Lambert asked, slumping his shoulders a little. Were his brothers not as fond of his guest as he thought? It was your first winter at Kaer Morhen so there were bound to be some rocky moments, but he thought you were getting along with everyone just fine. 

“Nothing, Lambert.” Eskel shook his head. He didn’t want to start any sort of conflict, especially so early on in the winter. It would be literal hell to have to go the entire winter fighting with Lambert. 

“Was there a problem with her brushing down the goats and your horse this morning? If there was, I can talk to her about it. I don’t want her stepping on anyone’s toes. I didn’t think it was a big deal but if it was then that was my bad, brother.”

“No, it’s not that.” Eskel shook his head. 

Lambert nodded, dropping his eyes to his drink. 

“Huh.” He thought out loud. If it wasn’t about what you had done earlier that morning, then why were you on his mind? “You know she likes you right?”

Eskel’s head shot up, yellow eyes immediately finding his little brother’s.

“What?”

Lambert thought about what had just happened, the reality of what he had just said setting in. He cursed and rubbed his eyes, pushing his mug of liquor away from himself before he could do anything else that was stupid. 

“Cat’s outta the bad now I guess.” He sighed. “Uh, yeah. She’s, uh, liked you for a bit.”

“Since when?”

“I don’t know. She’s talked about you from time to time since she met you in Cintra last year.”

A little smile tugged at the corners of Eskel’s lips. Beside him, Geralt wore a smug grin. 

“I told you.” The white haired witcher nudged Eskel with his elbow. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Lambert told me when he and Y/N first arrived.”

“So you both have known for the last three weeks and you haven’t said anything about it?” Eskel looked between his brothers.

“We wanted to see if you two could work it out yourselves.” Geralt explained. 

“But watching you interact is fucking painful.” Lambert leaned back in his seat, rubbing his face with his hands. “Like a fucking kick to the balls, I swear. Eskel, I thought you had more charm to you than that, brother! I’ve seen you win over plenty of ladies in taverns. Why is Y/n any different than them?”

Eskel held Lambert’s gaze for a few moments before looking back to his tankard. He brushed his thumb over the wood. 

“I…. I thought you and her…. I just assumed that with the way you two always interacted….” Eskel trailed off.

Lambert dry heaved, putting his hand on his chest. 

“Me and Y/N? Oh gods, I’m going to be sick.”

“It wasn’t very far off to think that, Lambert. I mean, I’ve seen her leave your room late at night on more than one occasion and even early in the mornings.” Eskel’s tone became a little more hostile as he spoke. The topic made him upset. He didn’t like to talk about it. 

“Eskel, you’ve got it all wrong.” Lambert shook his head. “Y/N sometimes…. sometimes she has trouble sleeping, so she just comes to my room so I can keep her company. She knows I don’t sleep either and she likes to be an annoying little pain in my ass. But that’s all she is. She’s…. She’s like a sister to me, Eskel. That’s all our relationship is.”

Eskel said nothing for a while. 

“You’re sure she likes me?” He asked quietly. 

“I’d never lie to you about that, brother.”

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite @you-fxcking-wish-bish @thanks-bruh-for-nothing @maan2442 @thegaydeath @creatingstuffinpeace @wellthisstinks @andyrazzledazzle @ameliasmistake @winterwolf @caraqas @bluscryn @thefirelordm @y-napotat @henrycavillbesty

#eskel x reader #eskel x reader fluff #eskel witcher #the witcher #lambert #lambert witcher #big brother!lambert #wingman!lambert #kacey answers #the witcher netflix #the wild hunt #the witcher 3 #twh

[tillthelandslide]

A Distracting Kiss

Request from the kind @pixie1484 : “Hey there.I would love if you could write a medical fanfic where Henry is sick and needs to take injections but is really scared and is a big baby when it comes to needles..Thanks a bunch💕”. I really hope you enjoy you, thank you for being so patient with me, sorry it took a while. 

Authors Note: Hope you enjoy this fluffy piece, we wanted to include Henry’s lovely bottom haha - L 

Tag list : @harrysthiccthighss @thereisa8ella @magdelen69 @henrythickcavill @hc-geralt-23 @kissthatlifeaway @darkbooksarwin @august-w-princess @speakerforthedead0 @pixie1484 @constip8merm8 @tigerbroadwaybaby @agniavateira @summersong69 @aestheticallywinchester @stephartrave @al-wiisa @henrycavillfanpage @intenselikes @anat2507 @ellixthea @aguspalazzo @1ookatthestars00 @wintersoldierslut @michelehansel @cavill-sass @thecavillstache @xelizabethvalentinex

(if you would like to be added to my tag list, feel free to message me, if you are new to my blog then I post Henry Cavill fanfics and make Henry Cavill fake Instagram posts, my requests are open so feel free to request anything  and I will try my best to make your vision come to life)   

Today was the day Henry would be getting his injections. He had texted you and begged you to come along with him, he was beyond nervous and it made you giggle. You couldn't understand how your best friend, the strongest, biggest, bravest person you knew, a man who performs dangerous stunts and fight sequences, was so afraid of a few injections. You kind of loved that he was nervous, not in a horrible way but it meant you could be there for him in a way no one else could. You and Henry hadn't known each other that long, you met him in the set of the Witcher where you worked and had hit it off immediately. Your friendship was very flirty and to those who didn't know you, well they would've guessed you were a couple. You remember attending the wrap party for the witcher and Henry had been attached to you, constantly holding your hand, or placing his hand on your waist, even pulling you to sit on his lap when he had had a few drinks. You didn't mind the dynamic of your relationship, but there was this unspoken tension between you, one in which drew you together, you were in love with him but never knew he felt the same.

You arrived at Henry's house and let yourself in with a spare key he had given you. You closed the door behind you as Kal ran up to you, you knelt down and pet him on the head, your fingers massaging behind his ears.

"Where's your daddy, big guy?" you said, making Kal pant happily at you.

"Henry?" you called out, placing your keys down on a table near Henry's door. You heard him grunt from the living room so walked there, Kal following closely behind you. You were met with Henry pacing back and forth, his index finger and thumb pulling at his bottom lip. You walked up to him and wrapped your small hand around his, making him stop pulling his lip.

"Hi." you said, moving his hand which was now in yours away from him.

"Hey" he grunted. He got like this when he was nervous, moody and brooding.

"Hen. Calm down it's going to be fine" you said, walking to sit on his sofa, you had some time before you needed to drive him to his appointment. Kal jumped up on the sofa, sprawling himself out across your lap, pouting up at his dad nervously.

"Henry Cavill, please sit down. Cmon your making Kal nervous" you said sternly, making him look down at Kal and pout.

"I'm sorry buddy" he said, stroking his head.

"Come here" you said, moving your legs further apart and gesturing for him to sit on the floor in between your legs. He did as he was told, his back facing you. Your hands rested against his shoulder, gently massaging them to try relieve some of the stress. You could feel Henry's shoulders drop as soon as you started massaging them, you could sense that he had calmed down just a little bit.

"Now listen to me okay? You're going to be fine, I'll be there the whole time, you can hold my hand if you want.

"Hmm. It's going to hurt isn't it?" he said, looking at you over his shoulder, he groaned when you loosened a particularly hard knot in his shoulder.

"It feels like barely a scratch" you said trying to reassure him. You could tell it hadn't worked because his lip was being chewed by his teeth.

"Henry you're going to bruise yourself" you said referring to his incessant chewing.

"Hmm" he said not listening to you, you leant forward over his shoulder, and did the first thing that came to your mind, which in this case was to place a kiss against his cheek, very close to his mouth. He stopped chewing his lip instantly, making you smile triumphantly. You stood up, offering him your hand which he took and you helped pull him up, his hands came to rest on your hips almost instinctively, yours resting on his shoulders.

"You'll be fine" you repeated, making him nod, although it was half-hearted. He pulled you against him, wrapping himself around you in a hug. You loved this vulnerable side of Henry and loved that he rarely showed it to many people, naming you feel special. One of your hands moved to the back of his, playing with the hairs there to try soothe him.

"We gotta go" you said, making the both of you pull away. You grabbed his hand, leading him to the door, you picked up your keys. You left Henry by the door, sorting out Kal as he was too preoccupied to do so. You looked down at Kal and spoke to him.

"We'll be back soon okay? Be good, you've got water and food and the back door is open slightly so you can do your business. We won't be long" you said, stroking his head, he soon huffed and walked away making you chuckle, he really didn't care that you were leaving. You looked back at Henry who was staring at his feet, his bottom lip back in between his teeth. Your small hand resting against his face, pulling him from his thoughts as you looked up at him, sympathy written across your face.

"Ready?" you said, your hand dropping to grasp his. He nodded and you opened the door, closing it and leading Henry to your car. You drove to the appointment, telling Henry to take a seat whilst you spoke to the receptionist. You were called in shortly after and Henry was told to sit down on the examination table.

"He's really nervous huh?" the doctor said to you, making you nod. This was Henry's doctor so he knew him well but he had never seen him this nervous before and he commented on it to you.

"It's just going to feel like a little scratch" the nurse said, making Henry nod, she began to prepare the injections and you stood next to Henry, him immediately grasping your hand.

"Why is the needle so long?" he said, you could feel him beginning to shake.

"It's okay, it's okay. Y’know I wouldn't let you do anything that would seriously hurt you, right?" you said, making him nod as the nurse came back over, she began to find his vein on his arm and he looked at you, you had never seen him look so worried.

"I'm going to administer the injection now okay? You'll feel a short scratch and that's it" the nurse said, Henry didn't reply so she didn't start yet. Henry was just looking at you and he was shaking so much, an idea came to mind so you nodded at the nurse. The needle was placed against his arm and as she was about to inject it, your fingers grasped his chin and you pushed your lips gently against his. He moved his lips against yours, completely forgetting about the injection.

"There's the first one done." the nurse said, placing some cotton wool on his arm and smirking at you. Henry looked between you and the nurse, dumbfounded, he didn't feel a thing, probably too distracted by your lips against his.

The whole time the doctor was preparing another injection, Henry's manager who had organised this had also informed them that he needed an anti-sickness injection as he was going to be doing a lot of travelling.

"So we've also been informed you need an anti-sickness injection, now this injection requires me and the nurse here. It has to be administered through the glutes, it will hurt a tiny bit more than the one in your arm and you will feel a numbness for a few hours after" the doctor said calmly, you could tell Henry was still a bit nervous but you think the kiss that happened was distracting him enough so he didn't get too worked up.

"Due us both needed to help, you can't be by his side unfortunately, you can take a seat here" the said kindly to you making you smile.

"That's fine" you smiled back, going to move away from Henry, who didn't let you and squeezed your hand harder.

"I'm just going to be sitting right here" you said, the chair was placed a tiny bit further away from him but he'd still be able to see you. He nodded and let you go. The doctor instructed him to lie down on the bed and pull his trousers down which he did and he then began inserting the injection. Henry's face pinched up slightly and you could tell he was uncomfortable, he wasn't in pain however which was good.

You tried to make him more comfortable by making a joke "Nice bum" you joked, making him chuckle (and the doctor and nurse too).

"There we go, all done" the doctor said, finishing up the injection.

"Now as I said, your glutes will feel a little bit numb for a while and may feel achy tomorrow but that feeling should go away in a day or 2. Same goes for your arm. If you have any problems like bruising or bleeding, come and see me" he said as Henry got ready, sitting up from the table.

"Thanks doc" Henry said, back to his usual self, shaking his hand.

"Thank you." you said, shaking his hand too.

"Might need your help to calm a few other patients." he said, making you laugh.

You drove Henry home, opening the door for him and smirking at him as you both walked inside.

"What?" he said, laughing to himself at how ridiculous he was behaving.

"Nothing" you shrugged, still laughing to yourself. You walked to the kitchen pulling out two glasses and filling them with water, walking back to his living room and sitting next to him on the sofa, passing him a glass.

He raised his eyebrows at you as he took a sip.

"Never known you to be such a big baby" you teased, nudging his shoulder.

"Hey that's mean" he said, pouting.

"I'm only joking. I like vulnerable Henry" you said smiling at him.

"Don't get used to it" he said, smiling and taking a sip from his water, leaning forward to place his drink down. He groaned as he did so.

"Man, my butt really aches" he said, making you check out his butt.

"Did you just check out my butt?" he said, making you giggle.

"It's a nice butt" you shrugged, not caring that you were being so open.

"Thank you and thanks for everything you did today. Nice trick by the way" he said and you presumed he was talking about the kiss.

"Anytime" you said, jokingly winking at him.

"Might have to take you up on the offer" he said, leaning in slightly.

"More than welcome to" you said, leaning in slightly too. Henry pushed forward a tiny bit more, pressing his lips against you lightly. His bottom lips felt slightly chapped, probably from how much he had been chewing it, but you didn't mind, his lips felt good against yours. It was just a sweet kiss but it was nice. Henry pulled away, pulling you into a hug, your head resting against his chest.

"You should know you're special to me yn. Not many people get to see me the way you saw me today" he said seriously.

"You mean to tell me that you don't act like a big baby to everyone" you said, making him laugh sarcastically.

"I'm serious though." he said, looking down at you.

"I know" you said, smiling sweetly up at him "I appreciate you being like that with me" you said, leaning up to place another sweet kiss against his lips.

All you knew in that moment was, you and Henry hadn't defined what you are, but you knew you were something to him, after all many people get to so the vulnerable Henry, or his nice butt for a matter of fact.

#henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill imagines #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill and kal #henry cavill angst #henry cavill headcanon #Henry cavill requests #henry cavill fake instagram #henry cavill fics #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill superman #august walker #august walker smut #august walker imagine #henry cavill au meme

[havenoffandoms]

Just Fine (Aiden/Lambert)

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses Prompt List

Read on Ao3

Prompt:  “Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.”

Summary: 

Today is the day. Lambert knows he should feel more excited at the thought of his boyfriend returning home, to the safety of Lambert’s embrace, but he can’t help the anxiety building inside him and twisting his stomach in a way he doesn’t care for in the least.

Lambert knows that he should be excited, but the sentiment is tarnished by his crippling anxiety, and he feels like the worst boyfriend in the world.

Warnings: mention of amputation, modern AU

“So, today’s the day, huh?” Eskel smirks as he watches Lambert positively vibrating with excitement where he’s sat on a chair opposite Eskel. The coffee shop is mostly empty, save for another couple in the corner exchanging kisses and giggling carelessly as they rejoice in their puppy love. Lambert chose this place because it’s closest to the airport, but admittedly the place isn’t half-bad and the coffee doesn’t taste like piss.

“Stop that, it’s creepy,” Lambert grouses as he stuffs another forkful of chocolate cake into his mouth. When he notices Eskel’s confused frown, Lambert rolls his eyes and adds pointedly, “you, being all excited on my behalf. That’s unnatural. Stop it.”

“Whatever.” Eskel takes a sip of his tea - because Eskel is the kind of person who likes to drink tea for fun - before levelling Lambert with a look that the latter knows all too well. “You’re allowed to be excited about his return, you know? It’s been a year since he-”

“I know,” Lambert quickly interrupts before Eskel has a chance to finish his sentence, “I am excited.”

“Tell your face, then.”

“Shut up, prick.”

“It’s gonna be fine, Lambert.” Eskel reaches across the table to squeeze Lambert’s clammy hand. “I know you’re worried because of his injury, but you’ll both figure it out together. You don’t love him any less for it, right?”

“Of course not,” Lambert snaps in response as he snatches his hand away, angry at the mere suggestion that his feelings for Aiden would disappear for something as superficial as a physical injury, “of course I don’t love him any less for it. It’s just…”

Eskel doesn’t press him, and Lambert is grateful for that. Truth be told, he’s not entirely sure why he feels so anxious at the thought of seeing Aiden again. It’s been a long year without his boyfriend there to warm his bed and his life. Aiden is the life of Lambert’s entire life, and a year without him felt like the longest time. A whole year went by since Aiden was deployed and has been fighting overseas, taking part in a war that has lost all meaning. He missed birthdays, holidays spent with family around a hearty meal, milestone anniversaries... A year of Lambert staying up late at night, calling Aiden whenever his connection permitted it or writing letters to send his boyfriend when speaking to him proved too difficult. A year of Lambert switching the TV or radio on every morning before heading to work, listening for the announcements and hoping he wouldn’t hear Aiden’s name listed among the soldiers that perished as part of this senseless war.

Just over a week ago, Aiden called Lambert from a military hospital overseas a short two days after he was involved in an explosion that cost the lives of hundreds of civilians and soldiers alike. While Aiden survived the blast, he sustained a considerable injury to his leg. The doctors couldn’t save it, Aiden told Lambert over the phone, the leg had to come off. Lambert remembered crying on the phone that night, not because he mourned the loss of Aiden’s leg - they were tears of relief because Aiden came this close to dying in the blast that killed so many people. Lambert came this close to losing the most important person in his life. Come home, baby, Lambert remembered begging Aiden over the phone, I need you to come home. Today is the day. Lambert knows he should feel more excited at the thought of his boyfriend returning home, to the safety of Lambert’s embrace, but he can’t help the anxiety building inside him and twisting his stomach in a way he doesn’t care for in the least. As a result of the injury he suffered, Aiden had to retire from the military early. While Lambert was happy to have his boyfriend return to him, he knew that Aiden struggled with the thought of retiring at the prime of his career. Not only is he out of a job, but his job prospects are not looking too bright, either. Aiden will have to spend time in physiotherapy, physical rehabilitation courses, counselling… Lambert knows the next months will be tough on his boyfriend.

Lambert knows that he should be excited, but the sentiment is tarnished by his crippling anxiety, and he feels like the worst boyfriend in the world.

“It’s gonna be just fine, Lamb.” Eskel sounds so sure, so confident, that Lambert is almost inclined to believe him. “I promise, brother. You and Aiden will be just fine.”

“I hope you’re right, Kel.”

The drive to the airport is longer than Lambert remembers it being. The car is filled with the sound of heavy rock and heavy metal, the loud emphatic beats and distorted guitar solos washing over Lambert in calming waves. His brothers call him weird for finding this kind of music ‘soothing’, but it works for him, so his brothers can kiss his ass. The sun is beating down on the world below, forcing Lambert to crank up the A/C in the car. He drives along miles of barbed wire, “KEEP OUT” signs and parked aircraft. Lambert checks the time on his dashboard and realises that he’s a whole half an hour early. It isn’t exactly unheard of for soldiers’ families to arrive early and prepare for their loved one’s arrival - either by setting up signs, powdering their noses or getting the children to practice a welcome home song to celebrate their parents’ triumphant return. Lambert usually just waits in the shadows until Aiden comes into view, at which point he pulls his boyfriend close to him so they can get reacquainted away from prying eyes.

Lambert pulls into the airport multistorey parking complex, and thankfully he doesn’t have to spend ages looking for a parking space. As he pulls up into a tight space, Lambert’s heart sinks in his chest. Aiden will probably be travelling in a wheelchair - and he will be using one for a while, at least until he gets his prosthetic leg fitted. There’s no way in hell that Aiden will be able to comfortably step into the car if Lambert stays parked in this spot, but what other choice does he have? He doesn’t have a disabled parking permit yet, but Lambert guesses that’s something they’ll have to think about now. Until then, all he can do is park further away from the door and hope that no one will use the bay next to the passenger side so Aiden has enough space to move comfortably. So that’s precisely what he does. Shit, is Lambert overthinking this? Is he looking for problems where there are none? The last thing he wants is to tiptoe around Aiden’s disability. The last thing he wants is to make Aiden feel like things have changed because he lost his leg.

Shit. Why is he crying now? He should be excited, goddammit.

Lambert angrily wipes the tears and steps out of the car. They’ll be just fine, that’s what Eskel said. Eskel sounded so confident, so sure of himself, but hell, what if he’s wrong? What if Aiden leaves Lambert? What if Aiden pushes Lambert away? It was probably a mistake to read up all those army wives’ blogs and the nightmarish stories about husbands shutting down and falling into depression after sustaining a serious injury. Shit, what if Lambert isn’t good enough? What if Aiden thinks that Lambert is a lousy boyfriend who can’t take well enough care of him?

Deep breaths, Lambert. In, out. In, out. In-

Shit, why are there so many people in this fucking airport? Lambert stands in his usual corner, shying away from the crowds, averting everyone’s eyes as he stares at his phone. He shoots his brothers a text in their group chat - Have I ever told u guys how much I h8 crowds? - hoping that they will understand and distract him from the panic welling up in his chest. As he waits for an answer from either Geralt or Eskel, Lambert switches to his Facebook app and scrolls through his feed. He doesn’t have to wait long until the group chat pings with Geralt’s response.

G: You’ve mentioned it once or twice… or 100

Lambert snorts as he shoots a sassy comeback.

So mentioning it 1 more time won’t hurt. I fucking h8 goddamn crowds.

A quick glance at the arrivals screen tells Lambert that Aiden’s plane landed a few short minutes ago. Not long before they are reunited and able to hug it out in the middle of the airport. At this point, Lambert doesn’t give a shit anymore about what other people think of them. He almost lost Aiden, so he will go on his knees and hug him, wheelchair be damned. Lambert looks around him and sees many families and loved ones itching to welcome the soldiers back. Some of them brought flowers, or the puppy they bought last week as a welcome-home present, and even newborn babies. Lambert wonders if he should have bought Aiden a gift to commemorate the beginning of his retirement. He feels like that would be in bad taste considering Aiden’s feelings on the matter.

The first soldiers start to filter through the door, eyes scanning the room and lighting up when they land on familiar faces. Many people cry tears of joy and relief, others manage to keep a modicum of composure, and some even let out shrill cries of joy as they are finally reunited with the people they love and cherish the most. There is still no sight of Aiden and part of Lambert worries that something happened to him in the week it took the military to organise his repatriation. Feeling the panic well up in him again, Lambert pulls out his phone and opens the group chat window. L: What if he doesn’t come back?

It doesn’t take long for his phone to vibrate with Eskel’s response.

E: As if he’d pass up an opportunity to come back to his pain in the ass boyfriend.

L: Ass.

G: He’ll come back, Lamb. He’ll come back and he’s not leaving again.

Lambert takes a deep breath as he lets these words run through his mind. Aiden is coming back. He’s coming back. He’s-

“Why, hello there,” a familiar voice breaks through the storm raging in Lambert’s head, “come here often?”

Aiden looks so… so like himself. He’s sporting that familiar cocksure grin and his eyes shimmer with all the emotions he can’t bring himself to voice. His voice sounds so self-assured, even though Lambert knows he’s only a breath away from losing it and crying tears of relief. His hair is slightly longer and Lambert can make out the familiar dark curls he loves so much. Aiden looks so much like his old self that Lambert forgets, for a short minute, that he’s missing the lower half of his left leg entirely.

“Aiden. You’re here.”

“No place I’d rather be.”

Lambert doesn’t feel himself fall to his knees until they hit the solid surface of the airport floor, cracking in protest at the impact. He lunges forward and wraps his arms around Aiden’s middle, squeezing tightly and burying his face in his boyfriend’s stomach. He’s unable to bite back the tears this time, and if Aiden notices that the soft material of his t-shirt is soaked right through, he doesn’t draw attention to it. Instead, he cards his fingers through Lambert’s short hair, softly shushing him and whispering heartfelt reassurances in the air pocket between them.

“I’m here, baby,” Aiden tells him over and over, “I’m back. I’m here, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I missed you,” Lambert hears himself say, “I missed you. I was so scared, Aiden, you don’t understand-”

“I’m here, Lamb. I’m here. You don’t have to be scared, anymore.”

They’ve got so much shit to figure out, Lambert knows. They need to think about all the adjustments they need to make to their lives, all the paperwork they’ll have to fill out, therapy sessions they have to book and medical insurance they need to update. All these things that terrified Lambert a few hours earlier, all these plans that made panic well in him and want to run for the hills… all these worries weighing him down disappear the second Lambert feels Aiden’s arms around him, squeezing him, comforting him.

“I’m not scared,” Lambert assures Aiden, pulling back and straightening up so he can place a soft kiss on Aiden’s lips. They still feel the same against his own, they still taste the same, too. Nothing has changed. Aiden is still Aiden. “Not anymore.”

“Anymore?” There’s a teasing edge in Aiden’s voice, a mocking grin tugging at his lips. “Ah, kitten. You don’t have to worry about a thing. I gotcha. Now shut up and kiss me again.”

Lambert happily obliges Aiden’s request. Their lips slot against each other like they didn’t just spend a year apart. Their kiss is tender and soft at first, but Lambert is quick to deepen it by licking Aiden’s bottom lip. Neither of them cares about the potential eyes on him - nobody is likely to pay attention to them, not when they’re all lost in the joy of being reunited with their own family members. Lambert breaks the kiss briefly to whisper a soft ‘I love you’ to Aiden. His cheeks turn red as he speaks those three words which still feel too intimate to be loudly proclaimed in public, even after all these years. Aiden steals another kiss before reciprocating the sentiment, his breath ghosting over Lambert’s lips and sending a peasant shiver coursing through his body.

They have lots of shit to figure out, but Aiden is here and he’s not going anywhere. Aiden is here, and neither of them has to deal with the situation on their own. They’ll be just fine. Everything will be just fine.

#the witcher #lambert #lambert the witcher #the witcher lambert #aiden #aiden the witcher #the witcher aiden #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #lambert x aiden #aiden x lambert #lambert/aiden #aiden/lambert #lambden #laiden #modern AU #havenwrites

[partialresonance]

Hi! You asked for Geraskier prompts. What about some fluff? Jaskier heard that Witchers can’t blush so he tries to make Geralt blush by complementing him ?

Yay, thank you for the prompt!! This was so much fun to write. :D

CW: mild innuendo, reference to beheading?? Otherwise it’s pretty tame. ~1.6k of fluff coming right up!

Jaskier is eighteen, and Geralt is quite the most interesting man he’s ever met.

Of course, he’s handsome too, which doesn’t hurt. But for the moment Jaskier is mostly concerned with the fact that he’s a witcher. Jaskier has heard countless rumors and tales about witchers but he never imagined he would have the chance to actually meet one. He can’t pass up the chance to confirm the truth of what he’s heard, straight from the source.

“Geralt, is it true that witchers can see through walls?”

Even though Jaskier has to jog to keep up with Roach and is only treated to a view of the man’s broad backside, he can hear the eye-roll in Geralt’s dry response:

“No.”

“Well that’s a shame. I imagine brothels would be quite interesting places if you could.” Jaskier’s lute bangs against the back of his thighs, and he hoists the strap higher on his shoulder. “Speaking of which, is it true that witchers have—ah, how to put this delicately—inhuman stamina?”

“I can outrun you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Geralt shrugs, and Jaskier puts his hands on his hips, his mouth twitching into a pout.

“You’re no fun at all, Witcher.”

What he won’t ask is if it’s true that witchers don’t have feelings. Jaskier had banished the idea as rubbish from the first, when he’d gone up to Geralt in that tavern in Posada and found him brooding. One cannot brood without feeling.

“Is it true that witchers can smell fear?”

At that, there is a telling pause.

“Yes.”

“Huh. That’s interesting. Can’t imagine how that’s useful though. I’ve always found it quite easy to tell when someone’s afraid, they go all bug-eyed and their hands start to shake and they stutter a lot.” 

“You’d be surprised.” Roach flicks her tail, narrowly missing Jaskier’s face. He dodges to the side, stumbling a bit on the dirt path. “Some people are good at hiding it.”

Jaskier shrugs, uninterested.

“Hmm, what else. What else,” he taps his chin, trying to dredge up the other rumors he’s heard.

“If you can’t think of anything else we could walk in silence,” Geralt says hopefully. Jaskier laughs, shaking his head. The very idea.

“Oh! I’ve got one.” He picks up his pace, jogging forward until he’s far enough ahead of Roach that he can turn and walk backwards, keeping ahead long enough to see Geralt’s expression. “Is it true that witchers can’t blush?”

“Where did you hear that one?” Geralt looks unimpressed. He flicks the reins and Roach springs into a trot; Jaskier has to leap to the side to avoid the devilish mare. Thankfully Geralt doesn’t seem intent on leaving him behind; after a few paces Roach slows to a walk again, though Jaskier is huffing by the time he finally catches up.

“Oh, you know,” Jaskier wheezes, clutching a stitch in his side. He waves a hand vaguely. “Around.”

He’d heard it in reference to the only place on a witcher’s body blood could rush to, but, well. Geralt doesn’t need to know that.

“Yes. It’s true.”

“Is it really?” Jaskier squints up at Geralt. He wishes he was a witcher who could sniff out lies. “You know it’s illegal to lie to a bard, don’t you?”

Geralt doesn’t answer, and now that Jaskier has run out of questions his mind seizes on a new game.

Make Geralt blush.

“Hey, Geralt!” Jaskier swings his lute around and plucks a few notes. “You ever heard the one about the fishmonger’s daughter?” And without further ado, he launches into the most downright filthy version he knows. It’s barely even innuendo, containing outright descriptions of exactly what the fishmonger’s daughter likes to do with her catch, even including a few dramatic moans and sighs on Jaskier’s part because he is nothing if not an excellent performer. He keeps a close eye on Geralt’s expression, but to his dismay all he sees is the gradual tightening of his jaw and flattening of his eyebrows. By the end of the song he looks downright murderous.

“I’m guessing you didn’t like that one. Heh.” Jaskier plucks a discordant note, underlining his failure to please the witcher with his song, as well as rouse even the faintest of pink tones to his pale skin. “Well, not everyone has a sense of humor. That’s alright.”

Damn it. What could he do to make a witcher blush?

After another mile or so Jaskier is forced to admit that the sex angle simply doesn’t affect the witcher. He’d tried everything--describing some of his own conquests, real and imagined, and he’d even faked a limp and sighed wistfully about his night with the innkeeper’s son! None of it has any effect on the man. And, with a cruel spike of embarrassment that brings heat to his own cheeks, Jaskier abruptly realizes it’s because the century-old witcher likely has seen and done things he can scarce imagine. 

It’s all old hat to him, then.

“Have it your way then, you big old brute.” Jaskier consoles himself by playing his favorite songs at the loudest possible volume, his voice echoing off the canyons. He thinks Geralt has mostly tuned him out, until abruptly he wheels Roach around and makes a sharp gesture at Jaskier. His yellow cat-eyes scan the surrounding hills.

“Shut up, bard.”

Jaskier scoffs, and strums a few loud chords.

“Well you could at least ask nicely if you’re--”

An arrow stabs into the ground, an inch from Jaskier’s foot. Jaskier jumps into the air with a yelp.

Bandits seem to pour down from the hills, and Geralt and Roach charge in to deal with them. Jaskier, weaponless and frightened, darts off of the path in the opposite direction, down a small gully to hide behind a bush.

Well, he hasn’t lived this long by sticking around for the danger! Someone has to live to tell the tale, after all.

It’s over faster than Jaskier would have imagined. He catches glimpses of Geralt moving smoothly through the fight, a whirlwind of steel and white hair. The big witcher actually looks graceful, spinning on one heel and swinging his arm in a broad arc to lop off the last bandit’s head. Jaskier swallows, feeling odd and sort of warm all over.

When he’s certain the bandits are dead he doesn’t hesitate to scramble up the hill to where Geralt is standing amidst the carnage, sheathing his sword.

“Do people do that a lot?” Jaskier tells himself his voice isn’t that shaky as he brushes off the knees of his trousers and hoists his lute onto his back. “Just attack you out of nowhere?”

“Hmm.” Geralt stands from where he’d been crouched over one of the corpses. He slips their purse into Roach’s saddlebags, then mounts her in a smooth motion.

Jaskier wrinkles his nose at the corpse. He doesn’t usually see death up close like this--his experience is more of the ‘passing by the suspicious lump in the alleyway without looking too closely’ variety. He’s frightened, but with Geralt at his side starts to feel a little bit brave. The bandit certainly isn’t scary like this, with his stupid head lying across the path. He sticks his tongue out at the corpse and then jogs after Geralt and Roach.

“Well, they should know better, shouldn’t they? I don’t think you even broke a sweat.”

“Hmm.”

“No, I mean it. That was genuinely impressive.”

“Shut up, bard, or you’ll draw more of them.” Geralt turns his head away, but not before Jaskier catches something interesting in his expression. He jogs forward, until he’s striding beside Roach and level with Geralt’s knee. If he looks out of the corner of his eye he can just barely make out Geralt’s face. A sly smile curls his lips.

“Do people ever compliment you? Or are they too busy shitting themselves because you’re a big, scary witcher?”

Geralt stares straight ahead. 

“That’s a shame, really. Compliments do wonders for the self-esteem. I can’t go long without one before I simply wither away like an autumn leaf. And there’s so much to compliment you on.”

“Fuck off.”

“Geralt, I’m being serious.” Alright, so maybe he was also teasing a bit, but Jaskier’s voice took on a strident, genuine note as he turned his head to gaze up at the witcher. “What you did back there might seem like nothing to you, but I was terrified. If they wanted to kill me they could have done so easily, except you were there so now they’re all lying in pieces while we make our merry way on. Take that, bandit, you don’t need your legs!” Jaskier laughs and makes a slicing motion as if severing an imaginary bandit’s torso from his lower appendages.

“It’s nice, not to have to be afraid of whatever random asshole comes my way. I think I’ll stick with you after all. It doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes as well.” Jaskier winks. Geralt keeps darting his eyes between Jaskier and the path ahead. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, but Jaskier doesn’t think it’s in a bad way at all. “Big witcher man with your nice hair and all that muscle beneath your armor. You looked like you were dancing, you know.”

“Jaskier…” It’s a low growl, a warning, and it sends a shiver straight down Jaskier’s spine. He bites his lower lip to keep from smiling too broadly, and that’s when he sees it:

The distinct, pale pink undertone blooming to life beneath Geralt’s glowing (beautiful) yellow eyes.

Oh. Jaskier is in trouble.

He clears his throat, taking a few steps to the side and letting Roach get a little bit ahead of him. He strums his lute, a spring in his step as he follows his witcher, imagining feeling the heat of Geralt’s blush beneath his fingertips.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #the witcher #fluff #fanfiction #geraskier prompts #my writing