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daddyy333 · 8 months

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Geralt of Rivia Fluff

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

word count: 2.6k

warnings: reader is injured at the beginning, reader is wounded, reader gets stitches (I think), clingy geralt, ?

summary: Never in your wildest dreams did you think Geralt of Rivia would turn out to be the clingiest boyfriend you’d ever had

When you first started your relationship with Geralt- actually, scratch that. When you first met Geralt you thought he was the furthest thing from clingy. He barely even spoke, much less touched you or even looked in your direction really.

After he fell out with Yennefer, he met you. He was planning to just stay in this small village for a few days and rest, knowing he had to keep moving so no one would find him and Ciri. That was until he stumbled upon you.

He found you running from some odd and probably hungry monster, looking to feed…on you. Possibly one of the most gorgeous women he’s ever seen. You looked quite out of place, your light pastel purple skirt gradually getting covered in dirt as you tried to escape the creature.

You yelped as you tripped over a branch, sobs racking your body as you fell face first into the dirt. You groaned, cursing frantically through sobs, trying to crawl away from the creature.

“fu- FUCK!” You said as the creature drug his claw across your thigh. You cried out, whimpering as you finally accepted your fate. Suddenly, right when you feel it’s stinky, hot breath on you it disappears just as fast.

You couldn’t see what was happening, back facing upwards and your face still buried in the ground. You felt a man’s hands on your waist and you screamed, curling tighter even though it caused more pain to pulse in your thigh.

“Miss, I’m the one who just saved your life. I’m…a Witcher. Even if you hate me right now, I’d like to help you if that’s alright?” He said as he walked in front of you bending down so you could see him. You whimpered as you said “p-please don’t hurt m-me”

“I’m not going to. I just need you to cooperate and I promise you’ll be just fine in a little while” he said and you nodded. He scooped you up and plopped you on his horse, making you cry out in pain.

“Can you…mmm- b-be gentle?” You asked and he sighed. He mumbled an apology and started leading Roach back to his lodgings that he found sufficient for a few days.

You had passed out then, and he realized that his poor excuse for a tourniquet failed. “Shit,” he said and laid you on his bed, pulling your skirt off to help him treat you better.

“Oh gods, what the hell is this?” Ciri asked and Geralt sighed. He poured a disinfectant on your thigh as he said “found her being chased by a monster. Did my job. Now I’m helping her” “why didn’t you just find a doctor to do it?” She asked, setting her bag of fruits down and beginning to wash them.

“Don’t have the coin for it. Why so many questions, Ciri?” He asked and she shrugged. She looked over and said “I don’t know, just…feels unusual” “she needs help. I’m providing it” he said and Ciri nodded, chuckling.

He treated you to the best of his abilities and waited for you to wake up, going out and chopping some wood to fill his time and also training with Ciri a bit. When he came back inside it was nighttime and you were still sleeping.

He knew you weren’t dead, he could hear your heartbeat faintly and you weren’t super pale anymore. He walked over and shook you lightly, trying to wake you up. “Miss?” He asked, and you still didn’t budge.

He sighed and then nearly jumped when Jaskier busted in, a little drunk admittedly. “Ohhhh Geralt!” He sang, stumbling in. Geralt sighed and stared at him, hoping Jaskier wouldn’t cause too much trouble because he needed to look after you.

You groaned softly, rubbing your eyes and coughing a few times. You tried to sit up but moving your thigh cause immense pain. “Ahh!” You groaned, trying to figure out what the hell happened.

“Hi, Miss. Are you alright?” Geralt asked and you jumped slightly. You looked around frantically and then said “w-where is my skirt?” You asked and he cleared his throat. He showed that it was on a table and said “I had to take it off to treat your wounds”

You looked down at your thigh and winced, gently touching it and moving the bandage. “Thank- th-thank you” you said, looking up at him. Jaskier walked over with a smirk on his face and said “and who are you-” “Jaskier,” Geralt scolded softly.

“Y/n…of Aedirn” you said and smiled a little. You noticed a look of confusion on his face and you understood why. You were in a far away village near Creyden, why? “Julian Alfred Pankratz?” You asked the brown haired gentleman and he smiled. He nodded and said “that would be me. Viscount of Lettenhove”

You nodded and looked up at the white haired Witcher, sighing. “Uhm…Rivia…Geralt?” You asked and he nodded, a small smile on his face. Ciri had came out of her room and scoffed at the interaction. “Are you blushing?” She asked and Geralt shot a stern look her way.

“You should be asleep” he said and she shook her head. “Jaskier woke me up” she mumbled and he gasped. He ran over and hugged her as he said “I deeply apologize, my little pocket sized princess. Oh, you should get your beauty sleep come on”

You chuckled a little at the interaction and Geralt bent down to your level. His gaze made butterflies swirl in your stomach. “How are you feeling?” He asked and you sighed. You look down at your leg and said “sore. And dirty” “would you like me to help you with a bath? I would leave you alone but I don’t think you’ll be able to walk properly for a while” “I appreciate it. Yes, thank you” you said and he got to work.

He ended up staying for longer just to care for you and you told him your story. Your parents turned you away because you were secretly harboring magical abilities behind their back and they had strong opinions against that. You’ve been running around all over the continent trying to figure out where’s safest but it’s been tough and technically your homeless.

But he was so infatuated with you he wasn’t really thinking when he said “travel with me. And Ciri of course, and sometimes Jaskier” You shook your head and insisted you couldn’t, you would only be a bother. He insisted instead that you come along.

He was a man of mostly few words, and kept to himself quite a bit. You spent a lot of time with Ciri. You would teach her to cook, help her control her chaos, braid her hair, and even tell her stories of your travels before you met them. The two of you almost seemed like mother and daughter at times but neither of you noticed. You just felt like best friends.

You had to admit, Geralt was a beautiful man. When you caught him shirtless once, you nearly fainted. He was just so handsome, and you wanted to kiss every scar on his body till he forgot about them.

But you thought you never stood a chance with him. You knew about what happened with Yennefer and assumed that because of that you wouldn’t be able to have any romantic relationship with him. Even if you tried, you think it would be rude because of how much happened between them. Truly you are still convinced to this day that they are soulmates, and he would drop you in a heartbeat if she came back and wanted to try again. But that’s a story for another day.

Months go by, you’ve completely healed so long ago you don’t need to burden them any longer with your presence but you feel so welcomed and safe with them. However, after about a year or so you’ve started to think that maybe it would make things easier if you went off on your own again, like it used to be.

You packed your bags and made your way to the lake where Geralt was fishing from. “Hey,” you said, walking up to him. He looked over at you and grunted in response. “I uh…I’ve been thinking and I’m gonna go out on my own again. I’ve been healed for months and I don’t need to stay and bother you any longer. Im grateful fo-”

“Stop,” he said, putting down his net. He shook his head and said “what are you talking about? You are not leaving” “Geralt…I-I was only supposed to travel with you until my leg healed and it’s been over a year. I’m okay now. The less people you have to travel with the easier, so I thought maybe I’d-”

“No. You can’t go. You can’t- do not go. Y/n, why do you say such stupid things?” He asked and you shook your head. You scoffed, shaking your head as you said “why do you care so much? I’m just some strange, homeless woman you met a year ago and just so happened to save from a really stinky monster”

“You’re- why do you think so little of yourself? Stop talking about this nonsense, I don’t want to hear it” he said and you rolled your eyes. You folded your arms and said “so what? I cant go because you say so” “Ciri needs you! I ne- mmm. Go back inside, you’re not leaving” he said and you gasped.

He looked away, obviously shy and embarrassed and you blushed instantly. Did he really mean that? “Geralt…” you said and he ignored you. You walked over in front of him but he still wouldn’t look at you.

You cupped his cheeks and said “what were you going to say?” “I- I can’t. It’s- it’s not fair to Ciri” he said and you sighed. You looked over his facial expression and let go, slowly walking away. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed.

He decided to just say it in case he never got the chance again, even though he was scared. “I need you, y/n! Alright? There, I said it” he said and groaned as if he was annoyed. You smiled then, just slightly as you stopped walking, butterflies swirling in your belly.

“I thought you didn’t need anyone?” You said as you walked over again. He looked away, feeling so embarrassed he could run away. You almost couldn’t tell, just a small furrow between his brows aside from his usually stoic expression.

“I also said I didn’t want anyone needing me but now Ciri doesn’t get to leave my side and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I guess I lied. And I need you.” He said and you nodded, taking a deep breath. You looked over at what he had already caught and said “alright, fine”

You began to walk away and yet again he pulled you back, pushing you against a tree as he cupped your cheek with one hand and your waist with the other. He looked scared, and you were just about to tell him he didn’t have to do this but then he kissed you and your mind blanked.

He slowly and gently licked into your mouth, connecting your tongues as he caressed and squeezed your waist. You were blushing and smiling so hard as your tongues swirled together, his warm hands making the butterflies in your belly worse.

You pulled away, feeling your face was going to explode and he was only making it worse. “What?” He asked as you stared at him. You giggled and said “you’re smiling,” “no, I’m not” he said and blushed, kissing you again.

He never stopped touching you after that day. You tried to keep this new relationship from Ciri but not a week later she caught Geralt embracing you as you made breakfast. He knew you were upset at him, but he couldn’t help the grin on his face as you scolded him, knife pointing towards him with your hair in a messy bun from when you slept and your nightgown still draping over your beautiful body.

She seemed a bit confused about it, clearly distracted during lessons and keeping to herself for a while after that. You never heard the end of it considering Geralt lingered around you quite a bit and had become so talkative as he got more and more comfortable with you everyday.

Eventually she warmed up to your new relationship, especially since she was seeing it all the time everywhere every day. He couldn’t keep his hands off you to save his life. Quite literally, he almost got seriously injured trying to get you away from one of the many monsters he's fought and killed.

And now, it’s high noon and you’ve been stuck in bed underneath a giant white haired man. A little sex, and a lot of cuddling has gone on in the last 16 or so hours. You assume at least. You’ve been too busy with Geralt.

“You know, I thought when we started seeing each other romantically that we wouldn’t last because I would feel insecure due to the lack of attention you’d give me. The last thing I’d expected was this” you said, making him lift his head up.

He searched your eyes as he said “do you…not like it?” “No, no, I love it, I just- well…have you met yourself? You’re not exactly very affectionate to everyone you meet” you said and you both laughed.

“I just…love you so much” he said and you blushed. He’d told you it took him so many years to tell Yennefer he loved her and you two had only been romantically involved for a little over a year. And it’s been the best year of your life.

He trusted you so much. He chose to be vulnerable and he chose to be vulnerable with you. It was the greatest feeling ever. You’d never given him a reason not to trust you and as scary as it was he reacted directly to that fact every single day he was with you.

“I love you more. My sexy, white haired lover” you said and he blushed. You kissed him and he said “the only white haired lover you’ll ever have” “for the rest of my life” you finished, kissing all over his face.

He smiled and it made you blush. You couldn’t help it. 10 years could pass and you’d still feel so shy when you could make him smile. “As much as I do love this, I am quite hungry” you said and he sighed. He rested his head back on your chest for just a moment longer and then got up, looking around for his clothes.

You smiled, rolling onto your side and admiring his body. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, turning around. It was a little bit of a strain but you reached over and smacked his ass, making him gasp and reach over to the other side of you, doing the same.

You squealed, calling a truce because you knew how quick he could turn this dirty and your ass was already sore from being slammed against so many things last night and also from having you in- never mind. If you keep remembering you’ll only get yourself worked up again and then you’ll never leave this bed.

“Dirty girl,” he said, leaning down and kissing you once he got his clothes on. You curled up in bed for just a little longer, smiling at the fond memories of how amazing it’s been loving Geralt for the last 2 years. Even when you weren’t together, you did everything you could think of to subtly show your love for him. You wouldn’t trade him for the world.

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Lo’ak

Neteyam

Sebastian Stan

Bucky Barnes

CW!Bucky Barnes

Chris Evans

Steve Rogers

Ari Levinson

Geralt of Rivia

Henry Cavill

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

#the witcher #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #cirilla of cintra #ciri #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz

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fangirleaconmigo · 1 month

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On the topic of book scenes that were changed, one of them that interests me is the scene where it seems Geralt and Yen have died in The Last Wish. In the book, the mayor of the town starts to go on about how it’s so sad that Geralt died but don’t worry they’ll build him a statue. This greatly angers Dandelion and he yells at the mayor. In the show, Jaskier is the one who’s like “This is so sad, but don’t worry I’ll write the greatest ballad for Geralt!”. The complete change of the personality of the same character is what interests me. I love reading your analysis, so I was wondering if you have any thoughts on this. I know the change was probably for comedy purposes and that this is pretty insignificant, but to me, Dandelion’s reaction in the book just really screamed such a deep love for Geralt so I found the change a bit disappointing.

The Last Wish vs Bottle Appetites - Dandelion's reaction to Geralt's 'death'

Hi Nonny! Thanks for the ask. You sent this to me so very long ago, you may have completely moved on. BUT I figure if you aren't still interested, someone who follows me might be, so here I go:

Your ask is about a compare/contrast the book vs TWN scene where Geralt is presumed dead, and we’re comparing how Jaskier(Dandelion) react to his possible death, and how much emotional weight the scene is given.

I'll start by summarizing, but just a note: Dandelion does something in the books that I don't know how to interpret and maybe you (or anyone reading) can give their thoughts.

Ok, we’ll start with the show.

Bottled Appetites

In the show, the mayor and town dignitaries are not in the scene where Jaskier thinks Geralt is dead. It is just him and Chireadan looking at the building. Things are quiet, and Jaskier assumes they are dead.

"Are you sure they were up there? This can't be happening. This can't be happening."

I gotta say, Joey Batey, sells the emotion here. He has the most expressive eyes. He could do just about anything with any material, I think.

"Why did Geralt go in there, it doesn't make any sense...to save a mad fucking witch, why?"

It cuts away to Geralt and Yen. When it comes back to Jaskier, he is on his knees, assuming they are dead. Here is what he says:

"What am I supposed to do now, hm? It wasn't supposed to go this way. I'm going to write you the best song, so that everyone remembers who you were, what we did, everything we saw. And I will sing it, for the rest of my days. "

That is what you means as far as it seeming like he's giving up rather quickly. As he speaks, most of the camera work is on Chireadan, who goes to actually look whether they are dead. Chireadan stands in front of the window. At the end of his speaking part, the camera is back on Jaskier for the punchline.

"He always said I had the most wonderful singing voice."

And that’s the jokey joke. It references the b plot of Geralt feeling bad that he called Jaskier’s voice a ‘pie with no filling’. When Jaskier is hurt, Geralt says that he doesn’t want that to be the last thing Jaskier remembers.

Clearly, that would not be the last thing Jaskier remembers, because he will just change it to suit himself. It's a little of the ol’ Dandelion impenetrable ego performance.

And that is the 'piercing' of the dramatic moment you referenced.

But then Chireadan comes back.

"They're alive."

And Jaskier is like...

"Bollocks."

They go look in the window together, and see them having sex. Chireadan pulls Jaskier away.

The Last Wish

In the books, it's quite a different set up.

Dandelion is with the Mayor (Neville) and Priest of Rinde (Krepp), while Geralt fights with Yen in the building.

The reason for this reflects what I think is the biggest difference between the two stories-Yen.

Much like in the show, Yen did send Geralt to beat up the townspeople who are against her. (the tone is quite different, and the show doesn’t show it, but the basics are the same)

However, Yen does not want Geralt to get into legal trouble on her account, so she sends Dandelion back through a portal, and asks him to use his last wish to help Geralt.

Dandelion drops back through the portal.

“Innocent!” yelled the poet in a clear melodious tenor, sitting on the floor and looking around, his eyes vague. “Innocent! The witcher is innocent! I wish you to believe it!”

So now Dandelion is with the mayor and the priest, and Geralt goes to help Yen against Dandelion’s advice. Like in the show, Dandelion advises against it.

“Geralt,” said Dandelion, ‘you’ve gone stark raving mad! Keep away from that bloody strangler!”

And look, he has a point. He’s basically like, she is choosing this. She wants to do this. She used us both against our will. She is powerful and terrifying (the subtext being, why would she need you. If she’s dead set on this shit, then let her do it)

But of course Geralt goes. He is already falling for Yen. I think in the books it’s more clear as to why. But that’s sort of beside the point of this post. (At some point I want to do a compare/contrast Yenralt.)

But anywho. In the books, Dandelion is with the mayor, the priest, and Chireadan and they are watching the building from a safe distance.

Dandelion is distraught.

“What’s happening there!” Dandelion, clinging to the wall, strained his neck, trying to see in the downpour. “Tell me what is happening there, damnit!”

Then as the house begins to fall,

“Why did Geralt have to go in there?” groaned Dandelion. What the hell for? Why did he insist on saving that witch? Why? Chireadan, do you understand?”

Of course, Chireadan is in love with Yen, so he understand perfectly.

Then, Dandelion is terrified Geralt will die. He is upset, he is wailing.

“Are they both going to die?” wailed Dandelion. “How come, Krepp why? After all, the witcher--Why by all perfidious and unexpected plagues, isn’t he escaping? Why? What’s keeping him? Why doesn’t he leave the bloody witch to her fate and run away? It’s senseless...It’s suicide. And plain idiocy!”

The mayor is not so distraught.

“It’s his job, after all,” interrupted Neville. “The witcher is saving my town...if he chases the demon away, I’ll reward him handsomely...”

Then Dandelion cuts him off.

Dandelion snatched the hat decorated with the heron feather from his head, spat into it, threw it in the mud and trampled it, spitting out words in various languages as he did.

Now, I believe that spitting in one’s hat is considered something for good luck, and in some cultures is meant to ward off evil spirits. Dandelion looks down on superstition as is quite explicitly atheist, yet he resorts to it the minute he’s desperate on Geralt’s behalf.

(If I am reading that correctly. It could also be an expression of antipathy for Neville for all I know. Maybe someone else can comment, I'm just guessing)

And then Dandelion realizes something. They explained to him that Geralt actually has the wishes, but then it dawns on him that Geralt could use it to save himself.

“But he’s...” he groaned suddenly, “still got one wish in reserve. He could save both her, and himself! Mr. Krepp!”

The priest explains how difficult that would be. Then the house ‘explodes’ and the djinn escapes. The mayor and the owner of the house rejoice. The owner of the house has previously said that he has good insurance, so he says ‘what a wonderful ruin’. Dandelion is not so happy. In fact he is distraught, understandably. He sees that the house has fallen and he is afraid they are dead.

“Dammit, dammit!” hollered Dandelion...”it’s shattered the entire house! Nobody could survive that! Nobody I tell you!”

The mayor jumps straight to the same conclusion, but it significantly happier about it.

The witcher, Geralt of Rivia, has sacrificed himself for the town,” mayor Nevills said ceremoniously. “We won’t forget him. We’ll revere him. We’ll think of a statue...”

Dandelion does not react well to this. This is the part you were referencing.

Dandelion shook a piece of wicker matting bound with clay from his shoulder, brushed his jerkin free of lumps of rain-dampened plaster, looked at the mayor and, in a few well-chosen words, expressed his opinion about sacrifice, reverence, memory, and all the statues in the world.

I kind of wish the book had spelled out exactly what he said because I think it would have been amazing. But Dandelion tears him a new asshole and tells him where he can put the statue. We just don't get to hear the exact words.

Then it grows quiet. Dandelion is still afraid they are dead, but decides to go look to make sure.

By all the gods,” muttered Dandelion, “what silence...they’re dead I tell you. Either they’ve killed each other, or my djinn’s finished them off.”

Notice he still calls it 'my djinn', I think because he found it. He clearly is ready to blame himself. But then they go take a look at the ruins. They start to hear noises.

“Yennefer’s alive,” said Dandelion suddenly, straining his musical ear. “I heard her moan. There, she moaned again.”

And like in the show, Chireadan looks through a broken window, seeing Geralt and Yen having sex.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said quietly. “Let’s not disturb them.”

Chireadan is heartbroken, because he loves Yen.

Of course Dandelion is curious and doesn’t want to be put off (as always).

“What are they doing,” Dandelion was curious. “Tell me damnit!” The elf smiled very, very sadly. “I don’t like grand words,” he said. “And it is impossible to give it a name without using grand words.”

I think because of the involvement of the mayor, showing the way they see the witcher (useful, but highly expendable) next to Dandelion (that’s my friend, motherfucker) is interesting. I like that Dandelion tears him a new one.

The moment is definitely moved past much more quickly in the show, though to be fair they have a lot less time.

But what does everyone else think? If you’ve got this far, please share your thoughts! Which version of the story do you prefer? And what was the hat spitting all about?

#the witcher #the witcher books #dandelion #geralt of rivia #chireadan #thinking about the witcher books yet again

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 8 months

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A kiss like they're trying to convince the other to love them and/or a kiss in front of someone they hold captive

Yennskier

Here's a little bit of both, set in an alternate timeline where they managed to capture Rience during season 3, episode 1:

“We should probably talk about what happened in Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier says in what he hopes is a casual way.

Yennefer looks at him incredulously. “Does now seem like a good time for this conversation, bardling?”

“Why not?” Jaskier shrugs. “He’s not going anywhere.”

They both turn to look at Rience, who scowls back at them from the chair they’ve bound him to in dimeritium chains. Jaskier can’t help but feel a thrill of vindication at seeing the fire fucker as trussed up and helpless as he was a year ago in Oxenfurt, even as he keeps catching himself rubbing his fingers together anxiously. It helps that Yennefer is standing next to him and Geralt and Ciri are just in the other room with Yarpen.

Rience sneers at Yennefer. “What’s one of Tissaia’s girls doing, working for a witcher?”

Jaskier snorts. Even if they hadn’t already figured out that Rience isn’t the mastermind trying to capture Ciri, that would have given it away. No one with any sense would think Yennefer a lackey. Leaning closer to Yennefer, he says, “We really should talk about this.”

“About what?” She sighs, clearly realizing she’s not going to be able to evade this. “A lot happened in Kaer Morhen. Do you want to talk about Voleth Meir? All the money you still owe Ciri after all the times she trounced you at cards?”

“She did not…” Jaskier draws himself up, realizes he’s being distracted, and lets out a huff. “About our last night there.”

Yennefer doesn’t visibly react, but there’s a pointedness in the way she turns back to Rience. “Who’s your puppetmaster?”

Rience bares his teeth at her. “I’m no one’s—”

“I don’t believe for a second that you’re the one calling the shots. You’re a one trick pony, aren’t you? You can harness fire, but not much else. That portal wasn’t yours.”

“I just can’t help but notice that you’re acting a bit… off,” Jaskier says carefully, because he and Yennefer may be friends now, but he still doesn’t put it past her to curse his bollocks off.

Yennefer closes her eyes. “Did you learn this interrogation technique from Phillipa?”

“Gods, no.” Jaskier barks out a laugh. “Phillipa wouldn’t let me anywhere near an interrogation.”

“I suppose that’s why Redania is still standing.”

“See? That was almost mean. That was the first mean thing you’ve said to me in three days, and it wasn’t even in your top ten best jabs! Something is clearly amiss. Are you a doppler? Are you dying? Did you hit your head in the skirmish yesterday? Melitele, are you actually plotting my demise? Is this your way of trying to lure me into a false sense of security? Because it isn’t working, Yennefer.”

“If you want him dead, you can just let me out of these chains.” Rience snaps his fingers menacingly and Jaskier can’t help but step back, even though no flames appear.

Yennefer throws out a hand and Rience’s chair flies backward, slamming against the wall and capsizing. He yelps as his head bounces off the ground and lies there, groaning.

“Yenn?” Geralt calls from the next room. “Jaskier?”

“We’re fine!” Lowering her voice, Yennefer hisses, “This isn’t the time.”

“Well, it has to be the time, because you keep avoiding me. Is this about what happened between us? Because you didn’t seem to have any regrets the next morning? In fact, you asked…” He trails off, pieces starting to slide into place.

“I asked you to come with me, Geralt, and Ciri,” she says through gritted teeth. “And you said no. Years of you popping up at the most inconvenient times, bardling, and the one time I want you to stay, you left.”

“But…” Jaskier opens and closes his mouth, at a loss for words. When he recovers his wits, all he can squeak is, “I told you I was needed at Oxenfurt.”

“Bullshit. You told me yourself that the Sandpiper organization would run just fine without you. The only thing you did going back to Oxenfurt was put yourself in Phillipa and Dijkstra’s sights.”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t want to come with you just to watch you and Geralt play house while I was just there so you could keep me out of trouble.”

It’s her turn to look taken aback. “What?”

“You said so yourself, you wanted me to come with you so I wouldn’t get myself killed in Oxenfurt. You, Geralt, and Ciri are a family, bound by destiny. I’m not—” He’s getting too close to all the things he doesn’t want to say to her, so he looks away. “I’m happy to play the fun Uncle Jaskier whenever you need me to. But the thing about fun uncles is they show up, let you win at cards a few times, and then they leave before the joke gets old.”

Yennefer doesn’t look exasperated anymore; she just looks sad. That’s somehow worse. “It took Geralt months before he would talk to me about anything but the weather, Ciri’s training, or telling me to duck because someone was trying to stab me. I have never once slept under the same roof as him and Ciri, even when we barely had the coin to afford one lodging, never mind two. It took until the winter before he let me inside to break bread with them. The shadow of what I did hung over us every day. We weren’t playing house, we were on the run, and you should have fucking been there.”

“Yenn—”

She talks over him. “You were the only person who could look at me when we were at Kaer Morhen. I asked you to come with us because I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” he whispers.

Her jaw clenches stubbornly, but she doesn’t answer.

Carefully, he reaches out to take her by the wrist, tugging her closer. “Watching the three of you leave Kaer Morhen was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. If I had known you really wanted me there, I would have followed you in a heartbeat.”

Her lips twitch into a half-smile. “Did you really think I was asking you to come just to be nice?”

“Foolish, I know.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I’ll stay this time.”

“What about the Sandpiper?”

“Vespula does most of the Sandpipering these days. I’m being watched too closely by the RSS.” Jaskier brings her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Yennefer looks like she wants to deny it, because gods forbid she or Geralt admit to being people with feelings, but she nods. “I’m sorry if I’ve been too kind to you. It won’t happen again.”

“Thank the gods. It made my skin crawl.” He leans down to rest their foreheads together. “Let me stay, Yenn.”

She doesn’t answer, but lifts her face so that he can close the gap between them and kiss her. It’s a tentative thing, not like the desperate, hungry kisses they exchanged on their last night in Kaer Morhen, as weeks of longing—well, probably years of longing, if Jaskier is being honest with himself—bubbled to the surface. There will be time for those later, once they’ve figured out who Rience is working for and ensured that Ciri is safe.

Across the room, there’s a noise of disgust. “If you’re going to make me watch this, I’d rather you just gouge my—”

Yennefer throws her hand out, not pulling her lips away from Jaskier’s. There’s a thud, a yelp, then silence.

“Don’t kill him yet,” Jaskier says, breaking the kiss to press his lips against her throat. “We haven’t gotten any answers out of him.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Geralt’s, the easily distractible fucker. He’s off chattering away with Yarpen while we do all the hard work.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes and mutters something that’s undoubtedly insulting under her breath, but she kisses Jaskier again, so that’s alright.

***

Kiss prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome @ladykardasi (sorry, it wouldn't let me tag your Witcher blog)

#the witcher #twn #yennskier #jaskier x yennefer #ghost's writing #ghost's fic

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ceci-seesaw · 3 months

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i meant to mention this back when season three first came out but uh. i forgor. but. I think the third season of The Witcher really demonstrates how the presence of queerness does not negate the presence of queerbaiting, and that it can in fact be used as a method of sidestepping allegations of queerbaiting.

Like I know I'm not the only one who noticed how aggressively they "no homo" backpedaled the dynamic between Jaskier and Geralt. They did it in a way that was really aggressive and jarring too, like even if you saw zero queercoding you could tell the relationship dynamic was altered in a weird way. There was just such an absolute lack of subtlety with their no-homo'ing? like iirc there's straight up a scene where Jaskier pretty much explicitly is like "i could never see you romantically <3 we r suuuuch bros <3 best buds !" which was such a weirdly transparent attempt at shutting down the previous dynamic established between them.

What's especially wild to me is that in that season they changed the dynamic between Geralt and Jaskier so much that there really wasn't much going on ship-wise between them anyway, regardless of that weirdly explicit declaration of platonic-ness. They didn't even need to do all that !!!!

This weirdly aggressive and sudden change in dynamic at the same time as making Jaskier canonically bi was such a transparent attempt at escaping the queerbaiting allegations lol. Like it was like "yeah we wanna shut this down hard but people will get mad so. here's a canon queer character" lmao

idk. i feel like this may be something that's getting phased out as a tactic to a degree -- or rather, shifting its exact methodology -- but "escaping queerbaiting allegations by introducing a canon queer character" is definitely an established thing i see pretty often. I also think the shift in tactic (from introducing a new side character for that purpose, to canonizing a main character's queerness) isn't actually better when the intent remains the same. Idk ! I'd just be a lot less critical of Jaskier being canonically queer if it weren't so clearly linked to an attempt to sidestep queerbaiting allegations.

#does this make any sense #i know what im trying to say i just dont know how to articulate it #geraskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #so many other fandoms i could tag for this but i dont wanna kick that many hornet nests #ceci says stuff

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komotionlessqueenmm · 1 year

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Headcanon/Preference # 23

Gifs NOT mine.

Requested? Nope.

Year posted - 2023

Fandom - The Witcher (TV series)

Note that I haven't actually watched this show, I plan on watching it, but only the content that included Henry, because him getting fired for being "toxic" is total bullshit.

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| How did Geralt first cross paths with you? |

• Exactly how you would expect, he saved you from being killed by a Noonwraith while trying to gather wild herbs for your elixirs.

• He'd been traveling for a fortnight, and he'd dealt with all sorts of trouble along the way. Who knew his chosen path would be so troublesome.

• The day had been relatively calm and quiet, which he was grateful for, he needed a break. Then a sound suddenly broke through the quiet, a woman's scream from further up the road.

• Geralt couldn't help the sigh that passed his lips, of course he wouldn't get to have a break from the chaos of the world. But regardless of that he urged Roach to trot faster so he could help whoever potentially needed his assistance.

• The creature had you by the wrist, trying to slash at you with its sickle, which you continuously managed to dodge in the nick of time. Another terrified scream ripping from your throat as the Noonwraith shrieked at you.

• Geralt unsheathed his sword and got to work, slaying the Noonwraith with a little bit of trouble, he was exhausted after all. All the while you had rushed around gathering the herbs you had dropped as they fought.

• "Those must be pretty important." Geralt had observed gruffly after he'd slain the Noonwraith. You ducked your head in slight embarrassment, feeling as if he was scolding you for it. He then turned to leave, not honestly expecting anything from you.

• "Wait!" You called out to him, taking a tiny step back when he turned to look at you. "Thank you... For saving me." He nodded his head without a word. "I... I don't have anything to give to you as a reward, except for a hot meal and a warm bath if you'd like."

• Considering the week he's had, that was the best reward he'd had in what felt like an eternity. But Geralt maintained his cold demeanor, and accepted the offer, following you back to your modest little cottage nestled deep in the woods.

| When did Geralts obsession start? |

• That evening when you invited him into your home, you fed him well, and explained that you are a "potion master" as you put it. After he'd finished his meal, you tended to the small injury on his forearm, then left him to tend to the small bathhouse, preparing a warm bath as promised.

• You'd mixed in a few fragrance oils and flower petals into the steaming water. Trying to make it as relaxing as you could, without being overbearing. Geralt had found it amusing when he'd realized what you'd done, but he was pleased with the claiming atmosphere that now filled the bathhouse.

• You'd left him be as he soaked, rushing off to your cellar to start working on the elixir you'd been gathering herbs for. And as he soaked he thought about you, about how tender you'd been with him, and how you'd treated him so endearingly. So much so that an onlooker would have assumed you were lovers with the way you fretted over him. It was nice.

• You'd offer him lodging after his bath, giving him your own bed, and stating you'd sleep in the upper loft. He'd tried convincing you to just let him stay in the upper loft, but you declined saying how he'd saved your life, and you intended on offering him the best comfort that you could as a reward. He accepted this offer when you sternly informed him that you wouldn't change your mind on the matter.

• So that night he lay in bed, surrounded by the scent of you, just thinking about everything that's happened in such a short time since he'd met you. You been grateful for his help, you gave him a hardy meal, a nice bath, and now let him sleep in your bed. And yet unlike so many others he's helped, you didn't want anything in return. He'd saved you, and yet you didn't request that he help you with whatever other troubles you had.

• He wondered why you'd been so desperate to gather those herbs that you'd risk crossing paths with a Noonwraith. Let alone why you were intent on collecting them all again as he fought the creature, not even waiting until he'd slain it, or given up on gathering them all together.

• He wondered why you lived all the way out here, seemingly all alone deep in the woods. How you managed to survive your day to day life. You had few animals, and no crop fields, only a simple garden. And yet you seemed to be living comfortably, he'd seen nothing to suggest you had much wealth, but you weren't miserable like so many others he's met.

• His obsession started growing from the moment you'd welcomed him into your home. And as the day progressed and his curiosity peaked that obsession grew. You were a mystery to him, and with how kind you'd been to him he found himself smitten before the night was even out. Making his departure that morning an unwanted but necessary venture, so he'd left before the sun had risen, and while you still slept.

| Does Geralt try wooing you in a healthy way before snapping? And how does he do it? |

• He didn't stay away for very long, showing up one evening with a large gash on his arm, hoping you'd assist him. You of course rushed to do so, gathering healing herbs, cleaning and dressing the wound, and assuring him that he was more than welcome to rest at your home until he was well again.

• You'd offered him your bed again, stating it was more comfortable, and would be much easier for him to get to than the upper loft with his arm injury. This time however he wouldn't let you do that, and when you argued against it, he'd suggest that if he'd struggle with the ladder leading to the loft, that you could simply assist him.

• You'd thought about it for a moment, and eventually agreed with a heavy sigh, knowing you couldn't convince him otherwise. And that's what ended up happening, he struggled with the ladder, and you quickly rushed to place yourself directly behind him on the ladder, allowing him to lean against you as he slowly climbed up, following his pace patently.

• He was larger than you, but that didn't stop you from doing whatever you could to help him. And Geralt came to realize pretty quickly that that's just how you are, always trying to help in anyway you can without expecting anything in return. That made his obsession grow of course, no one had really ever been that way with him, so the feeling was addictive.

• Witchers heal much father than regular men, and combined with the healing herbs you'd used, his arm was completely healed by morning. And Geralt was intent on repaying your kindness, subconsciously hoping it would woo you the way your kindness had wooed him.

• In doing so Geralt worked on many chores around your homestead. Chopping wood, feeding your animals, repairing the damage he'd noticed to your home, even going out and hunting some game for you, which he later skinned and cured for you. Because of how much he was intent on doing for you, he had stayed with you for a few days.

• He would offhandedly praise your beauty, and often praised your skill crafts. He'd offered a helping hand with some of your elixirs, and went out and found some of the more rare ingredients you'd gotten low on. Most of which were only found in dangerous places. He assisted with cooking as well, and made as much small talk with you as he could.

| What happens when you politely reject Geralt for another man? |

• He'd learned so much about you in such a short time, and he found his heart felt lighter at the mere thought of you. So he decided he'd take a chance with you, feeling as if he'd never be the same without you in his life. He'd grown to love and adore you in so many ways, you were all he dreamed of, all he could think of, he needed you to be his.

• That evening after cleaning up after dinner, Geralt had taken a chance, and cupped your face between his hands. You looked at him with curiosity, then a surprised gasp escaped you when he suddenly kissed you. He all but melted into the kiss, but you remained stagnant, eventually pushing on his chest to get him to stop when he didn't seem to notice your lack of enthusiasm.

• He of course released you in an instant, worry and confusion etched onto his face. You then sheepishly explained that you were already betrothed to another, and you wouldn't accept his advances. You also explained that those elixirs that were so important for you to make were actually meant for your betrothed, who was suffering from a ailment you couldn't cure, but at the very least you could slow its progression.

• So you'd rejected him for a dying man... That hurt, much more than he'd ever admit. So he'd left without saying much, he needed to think, he needed to get away and let out his heartache. Which came out of him in a fit of rage as he brutally slain some bandits that he later crossed paths with.

| How bad will things get when Geralt does finally snap & become Yandere? |

• It's all he can think about anymore, you'd rejected him for a dying man, someone weak and unworthy of you. And his obsession starts taking a dark turn as that thought consumes him, and he allows that pent up rage to take over from time to time, which usually resulted in bloodshed.

• Eventually he finds his way back to your cottage, but he doesn't make his presence known to you. Instead he watches you from a distance, and follows you as you make your weekly trip to your betrotheds home. A basket containing the vials filled with your most powerful healing elixir hanging from your arm.

• The stone home was shabby, and in Geralts mind a pitiful excuse for a home. The dense woods surrounding it allowing Geralt plenty of cover to hide behind. And later into the evening, still early enough so you would get home before the sun went down, you'd left with an empty basket and a promise to return soon.

• Geralt stayed where he'd been hiding until the sun had set, and he knew you were long gone. Then he made his way into the stone home, breaking the door down in order to enter. Inside sitting at the table was a sickly man who wasn't nearly half the size of Geralt. He'd been eating salted meat and bread, a coughing fit taking hold of him as Geralt entered.

• The sudden of it all clearly terrifying the sick man, who through his coughing pleaded for his life. Geralt ignored him and walked around the little home, finding the vials of your elixir on the table beside the shabby bed. "Who are you?" The man asked once his coughing subsidized, Geralt looked to him with dark uncaring eyes.

• "You're the Witcher that saved (Y/n)." He realized quickly. That made Geralt smirk as he shoved the bedside table over, the vials breaking as they hit the stone floor. "What are you doing!?" He'd asked in a panic. "Cutting loose ends." Geralt stated calmly before leaving the man behind, knowing that without the elixir he'd die slowly, painfully, and all alone.

• That night Geralt showed up on your doorstep, a dark aura about him, making you nervous. Despite this nervousness however, you foolishly opened your home to him. And Geralt took full advantage of that, making it much easier for him to steal you away and runaway into the darkness. No one would ever come looking for you, and on such dangerous roads you'd never dare trying to run away from him.

| So what kind of a Yandere is Geralt? |

• Obsessive, possessive, jealous, and manipulative. He adores you, and he wants you all to himself. He's greedy and he'll kill anyone that might come between you, finding cleaver ways to cover the murder up.

• He would never harm you physically, but he will break you mentally. Then he will mold and reshape you into his perfect little obedient lover. You will love him the way he loves you, sooner or later, with or without the help of magic or potions.

• He will remind you constantly that without him you would be dead, that without him you would be nothing but meat for the crows. Sometimes he'll test you and pretend to leave without you in the night, if you run he will find you and punish you, if you cry out for him, he will come to you in an instant.

• Punishments from Geralt are usually being denied food and water for an extended period of time. Other times he'll make you walk as he rides Roach, and he won't allow you to take a break, making you walk for several days at times. Sometimes it'll be as simple as denying you things like, the warmth of the fire on a cold night, or a bedroll, leaving you to sleep on the hard icey forest floor.

• However when you are good Geralt is very tender and sweet with you. Making sure you are well sated and hydrated. Holding you lovingly in his arms as you ride together, his arms around your hips as you practically sat in his lap. Keeping you warm and comfortable on chilly nights, cuddling with you by the fire on a fairly comfy bed he'd made with things from the forest.

• When it's just you two he's easier to keep satisfied, simply do as he asks, do not fight him, praise him as often as he praises you, and never try running away.

• When others are around he's much harder to keep satisfied, as his jealousy knows no bounds, anyone and everyone is a threat in his eyes. So it's best just to stick with him, particularly right up against his side, with his arm around your shoulders reminding everyone you are his.

| Is Geralt worried anyone will find out? |

• Not in the slightest bit. Before ever taking you anywhere near other people, Geralt broke you to the point where you wouldn't try running away, or beg anyone to help you.

• In the beginning of it all he would chat with Roach about you, and as time went on, and he became more and more obsessed and deranged, he would loose his hold on morality of the situation, talking about it all allowed him to accept it much easier.

• If anyone tries to ever take you away because they know something is wrong, they'll vanish from town without a trace, along with the witcher and his female companion. You'll both become a ghost story in most of the settlements you pass through.

• Geralt is very good at manipulating people, and if that doesn't quite work he'll try to intimidate them, though it's rare but if that also fails then he'll simply kill them and anyone else that might get in his way.

• And considering how long you've been on the road now, he knows your betrothed is long dead, and you didn't have any family left, or any friends. No one knows who you are or where you came from except for him. No one cares about you anymore except for him, and he's sure to remind you of that fact until he's achieved breaking you completely into submission.

| What happens when/if you are ever hurt? |

• It was bound to happen sooner or later no matter how hard he might try to prevent it. You travel all over dangerous lands, and stay on the sidelines as he slays any beast or men that poses a threat. He really should have allowed you a dagger, or at least hide you somewhere safe when working a contract.

• He'd heard your panicked scream when one of the wolves managed to get passed him and corner you. It was as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, and the world was moving in slow motion. In reality he'd spun on his heel in an instant and thrown a knife into the wolfs throat before it could do anymore harm to you.

• He dispatched of the rest of the wolves, and rushed to your side as you sit on the ground, leaning against a tree and cradling your bleeding leg. He'd been making you wear trousers, as they were easier for you to travel in, but now he wished you'd had a dress on, as it would have been easier to get to the gash without causing you anymore pain.

• But that wasn't the case, so Geralt had to unlace the pants and pull them down until he can reach the gash. Cleaning it and dressing it as best he could, even taking advice from you when you told him what herbs would be best. Afterwards he pulled the pants back up as gently as he could, and pulled you up into his arms.

• After finding a safe place in the woods, Geralt set up a large camp. Somewhere for you to rest until your leg was healed, and where you would later train with a sword. He wouldn't make this mistake again, so he will make sure you can protect yourself properly if he cannot. While your leg is injured he would carry you everywhere, or let you ride Roach while he walked beside you to catch you if you fell.

| Is Geralts obsession in any way sexual? |

• In the very very beginning it wasn't sexual to him, you were to pure in his mind in the very beginning. But as time goes by, his love blooms into desire, which will deepen as his obsession grows, and even more so when he sees you bathe after he's taken you captive. He had to make sure you wouldn't run, and sometimes he couldn't help but look at you.

• He may be yandere and at times cruel, but he will not force himself onto you. Not for a kiss or anything else. Even when he wants to cuddle at night, he lets you initiate it, which due to the cold you did so often even when you were still fighting against him.

• But when you finally give into him, and begin to see his love and begin to love him in return. He's like a starved beast, everything is so fierce and intense, yet he is still gentle with you, knowing if he took it to far he could seriously hurt you, and that's the last thing he'd ever want.

• No one and I mean no one but Geralt can see your naked body. Not even the female maids you cross paths with in castles or keeps. If you need assistance in the bath or with your clothes Geralt will be the only one to help you. If someone barges in while you're in a compromising situation, he'll dispose of them for ever looking at what is for his eyes and his eyes alone. Doesn't matter to him who it is, and this could really prove to be a problem if it's someone of great importance.

• He's addicted to your taste, from the taste of your kisses, to the taste if your dripping pussy. Geralt would spend all day and night with his head buried between your thighs if you allowed him to. By the time he's finished with you, he'll be the only god you'll ever pray to.

• Geralt also fucking loves watching you ride his cock, and he doesn't care where you are when you do it. In the woods, an inn, a castle or keep, doesn't matter in the slightest. The sight if his cock stretching you out is far to divine a sight to pass up, not to mention how fucking incredible you look as you use him to fuck yourself into oblivion.

• Geralt will totally melt if you insist on sucking his cock, you look so precious and you do so well he doesn't honestly last long when you suck him off. Sometimes he'll order you to suck his cock and talk about all the filthy things he's gonna do to you as you work his length. But the he still much rather prefers to eat you out.

• He'll leave bruises on your skin from how tightly he holds you as he's fucking you. Sometimes he'll even leave bite marks, but he prefers when you bite him, it's just so primal feeling and he can't get enough. Geralt will warship your entire body for hours before sex and oftentimes after sex as well. Tender overstimulation and aftercare are his specialty.

• Geralt would give you the world on a silver platter if he could, but since that's easier said than done, he'll offer you his body to use as you please whenever you so please. And he feels most at home with his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, so be prepared for all the cockwarming you can take, because now there's no other way to sleep.

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*Alrighty y'all I'm feeling better finally, and I'm trying to get back into the groove of writing. So I hope you enjoyed this piece, and know that if you've sent in a request I've got them in my drafts and I'm slowly working on them again.

- The Jaded Monkey 🐒

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vesemirsexual · 6 months

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My hot take of the day is: Vesemir lets Lambert get away with murder compared to the other two and it’s not just because he’s the baby of the group

The thing is: Vesemir fucked up so bad. He let over a century worth of kids be traumatised, subjected to medical and experimental violence, sent broken into a world that they likely wouldn’t return from. It wasn’t solely his fault, and he’s also a victim of the system - but he’s also a part of the cycle, an essential cog.

Geralt and Eskel accept it. They see him as someone who did what he had to, did the best with what he had available to help them. It’s not even that they forgive him, because I don’t think they conceptualise it as something to be forgiven in the first place.

Lambert though? Vesemir actually has to work to earn respect and acceptance from Lambert. Lambert doesn’t hold any illusions about the greater good: he sees their lives as fucked up violations, and Vesemir as a perpetrator (even though I heavily suspect Lambert also identifies Vesemir as a victim as well, even if he doesn’t want to or won’t acknowledge it).

Lambert would and could walk away from Kaer Morhen for good. Vesemir can’t just treat him like a trainee, or an underling, because he knows this too. Even though they fight like dogs (inevitable, given their personalities) Vesemir has to try and reach out to Lambert in whatever way he can, because he does genuinely care about him and doesn’t want him to walk away (because realistically, Vesemir is the keeper of KM and if the fights with Lambert actually pissed him off, he could tell him to get lost next season and Lambert would).

And you can see that they do have a relationship. Lambert jumps to Vesemirs defence when Yennefer comments. Lambert is set to inherit his sword, that “fits perfectly in his hand”. I think it’s telling that when they fight about abandoning KM, Vesemir storms off for an entire month - I think that if Geralt or Eskel had pulled that fight, they would’ve been running the walls. Lambert? Vesemir leaves.

(Additionally, I feel the defence of each other goes the same way lmao. I feel like if Lambert and Vesemir fights and one of the other Wolves tries to side with Vesemir or comment on it, Vesemir is like “no thanks ass-kisser. don’t talk about your brother like that. run the wall 20 times”)

#i have so many thoughts about them #katie txt

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sillyrabbit81 · 1 year

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The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Sixteen

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Sixteen Summary: Marshall opens up about his past.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3.1k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Sixteen Warnings: slight angst, discussion of murder and violence against women, smut, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of body fluids, I think thats it

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

So... Been a while... I am really nervous about posting because it has been so long! But I put my big girl pants on and I'm just going to do it. This chapter had to be split in half, which was a small reason for why this took so long to put out, the other part is that I think some of it is a bit dry... Exposition is hard!!!! The next part isn't quite finished but this point was a natural stopping point so I figure, post this and then maybe I won't be so in my head about the next bit.

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Fifteen Part Seventeen

Lori

I woke up with a start.

My heart was beating as fast as a mouse’s and I was sucking in huge gulps of air that failed to fill the hollow in my chest. I was shaking, every muscle and sinew quivering with a chilling thrum, yet I was frozen. I willed myself to move but my glaciated neurons refused to fire, iced over, hardened, ready to snap.

From behind me, a heavy arm moved on my waist and a hand pressed against my belly as soft whiskers and gentle lips caressed and the back of my neck. Relief warmed my blood in a balmy rush, my body thawing in a heady and welcomed surge.

Marshall. It was only Marshall.

“Alright?” he asked, his voice low and rough from sleep.

I hummed, not quite ready to speak. I looked at the clock on the nightstand. Small and generic, its garish neon green digital numerals reminded me that my room wasn’t actually my room and my briefly mollified anxiety inched its way back into my tightening chest.

I’d barely slept, little more than dozed. I wondered if I should get up and shower, but I didn’t want to disturb Marshall. So I laid there and listened to his breathing return to its regular cadence while I tried to recall and hold onto my dream. I might as well have tried to catch a cloud, the memories were wispy vapours, too vague and insubstantial to retain, leaving behind echoing stains of dread and emptiness.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what I had dreamed of. The strange and rapid life changes over the past couple of weeks made it possible for me to push aside the grief from the loss of my parents and focus on other things like my anger at Nate, the shocking revelations about Jake, and the developing situation with the Brothers. I may have made a conscious decision not to dwell and process my emotions, but my subconscious was obviously not on board.

I focussed on the rhythm of Marshall’s breathing, the soft reverberation in his throat on each inhale and the sturdy snugness of his arms while I pushed down the lingering feelings, stuffing them like clothes into a laundry basket, deep into the recesses of my mind. Even as I crammed them away, I knew I’d have to deal with my emotions at some point. I told myself I would, just not today, or tomorrow. Maybe in a month or two. Or three. When I was home again, or alone, or when things were back to normal.

Eventually, the residual fear from my lost dream ebbed and slowly faded while a myriad of new ones took its place.

Had last night been another mistake on the long list of mistakes I had made. Was Marshall another Jake? Was Sy for that matter?

Sy.

Now that Marshall and I had crossed the Rubicon, would Sy still feel the same way about me when he returned and faced the reality of what he had agreed to? Or, had the existence of the pact forced him to adhere to it out of a sense of bravado and loyalty to the Brotherhood? Had I just turned myself into another groupie, a woman destined for a lifetime of disrespect, deception and disillusion, stupidly thinking that an outlaw, an outsider, a biker, could change for them?

I waited for the gut feeling that I had fucked up by sleeping with Marshall to arrive, but it never came. Of course there were no guarantees in any relationship, but everything that had happened with Marshall had felt sincere and genuine.

“I can hear you thinking,” Marshall grumbled. His breath was warm against my ear and his gentle accent made me shiver as a heated rush rippled across my skin, soothing and comforting me.

“I thought you were asleep,” I said.

He grunted and shifted his body until he laid on his back. I rolled over, following him and he tucked me under his arm. He glanced with a half smile that I barely picked up in the darkness of the room. I returned it and his grin grew slightly bigger before he laid his head back into the pillows.

“My sleep cycle has been off for years. Never recovered from shift work with the PD.”

I shimmied closer to him, pressing my breasts against his side, resting my thigh across his hips and dipped my fingers into the thick, coarse curls that spread across his chest from shoulder to shoulder. In response, I felt him stroke my arm, the tips of his fingers tracing an invisible path.

“Marshall?”

“Lori,” he replied, one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

“How did you end up in the Brotherhood?”

His smile vanished instantly and after a couple of passes over my arm, his hand stopped his caress, pausing mid stroke. His eyes sought out mine and I made it easier for him, by laying my chin on his chest, ignoring the way his wispy hairs tickled my jaw.

“There were a series of murders. Women, young women, some still teens. To call them murders doesn’t go far enough, each one was assaulted, tortured…” Marshall trailed off but his fingers began to stroke me again, this time sweeping over my back.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I said.

Marshall grunted and took a deep breath. “It was a long investigation that led nowhere. We had physical evidence, DNA, but no matches in the system and no motives. There were no useful eyewitnesses, no connections between the victims, they were of different racial backgrounds, economic status, from all over the city. We kept hitting dead ends, every lead we had didn’t pan out. Meanwhile, more girls were showing up dead, nearly a dozen and the media were breathing down our necks.”

He scoffed, his lip curled in disgust.

“They can be viscous,” I said, remembering the media circus that followed my parents' death.

Lifting his head, Marshall kissed my forehead before continuing.

“Eventually a name popped up that looked promising, he had been a contact in four of the victim’s phones. No other number had shown up twice, let alone four times. So we started an investigation into him. Found out he was a CEO of a financial institution or an investment bank, I don’t remember which. He was young, one of those prodigious financial wizards that seemed to have the Midas touch. He was famous in the financial world, puff pieces in newspapers, magazines, you know the type?”

I nodded and he continued.

“We’d barely gotten further than collecting basic background on this guy when the case was taken out of our hands by the Feds. I was furious, obviously, their jurisdiction over the case was on a flimsy basis at best. There was nothing I could do about it but wait for news of the investigation. However, months went by and… nothing. No news, no arrests, no more media reports, nothing.”

“He wasn’t the guy?”

Marshall shrugged. “I thought I must have been wrong. After a year, a homeless guy was arrested and charged.”

“So you had the wrong guy, after all?”

Marshall chuffed and shook his head.

“I knew in my gut the man they arrested was a patsy. I looked into it. I talked to some of his friends from the streets and as far as I could tell he wasn’t even in town when the first three victims had been murdered. His friends said he came to the city to attend the funeral of his murdered daughter.”

“No,” I gasped, my mouth covering my hand in shock.

“Yes,” Marshall said, “He was the father of the first victim we found. We had tried to contact him in the early days of the investigation, but he couldn’t be located. By the time he had discovered what happened to his daughter, there had been other victims and it was no longer a priority to find him and rule him out as a suspect.”

I thought about Nate and my father. I had never been privy to the dealings of the club, but you picked things up. The club had a surprisingly low number of members with criminal records and although I had never been explicitly told, I knew it was because the “right” people had been paid off for years. I figured the real killer must have been doing something similar, but on a massive scale.

“So what did you do?” I asked.

“I took my theories up the chain and requested permission to do my own investigation. I was told in no uncertain terms that if I did that, it would cost me my badge.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Shit.”

“I couldn’t let it go though. I knew I couldn’t investigate alone and I suspected that I might be under surveillance. I couldn’t ask anyone else in the department to risk their job, so I called a guy I trusted. He used to be a bounty hunter but by then was working as a private security contractor.”

“Geralt?” I guessed.

“Geralt,” Marshall repeated. “He used his connections and reported back that there had been rumours floating about this guy for years, from his college days to his early Wall Street days to this case. Reports of domestic violence from women he’d had relationships with and assaults on sex workers that always seemed to be retracted or ignored. Somehow, this fucking guy kept getting away with fucking murder because of his connections.”

He closed his eyes and the muscles of his jaw pulsed beneath his thickly bearded skin. Swallowing hard, he opened his eyes and his voice was husky as he continued.

“When I realised what they had done to that man, that girl’s father… I wasn’t particularly idealistic and I wasn’t naive, but I had never thought that this level of corruption could happen. The Feds, the media, the PD; how many people must be involved, how many people were paid off or blackmailed? Everything I knew, everything I….”

He shrugged and was quiet. I waited, sure he had more to say. But he stayed silent, jaw twitching again and his eyes seemed to glaze over as his thoughts seemed to drift away.

I placed my hand on his cheek, my thumb sweeping along the bone and tilted my head to kiss his chest softly. Marshall’s hand went to my hair stroking my hair off my face.

“I quit. I couldn’t do that kind of work again, not knowing what I knew. I went back to Geralt, thinking with my SWAT background, maybe I’d try private security. Instead, Geralt introduced me to Sy and Walker.”

“What happened to the CEO?”

Marshall’s grin was a little disconcerting as he replied, “He got his in the end. An international financial scandal ruined him. The bank he headed was laundering money for the cartels and he was directly implicated in running the scam. The CIA got him for that one, apparently his reach didn’t go that far.”

“What happened to the father?” I asked.

“Suicide in prison while awaiting trial. It was a fucking joke.”

“I’m sorry, Walter,” I said softly.

His eyes found mine. Blue, deep and clear, they held me and I couldn’t look away. He sighed and shifted his hips. The movement made his thigh brush high between my legs and I became very conscious of the fact that both of us were naked.

The atmosphere changed, the air crackled with an electric anticipation and a heady jolt of lust worked its way down my spine to my core. I wasn’t alone, Marshall breathing became heavy, his nostrils flaring as he drew in each breath and his chest swelled.

His fingertips began to skim over my back again, and my skin broke out in goosebumps as I shivered with pleasure. His burly arms drew me to his chest, the coarse hair tickled my nipples as he guided me onto my back. Blanketing me with his comfortingly heavy body, his weight was concentrated at our hips and effectively pinned me to the mattress. My legs split beneath him, opening myself up in a shameless invitation. He took the hint, and he rolled his hips against me as he kissed me.

It was like he was a different man; his feral, almost brutal urgency gave way to languid deliberateness. His lips moved down the column of my neck, hands exploring, clasping my ribs as if he wanted to caress not just the flesh, but the bones beneath. Moving with barely restrained greed, he slipped my nipple into his mouth and his teeth captured it while his velvety tongue flicked. His lips were satin, his beard was rugged silk, equally coarse and soft as he kissed and rubbed his cheeks against the sensitive skin between my breasts.

Opening his bearded jaw wide, he took more of me into his mouth than just my pink pebbled nipple. I watched bleary eyed as creamy skin disappeared into his warm mouth and his tongue lashed. My fingers slid into his thick curls, holding him close, begging for more.

I moved a hand down his shoulder and back feeling his dense muscles ripple under my touch. I went lower, down his side and abdomen, a rush of heat surged through me as my fingers found the trail of hair below his navel. I wanted to follow its path, wanted to feel him throbbing just like I was.

Thwarting my plans, Marshall laid warm, wet, kisses down my tummy, and became out of reach. I let out a petulant moan and he grinned, rubbing his beard against a sensitive spot near my hip, making me giggle and squirm out of his grasp. He caught my hip and pushed me down to the bed again in a flash back to his earlier impatience.

“Shh,” he soothed with a wolfish grin.

His hand swept down my thigh, curling under my knee and gently guiding my legs further apart. His kisses started at my knee and moved down the inside of my thigh, heat from his mouth made me shiver and I fell back onto the bed. He got closer to my soaked, throbbing core and I felt his tongue at the crease of my thigh, lapping at the combined wetness there from both my arousal and his release.

I gasped and leaned up on my elbows to watch and his feverish blue eyes were looking up at me from between my legs. My body looked as aroused as I felt, nipples tight and hard, tummy and thighs trembling, my pussy was swollen and glistening with the remains of our previous, furious love making.

Fingers glided over me, thumbs pulling apart my folds, his breath simultaneously warm and cooling against my hot throbbing sensitive skin. A finger teased my weeping core, swirling at my entrance. I was on fire, desperately clenching at nothing, and I could feel evidence of his orgasm leaked from within me.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath.

“Marshall,” I said breathlessly, reaching for his shoulders, trying to pull him up to me, “stop teasing me. Just fuck me.”

“I’ll fuck you,” he said, voice husky, almost gone. Then he mumbled something I couldn’t catch against my pussy.

The feel of his tongue prodding my entrance, no doubt tasting himself as he ate me out was so wickedly filthy to me that I was completely transfixed by the lurid eroticism, I’d never experienced anything like it. I could barely hold myself up, but the sight of him practically pussy drunk and groaning was too good not to look at. He growled, his arms wrapped around my thighs and he pushed his face into me, soft prickles of his beard against me made me shake even more and despite wanting to keep watching, I fell back to the mattress.

Suede-like brushes against my clit had me shaking, the tension in my muscles quivering like violin strings. Jesus christ he was amazing, then he sucked softly on my clit, and I was gone, crying out as my hands tangled in his hair, tightening into fists and held him against me. He didn’t stop as I came, his hands moved to my hips, his long fingers splayed across my belly and waist as if he wanted to feel my body move as I buckled.

My hands unclenched, and I shuddered with aftershocks as Marshall stayed where he was, softly licking at my core. I closed my eyes, bathing in the post orgasm euphoria, running my fingers through his hair. He didn’t stop kissing me as he moved up my body and rested a fraction of his weight against me. His hand was warm as he cupped my cheek and covered my mouth with his. I could taste us on his lips and tongue, his beard was soaked too. I was so turned on that after the flavour faded from his mouth, I swept my tongue over his chin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “You taste good, don’t you?”

I hesitated, self-consciousness creeping in and my cheeks burned with embarrassment. Marshall stroked my cheek with his thumb and I opened my eyes and realised that he wasn’t trying to shame me.

“You taste good too,” I said.

He smiled, his lips parting just enough to see his teeth, before he grew a little serious. His hand curled around the back of knee, lifting and opening me again, and he adjusted his body in a way that made me gasp. Poised, and ready, his silky hardness waited, his brows raising just enough to ask the unspoken question.

“Yes,” I murmured.

His mouth was on mine as he slid inside me, our kiss muffling both our moans. We stayed like that, joined and locked together, hungrily swallowing the others whispered words and whimpers. Fingers sought mine, and lacing them together he squeezed, gripping me and releasing me in time with his steady rocking movements.

He knew what he was doing, making sure I could feel every inch of his thick and rigid length, making sure he found that spot that made my breath hitch every time. His breath was coming in harder and heavier, each exhale punctuated by a muted grunt. I couldn’t focus, I had to close my eyes. Fuck, he really knew what he was doing.

“Marshall,” I gasped. I don’t know why I spoke. I was riding close to the edge, any second now and I would fall.

“Yes,” he growled, “Fuck, yes.”

I fell.

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tielmamon · 7 months

Text

Part 2

"Oh- wh- hold on now, thought we were playing for fun?" Jaskier watches Ciri deplete his monitary resources with the sweetest smile, and truly he finds that he doesn't mind.

"I assure you, it truly is a delight taking your coin." He puts on an annoyed face and snatches her cards back just to squeeze another laugh out of her. Gods know this girl needs a bit of levity in her life right now. He wasn't good at a lot of things, realistcally. He's not skilled with a sword, not a pinch of chaos in him, but making people laugh? That he can do.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do." He glances at her, honestly more proud than anything else. Princess Cirilla of Cintra, a fiesty spark of a girl turned warrior. He wasn't there for her initial adjustment with Geralt for...obvious reasons but in the years when he was there, he's seen how brave and noble and irrefutably powerful she is. All that hurt and pain turned into pure determination. She's a flame, just like her mother. And most of all, Jaskier sees so much of his best friend in her. Not just the stubbornness to do good or fierce protectiveness over those she loves, but also the little things that make his heart ache. How she holds her sword, how she likes her meat, hell even how she walks. Undoutably a reflection of her parent's love and guidance.

Her parents...

The sharpness in his chest returns. Its strange. Years and years of loving Geralt had eventually reformed his once raging, constantly ready-to-burst love into a calm, surrendered sort of feeling. It's not that his love for the man lessened. On the contrary, every year he feels them grow and evolve into something more. Knowing that heartbreak was inevitable had given him a bittersweet sort of peace. So the pain in his chest that flares whenever he sees Geralt so openly love Yen faded with time, leaving a dull ache in its place.

Until now.

"I'm sorry you're here with me, instead of at the party." Ciri brings him out of his thoughts. He simply shakes his head.

"Oh, I'm not." In all honestly, he was a bit annoyed that everyone and their mother seemed to be invited to this conclave except him but then he remembers Geralt and Yennefer going together. He could only imagine what fancy, no doubt monochromatic outfit Yen would force Geral to wear. Then again, if Yennefer was the one asking he doubts Geralt would protest. Not as much as he would with him, anyway-

He cuts that train of thought before it sends him spiraling. He had worked so hard to keep himself incheck, keep his feelings to a minimum. To not feel, or at the very least look like the lovesick fool he was before.

"Valdo's off key warblng would make my ears bleed." He settles on a believable and admittedly true excuse. Valdo's overdramatic (even for him) vocals are definitely a factor, but he'd rather listen to that noise for days than watch Geralt dance Yennefer across the ballroom with that soft, painfully besotted look on his face. He might actually die of heartbreak if he does.

"Besides, I'm better off here." He smiles at her, reassuredly. He sees the princess sit up straighter, patting the spot beside her. He raises an eyebrow but sits down nontheless.

"Jask?"

"Yes, coin thief?"

"Does he know?" He feels his heartbeat pick up. He's sure than his body is noticibly tenses, judging by how Ciri looks at him like a kicked fucking puppy.

"Does who know what?" He knows what she's asking, because what else could she mean? But like a coward, he deflects. He turns to humor because really, thats his weapon of choice. She looks at him with such a sad look and he knows he's caught.

"Does Geralt know you love him?" Deflect. Run. Don't answer-

"Of course he knows I love him. He's my best friend." He prays that his answer is enough. It seems like it isn't .

"Jaskier." He is still and silent, almost like how the man in question often is. In the end, he finds that he's tired of lying about what he feels. So, he talks.

"I think so, yes. Pretty hard thing to miss after the years of songs and poetry and...well, you get the picture." He sees her face drop, and a certain panic sets in.

"Ciri- listen, I would never ever try and break up your parents, okay? I-I would never do that to your family." He says in a rush, desperate for her to realizes. Because yes, as much as he loves Geralt, he would never jeopardise this. They were quite literally destined to be together, and if Jaskier feels like his chest is being ripped out by a wyvern everytime he sees them then thats his problem, not theirs.

"You're part of this family too, you know." Jaskier has only ever been truly speechless a handful of times in his life. But when he feels her bring him into a hug far nicer than he technically deserves right now, he finds that he can't bring himself to say anything because gods, he wishes it were true. That he was part of this group. This family and not just a stray thread, waiting to be cut off and thrown away once again.

"You're family too." He nods weakly, a few tears spilling from his eyes. Smaller hands, not yet calloused by swords or spells brush a few tears from his cheeks using the blanket. He laughs wetly, complaining how dusty the blanket is, making him cry more which was definitely the real reason and not anything else.

"And I'm not upset at you Jaskier. I'm upset for you. I don't like seeing you hurt like this..." He sees her brows furrow, hands pulling away to clutch the covers. He chuckles, wiping away the rest of his tears.

"Oh, how lucky a man am I. To have such a fierce warrior-witcher-mage princess protecting me." He smiles but her frown doesn't waver. She adjusts herself on the bed to face him properly, laying on her side and slipping a hand to hold his.

"I'm serious Jaskier! You're happiness is important too." He squeezes the hand on top of his, mustering up enough courage to smile.

"My dear, I am happy with what I have now."

"Liar." He gasps, bringing a hand to his heart. She smiles, just a bit and he counts that as a win

"I would never!" He allows himself to breath when he sees her chuckle. He's exhausted, truly. His body feels heavy with the weight of his emotions and physical exhaustion of the day. Still, there is a determined princess cuddled up infront of him with furrowed brows and a sad look on her face that simply cannot wait until morning.

"We do not choose who we love in this lifetime. I didn't choose to fall inlove with my best friend the same way Geralt didn't choose to not reciprocate those feelings. Which is okay, because-...because my love for your father isn't one that seeks a reply. It simple is." Ciri recalls her memories.

Memories from Geralt and her in the woods, running and overwhelmed and terrified. She remembers Geralt telling her stories of his best friend- an obnoxious bard that told the best stories even though they weren't entirely true. The look of guilt and sadness and longing her father suprise had when he told her about him. The few tears she saw him shed behind a crack in the door the night he finally gathered up the courage to apologize to Jaskier for everything. She had never seen him so devastated.

The grin he didn't even bother to hide when Jaskier had offhandedly called him darling when he asked for the salt.

"But what if there is a reply? What if he does love you?" Jaskier shakes his head, looking down to his lap.

We could head to the coast...

Get away for a while...

Composing your next song?

No...No, just trying to work out what pleases me...

Jaskier bears his heart to Geralt on that mountain top. He doesn't breathe, doesn't dare look away. He waits and hopes and gods above, he loves so hard it hurts. Maybe just this once, he'll be enough. Maybe they could run away from this, from everything just for a year. Maybe-

Geralt stands and leaves. Jaskier turns and sees him disappear in Yennefer's tent.

"Darling, that's impossible." He smiles sadly, playing with her fingers. The memory of then mountain and all other instances of him and Geralt replay like an old song. He knew the melody and each lyric by heart by now.

"But Jaskier I've-" Ciri startles when Jaskier’s hand claps with hers loudly and suddenly. Her palm barely stings but she gets the hint to stop talking.

"I have his friendship. I have a-a family apparently, in you and Yen. That is...more than I ever dreamed of having. You all are more than enough for me." Ciri regards him for a moment, staring at him like she's reading his soul. Whatever she sees seems to satisfy- atleast for now, because she sighs and lays a head on his shoulder.

"You too." He leans back, cheek brushing her temple as they stare at the flames of the fireplace.

"Thank you." He pretends to believe her.

Part 1 (x)

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #unrequited???#one sided love???#maybe not #Geralt sending mixed signals #poor baby jaskier #fanfic

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solcorvidae · 4 months

Text

Modern Witcher AU: My Headcanons (part 4)

Jaskier’s full legal name is Julian Alfred Pankratz. His parents have called him Jaskier since he was a baby and it stuck. He is their little buttercup to this day. Jaskier will not respond to ‘Julian’ unless it is painfully obvious it’s him who’s being spoken to. Jaskier has never truly been ‘Julian’ but for whatever reason his parents never got his name legally changed. He has lived his whole life as Jaskier despite his paperwork, ID, passport, and medications all having PANKRATZ, Julian Alfred written on them. He will probably never do it himself either, leaving him stuck with a legal name he has never gone by.

Jaskier sizes down his base layer clothes to be slim-fitting and Geralt sizes up. They very easy could share most clothes (both ways) with no issue if they both wore clothes that actually fit how they are supposed to. However, since they don't, they run the risk of having Jaskier's T-shirts becoming stretched out.

Jaskier sticks to stealing Geralt's clothes. Geralt lets him.

Cats loathe Aiden. (Yes, he will be appearing at some point.)

Eskel’s voice carries through walls even when he is speaking quietly. It can be felt more than heard because it emanates so strongly from his chest.

Jaskier can do a scarily accurate impression of Geralt and can easily fool people over the CB radio.

Jaskier was a loud kid. Like the type of kid that will go up to a stranger, basically yell “DO YOU LIKE MY SHOES?” and then start aggressively stomping around in his light-up sketchers.

Jaskier’s family was initially unsure of Geralt when they first met. It only took twenty minutes for his mom and dad to decide they adored him. They think that he is the most polite young man and a pleasure to be around. They spend hours talking (having a friendly and enthusiastic interrogation) with him, asking Geralt a billion questions about himself and his relationship with their son… how they met, what they’ve been up to, where Geralt is from, etc. Geralt is overwhelmed but feels welcomed by the end of the night, no longer feeling the judgement boring into the back of his skull like he did when he’d first arrived.

Jaskier’s mom has plenty of embarrassing scrapbook photos of him throughout his life. Geralt half-jokingly asks to see them and she shows him every single one. Jaskier groans and hides behind his hands the whole time but finds the scene in front of him endearing… so he tolerates it.

Eskel makes tea for people. People he loves, people he’s comforting, his friends, his family, his lover, strangers, people who he’s just meeting for the first time… there’s tea for every occasion.

While Geralt’s creative outlet is painting, Eskel crochets. He makes his friends and family warm clothes to bundle up in during the winter months. He sews a custom made tag into each of his pieces. The tag reads: ‘Handmade with Love by Eskel Bellegarde’

Vesemir has three giant boxes of all the boys’ school work, projects, and art work. He vows to never get rid of any of it.

Vesemir drinks his morning coffee from a mug that is practically illegible at this point but had once upon a time said “World’s Best Dad!” across the front.

Geralt knows how to ride a motorcycle... he just doesn’t have one anymore. He bought a used one for a wicked deal in highschool but sold it for his old pickup when he realized how impractical it was only a few years later. He will probably let his license expire because he can’t be arsed to retake the test.

Geralt walks on his toes. His heels hardly ever touch the ground unless he is wearing supportive shoes. He walks near-silently when donning bare-feet or socks. However, he walks heel-to-toe when he wears his boots. He has custom insoles to prevent knee pain and the shoes really do help his aches and pains... but he can be heard for miles--especially when wearing his favourite cowboy boots. Think: a set of heels on an office building floor.

Lambert gets sympathy pains and feels ill when his loved ones are in pain or sick. This, along with the guilt he feels causes him to isolate and distance himself from them when he is not needed/wanted in the room. He is still very present and loving when he is around (even more than he usually is) but he feels tremendous guilt that leads him to spend far more time in his room/at a friends house than usual.

[Modern AU Headcanon Masterpost]

#hypothermic ao3 #the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher modern au #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #eskel #lambert #eskel witcher #lambert witcher #aiden witcher #kaer morons #ao3 #archive of our own #sol scribbles

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 11 months

Text

Under Orders - Part 4

Masterlist

Part 1 🔹Part 2🔹Part 3🔹Part 4🔹Part 5

Pairing: Dom!August x reader || Dom!Marshall x reader

Summary: August decides to tease you when your new neighbor comes over to watch the game...

Word count: 5.9k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, BDSM, D/s dynamic (technically D/s/D), praise kink, (semi-)suspension bondage, p-in-v sex (unprotected, creampie), anal sex (toys, fingering, p-in-a) (f receiving) (unprotected, anal creampie), double penetration (toys), use of pet names/titles (Daddy, Sir, princess, kitten, sweetheart, love, darling and bunny), established polyamorous relationship, very light spanking, voyeurism, exhibitionism, phone (video) sex, slight humiliation/degradation, slight objectification, bratty behavior, punishment/funishment, also check-ins and aftercare...

A/N: My dear, dear Charlie! I have been thinking about what you said way back in March, and even though my brain was already playing around with an idea for a part 4, I ended up nixing that idea and... well... Going with yours, really, while also making precisely 0 promises because I couldn't really see it yet. Then, I proceeded to struggle with this for 3 months while also teasing you - which I feel is a fair reaction to your bullying 😝 By now, of course, you know me a little, so I'm guessing you already knew this was coming despite my very deliberately not actually telling you. (I'm sorry, I just didn't want to disappoint in case I really couldn't wrap my brain around that combo.)

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @keanureevesisbae @fvckinghenrycavill @peaches1958 @know1udno @dedicated-to-mr-cavill @7eamfan7asy @ylva-stark @summersong69 @kingliam2019 @mayloma @sloppyzengarden @youve-yeed-yer-last-haw @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @livisss @sycochick

Burly, handsome, and retired from the army. It’s a good thing a man like that hadn’t moved in next to some picture perfect, suburban, American dream couple, because that’s how folks like that end up divorced. Instead, he had moved in next door to you and August. Not that you don’t consider what you have ‘perfect’, and God knows there are plenty of pictures, but it’s a far cry from the bland housewife scenario that usually comes with the type of neighborhood you live in. That said, it’s probably for the best you don’t live anywhere that shares any walls with the next house – you can’t imagine the noise complaints you’d get.

The first weeks are quiet; you check him out form a safe distance, you smile and wave, and you don’t go much beyond friendly introductions. His name is Sy – an abbreviation of his last name; he doesn’t use his first name for whatever reason. He was Special Forces, now working personal security somewhere downtown. It doesn’t get much deeper than that. You purposely keep your conversations short, not least of all because you’re scared that you’ll end up flirting with him a little too much if you don’t.

While you’re putting in all this effort to keep your mind out of the gutter, August grins like some kind of lunatic every time he catches you looking a little too long, or glancing over your shoulder a second time when you walk past him, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Until one day, when you pull into the driveway at the same time Sycomes back from his run, and you spend your time shamelessly undressing him with your eyes while August talks to him. It's not a lot of work, he’s just wearing shorts, so you have the added bonus of not having to guess what his chest looks like. He’s big – at least as big as Marshall – and there’s an impressive collection of scars on him that you probably shouldn’t be staring at. Somewhere over the course of that conversation, you hear August suggest that Sy should come over to have a drink and watch the game – an offer he gladly accepts.

“What are you doing?” There’s absolutely no point in pretending; August knows you may just have a tiny little huge crush on this guy, and he’s going to torment you over it.

“Inviting our neighbor over,” August says, raising an eyebrow. It’s a challenge, which is strange, because he hardly ever gives you those. It’s Marshall who doesn’t mind a bit of lip from you every now and then, but August absolutely despises it. It’s one of the reasons that Augusts suggestion to share you with Marshall was a good one – and something that may have actually saved your relationship. “Go get dressed.”

You scoff when he says it. So he wants you all dolled up so he can toy with you all night before he ships you off to Marshall’s place needy and worked up? You’re not surprised: that’s exactly what you’d expect from him. But to do so in front of the new neighbor you barely even know…

“You’re going to punish me over a little…” you can’t bring yourself to say the word ‘crush’ – it sounds juvenile and wrong, even though your being in a relationship with two guys is hardly conventional and feels so right it makes you scared you’ll burst. Is it really so weird that you’re possibly considering three now?

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t notice August as he closes the distance between the two of you. When he grabs your neck, you shriek.

“Upstairs, now.” He’s already had enough of your attitude – and you’re not even giving him any, really. He drags you up the stairs and into the bedroom. The clothes that are laid out on the bed are a surprise; a light dress that shows you off in all the right ways, heels that are just a little over the top for casual drinks at your own house. The underwear is to Marshall’s taste, not his own – but that’s just preparation for later, and definitely something you already saw coming. The dress and shoes mean something else, though: August isn’t trying to torment you, he’s going to be parading you around. And not just for his own pleasure, either, you suspect.

“Do you get it now?” he asks.

“You want to show me off,” you whisper.

“Oh, yes. And not just that,” August says as he pulls you closer until your back is against his chest. His hand moves from the nape of your neck to cover your throat. When he speaks again, his lips brush against your ear, and you moan softly at the sensation. “I’m trying to get my pretty little whore what she wants. Am I still the bad guy?”

“No,” you say softly. Of course that’s met with a tightening grip on your throat. And he’s right: you’re forgetting something. “No, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” he growls in your ear as he lets go of you again, fingers still lingering. “It might take some time, though. ‘Do you want to get in on fucking my girlfriend’ isn’t exactly an opening line. Besides; I haven’t decided I can trust this guy yet. Can you be patient, princess?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You can certainly try…

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs softly. “Hands on the wall.”

You do as he tells you, knowing all too well that not listening might land you a sore enough ass that Marshall will actively complain about not being able to touch it tonight. August kicks lightly at your feet, prompting you to spread them.

“I do intend to play with you a little, though.” You savor every drop of the sadistic chuckle behind his voice as he speaks.

There’s a reason August likes to see you in loose skirts like the one you’re wearing, and you’re very sure ‘easy access’ is eighty percent of it. He drags your panties to the side and two fingers slip into your pussy with embarrassing ease.

“God, kitten, you’re so wet already,” he groans. “You’re such a perfect little slut for Daddy.” All you can do is moan while August pulls his fingers out and moves them to your clit. The tight circles he draws around the swollen little pearl make you writhe your hips, leaning into his touch as he keeps rhythm and pressure steady at an intensity that’s just shy of enough to make you come.

“What does my needy baby want?” You silently curse him out for already taking you past being able to use your words. If you want to come, you’re going to have to speak, and he’s making it almost impossible.

“Please make me come, Daddy!” you whine. August is ruthless. He knows exactly how to touch you or what to do to turn you into a screaming, squirming mess in his arms. It’s impossible to hold back your orgasm, and he knows it.

“Do you want to come?” That’s a fucking redundant question. It takes everything you’ve got to choke back the attitude and just tell him ‘yes, Daddy’. “Alright then.” One more flick of his fingers has you crying out his name, and you struggle to stay upright, but he’s there to hold you, thank god. You’re not given a lot of time to come down from your high, because the next thing you know, your hips are dragged back a little as August pulls your underwear down as far as they’ll go.

“Stay put.” You wouldn’t dare to move, honestly. Besides, why would you want to? The nightstand opens and closes, and as soon as August is back behind you, you hear the very familiar sound of the bottle of lube being opened. You’re fairly sure you’d recognize that sound in your sleep by now.

“Are you okay, standing up?” Shit. You thought he was just planning on popping a plug in your ass to torture you a little through drinks with Sy, but he actually wants to go for a round right now? Bastard.

“I’m fine,” you say as you roll your eyes. Not that he can see them, but it’s the thought that counts. Besides: It doesn’t matter what you say you want, August knows better. He’s well aware of the fact that you can’t resist the prospect of anal sex anymore. You’ve been having way too much fun with that!

You hum contently when he works one, then two, then three fingers into your ass.

“Is it just me or did this take way more work in the beginning?” August asks. His voice is surprisingly casual, which makes you laugh. Marshall actually brought up the same thing a few weeks back. They’re not wrong, either. You know what to expect and how to relax now, and it really has become easier.

“I didn’t have a well-rehearsed asshole in the beginning,” you counter. A fierce smack on your behind startles you. The impact leaves your cheek stinging – a sensation you not only happen to love, but happen to crave from time to time.

“Stick that attitude somewhere it won’t bother me, princess,” August says.

“Can’t,” you reply, “got three fingers shoved up there already.”

“Four,” he says casually, but you can tell he’s annoyed. “And that’s all the backtalk I’m going to allow. One more toe out of line, and you won’t be allowed touch that pretty pussy for a week. And by the time I’m taking you to Sir, you’re going to want to, trust me.” That sounds promising. You’re increasingly curious about what he’s got planned for you.

“Sorry, Daddy,” you say softly. He answers with nothing but a soft chuckle before pulling his fingers out of you and replacing them with something you personally consider to be much more fun.

“Oh, God! Yes please!” There’s no way to say that softly. For a moment, you wonder if there’s a better feeling in the world than August sliding his cock into your ass – only to decide shortly after that the only thing that’s better is when he does it again, and again, and again. Since your first adventure taking both August and Marshall at the same time, neither of them seem to be as scared to hurt you anymore, and they’ve only been becoming rougher and rougher with you. It’s fucking amazing, to be honest.

August doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s trying to last. The point of all this, judging from his actions after he pulls his dick out of your ass again, was to leave Marshall a surprise later tonight. It sometimes surprises you how okay your guys are with it when they hand you over with one – or several – loads of cum still inside you. You’ve heard the term ‘free lube’ on several occasions, and while that’s true and a valid point, it also definitely isn’t. It’s preferable to them being thoroughly grossed out about it, though. This wouldn’t work if they were. You’re barely aware of August sliding your favorite plug in place – it’s no wonder; you’re still struggling to stand up on your own and you may or may not be a little cockdrunk.

“Do I have to wear it all night?” you whine. August laughs – a sadistic, cruel sound that drives you mad so quickly you’re afraid you’re actually dripping all over the floor – and drags you up by your hair, only to spin you around and pin you against the wall. He kisses you hard, forcing his tongue against your lips until you yield and let him in. He breaks the kiss as he works a hand between your bodies.

“No, princess. Don’t pretend you hate it, I know you love it when we plug your cute little ass.” His breath is hot on your ear and the tone in his voice makes you shiver with anticipation. He slips his hand between your legs, but where you expect to feel his fingers slide into your pussy, it’s something else. The jerk. “This is going to be far more annoying.”

“D-Daddy? Am I at least allowed to come, please?” The soft buzzing of the remote control vibrator is already driving you nuts. This is going to be hell.

“Yes, but you’ll have to do it quietly.” Quietly? Oh fuck! Sy is coming over. You’d forgotten about that for a moment. A quick round of anal will do that to a person, apparently.

“You’re a sadistic asshole,” you mutter under your breath.

“Do you want to say that to my face, princess?” August asks you as he raises an eyebrow at you. You know that eyebrow – that’s not a good eyebrow.

“No, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

“That’s what I thought. Get dressed.” And with those words, he disappears.

For a minute, you consider taking the vibrator out, but there’s no way he wouldn’t notice. Also, it’s not as fun. You like being toyed with. You like it when they get you all worked up and dripping wet, and then deny you your pleasure for a little while longer just so they can watch you go completely crazy. You love knowing that there’s always a chance they will decide you haven’t been good enough, and you can’t have what you want. You feel safe knowing that they may be in control, even go as far as taking away your ability to move, see or speak, but they’ll never abuse the power that you give them. You love them.

You finish getting dressed and you’re just admiring yourself in the mirror – August has a sense of style when he isn’t going to work in drab grey suits – when your phone rings. Marshall. Your heart jumps when you see his name on the screen, and you answer immediately.

“Hey! Excited for tonight? Got anything planned?” you ask. It was a pretty last-minute decision to have you spend the weekend at his place, so you figured there must be something going on.

“Not really.” It’s not new that he sounds tired – Marshall always sounds tired, and probably has since kindergarten – but his voice is unusually flat, which has you worried. August hasn’t said anything about any trouble, so it’s either something he doesn’t know about, or something he decided not to tell you.

“Baby, are you ok-aah!” You silently curse August for turning up the heat on the vibrations. Fuck, it feels good, but if this is any indication of what he’ll put you through when Sy gets here, you’re in for a rough ride.

“Darling? Is something wrong?” Marshall sounds concerned, which isn’t surprising, because you just screeched in his ear for no apparent reason, but it’s still not quite necessary. You tell him as much, but he doesn’t believe you. “Can I see you?”

Oh, sure thing, he can see you! It’s moments like these when the attitude you can’t give August bubbles up. The thought of making Marshall look forward to tonight maybe a little bit more excites you more than you could ever describe. You turn your camera on after letting yourself fall on the bed, waving your feet in the air behind you, hoping he’ll be able to see your shoes. Both of your men like you in heels – and not just because they make your ass look good.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Marshall asks. You’re fairly sure he can tell you’re turned on.

“I’m perfectly fi-oh. Dammit, August.” That tells him everything he needs to know, and he starts laughing.

“Do I need to remind you that you got him that toy for his birthday?” No, he doesn’t need to remind you of that, actually, you were perfectly well on your way cussing yourself out for that one. Big mistake. Delicious, perverted, perfect, huge mistake.

“This wasn’t about me; what’s up?” You ask, stifling the moans that August is causing by playing around with the settings of the vibrator.

“Fuck, if you keep moaning like that, you know what will be up.” He groans. His voice is so warm and deep – and you have such a thing for that kind of voice – that any moan, groan, grunt or growl coming from this man is automatically a wildly erotic noise. That’s something you don’t want to be thinking about right now – you’re having a tough enough time as it is. “Tough case, wrapped it up yesterday. That’s why I asked you to come over. I need some quality time with my girl.” You whine, both because of August’s never-ending shenanigans, and because that’s the sweetest thing you’ve heard in a while.

“And how are we going to spend that quality time?” you ask coyly. It’s not that there’s a wrong or a right answer to this question, it’s just that you want something to look forward to tonight. A happy place to go to when August tries to get you to make lewd as fuck sounds in front of the neighbor you’ve barely even talked to. “I was planning on takeout and a movie,” Marshall says, “but it seems August plans on handing you over to me all hot and bothered. It would be a shame to waste that.”

“Any suggestions?” You tilt your phone a bit to bring your cleavage into view. Since you’re laying on your stomach, resting on your elbows, your chest looks amazing – it would just be wrong to deny him the visual. You choke back a chuckle when you see Marshall lick his lips.

“I somehow finally got around to installing a hard point in the bedroom that we can play around with?” You’d been talking about it for a few weeks, and with every conversation, the thought of having all those extra options became more alluring. There may or may not have been some talk of suspension, even, and you would be the first to admit that the idea alone turns you on big time.

“Movie night or bondage,” you say, laughing softly, “that’s a seriously tough choice, though.”

“I say bondage first, movies after, is that an alright compromise?” Alright compromise? Puh-lease! That sounds like the perfect night! Marshall can’t help but laugh when you tell him that. “Good, love. I can’t wait to see you.”

“You don’t have to wait,” you say coyly as you angle your phone to give him an even better look at your cleavage.

“Oh, shit, not saying no to that.” Of course he wouldn’t. He’s probably already worked up from knowing you’re being played with right now.

“Want to watch me come for you?” It’s a redundant question. You know it, Marshall knows it, but he still pretends to think about his answer for a moment. You stick out your tongue, which makes him laugh – as always.

“Careful, you little brat, or I’ll leave you tied to the ceiling all night. No movies for you.” It’s an empty threat, you can tell from the sound of his voice and the terrible wink he throws your way. Without thinking much, you move to sit in front of the mirror on the closet door, leaning back against the bed. You change the camera and show Marshall where you’re sitting.

“Tell me everything you’re going to do to me tonight.”

You make sure to give Marshall a nice show while he talks about several exciting ways to tie you up in excruciating detail. To say that a part of you wishes you were with him already is a massive understatement – all of you wants to be wrapped in his arms and in his ropes right now. After some time, you notice something strange; the vibrations of the toy are suspiciously helpful in your race towards what you know is going to be a fantastic orgasm. It’s the ‘come for me, baby’ from Marshall that pulls you over the edge, breaking you apart into a million pieces until you’re a trembling mess on the floor.

“That was lovely, princess.” August. Of course he was watching you. That makes a whole lot of sense. Did he overhear as he walked by the room? Was he looking for you? The dirty grin on Marshall’s face tells you everything you need to know.

“Thanks for letting me know what she was up to,” August says to Marshall as he sits by your side and kisses your cheek. “Would have hated to miss out on that.”

“Why do you two always have to be in cahoots?” You roll your eyes. “In the beginning you were so hell-bent on annoying each other, what happened?”

“We learned to share,” Marshall says. “I’m going to get some things set up for tonight, darling. I’ll see you soon.”

Marshall hangs up the phone without waiting for your answer, and August doesn’t even wait for you to put it down before he presses his lips to your neck.

“You looked so pretty, sweetheart,” he groans against your skin in between soft kisses and licks. His arm moves in that unmistakable way, and you can hear the tension in his voice.

“Did you enjoy the show, Daddy?” you tease. You know him so well by now, that a few strategically placed kisses on his neck have him on edge. He was probably already close when he was watching you, which honestly turns you on more than you can say.

“I really did, princess,” August replies. “Spread your legs for me, baby. Show me your pretty little pussy.”

You do as he tells you – what else is new – and you enjoy the way he kisses you hard as he gets between your legs. He pushes your dress up further and uses one hand to push your panties to the side, slapping your wrist when you try to help him. You can tell he’s close from the ragged breaths and the low growl that tumble through his chest. At the same time, attitude and mischief bubble up inside you, and you’re speaking before thinking once again.

“Come for me, Daddy,” you taunt right as August topples over the edge of release, coating your pussy with cum. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face either means you’ll regret saying that, or you won’t. Which would be a terrible thing to have to figure out, if it wasn’t so goddamn exciting.

August pulls your panties back in place, the mostly mesh material already soaked from your earlier endeavors, and runs his fingers over the thin material for good measure.

You’re a mess. You’re exactly where he wanted you; horny, close to the point of overstimulation, with your pussy covered in cum. It’s almost becoming a seal of approval for August – the first time you met Marshall, you weren’t even wearing panties and August’s cum was dripping down your legs. There was no time to clean that up then, exactly as he'd planned, and there is no time for that now, either, because the doorbell rings.

August watches Sy like a hawk the whole time he’s over, but he’s nothing short of a perfect gentleman with you – and you’re really trying your best, bending over to put down drinks, flirtatious smiles, playing with your hair. You know you’re laying it on thick, but you just can’t seem to help yourself. He’s so handsome and you’re painfully attracted to him! Of course, the fact that you went into this dripping wet and drenched in cum doesn’t help you behave at all. August has to keep himself from laughing on occasion, he thinks the way you’re throwing yourself at your neighbor is very funny. He’s going easier on the vibrator than you had expected. It’s off most of the time, but the idea that it might turn on at any moment is both exciting and nerve-wracking. Every time August takes out his phone, you clench your thighs in anticipation. August has trouble keeping his face in check whenever he sees it, but Sy seems to be none the wiser.

You listen to the guys talking about the game, sports, work, and whatever other neighborly pleasantry can be expected of a regular evening like this – nothing about the crazy threesome you had with both of your boyfriends on the exact couch Sy and August are sitting on right now, for instance. God, why did you have to think about that? Every bit of your brain is becoming increasingly preoccupied with the mess between your legs, your walls clamp down on the toy inside of you, and you’re having trouble controlling your breathing.

“You know what, this was fun, but I’ll leave you guys to your game and just drive to Marshall myself.” Point to August. He’ll never let you live that down…

“That bad, huh?” Marshall says when he opens the door for you.

“Horrible!” you shriek as you drop your coat and stomp into the kitchen.

“Excuse me? Come back here and pick that up, please?” Dammit! Over the past few weeks, Marshall has really been taking a page out of August’s playbook, and you don’t like it at all. You know their motives are different. August gets off on controlling you, Marshall likes to give you the opportunity to be a brat so he can tie you up and spank you. No matter the reason, it’s annoying as fuck right now. Ironically, you don’t feel like lashing out at him today, so you listen. Marshall can’t help but grab your hips and grind into you when you bend down to pick your coat off the floor – and who can blame him? He just loves your ass. August does too. In fact, you’re fairly sure you’ve seen Sy sneak the occasional peek at your behind when he was over – although that was the full extent of his expressing any interest. You put your coat where it belongs and turn around.

“I was promised bondage and movies, what are we still doing here?” You can’t wait until Marshall undresses you and finds the mess August left for him.

“Impatient,” Marshall laughs, “I like it.” Looks like you’re not getting harsh and demanding Marshall tonight, despite the stressful case he’s been through. One hand reaches around and spanks your ass forcefully, but his eyes are smiling. You know exactly what he’s going to do next: grab your butt cheek and pull you in – and lo and behold.

“Let’s get upstairs!”

Marshall throws you around like you’re a rag doll. That’s okay, he has all these big muscles, he better put them to good use, right? You’re over his shoulder in no time, and he carries you up the stairs like you don’t weigh a thing, and your favorite part is yet to come. When your back hits the mattress, you squeal. Marshall always lets you struggle just enough to let you work some of that attitude out, but you know perfectly well that you’re absolutely powerless. He presses a series of kisses to your neck as he pulls up your dress, pausing briefly to rip it over your head and toss it aside.

“Do I thank you or August?” he asks as he takes in the sight of you in the lingerie August picked out.

“August,” you reply. Marshall smiles approvingly. Now that you’re not being toyed with constantly, and the overstimulation that August subjected you to has faded a little, you feel a little more of that need to misbehave…

“It’s almost too pretty to take it off, love.” He holds out a hand to you, which you happily take. You gasp when he suddenly pulls you off the bed, and pushes you down to your knees again in the middle of the bedroom. “Now, we can do one of two things. Option one: we turn this into a practice session. Option two: we play. I’m testing that hard point either way, you’ll get tied up either way. The question is: how badly do you want my cock inside of you?”

His words take your breath away. It feels a little silly, but you love it when they give you options. It doesn’t have to be a hard choice, but it’s nice when they let you know you have a say in things occasionally. This time, the choice is ridiculously easy: play.

“Have you made your choice, darling?”

“Yes, Sir,” you say, much more confident now than you know you’ll be in half an hour or so.

“Perfect,” Marshall chuckles as he opens one of the drawers underneath his bed and grabs the things he needs. He gets to work immediately, which tells you he’s more than happy with the choice you made. While he gets a few more things ready to – finally – tie you to his ceiling, he tells you to strip. You want to listen, really, you do, so for the first half of the exercise, you’re a good girl, and you take off the longline bra you were wearing without complaining. Now… Your panties…

“What seems to be the problem, sweetheart?” Those are the words that come out of his mouth. The sigh that follows, however, tells you something more along the lines of: ‘What did he do now?’ His hands roughly grasp the flimsy elastic of your underwear and pull them down your legs. As soon as they’re gone, Marshall grabs your knees and pushes them apart.

“Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath when he sees you. Then his eyes settle on you: “Knees. Now.” You scramble to get on your knees, eager to obey his order and admittedly also a bit scared of the sudden change in his behavior. He works as quickly as he can without making concessions to safety. From the sound of his breath, you can tell that he’s using every last sliver of restraint he has to still make good on his promise to tie you up – and to adhere to the plan he had clearly made in advance, because this goes way too smooth to be improvisation.

Before you know it, your shoulder is on the floor, your hands are tied behind your back, and one of your legs is tied as far towards your shoulder as you can handle. The other leg is frog tied and up in the air. Marshall admires his handiwork for a moment – and you’re fairly sure he’s taking pictures of it to send to August, as well – before getting on his knees next to you.

“He ruined you,” he says appreciatively as he gently lets his hand glide over your ass. When his fingers brush past the base of the plug, you shiver.

“Can you take the toys out, please, Sir?” you ask in a small voice. It’s been a few hours since August put them in, and they’re starting to bother you. You sigh in relief when Marshall first pulls the bullet vibe out of you, and then gently removes the butt plug.

“Another one?” He says as he watches August’s cum drip out of your ass. “Daddy really made a mess of you, huh, darling?”

“Yes, Sir,” you answer quietly. Marshall pushes two fingers into your pussy and rolls his thumb over your clit, making you moan and squirm against your restraints.

“Did he fuck this cute, wet pussy?”

“No, Sir, just my ass,” you answer. The sound of Marshall undoing his belt and zipper makes you tremble in anticipation.

“Then how do you explain this messy little cunt, love?” A third finger slips in without any issues, but when he adds the fourth you start to feel a little bit of a stretch. Apparently, you don’t answer him quickly enough for his tastes. “Baby? I want an answer, come on.”

“Daddy came all over my pussy after we hung up the phone,” you mumble. Judging from the way Marshall laughs, he’s not surprised at all. The tip of his cock slides through your soaking wet folds, making you moan and bite your lip.

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” Marshall says, halting his movements as soon as he realizes it’s either ‘moan uncontrollably as a way of begging him to shove his dick into you’ or ‘listen to what he has to say’, which means he will have to make a small sacrifice for now. “I need you to let me know when you’re uncomfortable.” He explains his concern for your shoulders and neck, and promises to take things easy. You whine when he says the words. The last thing you want is for him to be gentle with you today, not after all August’s teasing, and part of you desperately wants to beg him to rail you until you can’t see straight – but you don’t.

As soon as he pushes into you, you’re glad you didn’t. The way he moans tells you exactly how much he needs this. Needs you, but everything surrounding you as well. To be handed a dripping mess by August, to fight you a little, tie you up… and finally to treat you the way he believes you deserve to be treated: with respect, love and – from time to time - tenderness. He’s not going to last, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like this breaks a half year long dry spell or anything. In fact, it doesn’t even break a three hour dry spell. You can feel the tension and frustration from the past weeks as he finally lets it all out in his final, brutal thrusts as he fucks his load deep into your pussy. When he pulls out, an image flashes in your mind. The image of Sy waiting in line to take his turn on your already ravaged holes…

The fantasy occupies every corner of your mind so thoroughly that you barely register the changing tension on the ropes around your limbs and torso as Marshall unties you. It isn’t until he’s completely done that you finally become aware of your surroundings again. For a moment, you expect him to lift you off the floor and carry you to the bed or the bathroom, as he has done countless times before, but he doesn’t. Instead, he joins you on the floor, curling up behind you as he pulls you into his arms.

“Perfect little bunny,” he muses as he nuzzles your neck and squeezes you tight before starting to gently massage the rope marks on your skin. Eventually, he does pick you up, and drags you into the shower with him. You haven’t needed your ‘private bathroom minute’ for a while now. Would adding Sy to the mix change something about that familiarity? You can’t deny your crush, but is it really worth risking all of this for… him?

“You’re not risking anything, love,” Marshall says. Either your thoughts are immediately obvious when looking at you, or you’ve said something out loud. Either way, you’re embarrassed enough about the fact that you are even thinking about another man while you’re letting Marshall take care of you. Now you’re going to have an actual conversation about it. “August told me weeks ago. We’ve talked this through, and… we’re happy to let you sort out your feelings if he’s on board with that, too.”

“And if he’s not?” you ask, but you already know the answer: You don’t want him if he’s not.

#walter marshall x reader #walter marshall smut #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall #august walker x female reader #august walker x reader #august walker #august walker fanfiction #august walker smut #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #captain syverson #syverson #syverson fanfiction

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kueble · 2 years

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Written for the @thepassifloradiscord A/B/O Challenge. Prompt: Nesting.

Teen. Warnings: a/b/o dynamics. 1,150 words.

Geraskier

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It's hard to keep track of things as mundane as cycles and biology when you're fighting for your life. So when Jaskier wakes up feeling surprisingly warm even though the fire in the hearth has long since died down, his first thought is that he must be getting sick. But then he sits up, and his head spins, the familiar dizziness of pre-heat setting in, and he scrunches up his nose with a whispered, "fuck."

It's far too late to ask Yennefer for help brewing a potion to offset it, since he can already feel the cramps setting in. Fuck indeed. He sighs, running a shaky hand through his unkempt hair, and decides not to prolong this any further. He has maybe three days tops before his full heat sets in, and he's not sure how the witchers will react to that. Through the years, Geralt had spent a few heats guarding him and keeping him safe from alphas with less control over themselves, but he's not sure about the others.

Even as worry threatens to take over, Jaskier thinks back to the first heat he spent under Geralt's protection. They'd only been traveling together for a few months, but Geralt had hardly batted an eye when Jaskier told him they'd need to find shelter soon. After thinking for a few moments, Geralt announced they'd head back to the abandoned cottage they passed a few miles back. Jaskier spent his heat practically clawing at the door, whining and begging for Geralt to come take care of him. Somehow Geralt had ignored it all, merely keeping watch until the worst was over. They never spoke of it again, but from that moment on, only Geralt's scent seemed to calm Jaskier during his heats.

The past two years have been miserable.

Rather than dwell on what he can't change, Jaskier forces himself to get out of bed and leave his room. It's late enough in the morning that the rest of the keep's occupants should be busy with their training or chores, and he should be able to sneak provisions out of the well-stocked pantry without causing a fuss.

Of course his plan falls apart as soon as he steps into the kitchen and sees Geralt leaning against the counter with a basket of food at his side. Jaskier tilts his head, offering a questioning look that makes Geralt flush for some reason. He's seen the witcher face down countless threats, but he looks almost sheepish as he snatches up the basket and shoves it into Jaskier's arms.

"Your scent went soft and sweet last night," he mumbles, not quite meeting Jaskier's eyes. Jaskier looks down at the basket, his heart melting when he sees it's full of bread, cheese, jerky, and bottles of the sweet cider Vesemir makes. It has everything he was going to grab himself.

"Will the others be ok with it?" Jaskier asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. Will they come for me? is what he means. Geralt's eyes darken and he shakes his head quickly.

"We're trained to be better than that. I can keep watch if you'd like, but you'll be left alone," he promises.

"You used to keep me calm," Jaskier admits, feeling small all of a sudden. He wants to blame it on his pre-heat, but he knows it's years of unresolved feelings, years of pining after his best friend, and he hates how desperate it makes him. But then Geralt is grinning at him - actually wide-mouthed and grinning - and Jaskier feels his heart clench at how bright it looks.

"I'll always be here for you," Geralt tells him, and Jaskier can't stop himself from darting in and hugging him, crushing his basket of supplies between them. Geralt snorts, shifting so the food is protected, and hugs Jaskier tightly to his side. "Let's get you safe," he suggests before leading Jaskier out of the kitchen. No one is around as they make their way through the keep, and soon they're standing outside Jaskier's door.

They stand there awkwardly, half-hugging still, the basket balanced precariously between them, and Jaskier decides to risk it all. The past few weeks have shown him how fragile life can be, and he's done being shy about what he wants, about what pleases him. Looking up, he meets Geralt's gaze and offers a shy smile. "Stay with me? Your scent always helps," he admits softly.

"Stay for?" Geralt asks, trailing off to give Jaskier an out.

"At least my pre-heat. We have a few days before the real thing kicks in. If," he stills, tripping over the words he's always wanted to utter but never had the nerve to, "if you'd like to stay for more, you'd be welcome."

"We have a lot to talk about, but I'd like that," Geralt responds quickly, face flushing as Jaskier beams at him. He opens the door to his room, letting Geralt take control of the basket while he runs around tossing things on the bed. There's a few blankets he's swiped - one from Yen and one from Geralt - along with some of the clothing he's acquired since arriving. Turns out people are very charitable when you show up with nothing but the clothes on your back.

Geralt watches him, smiling softly as he lays out their supplies on the table in the corner of the room. He waits until Jaskier is done setting up his nest - such a pathetic looking thing - before asking, "May I join you?"

"Please," Jaskier says as he sprawls out inside his nest. He kicks off his boots, letting them fall over the side of the bed, and Geralt follows suit before climbing in next to him. There's an awkward moment where they both shuffle around trying to figure out how they fit together, and Jaskier giggles softly before shoving Geralt onto his back and plastering himself to his side. "Look at us, a couple of fumbling youths."

"We'll get there," Geralt promises, and for the first time in ages, Jaskier believes it. He sinks down into his nest, leaning into Geralt's warmth. He's hotter than any fire could be, though Jaskier knows he'll be burning up with fever in a few days' time. He figures there's time enough for talk later. Right now he is finally snuggled up in a nest with the alpha of his dreams, and he intends to enjoy it.

"Nap now, talk later," he mumbles, tucking his face against Geralt's chest. He smells so good, like pine and earth and coming home, and Jaskier has to clench his jaw to hold back a sob. Somehow Geralt senses it and starts whispering soft praise at him, telling Jaskier everything he's ever wanted to hear. He drifts off surrounded by Geralt's familiar scent and the solid strength of his arms wrapped around him.

It’s perfect.

---

Tags: @halerune @mayastormborn @dani-dandelino @jaskierswolf @littoraly-art @tothedesert @dapandapod @theweirdlynx @tedrakitty @sharinalein @theamazingdevilgivesmehope @iamaqt314 @silvermintnightprincess @rockysstupidity @live-long-and-trek-on @hayleynzlive @holymotherwolf @thesynysterunknown @rebard-main @larawrmonster @gryffinqueen-blog @lovelyscot @fangirleaconmigo @mothmanismyuncle @fontegagrilledcheese @thestarkwinter @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @allthequeenshorses13 @221birl1823 @strippiluolamies @concussed-dragon @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @clarebear66 @feral-jaskier @j-u-s-tmyself @hayleynzlive @thisislisa @firefly-party @officerjennie @theshapeofcool

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#my fic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #geralt #jaskier #nesting fic #the passiflora discord

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merlot-and-chardonnay · 4 months

Text

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 5

Chapter 4

-----------flashback: King's Landing, Day of the Tourney-------

It was day of the tourney. Nobles and knights had come in from all over the realm to watch or participate in the spectacle. And based on what you heard, the timing couldn't have been more perfect as Queen Aemma had just gone into labor.

Rhaenyra had asked you to accompany her by her side when the tourney started. You had noticed the princess had been a little on edge, which made sense given the state her mother was in right now. Hopefully this day long event would distract and, gods be willing, her mother would come out of her labors with little to no complications for both her and the newborn child regardless of the sex.

Before joining the princess at her spectators' box with her father, friend, and others from the family and small council, you found yourself at Daemon's tent, hoping to get a sneak peak of the prince before he took part in today's festivities.

"Ooh, look at you," you say as you walk into Daemon's tent. The prince in question just had his armor in place, which included his dragonesque helmet

Daemon heard your voice and turned to face you; he smirked a bit, feeling confident from the look of admiration at your face, "do you like what you see?"

"Oh, I sure do," you nod, approaching him and placing a hand on his shoulder and another on his chest, "I've always had a...certain weakness for men in armor.

"Well then," Daemon leans in, deciding to flirt back, "I may not be able to request your favor during the tourney, Little Lark, but perhaps you may grace me now with a kiss as a gesture of good luck...maybe a little something more to make up for denying me last night after I was so generous with you."

You smirk back and lean in, like you were going to give him a kiss, but instead you stop and whisper, "it was your choice to use your tongue on me, Prince, I never asked you to." Daemon groaned as you pulled away, you unable to hide your smirk at the power you currently had over this man, "besides," you continue, "can't have you distracted before the start of the festivities." "I said I was sorry," Daemon pouts like a child. "You actually didn't," you say, placing a hand on his cheek, "but when you win, I'll give you all the kisses you want. ANYwhere you want. It'll be worth it."

Daemon made a small smile, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, "I shall do my best then to earn those kisses." "Good luck, Prince," you laugh a bit and exit the tent to join Rhaenyra at her box.

------present day: Kaer Morhen-----------

You walk into the dinning hall with Ciri, seeing Geralt still there at the table with Lambert, Eskel, and Coen.

To your surprise, you notice Lambert holding Aemma in his arms.

"She really grows on you, doesn't she?" Eskel says, leaning in to make faces at the baby. "Yeah, when she's not screaming for ma in the middle of the night that is," Coen mutters, taking a bite of some bread, "but she is adorable. If only we knew who the father was."

"Well, we can rule out Geralt," Lambert jokes, "given that being a witcher had made him seedless."

"Very funny," Geralt deadpans, sipping from his mug.

"Seriously though," Eskel states, looking into the baby's face, "I don't think I've ever seen anyone with this type of blonde hair, it's almost silver." "And violet eyes," Coen adds, "unusual, unless the father was part elf."

"You people are really that eager to know who the father is?" you interrupt the conversation, getting the wolves' attention.

"Oh uh, good morning, (y/n)," Lambert greets. "Don't you lot have super senses or something?" you ask, taking a seat at the table, "I thought you would've heard Ciri and I walking from across the hall."

The witchers exchanged looks. "We got distracted," Coen provides for an excuse, "you daughter was distracting us."

"Really?" you snort, "far as I can see, she's been quiet this whole time."

"Uh, Lambert, I can see you and Aemma are having a special bonding moment, but I'd like to spend some time with her now," you reach out and the witcher gives you to her, seemingly reluctantly, "Huh, I never would've expected this from you." "To be fair, none of would expected this," Eskel smirks. "Why is this so surprising?" Lambert asks in disbelief. "I may admittedly be a little rough around the edges but I'm not a fucking monster."

"Hey, watch you language," you scold, giving Aemma a kiss on the cheek.

"Why is your face flushed?" Geralt asked Ciri as she took a seat next to him. Ciri straighten up a bit thinking about an answer to give him, "I uh, I was warming up in my room before we start training." "Oh she was warming up alright," you say with a smug look. Geralt frowned at you and her, not sure what that meant.

"Uh, where's Tris?" Ciri looks around. "We were running low on herbs in the alchemy lab," Geralt tells her, "She went with Vesemir to go gather some more."

"Knowing Vesemir, that'll be an all day task," Lambert snorts, "they have to be the right height, growth, and some other shit like that."

"Lambert," you scold in a firm tone, "Not in front of Aemma." "How is that swearing?" Lambert exasperates, "I heard you say that over and over again last night!"

"Huh?" "What was that?" you and Geralt perk up.

Eskel, Coen, and Lambert exchange looks, "these walls are kind of thin," Eskel points out.

"Gross," Ciri mutters, taking a bite of food.

You felt your face heat up realizing what that meant. "Uh, Ciri" you ask hesitantly, "did you...?" "Nope," Ciri says quickly getting up, "I thankfully don't have witcher senses." Geralt had a look of confusion on his face. You lean in to ask him, "Geralt, did she ever get some kind of talk from her grandparents before...?" "I did, I don't need to have it again!" Ciri calls out, practically running out of the hall at this point.

The other witchers couldn't help but chuckle at this awkward situation.

Thankfully Aemma started fussing to be fed again, "I better go feed Aemma now," you say, quickly getting up.

"What, you can stay and whip em out for-" Lambert calls out, only to get nudged in the ribs by Geralt and earning a stern look from the white haired witcher.

----------------flashback: Red Keep Post tourney------------

It was late in the night when you roamed the halls, intent on getting some sleep.

It had been a long day.

The tourney, the death of the Queen and her newborn son, the funeral that followed after, it was all a lot to process right now.

You weren't close with the king or queen, but Rhaenyra was clearly grieving from the loss of her mother and newborn brother. When you were called to entertain her, she had you stop in the middle of your first song, which was a mourning song in elven which seemed appropriate for the occasion. With tears in her eyes, the princess had you dismissed early. You couldn't blame her, she needed some time alone to process her grief.

You had thinking about how the queen had died, having heard what the maesters did, cutting the poor woman open in order to save the babe, all without sedatives or herbs to numb the pain. You could only imagine how horrible the procedure it must've been for the poor queen, and how painful her death must've been; if this had been in any of the courts in the Continent, at least a mage would've been there to help ease the pains of labor and have spells on hand to turn the babe or sedate the queen if it came to that.

If you ever found yourself with child, you would pray you would be on the Continent when the time came to give birth.

You also thought about the king, and how he must've felt being in this position. You knew Viserys loved his wife, and to be put in this situation to choose to save his son or risk losing both, and only for both to be lost anyway...

You looked to see the door to Daemon's chambers was slightly cracked open. You didn't know if the man was in there right now, but you had no interest in knowing, especially after what you heard what he said earlier among his men.

Right when you passed though you heard his voice, "where do you think you're going at this hour, Little Lark?"

That moment, the prince came out and approached you.

Before this, you were having a great time watching this man compete.

Daemon may had asked for Lady Alicent's favor at the tourney earlier today, but you knew his gazed was fixed on you when you stood by Rhaenyra's side.

You were about to turn, but Daemon was quick and pulled you back, "you finished earlier then usual this evening," the prince states. "Let me go," you struggle. "Why would I do that?" Daemon asks with a smirk, "have you forgotten so quickly what you promised me?" "You didn't win," you point out, "I'm not obligated to give you anything."

Daemon grabbed your chin so you can face him. "Why put yourself through this hell you created?" he questions, "you want me, I know this."

"Why would I want you, especially after what you just said?" you scoff, succeeding in pulling back. "What I said?" "Your sister-in-law is dead, as is your nephew," you bring up, "your brother and niece are grieving from the loss, but instead of grieving with them you run off to the Silk Street and drink and celebrate your status as Heir. From what I heard, you referred to the dead babe as 'Heir for a Day'." "He was," Daemon points out, "even less then that as he only lived for a few hours."

"You truly have no shame," you say in disgust, "all you care about is yourself. You have got to be the most selfish, arrogant, insufferable person I've ever had the misfortune to come across." "Yet, you've never stopped me or pushed me away before, Little Lark," Daemon points out. "Don't call me that!" you exclaim, "I hate it when you call me that! I'm not your pet, I'm a person. And you're not a dragon. You...you..." "I'm what?" Daemon asks, a dark look in his face.

"You're a snake," you spat out, "A spineless, limbless snake." "I'd watch your tongue," Daemon warns, "this is a battle you can't win." "Ha, don't make me laugh," you joylessly laugh, "You come at me like you did Ser Criston, I'm sure I'd be the victor. Especially if you beat your chest and shout to the crowd rather then wait for me to yield like some brainless rock troll!"

Daemon grabbed your hair and pushed you against the wall. You grab onto the hand that was holding your hair and try to yank him off, but he takes his other hand to pin your hand to the wall.

You struggled when to break free while Daemon merely stared at you darkly. You stop when you realized how close his face was to yours.

Next thing you his lips were on yours.

You feel a hand going under your skirts, but this time you slap him away.

"I mean it, Daemon!" you say with a stern tone, "I don't want anything to do with you right now. I would've made an exception after the tourney, but after that display of disregard for the life of your family, I had second thoughts."

"If I wanted lectures about my conduct, I would've gone to my brother," Daemon mutters, making you roll your eyes and turn away, "We all mourn in different ways," he continues, leaning into you, sighing a bit, "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry, (y/n)." "Don't tell me, tell your niece and brother, they're the ones who are hurting right now," you say. "I know. And they're not the only ones right now," Daemon says, voice muffled into your neck, "I kept my word not to stick my prick in other women as promised. Please allow me to keep grieving my way while also upholding my promise. I wish to hear your sweet voice again...please, (y/n)."

You sigh and turn around, ready to scold him again. But the moment you saw Daemon's face, you could see the tired look in his eyes, like he was bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. You've seen that look before, in the face of another man you once cared for.

The Queen was Daemon's family too, and he had suffered a loss.

You sigh, hands moving to card through his long, soft, hair as you press your lips to his.

He took you to his room and you allowed him to do what he needed, what he wanted, if only to make him forget for a while.

He was fast and rough at first, but as soon as he came inside you, his movements became slower.

When the both of you were spent, you rested your head on Daemon's chest as he pulled you in and gave you a kiss on the head.

"Sing to me, Little Lark," you hear him whisper.

You did as he request, singing the same elven song you sang to the princess earlier today.

Chapter 6

Masterlist

#geralt of rivia #geralt #geralt x reader #lambert #eskel #coen #ciri #vesemir #daemon targeryen x reader #aemma arryn #viserys targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 1 year

Note

ooooh for the fake dating prompts: geraskier + #1? pretty please 💜

They were actually quite the good kisser, but they of course would never ever tell them that.

“We need a cover story,” Jaskier says. “If the Duchess thinks you’re here as a witcher, she’ll have her guards throw you out before you have time to get annoyed by all the people.”

Geralt wants to argue, but the bard actually has a good point. “I could pretend to be your bodyguard again. At a gathering this size, there have to be at least a few nobles there you’ve cuckolded.”

Jaskier wrinkles his nose, considering. “You showing up with swords might put her on her guard, whether you're here as a witcher or bodyguard."

“Then what do you suggest?” Geralt crosses his arms over the chest, scowling. After passing a couple of messages for the Redanian Secret Service, the bard thinks he’s some kind of mastermind at espionage.

Jaskier thinks for a moment, then brightens. “I know! You can come as my apprentice who is really my lover.”

“Why not just your apprentice?”

“Because no offense, Geralt, but no one is going to look at you and think you’re in training to become a bard. And gods help us if anyone asks you to sing. So it behooves us if they think that the only reason I keep you around is because of the service you provide to my instrument.” He wiggles his hips.

Geralt feels his lips twitch of their own volition. "Hm, not sure if we can pull that off."

“And whyever not?” Jaskier looks offended.

“If I’m your lover, you’d have to go at least three days without letting anyone else into your pants. Might kill you.”

“I can go three days without sex!” Jaskier plants his hands on his hips.

“Since when?”

“I went nearly two weeks without when we were traveling through Velen!”

“And you bitched the entire time.”

“I would have done that anyway. Velen is terrible.”

Geralt can’t argue with him there. “No one’s going to believe we’re really lovers.”

“Why not?”

"Because no one’s going to think that I’m the kind of person you take to bed," Geralt doesn’t say, thinking of the pretty barmaids and fancy nobles Jaskier normally pursues. Instead, he says, “There will be people you know there. They’ll have seen you with your lovers before.”

“And?” Jaskier arches an eyebrow.

Geralt searches for the right words for a moment. “When you’re sleeping with someone, you’re usually all over them. You can't keep your hands or your lips off them. It’s why you nearly get gelded for fucking the wrong person so often. You’re not subtle.”

Jaskier opens his mouth as if to argue, then closes it. “Then I suppose I’ll have to do that with you.”

Geralt snorts, skeptical.

“What?” Jaskier asks, taking a step closer. “You think it will be such a hardship, draping myself over you?”

The neck of Geralt’s armor feels a little too tight. Did he have it fitted wrong? “No one will buy it.”

Jaskier takes another step, moving into Geralt’s space. “Then we really should start practicing now.”

“I don’t need to practice,” Geralt growls. “I’m not a spotty youth who’s never held a girl’s hand before.”

Not that hand holding comes up much in his intimate encounters, but he’s not going to bring that up.

“Even the greatest master at his craft needs to keep his skills sharp.” Jaskier tilts his head to the side, studying Geralt’s face. “And you’re right. We’re only going to be able to sell this if we look like two people who are used to being intimate with each other. Kiss me.”

Geralt can’t quite school the surprise out of his face. “What?”

“Kiss me,” Jaskier says again. “Do you want to take the Duchess down or not?”

“Not sure how kissing you will help that.”

“We might need to kiss at some point to maintain our cover,” Jaskier says. “Best not to risk it, right?”

Geralt lets his gaze drop to Jaskier’s pink mouth. The bard’s lips have always been inconveniently pretty, especially when they’re parted in stunned offense or curled into a wicked smile. He almost says no, that he’ll figure out another way to get close to the Duchess. It’s best not to let Jaskier anywhere near a contract this dangerous anyway. Jaskier can go back to his succession of pretty lovers and Geralt can find and kill a monster, just like they always do.

He’s about to pull back when Jaskier seems to get tired of waiting for Geralt to make a move. Before Geralt can react, Jaskier’s lips are on his and suddenly, Geralt isn’t thinking about the Duchess or the contract anymore.

Jaskier’s lips are warm and soft against his, tasting of the wine they had with dinner. He doesn’t realize that he’s cupping Jaskier’s face in his hands until he registers the prickle of stubble against his palm. He slides one hand down, over the silky fabric of Jaskier’s doublet, warm from the bard’s body heat. Jaskier shivers as Geralt’s hand rests on his lower back.

Geralt drags Jaskier closer, breath hitching as Jaskier’s fingers tangle in his hair. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat hammering and can practically taste the arousal in the air. It would be so easy to drag Jaskier the short distance to the bed, to lose himself in Jaskier’s taste and the feel of him and…

Jaskier pulls away, blinking up at Geralt with the dazed look of someone emerging from a deep sleep. For a moment, they stare at each other. Jaskier’s pretty mouth is swollen from kisses, a sight that sends something hot and possessive surging through Geralt’s belly.

Jaskier clears his throat and laughs, the sound more high-pitched than usual. “And you think we couldn’t pull it off!”

“Pull what off?” It takes Geralt a moment to remember why they were doing this in the first place. The Duchess. The contract. Right.

“Pretending to be two people who are intimately acquainted.” Jaskier waggles his eyebrows. “Now you won’t have to pretend to be unable to get enough of my lips.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Sure, bard.”

“Oh, don’t lie to me. You have to admit, that was a damn good kiss.”

“I’ve had better,” Geralt lies.

Jaskier gasps, mouth falling open. It’s a sight that makes Geralt glad that his new armor has a codpiece. “Pure and utter slander! I’ve had it from reputable sources that I’m the finest kisser on this side of the Amell Mountains.”

“You know they’re paid to give you pretty compliments at the Passiflora, right?”

“Brute.” Jaskier pokes Geralt in the chest. “That’s a terrible thing to say to your pretend lover.”

“Forgive me,” Geralt says dryly. “I’ve never had a fake lover before.”

“And at this rate, you never will again.” Jaskier turns on his heel, nose in the air.

With the bard looking away, Geralt reaches up to touch his lips. He can still taste mulled wine and can still feel the warmth of soft pink lips against him. He’d like nothing more than to pull Jaskier close and lose himself in another one of those kisses.

But this is just pretend and Geralt can’t let Jaskier know the effect he has on him. So he wipes away the lingering taste of Jaskier with the back of his hand and goes to sharpen his sword. There’s a monster to kill, after all.

Fake dating prompts

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

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