#geralt is more than happy to protect him

[ro-is-struggling]

The Ballad of Orpheus and Eurydice || Geralt of Rivia x nymph!reader

REQUESTED

Summary: Life was good when Geralt was by her side. They were in love and happy... Until they weren't and she was left alone once again. After spending so much time under his protection, she had forgotten how dangerous the world was for creatures like her. Sad and heartbroken, she was unable to defend herself when the men came for her. Now locked up far away from her forest, she only hoped that her loved protector would come to her rescue.

Warnings: angst (with happy ending), major character death, reader gets imprisoned by a evil dude (I don't know how to tag this lol but I think it’s important to mention that she’s forced to serve him), fluff (it’s not all sad, I promise), forest nymph!reader, fem!reader, let me know if I missed anything!

English is not my first language

Word count: 12.700 (it's a long one)

Notes: A few things to have in mind while reading: It follows the timeline very loosely, and Geralt and Yen's relationship never got to that solid point in s3 cause it's not real love, just the product of Geralt binding their fates together with that wish

She never imagined that her story would end like this, locked in a cold and humid dungeon far away from her forest. Nymphs were not immortal beings —something she had come close to verifying several times in her long years on the continent—, so the idea of her inevitable end was something that she had thought about from time to time. It was not something that haunted her obsessively, but every once in a while her mind would wander to the imagining of the end of her days. 

She lived a quiet life, making sure to be cautious around any unwanted people who passed through her forest. She had no enemies, at least not ones powerful enough to present a real danger to her. So she always imagined that she would die a peaceful death, slowly fading away as her birth tree withered away after having completed its cycle on this earth. If not, she imagined she would die a heroic death as she fought the greedy humans to prevent the destruction of her forest. Both scenarios brought her a sense of comfort in a way, because they showed that she had fulfilled her life's mission, the purpose for which she had been placed on the continent.

She never imagined that the end of her days would actually be so dark and torturous, forced to live in captivity away from her home and everything she loved. She never thought she would miss the feel of the wind on her face, or the warmth of the early morning sun, or the sweet scent of flowers in the spring. She had never imagined herself living anywhere but her forest, but that was an option that had been taken away from her the moment King Elian's men set foot in her home. 

She had heard rumors of his infamous reputation from the mouths of other frightened nymphs. His name inspired terror among magical creatures, who chose to call him The Hunter as if the mere mention of his name was a sign of bad omens. He was known for his obsession with magical creatures and what he did with them after capturing them. Despite what his nickname implied, he did not always chase a magical creature to kill it and display some part of its body as a hunting trophy. No. There was a fate far more horrible and obscure than that, and that was to end up as a piece of his collection, just another exhibit, forced to smile in his presence and perform for his entertainment whenever he wanted it. It was the terrible fate that had unfortunately fallen upon her. 

In the past she had not seen King Elian as a threat. His kingdom was on the other side of the continent and while he used to go on hunting trips when he heard rumors of a creature in his vicinity, he had never ventured this far before. Besides, she was under the protection of one of the continent's fiercest witchers, so she knew no one would dare mess with her. No one who knew Geralt of Rivia would dare to challenge him, and the poor bastards who, out of ignorance or arrogance did, usually didn't live to tell the tale. The bond they had was strong, a love unlike any she had ever experienced in her many years of life, so she never thought there would be a day when she would wake up without him by her side.

"The king requires your presence." A guard announced from her cell door, snapping her out of her thoughts. She rose to her feet reluctantly, stepping up to the bars so he could put the handcuffs on her before unlocking her cell. The dimeritium on her wrists was engraved with the same symbols as the bars of the box in which she spent her days. It was a powerful incantation that weakened her magic so that she could not use her powers to escape. It was painful since the metal burned her skin, but she had learned the hard way not to complain.

The guard led her to the throne room, where the king was shouting directions to the group of servants working on decorating the place, changing the curtains and adding chairs and tables to the sides of the room. She had been there long enough to know that the castle was being prepared for a feast, though she did not know what the celebratory occasion was.

She forced herself to bow when the king's eyes fell upon her figure, though her expression showed how little respect she truly had for him. "Your majesty." She murmured as a learned response as she lowered her gaze to the ground.

"I hope you used your time in the dungeon to reflect on your attitude." His voice was firm, almost as if he was still angry with her for refusing to comply with his demands almost a week ago when he had wanted to use her to entertain the king of the neighboring kingdom who had come to visit. "You have to understand that you belong to me. You are here to serve me and the only reason you are not dead already is that I find you useful. But that can change and it depends entirely on how you behave. Do I make myself clear?"

She clenched her jaw, biting her tongue to avoid causing a scene that would undoubtedly send her straight to the dungeon again. "Yes, my king." She wasn't able to look him in the eye as she spoke as she didn't want to see the satisfaction in his expression. 

"As a demonstration of my great generosity and compassion, I have decided to give you a second chance to prove your loyalty. But do not mistake my mercy for stupidity for this will be your last chance to prove your worth to me. If you say or do anything out of place you will know the sharp blade of my sword."

After she submissively assured him that she understood the seriousness of his words, he explained that he needed her to take care of some of the preparations for the feast in honor of his daughter. During the week the entire kingdom had participated in the celebrations for the girl's fifteenth birthday, an event that would culminate with a grand banquet in the evening. She would be in charge of preparing the floral arrangements that would decorate the entire palace as well as being responsible for the main entertainment since there was nothing to match the singing of a nymph. But in addition, the king put her on a special task. He wanted to give his daughter a beautiful garden with different types of flowers —one for each year of her life—, and she was the perfect person for the job. She accepted without question, not so much because she valued her life or feared reprisals if she refused, but rather because after being locked up for so long she missed being in contact with nature. 

"If it's alright with you, my lord, I would like to start with the garden." She said in the most respectful way possible, explaining that with her powers weakened it was the task that would take the most work.

She was escorted by a group of half a dozen guards, who grabbed her roughly by the arms and dragged her through the castle corridors to the garden. Normally she would have complained about their mistreatment, but it all stopped mattering to her when she felt the gentle breeze hit the skin of her face. It was a wonderful feeling smelling the wet dirt in the air and hearing the birds singing after having spent so much time locked up in the deepest part of the castle. It almost felt like freedom.

Working in the garden awakened a bittersweet feeling in her. On the one hand, it was the most comfortable she had been since she arrived at the castle. Walking barefoot on the grass, feeling the earth between her toes and the flowers growing under her hands was as close to home as she had ever been. It was liberating in a way, putting her powers to good use and connecting with the nature she missed so much. But, on the other hand, it was also a reminder of all that she had lost, the life she would never get back. As much as she loved being outside after so many days locked up, she couldn't help but notice that nothing felt like home. The flowers didn't smell the same, the grass under her feet wasn't as soft, and even the birds didn't sing the same. That wasn't her home. This was not her forest. 

As she buried her hands in the ground, she couldn't help but question what she was doing, and more importantly, why she was doing it. Sure, avoiding further punishment for disobeying the king's orders was a valid motivation, but was it really worth it? Why was she trying to preserve her life when the only future she had was to live locked up there forever? Was dying such a terrible fate when the alternative was imprisonment and slavery? A life away from her home, forced to indulge the whims of a power-hungry monster was no life at all, so why was she there obeying the orders of that disgusting man? 

Then she realized that she still held out hope of escaping. Her spirit wasn't completely crushed and her love for Geralt wasn't entirely gone, so even if it was foolish, she still hoped he would show up to rescue her. They hadn't seen each other for over a year, since that sad day when their story had met an abrupt end after he confessed to her that there was another woman in his life, but she still held out hope of seeing him again. She dreamed of seeing his long white hair move in the air as he skillfully knocked down the guards that separated them and freed her from her confinement. How could she not when he had been her savior on more than one occasion? In fact, that was how they had met.

She was frightened and hurt the first time she saw him, trapped in a cage with symbols carved into the bars. It was a powerful spell that weakened her powers just like the shackles of dimeritium around her wrists. The cage was too small for her, a confined space where she could barely stretch her legs or sit up straight if she wanted to. A group of well-trained men had managed to capture her, taking advantage of her distraction and temporary weakness to lock her up and take her back to their master. She was so terrified that when she heard Geralt's sword clash with that of one of her attackers, she curled up in a corner, her body folding in on itself in an attempt to make herself small and invisible to the group of fighting men. 

She recognized immediately that he was a witcher and that brought her no relief. While his kind generally didn't tend to see nymphs as dangerous monsters —as long as they behaved and didn't do anything to end up on their list, of course— she didn't feel completely safe in the presence of a witcher. She tended to hide on the occasions when one passed through her forest, believing it was best to stay away from people like that just in case. After all, they were monster hunters, a concept that, in her experience, meant something different to each individual and there was no way of knowing for sure if she fell into that category or not. So, even though he had overpowered her captors, she still felt fear when he approached.

Geralt felt that fear as soon as he took a step towards her, it was almost as strong as the power and magic that flowed from her being. Her beauty alone was enough to let him know that she was a nymph of the forest. Behind the earth and blood, hidden in a grimace of terror, were the delicate features that the witcher had only seen in the creatures of her kind that he had encountered in the past. The nymphs had a certain look, a special glow that distinguished them from the rest of the magical beings on the continent. They were also one of the gentlest and most peaceful creatures on the continent, focused only on protecting their homes and turning to violence only as a last defense mechanism. That was why Geralt did not sense a drop of evil in her. And that was also why he set out to free her from her confinement.

Even though her captors lay dead on the ground, she still looked terrified, her eyes glassy with tears and her lower lip trembling as she struggled to hold back a sob. When he approached her, the nymph snuggled further into the corner, pulling her knees to her chest in a protective manner. He raised his hands in the air in an attempt to show her that he was not going to hurt her, walking slowly toward the cage so he could release her. It was then that he noticed the symbols on the bars and the dimeritium shackles, which helped him understand how she had ended up there and why she was so scared. She was in a position of extreme vulnerability without her magic and, despite having saved her, he was a complete stranger who could very well cause her more trouble. So the witcher made an effort to appear friendly and non-threatening.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He told her to try to calm her down, though it wasn't much help. She curled further into the corner of the cage, hugging her legs to her chest and looking up at him with watchful eyes from between her knees.

"I know what you are." She answered him, the fear clear in her voice. "You are a witcher, you kill-"

"Monsters, yes." Geralt spoke for her. "But you are not one of them. You're safe with me." 

At that moment she had no way of knowing what kind of impact those words would have on her life and how genuine they were. She accepted his help because she had no other choice, but time would show her how fortunate she had been to cross paths with Geralt. At first he played hard to get, barely speaking as she nursed his wounds once her powers stabilized. She'd had to resort to using her charms a little to soften that hard exterior of his, but once Geralt began to open up to her, she discovered the man he truly was. 

Geralt tended to lean into rumors about himself and his kind, pretending to be emotionless and not caring about anything or anyone but himself. But that was all an act, a protective shield. In reality he cared. He was capable of feeling emotions as deeply as any other being on the continent. He hated and held grudges, but he also loved and cared for those close to him just as intensely. And once she discovered that, she found it very easy to love him back. 

She was truly safe with him, and in the long years that their love blossomed he did nothing but prove that to her. Geralt was her favorite person in the world. He was her home, her lover, her protector... A love like that was not easily forgotten and no one could blame her for holding out even the slightest hope that he would come for her, that he would somehow sense that she was in danger and rush to her rescue. It had happened in the past, their connection was that strong, so it wasn't an entirely far-fetched idea. It was just... naive of her.

Geralt had been traveling for days. He usually preferred to use alternative paths hidden behind forests or swamps, they were quieter and better for his business. Not many people used them so he didn't run into anyone that would bother him, and it was easy to run into the occasional monster roaming around, so it was a win-win situation for everyone. What he hated, however, was that most of the time it took him twice as long to get to some town where he could rest with minimal comforts and eat a hot meal. 

Had he taken the main road he would probably already be at his destination, drinking in the dark corner of some dingy bar or locked in the room of some cheap inn, and not wandering the forest in search of an animal big enough to satisfy his appetite. He didn't mind being outdoors or having to hunt for his food on the spot —-in fact he was so used to that he almost preferred it—, but this time he was tired and couldn't wait to be anywhere but there. Perhaps that was why when he came across a king and his hunting party he accepted his offer to return to his camp to eat with him without putting up much of a fight. 

Geralt hated royalty and King Elian was no exception. He was arrogant and self-absorbed, just like the vast majority of kings, but there was something else about him that rubbed the witcher the wrong way. He tried to decline his offer at first, but he was unwilling to take no for an answer.

"I'm afraid I will have to insist. My camp is not far from here and my tent is big and warm. I have more than enough food and I would love to hear some of your stories while we eat." The king insisted, pressing Geralt to accept his offer. "My men don't make for good company and I'm bored. I'm sure a witcher like you has been involved in a good share of adventures that make for fascinating stories."

In any other circumstances, Geralt would have found a way to escape from there. The last thing he wanted was to be used as the personal entertainment of an arrogant king. But this time he decided not to resist too much. He attributed it to his tiredness, he had been traveling for a long time and at least it wouldn't be a sacrifice in vain since he could at least get food in exchange for entertaining him for a while. But perhaps there was something more than that playing a role there. Fate itself had crossed their paths for a reason, even though he didn't know it yet.

"It's not as interesting or glorious as one might think." Geralt said with honesty. 

In his experience there were two types of opinions regarding his people and what they did for a living. There were the people who despised them for what they were and believed they were no different than the monsters they killed and there were those who found them fascinating and longed to go on adventures like the ones they often experienced. To him both opinions were bullshit. He wasn't a monster, he didn't kill for pleasure or for fun as many people believed, but neither was he some kind of hero whose life was worthy of being immortalized in songs and poems. He was just a man who did what he knew best to survive, just like all witchers and all beings on the continent. He and his kind did not deserve hatred, but neither did they deserve to be crowned with laurels. They deserved to be left in peace, nothing more, nothing less.

"I have to say I'm grateful for the work you and your kind does." The king continued speaking without acknowledging Geralt's words. It was as if he was not there, his words were of little value to the king when they did not say exactly what he wanted to hear from him. "These creatures are dangerous and can't be left alone to live amongst us. Although some are fascinating creatures if given proper care and purpose."

Geralt looked at the monarch with a frown, unsure of what he meant by that. He said nothing, however, just remained silent for most of their journey to the camp, while trying to get a better read on the man beyond the typical arrogance of all of his kind. There was something about him that he did not like, something that caused a feeling that other kings and nobles did not. It was something more than his simple unpleasant personality, but he could not figure out what it was.

"You should come to my kingdom sometime." King Elian offered as they finally reached what appeared to be the camp where he and his hunting party had set up their base. "I have a collection of creatures I'm sure you would love to see."

The witcher halted his walk, looking at the king with narrowed eyes. "A collection?"

"Oh yes! I have the biggest collection of magical creatures in the whole continent." He admitted as if it was something to be proud of. "I have some pretty rare ones I'm sure you and your people would love to study. You're more than welcome to come over anytime! After all, we are all on the same side."

Geralt did not like the way the king referred to magical creatures and hated that he equated himself with witchers and the work they did. They didn't lock up monsters to brag about their large collection to strangers. They didn't see them as objects that gave them some kind of prestige. They saw them as living creatures, sometimes dangerous, sometimes misunderstood. Witchers did not enslave or kill monsters for fun as he seemed to do and Geralt was disgusted that he would even try to imply such a thing.

However, before he could voice his opinion, the king shoved him into his luxurious tent and the servants set a plate of food in front of him. It was filled with meat and potatoes and vegetables so colorful that they must have been freshly picked. It might have been the hunger talking, but it was the most appetizing food he had tasted in a long time. It was indeed fit for a king and Geralt thought it was definitely worth chatting with his host for a while in exchange for a share, especially after tasting the wine.

"It's good, isn't it?" the king asked him, studying his reaction as he lifted the wine glass to his mouth. "I have someone special that takes care of all the plants in the castle so I only eat the best of the best. It's actually one of my creatures. You can meet her, if you want."

Geralt let go of the piece of meat between his fingers and looked at the king with a frown. There was a subtle change in the air that made him instinctively tense, wondering what his host was up to. The king gave him a small smile before gesturing to one of his men, who left the tent without saying a word. The monarch's menacing aura put the witcher on alert, carefully watching his every move while he ate as if trying to predict what he would do next. His attitude had changed in a matter of seconds. Geralt couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but there was something about the way he looked back at him that put him on edge. It was almost as if he was waiting for something to happen —as if he knew something was going to happen—, the glow of anticipation clear in his eyes. 

He didn't understand his attitude, at least not until the guard returned to the tent. Only he wasn't alone, but was carrying a girl on his arm who was shuffling her bare feet across the ground hesitantly, as if she really didn't want to be there. Her eyes were downcast and her long hair was tangled over her face, so that Geralt could not see her features. Her dress, which seemed to have been a beautiful piece of art at one time, was now dirty and worn, with the fabric torn to shreds on some sides. Her hands were bound together at her wrists, trapped by shackles of dimeritium that marked her condition of slavery. It was a sad sight that became horrifying when Geralt smelled the scent of flowers in the air.

His heart stopped as his nostrils were assaulted with the sweet smell of cherry blossom that he knew and had come to love. The world around him stopped as he was struck with the horrible realization of what was happening. He did not need to see the face of the captured young woman to know it was her. It was enough to feel her energy in the tent as he breathed in her characteristic sweet scent. 

Geralt jumped to his feet, hand gripping his sword as he entered a state of desperation. He wasn't thinking, he couldn't, he had been reduced to his most primitive instincts by seeing her there in that condition. She was weak and injured in a way that Geralt had never seen, her glow and warm, positive energy almost completely extinguished after being tortured for who knows how long. However, when her eyes met his, he noticed a slight glimmer of joy and hope. That only further increased his desire to protect her, the murderous urge growing inside him and urging him to crush anyone who stood between them.

"Let her go!" Geralt demanded firmly, turning his eyes away from his former lover to look the king in the eyes. 

He was furious and desperate, it was evident in his voice and in the hard expression on his face. Anyone would have given in to his demands if he looked at them with those murderous eyes, but King Elian did not flinch. He didn't seem to care that Geralt was pointing his sword at him or that he looked ready to take on an army on his own, he continued to eat as if nothing was happening while the tent filled with guards ready to defend him.

"Please, sit down. You barely touched your food." The monarch spoke in a calm, casual tone. But Geralt did not move, he stood his ground, sword held high and hate-filled eyes fixed on him. "Fate is its a curious thing, don't you agree? This invisible force pushing us to the right path so we might fulfill our destiny, making every little interaction, every little decision, integral... Take this as an example. This morning when I woke up I didn't think that I was going to cross paths with you and yet here we are."

"Let. Her. Go." Geralt interrupted the king's unimportant ramblings, pausing slightly at each word to emphasize his anger. He didn't care what the man had to say, he would slice him through with his sword right there if it weren't for the fact that his sweet nymph was bound and surrounded by guards who wouldn't hesitate to hurt her before he could get to her. "I won't ask again. Next time it will be my sword doing the talking."

"I don't want to fight you, Geralt. If anything, I want to thank you for helping me fulfill my destiny, my purpose of becoming the biggest collector of magical creatures in the continent... You see, if it weren't for you, I could never have captured a forest nymph as powerful as her. I admit that you ruined my plans the first time when you attacked my men, but in the end it was thanks to you that I was able to get my hands on her."

"What are you talking about?" the witcher asked, confused. It could be the adrenaline coursing through his veins and drowning out his thoughts —or the fact that his heart was beating so fast that it was pounding in his ears muffling all other sounds—, but the king wasn't making much sense to him. They had never crossed paths before, and if they had, he would never have helped him in something so horrible.

"I could never have caught her while she was under your protection. But when you left... well, let's just say she was withering away little by little, weakening day by day until she got to the point where she couldn't defend herself when my men came for her."

Geralt froze in place as the king's words echoed in his head. It was a lot of information to process and he was in no condition to do so. If he wasn't so devastated he might have reacted to the implication that the king had been watching them, waiting for the right moment to strike after he had saved her from his men the day they had met. But at that moment he could only concentrate on the feelings of guilt and regret that came over him. 

When he left, he never thought about the consequences his decision might have. He never thought about how his departure would affect her or if she would be okay. He knew she would be sad and hurt, just as it hurt him to have to leave her, but he also knew it was the right thing to do. So he focused on moving on, hoping she would too, without stopping to consider the consequences. He thought about her a lot in the time they spent apart —when he lay awake at night, admiring the stars and the nocturnal sounds of the woods; or as he dressed quietly after spending a night with Yennefer—, but in his mind he always pictured her happy. She was strong and had lived many years alone on the continent before their paths crossed, so he was sure that their breakup would not destroy her. He was sure that she would find a way to get back on her feet and that it would be better for the both of them to stay apart. 

Now he realized that was just an excuse. He was being selfish, protecting himself and running away from reality so as not to face it because it hurted him. It hurted to know that he was hurting her. It hurted that he fell in love with another woman behind her back. It hurted to have to leave her after all they had been through together, the love they shared, the moments of vulnerability and intimacy that had brought them together. It hurted because he had failed her, because he couldn't keep his promise to be with her forever. So he completely disappeared from her life, making excuses to justify his behavior and convince himself that he was doing the right thing even though he knew deep down that he wasn't. He ran away like a coward and she ended up paying the price for it.

The witcher's eyes searched the nymph's, hoping to find in them the answers to the questions he had not asked, some indication that the king was not lying. She escaped his gaze, feeling embarrassed and extremely vulnerable. But eventually their gazes met and Geralt knew the mistake he had made. He should have been there for her. He should have helped her when they came for her. He should have searched for her all over the continent once he noticed her disappearance. He should have protected her, just as he always had. He had failed her twice, but he would not let there be a third.

Geralt carried out his threat without hesitation, lashing out at the nearest soldiers in an effort to reach her. The clinking sound of clashing swords and the groans of his opponents were all that echoed in his mind, focusing on his enemy to keep his head cool and ensure victory. They were no threat to him. They were well trained and knew how to move around very well, but he was a witcher with decades of experience and unmatched reflexes and skills. He had defeated them once in the past and he would do it again now without breaking a sweat.

At least that's what he thought before he heard the voice of the young nymph in the distance calling out for him.

“Geralt!” She exclaimed his name for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Her sweet voice traveled through the air, piercing through the sound of metal and the grunts of pain until it reached his ears. She managed to get his attention immediately as he recognized the hint of fear in it. As he buried his sword in his opponent, his eyes snapped up to her, searching for her in the crowd following the sound of her voice. 

When he finally found her, Geralt's heart sank as he discovered the reason for the fear in her voice. The king had his hands around her, holding her tightly against his body. His left hand was wrapped around her torso, restricting her movement, while his right hand wielded a silver dagger against her neck. The metal gleamed in the dim light, revealing the sharp edge that burned the girl's skin. Desperate, Geralt tried to lunge at the monarch, but he stopped him with a click of his tongue.

"One more step and she dies." He assured, firmly. Geralt noticed the honesty in his voice, so he stayed in place and slowly lowered his sword —though he did not drop it—, a desperate attempt to buy time to think of a plan to get out of there with her by his side.

"You don't have to do this." Geralt tried to reason with him even though he knew it was in vain. He didn't see her as more than an object, just another piece in his long collection of creatures, so it was safe to assume he didn't value her life very much. But still, Geralt didn't have much choice so he tried anyway.

"She has been nothing but trouble since the moment she arrived at the castle, isn't that right, darling?" The king grumbled, lowering his head just slightly so he could mutter the last question against the young nymph's ear. "Crying all day, disobeying my orders, upsetting the other creatures... and now your friend over here kills half my men after I feed him and show him my generosity."

"If we present so much trouble to you, why don't you let us go? I'll take her with me and I promise you won't hear from us ever again."

"You are ungrateful brats." The king continued speaking, completely ignoring Geralt's words. "You think you are special, important, and therefore above it all... but you are not. Your actions have consequences and I am the one who decides what they are... You do not deserve my generosity or my mercy."

Geralt didn't have time to think about the hypocrisy in the monarch's words because before he could process them his eyes watched in horror as he slid the blade of the dagger across his beloved's neck. Blood began to gush violently from the wound, the thick, sticky liquid sliding down the young woman's delicate skin, turning everything red. He screamed her name, his sword slipping from his fingers and crashing to the floor with a muffled sound. He ran towards her, completely forgetting the guards he was fighting moments before. He only cared about her.

Suddenly, he felt as if he was moving in slow motion, as if his feet were twice as heavy and dragging them along the ground was more difficult than usual. Everyone around him seemed to slow down, the men around him, the gentle breeze of the wind... everything but her. He watched her collapse to the ground, blood covering her chest as she struggled to keep breathing. But he couldn't reach her. All he wanted to do was hold her in his arms one more time, but it was as if an abyss was keeping them apart. It felt as if fate was mocking him, punishing him for his mistakes by allowing him to be there with her, but not letting him do anything to save her. 

He tried to stop the bleeding as he knelt beside her —placing his hands on her neck and feeling the blood gushing from the wound—, but it was too late. She was pale and weak, all the magic in the world could not have saved her at that moment. There were tears in her eyes, in those beautiful green orbs that were fading with each passing second. She was scared, Geralt could see it in her expression. She didn't want to go, but she knew there was nothing else to do now.

"I'm here, I'm here." Geralt whispered in the calmest, most comforting tone he was capable of uttering at that moment. He swallowed his anger and pain, holding back tears so he could give her some peace. He cradled her face in his hands, fingers caressing the skin of her cheeks delicately as if he were afraid of breaking it. "It's going to be okay... you're going to be okay. I will fix this."

She opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, but instead of sound only blood came out. Geralt caressed her gently, feeling the tears rolling down her cheeks. She clutched her hand around his arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes. She was begging him to understand her, to read in her eyes her thoughts as he had done so many times in the past. It took Geralt a few seconds to understand her, although in hindsight it should have been obvious to him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, to assure him that none of it was his fault and that no matter what had happened between them, he would own her heart forever. 

"I love you. I always will."

Geralt saw the reassurance in her face as the warmth of love enveloped her in her last moments. She gave him the faintest of smiles, an almost invisible sign of the peace his words had brought her. And then her grip on his arm weakened, her hand dropping to the floor as life left her body. Suddenly, that subtle smile, now permanently carved into her expression, was all he had left of her, of her life and the love they shared. 

Geralt did not fight when the soldiers dragged him and tied him to a tree to leave him there to die while they escaped, he did not have the strength to do so. He was numb to the world around him, consumed by grief. The sound of the king and his men preparing to leave sounded muffled and distant, as if they were far away from him. And in a way they were, for his mind was not one with his body, but far away. He was focused on the slowly withering body of his beloved, on the fear as she called his name and the terror in her eyes as the edge of the dagger sealed her fate. He could only think of her and all the time they had lost and could never get back, feeling the guilt slowly consuming him as her body transformed into a pile of pink petals.

Geralt admired her face in the dim glow of the candlelight, thinking about how beautiful she looked tangled in the sheets beside him. Her hair spread across the pillow like a halo around her head and her smooth skin was covered with a light layer of sweat that gave her an almost ethereal glow. It felt like an illusion, a trick of his mind. He found it hard to believe he had someone like her lying next to him, looking at him with love in her eyes. 

It wasn't just her beauty. No. It was the peace her mere presence awakened in him and the void he felt in his chest when they were apart. It was the way he dreamed of her and her caresses every night he went to bed alone and how his longing disappeared when he felt her warmth against him as their bodies melted into one. It was the way her kisses made him feel like he was home, safe and away from the complications of the world outside the little paradise that was her forest. It was much more than physical attraction, more than the effects of her nymph charm, as he had initially thought. It was love. Pure, honest love, like he had never felt before. He was in love with her, and while he hadn't put it into words yet, he wasn't afraid to admit it.

Her fingers aroused a warm tingle as they caressed his cheek. Geralt leaned into it, closing his eyes for a second to appreciate the magic of the moment. It was amazing how such a subtle act, such a light touch, was able bring out so many emotions in him. It was something only she could do, a clear demonstration of how deep his feelings for her were.

However, when Geralt opened his eyes again, he didn't find the special glow he usually saw in them at intimate moments like this. She was looking straight at him, but it was as if she was looking right through him, as if her mind was lost in her thoughts. Something was bothering her, that much was clear in the green tint of her eyes. Her mouth would open slightly, almost in an imperceptible movement, only to close seconds later, as if there was something she wanted to tell him but couldn't quite bring herself to say. So he decided to ask her about it. 

"What's wrong?" Geralt voice was low and raspy with sleep, looking at her with a slight frown in confusion. There was a moment of silence before she answered. Her eyes never left his, but her hand slowly slid from his cheek to rest on his bare chest.

"I'm afraid of losing you." She eventually said, her voice almost a whisper. "You travel across the continent, meet all kinds of people... I'm afraid one day you will get bored of me... find someone better and leave me forever."

Geralt could not believe his ears. It was ridiculous to him that she could have such a fear of abandonment when he felt the way he did. If only she knew how happy being with her made him... If only he could somehow transfer his emotions to her so that she could feel his heart race when they kissed, or experience the peace that filled him inside every night when he lay down next to her... If only she knew, she wouldn't be having those kinds of thoughts. So, he took her hand in his and pressed it against the left side of his chest, right over where his heart was beating with love for her. She needed to know that she was the only one who had a permanent place there. She was the only one he loved and he doubted that would ever change.

"Believe me when I tell you that there is no force on this continent that can keep me away from you." He spoke in a soft voice and watched as her eyes lit up full of illusion. "I love you, forever and always."

He sealed his promise with a kiss, showing her with his lips how serious he was about it. He loved her and there was nothing he wanted to do more than to be with her for the rest of his life, sharing intimate moments like this one and protecting her from any evil that might come her way. He felt complete with her and could not imagine how miserable his life would be without her by his side.

Geralt allowed himself to get lost in the passion of the moment, fingers tracing trails over his beloved's bare skin as he melted into the kiss. It was different this time, more intimate and charged with all the emotions that were left unsaid —it was their special way of communicating, one kiss and they knew what was going through each other's minds. The comforting warmth of love filled his heart, leaving him in a state of total bliss as she whispered sweet nothings against his lips. He was happy in a way he could not remember ever being before, in a way he knew he could only be with her. 

But suddenly that comforting warmth that flooded his insides was replaced by a paralyzing cold, an emptiness that pressed against his chest and took his breath away. Geralt could no longer feel his beloved's lips against his. He could no longer smell the flowery scent her soft skin radiated or feel the warmth of her body. He was trapped in a black void, in emptiness itself, all alone. And in the distance he could hear his name being called.

Geralt

Geralt

Geralt

It was a cry for help, the voice of terror of someone who had been confronted with their own mortality. The voice trembled with fear, certain of the fatal fate that awaited them. Geralt could not escape its shrieks, no matter how hard he tried. It was his own personal hell, a void where he was forced to confront his pain, his guilt, and to listen again and again to his beloved's voice filled with terror as she spoke his name for the last time.

Geralt woke up tangled in the sheets, covered in a thin layer of cold sweat and breathing fast due to his nightmare. He lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling as he tried to pull himself together. His beloved's voice was still ringing in his ears, only that with every waking second it became more and more distant until it became an almost unintelligible whisper. Anguish and guilt weighed heavy on his chest, but he was used to that by now. The emptiness inside him had accompanied him every moment of his life since that unfortunate day. He could not escape the pain and regret he felt, it haunted him even when he closed his eyes at night. He could not even enjoy the peaceful ignorance in the mornings, when one's mind is too sleepy to process life's tragedies, because his nightmares would remind him of every painful detail of that day so that he could not rest.

At a time like this, when life had become so overwhelming that he was unable to sleep, he usually reached out to her. With her gentle touch and sweet voice she was always able to calm his tormented self, wash away the anger and frustration and replace it with love and calmness. But now she was gone and he didn't know how to go on. He missed her more than he thought it was possible to miss anyone. He missed the melodious sound of her laughter and the light in her eyes when she was happy. He missed waking up next to her in the mornings, feeling the warmth of her body enveloping him as she whispered good morning to him, her voice hoarse from sleep. He wished he could once again feel the soft caress of her lips on his and hear her say she loved him one more time. 

There was nothing Geralt wasn't willing to do to have her back with him, to be able to tell her how much he loved her and how he regretted leaving her. He had been an idiot to have given in to his desires for Yennefer. He should never have gotten involved with her, he should have let her own greed and obsession destroy her that day. He should have saved Jaskier and moved on with his life, after all Yennefer's problems were of no concern to him. But he could not resist his need to intervene, acting like a knight in shining armor instead of what he really was: a witcher. He made an impulsive decision, binding their destinies with magic and unknowingly triggering the death of his beloved. For if only he had been with her, if only he had stayed by her side to protect her as he had promised, he was sure things would be very different. She would still be alive and he would not be so miserable.

But Geralt was determined to make things right. He refused to let her die because of his mistakes. And looking at the cherry blossom tree growing outside his window, he knew the time was getting closer.

"I will fix this." He spoke to the tree, stroking the trunk with his hand as he sucked in a long breath of air. It smelled like her, a sweet scent mixed with the aroma of wood and wet earth. It ached and comforted him in equal amounts. "I will bring you back to me and I will keep my promise to you this time."

Geralt knew she was gone, but her essence was still alive in that tree. Born from the pink petals in which her body had withered when she died, it grew stronger with each day, keeping a fragment of her alive. Of course it was not her, but for now he was happy to make promises to the wind that its branches generated, clinging to the sweet scent of its flowers as the only sign that his words were well received by her. It was all he had, all he had left of her, and for now that was enough. He still wasn't sure how he would fulfill his promises or even where to begin. But he was sure of one thing, and that was that his love for her was stronger than fate itself and there was no force on the continent that could stop him from keeping his promise this time.

The solution to his dilemma presented itself almost by accident. And it came from the place Geralt least expected. He had spent the last few months visiting every library he had access to, reading every book and consulting with every expert he knew in his desperate search to find a way to bring his beloved back to life. But in the end, it was Jaskier who presented him with a solution in the form of a song. 

They were traveling on a back road after a successful job. The bard had offered to accompany him under the excuse that he needed new inspirations, but Geralt knew he was doing it because he didn't want to leave him alone. Jaskier knew the pain he felt and being the good friend he was he wanted to accompany him in mourning. Geralt appreciated him even if he didn't have the strength to say it in words. His light-hearted comments and meaningless ramblings were exactly what he needed to distract his tormented mind. Even his spontaneous singing at the worst possible moment cheered him up instead of irritating him as usual. Anything to help him concentrate on something else was welcomed.

They had been walking for hours, hoping to reach the next town before dark and sleep in a comfortable bed in a warm room and not in the middle of the forest again. They were quiet, only the chirping of birds and the sound of leaves crunching under their feet echoed in the air. They had run out of things to talk about an hour ago and Jaskier was starting to get bored. So he did what he always did when he found himself in that situation, sing. Only this time Geralt didn't recognize the verses as one of his own original songs. It was one he had not heard him sing before, so he paid attention.

It told the story of a young man that had managed to win the heart of a forest nymph with his beautiful singing. The connection they shared was so strong that they married shortly after meeting, in the same place where they first saw each other. Happiness and love filled their days for a few long and joyful months. That was until fate, jealous and bitter, stood in the way of their happiness. So, one morning, after being bitten by a snake, the young nymph died. Her beloved fell into a state of despair when he heard the tragic news. Unable to accept that his wife had been taken from his life without warning, he descended into the depths of the underworld to plead for her soul. The song narrated the difficulties of his journey and the perseverance with which he had faced each difficulty until he reached the lord of the underworld himself, to whom he tearfully begged for the return of his wife. The emotion in his words was such that he managed to move Hades, who gave in to his prayers. Although he imposed a condition: that he would not turn around to see his wife's soul following his steps until he left the underworld.

The story did not end well since the young man had been too eager and had turned to see his beloved before she was completely above ground. But Geralt didn't care about that somber detail. His attention was focused on the young man and his journey to the underworld, not only because he felt somehow connected to the emotions of sadness and despair he felt, but also because he was fairly certain he could recreate his heroic efforts.

"Are you crazy?" was Jaskier's reaction to hearing Geralt's idea, his voice raised in a tone of surprise and concern. "Haven't you heard the end of the song? Things go wrong! He doesn't get his wife back!"

“I know, but I don’t care.”

“Geralt, the story it’s just a myth… a tragic love story that one could say is a cautionary tale! You’re not supposed to follow in his footsteps, you’re supposed to learn to live with the grief, process your emotions and eventually move on… Look, I know this is hard for you. I miss her too… What happened to her wasn’t fair, but it wasn't your fault either. Blindly following the words of a myth is not going to change anything.”

“But it’s not a myth, not all of it at least.” Geralt recognized that the love story of the young man and the forest nymph might be an invention, but he knew of the existence of a door to the underworld. It was hidden and required great power and extensive knowledge of magic to be opened, but it was real. And fortunately for him, he knew one of the most powerful and skilled mages on the continent. Though convincing her to help him would not be an easy task given how things had ended between them.

"Why should I help you?" Yennefer said with annoyance in her voice when he showed up unannounced to ask for her help. It was clear that she did not enjoy the witcher's surprise visit and was not shy about showing it. "And more importantly, why are you asking for my help with something like this? I thought you of all people would know how dangerous opening the doors of the underworld is."

"Why do you care?" Geralt answered her with another question. To be honest, he didn't think the difficulties in getting her help would come from a moral issue. Yennefer was not the type of mage who cared too much about such things. "Are you in this or not?"

"That depends... what's in it for me? I hope you know I'm not going to waste my energy in helping you out of the goodness of my heart, not after all the shit you did." Geralt smiled at her remark, surprised that it had taken her so long to once again blurt out her complaints about him saving her life. She was still angry at him for linking their destinies with the wish to the Djinn and at this point he doubted she would ever get over it. 

"You get the once in a lifetime chance to traverse the underworld and possibly get knowledge beyond anyone's comprehension." He simply stated.

Yennefer was silent for a moment, watching Geralt intently, violet eyes piercing his yellow orbs. It alerted him to strengthen his mental shield to keep her from entering his thoughts. 

"When you live as long as I have, once in a lifetime opportunities start losing power and meaning."

"I'm offering you an opportunity to explore the unexplored and that's your answer? This could have all the answers you've spent years looking for and you're not interested?"

"Oh I'm interested, I just can't understand why Geralt of Rivia, the mighty witcher who prides in his indifference and ability to not intervene, would be interested in opening the gates to the underworld?"

"I have my reasons and they are not of your concern. Are you going to help me or not?"

Yennfer was silent for a moment, considering her options. And then, she smiled at him, and he knew he could count on her help.

Preparing for such an adventure was difficult. It was the first time in his life that Geralt did not know what to expect. He had no idea what he was going to encounter once they crossed the gates to the world of the dead. He didn't know what kind of obstacles he would encounter on the journey or if he would even accomplish his task. But he had to try. Even if it was the last thing he did, he owed it to her. 

It was difficult to prepare for the uncertain, so he tried to imagine all possible scenarios and prepare accordingly. He tried to be as meticulous as possible, but he knew it was impossible to stay on top of everything. What he never imagined, however, was that trouble would come from Yennefer's end. He always saw her as such a powerful and determined individual that he did not take into consideration that her energy could wear out and her magic could be consumed. Geralt had no way of really knowing how demanding the spell to open the gates of the underworld would be. He knew it was not something that just anyone could do, but he thought Yennefer could handle it without much trouble. He had never seen magic like hers. And what she lacked in skill, she made up for in stubbornness, so he thought that with her by his side things would not be so difficult.

However, the moment they took a step into the world of the dead, Yennefer fell weakly into the witcher's arms. She muttered something about having spent her energy and how the nature of the place did not allow her to pull herself together. Geralt suggested that she stay outside, after all, this wasn't her fight and she didn't have to risk so much for him. And at that instant, as if the walls were listening to them, the doors closed, leaving only one possible path.

The place was cold and dark, like a cave hidden deep in a mountain. There was not so much as a ray of sunlight, the little light that illuminated their way came from torches distributed along the stone walls. The air was heavy, stale, and it was hard to breathe. It was clear that this was no place for the living, but Geralt continued on his way despite the difficulties. He took Yennefer by the waist, letting her wrap one arm around his shoulders so she could walk, and followed the straight path that the torches seemed to indicate. At the end of the tunnel he came to a large river, and on the shore rested a boat. Inside it stood a hooded figure, long black robes covered its entire body in a way that Geralt could not see its face when it turned to look at them, only a void lost inside the hood.

"He's been waiting for you." The figure spoke, stepping aside so they could board the boat. Geralt hesitated, thinking back to all the catastrophic scenarios he had imagined in preparation for this moment. Surely that had to be a trap, things couldn't be that simple, could they?

"He wants to speak to you, Geralt of Rivia." The figure spoke again as it noticed the hesitation in the witcher's attitude. "He sent me to find you and ensure your safe passage through these waters." He did not trust it, but Yennefer pushed him into the boat with what little strength she had, so he had no other choice.

The dark figure did not utter another word. It went about its task in complete silence, paddling in the waters of oblivion until it brought them close to shore. It did not help them down once they reached their destination, nor did it open its mouth to give them directions. Just pointed a long, skeletal finger toward the horizon and set off the same way it had come. 

A dark, dead forest loomed before them. Long, thin tree trunks, nearly leafless branches and shabby bushes decorated the path. Everything seemed to be in shades of black and gray, though that was probably due to the lack of sun. In the distance a structure could be seen, a castle whose colors matched the rest of the landscape. Although the neat and polished appearance of its exterior contrasted with the disheveled and dead environment around it. It was clear that that was where they should go, so Geralt took Yennefer in his arms once more and set off on his way. 

There was not much distance separating them from the castle, but the witcher felt as if he had spent an eternity walking. And yet, at the same time, when he reached the large wooden gates, he was amazed to have reached his destination so quickly.  His perception of time was totally altered, affected by the atmosphere of the place.  Time did not flow there in the same way as it did on the surface. It was as if it was both stopped and accelerated all at once, as if each step took hours and at the same time a couple of seconds. It was more than the absence of sunlight confusing his perception. It was the way things worked in that place, a world separate from the one lying on the surface that he was not supposed to access.

The man who appeared in front of them when the doors opened on their own was imposing, but far less frightening than Geralt expected. It was enough to look into his eyes to know that he was the person in charge of the place. Power shone in his eyes in the same way the witcher had seen it in the kings in the world of the living. And yet, there was something unique about them, something that made it clear that he was no mere mortal. Geralt knew better than to challenge him, though he wasn't sure his emotions would allow him to be cautious if things didn't go as he hoped.

"I've been waiting for you, witcher." the god said in a loud, clear voice. "I'm surprised it took you this long to find me."

Geralt was not pleased to learn that he had been waiting for him. He had imagined it might be a possibility, but he thought the god would use that knowledge to stop him. The fact that he welcomed him without trials or difficulties, sending his people to look for him and opening the doors of his home to him without hesitation, made him suspicious.  For all he knew, it could all be a trap.

"Oh don't flatter yourself, witcher! I have far more important things to do than to set you up." The god spoke as if reading his thoughts. 

"You knew I was coming?" Geralt managed to say and the god nodded.

"And most importantly, I know why you are here. I knew you were going to find your way here the second she came in."

The mere mention of his beloved in the conversation had Geralt's heart racing, a gesture of both love and anxiety. He felt Yennefer's eyes on him, watching him with furrowed brows as she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. She knew of his former lover, the forest nymph he had abandoned after their destinies were linked, and he had no doubt that she would understand what was happening in just a second, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to have her back.

"So, I'm assuming you know why I'm here."

"I do, yes. And I will not be opposing to your wishes, Geralt of Rivia. I knew from the first moment that this was not her time and I am willing to give her another chance to live out her destiny without surprise interruptions from magic... However, I do have one condition."

"And you say it was not a trap..."

"It is not! It is just a simple... exchange."

"An exchange of what?"

The god paused, taking his moment to answer.

"Souls are complex things, Geralt. Very powerful, very strong... I can't just let one walk out of here."

"Why not? You have plenty here."

"It's a matter of balance, I don't expect you to understand that. But, if you want your dear nymph back, you'll have to give me a soul in return."

Geralt was silent for a moment, carefully analyzing his situation. After all the work it had taken him to get there, he didn't plan to leave empty-handed. But he also didn't want to condemn an innocent soul who had nothing to do with his mistakes. So he knew exactly what he had to do.

"Fine," the witcher agreed. "Take me then. My soul for hers, it's only fair."

Yennefer tugged on his arm, ready to argue with him —thinking he was acting like an idiot by offering his life as if it was nothing—, but was interrupted before she could open her mouth by the laughter of the god in front of them.

"It's a nice gesture, but your soul isn't nearly powerful enough. It's better than an ordinary human’s soul, I'll give you that, but she's a nymph. Do you have any idea how much energy her soul contains?"

"Then name your price." Geralt said. He wasn't necessarily going to give in to his demands, but he figured it didn't hurt to learn what the god's wishes were.

"To be honest, I don't think you can get a soul of such power... however, you do have access to one that is quite close." Geralt didn't like the suggestive tone in the god's voice. And he liked it even less when his eyes fell on Yennefer as he finished the sentence.

"No!" The witcher declared as he understood the intentions behind those words. He had brought Yennefer with him to help him open the portal and nothing else. He refused to sacrifice one more life. No one else had to suffer because of his stupid decisions.

"She wouldn't suffer." The god spoke after glancing at Geralt's thoughts. "She doesn't even have to be dead, she just has to stay here with me."

"I don’t care. We're not doing this."

"Why don't you let her decide?" The god said, resting his eyes on Yennefer's violet ones. "It is a good deal. You get your lover back and she gets-"

"She gets imprisoned here forever." Geralt interrupted and the god looked at him wearily.

"She gets to be the most powerful madge in history, sitting by my side ruling the underworld... isn't that what you always wanted, Yennefer of Vengerberg, to have power beyond imaginable? What's more powerful than deciding between life and death?"

Geralt snorted at such words, finding the god's tricks very ineffective. But when he looked back at Yennefer, she had a look in her eyes that made him doubt. "You're not seriously considering his proposal, aren't you?" he approached her, speaking in a lower tone of voice so as not to be heard by the god.

"If we leave now then we traveled this far for nothing. Don't you want to get her back?"

"No if it means hurting innocent people. You have nothing to do with this."

"Except I do since the moment you made that srupid wish."

"I didn't save your life then just to leave you here now."

"You're not leaving me, I'm choosing to stay."

"You don't have to do this, Yennefer." Geralt's voice became softer. She seemed quite sure of her decision and he knew it would not be easy to persuade her otherwise, but he had to try. He didn't like the idea of leaving her behind, of sacrificing her in favor of his own happiness. 

"Oh, please! I'm not doing this just for you. I usually don't like to waste my time and energy just to end up empty handed. I came here because, as you said, it was an opportunity to find the answers I've been looking for. So why don't you worry about you and let me worry about myself?"

Yennefer rolled her eyes. And while she wasn't lying and really had interests of her own in that place, Geralt really was a big part of the reason she wanted to accept the god's offer. There was something in his eyes, the sparkle of true love, that shone every time he thought of his departed lover. It was something she had never noticed in his eyes when he looked at her. It was clear that what they had was real, it softened her hardened and withering heart, and gave her hope that love was real. Though of course, she would never admit that to Geralt. 

The witcher growled under his breath, clenching his jaw. Even though part of him didn't like the idea of leaving Yennefer behind, he couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved to hear those words. If she wanted to stay there for her own selfish reasons, then accepting the god's proposal was much easier on his conscience. 

"Are you sure about this?" He asked her once more, giving her one last chance to back out. 

Yennefer shrugged. "I lived a long time among the living, had my good share of adventures... maybe it's time to try my luck in the underworld. "

That answer was good enough for Geralt. He accepted the god's proposal, exchanging Yennefer's soul for that of his beloved nymph. She would stay in the underworld with him and in return Geralt would get a second chance with his lover. The god instructed him to return home and assured him that when he arrived, her soul would already be back in her birth tree.

As he made his way back, the thought that the god was tricking him crossed his mind. He realized that he really had nothing to assure him that he would keep his word. For all he knew, this could have been a strange move by the god to get to Yennefer and her powers for some reason he did not know. Perhaps he was being used as a pawn in a larger chess game that he did not know he was part of. Perhaps he had unleashed a terrible evil upon the continent without realizing it.

But then he felt it. 

The sweet scent of flowers assaulted his nostrils the moment he set foot in the forest. It was strong, much stronger than it had been in a long time. He noticed then that everything looked greener and more alive, every flower, bush and plant glowing in the warm sunlight in a way that they didn't when he left. Even the birds seemed to sing louder and more cheerfully. 

Geralt ran to the cherry blossom tree he had been tending for what had felt like an eternity. His heart was racing with every step he took, not from the physical effort, but from the anticipation. The hope of seeing her again was what had kept him sane since that horrible day he had lost her. All this time he had thought it was impossible, an illusion that only served to keep him on his feet until the pain subsided. But now it was a reality, and he had so many emotions swirling inside him that he didn't know exactly what to feel.

Suddenly, his eyes came upon a figure on the horizon. It was partially blocked by the rays of sunlight that kept him from seeing clearly, so he picked up his pace to get closer. Little by little the figure revealed itself in front of him, until it became clear to him that the one who was walking around the forest, picking flowers and petting the animals, was her. 

She looked as beautiful as he remembered her, with her long hair blowing in the wind and a sweet smile on her face. It was as if time had never passed, as if that horrible day and the pain that her death had unleashed had been just a bad dream. It was as if he had never lost her.

Geralt stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell on hers, paralyzed by the emotions coursing through him. All this time he had dreamed of this moment and now that he had her only a few feet away he didn't know how to react. His eyes blurred with tears, but he caught a glimpse of his beloved's figure running to him before he felt the warmth of her body in his arms. He held her tighter than he ever had, pulling her against his chest as a way of both making sure she was real and that she couldn't pull away from him.

"You came for me." She muttered, melting into the embrace. Her memory was somewhat fuzzy, but she remembered clearly the moment when the blade of the dagger had caressed her neck. She remembered how it had felt and the horror in Geralt's eyes as she fell into his arms, taking her last breaths. She remembered his words of comfort and his promise to make things right, as if he actually could. She still didn't understand how she was back there, but she knew it was Geralt she had to thank for her second chance at life. Somehow, he had found a way to bring her back, she was sure of that.

"I'll always come back for you." 

The kiss they shared was unlike any other. It was passionate and desperate, yet soft and tender. It was charged with all the emotions that had been left unsaid between them, sadness, regret, longing, but, above all, love. They felt that spark the moment their lips brushed, just like in the old days. Geralt hadn't realized how much he had missed feeling her soft lips on his until that moment. He allowed himself to get lost in the joy he felt, letting the warmth of her body against his slowly remove the traces of sadness and pain that had haunted him all this time.

They remained in each other's arms for a long time, enjoying the moment they had both been longing for so long. It was just him, her and the chirping of birds in the trees. Breathing in the floral scent of her hair, Geralt knew that the gray days were behind him. Gone were the guilt and the pain, the sleepless nights and the cold mornings without his beloved. She was back by his side, just as she always should have been. And he was more than happy for the new beginning he had with her. A new chance to make things right, to honor his word and keep his promise, just as he should have done from the beginning. He was ashamed that he had had to lose her to realize how big his mistake had been, but now that he had her back he wasn't going to let her go. His love had proven to be stronger than everything, even death itself.

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[essskel]

the whole ‘Eskel is a better witcher than Geralt’ stuff has always made me more sad than anything else. Geralt’s arc as a character is the building acceptance that even though he was raised a witcher and the profession is part of him : he’s a human, and he’s happy to be one.

but Eskel is a witcher. He’s not just ‘better’ at killing monsters he’s ‘better’ at wearing the title. He truly does work to cap his emotions, to succumb to the 9-5, to accept that his mutations make him something separate from the human he was born as.

He sees the stereotypes and the stigmatization of witchering and he only allows himself to step outside these forced boundaries when prompted by Geralt, Lambert, or Ciri, and even then he makes it clear that he’s making an exception.

And that’s not to say his moments of vulnerability and human connection are unnatural to him, he feels love and is drawn to protect those that he loves same as Geralt, but he’s out of practice in acting on these emotions because he’s a case study in survival repression.

He never solidifies a relationship with Ciri in the way Lambert does (in the books), he’s not even shown goofing around with her like Coën. He’s kind to her and he loves her and he goes on to put his life on the line to save her, but the vastness of his self-imposed missed opportunities is sickening. And that’s not even touching on the decay of his relationship with Lambert, or his white-knuckle grip on Vesemir.

Eskel is a good fucking witcher, he’ll dispose of your monsters faster and cleaner than his brothers ever will. But when his niece starts reminiscing on her favorite memories from childhood, he’ll be waiting a long damn time before she says his name.

#his vacant relationship with ciri genuinely haunts my waking dreams OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDD #please don’t take this post as ‘anti-eskel’ he’s literally my url. i’m just being sad abt him bc he makes me sad #eskel #witcher eskel #kaer morons #the witcher #the witcher games #lambert #double shot

[the-desilittle-bird]

Hello my darling! If you don't mind, I'd like to ask for something similar to "For a Better Future", but for the prince Daemon. Maybe even a little more tragic... Thank you very much! Love you!

AN- Took me some time but here it is... set after Rhaenyra's wedding to Laenor; with the assumption of Rhea still being alive and Daemon not marrying Laena (My fearless love ❤)...

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

For Them

Daemon Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary- The ghost of past never leaves; it comes back to haunt, in a way or the other...

Tag List- @minaxcarter, @eliseline, @blackhoodlea, @little-moonbeam-666, @neenieweenie, @omgsuperstarg, @avalyaaa, @shopping, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @krokietinio, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @thekayarlene, @narcy, @helloitsshitzulover, @muushwrites, @daringboba, @bi2simps, @issybee0611, @yariany02, @agathe, @5moremin, @candypurplebutterfly, @saraelizabeth26, @moon-light1415, @targaryenmoony, @stargaryenxshelby, @instabul, @shine101, @hyacinthus007, @mcam623, @eudximoniakr, @carissa_griffin7777, @marvelescvpe, @severewobblerlightdragon, @deltamoon666, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @ultrav0lence, @savagemickey03, @sunmoon-01, @literishdegree99, @watercolorskyy, @Lady-Juliettes, @cherryaemond, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @nats-whore

Warnings- Quite Angsty and Daemon v/s Otto

GIF Credits to @leave-me-colourless

Life has been a living imprison of hell for Daemon in the last few weeks. His claim on the throne is gone and now, his niece becomes the claimant of the Iron Throne and his brother's titles once he leaves the world to join their ancestors in fire.

His bronze bitch has written to him; threatening that if something is to come to their daughter than she shall have his head for it. The audacity she possessed to write those words to the Lord Commander of the Gold Clocks.

His daughter. The sole good thing in his life, is busy dancing and laughing at something amusing; lively and happy in her own little world, with her selfless cousin.

(Y/N)'s eldest son.

He and his little sister have always been close, since her birth honestly. Their parents always content with how Daemon would stick to her side; protecting her from everything. Viserys found it amusing but who cared?

The closeness turned into a sweet relation between them where love manifested underneath sarcastic comments and eye rolls. But then, Daemon found out of the pleasures he could experience in the Flea Bottom. The pleasure houses and taverns became his second home; and (Y/N) grew distant to him.

It was to no surprise that she wished to protect her dignity and reputation in the court of Jaehaerys, their dear grandfather. She was his favourite, also their grandmother's. And why would she not be? She was a great lady, with sharp features of Old Valyria and wits to match them.

After the Old King dies and Viserys ascends the throne, Daemon proposes to marry his sister in the traditions of their house and of Old Valyria and continue their bloodline as a man and wife should; but he was far too late.

Otto Hightower, the cunt of man and the Hand of the new King, had already asked for the princess' hand in marriage; unifying their houses with a holy union.

Daemon had almost murdered that son of a bit h that day, if only the King's Guard hadn't restrained him and (Y/N) hadn't asked him to stop. Tears slipped past her cheeks as she assured him that all was fine; that she was fine, everything was.

And soon after that night, he found himself marrying Rhea Royce and consummating their marriage in a drunken haze; moaning his sister's name instead of his lady wife's. That night was enough to make her bear his child; his daughter.

He had watched silently from the shadows as the Hand married his sweet sister; consummated the deed on their first night and impregnated her with his seed. Three children, he counted, and fourth on the way.

The eldest of them, a boy bearing the name of their father, had took an interest in his daughter, Alyssa. They made a beautiful couple together, Daemon had to admit, but they resembled them in the worst way.

Alyssa had took after her father, inheriting nothing from her mother but her sharp wits and bold statements. On the other hand, Baelon had nothing of his father; everything in him was his mother's, everything (Y/N)'s.

"They look beautiful together."

Tears brim up as he turned to the serene face of his sister, heavy with the Shittower's child... again. Daemon had noticed that the Hand wasn't as blind as his brother; letting (Y/N) recover fully from her previous pregnancy before moving on to another.

At least something isn't bad about him.

"They resemble us." The grunt was loud, capturing the attention of all who sat on the table. Alicent. Otto. (Y/N)'s third child, Saera and Viserys. But all the lady did was dismiss them with a smile as she turned to her dear brother; a protective hand on her bump as she spoke.

"Isn't it the beauty of it?" She queried, wisdom lining each word of hers, just as their grandmother. Daemon had always loved that about her; how she took a small piece from their dead ancestors. May it be their mother's rebellious nature; or Alyssane's wisdom.

"I see no beauty in it; but only tragedy," he whispers, reaching for his cup of wine which he gulped down in three huge sums. Turning back to his sister, he only focused on her face; one which was turning much identical as their mother's as she aged.

"We can change their fates, Dae. We only need to fix our broken relationship," she replied calmly, placing a hand on his shoulder as he rolled his eyes. From his peripheral view, he saw Alyssa grab Baelon's collar, leaning up to place a chaste kiss on the corner of his lips.

"How can we? Your husband won't let his son marry Alyssa," he growled, watching as Otto kept a vigilant eye on their children. "Baelon isn't just his son. He is equally mine and he will marry whosoever he wishes to."

A silence fell upon them and Daemon was catapulted back in the times when they would ride their dragons together; acting to be Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wife Visenya. Those were the times of delight; where they were just themselves.

"For them, Daemon."

"Fine," he grunted, his eyes burning into hers as she smiled brightly at him. Her fingers squeezing his hands reassuringly, before standing up with a slight groan.

"I would have loved to go riding with you, but this little one has made walking hard for me," he hears her say, which only made him laugh as he shook his head. His hand hovered over her enlarge stomach, eyes glancing up in a silent permission.

"Go ahead."

Caressing her bump softly, he felt the baby move inside her; a light sensation of it kicking just beneath his hand had him tear up as he smiled. During the time Rhea was with Alyssa, she never let him come near her, lest touch her bump. To feel the sensation father's expect to feel the most; it filled him with ecstasy.

Standing up, he turned to watch their sweet children together. His eyes softening as he saw the reflection of young Daemon and (Y/N) dancing in front of him; happy and beside them, was a Lord and Lady. Both old and happy.

The scene was almost metaphorical; a past they had and a future they could have had if he had been quick in front of him. And while he would forever mourn the future he didn't have, Daemon was grateful for the moments spent in her arms; of peace and solace and love.

"For them."

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd imagine #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon targeryan #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen

[jay-arts-t]

Sometimes I just like to think about what it could've been if Geralt had gotten Ciri right after Pavetta and Duny died. If Calanthe was so weighed down by grief she realizes she can't take care of Ciri. So she orders Moussack to go find Geralt to collect Ciri. Imagining Geralt in a random tavern somewhere in Temeria, slowly making his way up to Kaer Morhen for the winter as autumn is approaching. Him having a gut feeling he should head up early, he thinks it's because something is wrong with Vesemir so he's anxious to make it through. But Roach needs to rest and well, it wouldn't hurt to get some extra supplies for the winter. Certainly wouldn't hurt to get some extra booze so he has relief from Lambert's grating voice on his ears. Besides, he and Eskel can stay up late and drink to their hearts content up in his room like they used to sneak around when they were teens.

Then out of the blue he sees Moussack, and dread fills his entire body. He doesn't keep up with news outside of what Dandelion tells him. So when Moussack is telling him Calanthe is summoning him he's thinking "oh fuck, she's changed her mind and is going to execute me."

But Moussack reassures him he's not going to be harmed. Calanthe is asking for him because of his child surprise. And now Geralt is really worried. What happened to them? Are they okay? Are they hurt? Did they die? They're only a few months old, there's so much that could've gone wrong. So he agrees to go with Moussack.

Calanthe looks a mess when Geralt sees her. Eist is by her side as always, trying to comfort her. Pavetta and Duny are nowhere in sight and it's making Geralt extremely antsy. Calanthe tells him the news, her voice is hoarse from all the crying she's been doing. Geralt sympathizes with them, gives them his condolences. And then that's when he realizes "oh. OH. OH NO". Sure enough Calanthe tells him she can't take care of herself, how could she care for a baby. Geralt refutes telling her "they're your grandchild, I don't want to rip them away-" and Calanthe tells him then it's a girl. And for a split second his brain gives the helpful thought of "oh I have a daughter" and Geralt is having an internal meltdown right there in the throne room. But he can't refuse. His entire basis for not coming back and claiming her is because she has a family who cares about her. But now that family is saying that they can't care for her, not because they don't love her, but because they do. So Geralt agrees to take her.

The first time he meets her he is entirely captivated by how small and precious she is. The moment he holds her he feels overwhelmed with such a fierce protectiveness and he can't help but absolutely adore her. He is trying so hard to stay stoic and unemotional but the moment he's alone with Ciri back in that old tavern he'd been at he just holds her and smiles. If he'd been a normal man, he probably would've burst into tears by how happy he was. (he did later once she got settled into Kaer Morhen, when he and Eskel did end up drinking up in his room. They're talking about the usual things, and then he looked over to her in her makeshift crib and just started bawling. Eskel freaks out and asks him what's wrong and he replies "I just love her so much."... Yes Eskel teared up.)

Then he has to go through the lovely moments of "how the fuck do you raise a baby" which Vesemir watches with so much amusement. Geralt raided most of Kaer Morhen's library and Nenneke's office for books about parenting. (Kaer Morhen has none, unsurprisingly.) He eventually asks Eskel to go to Oxenfurt and grab Dandelion and any books about parenting, childhood development, psychology and women's health he can find. (He is DREADING eventually having The Talk with Ciri but he won't be unprepared.) Dandelion is completely awestruck with Kaer Morhen of course however, nothing shocks him more than seeing Geralt looking bone tired with a 5 month old baby wailing in his arms, trying to soothe her.

"uh... What ya got there, Geralt?"

"H e l p."

Where's Yennefer? What about Yennefer?? Geralt is hesitant at first to even tell Yennefer he has a kid. But she sends him a letter one day, asking him where he is now that it's coming up on spring. (Ciri's first bday!!! Yay!!!! Also oh gods planning a birthday?!?!?!?? That's a thing??????) So he does tell her, and she understandably to her character demands to see this child surprise. So again, sends Eskel on out (pls Geralt, he's your childhood best friend, not your errand boy.) to go get Yennefer. Yennefer storms through the main hall, not even acknowledging Lambert and Vesemir, and right up to Geralt. How did she manage to find her way through the halls without ever being there before? Geralt doesn't know and he's scared by it. Yennefer spots Ciri, who's doing her tummy time. To which she's very fussy about and gives the nastiest glares an almost 1 year old can to her father. Yennefer is absolutely gobsmacked that Geralt was being genuine. She points to Ciri, then to Geralt, then back to Ciri, to Geralt.

"YOU?????? HOW????"

"I'm really bad at making jokes."

Yennefer adores Ciri, but Ciri is a little skeptical of her. Who is this strange woman????? Where is her dad?????? Where's her other dad (Dandelion)???? How dare she smell nice and be warm???? Ugh as if she'd let her feed her!!! No way! Yennefer is always completely drenched with baby food whenever she attempts to feed Ciri. Geralt tries so hard not to laugh at her. Ciri is absolutely seething by the end of it and is only contained when Geralt picks her up and holds her securely. Then it's like little devil Ciri never existed, she's all smiles and babbling happily to her dad. Yennefer gets really disheartened over it. Late at night she ends up crying over it, thinking it wouldn't matter if she was able to have kids or not; Ciri proves she'd be a horrible mother anyway. Geralt doesn't know what to say at first, but he knows it's not true. Yennefer is trying her best, it's just that Ciri is really fussy. She even fusses sometimes when Dandelion holds her. He tries to comfort Yen, and ends up deciding the best thing to do is hold her and tell her that she's doing amazing. He doesn't think she believes him because she's still got a very somber look on her face the next day. She becomes reluctant to take up care of Ciri because of the incident. Well about after the third day of this Ciri gets fussy again. Geralt is taking a well deserved nap day. He's back in his room snoozing away. Yennefer and Dandelion are with Ciri in the library, one of the warmest places in the keep. Dandelion wipes his hands of the ink that stains them and picks her up and checks if she's soiled. She isn't, so he asks if she's hungry. She thrashes around in his hold and turns in search of Yennefer and starts grabbing towards her. So Dandelion hands her over to Yen. The moment Ciri's resting against Yennefer she settles down.

"huh, guess she just wanted her mommy." Dandelion comments and Yennefer starts crying. (Dandelion's face morphed from aww to OH FUCK)

The bigger Ciri gets the more rambunctious and energetic. Geralt couldn't be prouder that they're all raising her to be genuine to herself and that they've broken the generational trauma. Vesemir pats Geralt on the shoulder one day and tells him "I'm proud of you, Wolf" and damn, if that doesn't make him want to cry. He doesn't of course, only meeting Ciri made him cry from joy. And oh how she gives Lambert a run for his money. It's hilarious to see a 60-something year old argue with a 4 year old. They get into the most stupid arguments too. "blue is better than red!" Or "I'm taller than you" which is the most absurd because it's always Ciri who starts it. Geralt thinks it's because Lambert is the shortest besides Vesemir. But Vesemir has only become short due to his old age, and Ciri already gives him a hard time for that. ("Why are you so fat and old? Aren't you a Witcher like Daddy?" She said once and Vesemir just paused and looked at her like "why would you say that to me". She burst into a giggle fit at his crushed expression.)

The argument will always, without fail, go:

C: I'm taller than you.

L: no you're not? I'm 5'11!

C: well I'm 8 feet tall!!!!

L: more like 2 feet tall!

C: NO! SEE

Then she'll stand on the chair so she towers over Lambert.

L: fine well I'm older.

C: no??? My birthday is first

L: NO ITS NOT?

C: YEAH IT IS

L: NO APRIL IS BEFORE MAY. AND IM 67, YOU'RE 4

C: uhhhhh I hate to break it to you, but no you're not. You've been lied to your whole life.

L: W H AT WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE????

C: uhmmmmm god.

Then when Coën finally meets one of the Wolves and comes up to Kaer Morhen he's shocked to see someone so young. At the time Ciri was around 7. She calls him ugly and walks away to the stables. Coën is just left flabbergasted while Lambert and Eskel are laughing their asses off. Geralt apologizes to him, while trying to hold in his laughter. Coën becomes like an older brother to Ciri, and he gets on her good side by helping her prank Lambert.

When Ciri hits 12 she does get her period, and Geralt is like "OH GOD OH FUCK HOW DO I TALK TO HER ABOUT THIS I DONT WANT TO MAKE IT-" and Yennefer walks into the room and goes "I told her, we're good."

Then comes the "boy talk" Where Ciri brought up that a character in a romance book was attractive and Geralt went into "No one is good enough for my baby girl" dad mode and brashly announced "you're not allowed to date boys until you're 21."

Yennefer slaps him on the arm and Ciri looks at him almost offended.

"jokes on you I don't even know if I LIKE boys. Maybe I just like this character's personality." She replies sassily. Geralt cannot argue with that logic. (And yes 2 months later, she goes on a day trip with Yen and talks to a girl her age. She comes back and Geralt asks her how it went and she says "I definitely like girls." And walks up to her room to take a nap. Geralt celebrates as soon as she leaves "YES!!! I DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT SOME BRUTE MESSING WITH MY DAUGHTER FUCK YEAH" Yennefer reminds him that some women are just as bad and he crumples to the floor in agony. Now he has to worry about brutish women hurting his daughter.)

Essentially, I just love that Geralt has a daughter, and that he's so proud of her and loves her so much. Their relationship is just so 🥹❤️ I adore them.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #dandelion #yennefer #vesemir #papa vesemir #peepaw vesemir #dadralt #lambert #eskel #coën #calanthe of cintra #eist #moussack #geralt best dad award #he just loves his daughter so much #gerlion #yenralt #oh god whats the ship name for book yen geralt and dandelion????? #book! yennefer x geralt x dandelion #the witcher saga #the witcher books #ciri #cirilla of vengerberg #ciri introducing herself like “I HAVE 3 PARENTS WHAT DO I GO BY????? CIRI WHAT? OF RIVIA? OF VENGERBERG? PANKRATZ???” its a dilemma.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 20

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 19 🟣 Part 21

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI. P-in-v sex, fingering, angst, ongoing vampire shenanigans, more blood than we're used to... Mentions of a knife kink. Paranormal voyeurism... (I swear, regular tags and warnings just don't feel sufficient for this :') )

Word count: 4.7k (It's a long one)

A/N: Loving kisses, a successful date, a bitch, a good friend, a messy bite... I'd call this fluffy if it wasn't so... smutty.

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @ellethespaceunicorn @mis-lil-red @sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

“Mikey?” You threw the door open — and you should have known better. Your heart threatened to beat its way out of your chest at the sight before you. It was really just Mike, on his bed, phone in one hand, dick in the other. The scenario left very little to the imagination with regard to what he was doing…

Then you blinked, and all the evidence of what you’d run into vanished.

“Swe—” He stopped talking — again — and you felt your heart being crushed under the weight of that unfinished word. And this time you weren’t having any of it.

In a few steps, you closed the distance between you and the edge of the bed, where a disappointingly fully dressed Mike was sitting. “Sat it,” you said, putting your hands on either side of his face after hauling him to his feet. “Call me ‘Sweetcheeks’. Wrap your arms around me, hold me, look me right in the eye and say it.”

Despite your explicit and pressing demand, you were surprised when his arms snaked around your waist and he cleared his throat. “Sweetcheeks, I’ve been an idiot.”

“Yeah, well… what else is new?” you chuckled, and your heart jumped for joy when he joined you. Then, you looked at him: “We’re going out. Tonight. Dinner and a movie.”

“We can get burgers and head off to see Saw?” Of course he suggested a horror movie!

“You know I can’t sleep after watching scary movies, Mike,” you whispered.

“I know you can’t sleep alone,” he corrected you — and he was right. “I’ll protect you… Sweetcheeks.”

“Cool, it’s a date,” you said before giggling like a schoolgirl. At least the sound made Mike smile even wider. That was good, right?

“Dinner tonight, princess? I’m making chicken fried rice.” August pressed his lips to yours before you could answer.

“Sounds fantastic, August, but I’m going out. Mike and I are going on a date.” You tried to fight the smile off your face, but you just couldn’t manage.

August wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, peppering kisses along your jaw before dipping his head down to reach your neck. “You’re happy, princess. I like it when you are happy.”

“Even when you’re not the one making me happy?” Why? Why did you ask that?

“I do make you happy,” August said matter-of-factly. “In fact, I make you very happy.” He lifted you onto the kitchen counter, standing between your legs, which you wrapped around his waist.

In the middle of your passionate kiss, Sherlock stumbled into the kitchen.

“Good morning you two,” he said, his indifference to the scene in front of him evident in his voice.

You pushed against August’s shoulders so he would let you go, and hopped off the counter, stalking towards Sherlock in a few big, angry steps. It surprised you that he wrapped you in his arms and kissed you — quite firmly, and inappropriately for a communal area of the house. It also surprised you that he was quite cold to the touch.

“I heard you have a date with Mike tonight?” he asked with a kind smile. “A wonderful idea. May I request some time to feed before you leave?”

“Only of you don’t ask me so formally,” you snorted. “I love you, of course you can eat. You’re not filing a tax form!”

“Well, then,” he said, his smile growing more mischievous, “would my beautiful love accompany me to bed, please?”

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest when you heard him say those words, before realizing that you always retreated to his bedroom to feed. It had just become a thing you usually did in private. Not for anyone’s sake, but simply to take full advantage of the calming sensation you felt, and to really give yourself some alone time with your guys. This time would be no different. No different at all.

“Please, make yourself comfortable, darling,” he said kindly when you stepped into the room. “I will get you some tea, and… August?” Sherlock turned around before the door opened and indeed showed August, standing outside, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He sighed, while Sherlock chuckled. “Thank you very much.”

August grumbled something unintelligible while rolling his eyes before turning on his heel and disappearing, leaving you and Sherlock to it.

You took the glass of water and drank it quickly, not because you hoped to get this over with as quickly as possible, but because you wanted to crawl into Sherlock’s arms as soon as you could.

You waited a few minutes, just laying on his bed, curled up in his embrace with your head resting on his chest, while gathering your thoughts as well as your courage. Then, you kissed him. It surprised you that he was so greedy in his reciprocation, to the point where he quickly took the lead in your little bout of passion, pinning you to the mattress, the weight of his body comfortably crushing your soul back into your body. Sometimes that was just necessary.

What did bother you, however, was the fact that he seemed to be having no physical reaction to your kiss whatsoever. Why the hell not?

His lips traveled from your mouth to your jaw, and eventually to your neck, where you felt his fangs scrape over your skin.

Of your four partners, Sherlock had the gentlest bite, and he took the most time when feeding — save for Mike when he had access to his preferred location. You’d once asked him why, and he had answered that throughout the years, he’d had to feed quickly for such a long time, that he refused to now that he no longer had to.

“Thank you, darling,” he said quietly when he was done making sure your wounds would heal.

“Why do you always say that?” You’d never asked him that before, you realized, even though you couldn’t remember any time he hadn’t said it.

“You let me bite you. You voluntarily allow me to wound you so that I may feed on your blood. Darling, if that is not something I should be thankful for…”

You sealed your mouth over his to stop him from talking, and when you retreated, he smiled. A tingly feeling ran all the way through your body as you looked deep into his eyes, and you opened your mouth to speak. To your surprise, Sherlock put his hand over your mouth, a serious look in his eyes. His pupils were dilated, you noticed. Strange…

“Whatever you say next, I will have to obey. Please choose your words with great care,” he said, his voice strained, as if he had great trouble speaking.

“Thank you for explaining,” you said hesitantly after Sherlock’s hand had disappeared. “Can we get to the snuggling part of the event, please?” You needed to feel his arms around you once again.

“Of course,” he spoke slowly, “your wish is quite literally my command.”

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” you asked when he was curled up around you, pulling you close. “I thought we’d made it past the excessive caregiving aftermath of the feeding?”

“We have. You hypnotized me,” he chuckled. “It will wear off.”

You turned around in his arms and looked at him. “I didn’t mean to do that,” you said. It was strange; you felt guilty about it in a way you had never felt guilty about gaining access to Mike’s gift, or August’s. You had grown to thoroughly enjoy Marshall’s…

“It’s because I have a choice. There is no passive side to this gift, other than that I have been told I can be excessively charismatic,” he said as though he could read your thoughts. He couldn’t, which meant they had to be displayed clearly on your face. “You get to share in their experience, and they are glad to let you do that. I, on the other hand…”

“You don’t like the gift?” you asked carefully, sending this was not a topic he enjoyed discussing.

“I abhor it. That time I used it on you haunts me, still. And you were right to admonish me over it. If I had seen any other option, please trust that I would have gone that route. I am terribly sorry.”

“But you use it for good,” you suggested in a feeble attempt to ease the pain in his eyes.

“There is nothing good about taking away consent and free will,” he sighed. “Although the interrogations do require a consent form, so I suppose… It still makes me quite uncomfortable at times.”

“Sherlock, please be honest with me,” you said pensively.

“I feel the need to remind you that I have no other choice, darling.”

“Is it okay, when this happens, if I ask you to tell me you love me?”

“Certainly,” he replied, a hint of amusement to his voice.

“Then tell me you love me,” you commanded as you rolled on top of him, straddling his hips.

“With all my heart, my darling,” he answered before pulling you down into a searing kiss.

“Omg, hey Mike!” Rose walked towards you, closely followed by Jenelle. “What are you two doing here?”

“Movie date,” Mike said with a big smile. Dinner had been awesome, and standing here with him, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, felt like an absolute dream. “What about you two?”

“J got stood up by her date,” Rose explained, “so I came to the rescue!”

“She was hot as hell, too,” Jenelle sighed. “Here.”

Mike let out a low whistle when he saw the photo on her phone screen. “Goddamn. Too bad Tits McGee clearly doesn’t have a brain.” He pulled Jenelle in for a hug. “You are way too pretty to be treated this way. Wait, I can say that, right, Sweetcheeks?” He turned too you, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, Mike, because you’d be right.” You weren’t going to be offended by Mike thinking J was pretty. She was, end of.

“Will you guys sit with us?” The movie had been out for a while, and there were only a handful of people in the lobby. Assigned seats, schmassigned seats.

“And listen to you guys making out all through the movie? No tha—ow! The fuck?” J had caught an elbow to the ribs from Rose, which didn’t go unnoticed by Mike. Mostly because J wasn’t exactly quiet about it, but still. Mike put two and two together unusually quickly.

“Alright, Sweetcheeks, how much do they know?” he asked, feigning annoyance.

“Just that you guys are working through something, nothing more.” J and Rose looked innocent. Or rather; they tried to. And failed.

“Everything, Mike,” you sighed. “They’re my best friends, and they know everything.”

“That’s okay, it’s all my fault anyway. We’re starting to… heal, I suppose.” It was sweet to hear Mike say it that way — and he was right, of course. “We haven’t kissed yet, though. So I wouldn’t worry about the making out part.” Even the oversharing was adorable, dammit…

He was right though; you spent the whole time staring at the screen — except when you snuggled into Mike’s side as well as you could (stupid chairs…) when things got scary. You did hold hands all the way through the film, though, which was really nice. You hadn’t really realized how much you’d missed his touch, even though he was fairly cold…

“Well that was horrible,” J said when you walked out of the theatre a few hours later.

“Are you kidding me?” Mike clearly disagreed. “That was great! Blood, gore, Jigsaw. And I got to hold my pretty girl again.”

“Oh, yeah, no, def,” Jenelle agreed with him. “Fabulous date movie. Horrible third-and-fourth-wheel-movie though. Rose?”

“Agreed, and can I just say that—”

“Out of my way.” A shoulder hit you from behind, sending you tumbling into Mike’s chest. “Right. Go snuggle with your bloodsucker, you vampire skank.”

“Bloodsuckers, plural, right?” You didn’t even know the girl who asked.

“Yeah, bitch has a whole harem. They snack on her.” Katie raised an eyebrow at you and smirked in a way that would put mean queen Regina George herself to shame.

“Oh my god, she’s literally a blood whore?” Again; who was that girl even?

“Listen, you might want to step the fuck off, you insufferable, miserable, narrow-minded, hillbilly cunt.” And she’d better listen, because Jenelle was about five seconds away from losing her shit.

“Fine. You’re not the kind of person I want to be seen with, anyway. You’ll get what you deserve,” she said as she turned around. “Just you wait.”

“She said what?” Now August was five seconds away from losing his shit, and even though Jenelle’s impressive five-eleven frame could be intimidating — especially considering she was taller than Mike if you added her afro to her height, which she always did.

“Jenelle dealt with it,” you said quickly, chuckling at the memory of the imposing law student using some impressive adjectives you couldn’t have come up with in a million years to put Katie in her place. It had been by far the most eloquent opprobrium you had ever heard in your entire life. No, you hadn’t known that word before you left for your date.

“She is an amazing friend,” Mike said. He was right. You could always count on her to stick up for you. Rose, too, but confrontation generally scared her. Jenelle grew up with four brothers, so…

“I wonder what Katie meant when she said I’d get what I deserve…” you pondered.

“You know we’d never let her get to you, right?” Marshall said before giving you a kiss on your forehead.

You nodded. “Yeah,” you said. “Mikey… Can we just go to sleep, please?”

It was strange to get into bed with him again, after weeks of practically avoiding each other, and it was no surprise that it took the two of you some time to figure out how you fit together at least somewhat comfortably — especially since Mike required some access to your neck. He hadn’t asked to feed, but you knew better.

“Go on,” you said, baring your neck to him when you’d finally settled in.

He looked at you, his face contorted into a strange grimace that told you he was uncomfortable with something…

“Are you sure, Sweetcheeks? I mean… I told you I’d go back to—” Without thinking, you kissed him. Hard — and so incredibly passionately that when you broke away, you were gasping for air.

“I’d rather die than have you feed off some…” Nope, that was not a nice thing to say about someone just doing their job. Try again. “You belong with me, Mikey. And…”

You fucking hypocrite. You’d made such a circus of making him call you ‘Sweetcheeks’ again, but there was something you hadn’t been able to tell him for weeks, too. It wasn’t just him. And it was time for you to bite the bullet.

“I love you, Mike,” you whispered, trailing your fingers over the side of his face. “And I’m incredibly glad we’re finding each other again. You can feel what I desire. If it’s anything other than you sinking your teeth into me…”

“Oh, there’s something else,” he mused. “But we’ll save that for later. I’m guessing no boobies?”

“Eh…” You considered it for a moment. “Let’s park that, for now? My neck is fine, though. But no more nonconsensual vampire marriages, Mike.” He didn’t need the warning — he was an idiot, not a jerk — but you couldn’t help yourself.

He had to flip you both over to be able to get to the side Sherlock hadn’t punctured that afternoon — seriously, sometimes you felt a little… used. You loved it, of course, but still.

Mike inhaled deeply, dragging the tip of his nose over your neck as he did, and sighed. “You smell so fucking good.”

For some reason, his words make your cheeks heat up.

“I thought I was going to go insane when Sherlock got to you this afternoon, I—”

Why did you feel the need to interrupt his confession — which no doubt was about to turn steamy soon — with your insecurities? “Could you tell what he desired?” The first rule for a peaceful life was still ‘don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to’, right?

“He wanted to be close to you, and he wanted to feed,” Mike said simply. Was that all? “Have you considered talking to him, Sweetcheeks?”

Okay, fine! Now that everyone in the house had pointed out that that was what you should do… maybe you should give it a go.

“Now, where was I?” Mike’s soft lips trailed over your skin, sometimes placing soft kisses that made you whine softly. “You’re so warm, you taste so sweet. Especially like this. All worked up and hot for me…”

“Mike, we shouldn’t…” And why the hell not? You were so innately attracted to this guy that it bordered on completely ridiculous, and he already knew you were dying to feel him again. On top of you. Behind you. Inside you.

“I can hear your heart beat faster for me,” he growled, his lips moving gently against the skin of your neck, “I can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks — and your pussy. Your body and mind are screaming for me, Sweetcheeks. Make no mistake, I’m screaming right back…” He ground his hips into you to prove it, and chuckled. His fingers tentatively dipped beneath the waistband of your pajama pants.

Your permission was silent, your response was not. Mike wasted no time slipping his hand into your panties and seeking out your clit, making you gasp.

You came so quickly you barely registered it.

“Fucking dripping…” Mike growled before nipping at your earlobe. “All for me, Sweetcheeks?”

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough. “Yes.” Still wasn’t enough for him. “Fuck… yes, baby, all for you.” You’d pay good money to have that smug grin wiped off his face.

He dipped his fingers into you with ease — he hadn’t exactly been lying when he pointed out you were soaked — and pulled his hand back, which surprised you. Then, he wrapped his hand around his cock, biting his lip as the slow, lazy strokes forced moans from his throat. You just looked at him — mostly with fascination, but also a bit of confusion.

“What? This is as close as I can get to feeling you directly on my skin,” he muttered. He was adorably out of breath.

“I’ve considered getting an IUD, but putting them in apparently hurts like a bitch and—”

“So take August.” Mike shrugged, not minding the interruption in your moment at all — and also still stroking himself, which you found both oddly amusing and very in-character.

“What?” you said, thinking you had some idea of what he was getting at, but wanting to verify it nonetheless.

“Take August,” he repeated, slightly louder than before, “I’m sure he won’t mind playing walking painkiller if it means he gets to fuck you raw.”

“Deal!” you heard from the other room, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Soon, the door opened. “Seriously, I didn’t quite catch what you were talking about but I’m game.”

“You help her deal with the pain of getting an IUD, we get to ditch condoms, everyone wins,” Mike summarized. “Now fuck off, I’m trying to get laid.”

“You’re way past trying,” you chuckled. “Goodbye, August.”

“Awh, you’re not going to let me watch?” he teased. Alright, semi-teased. You knew for a fact he’d love to watch.

Next to you, Mike grinned, meaning he’d caught the surge of desire that had flooded you for a moment as soon as the words had tumbled from August’s gorgeous lips. Not that there was any way they hadn’t heard your breath hitch or caught any of the other specs of evidence that the idea excited you more than it probably should.

“Best I can do is let you listen in,” Mike decided before gesturing at him to get out. August gave you a questioning look, and you nodded, another rush of heat washing over you as you thought about what this meant.

‘Treat her right’ were his parting words to Mike before he made his way, presumably to his own room.

“Mmh, you always do,” you hummed contently as Mike finally left his cock alone and focused on you again. He smiled as he plunged his fingers back into you, finding the right spot almost instantly. It was a cute smile; eyes twinkling, fangs out… you watched him with wide eyes as he bit down on his lip, piercing the skin.

“Oh,” he chuckled at his own mistake.

The little bead of blood formed slowly, and you watched it happen, until it got too big to be contained and rolled toward the outside of his lip. You rarely acted on an impulse so immediately — and you were fairly sure you’d never acted so impulsively that it even took Mike by surprise — but there was no fighting this urge to pull Mike closer and… you didn’t quite kiss him. That would have been one thing, but this was something else entirely. You licked the blood off his lip. And you didn’t stop there, no. You sucked his lip into your mouth while Mike let out a very loud moan. A suspiciously loud moan.

“You did not just...” There really was no need to finish that question. Mike was probably embarrassed enough as it…

“Yeah, I totally did, Sweetcheeks,” he said, grinning at you like he’d gone insane. “That hadn’t happened in at least three decades, babe. Fuck that was hot. Kinky. All that good stuff. Did you… was it… just… any good?”

“I’m mostly still in shock over what just happened.” And the fact that it had made Mike jizz in his pants.

“I kinda do want to run this by Sherlock,” he said to your surprise, “I mean… developing a sudden taste for the good stuff could mean you’re transitioning. It's not technically possible, because I know we’ve all been very diligent and responsible about our garlic, but it doesn’t hurt to have it checked out.”

“She’s not,” you heard from the other side of the door as footsteps — Sherlock’s footsteps — passed by the room and disappeared further into the hallway. “I would have noticed!”

“Settled?” Mike asked. You laughed in response. There was something incredibly funny about August’s earlier intrusion and this one by Sherlock, and the way it didn’t even ruin the mood.

“Settled. Just a… I’m going to call it an impulse, for now. I’m not sure if it’s a kink thing.” Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, and they weren’t the only part of you that felt that way.

“God I hope it is!” Mike sighed as he snuggled up against you.

“What, so you can ruin another pair of pants?”

“Hey, fuck you!” He pouted at you, but you could see the grin lurking beneath.

“We were getting there, I believe.” You cocked an eyebrow and then Mike had finally had enough. For a second, he withdrew, pulling his t-shirt over his head, and then he pounced on you.

Your pajamas did not survive the carnage, and neither did his. He was hard, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Didn’t I tell you? Significantly reduced cool down time,” Marshall sounded in your head, making you laugh even louder. Mike looked at you, not asking the question he clearly wanted to.

“Marshall,” you clarified, before yelling at the man to butt the fuck out.

Mike managed to rip four condom wrappers open so enthusiastically that he ruined their contents as well, at which point you finally pointed at the intact, unwrapped, latex nuisance you were already holding. He didn’t hold still while you rolled it onto his cock, and he sure as hell didn’t wait so much as a second to drag your ass onto his thighs.

He pushed into you at the same time he bit you, and you squealed. Rough and eager Mikey was fun. He had been from the beginning of your relationship, and he was now, and he would be in the future — that endless future you suddenly had with him again. He crouched over you, using one hand to grasp your hip, the other to pin your wrists to the bed while he drank from your neck, impatient and greedy and messy.

He fucked into you with something almost resembling a tender kind of rage, caring enough to avoid hurting you, but rough enough to bring you to the edge with just his cock — not something he was usually good at, you had to admit.

He came up before he finished, his lips red from your blood, which trickled down his chin. For the first time ever, you saw your monster in those bright blue eyes. And you loved him even more. The final few brutal thrusts were accompanied by low growls and swearing, and you stared at his face intently, noting the mellowing of his gaze after he opened his eyes again. Watching Mike’s ‘coming’-face was incredible. It was a very raw, honest moment — and for a significant amount of bonus points: it looked absolutely ridiculous —and it was beautiful. Intimate. Connected to you in indescribable ways.

“Wow. Okay, ehm… babe I made a fucking mess, alright? Didn’t mean to do that. Very sorry. We gotta get cleaned up…” Of course, he beat you to the bathroom.

In the hallway, you ran into Marshall, and there was no way you’d ever be able to convince even a single hair on your head that this was somehow a coincidence. He had to have heard.

“I did,” he said, his voice hoarse and his words punctuated by quick, shallow breaths he drew in as he looked at you. “I tried to stay in my room, but…” He raked his eyes over your naked form over and over again, committing whatever it was that he saw to memory before abruptly turning around and disappearing into his bedroom.

In the bathroom, you got your first good look at what Mike had meant. He had made a mess. Which, in this case, meant that your neck looked like someone had ripped your throat out, your shoulder was covered in blood, and it slowly trickled down, over your chest, between your breasts… in your mind, you heard Marshall again.

‘I want to watch you bleed.’

Well… you wanted him to watch you bleed as well.

“Fair warning,” Mike said as he wrapped his arms around you from behind and he glanced at you in the mirror. “He likes to play with knives. It won’t scar as long as you don’t need stitches and he can… treat the wounds the way we usually do.” He grabbed a washcloth and began to clean you up as he explained.

“How do you even know?” you said, your eyes wide with some mix of terror and fascination.

“We told you we met somewhere in the late eighties, right? He met me because I hung out with a group of goths,” he said, and some shards of that conversation came flooding back to you. Something about Marshall screwing around with Mike’s ex… “There was a lot of mixing chemicals to dye hair, and piercing your own eyebrows with sewing needles. That kind of stuff.”

“And they went nuts for the whole vampire thing,” you said, remembering the conversation a little better now.

“Yeah,” Mike said. There was something suspiciously apologetic to his voice. “I did, too. I mean. I was human back then. Okay, long story short; Marshall had this friend, Serafine — probably not her real name, but who cares? — and we used to… hook up.”

“You did what we do,” you said. It wasn’t a question, and the guilty look on his face told you more than you needed to know. This happened in the late eighties. Three decades ago. You didn’t even know him. You weren’t even born! “I’m irrationally pissed about this, Mike.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said. “But, ehm… why?”

“Because, Mike,” you said, slowly walking towards him, apparently scaring him enough that he backed up until he was standing against the wall. “You’re fucking mine.”

#mike hellraiser fic #mike hellraiser #mike (hellraiser) #hellraiser mike #mike hellraiser fanfiction #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #walter marshall #hc sherlock #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #august walker #august walker fanfiction #natural fic #naturalfic #mike hellraiser smut

[starfirewildheart]

Chapter 7

The Wolf and the Flame

Summary: Geralt had just found Ciri and was headed to Kaer Morhen when something drew him into the woods. He found a woman near death and things changed for them all. (I suck at summaries just read please!) Yennefer is bad in the start of this but she and Geralt work on their friendship. Eskel is a dick at first but there is a reason and it works out. Will have a happy ending. Ciri is younger here than in the netflix show. She is about 12.

Warnings: abuse history, injuries, hurt comfort, no one under 18 to be safe, will add when I need to 

Words: 2,104

“Turn your back to the forest, hut, hut. Turn your front to me, hut, hut.”

“I’m sorry,” Yennefer said as they walked through the forest toward the hut.

“Don’t,” he growled. “There is no apology that can make up for what you did.”

“I lost my chaos, Geralt. I’m nothing without it. This was the only way I could get it back.” His silence was more painful than if he physically struck her. “What if someone took your ability to be a witcher away? Would you be this damn self-righteous then?” she snapped.

He stopped walking and spun on her. “Even without the mutations and trials, I would still protect the innocent! I would not damn others because I couldn’t be what I felt I was meant to be!” He tried to calm himself as he knew a blind rage could get them both killed but he was over her arrogance. “Just like your need to have a child when you were willing to sacrifice everyone in your path to get what you wanted! You said you had no choice in becoming what you are just like I had no choice but that’s not true Yennefer. You had a choice! You had a choice to leave Aratusa just like you had a choice to remain as you were before you paid the price for beauty. You had a choice to use your chaos for good but instead, you chose to use it for power. Do not speak to me about choices! Naurel and Jaskier are humans! They are innocents but none of that mattered to you. All you cared about was yourself, it’s all you will ever care about!” He stormed off deeper into the woods letting his medallion guide him leaving Yennefer to wallow in her self-pity.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It took nearly two full days to get to the temple and Yarpin was worried about his charges. Both of them had stopped talking and that was shocking for the bard. He was surprised to see Nenneke and a few others waiting outside the temple when they arrived. There was something about that woman that put him on edge. She seemed to know things that others didn’t and he couldn’t prove it but he thought she could read minds too. “Geralt sent us. He said you would help them.”

The priestess nodded and told her people to take Naurel and Jaskier to the healing wing before turning to Yarpin. “You and your people are welcome to stay but you will not bring weapons into the temple.”

“We’ll wait out here,” he told her, unwilling to disarm.

Nenneke and her people set to work on Naurel and Jaskier quickly stripping them both and cleaning them and treating their injuries. They were both still unconscious when Geralt arrived a day later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The white-haired witcher shifted in the chair where he’d sat for the better part of two days after arriving at the temple. It had all been a waste of time. The deathless mother had already escaped her prison and was lost to him and Yennefer had fled. He hadn’t cared enough to search for her since she wasn’t a threat without her magic. Leaving her to wallow in her self-pity seemed all he was capable of since he was so worried about those he loved. Nenneke had tried to get him to rest, promising she would come to get him if there was any change in either patient but he steadfastly refused. She called him stubborn and treated his injuries before leaving him with his friends.

He’d held both their hands on and off, talked to them, fretted over them hell he’d even yelled a little hoping to get a reaction but nothing happened. Naurel’s wounds were healing well and Nenneke felt that the reason she’d not woken yet was due to exhaustion and starvation. Jaskier on the other hand was not fairing as well. A few of the burns had festered and infected and with it being winter Nenneke didn’t have access to the herbs she needed to help him. The wars that Nilfgaard had waged had wiped out her stores. She sent some of her people out to check apothecaries but it would be a while before they returned even if they were able to find what she needed.

“It’s not looking good Geralt,” the priestess told him, trying to prepare him for the worst.

“He’s stronger than you think. He will pull through, he has too,” Geralt said softly as he wrung out a cloth and placed it on Jaskier’s fevered brow.

Nenneke put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “If you need anything, send for me.” She left when he nodded.

Naurel heard water dripping and it caused her thirst to rage as she struggled to break through the blackness of sleep. It felt like her eyelids were glued together and her mind was muddled and foggy as she fought to wake up. She wondered where she was because she didn’t feel like she was still tied to a chair. There was something soft below her. Memories of Geralt riding to their rescue flooded her mind. Her witcher had come for them! Geralt was there! Damn it she had to open her eyes, she berated herself. Finally, her eyelids fluttered open and she saw his broad back and white hair beside her. Breathing a deep sigh of relief that they were safe and he was with them she allowed herself to relax a fraction and focus. His body was tense and she knew something was off because he hadn’t realized she was awake yet. It took more effort than she wanted to admit but she was able to move her shaky hand until it rested upon his thigh. She couldn’t help but notice him jolt at the touch. “A witcher caught off guard?” her voice was raspy and she barely recognized it as her own.

He’d been so focused on Jaskier that he hadn’t noticed the increased heart rate of the shift in scent as Naurel fought to wake. Her touch shocked him and he jumped, turning to her. “Naurel,” he gasped as he moved to the edge of her bed. Carefully looking her over and brushing the hair from her eyes he placed a soft kiss on her lips. When her arms moved around his neck he wrapped her in a hug pressing her to his chest. They stayed that way for a long time just breathing each other in and drinking in the embrace.

When he finally laid her back she saw the tears that were falling from his golden eyes. Reaching up and cupping his face with her hand she wiped at them with her thumb. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner,” he told her.

“You had no idea where we were taken. It’s a miracle you found us at all.” He was beating himself up for it and she knew it. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I should have protected you,” he argued.

“You saved us Geralt,” she said again and caught his eyes looking to the left. She followed his gaze and saw Jaskier laying in the bed next to hers. “Jaskier?”

Geralt lowered his head. “He’s not doing well. Nenneke is trying but the infection is bad. If I had gotten there sooner,” he trailed off.

“Then he would still have the infection,” Nenneke said from behind him.

Naurel looked up and saw a small, friendly-looking woman approaching and noted that Geralt didn’t react to her so she relaxed as well. She took a breath to say something but started coughing and couldn’t stop. Geralt grabbed a goblet of water off the nightstand and held it to her lips as he lifted her head. She took several drinks, the cool water felt heavenly on her cracked, dry mouth and throat. “Thanks,” she smiled as she eased the cup away.

“How are you feelin dear?” Nenneke asked, offering her a smile.

“Like I lost a battle with a dragon,” she grinned. “But better now,” she put her hand on Geralt’s chest.

“You have been through a lot, young one,” the priestess nodded. “The anomaly in your blood seems to be what is keeping you from having an infection like Jaskier.”

“Anomaly?”

Nenneke nodded. “There are several things we need to discuss but you must heal first. You are all safe here. Rest and recover.”

“You can heal Jaskier right?” she looked over at her friend. “He kept me alive through all of this.”

“It’s winter and the herbs I need are out of season. I’ve seen people looking for them,” Nenneke explained. “If they can be found they will be.”

Naurel chewed at her bottom lip worrying a split there causing it to bleed again. She hadn’t realized until she felt Geralt’s thumb gently free the abused flesh from her teeth with a soft hum of admonishment. “Do you have a bed for the herbs where dead husks are?”

“Of course but the dead plant has no healing properties,” Nennenke explained.

“Take me there,” Naurel pushed herself to a sitting position.

“No,” Geralt’s booming voice was jarring. “You are not strong enough to be up. It will do no good to make yourself worse just to see a plot.”

“I know it makes no sense but please. You can carry me if you want but I need to get to that garden.” She was terrified of what she was about to do but she refused to let Jaskier die because she was afraid of repercussions. She could help and she would.

“Naurel, stop,” Geralt pushed her back against the pillow with no effort at all she was so weak. “Nenneke is doing all she can.”

“But I can help!” she insisted. “I’m going, Geralt! You can help me or I can go on my own.”

He shook his head as she tried with all she had to remove his hand from her chest and stand up. “You are going to hurt yourself. Naurel! Meletele you are stubborn,” he sighed in defeat. Standing he scooped her up in his arms and followed Nenneke out to the gardens to the small plot where the herbs she needed were normally.

“Put me down please,” Naurel urged. She wasn’t surprised when he knelt with her instead of just laying her down. She looked around for anything she could use to cut herself, her eyes finally settling on a pair of sheers that had been left near the edge of the garden. “I need those,” she pointed and told Nenneke. The priestess handed them to her curious as to why she was doing this. She and Geralt shared a worried look as the redhead took the sheers.

“Naurel!” Geralt growled when she cut the flesh of her palm with the sheers. “What are you doing!”

She moved her hand over the dead husks before Geralt could grab it and let the blood drip over them as she said a prayer. She felt the energy leave her body and prayed it was enough as she lost consciousness again.

Nenneke gasped and Geralt jumped to his feet holding Naurel to his chest. “How?” he whispered.

“I.. it can’t be,” Nenneke shook her head.

“What?” the witcher asked again.

“There are legends but I didn’t think they were real. It was so long ago,” she said as she quickly picked the now live and healthy herbs.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded!

“I will explain, I promise but right now I have to get these herbs to Jaskier. Bring her back to bed so she can rest.”

Geralt growled, unhappy that he still didn’t understand but he did as she said. He felt Naurel stir as they walked through the halls. “I’ve got you,” he soothed as her small arms wound around his neck and she buried against his chest.

Wolf and flame tag list

@kneelforloki

@shellyshellshell

@warriormirkwood

@mollymal

#geralt x reader #witcher geralt #geralt z rivii #geralt of rivia #witcher fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher netflix

[lassieposting]

So in NOTW Illyana had three daughters with Lord Zerbst, one of whom had just made her a grandmother before the Sacking of Kaer Morhen. As children of a noble house, those daughters would've married into other noble houses across the Continent.

Anyway AU where she survives to see her youngest daughter marry a Pankratz of Lettenhove.

She survives to see the birth of several grandchildren and even more great-grandchildren, including a brood of Pankratzes.

Everyone in Jaskier's family knows that Great-Grandmama had a tame witcher. It's part of the Family Lore. Jaskier - Julian, back then - spent more time in disgrace at Great-Grandmama's lake house than his better-behaved siblings, and he's fairly sure he actually bumped into the witcher - gods, what was his name? - once or twice; tall and strong, golden-eyed and intimidating. He's only ever known Great-Grandmama as a twinkly-eyed, wizened raisin of a woman who walked with a cane, but her witcher looked young enough to be her grandson himself, no older than Father.

(He's fairly sure he only remembers these chance meetings at all because Great-Grandmama's witcher really had been quite startlingly handsome. Jaskier has always appreciated broad shoulders and toned arms. Perhaps this was something of a formative experience for him.)

She told him once that they'd once been children together, and that her witcher had grown boys of his own, but Jaskier hadn't believed her. No way they were the same age.

They seemed happy, though, despite the age gap. He remembers her giggling like a schoolgirl as her witcher swept her off her feet to lift her into her carriage as though she weighed nothing at all.

(Looking back, and with the advantage of knowing Geralt, the swords the monster hunter carried probably weighed more than she did, by then. She really was terribly old.)

He remembers the roll of letters she kept in her bedside drawer - yes, he was a snoop as a boy, sue him - tied up with a silk ribbon. Remembers the stories she told him when he was small, of brave and heroic monster hunters protecting the innocent from a grisly fate.

He finds himself telling Geralt's family this little nugget of Pankratz family history over an evening of ale, passing on Great-Grandmama's stories. The one about the two young witchers teaming up against a manticore. The one about the big battle at some hidden witcher fortress a long way from Lettenhove - the battle that almost killed her witcher, and would've killed her too had he not sent her away beforehand. The one about the witcher and the elf king.

And when he finishes the story, he realises that his audience has gone very quiet and very still

And they're all staring at Vesemir

#the witcher #the witcher headcanons #netflix witcher #nightmare of the wolf #kaer morons #geraskier #jaskier #vesillyana #anyway jask getting emotional as bards do over the parallels between illy's love story with vesemir and his own love story with geralt #'at least i only had to wait TWENTY years for you to get your head out of your arse and realise i was flirting with you' #vesemir #illyana zerbst #ves has gone as pale as a witcher can go

[yanandreckless]

Spicy Alphabet: August Walker

Author's note: I am currently watching (almost) everything Henry Cavill has been in during his career and so since I love doing these alphabets and consider them almost character studies, I'll do these for several of his boys :3 (it'll be a while before I have time for Geralt and Charlie, though) but August ended up being the first :3 Feel free to comment and tell me who you wanna see next! A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) While he will not outright ask for it, August wants validation. Does he want to know he did a good job? Sure, but he would prefer to know he did the best job. And while utilitarian parts of aftercare like cleaning up, changing the sheets, rehydrating, or taking care of marks are things he would do without much fuss or prompting, in an efficient and almost detached way, don’t be fooled by his calculated movements and his stone face. He needs aftercare too. He needs to be acknowledged and appreciated. He wishes he got cuddled, too. He will refuse it all, and very bitterly too, if he perceives it as mocking, so be careful. Basically, stroke his ego without patronizing him. Over time, he will lower his walls a bit. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) While he was wet behind the ears at the Agency, August was self-assured and cocky that he was All That: tall, muscular, and with that handsome face! He soon realized it was actually a drawback for intelligence work. He is so handsome that he is extremely memorable, which is horrible for a spy, obviously. His career path had to change and adjust due to this and he perceives it as something that is holding him back. It also especially fuels his disdain and hatred for IMF and their super masks. He views it as cheating almost. Since he values his own hard work so much, he’s most proud of his muscles, especially his abdomen and thighs. On a partner, while he can’t help but respect strength and power, he’s mostly drawn to fragility. Wrists so thin he can capture them both in one hand, a swing so weak it can’t even turn his head, a stature so small that they simply have to rely on him for protection. Also small tits. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) A disgusting territorial animal, this one. He loves it when he can smear it all over a chest or even a face, and he also loves it when he can cum deep, deep inside, getting off on the fact that he just can do that, especially if he’s the first/only one to do it to the person. It goes both ways, he loves the messy juices of his partner all over him. He’ll happily feed you his cum from his fingers, he’ll happily let you sit on his face and drink all you have, he’ll be happy as a clam if you squirt, and he’ll happily indulge in messy snowballing. He might even tolerate laughter over how messy his mustache looks afterward, or he might spank you for it. Either way, good times will be had. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He really, really, really craves all that validation and praise in an environment where he’s free to bask in it and not defensive over loving it. He wants to be vulnerable but safe. It’s not even related to specific activities when he imagines himself being pampered, it’s mostly just a person of much smaller stature, weaker than him in every way, having as much power over him as he can handle, and then a bit more. Good luck getting him to admit it, though, even if he behaves in ways that make it painfully obvious at times. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Experienced. Knows what he’s doing well enough, but may fall victim to believing he knows better than his partner. Very likely to utter the phrase “trust me, you’re gonna love this” with varying degrees of success. He’s fairly cocky but since he loves doing a great job so much, he’ll pick up on what works and focus on that. If, however, a suggestion of his was met with reluctance only for his partner to actually do love it once they try, it will result in merciless, endless teasing over it for a while. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Any position where he feels like he’s powerfully steamrolling or bulldozing his way through it. Holding his partner in the air (without a wall to help, thank you very much!), bending his partner in half so mating press or full nelson isn’t off the table at all, having a flexible partner he can contort in all sorts of positions for his pleasure, any face down/ass up exaggerated variant of doggy… although he will be surprisingly pliant if his partner really insists on flipping them over and riding him. If they’re good at it, expect a wide-eyed and slightly stunned August. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.) Usually more serious, sometimes bordering on grim/violent. But he can be more lighthearted, especially if there’s an opportunity to tease. This man loves getting on people’s nerves, so if his partner moans “Oh God”, you can expect a “Name’s Walker, by the way.” thrown back. (or whatever name his current mission had him assume, you get the jist)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) The carpet matches the drapes, he’s a dark brunette for real, and he’s not overly meticulously groomed, as can almost be concluded just by seeing that permanent messy stubble next to an obviously longer stache. He trims parts, shaves other parts, and then the shaved parts may grow into annoying stubble before he shaves them again. Get on his case about this, get spanked. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect) He conceals his desire for genuine intimacy as kink. He’ll grab the back of his partner’s neck and insist on constant eye contact and hope it just appears dominant and not needy. He’ll kiss a lot, he’ll insist on as many body parts touching as possible, he’ll hold tight and grab, bite and suck and pinch, all in clumsy craving for closeness. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Methodical about it most of the time, he’ll do it to take the edge off when needed and he won’t drag it out. Unless he’s got a specific flame to think about. He’ll delight in planning devious scenarios for them then. But even so, he’s not exactly the most patient so he’ll still not drag it out too too much. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Size and strength difference in his favor for sure. Marks. Being rough. Being absolutely filthy and messy. But also, perhaps surprisingly, feisty partners. He loves being defied and challenged, he loves brats because fucking them dumb feels sweeter. And if he loves something above everything, it’s hearing them apologize and beg when they realize the mess they’d gotten themselves into.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) He doesn’t care, it could be anyone’s bed, a bathroom, a hallway, a park, a dressing room, an elevator… As long as it doesn’t endanger a mission, he couldn’t care less. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) While he really loves obedience and being looked at like he hung the moon, he loves it even more if it’s hidden behind feisty brattiness. Challenging his authority gets him going but it makes him rough, so play wisely. He loves proving that he’s needed to someone who tries to tell them they’re independent and capable and strong. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) Share. He hates sharing anything with anyone he deems competition, be it credit, work, space, resources, or people. So don’t even joke about it because unlike riling him up in a fun way, this will rile him up genuinely because it hits him right in his biggest insecurity of not being good enough. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He prefers giving, especially right after or right before he receives because he can then prove how scrambled he made the other person. It’s almost like he competes even with his partner from time to time. Means he’s low on praise reserves. Help him. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Almost always fast and rough. If you’ve been a good baby, he’ll heed your warnings of something hurting and slow down but if you’ve been riling him up like a fucking brat, he’ll tell you to shut up and take it and he won’t stop even if you cry. He’ll gag or spank/slap you if you keep whining. And if you’ve been especially horribly bad, he’ll try to get you to zone out or even pass out from overstimulation. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Loves them. A lot. He’ll initiate them when they appear the most dangerous, when the mood strikes, or when you guys don’t have time, or when you think he won’t do it this time… the list goes on, but he loves them almost as much as he loves having all night or day to do as he pleases.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.) Very game to experiment. He’ll initiate quickies in public places and delight in your terror at being heard or seen, and in your embarrassment if you’d been right. Personally, he’d be down for having an outright audience, he’d love it if everyone was able to see how well he’s scrambling your brain with his cock. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?) He prefers going multiple rounds to lasting super long on one round. Again, he’s not the most patient of men but also he does love making a huge mess. Fucking his cum back into you just to add another load is among his favorite things. 

T = Toys (do they own toys or use them on a partner or themselves?) He can turn almost anything into bondage equipment on the fly so he doesn’t really own a wide array of, say, ropes or cuffs or chains. Likewise, plenty of things can become impact play toys. He loves being creative. He does have some equipment, among which is a knife he uses only for playtime, and if you’re especially scared of it and adamant about never having anything to do with it, he will still talk about it and tease you with the idea of it and with how much of a scaredycat little baby you are. For more conventional toys, he’d be open to using vibrators on you but he’d always make sure you know nothing can compete with the feeling of him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He’s somewhere in the middle. He’s not patient enough for huge rounds of teasing but he does love to get on your nerves and drive you mad and not even being good and obedient will save you from this if he’s in the mood for it. He’s not the fairest of Doms by any means. The best way to put yourself out of this misery is to cry and beg, but if he sees through you on it not being fully genuine desperation… gods help you. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) A growler and grunter. Can be completely silent if he puts his mind to it, but prefers not to be. He loves having his mouth close to his ear so you can hear all his pants and grunts and growls and filthy things spewed through clenched teeth.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He actually loves a bit of teeth during blowjobs. Scrape them along his length, nip him a bit. He’ll delight in the simple thrill of it and he’ll enjoy threatening you into being good. He’s also a disgusting, territorial animal, so he may use this as a segway into some watersports. Or just get into watersports anyway. As long as you don’t safeword and as long as you didn’t explicitly state a hard limit, he doesn’t see the reason to hold back. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) No Henry Cavill character will be small because that’s just the law. Unquestionable. I am not taking questions. Big, thick, cut, veiny. Adores it if his partner can’t close their fingers around him. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Very high but in his mind, a lot of the time, it starts as a desire for a lot of bickering, tumbling, butting heads, wrestling… just sexy conflict. And then that riles him up and bets are off from that point. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward) Depends. Is he working? Does he trust you’re harmless? Is he hurt/too exhausted? Did he get all the nervous energy out of his system? Is he… gods forbid… in love with you? So it varies from immediately to never. 

#mission impossible #mission impossible fallout #august walker #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfic #august walker fanfiction #alphabet #fanfic #august walker smut #august walker x reader

[seidenbros]

Hellooo :))) I hope I can send in a kinda smutty imagine with Geralt, where you're on the Road with him and he slowly fell in love with you but doesnt want to admit it. So when you're both staying at Kaer Morhen he trains you how to fight (cause you’re pretty clumsy), which leads on top of him after a failed move on your side. He cant resist you anymore and starts kissing you and carries you to his room where you end up in love making and later cuddling ? :) Thank you dear!

Hellooo! :) Thank you for this request and of course you can request this! I'm just always a little self-conscious when it comes to postig smut, because I'm never sure of it's any good, but hey, as long as I have fun writing it, right? And sorry that it took so long to write, it was just rather stressfull the last couple of days, even weeks, but writing gave me a way to escape all that at least a little bit

(I’m always happy to receive requests, so if you want to, send some in. If you need inspiration, here are some prompt lists )

Warnings: smut 18+, minors DNI Word count: 4101

_____________________________

Bottled-Up Feelings

It was your second year travelling with Geralt, and the first year, he'd left you in your hometown for the winter, but had picked you up once he'd come back in the springtime. This year, though, he was taking you with him to Kaer Morgen, to train you – that was his reasoning at least. It was the perfect place to improve your skills, because you had the time and the equipment. Not that he would put you through the things he'd gone through, since you were human after all, but it would be easier to do it there, instead of on the road. Sure, he'd shown you a thing or two, had taught you how to wield a sword, how to protect yourself, but there was still a lot you could learn – and he'd feel better if you did, because he wasn't always there to protect you. He tried, and he wanted to be there, but there would always be moments, where you weren't in his line of vision. One more reason why he took you to the keep with him, so that he wouldn't have to worry about you all the time.

Last winter had been hard on him, though he hadn't liked to admit it even to himself, but his brothers had pointed out multiple times how much he was talking about you, how his face lit up when he mentioned you name. Geralt had avoided them as much as he could after that conversation, but in the end, he'd had to admit that they were right. But he'd never made advances towards you, swore himself that he never would, because you deserved better than him, better than a Witcher.

What he didn't know, though, was that you were feeling the same way. Not at first, but by now, you'd developed feelings for Geralt as well. Later than he had done, but nobody knew about it, since you kept these matters close to your heart. You'd only realised it a couple of weeks ago. Geralt had been a friend to you, a protector, someone you knew you could trust. He'd gotten you out of precarious situations multiple times, and he'd do it again. Of course, he'd lectured you about it afterwards, but he'd quickly gone from angry to concerned, as soon as you'd apologized.

You'd gotten yourself in trouble more times than you'd like to admit, but you were trying not to put your foot in your mouth that often. That was your biggest problem: That big mouth of yours. You often spoke before you thought about your words, and your clumsiness made it even worse. But all these things were the little things that Geralt loved. Sure, he would sleep better if he knew that you weren't getting yourself in trouble that much, but he would be alright – as long as you were sleeping close to him and he knew that nothing would happen to you.

He took you to Kaer Morhen earlier than he usually went back home, so that you could get acquainted with the place, get to know Vesemir before you met the other Witchers. Geralt knew that it wouldn't be an easy meeting, especially since Lambert was always a little... well, not so welcoming to strangers, so it was probably good, if you knew your way around the keep and already had Vesemir on your side.

And you did! Vesemir had already heard about you, so he was curious to get to know you.

“Geralt didn't shut up about you the last time, he was home,” Vesemir had said upon meeting you, making you smile immediately. You could have sworn Geralt's cheek had turned pink, but you knew that Witchers didn't blush. At least, that was what he claimed, but you'd already seen it happen.

Geralt had shown you around, had brought you to you room, which was right around the corner from his room. By now, it was getting colder, but no snow had fallen so far. It was still warm enough outside when the sun was out, but the nights were beginning to get cold, so Geralt had made you a fire in the fireplace for the night. Of course, you hadn't slept the first night. On the road, you didn't have trouble falling asleep, knowing that Geralt was right there, and even though he was just in another room here... it was not the same. You needed a couple of hours, but then you'd fallen asleep – finally.

The next morning, Geralt knocked on the door to your room, but you were already awake, not really well-rested, but ready to start the day.

“Did you sleep alright?” Geralt asked, leading you down to the kitchen so that you two could get some breakfast.

“Not much, but it was okay,” you answered with a smile. You'd get used to it eventually, it was just that everything was new.

“Nobody really sleeps the first night, they're here. But after our training, you can get lots of rest. But first, we need some breakfast.” You needed it. Geralt could go without it, but he'd make sure that you would eat something before he showed you to surroundings and started the training he wanted to complete with you today.

Once you finished breakfast, Geralt waved goodbye to Vesemir who wanted to get some supplies, and lead you outside. When you'd arrived, it had already been dark, so now, you could see the view that stretched out before you. It was absolutely beautiful, and you already knew that you would spend some of the days out here, just enjoying the view. But not now, not today. Geralt showed you around, told you about the things he'd experienced here, though he didn't tell you everything – and you knew why. He didn't want you to hear about the horrible things. Things he'd told you late at night, when you'd both not been able to sleep, and he'd let you in on what had been going on inside his mind, what thoughts had kept him awake. It was better to focus on the positive experiences, so he told you about these. How, when they'd still been children, he'd run around with Eskel here, trying to determine who was faster.

“Ready?” Geralt asked once you'd finished your rounds and he'd taken you to the training ground. You wouldn't make do with anything that was here at the moment, but just practice dodging some hits and swings.

“As ready as I can be,” you said with an uncertain smile. Of course you knew that Geralt wouldn't hurt you, that he'd stop before he actually hit you, but you wanted to show him that you'd improved, that you were getting better, and that made you nervous.

“We're taking it slow, alright?” Geralt smiled, because he could feel how nervous you were, could hear your increased heartbeat. He knew that you'd try your best, but it was okay to make mistakes, because you could learn from them.

You were off to a good starts. Geralt explained what he would do and how you had to react, how you could counter his attack, and you succeeded. Maybe, you were a little too happy with your success, because your next move made you knock Geralt over, and you followed suit. The only difference was that Geralt's back hit the hard ground, while your fall was cushioned by his body. You landed right on top of him, your body flush against his, your eyes still closed from anticipating the impact. Slowly, you opened your eyes, but when you looked right into Geralt's eyes, your cheeks flushed pink due to a mixture of embarrassment because you'd knocked both of you down, and being so close to him – on top of him.

“I'm so, so sorry, Geralt, I think I tripped or got my foot tangled,” you tried to explain, playing back what had just happened, but you couldn't say for sure what had happened. “Are you okay?” Deep down, you knew that Geralt couldn't really be hurt, maybe a little discomforted, but a part of you still worried, so you had to make sure.

“More than okay,” Geralt mumbled, his eyes fixed on you. Beneath your hand on his chest, you could feel his heart beat faster, something you'd never experienced before. You'd fallen asleep with your head on his chest after a particularly exhausting day like this, and when you'd woken up still in his arms, you'd realised what you were feeling for him, had admitted these feelings to yourself.

He should get up with you, put some distance between the two of you, return to teaching you... something. But he couldn't even think straight right now. Your scent filled his nose and clouded his mind. His eyes dropped to your lips, but what made him lose control were your fingertips that dug into his chest. He raised his right hand to brush some loose strands from your face, before he ran his fingers along your cheek to the back of your neck, carefully pulling you closer so that he could seal your lips with his. It was not what he had planned to do at all, because he'd actually wanted to keep his feelings, his desires to himself, but apparently he'd turned his head off.

He caught you off guard with this, but that surprise quickly vanished, and was instead replaced by the soft feeling of his lips against yours, by the warmth that spread through your chest and settled in the pit of your stomach. Was this some kind of dream? The grip that tightened on you arm told you that it wasn't, that this was indeed happening.

It was you who deepened the kiss, who suddenly wanted more, because now that you'd started this, you didn't want it to end, wanted more of him, more of this. Geralt groaned deep in his throat, his fingers tangling in your hair. He'd been thinking about this, dreaming about it for so long, he could hardly believe that it was really happening, especially because he'd never wanted to take that step, but right now, he wouldn't think about it any more.

You wanted him, you wanted more than this. Once you'd ripped your lips from his, you sat up slowly, ground your hips against him. His moan sent another shiver down your spine, which settled right between your legs. You could see the fire in his eyes, something you'd seen before, but which had never been directed at you.

Geralt grabbed hold of your hips and rolled over with you, but instead of kissing you again, which your lips were already aching for, he got up and left you without the warmth of his body. For a moment, you thought he'd simply walk away, that he might be angry with you for something, but then he leaned forward to take your hands and help you up.

“Not the right place,” he said, holding your hand in his, before he turned around to walk swiftly back with you to the keep, to get inside, where it was warmer. You were only able to take two steps, when you felt the pain in your ankle that gave in beneath you.

“What's wrong?”

“I think I hurt my ankle.”

You looked down, but due to the boots you were wearing, you couldn't see anything. Geralt didn't want to waste time as it seemed – and to be fair, neither did you – and gathered you in his arms so that he could carry you inside. As soon as you opened your mouth to protest, because you could still walk, he kissed you to shut you up. Needless to say, that worked wonders, because that kiss settled right in your chest. You knew that you wouldn't be able to win such an argument with him anyway, so instead, you enjoyed being this close to him, being taken care of.

Geralt carried you all the way to his room and set you down on his bed. Before he did anything else, he lit the fire to make the room nice and cosy – more for you, because he knew how quickly you got cold. Right now, you were anything but cold. Your body felt like it was on fire, but you needed more of what you'd already shared with him.

Without a word, Geralt carefully took off your boots to inspect your foot. Gentle fingers touched your skin, when he pushed your pants a little bit up to get a better look at your injury.

“I think some rest will do. No training tomorrow, and for the rest of today: bedrest.”

“But not without you,” you said immediately, reaching for his hand. His lips twitched up into a smile, before he joined you on the bed.

“Did you really think, I'd leave you alone here now?”

“Well... I was hoping you wouldn't, so that we could pick up where we left off.”

That was everything Geralt needed to hear, because in a matter of seconds, his lips were on yours again. Still sweet and soft, but also more demanding, which made you sigh into the kiss. You ran your fingers through his hair, scraped his neck with your fingernails, before you grabbed hold of his shoulder with one hand, when you felt his hand on your breast. A gentle squeeze before he rubbed his thumb over your nipple that was already erect beneath the fabric.

Geralt scraped his teeth over your bottom lip, started kissing down the side of your neck, taking his time while doing so. He only stopped to take off your clothes and throw them aside, but then he connected his lips with your soft skin again. He ran his fingertips along your side, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touched, while he pressed open-mouthed kisses further down until he reached your breast. He looked up to you for a moment, but then he pulled your nipple between his lips, sucked hard on it, which elicited another moan from your lips.

“Fuck... Geralt,” you breathed, digging your nails into his shoulder again for a moment, but you quickly let go again, ran your hand along his arm, feeling all the scars that adorned his body. They were a part of him, told their own stories. Some people might look away from them, might think them ugly, but for you, they were just a part of the man you loved. His scars didn't change the way you saw him one bit.

Geralt sat up once more to rid you of your pants as well, to have you naked right in front of him. Feeling his eyes all over your body, you felt the urge to cover yourself, a moment of insecurity, but Geralt smiled down at you, taking all that uncertainty and insecurity away.

“You're absolutely marvellous,” he said shaking his head, as if he couldn't believe it himself. No man had ever made you feel so safe, so cherished as Geralt managed to do.

You sat up just so far that you could put your hand to his cheek and guide him back down to you, so that you could kiss his lips. Geralt rocked his hips against you, making you feel just what you were doing to him, making you suck in a breath from the friction he was creating.

“Off!” you demanded, bunching up his tunic, trying to get it off him, but you weren't able to do that alone. Geralt had to do his part as well, but instead, he grabbed the tunic himself and pulled it over his head.

“Much better.”

Your words made him chuckle, but that chuckle died down when he felt your hand on the bulge in his pants, when you palmed his cock. Geralt started kissing your body again, your collarbone down to your sternum, before he paid special attention to your nipples again. At the same time, he ran his hand up your thigh, getting closer to where you wanted and needed to feel him the most, but before he reached that spot, he stroked back down towards your knee, knowing how much he was teasing you with that. To get a little revenge, you tightened your grip on his cock, making him groan deep in his chest again.

That was the moment that Geralt chose to give you what you wanted and needed, when he slid his fingers between your already wet folds, catching you by surprise. Without a warning, he pushed two fingers inside you, making you moan his name. Your fingers wrapped around his forearm for a second, but then you ran them up his arm to his chest again.

He moved his fingers agonizingly slow inside you so that you moved your hips against him, wanting more of what he was giving you. Geralt wasn't having it, so he put his arm over your hips, pinning you in place.

“That's not fair,” you whispered breathlessly, trying to pout, but the next moan broke from your lips, shattering that look on your face immediately.

“I don't always play fair, you know that.”

Which... was an exaggeration, you knew that, but right now was not the moment to discuss or argue about that. Especially not when he lapped his tongue against your clit. You were already sensitive, knew that it wouldn't take you long to reach your climax. Geralt kept going, flicking his tongue against your clit again and again, watching your every reaction, especially when he curved his fingers upward and hit the right spot. With that, he made you come undone, made your body go tense beneath him, your inner walls contract around his fingers. Your moans were music to his ears, and he enjoyed every second of it, kept going while you were riding your high.

Only when you went limp, breathing heavily, did he pull back and sit up to watch you for a moment. Your head was still spinning, but you felt him move. When you opened your eyes, you could see him taking off the rest of his clothes, before he joined you again. You reached out your hand to place it on his chest, a content smile on your lips.

“You need a break?” he asked with a smile, leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. You seized that moment to put your hand on his cheek and kiss him once again. You also wrapped your legs around his hips to pull him closer to you. When you felt his cock against your folds, you shivered slightly.

“All I need is you,” you whispered then kissed him again. Geralt used his hand to guide his cock to your entrance, dragged it through your fold a couple of times before he slowly pushed inside you. Too slow for your liking, because you wanted to feel him fill you up, but once he was buried completely, you felt like you were able to breathe again. Geralt gave you a moment to adjust to the feeling of him. It was a sweet kind of pain, that eased once he started to move, once it was replaced by the sheer pleasure that consumed your body.

“You're so beautiful,” Geralt whispered against your lips, slow thrusts meeting the movement of your hips, driving you nearly insane. He gently cupped your face when he kissed you again, dragged his lips over your cheek to the side of you neck down to your shoulder.

“Geralt... you won't break me. I'm not that fragile,” you said with a smile, your fingernails running up and down his back next to his spine. It was probably exactly what he'd needed to hear, because he finally picked up his pace. His teeth scraped against your shoulder, before he straightened up. He only pulled out so that he could sit up in his knees. Grabbing you by the hips, he pulled you closer, buried himself inside you again with a long, hard thrust that left you breathless for a moment, before you moaned his name again.

He'd switched the angle like this, hitting just the right spot with his thrusts now, that weren't as gentle and slow as they had been in the beginning, and you loved everything about this. If he kept going like this, it wouldn't take you long to come once more. As if he knew it, he ripped one hand from your hip and started rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“Oh fuck... Geralt... fuck.” You only managed incoherent words, not really what you wanted to tell him. Geralt kept going, increased his tempo even a bit more, which pushed you over the edge, made you come again, nearly screaming his name this time, as he fucked you through your orgasm to stretch it out.

Seeing the pleasure on your face, hearing his name from your lips, made Geralt nearly combust. It was a sight he wanted to see more often and he hoped that he would.

The movements of his hips became more erratic, his grip tightened around your hip, when he felt his own orgasm overcome him. He spilled inside you with a few more thrusts, before he practically collapsed on top of you. Just for a moment, his full body weight was on you, but you didn't mind. In fact, it felt good, but Geralt was afraid that he would crush you, so he propped himself up on his forearms.

You opened your eyes to look at him, to push the sweaty hair from his face and kiss his lips. Your lips lingered on his for a moment, before Geralt slowly pulled back again.

“I'll be back in just a second,” he said before he got up and vanished, leaving you worried, but when he returned with a cloth and cleaned you up, you felt nothing but love for this man. He was so gentle and caring, which you'd never experienced with anybody else.

Once he was finished, Geralt lay back down beside you and pulled you into his arms. No, he definitely didn't want to leave right now, instead he'd rather spend his time cuddling here with you – and figuring out what exactly had just happened and where that would lead.

“Y/N...” he said quietly, running his fingertips up and down your spine, holding you close to him. “I never expected this to happen and honestly... I never intended for it either.”

His words made your whole body stiffen. Was he going to tell you that you had to leave now? That it could never happen again?

“But I am glad that it did.”

Okay, that at least made you a little calmer, but you were still worried about what he wanted to tell you with that.

“I just...” Geralt sighed, trying to find the right words. “I've been in love with you for more than a year, but I just never wanted to make you feel like you had to stay with me. You deserve someone better, Y/N. Someone who can give you the life you deserve, who can give you a family.”

“Okay, stop that right now.” You sat up so that you could look at him. Concern was showing all over his face. “Geralt... Why do you think I came along with you? Why I stayed with you? Do you think I want a life in a small town? I could have had that, but instead I started travelling with you.”

You put your hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“You are everything I need in this life. You are the one who makes me happy, never doubt that, okay?”

Geralt was stunned by your words, but he still managed to smile. He covered your hand with his, gave it a little squeeze, before he raised your hand to press a kiss to your palm.

“Okay.”

You knew that it would take some time to really convince him that you meant what you'd just said, that you didn't want any other man, another life, but you would gladly tell him every day if it meant that you could be happy together.

With a smile on you lips, you settled back into his arms, leaned your head against his shoulder and closed your eyes. This right here, this was what you wanted and needed in life. The man you loved.

#geralt fic #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x reader smut #the witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher x reader #geralt #geralt x you #the witcher smut #staffi writes #I'll propably always be nervous to post smut #the witcher imagine #I'm shit at tagging and adding TW #so let me know if anything's missing #tieddown-withbattleshipchains

[sillyrabbit81]

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Eleven

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 Eleven Summary: Lori asks Marshall for some assistance.

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

Word Count: Approx. 3.6k

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 Eleven Warnings: masturbation (female), drug use, angst, fluff

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

Sorry its a little late, its Thursday for me, but I think its still Wednesday for most of you!

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors. (Probably a lot in this chapter, I apologise)

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Ten Part Twelve

Lori

I sat on the ground next to Mike’s bike, watching the oil leak slowly into the drip pan and I felt safe for the first time since seeing Jake that morning. I could still feel Mike’s kiss on my lips and his soft, hesitant caress of my cheek.

We sat for another few minutes, until Mike cleared his throat, “Got to change the filter.”

I hummed and felt his lips on the top of my head. A heady rush of warmth coiled its way through my body and I bit my lip. Shit, it was easy with Mike, so comfortable, I felt like I’ve known him for years. 

I moved out of his way, leaning against a bench to watch him work. I’m not going to lie and say that it wasn’t also so I could get a better look at him. That boy was damn easy on the eyes as well as cute and mischievous. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, nor the tantalising slither of the tattoo that peaked above the neckline of his shirt.

I was still perving on Mike when Marshall came in to take me to my room. He led me across the yard to the main building, insisting on carrying my bag and helmet for me. The clubhouse itself was much larger than you’d think it needed to be for just five guys. It was at least as big as my brothers, but much more understated. The halls could have been corridors in a simple office building, they were so bland and non-descript. The common room was clean and homey though which made me both happy and sadly nostalgic.

Marshall stopped at a door that looked no different to the six or seven doors that lined the hallway. He opened the door and silently gestured for me to go in.

The room was large but basic and furnished the same way a motel would be with a queen bed, a small dining table with two chairs, a tv on the wall and a sofa with a coffee table. Marshall pointed out a small bathroom, and closet, although I had next to no clothes to wear, and I pointed that out.

“Give Walker a list in the morning and he will see that you get what you need,” Marshall said.

“I can’t choose the stuff myself?”

Marshall crossed his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow he sighed, “I can ask him if he will let you use a computer to order things yourself.”

“I’m not going to be able to leave the Clubhouse at all, am I?”

“No sweetheart,” Walter said, his tone indicating that while there was no room for argument, he was empathetic to my situation.

While I wasn’t entirely happy, I couldn’t exactly argue with the logic of staying hidden, especially after seeing Jake. 

“Well, in the meantime, do you have a laundry room I can use?” I asked. 

Marshall nodded and I grabbed my bag and followed him down the hall, past a large kitchen and pantry to a room with two large machines and dryers.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Marshall said leaning his shoulder into the door frame. 

I nodded but he didn’t go, instead cocked his head as he stared at me and continued speaking.

“Sy’s room is to the left of yours and my room is opposite his door. If you need anything during the night, you can come to me.”

I looked into his eyes and saw the desire in them that he was trying to hide beneath his gruff exterior. The vast dark blue of his iris seemed to draw me in so deep and I found it hard to concentrate. I turned away, before I got lost. Jesus, Sy’s barely gone, Mike just kissed me and now Marshall…

I forced my attention to my bag and opened it. I gasped in shock at the faded black Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt on top of the clothes. I checked the bag quickly, thinking I must have gotten Sy’s by mistake. I dug through the clothes and was confused when the rest of the bag was full of my stuff.

A sob threatened to hurtle up my throat, but I suppressed it as I ran my fingers over the soft cotton shirt. Had Sy left it for me? Had he given me the shirt I had worn in bed with him last night? When had he done that? Why had he done that? It was such a simple gesture, and yet, it meant more to me than I ever thought it would.

Marshall was in front of me, taking hold of the bag as I pulled the shirt out.

“Don’t let Noah fool you,” Marshall said softly. “He can be a sentimental bastard when he wants to be.”

“Noah?” I asked.

Marshall chuckled. “Syverson. His name is Noah.”

Noah. Noah Syverson. A good name. I liked it. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me,” Marshall grinned. It made me smile back, he so rarely smiles.

“What’s your name?” I asked, gripping the shirt tight to my chest.

“Walter.”

My jaw went a little slack. It wasn’t a name I would have associated with him, thinking it would be something cooler, like Evan or Ryan. Marshall’s mouth was tight, as if unsure what I would think of his name, almost like he expected me to hate it.

“Walter Marshall,” I said, letting myself get used to the name. Walter took a small step closer, and I asked, “You ever go by Wally or…?”

Walter scowled, and I laughed but the sob I was suppressing fell out as well. I tried to hold it back, sucking in deep gulps of air but I couldn’t stop. He had me in his arms, rubbing big circles on my back as I burrowed my face into his chest. I felt ridiculous, crying again, this time over a freaking t-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered into Walter’s shirt. “I don’t know why I keep crying.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

“I don’t want to cry about it.” 

I tried to shake off, to ignore all the reasons I had to cry. I wanted to be hard, to be strong, to be my mother’s daughter and handle this life and all the bullshit that went with it. But I wasn’t. I can’t handle it. I just want to go home and be with normal people again. The problem was I don’t know any; even Jake isn’t who I thought he was.

Everything just felt like it was too much, too heavy, too much of a burden. I wanted to be free, even for a few moments, I needed to breathe. Walter lifted my chin to look at him. His look was almost pitiful.

“It’s late,” Walter said. “Leave this for tomorrow and get a good night’s rest, okay?”

As if his words were a trigger, I felt a weariness crash over me. I had one pair of clean underwear left and Sy’s t-shirt, I supposed the washing could wait until the morning. I nodded.

“Good girl.” Walter lowered my head and his lips pressed softly against my forehead. He slung my bag over his shoulder and with an arm wrapped around my waist he guided me back to my room.

I leaned my head on Walter’s shoulder, his warmth was comforting. His fingers were light, but every so often he would tug me tighter as we walked. He must have shortened his stride, because each step he took was as small as mine, and I wondered if he was impatient with my short, tired gait.

When we got to my room, he didn’t let me go, he dropped my bag on the bed and brought his other arm around me.

“Do you need anything before I go?” Walter asked.

I shook my head.

“Remember where my room is?”

“Across the hall, opposite Sy’s.”

He hummed and stepped away. “Make sure you come get me if you need anything, anything at all, okay sweetheart?”

I nodded and he closed my door. I looked around my bare room, it was so impersonal, worse than a hotel room; at least in a hotel they have art on the walls, something to look at. Even the bedspread was an uninteresting beige.

I stripped off and showered, the water once again became my personal masseuse, warming my aching bones and muscles. I put on Sy’s shirt and my last clean pair of panties and slid into bed. I felt cold, and lonely, and although dead tired, my mind was a whirl. I replayed in my head over and over the events that led me to this night. My parents murder, my brothers drug use, being at the clubhouse again, and Jake. I wracked my brain, trying to understand how he could possibly fit into the mess.

Though I yawned, I just wasn’t able to shut my thoughts off. My hand slid between my legs, and I tried to hold onto thoughts of Sy. Memories of his body pressed against mine, of his lips on my skin, the hardness of his muscles, the softness of his touch. My breathing grew hard as my fingers started to slide over me, my sticky arousal coming fast. I thought of Sy’s words, his filthy mutterings and as I climbed closer to my peak, I remembered another voice low in my ear.

Good girl, Walter’s voice echoed in my head. I couldn’t stop the thought of both of their hands on me, each man kissing, exploring, seeking and giving me pleasure. Then there were more hands, Mike’s eager tongue on my neck, Geralt’s long silvery locks tickling my thighs and Walker’s cruel lips wrapped around my nipple. My orgasm hit me hard, crashing over me with the force of a tsunami, and I covered my mouth to muffle my shout.

Like it sometimes does, as the warmth of my climax left me, I felt shame. What kind of person is attracted to five men? What kind of person wants to be taken by five men at once? It’s not normal. Sure, group sex was a thing, a lot of people fantasise about that, but that’s not what this was. I wanted them all, I wanted each of them both alone and together. They were all so different, but I found myself attracted to them equally.

Sleep was even more elusive now. I kept thinking about the things Sy had said to me about the Brothers; that they all cared about me like he did, and he knew I felt the same way about them. Why was he telling me that? What did it mean? Why was he giving me tacit approval to be with them? What kind of man wanted to share me with other men? And not just in a random threesome, but with the men he was closest to. Did I mean nothing to him? I didn’t believe that. Especially not after he left me his shirt, like he wanted me to remember him while he wasn’t there.

After maybe another hour of trying to sleep, I was starting to get desperate. I thought about the joint I had in my bedside table at home, and I cursed myself for not picking it up and slipping it into my bag. I hadn’t because I didn’t know how these guys felt about drugs. Sy, for all his tattoos and rough exterior, didn’t strike me as a pothead. I was 99% sure Mike would indulge, at least occasionally, but I couldn’t go to his room. Not after that kiss. I thought maybe Walter and Geralt might be my best options. August looked like he’d never touched a drug in his life, probably didn’t even drink very often, he seemed to like being in control too much.

I tossed and turned a little longer before I got out of bed and went to Walter’s room, and I knocked on his door. This was a bad idea. He’s probably asleep. I had no phone, no watch, no real way of knowing what the time was.

I couldn’t hear anything from inside. He was probably asleep. I turned to walk away when the door finally opened. Walter was in a pair of low hanging grey sweats, leaving very little to the imagination. 

My eyes moved over his body taking in the small gages in his ears, the three red roses on his neck, the colourful Japanese style koi fish on his hairy, veiny forearms that went into a full sleeve ending in a half circle at his shoulders in the traditional style. His broad chest with well-defined pecs and the unmistakable bulge of his heavy cock hidden beneath his grey sweats. His body was a little softer than Sy, his belly was flat but had none of the definition of Sy’s. He looked like he had the perfect body to snuggle with, like he would be so warm.

My cheeks burned, my body hummed with nervous tension, and I could barely breathe as my eyes met his. Walter’s eyes were red rimmed and darkened on the delicate skin below. I immediately felt bad that I had interrupted his sleep.

This was a really bad idea.

“Sweetheart? You okay?” Walter asked.

“I uh…”

Walters' lips pulled into a tight line. “Come in,” he said a little impatiently.

I regretted this so much.

I walked into his room and looked around. His room was almost as bare as mine. There were barely any personal items anywhere except for a bookshelf and a record player. A few records were scattered on a desk, Oasis, Franz Ferdinand, The Beatles, David Bowie. I guess you could take the man out of Britain, but you couldn’t take the British out of the man.

“Can’t sleep?” Walter asked, letting out a tired groan as he laid on his bed. I shook my head. “It’s a common problem around here.”

“What do you do?” I asked.

“Listen to ambient sounds or music, sometimes that helps. Other times, I read.”

I looked at his bookshelf. It was almost a carbon copy of my own. Crime novels by Michael Connelly, James Patterson, P.D. James, and others filled his shelf.

“You can take one if you like.”

I chuckled. “Unfortunately, I’ve read most of these.”

“Do you read a lot?”

“I do, now that I’m not studying anymore.” My eyes were caught by a small photo of a much younger looking Walter sans beard in a police uniform. Jesus, he almost looked like Mike; just as handsome, but none of the mischievous glint in his eye that Mike had. It seems Walter had always been a serious guy. I picked it up. “You were a cop?”

Walter raised both his eyebrows, smirked, and tilted his head in what could look like agreement. 

“A detective. Up north.”

I was floored. “How does one go from a cop to a Biker?”

“A long story, for another night,” Walter said with a hint of a smile.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You do that,” Walter chuckled, then he yawned.

I should go. I should ask him for what I want and leave. Let the poor guy get some sleep. I opened my mouth to speak, but my eyes went back to the cop photo and it made me pause. What if he still had some prejudices against drugs from those days? I glanced back at Walter, he definitely didn’t look like any cop I’ve ever seen.

“Was there something you wanted?” Walter prompted.

Get this over with.

“Do you have any pot?” I asked in a rush. Walter raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, it’s not like coke or anything.”

“It’s not that. I didn’t realise you smoked.”

“I don’t,” I said. “Not really… I just want to sleep, and I can’t.”

Marshall considered me for a long time. His eyes slowly moved down my body and I was suddenly aware of how I was dressed. Sy’s shirt was big on me, but still barely covered my ass, and I wondered if he could see my panties. I bit my lip and resisted the overwhelming urge to pull on the hem of the shirt down.

Sighing, he stood up. “Wait here,” he said.

I nodded. As soon as he left, I pulled the shirt down only to realise it then made my nipples very noticeable. I felt like such a tease. What the fuck was Marshall thinking of me right now, coming into his room in the middle of the night, barely dressed and asking for drugs? I was no better than the stupid women who threw themselves at my brother.

I thought about leaving, but that would make me look like a dumbass as well. So, I waited nervously for Marshall to come back, staring at the walls and hating myself. He came back in a few minutes with a spliff in his hand.

“Mike,” he said by way of explanation.

Marshall got back on the bed, sat cross legged with his back against the headboard. He pulled out a lighter and an ashtray from his bedside and jerked his head, motioning for me to sit with him.

“I was just going to take it back to my room,” I said.

“I thought we could share it,” Marshall said, putting the joint between his lips. 

He patted the bed next to him and with a sigh of resignation, I climbed onto the bed next to him, mirroring his position.

He lit the joint and took a deep breath before passing it to me and he released his held breath slowly. I took a hit, letting the smoke fill my lungs until they almost burned, and held it in for a few moments, passing the rollie back to Marshall before slowly letting it out.

After a few back and forth’s I started to feel my muscles relax and although my mind felt sluggish, the negative thoughts melted away.

“Good?” Marshall asked.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Just what I needed.”

Marshall chuckled.

“You laughing at me?”

“No sweetheart. Never,” he was grinning, but it was probably from the pot more than anything about me.

My head felt heavy, and I leaned it on Marshall’s shoulder.

“Hang on,” he said, passing me the ashtray.

Marshall got off the bed and walked around to his record player. He flicked through his vinyl’s with purpose until he found the one he was looking for. When the music started, I smiled and soon the unmistakable voice of Thom Yorke filled the room. He turned the lights off, leaving just the soft light of his bedside lamp. He got back on the bed and laid on his back, his head on the pillows.

Taking the ashtray out of my hands he motioned for me to join him. Feeling tired, I followed his lead sliding down the bed until my head was level with his. He laid the ashtray on his chest and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I put my head on his shoulder and passed him what remained of the spliff.

“Good.”

“I like your music,” I said.

“You like this old stuff?” he asked after taking a hit. He looked like he wasn’t sure if he believed me, raising his eyebrow and smirking.

“I like most stuff. New, old, rock, metal, indie. As long as it’s good.”

“Country?”

“Does Johnny Cash count?” I laughed.

“Yeah, of course he does.”

“Then yes.”

Marshall took another hit, inspected the roach and frowning he stubbed it out and put the ashtray on his bedside. I rolled on my side to look at Marshall better, laying my hand on the middle of his chest and lifting my leg onto him. He gave me a strange look but didn’t say anything.

It seemed as though the pot had done its job. My eyelids were heavy, and I didn’t feel so nervous or wrong for being here with Marshall. It felt natural, easy, and comforting. He kept looking at me, and I stared back, taking in his features.

God, he was attractive, his features stern, even when he smiled, and that unruly mop on the top of his head… I’d bet it was really soft.

“Can I touch your hair?” I asked.

Yeah the pot definitely worked. Inhibitions, gone.

“Can I touch yours?”

I grinned and reached up, letting my hand sink into his curls. He closed his eyes and I felt his hand stroke the top of my head.

“That’s nice,” I said softly.

Marshall hummed.

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

He cracked an eye and looked at me. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he rolled over and put a hand to my cheek. His eyes were heavy, pupils slightly dilated and a little redder than before. He seemed so tired.

“I’d like that,” he whispered.

He reached down and pulled the covers up over us and turned off his lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He left the music going, I’m not sure if it was to help us sleep or if he couldn’t be bothered to get up. I didn’t mind either way, Radiohead was an easy band to sleep to.

I closed my eyes and Marshall pressed the pad of his thumb between my brows and made slow circular movements. My eyes widened as I felt the touch of the man I could sense but couldn't see. My breathing became steady, I felt like liquid as the sensation of his gentle touch further eased my already quiet mind and after a time, I drifted to sleep.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #captain syverson #syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x ofc #syverson #syverson x ofc #cpt syverson #captain sy #august walker fanfiction #august walker #august walker fic #august walker x ofc #walter marshall #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall fic #geralt x ofc #geralt of rivia #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia fanfiction #mike (hellraiser) #mike hellraiser #hellraiser mike #mike hellraiser fic #mike (hellraiser) fic

[d-andilion]

in perpetuity

another one for @whataboutthebard!

prompt: whump - forced marriage and forbidden love

(geraskier, T, prince!jaskier, knight!geralt, secret relationship, angst, i hurt myself with this one folks, 2.9k, read on ao3)

As a child, Geralt dreamed of becoming a knight. He saw himself atop a noble steed adorned in gleaming steel armor, flying the colors of a great house. His sword would be the bringer of justice, the upholder of order. In the name of his liege, he would protect the innocent and drive out evil from the shadows. He would be a peacekeeper. A hero.

Witchers were not knights. Vesemir spent decades drilling that fact into Geralt’s head. He killed monsters, yes, but his protection extended to whoever paid him. Innocence and wealth rarely came hand in hand. Too often, the lords he had once wished to serve and the knights he’d idolized were the monsters no one could fight, much less a lone Witcher. Still, Geralt did the job he’d been trained for and took contracts for the smallfolk when he could. It was all he had.

When the monsters died out, Geralt and his brethren were left with only their swords. Just steel now. The silver, they buried in the rubble at Kaer Morhen. Witchers were no longer needed, but mutants made good mercenaries. It wasn’t so different, really. Geralt swung his sword for the rich and powerful, and was paid well for his trouble. And when the odd penniless farmer with hungry little mouths to feed offered him shelter to drive off a stray wolf or a few bandits, he did what he could.

Geralt never expected to bear the knighthood the nameless child he once was dreamed of. He didn’t want it, not anymore. Taking orders from spoiled shitheads for a living was grim enough without pretending he deserved a commendation for it. Every knight he’d ever met was a pompous moron who’d never seen a real fight. The last thing Geralt wanted was a place among their ranks.

Then he took a contract from King Arthur Pankratz.

It was an unusual contract. Geralt typically found himself handling border disputes or guarding wares for trade, half a world away from seats of power. He rarely had cause to meet the nobles that employed him, but this one brought him to the steps of Lettenhove Castle. Some sort of epidemic had swept their tiny kingdom the winter prior, crippling their defenses. Geralt and the few hundred others who accepted King Arthur’s contract were to serve as palace guards and city patrol until more citizens could be recruited and trained.

The work was dull but the wage was more than fair and the barracks were far finer than his usual accommodations, so Geralt was happy to sign away twelve months of his service. He even earned himself some extra coin and palace lodgings to help train the new recruits. It was shaping up to be the best year he’d had in half a century.

Prince Julian arrived a few weeks after Geralt did. The king’s youngest spent a few years touring the world after he graduated from the Continent's most prestigious institution, but his father had called him home in the wake of their kingdom’s recent turmoil. 

Geralt didn’t think much of the news. Julian had three older siblings in the palace and Geralt could count the times he’d seen any of them on one hand. The few veteran guards Geralt worked with on training duty were sure the prince would find a way out of the castle as quickly as he’s come, but they warned Geralt to be wary. Prince Julian—Jaskier as he insisted on calling himself—was made of trouble, they said. Better safe than sorry.

The day they met, Geralt didn’t even realize he was speaking to a prince. No one bowed to the fop in a sunny yellow ensemble as he marched onto the training grounds, a lute slung over his back and a crown of dandelions in his hair. No one seemed to blink an eye as he meandered lazily between sparing circles and drill sessions like he belonged there. He wore no gold or jewels, sported no attendants or complement of guards. He looked like a bard if Geralt had ever seen one.

The bard eventually made his way to where Geralt stood supervising his recruits, flashing Geralt a grin that dripped confidence and scanning him up and down with bright blue eyes.

“Now you look interesting,” the bard drawled. “I love the way you stand there and brood.”

“Fuck off, bard,” Geralt replied. There was a choking sound to his left and the guard beside him started to cough vigorously. Geralt shot him a curious glance and turned back to scrutinize his recruits. 

The bard just laughed. “Come on now, I’m sure you have a few stories to tell. I’ll give you one in return if you like.”

“Busy,” Geralt barked.

“What about later, then?” the bard asked. He was close enough now that Geralt could feel the heat of his body along his side. “I’d be happy to find somewhere more… private to chat.”

Geralt was never the most sensitive man, but he knew when he was being propositioned. Credit where it was due, the bard had balls. Geralt leveled him with a stony glare. The bard could certainly have fallen into the vague category of Geralt’s type. Tall with broad shoulders hidden beneath artfully tailored fabric, an undeniably pretty face, eyes that could set him apart in a sea of faces. And he had this spark about him, a fire burning under his skin that made him a beacon Geralt didn’t want to resist.

Geralt hadn’t realized he was about to accept the bard’s offer until much later. Regardless, he never got the chance. A harried palace attendant interrupted whatever little moment had bloomed, panting her way across the courtyard.

“There you are, your royal highness!” she called between harsh gulps of air. “You will be late for the council briefing. We must go at once!”

Prince Jaskier breathed a disappointed sigh. “To be continued,” he muttered for only Geralt to hear. Then he turned on his heel and followed his attendant, to her palpable relief.

Geralt had been sure he would be executed, but no one came for his head that day or any day after. The other guards assured him that Jaskier was unlikely to demand retribution for Geralt’s disrespect. On the contrary, the prince had taken a shine to him. The trouble would come, they warned, when that shine turned into something a little more tangible. The prince didn’t mind sleeping with commoners, but his father was far less forgiving. It simply wasn’t worth the risk.

But Jaskier kept coming back. To the training grounds, to Geralt’s patrol routes, to the canteen where the guards took their meals. At first, his constant chatter was infuriating, but Geralt came to find it almost soothing, a rhythm he could sink into and even find a bit of comfort in. Before long, Jaskier coaxed stories out of Geralt too; about monsters, yes, but about him, about his path as his life. He found himself telling Jaskier more than he’d ever told anyone besides his brothers.

The spoiled, reckless royal Geralt envisioned Jaskier to be disappeared day by day. Jaskier could be impulsive and sometimes even careless, but more than any of that, he was free. His heart flew on a summer breeze and his smile carried pure sunlight. He was warmth given form like nothing Geralt had ever known. Inescapably beautiful. 

Falling into bed together was a terrible idea, and Geralt knew that. By the time he finally gave in, he knew it didn’t matter if he fucked Jaskier or not. It was too late to save anything from breaking. Geralt was already completely, enduringly in love with him.

When Geralt’s contract with the king ended and Jaskier begged him to stay, he didn’t even think about saying no. Where would he go without Jaskier anyway? Who would he be there? How could he fight another bandit or guard another wagon of grain when he knew what it felt like to hold the sun’s fire in his hands without burning?

To stay at Jaskier’s side, Geralt swore himself to his service. A loyal sword to guard the prince’s back and keep his council, in perpetuity. Forever. It was the only vow Geralt had ever made and he intended it to be the last. By the law of the land, a royal sworn sword became a knight the moment his vow left his lips. Geralt’s dream finally came to pass.

His fantasies had never been quite like this.

In one of Lettenhove’s many fine receiving halls, sunlight pours through high stained glass windows onto a sorry scene indeed. Jaskier is slouched in his chair, golden crown crooked atop his head as he glares down from the raised dais he occupies. Geralt stands at Jaskier’s right hand as he always does, trying with limited success to focus on scanning the room for potential threats. The lord kneeling below them, whose name Geralt forgot moments after he heard it, has been droning on for what feels like days.

Knighthood is very little like Geralt’s childish imaginings. There’s no armor or billowing cape to start. Geralt flatly refused to wear them in any context that wasn’t ceremonial. He’s not letting Jaskier be run through by an assassin because his sworn protector was too slow under four stones of armor to save him. When they’re off palace grounds, Geralt wears a better-kept version of his old leather armor. Most days, he dresses in a fine but flexible doublet with his sword at his hip.

There isn’t a great deal of fighting either. Outside of the training grounds, Geralt hasn’t seen a real scrap since before he took his vow nearly three years ago. The vast majority of his days are spent like this: following Jaskier as he goes about his business through the castle, watching his back and offering input on matters when requested. 

As of late, their time has been occupied by more and more lords and ladies of who-fucking-cares, coming to make their bid for the hand of their prince. King Arthur let it be known a few months back that his youngest child would marry by the end of winter. Now the leaves have begun to turn and the castle is filled to the brim with would-be suitors. 

Jaskier has been notoriously hostile to every single one of them, but no one has yet been deterred from trying. The current Lord Whatshisface has been walking them through his entire family tree to illustrate what a strong couple they would make for the better part of the last hour. Even the lord’s own staff look to be flagging; the knight on his left has yawned three times in the space of a few minutes. The lord starts up on a tangent about his sixth cousin’s great-great-grandmother, and that seems to be the limit for Jaskier.

“Fuck’s sake, I can’t take another minute of this,” Jaskier says.

The lord blinks stupidly. “Your royal highness?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored in my entire life! Were your born this way or did you have to work at it?”

Geralt contains a snort as the lord begins to flounder, sputtering in place of a reply. Jaskier stands and removes his crown, then drops it in the hands of the nearest servant with none of the delicacy required for a thousand-year-old family heirloom. Geralt follows Jaskier dutifully, a smug grin on his lips, as Jaskier marches down the steps of the dais and out of the receiving room without sparing the lord another glance.

They’re quiet in the halls—too many ears with ulterior motives to speak freely—but the moment they’re back in Jaskier’s rooms, he sprawls over the settee and begins his tirade.

“Can you believe that bumbling idiot?” Jaskier groans while Geralt makes a quick round of the room. He doubts very highly that someone is snooping behind the drapes, but being overly cautious is part of his job description. “I mean, honestly, do you think they breed them to be this dull? Is there a secret storehouse of mind-numbingly boring people with impeccable manners that I don’t know about?”

Geralt doesn’t reply. Jaskier doesn’t really need him to at this stage of ranting. Instead, he pokes his head into each chamber in Jaskier’s rooms as part of his rounds. When he returns to the sitting room, Jaskier has thrown his doublet across the back of the settee and his boots are somehow on opposite sides of the room

“What did you think of that one?” Jaskier asks. Geralt snorts.

“Useless popinjay like all the rest of them.”

Jaskier laughs at that. “At least he kept any miserable excuses for poetry to himself. What was it the last one called me? Lady Whatsername?”

Geralt remembers that exchange all too well despite every attempt to forget it. “‘Julian,’” he recites, “‘my dewy frog in the shining swamp of desire—’”

“Oh dear, that’s quite enough, thank you,” says Jaskier with a face like he’s smelled something awful. “And my father genuinely expects me to marry one of them. Lucky for me, I have no intention whatsoever of going through with it.”

The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees. It’s suddenly unbearably quiet, the sort of quiet that starts to scream after a while. They don’t often discuss what King Arthur’s winter deadline means for them. There isn’t much to talk about from Geralt’s perspective. He can’t do anything to stop it. 

Jaskier has made his intention to frighten his suitors away very clear, but his father doesn’t seem to ever run out of options to put in front of him. His only other coping strategy seems to be statements of denial, each one a little less confident than the last. In the spring, his voice was sure and his eyes burned with defiance. Now, with the autumn treeline visible from his window, he makes himself small. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries tentatively.

“I won’t do it,” Jaskier snaps shakily without looking up. His hands ball up into white-knuckled fists in his lap. “He can’t force me.”

Geralt takes a deep, slow breath. Inhale. Exhale. “You well know that he can. And if he has to, he will.”

“He can’t!” Jaskier cries into the blaring silence. He makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a snarl as he tries to breathe. “It isn’t… It’s not fair.”

Jaskier looks up at him then, and Geralt wishes he hadn’t. His blue eyes sparkle with unshed tears. He looks helpless, furiously helpless, and there’s nothing Geralt can do about it. The vow Geralt took to protect him is meaningless here. He can’t save Jaskier from this.

Geralt traces the curve of Jaskier’s flushed cheek as gently as he can with his rough, calloused fingers, and Jaskier leans into the touch. Anything Geralt could say feels woefully inadequate right now, so he says nothing.

Jaskier stands, fingers curling tightly into the front of Geralt’s doublet. His eyes search the empty space in front of him for something he can’t seem to find. An answer, a hope, a prayer.

“My great grandfather’s younger sister married a knight,” he says. “There’s precedent.”

“It isn’t the same to them. You know it isn’t,” says Geralt evenly. Most knights hail from noble families. The gaping loophole in their code of fealty is the only reason Geralt is standing here right now. Jaskier’s father would never let him marry a commoner, a Witcher, knight or not.

Jaskier barks a hollow tearful laugh. “So you are good enough to die for me, but not good enough to love me?”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s face with both hands wordlessly and presses a kiss to his forehead. Jaskier trembles under his touch. When Geralt pulls back, Jaskier’s eyes bore into his, and Geralt can see Jaskier’s heart breaking in them, though he still hasn’t shed a tear. His prince, so beautiful, so brave.

“What happens to you, then?” Jaskier asks. “When I’m marching down the aisle with my useless popinjay, where will you be?”

“Guarding your back, the way I always have.”

“And then?”

Geralt brings their foreheads together, his nose brushing Jaskier’s. 

“I swore you an oath of fealty,” he says. “Not the kingdom, not your father, not the gods. You. I’m not proud, Jaskier. I don’t need to be your husband to stay by your side. Whoever you marry, it doesn’t matter. I’m yours. In perpetuity.”

The echo of Geralt’s vow hangs heavily between them. He made it selfishly, as means to dig out a place for himself in Jaskier’s life, but Geralt still meant every word of it then and he means it now. Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut, but Geralt keeps looking. He wants to drink in every detail of what it feels like to hold his prince, his bard, his sun, in his arms.

“We could run away,” Jaskier whispers wistfully.

Geralt knows Jaskier doesn’t mean it. For all his fury and threats, Jaskier loves his family and his people. He would never abandon them, not for anything.

“Alright,” Geralt whispers back. “Where?”

“Anywhere. The coast.”

An image comes to Geralt’s mind. Jaskier, shirt billowing in the ocean breeze, bare feet sinking into the sand. The sunset casts him in shades of gold as he laughs without a care in the world. He is safe. He is happy. He is free.

Geralt closes his eyes on that faraway dream.

“The coast it is.”

~~

w.a.t.b. masterlist

#whump the bard #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #my fic #mine

[chaosandwolves]

WIP Wednesday

If you've seen any of my posts lately or even know me from Twitter, you know Jaskier/Radovid aka Radskier (still think we need another ship name) has stolen my heart.

So naturally my brain was like... Hey how about pain? Like a lot...

And here I am today presenting to you a horrible thought and a few lines from the fic I'm writing on...

What if Geralt has to kill Radovid?

And that's the moment Geralt knows. He has to kill Radovid.

And break Jaskier's heart; again.

Only this time the damage he'll do might be too big, too unforgivable for Jaskier to ever come back from it. But Geralt knows Jaskier, knows his heart and knows that the bard has so much love to give, he will find his footing again. Even if it means that Geralt has to say goodbye to him so he can find some happiness after this again; even if it means a goodbye for good this time. He doesn't want to do it. Gods if there was anything else he could do, he'd do it in a heartbeat. But if he doesn't kill Radovid the continent will be plunged into war and Ciri will be in more danger than Geralt and Yennefer can protect her from. And he can't let that happen. So that night Geralt stays with Ciri and tells Jaskier to go out, sing or attend a party, fully knowing he'll seek out Radovid and spend the night with him. Granting them a bit more time together. Yen knows what he's doing and what he will do in the morning. "You have to tell him, Geralt," she says in a soft voice that yet doesn't allow any opposition. "No," Geralt rumbles and gets up from the table. "Geralt," Yennefer insists. "No!" Geralt almost shouts when he whirls around in one swift and strong move. "I can't Yen. I've hurt him enough already. And he deserves this night with him. He… Jaskier, he…" his voice breaks off. Carefully Yennefer takes a step closer and places her warm hand over Geralt's, which is gripping the table so hard it's starting to splinter. "He deserves to know, Geralt. He deserves to say goodbye."

Tagging some ppl. I know some of you are only used to 911 and if you're not interested that's totally fine and feel free to tell me not to tag you anymore in non 911 related things

@alyxmastershipper @robin-not-batman @theresoneicouldcallking @flordefandom @elvensorceress @hippolotamus @panbuckley @the-chiseled-dorito-of-justice @wannastayugly @bringyouruin @shortsighted-owl

#The witcher #The witcher s3 #Radskier #Radovid #Jaskier #Wip #Fanfic #Radskier WIP #Listen #I made myself cry with this #It's so painful #I adore these two so much #And queer Jaskier means the world to me #I have NO idea where my brain got this awful idea from #Chaos writes #This is like the least painful part of it all

[cosmos-coma]

Nightmares

A/N: I really wanted to write this for a while so please enjoy some Geralt and Reader domesticity with a young Ciri!

Lyrics are from Noble Maiden Fair (Ashely serena version)

Pairing: Geralt x reader

WC: 1k

Warnings: gn!reader (no pronouns), unbeta’d, nightmares, mild language

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sky was dark outside and the stars faintly twinkled in the dark of the early morning as little footsteps pattered down the hall and sniffles echoed blindly in the dark. Though trying to be quiet, the door to your bedroom creaked open as it slowly moved ajar by an unseen hand.

You jolted awake now as you heard the door move and footsteps in the dark come closer and closer. You saw that Geralt was no longer by your side and nowhere to be found. It wasn't too  unusual for him to be out for an hour or two some nights when the nightmares got too bad to be helped.

As you moved to sit up the steps seemed to stop in their place and reconsider. 

“Hello?” you called out, trying to peer into the dim light cast by the recently tended fireplace.

“...Y/n?” came a small trembling voice. 

“Ciri..?” you responded as the voice registered in your ears, and you were wide awake now. “What do you need, dearheart? What's wrong?” you waved your hands to urge her forward into your arms and were quickly met with the 9-year-old Ciri climbing into your bed and onto your lap.

“I had nightmares…” Her lip shook as she tried to bottle all of her fears inside and seem strong on the outside. You had been with Geralt for almost 2 years now and therefore had also become a parental figure for Ciri as she grew accustomed to witcher life and Geralt grew accustomed to being a father. 

“I’m sorry… but I've got you now…. And though I may not have shiny swords like Geralt, I’ll protect you all the same.” You pulled her close and wrapped your arms snuggly around her. 

Tucking her face into your neck she took a deep breath to breathe in your scent, much like she had seen Geralt. Her little arms clung tight to your sleep clothes as she tried to take deep breaths and calm herself, but to no avail. 

 “Do you want to talk about it, dearheart? That might help get it out of your mind.” You whispered softly in her ear as you gently rocked side to side with her.

She responded with a fierce shake of her head, “mm-mm!”

“Okay, okay…. Then will you hum with me?” You ran your fingers slowly through her bedhead and without waiting for her response, started humming an old tune you had picked up in the Skellige Isles. Her big emerald eyes watched you as you wiped the glistening tears from her cheeks, and she began to hum with you.

The crickets calling to each other outside added background noise for you as you sang quietly for her. Her humming continued, her mind quickly taken away from her nightmares as she followed along. 

Little baby, hear my voice

Beside you, oh maiden fair

Our young Lady grow and see

Your land, your true land here

Sun and moon, guide us

To the hour of glory and honor

Little baby our young lady

Noble maiden fair

You had barely finished your last verse when her head thudded softly against your chest, her sleeping face much more relaxed than it had been when she walked in. “That's it…” you murmured quietly into her hair as you planted a kiss on the top of her head. 

As you started pulling the blankets around you and Ciri a faint and familiar grunt came from the doorway. Your eyes followed the grunt to see the content glow of Geralt's golden eyes watching you and Ciri, the hint of a smile hiding in the shadows dancing on his face. 

You grinned as you saw him, happy he was back and that he made some noise to let you know he was there. Quickly you waved him over and held a finger up to your lips to tell him to be quiet, though you knew he always was.

Swiftly and without a sound he crossed over to his side of the bed, adding one more small log to the fire as he went. “Had a nightmare here too?” he asked in a quiet voice as he climbed into bed right behind you, his lips brushing lazily against your shoulder as he gave a few tired kisses and breathed in your comforting scent. 

Nodding, you turned your head to watch him, “she wouldn't say what about though”. 

He hummed in understanding and urged you to lay back down with him, nestling Ciri safely between the two of you. “I get it.” His low and slightly gravelly voice rumbled pleasantly between the two of you, causing Ciri to shift about until the warm blanket was brought over her shoulders.

You smiled down at her curled-up little form, safe from harm for the night as you and Geralt shielded her from her wicked dreams. You then looked to Geralt, his softened yellow eyes tracking your expression as he just watched you appreciate your little family here. “How about you, are you alright?” You asked.

He gave you a rare smile, seen almost exclusively in the confines of your own home. “I’m better now that I’m here…”

You let out a little snort, just a touch louder than you had intended. “Geralt of Rivia, ever the romantic.” you jested, leaning in for a sleepy kiss as the hour of the night began to weigh on your consciousness once more. 

“You know me.” He mumbled jokingly into your hair as your head tucked under his chin. “Goodnight, Honeypie…”

You stifled an outright laugh and shook your head, “You’ve got to settle on a better pet name, Ger. it's been two years”

“Hm…. Goodnight, Sweet Shit?” he said, trying to play off the way his lips curled up at the ends.

You swatted his arm and settled back into a comfortable position for the night. “It’s better, but we’ll workshop it.”

Geralt's smile only grew into a grin now, as he too closed his eyes and the whole house fell back into a comfortable sleep.

_______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight

#im so glad i got to write this ive had this in my head for so long #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt x you #the Witcher #young Ciri #cirilla of cintra #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri witcher #ciri #geralt fluff

[flowercrown-bard]

Not unhappy

Geraskier, arranged marriage au. This is Jaskier’s pov of Part 1 but it can be read on it’s own

AO3

When he had been a child, Jaskier had dreamed of a fairy tale wedding, like in the books his mother read to him to make him fall asleep. His dreams had been filled with valiant knights sweeping him away to a new life and land, filled with wonders beyond his imagination. Even as he had grown older and learned what political marriages were, a part of him had still clung to that childish dream of his. What he wouldn’t give to have a knight take him away! It wasn’t that he was unhappy with his life. He loved his siblings and he loved Lettenhove and he loved when his father took him with him on his travels to see distant lands. He just didn’t like that he and his siblings were supposed to be quiet when ambassadors came, or that one of them was expected to govern Lettenhove one day, or that the travels always ended in boring meetings. 

So no, he wasn’t unhappy. He was just…Jaskier. A dreamer. A bard, if he had the choice. 

Still, he had come to realise that if he ever married, it would be for political reasons. At best, he would become friends with his spouse and be allowed to fall in love with other people. He couldn’t hope to be as lucky as his parents and get matched with someone who would come to love him. But that was alright. Jaskier loved making friends and he was sure that he would be able to make his future spouse like him well enough.

When his father’s advisors had come to the conclusion that one of the Pankratz children would have to marry a witcher to ensure peace and protection, he had already known what would happen. Because his parents weren’t cruel. They asked their children if one of them would marry a witcher. And Jaskier…well. He had always known he wouldn’t have his fairy tale ending. But like this, at least he would have a knight, strong and brave and the life he would get swept away to certainly would be different than the one he was used to. The more he thought about it, the more he found himself getting excited to see the mountains and find out what life in the north would be like. He had heard that sometimes, the night sky lit up in fantastical colours. He hoped he would one day get to see these lights with his husband. 

So he had told his mother that he would marry whomever the witchers chose as a spouse for him.

His siblings hugged him, his mother thanked him, his father promised to write to him every day.

The announcement that Julian Alfred Pankratz would marry the White Wolf of Kaer Morhen wasn’t an unhappy one. 

Neither was the wedding itself particularly unhappy. They had had some time to get to know each other. A handful of weeks weren’t enough to truly learn everything there was about his betrothed, but it had been enough to let Jaskier know that he could be happy with him. 

During the wedding, there were no vows of love exchanged, no words of intimacy - how could there be, when Jaskier had met the White Wolf less than a month ago? They didn’t know each other well enough yet, but Jaskier was more than happy to change that. There was so much he wanted to tell his husband. He wanted to show him his poetry or tell him about how he used to sneak out of the estate. And there was so much he wanted to learn about Geralt. He wanted to know his favourite colour, wha sort of music he liked, if Jaskier could ever hope that Geralt would fall in love with him. 

This wasn’t a marriage of love, he knew. Yet, as he looked into Geralt’s amber eyes, while a Priestess of Melitele wrapped a red band around their clasped hands, he could feel his heart skip a beat. It was silly that tears welled up in his eyes. But he couldn’t help himself. He had given up on his dreams and now he was so close to making them come true. He was getting married to a man who was handsome, courageous and kind. Oh, Geralt didn’t show that kindness openly, but Jaskier had seen how he talked to his horse and how his face had softened, when his father’s dogs had jumped up at him to lick his face. Jaskier had been there, when Jaskier’s youngest sister - still small enough to be called a child -  had offered Geralt a buttercup and Geralt had earnestly promised to keep it safe. 

The memory of that warmed Jaskier’s heart, as he promised to always respect and support his husband. When their words were spoken, Jaskier blinked away the tears that threatened to spill and leaned in for a kiss. His heart was pounding against his ribs and his hand in Geralt’s was sweaty. Jaskier closed his eyes and - 

His lips met the rough skin of Geralt’s cheek. Jaskier opened his eyes again, brows furrowed in confusion, but Geralt didn’t explain, didn’t even look at him. There was no mistaking that Geralt hadn’t turned his head on accident, no sign that he was going to rectify that and give him a real kiss. 

Jaskier’s heart sank. He gave the Priestess a tight smile that he hoped didn’t look as brittle as if felt. 

Still, Jaskier wasn’t unhappy. He shouldn’t have assumed that Geralt would want to kiss him. They hadn’t talked about it beforehand, but Jaskier knew that some people didn’t like kissing someone they weren’t in love with. Some people didn’t even like kissing at all. 

So he kept on smiling and gave Geralt’s hand a reassuring squeeze, hoping it conveyed that Jaskier understood. 

Despite their hands being bound together, for the next hour, they barely had time to talk. Jaskier’s entire family came over to offer hugs and congratulations - though from the looks of it, Geralt was too overwhelmed to pay attention to who was who - and after that, Geralt’s brothers and father did the same, though with far less enthusiasm or open affection. If Jaskier wasn’t mistaken, there was something like pity on Eskel’s face, but he couldn’t be sure, because the witcher was doing his very best to avoid Jaskier’s eyes and turn his face away as much as possible. It took all of Jaskier’s carefully accumulated confidence not to let that dishearten him. 

When everything finally quieted down, they took their seats at the head of a long table, while the wedding guests mingled. A servant brought wine and everyone toasted the newly weds. There were speeches that neither of them listened to and games to keep the younger ones occupied. Jaskier could see his friends joking around, but they were sitting too far away for him to hear what they were saying. His eyes kept straying to them. He wished he could go over and talk to them, maybe ask them for advice on how to make his husband like him. The longer the evening went on, the more impossible that task appeared.

When the band around his and Geralt’s hands finally  fell off, Geralt pulled his hand away, as if Jaskier’s touch had burned him. Self-consciously, Jaskier wiped the sweat of his own hand off on his trousers. 

“Go,” Geralt said, before Jaskier had the chance to open his mouth. Jaskier blinked at him. 

“What?”

“You should go.” Geralt nodded towards the table with Jaskier’s friends. 

“I - “ Jaskier looked at his friends, their smiling faces, the way they clapped each other on the back. He glanced back at Geralt, who was looking as uncomfortable as a hare trapped in a snare. The other witchers were seated further away, engrossed in debate with Jaskier’s father and his political advisors. If Jaskier left, Geralt would be all alone. So he stayed. 

Slowly, a band of court musicians started playing. Jaskier tapped his thigh to the rhythm of the song. 

“It’s a wedding song,” he explained, side-eying Geralt. 

Geralt hummed. “We are at a wedding. I reckon every song played now would be a wedding song.” 

Jaskier snorted at the dry tone. “No, I mean, it’s a wedding song. It’s meant to be danced to.”

Geralt’s eyes flickered to him and back to the empty dance floor. 

“Why is no one dancing then?”

“Because -” Jaskier broke off, his disbelief morphing into understanding. Of course. Geralt couldn’t be so dense as to not understand that the married pair was supposed to have the first dance. He must be pretending to not understand to get out of dancing with Jaskier. “Nevermind,” he finished lamely. 

“You could dance with your friends,” Geralt said after a moment. “Or your…if you have someone special, you could dance with them.”

“I don’t,” Jaskier answered, maybe a little too quickly. Gods, now he was making a fool of himself trying to reassure his husband that he didn’t have a lover. As if Geralt actually cared. Because clearly he didn’t. 

Strangely enough, Geralt’s jaw clenched. “Jaskier,” he said lowly, sending a pleasant shiver through his body, “It’s alright. I don’t expect you to…this is a marriage of convenience. Just because we’re stuck with each other doesn’t mean we can’t find happiness with someone else.”

Geralt’s words were like a knife in Jaskier’s chest. He looked away sharply, suddenly unable to bear the gaze of those warm honeyed eyes. He hadn’t even considered that Geralt might already have a lover at home. Despite his earlier hopes of becoming friends with Geralt and finding love with someone else, he found that this dream didn’t sound as appealing anymore. He didn’t want happiness with someone else. He wanted to be happy with his husband. And he wanted his husband to be happy with him. Gods, he wished he knew how to make Geralt happy.

When it became clear that Jaskier and Geralt weren’t going to dance, the song faded out and the musicians striked up a much merrier tune. Soon, Jaskier’s parents were dancing, followed by Jaskier’s friends and siblings, who joined them. Jaskier’s eldest sister, Iris, even approached one of Geralt’s brothers, who accepted the invitation to dance, after the other brother shoved him towards Iris with a grin. As they danced, her red dress twirled around her, the colour matching Eskel’s jacket perfectly. 

Jaskier wondered if he and Geralt would look just as good together; Jaskier with his white and gold doublet and Geralt wearing black with a few golden accents. He was well aware that he was looking like a love-lorn idiot as he watched his sister and brother-in-law dance. 

So it wasn’t that witchers in general didn’t dance. It was just his husband, who didn’t want to dance with him. He did his best to repress the sting that realisation left him with. 

While the others danced, Jaskier did his best to talk to Geralt. His husband gave stilted and awkward replies, until finally, Jaskier found something Geralt liked talking about. 

His horse. Suddenly, it was as if Geralt’s face was the sun. His eyes lit up and he leaned closer to Jaskier. His shoulders relaxed and his lips tugged up into a smile. Jaskier’s breath hitched. Gods, he looked beautiful. Jaskier wasn’t even sure if Geralt knew how much he was rambling, but he didn’t care. He listened enraptured, as his husband talked about how he had raised Roach as a foal, how he loved to gallop through the woods and forget everything else, how he could never say no to giving her treats. It was a wonder to see Geralt like this. So relaxed and happy. Something tightened in Jaskier’s chest. He wanted that expression to stay on Geralt’s face, wanted to be the reason why he smiled like this. Maybe, he thought, if Geralt liked him even half as much as his horse, it would be alright. 

This wasn’t a fairy tale, in which the couple married for love, or in which they fell in love at first sight. The first meeting had happened weeks ago and neither of them had fallen in love then. But now, as he listened to Geralt talk about something he loved, he felt his heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. He wasn’t able to look away from Geralt, drawn in like a moth to a flame. He leaned in closer, closer, close enough that he could almost feel Geralt’s breath against his lips -

Geralt stopped talking. He was staring at Jaskier like a deer about to be hit by a crossbow bolt. 

Jaskier pulled away abruptly.

“I’m sorry.” He said with a grimace. When Geralt only furrowed his brows, he explained, “I didn’t mean to come so close.”

“Of course not,” Geralt agreed. For some reason, all the tension was back in his body and he sat up straighter, putting as much distance between himself and Jaskier as he could without standing up or scooting his chair away from him. 

“And I’m sorry about before,” Jaskier rushed to say. He had to amend this. He had to show Geralt that he didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable. He could be better than this. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Jaskier had thought Geralt’s face had been blank before, but somehow it became even more neutral at his words. 

“Don’t worry,” Geralt said, his gravelly voice sending shivers down Jaskier’s spine. “We won’t kiss again.”

“Oh.” Jaskier fiddled with the hem of his doublet. “Yeah, no, of course. That’s…good.” He smiled at Geralt, hoping it looked as earnest as he meant it. “Thank you for telling me.”

He truly was thankful. If this marriage was supposed to work, it was important that they talked about these things. He would hate to do something that Geralt wasn’t comfortable with and if he didn’t want to kiss, then that was fine.

Geralt grunted and looked away again. The awkward silence that ensued was interrupted by music. Jaskier sat up straighter. He didn’t think. His hand just shot out and he grabbed Geralt’s arm. 

“It’s your song!” He knew he looked silly with his cheeks flushed from excitement and his grin as wide as a child’s when seeing a cute frog. 

“My song?” Geralt asked. He was scowling at Jaskier’s hand on his arm and Jaskier quickly snatched it back. His blush changed from excited to embarrassed. “Uh…I wrote it. For you. It was supposed to be sort of a wedding gift?” With his free hand, he scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t finish it in time. It doesn’t have words yet. I told my father I wouldn’t play it. He must have asked the musicians to play it instead.” His voice softened, as he looked at his father, who caught his eyes and lifted his goblet in a toast to him. “It’s probably not a great gift. Not very useful at any rate. I don’t know if you even like music.” He paused. “Or if you like my music. I tried to orient myself on the songs of the North so it sounds a bit more like home to you, but … Sorry I’m rambling.”

Jaskier could feel his blush deepen. 

Geralt cleared his throat. “No it’s. It’s alright. I just - I don’t know anything about music.”

Jaskier swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I could show you if you want? Later, I mean. I have a lute.” He hummed a couple of notes. A harmony to what the band was playing. 

Geralt was staring at him with an unreadable expression. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “You’re good,” he said awkwardly.

Jaskier gave him a radiant smile. “I’ll try to finish it for you soon. I’m sure it will be easier to find the words now that I actually know you.” “Don’t write about me.” Geralt stiffened. “It wouldn’t be a very good song.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together, only to open them again a second later. 

“Is that a challenge?” 

Geralt’s brows rose and his lips twitched up the tiniest bit. He hummed and Jaskier could have sworn it sounded like agreement. 

“Oh, I’m going to write you the best ballad you have ever heard,” Jaskier said. “Just you wait.” Geralt looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he lapsed into silence again. Jaskier liked to think it was more comfortable than before. 

Geralt was quiet and looked like he was concentrating on something. Something warmed inside Jaskier, as he imagined Geralt might be focussing on the song. 

After a while, the song came to an end and a new one started. Already knowing that he would only find rejection, Jaskier glanced at Geralt. He kept his mouth closed. It would be no use asking Geralt for a dance, when he so clearly didn’t want to. 

Jaskier slumped down into his seat, when he caught the eyes of his sister. Eskel had just let go of her hand, after pressing a kiss to it. 

“Julek!” Iris called out, as she weaved her way through the dancing couples. Her cheeks were flushed from dancing and she ran a hand through her dark locks, smoothing away any strands that had come loose as she had danced. She came to stand before Jaskier, eying him and Geralt curiously. Heat rose in Jaskier’s cheeks. He knew that look. His sister was seeing right through him. She knew how his stupid heart jumped when Geralt smiled at him and she knew how easily he tended to lose his heart. 

She tilted her head to the side, mischief sparkling in her eyes. Any second now, she would find an excuse to get Jaskier away from Geralt, so she could ask him all about his new husband. 

He didn’t need to wait long. With a grin, Iris held out her hand. “May I ask for a dance?”

---

tag list (please tell me if you would like to be added or removed from this): @spookylostboy @justablobfish @karolincki  @flosimo

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Under Orders - Part 5

Masterlist

Part 1 🔹Part 2🔹Part 3🔹Part 4🔹Part 5

Pairing: Marshall x reader || Sy x reader

Summary: Sy decides to take August up on a very intriguing offer...

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving, face sitting), p-in-v sex (protected and unprotected), use of pet names/titles (Daddy, Sir, sugar, princess, kitten, sweetheart, love, darling and bunny), established polyamorous relationship, very light spanking, light choking, hair pulling, voyeurism, exhibitionism, verrry slight humiliation/degradation(?), facial irresponsible wearing of high heels after hurting an ankle, mention of guns and knives, and a very tense macho moment. (I think that's it but if I missed anything, let me know!)

A/N: Again, dedicated to my dearest Charlie, without whom this pairing wouldn't exist in the first place... It took a while until it clicked - another 3 months, to be precise... You sowed this little seed of inspiration in my brain in March, and I have to admit I took care of it about as well as my boyfriend does houseplants. Not at all. But, after all these months, it's still alive - thriving, even, possibly - and everyone can finally enjoy some fun Syverson dick. Which is what this fandom is all about. Right?

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @know1udno @ylva-syverson @summersong69 @kingliam2019 @mayloma @sloppyzengarden @youve-yeed-yer-last-haw @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @livisss @sycochick

You’re fixing the porch light. It’s hardly a job you’re suited for, because you can still barely reach it from the top of your ladder, but someone has to do it, and August won’t get home until tonight, so you’re on your own. That means you’re also on your own when you get on your toes at the top of that stupid ladder, lose your balance, and come tumbling down. At least… you should be.

“Sugar, are you alright?” When you first open your eyes, you see nothing, because your face is pressed firmly against a solid, hairy chest. You don’t have to ask whose it is: the drawl and the nickname gave that away.

“I’m fine, Sy, thank you.” But as soon as he stops holding you up, you wince.

“Now, I’m gonna ask again,” Sy says sternly, “and this time I’d like you to tell me the truth. Are you alright, darlin’?”

“My ankle hurts a bit,” you admit reluctantly. Before you’re even done speaking, Sy has lifted you up again and carries you into your house, where he puts you down on the kitchen table and examines your ankle before asking where you keep your first aid kit. For the first time – today, at least –, you take a good look at him. He’s in a pair of run down jeans, and equally worn out work boots. A faded black t-shirt is hanging out of his back pocket.

“It looks like a mild sprain, but I’d like to get some tape on there just in case. Keep ya from movin’ it around too much.” You’re more than happy to point him in the right direction.

When he sits down in front of you again, and lifts your foot into his lap, your skirt creeps up your thighs. The opportunity is perfect: As of a week ago, you have August’s blessing, and Marshall’s, Sy is half naked in your kitchen, his face roughly level with your pussy, and you’re not wearing any underwear. This is your moment… Sy works on your ankle quickly and efficiently, while you sneak your skirt a little further up, spreading your legs a little wider than the situation calls for, wanting to give him a good view. Every time he touches your leg, you moan, and you squirm a tad too enthusiastically when he moves your ankle in a way that hurts ever so slightly.

Sy’s complete lack of response is just starting to get on your nerves when he finally snaps.

“You know,” he growls. “I have a standing invitation from your man to take you for a spin.” He gets up, putting a hand down on the table on either side of your hips, caging you between his arms. “And I don’t get the feelin’ you’re opposed to that idea. Puttin’ this naked pussy on full display, squirming in my arms like a bitch in heat. You gotta know it does somethin’ to a man, sugar.”

“Are you going to take him up on the offer?” you ask coyly while spreading your legs even further.

“Well, you’ve got the prettiest little cunt,” Sy growls in your ear, “I have to say I’m tempted.” His words – especially in that voice – make your heart flutter in your chest. It’s always those compliments – the crude and sexual ones – that get you the most, so it’s not a surprise, but there’s something in Sy’s voice that adds a new dimension to it. Maybe it’s the less-than-subtle Southern drawl, or the gravel in his voice, or the fact that there’s just a rougher edge to him than to your other guys… That same edge August used to have. The one he swears you filed off of him.

Without thinking, you raise a hand, placing it lightly on the side of Sy’s face. Some of the tension in his immensely broad shoulders disappears and he lets his head hang until his forehead is resting against yours.

Then, he kisses you, leaving you surprised at how gentle he is. His lips are soft, yet demanding, and you happily yield to his touch. As his tongue explores your mouth, you let your hands wander the incredible width of his shoulders. You can feel scars on scars on scars in some places…

“I ain’t gon’ tell you where they all came from, so if you’re curious: tough shit.” Whoa. Okay. His voice is hard and cold, and so are his eyes. “I did a couple tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, that’s all I’m willin’ to say ‘bout it.” You run your fingers through his beard until his ice-cold demeanor melts a little. He’s still cold and distant, but you’re getting there.

“I won’t ask if you don’t want me to, but always feel free to tell me whatever you want to tell me. I’ll listen.” Your words seem to trigger something in Sy, to hurt him in some way that makes you uncomfortable…

“Quit talkin’ like you’re a girlfriend when you’ve already got your lucky guy.”

“I think you might have misunderstood something.” You can’t help but chuckle at his apparent confusion, even though the situation isn’t funny at all. It looks like you have some explaining to do… “I’m not dating August and screwing Marshall, Sy. I’m in a relationship with both of them. And I’m not necessarily looking for just an extra dick to jump on – although that’s a nice bonus.”

He considers your words for a moment, then he nods and sinks back down in his chair. “I do prefer to take my women out to dinner first,” he says, as a cheeky grin begins to grow on his face, “but I guess this time around I’ll have to start with dessert.” Right. He can take you out to dinner later.

Sy grabs you behind your knees, pushing your legs apart abruptly, making you squeal. Your reaction makes him laugh – a deep, rumbling huff that makes you want to squeeze your thighs together, but you can barely move in his iron grip.

“Keep these open for me, wouldya?” He lets go of your legs, his eyes giving you a clear warning to listen to him. His hands now slide up your thighs, hooking around the back, grabbing your hips, just so he can pull your ass closer to the edge of the table. “C’mon baby, spread ‘em wider. Gimme a good view of this pretty li’l pussy.” His voice alone would be enough to drive you nuts. You lean back on your elbows and open your legs as wide as they can go. Sy puts a hand on you, and slowly drags his thumb over your clit. You can’t seem to decide what’s better: the way Sy touches you, or simply the fact that he finally is, after weeks of pining, yearning and being patient as August invited him over far more often than you thought was strictly necessary. Sy gets up again, never taking his thumb off your clit, just gently rubbing circles around it in a way that has you squirming again.

“What’re you thinking, sugar?” he whispers softly before kissing you. During the kiss, he runs a finger along your slit, chuckling as he feels how wet you are. You let out a long, low moan when he slips two fingers into you without warning – and without any problem at all. “Can’t wait to taste this wet li’l cunt,” he growls. Involuntarily, you arch your back when you hear him speak, making him laugh again. “Looks like you can’t wait, either. Maybe if you ask nicely.”

You know that game – inside and out, you might add – and you’re indescribably glad Sy likes to play it, too… “Please, Sy, please – oh!” His fingers pumping in and out of your pussy make you lose your train of thought.

“What, sugar?” That fucking grin… And those fingers, dammit, this man has skills.

“Fuck, Sy… Please eat me o-oh my god!” The last bit of your exclamation is lost when Sy kisses you fiercely.

“My pleasure, ma’am,” he says with that same grin you hate – love. Hate. Love. Hate? – while he sits back down. For a moment, you think about what just happened, and what’s happening right now… You came – and hard, too, god damn – without permission, you should be in trouble. But you’re not in trouble – not if the divine feeling of scratchy facial hair between your legs and a wet tongue against your clit are any indication.

You were impressed with him before, now you’re convinced he’s not even from this planet. These are the skills – and enthusiasm – of a man who eats pussy for breakfast. Keywords include ‘skilled’, ‘meticulous’, and ‘goal-oriented’. Not ‘romantic’, ‘sweet’ or ‘caring’, but that’s okay. He’s on a mission. He’s making a point – even though you’re not quite sure what that point is, exactly. And the worst part? He’s so, so very good at this that you forget his name first, and then your own while he continues to lap at your clit until you come once, twice and a third time… The kiss afterwards is divine, tasting yourself on his lips makes you squirm like never before – which in turn makes him laugh. But the weird part… you’re still not in trouble. And you’re weirdly okay with that.

The next kiss is gentler, slower, maybe bordering on sweet or romantic or something else you don’t necessarily want to feel – not from him, not right now. Something about him is freedom and defiance, something… You’re dragged back to reality when you feel Sy’s shoulders tense up, and he looks to be on high alert over something he’s heard that you haven’t – but in the end, it’s you who sees what’s going on, first.

“Jesus Christ, Marshall, put the fucking gun down!” You can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s had a tough shift, but this is excessive, even for him. Actually, this is the type of shit you'd expect from August. And you’re talking paranoid, ‘just returned from a three week mission' August.

“Not until I can see his hands and whatever the fuck he’s holding.” Sy scoffs when he hears that and lifts his left hand – which you hadn’t even realized he’d moved to the front of his jeans. “Drop the knife and turn around.”

“Walter,” you hiss, knowing he hates it when you use his first name, “this is Sy. The neighbor I’m fairly sure August told you about.”

“This the other guy?” Sy asks. He’s pretty calm for a dude who has a gun pointed at his back. You nod in reply to his question. “Cheerful.”

“Not really,” you say. This is annoying as fuck. “Marshall, seriously. Put the gun away and play nice.” You’re seeing your chances of Sy breaking into your little family the easy way dwindle to nothing right before your eyes, and it upsets you more than you had expected it would.

“As soon as he puts the knife down.” Stubborn as a fucking bull, both of these guys.

“I’m gonna put it back, and turn around. My advice would be to put that gun where I can’t see it before I do see it. Being threatened ain’t gon’ make me any nicer.”

“Taking a few steps away from my girl might help your case.” There’s something in Marshall’s voice. Exhaustion. Pain. Panic, almost. Sy slowly backs away while putting the knife back where it came from, and Marshall finally holsters his gun.

The standoff lasts a few moments longer while the guys size each other up. You should be annoyed by their antics, but now that no one is threatening anyone else with any weapons, it’s kind of hot.

“You always threaten guests with a gun?” Oh yeah. Low growling, teeth gritting, jaw clenching… Both sides of this argument pass Super Ultra Manly Man 101 quite nicely, but…

“When they’re unfamiliar to me and inches away from my girlfriend, I do. You always bring a knife to visit your neighbors?” The schtick gets old really fast, to be quite honest.

“In case some nutcase pulls a f-“

“Boys,” you hiss through gritted teeth. “Enough with this unnecessary display of toxic masculinity, thanks.” It’s almost a shame you have to break it up, but you don’t want to be cleaning blood off the kitchen floor. These guys don’t even need weapons to beat each other to a pulp.

“Lieutenant Walter Marshall.” He holds a hand out to Sy, and you roll your eyes. Was the rank thing really necessary? Probably not.

“Captain Dave Syverson. Call me Sy,” Sy replies. You get to experience the incredible joy of witnessing the tensest handshake you’ve ever seen.

“If you two are done measuring dicks, Marshall, can I get a hug? I hate guns.”

As soon as Marshall’s arms wrap around you, he apologizes. He can’t make it through the word ‘sorry’ before his voice breaks. Sy walks past you two, towards the kitchen counter, and after a few seconds of him rummaging around, you hear the coffee maker.

“Who’d you lose?” Sy puts a cup of coffee in front of Marshall, who takes it without saying a word.

“No one, yet,” he answers, “but an officer got hurt because of me.”

“What could you have done?” Sy doesn’t sound at all convinced Marshall had anything to do with it.

“I don’t know!”

“So, nothin’,” Sy says, as if that’s the end of it. “Can’t always protect ‘em all.”

After a while – and an interesting conversation between the guys that you decide not to get mixed up in – Sy gets up, telling you it’s time for him to leave.

“I’m pickin’ you up for dinner, though,” he notes as casually as can be. Your brain immediately goes haywire; August is coming home tonight, he’s not going to like it if you’re not home, and yes, you were the one to tell Sy that you weren’t looking for a one-time thing, or something that’s just sex, but…

You come up with a million new excuses every passing second, which makes it all the more surprising when you open your mouth and the word that comes out is ‘okay’. It’s like you have no other option – as if your mouth moves by itself. There’s just something so uniquely attractive and incredibly charismatic and roguishly defiant about him – something very cocky and very… cowboy. And he knows it.

“He’s going to get you in so much trouble, darling,” Marshall chuckles behind you, wrapping his arms around you as you watch Sy walk out the door. He is, he really is – you know it, Marshall knows it, and if you know August at all – and you like to think that you do – he’s known it from the moment he first saw you looking at Sy. “August isn’t going to like his influence on you.” It’s all music to your ears – and not just your ears, if you’re being perfectly honest. You involuntarily clench your thighs together when Marshall kisses your neck lightly, which instantly reminds you that you were so rudely interrupted after a few glorious orgasms, but nothing else.

Of course, Marshall notices. In fact, you’re willing to bet he was already suspicious when he came in, and of course he would have been right, because he always is. He always knows exactly what you need… Is he going to be a dick about it? Probably. Not that you mind – not at all… You gasp when he reaches around you, pulling up your skirt to get his hand between your legs – and upon arrival, he lets out a low whistle. “He knows what he’s doing,” he chuckles, “I’ll give him that.”

“Would you stop toying with me and just fuck me, please?” you beg when Marshall’s fingers brush past your clit. You’re still sensitive from Sy’s generous treatment, and you want – scratch that: need – someone inside of you right. fucking. now.

“So needy,” he hums softly in a way that draws a soft whimper from you. He could tease you, play with you for another few hours until you’re a mess and barely able to stand on your own two feet, but he’s not that cruel. You’re honestly lucky it’s not August behind you right now, because he wouldn’t have hesitated to draw this out for as long as possible. Marshall, however, is apparently in a giving mood and just takes his cock out, plunging all the way into your drenched pussy without warning. Good.

He unceremoniously bends you over the kitchen table – a piece of furniture that may or may not have been selected because it has the perfect height for such purposes. The old one didn’t, but it… broke. In mysterious ways.

Marshall is ruthless, thrusting into you almost recklessly, but with enough restraint that he can keep you away from the point where pain overtakes pleasure. Clearly he still has some residual anger to deal with from his encounter with Sy – or his bad day on the job, and you don’t mind one bit that he’s decided to take his frustrations out on you. He doesn’t speak, he just pins your chest to the table with one hand between your shoulders and fucks into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. You won’t feel it later; he’s careful not to hurt you, mark you, or do anything else that will remind you – or anyone else – of his presence later. All it will take is a single shower and you’ll be a blank page for your date tonight… In other words; he’s being incredibly considerate. Which is a strange thought to have while being railed six ways to Sunday over the kitchen table, honestly. Right when he’s about to finish, he pulls out, leaving you almost disappointed, until he spins you around and forces you onto your knees. A few harsh strokes are plenty to drive him to the edge, and he lets out a deep grunt when he comes, splattering his cum all over your face.

“Go get cleaned up, and call August about your date,” he growls. Of course he’s right. August will want to know. In fact, you doubt you’ll leave the house in an outfit of your own choosing. But there’s one thing that confuses you – disappoints you, even.

“You’re not coming with me?” you ask in a small voice. Showering with Marshall is… it’s the best. And he’s not joining you? That’s no fun!

“I’m going to borrow the home gym for an hour, because I have some… stuff to deal with. Sorry, love,” he says as he pulls you off the floor and presses a kiss to your temple.

You’re out of the shower and you’re cutting it close time-wise, so you decide to stop putting off what Marshall told you to do: Calling August. As you expected, he’s not happy to hear you won’t be home when he gets back from his trip, but he’s willing to admit he’s the one who gave you his blessing to figure things out with Sy, so he’s not going to complain. In fact, he seems thrilled when you ask him for his help. He loves knowing he’ll play a part in your night one way or another – and so do you.

You finish getting dressed just as Sy arrives.

“Lookin’ good, sugar!” He makes no attempt to hide the fact he’s checking you out, and you revel in the attention until he reaches a hand out to you and you take it, letting him walk you to his truck. It doesn’t take more than five minutes during the ride to the restaurant to figure out how tonight is going to end – in fact, you already knew this afternoon, but still, you tried very hard to not get your hopes up in case the date wouldn’t go as planned. Now, however, your doubts have disappeared without a trace. Sy is funny, he’s kind, he gets along with your guys great – save for the occasional gun-involving dick-measuring contest, he’s on board with your slightly unorthodox relationship – even willing to consider being a part of it – and he’s an incredible flirt. So, when you’re done with dessert and he’s squashed your idea of splitting the bill with nothing but a snort and a cocked eyebrow, you’re all but ready to jump him right on the spot. You don’t – ten points for you and your incredible restraint.

“Normally I’d ask ‘your place or mine’,” Sy chuckles when he turns onto your street, “but I believe your boyfriend is home?” He’s unbelievable… Not even asking if you want to keep this date going, he just… assumes. Correctly. But still.

“Your place it is, then,” you say in a failed attempt to regain some control of the situation. You notice your hands are trembling, and your breath is slightly faster than it should be. Nerves. Perfectly normal. This is a first date, after all. Except it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like you’ve known this man forever, which is scary, not because you, well, haven’t known him forever, or because this is the first time you go out with him, but because you have something going for you with August and Marshall. Something great, and unique. Something you wouldn’t trade for the world. And what if he just… doesn’t fit? What if Sy doesn’t belong in your little slice of paradise? The simple truth is that you’re already terrified of losing him – and you barely have him to begin with. So yeah, you’re a little nervous, maybe even truly scared – but when your eyes fall on the hands on the steering wheel when the car stops in Sy’s driveway, you miraculously get calmer. Because your hands aren’t the only ones trembling; his are, too.

Sy’s bedroom is on the side of the house that faces yours, and large windows give you a pretty revealing view of your own room. It’s embarrassing how little time it takes you to become wrapped up in kissing Sy, melting under his touch as his rough hands roam your body with very little respect for the barriers that your clothes provide. He’s all over you; kissing your mouth, jaw and neck, trailing his tongue along your ear, hands impatiently squeezing your breasts through your clothing. Every last touch sends a jolt of electricity right down your spine into your core. You know you’re wet. You have to be, there is no other option, especially with Sy’s impressive hard on poking you in the most distracting way. His fingers nearly tear your dress in half as he takes it off you, and your underwear almost suffers a similar fate. He won’t let you step out of your heels, though, which tells you he has at least one other thing in common with your other guys.

“Unless your ankle is still bothering you,” he manages in between kissing your neck. It’s not bothering you – much. Not enough to take off half of your confidence – because quite honestly that’s what those heels are…

When you happen to glance out the window, you see the lights on in your own bedroom.

“Should we close the curtains?” Please say no, please say no…

“I thought your man likes to watch?” There’s a devilish glint in Sy's eyes as he says it that fires you up more than you would be willing to admit, but you’d dare anyone to date August Walker for more than four months and not turn into a bit of an exhibitionist. That’s how long it took you to allow him to rail you in the alley behind some bar you were in at the time, anyway. Sy interrupts your thoughts by slipping two fingers into your dripping wet pussy. He let’s out a low whistle between his teeth.

“Goddamn, sugar, is that for me?”

“A little,” you say coyly. “And a little because I know you’re gonna get me in trouble with…” Shit. You weren’t prepared for this. It feels too wrong to use his name, but using that title in front of Sy…

“What do you call him?” Sy grins widely. It’s so attractive it’s almost sickening, and it turns your knees to jelly. Good thing Sy’s holding you up, because you’re sure you would have gone down for real.

The question sounds so simple. The answer is simple, too, but you can’t say the word. That’s all cards on the table. Your entire dynamic with August out in the open. Are you ready to trust Sy with that?

“You don’t have to tell me, sugar,” he mumbles into your ear. You lean your head against his chest, and suddenly realize how much more naked you are than he is. As soon as you slide your hands underneath the fabric of his shirt, you sigh. It’s impossible to keep your hands off the scars, though, which seems to bother Sy. He wraps his arms around you and looks at you.

“Please don’t,” he whispers softly, and you move your hands to his waist. After some time, you break away from the hug and walk over to the windows. With one sharp tug, you pull the curtains shut. As soon as you get to the second window, you see August standing in front of his. You smile. So he was watching. Not that you’d expected anything else. He holds out a hand, thumb raised, and slowly turns his hand until his thumb is pointing down. It’s a question: ‘Are you okay?’ You give him a thumbs up before pulling the curtains on the second window.

“He checking up on you?” Sy says, catching your hand before you can draw the curtain. You had no idea he was standing right behind you, but it’s nice to feel his arms around you again.

“Always,” you reply as you turn around.

“What are you doing, though. Thought you were on board with…”

“I’m treating this like the first time it is, Sy.”

“Don’t,” he growls, “I want him to see this.” There’s something to his voice… a sense of mischief, but also something darker that’s reflected in his eyes as well, and in the way he pushes you back to get a better look at you.

Then, he turns you around, gathering as much of your hair in his fist as possible. With the other hand, he pushes the curtain back again. August is still there – not in front of the window, but you know he’s in that room, watching. The fact that an innocent passer-by might get a good look at your tits doesn’t bother you at all. If anything, it excites you more.

“Fuck,” Sy growls in your ear, “I hate to have to let you go right now.” A loud smack echoes through the room and all the way through your body when his palm lands on your ass. “Don’t move, sugar.” He lets go of your hair and steps away, leaving you whining by the window – but you don’t move a muscle. Sy doesn’t take long – the familiar crinkling of foil packaging gives you a decent hint as to what the fuck he’s even doing, and you very much appreciate the absence of a “not as good with a condom”-attitude. This time, his hand doesn’t go for your hair. Instead, Sy’s arm wraps around you, and his hand creeps up your stomach, over your chest, until it firmly grabs your throat. With an amount of gracefulness you don’t necessarily expect from someone his size, he lines up and thrusts into you, leaving you with no other option than to gasp – loudly. Your body struggles to accommodate his girth – it shouldn’t be a problem; he can’t be bigger than Marshall. Still, it could be all manner of things: the position, the relative absence of foreplay, although your date and the drive home were brimming with sexual tension that had your underwear soaked from the moment you got together.

Your chest rises and falls with your increasingly quick and erratic breaths.

“Shh,” Sy whispers in your ear, his hand moving from your throat to your cheek, cupping it gently, “it’s okay. I know you enjoy this, so enjoy it.” He’s right. Absolutely fucking right. Maybe understating things a little, even… or a lot. Because you do love this. Getting railed from behind? Yes please! Being choked a little? Hell yeah! The manhandling? You’re sopping! Knowing August is watching you get fucked by another man, and he’s going to be more than a little jealous that someone else gets to play with his princess on the night he gets home from an assignment? The thought alone is enough to set your skin on fire! The idea that you’re going to get in trouble with him? Only adds fuel to that fire! Then why are you holding back right now?

“Stop thinking about how you’re not his good little girl right now, sugar,” Sy growls, and the sound shoots straight to your already aching clit. “Be bad for me tonight, baby.”

His words cut through you in a way you don’t understand – until you do. You get to do that here, with him. You get to be bad without repercussions – as delicious as you find those repercussions under normal circumstances. He’s not going to punish you for mouthing off, or disobeying orders – he’s going to laugh and smirk at you in that unbearable way, and it’s going to rile you up beyond belief, and you can both just give in to all of that without any concern for the consequences. Because there won’t be any. Not from Sy, at least. And when tomorrow comes, and August decides that you need to be dealt with for going away the night he comes home from an assignment, then that’s okay. That will be a whole different game. That will have nothing to do with this. Right now, for the first time in a very long time, you are not under orders – and right now, for the first time ever, you realize just how much you’ve been craving that.

It's not like you haven’t tried with either of them. Of course you have! But after so much time in your comfortable, familiar dynamic, anything other seemed strange and off and… unenticingly vanilla. It was as if you were playing a part – as twisted as it sounds to insinuate that ‘Daddy’ and ‘Sir’ are the defaults, it’s truer than true in every conceivable way. You’ve been so busy trying to figure out how Sy would slot into your dynamic that you completely neglected to consider that he doesn’t. That he can be that break you sometimes crave from your wicked little games with Marshall and August. And that he might just land you in enough trouble to earn you some delectable punishment in the process – but only time will tell. Instead, every time you so much as dared to think he wouldn’t seamlessly slot into your existing relationship and the terms that come with that, you panicked, thinking that would be a bad thing, that you would lose him before you even got to know him. But now you see… It’s the whole damn point.

“Fuck me.” You speak the words carefully, as if you’re afraid to be wrong – and the stinging of your left cheek as Sy lands another firm smack on your ass does nothing to ease that feeling at first.

“That’s what I’m talkin’bout,” he chuckles, driving his cock into you again with one smooth, harsh thrust.

Soon, you couldn’t give a quarter fuck about handprints on the glass – or some slightly more indecent prints, for that matter – or that one window that’s open which means maybe someone outside might hear you. Let them! Sy’s hips slam against your ass at a brutal pace, rough fingertips dig into your hips with the same ferocity you’re used to from your other guys, but lacking the possessive hint theirs always do, until they disappear altogether.

“Come on, sugar,” he growls from behind you, “your turn.” You throw your hips back, savoring the low moans and deep grunts that escape Sy. Just when things start to get fun, he pulls out.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with you!” you protest teasingly. From the looks of it – and by that you mean; the arrogant fucking smirk on his face – he was more than counting on that, and before you know it, you’re no longer standing where you were standing.

Your personal philosophy is that any guy who pulls you up into his arms and tosses you on the bed like it’s absolutely fucking nothing is a keeper. That being said, Sy also scores well in the categories ‘great beard’, ‘hairy chest’ and ‘filthy mouth’, so there’s no chance you’re going to let him go anytime soon. You thought Marshall being the way he is was just a coincidence, but now that you find yourself falling head over heels for Sy, too, you have to admit to yourself that you have a bit of a type.

Now, normally, of course, that type would include ‘man willing to boss your little slut ass around like he owns you’, but as per your previous epiphany: not this one. Oh, he owns you, alright? But not like that.

Sy is on his back, and he’s managed to move you so you’re straddling his chest – which is apparently not where he wants you just yet, because he hooks his arms under your thighs and pulls you up until your pussy hovers over his face. Oh. Oh.

“C’mon, sugar,” Sy says, still with that unbearable grin, “sit.” Was that a question phrased as a command? It… it sure was! Being in this position gives you a weird amount – and kind – of confidence, and you smile down at him.

“Save a horse, right?” you quip, making him laugh as he gently guides you down until his mouth finally connects with your pussy. To your surprise, he doesn’t do anything, though, which leaves you looking down at him confused and far less confident than a few moments ago.

“This is a very loose interpretation of the word ‘sit’,” Sy mutters, sounding… disgruntled, “stop hovering.”

“Don’t you need to… like… breathe?” you ask, immediately regretting your decision on account of ‘what the fuck kind of stupid ass question is that even?’ The way Sy laughs makes you want to disappear into a hole in the ground.

“Sugar, as far as I’m concerned, it would be a goddamn fine way to go,” he assures you as he pulls you further down.

From then on, you can just forget about it; it’s hopeless. The view is divine – those devious, bright blue eyes smiling up at you… He’s cocky. A seriously arrogant jackass. But oh, God, does he deserve it, because he is very, very, good. Of course, you already knew that from this afternoon, but there’s something about this… towering over him and still being completely at his mercy, that has you losing control. You reach for the wall to support yourself and finally let yourself go as pleasure takes over, grinding your hips, riding Sy’s capable and eager tongue until you come all over his face. And by that you mean… all over it.

Crawling under the bed and curling up into an embarrassed little ball of shame isn’t an option, but if it was, oh boy, that’s where you’d be right now. Instead, you scramble to get away from him as quickly as possible, almost throwing yourself off the bed in the process. Of course, Sy catches you.

“I swear I didn’t even know… I’m so sorry…” The words come out quickly and they’re jumbled and half-finished and barely audible and… And Sy is having none of your apology. With one hand, he grabs your wrists and pulls you over his lap – it’s eerily reminiscent of what Marshall would do…

“Stop apologizing for wonderful things,” he says, punctuating the syllables with fierce, stinging slaps on your ass before he sits you up again. “You might wanna tell your boys you can do that, sugar.” The cocky grin is back on his face. “I’m willin’ to bet they’re not gonna stop tryin’ till they make it happen.”

“You’re not…”

“Shut up,” he says before kissing you. “It was amazing. Means I was doin’ my job right.” He winks at you – it’s silly, because he’s not very good at it. “C’mere.” Somehow, you end up straddling his thighs and nervously eyeing his night stand. “Take what you want, baby. Whatever you need from me.”

Fuck it! “Grab a condom,” you say. The fact that he does so immediately, surprises you a little. It’s not necessarily something you’re used to; giving commands and having them be obeyed on no one’s terms but yours.

He laughs when he sees the look on your face. “Now, don’t you go thinkin’ I’m yours to boss around, sugar,” he chuckles, “you just want what I want right now.”

“It’s fun to pretend, for a change,” you reply, making Sy laugh even harder.

“I’ll let you have at it sometime,” he says, much to your surprise. Marshall tries sometimes – August did once or twice, in the beginning – but neither of them could give up their desire to be in control. Sy pulls you away from the thought when he finishes putting on the condom and proceeds to grab your thighs to pull you forward – and then he hesitates. You look at him, your confusion burning in your eyes.

“Nothin’,” he says dismissively, “plenty of time.” A firm tug is all it takes to lower you onto his cock, and you shiver. It was not just the position before; he’s somehow just a lot to take. “C’mon sugar,” he says, signature grin spreading across his face, “ride me. Save a horse, right?” His mimicking your comment from before is accompanied by another botched wink. It’s plenty to make you laugh a little before you start bouncing on his cock.

Sy manages to divide his attention between your breasts quite nicely while you’re going absolutely insane with lust as you keep riding him for what feels like a very long time. At some point – and without asking for anyone’s permission – you lean back and reach between your bodies, drawing tight circles around your clit until you’re swearing and trembling… but you don’t stop. Sy is a little sad when you move away so far that he can’t keep his mouth on you, grumbling something about making up for lost time with them later. Your come around his cock a second time relatively quickly following the first, as you figured you’d have to race him to get there, but he seems…

“Are you getting close?” you mutter after you break the kiss you had him wrapped up in. Your thighs are starting to get a little sore, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up.

An apologetic grin appears on Sy’s face. “I hate to disappoint, sugar,” he says softly, “but I don’t think it’s gonna happen tonight. I was pretty damn nervous about this.” His words make you stop moving, allowing him to slip out of you, and you lie down next to him while he hesitantly wraps an arm around your shoulders. “I, eh… Gotta take care of this,” he says before getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. For some time, you wonder if he’s even planning on coming back, until he appears in the doorway again, seemingly back in full possession of that cocky attitude you love.

Much to your surprise, he doesn’t lie down next to you again – instead, he sits near the foot of the bed, grabbing you behind your knees and pushing your legs apart so he can get in between them. He doesn’t waste a single second this time around, diving right between your legs, his tongue practically glued to your clit for the duration of the whole thing – which you’re almost ashamed to admit is a matter of maybe two minutes, if that. He’s just better when he can use his hands, too.

“Fuck,” you gasp when he lies down next to you and wraps an arm around you, “Marshall gives good head, but you… incredible!” Litmus test. If he can’t stand hearing about the others… Then again, he already passed with flying colors when he insisted on leaving the curtains open so August could watch.

“It doesn’t hurt that you taste fantastic,” he laughs, not showing the slightest displeasure at being compared to your boyfriend – maybe because he was the one who ‘won’ the comparison… “I’m glad to be of service.”

You snuggle into his side, putting your head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. Sy pulls you closer, and the two of you lie there for a while, in silence, until he finally speaks again: “Never thought I could actually have you, yet here we are.” The comment is followed by a deep sigh, and your heart almost jumps out of your chest when you hear him say that. He likes you? He really likes you? But…

“If you didn’t think you could fall for me… What changed? When?” You don’t even know why you want to know. The answer to those questions is never something you really want to hear, right?

“Didn’t say that, sugar,” he says, “I said I never thought I could have you. For starters, you were in a relationship – you are in a relationship. Forgive me if I didn’t immediately consider that there could be room for me in that relationship.” He chuckles softly, and you fight back a moan. “Then August made his offer and I thought he meant… casually. I would have passed on that. You caught me off guard this afternoon. Did a fine job of distractin’ me, sugar, puttin’ that pussy in my face like that. Got me wonderin’ about the ‘what ifs’ for long enough to convince me it wouldn’t be casual.” You smile when you feel his lips on your head, pressing a soft kiss to your hair as he pulls you even closer. Then, he sighs and turns his eyes to the ceiling. “I need some patience from you though. All of you.”

“Oh, no, we were planning on giving you absolutely no time to adjust to any of this,” you laugh, “orgy at my place next week, bring friends.” You squeal when Sy tickles your side.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sugar,” he laughs.

“Just out of curiosity… Is that even something you’d be up for at all?” Hopefully it’s clear that you’re referring to a more… immediate sharing-situation of… well… you.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he admits almost reluctantly, taking you by surprise. Surprise that is – apparently – evident on your face, because he scoffs and clarifies: “They were some long tours, sugar. Not exactly enough women to go around… Well, actually, ‘going around’ was exactly what… Doesn’t matter.” Ah. The tension in his voice tells you he won’t appreciate any follow-up questions, so you keep your mouth shut until he starts talking again. “Never like this, though. There were never any feelings involved.”

His words clearly imply that there are feelings involved now, which also tells you to proceed with caution. Of course it’s exactly what you want with him, but that just means you’re going to have to be that much more mindful of… everything. For the first time, you realize that all this time there has been a part of you that had wished this was something casual. A one-off. Just a date, and a great night, and nothing more than that. Feelings are what make this real, and if it’s real, that means things are going to change. You struggle to remember what it felt like when August first suggested Marshall as a second Dom for you – he never suggested a second boyfriend per se, but things just… turned out that way, eventually. Now, you’re having this conversation up front, which is strange, and remarkably difficult to navigate, because it doesn’t feel like a conversation the two of you can have and then just be done with it; there’s more people involved. So, you tell Sy that you’ll have to talk some things through with August and Marshall, too, and you almost cry when he sincerely tells you he understands. That he’d actually be worried if you didn’t.

“Anything else you want to get off your chest?” you ask, running your fingers through his chest hair. There’s definitely one thing you still need to hash out, but you’re afraid to ask, since the outcome of that conversation may call for you to give up your cozy spot next to Sy.

“Are you stayin’ tonight, sugar?” Ah, so you’re going to have to dive right in, after all.

“If you’re alright with a potential nosy neighbor thinking whatever they’re going to be thinking, I’d love to stay,” you shrug.

“Do people know?” It’s obvious that he means: ‘Do people know about you and August and Marshall.” It’s also obvious that he’s still not quite comfortable putting your relationship in such concrete terms.

“We don’t advertise it, per se, we just… go about our lives. But we don’t hide. And if people ask – and we’ve had people butt in in the rudest ways – we tell them we’re in a committed and very happy non-monogamous relationship.” Your answer seems to clarify a bunch, but it leaves a question in his eyes that you can’t quite pinpoint. “Does that give you enough to work with in case someone decides to meddle?”

Sy moves his head in a way that’s halfway between shaking it and nodding. “I’ll figure it out,” he sighs. “How ‘bout a shower?”

After a remarkably PG shower with disappointingly little shenanigans, you climb into bed, and immediately settle down against Sy’s warm body. A memory creeps into your brain, of the cold nights before Marshall, when August was away to do God knows what, and you were left alone. It had been almost impossible to sleep. Now, those nights are a thing of the past, and you can’t even remember when you’d last been forced to fall asleep without a pair of strong arms around you… As you slowly doze off in Sy’s arms, you half-consciously joke about that shower somehow being the least necessary one of the day.

“What’re you talkin’ about, sugar?” Sy chuckles behind you.

“I couldn’t very well meet you for dinner with Marshall’s cum on my face, now could I?” you say coyly – a little too coyly… He might think you had planned this! Which you honestly hadn’t… You’re simply very tired.

“God damn, sugar,” Sy laughs, “I understand why they share you. You’re a handful.”

#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

[ro-is-struggling]

Hi there! I wanted to make a request for Geralt since I loved the way you wrote him. This might be a little angsty, idk.

So Geralt had a romantic partner for a long time, she is a magical creature as well (I see her as a nymph) that he dumps and abandons for Yennefer. She at being under his protection for so long is exposed now that she is alone and a king that is a magical creature hunter captures her, and uses her for his entertaining and for his guests at parties. So Geralt crosses paths with this king while he is in a hunting party, and invites him to join them. While they are on their path he brags about his creatures, and Geralt of course doesn’t like that. So they go back to their camp were the king invites him to talk in his luxurious tent. While they are talking the king commands his men to bring her to him and kills her in front of Geralt, just for his entertainment. Geralt is mad, so mad, he thought he would never see his former partner again, and he had them in front of him just moments ago, and the grief, guilt, anger and sadness are more than when he thought he los Yennefer. He almost kills the King right there if it hadn’t been for the soldiers surrounding him. He gets chained in a tree outside for the rest of the night until the hunting party is far long gone.

Time goes by and Geralt can’t get over of what happened. In all this time, he was remembering what they had gone together, so many years, to many difficulties they had gone through and he just throw it out so easily. And now she was dead because of him. He misses her so much.

Then he hears about the opening to the underworld, convinces Yennefer to go with him. But everything is just a trick. Hades, let’s him take her with him after passing a torturous path to make it to the depths of tge underworld, but paying a price, a soul for a soul. So Geralt offers Yennefer, because that’s the reason why he brought her along.

(Idk if you will want this idea)

Hi beautiful💕

I have no words to express how much I LOVED your request! It’s the perfect mix of creative and sad but also kinda cute, I adore it! That’s part of the reason why it took me so fucking long to finish it and post it (sorry about that!). I’ve been working on this fic since the moment you sent in the request and I rewrote it a couple of times. If I’m being honest, I had so many ideas for this fic that I would need to write a multichapter story to actually develop the storyline and the characters as I wanted. But I don’t have the time to do that, so I had to condense all my ideas into one long ass fic, so sorry if the ending feels a little rushed!

I really loved the process of writing this one and I felt happy when I finished it (even if it took me forever), but I have been writing and editing it for so fucking long that I kinda hate it now, not cause it’s bad (like I said, I liked it), but because I had a long ass time to pick at every little plot hole and imperfection. It’s one of those stories that just sounded so much better in my head, like, I feel that I was too ambitious and I definitely don’t have the skill set required to do this request justice. 

That being said, I hope you like it anyways and that it was somewhat close to what you had in mind when you requested it! I only changed the ending a little bit cause it made more sense to me that way, I hope you don’t mind and enjoy it anyways!

You can find the story HERE

Oh and get ready to cry :)

#ask answered