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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

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Mysterious Night Blooming Roses pt 3

Hey look, more of that vampire bodice ripper.

Things are really heating up at Castle Pankratz!

tw: blood drinking, horny

---

“Many of your predecessors found my feeding to be...pleasurable,” the Viscount shrugged. “So don’t be embarrassed should any such feelings or physical reactions arise during our time together.”

The blush that bloomed across Geralt’s pale cheeks was enchanting and the vampire felt himself falling a little more in love with his most recent pseudo-employee.

“Wh-What happened to my, uhm, predecessors?” Geralt asked, biting at his bottom lip.

“The one before you, Moira, she’s off to start a wool trading business in Temeria. She wanted to learn a skill and find a job; you know, become a woman of independent means.”

“Oh.”

“And before her there was Thoren, and he’s probably teaching his children to fish by now. I suspect he has his own fleet of ships with the price cod has been selling for in Redania.”

“They’re still alive?”

“Of course! And they left Castle Pankratz with a hefty payment in thanks for their service. Enough to buy a whole herd of sheep, if you’re Moira. Or a nice cottage and a fishing boat, if you’re Thoren. I don’t know what you’ll choose to do with your money when your ten years is up. How old will you be, then?”

“Thirty-four.”

“You’re the perfect age! I became a creature of the night some time during my twenty-seventh year of life and that’s how I appear now; or so I have been told. I’ve actually been living here for nearly two thousand years.”

The peasant’s went wide and he swallowed thickly. “Hmm.”

“May I have your consent to drink from you, Geralt? I know it’s an odd way to meet and a rushed explanation of things, but it’s been rather a long week and I’m… I’m hungry, Geralt. Would you mind?”

“I suppose not, Your Grace,” the peasant murmured, and tilted his head to the side.

---

Their first time together had been rushed and uncomfortable and awkward. Fumbling. Like two teenagers attempting their first romantic embrace in a barn, avoiding their chores and praying that their parents or siblings didn’t accidentally peek inside and catch them.

Things had gotten better since then. The village’s Samhain celebration was drawing ever closer and the darkness of night came earlier every day. There was more time for Geralt and Jaskier to spend together, talking and laughing in the library or sitting room. Jaskier wrote music, and often played his compositions for Geralt on the harp, lute, or piano. Geralt would read out loud some nights, his fingers playing idly with the laces of Jaskier’s shirt or the fringe of his hair as he did so.

Then, early one autumn evening, Jaskier summoned Geralt to his private chambers.

“Your Grace?” the peasant asked, peeking his head and shoulders into his Master’s enormous bedroom.

“Come in, Geralt. Please come in and close the door behind you.”

Geralt stepped inside and closed the door. His eyes remained downcast as he turned towards bed where Jaskier lay, reclining comfortably like some kind of presiding deity. “You summoned me, Your Grace?”

“Come here, pet, and have a seat. I’d like to talk to you about something rather important.”

Geralt crossed the windowless chamber and took a nervous seat at the very edge of Jaskier’s mattress. He’d never been in this part of the castle before; usually the vampire took him to the sitting room or his own bedroom to feed because it was easier to tuck him in for a nap afterward. It was, as the vampire liked to joke, a rather draining experience for the young man.

“Are you displeased, Your Grace? Have I done something wrong?”

“Oh no! Of course not, dear heart! You could not possibly be any more pleasing, in all honesty. I just wanted to know how you were getting along. How do you spend your days in my castle when I am asleep in here?”

“I read, mostly. You have some of my favorites in your library.”

“Such as?”

“I’ve read The Three Musketeers twice. I’ve read Treasure Island, Faustus, and a few collections of poetry as well.”

“Studious,” the vampire smiled, tugging Geralt closer. The mortal man allowed himself to be moved up the bed and into Jaskier’s cold yet inviting embrace. “I like that in a man.”

“In… in a man?”

“Have I misunderstood something, my dear? I thought I saw you peeking at me while I changed for supper yesterday,” Jaskier explained, relaxing his arms enough so that Geralt could easily leave if he wanted to. The vampire was right, however. Geralt had been peeking and he had liked what he’d seen. “I thought that you had perhaps begun to feel the same things for me that I have begun to feel for you.”

“What are you feeling exactly, Your Grace?” Geralt’s voice was low and sweet and dripped like honey. The warm human wrapped in Jaskier’s arms smelled fantastic, like lust and mint; the wine from dinner still sang in his blood. The vampire shivered and narrowed his eyes. The irises flashed from blue to red and then back to blue again, revealing to his guest the intense emotions he usually held in check.

“In regards to you, my dear Geralt? I’m afraid that I feel significant attachment. I have not tasted blood so sweet and floral in over a hundred years, nor have I had conversations so scintillating. I suspect it has been many more years since I’ve had that, if I cared to actually count, but that would be a waste of time in your presence. You are clever, curious, loyal, and your chivalry seems to know no bounds, dear heart. How could I not feel something romantic in nature towards you when you, yourself, are so naturally easy to romance?”

The peasant’s face flushed prettily and his heartbeat sped up to a pleasant, ringing tempo. Jaskier could smell the mixture of love and arousal wafting off his darling Geralt and it nearly intoxicated him. He felt his fangs go sharp and steely in his mouth and he bit back a predatory hiss. “Fuck!”

“Your Grace? Are you alright?”

“Perhaps you should go after all, my pet. I’m afraid I-”

“No!” Geralt stiffened and pulled out of the Viscount’s arms. He shrank back against the covers and looked up at his Master with wide, worried eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I’m so confused. I can’t leave again until I know what your intentions are. It’s only been a few weeks since my arrival and yet I still I -” the young man grappled with his language, pleading for something that would get his feelings across to the ancient, all-knowing vampire before him. “- I can’t stop dreaming about you, Jaskier! I can’t get you out of my head! The more I try not to think about you the more I fantasize about sneaking in here and laying at your side as you sleep. I ache to feel your skin against my own. I long for your hands, colder than death as they are, to caress me and hold me.”

The vampire let his lips part, his fangs gleaming in the low light of a few candles. Geralt’s words caught in his throat and his heart-rate rose again. It was nearly frantic. Jaskier would have been worried, but that particular rhythm combined with the way Geralt had started to smell was really getting to his head.

He allowed himself to give a single, territorial little growl before he rose onto his knees. The vampire placed one hand on either side of Geralt’s head and leaned down, brushing the tips of their noses together as he trapped his human quarry against a goosefeather pillow. “I dream of you as well, my pet. I dream of running my fingers through your soft white hair and listening as you read to me in that deep, rumbling voice.”

“Your Grace?”

“I dream,” Jaskier sighed, tracing his nose along Geralt’s jaw, “Of how delectable you smell when you’re happy. Of how caring you are when you’re worried. Of how you might react to sweet, glorious compliments being whispered in your ear as I hold you close and take you apart. I’ve had centuries of practice, dear heart, and I really am quite good.”

“Your Grace.”

“I dream of touching you, Geralt. May I please touch you?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Gods, Geralt. When you call me that, it -” the vampire’s fangs lengthened again, pushing and straining towards his sweet human sacrifice, “- It really awakens the nature of a beast in me.”

“My apologies, Master.”

Jaskier groaned and leaned away, his hands covering his face to keep his fangs from finding Geralt’s neck on instinct. “That’s certainly not any better.”

“Do you wish to drink from me, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. His voice was meek. Nervous. The vampire’s long-dead heart nearly cracked in spite of itself.

The peasant had never referred to it as drinking before. Always feeding or supping. Geralt understood that he was a food source and kept his distance from the whole process by using such specific terminology for their activities. Yes, the human clearly enjoyed the endorphins Jaskier’s feeding process released throughout his body, and the inhibition-lowering side-effects of Jaskier’s vampiric presence had let a few specific terms of endearment slip through the human’s lips but…

This was different. This was Geralt offering himself up rather than accepting his status as an offering from the village. He was an equal participant, now.

“Would you like it if I drank from you, my dear?”

“Yes,” Geralt admitted. His face was aflame with either shame or lust; Jaskier suspected that it was a strong combination of both. He pulled himself against the vampire and tossed his hair to the side, baring the pale column of his throat. His voice was breathy and a little higher than normal when he locked his gaze with Jaskier’s and whispered, “I’m all yours, Your Grace.”

The backs of the Viscount’s knuckles swept across the smooth expanse of skin and both men shuddered with anticipation. Jaskier curled around Geralt possessively and ran his icy lips down the side of the human’s neck to his pulse-point. The vampire nibbled teasingly for a moment, letting his teeth and tongue worry the skin to a warm, vibrant pink before placing the tips of his fangs down. As he pressed in, breaking through and tasting the first few delectable ruby droplets, Geralt moaned openly.

His hand clenched in the material of Jaskier’s night-shirt and his eyes rolled back into his head. It was rapturous. It was ecstasy. And now he didn’t have to keep himself silent and resigned; he could react the way he’d wanted to for weeks as his Master drank deeply from the fount of his heart.

“Jaskier!” The hand that wasn’t the vampire’s silk night-shirt was grasping at the skin of his hip, digging his fingers into the cold, firm crease where Jaskier’s long torso met his legs. He needed to hold on to something. He needed an anchor to this mortal realm or he’d go floating away forever, lost to the pleasures of his soon-to-be lover.

Jaskier removed his fangs from the human’s neck after another moment or two and slowly licked the wound to clean it. Geralt frowned and glanced up, his eyes bright and his face flushed.

“Done already, Your Grace?”

“Oh, Geralt,” the vampire purred, clambering to straddle the taller man’s hips. “I’m just getting started.”

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noona-clock · 5 years

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Look After You - Part 4

Genre: Regency!AU/Single Parent!AU

Pairing: Choi Minho x You (Female Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of death and some mature themes

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 2,146

The days following the escape of Hercules were a bit of a blur, to be honest. You tried to keep the girls busy to take their mind off the whole incident, but... you also tried to keep yourself busy to take your mind off of Minho.

As soon as you’d gone back to your room to rest that afternoon, you’d realized that before Caroline had alerted you with her scream, you had been daydreaming about a life here. With Minho, presumably as your husband.

Up until -- well, now, you had been of a mind that you completely and utterly weren’t ready to re-marry any time soon, and especially not to someone with whom your husband had previously shared a close friendship!

But imagining being his wife -- being a family with him and the girls -- had come far too easily. And all the sensations you’d felt as he’d held you that day had been far too strong to fully ignore.

Still, though. You had only known the man for a handful of days. Just because the feeling of his arms around you was nice and the idea of being married to him was actually quite lovely, it didn’t mean you were actually ready for marriage again. Or that you even had real feelings for him!

So, since the girls still seemed a bit shaken up and since you would prefer not to reflect on all of your Minho-centered thoughts, you did all you could to book up every hour of the day with some sort of activity.

You and the girls played in the playroom, read in the library, sketched and painted with watercolors in the drawing room, played games in the parlor.

Minho did join you a few times, but he seemed to be keeping busy himself; you really only saw him at dinner in the evenings.

You didn’t think he was avoiding you, though, because he always sat next to you, and he made sure to begin his conversation with an apology for not being a better host.

“I’m afraid managing an estate is not an easy job from which to take a vacation,” he said once, and you assured him you understood.

(Secretly, you were also glad he wasn’t avoiding you. Yes, you were somewhat trying to avoid him, but that’s beside the point. You were more trying to avoid whatever feelings you had for him, anyway, not the man himself!)

But, then, exactly a week after your tea party had been nipped in the bud by a certain temperamental male bovine, Minho interrupted your game of checkers in the parlor.

“If the three of you don’t have any other plans,” he said after knocking gently on the already-open door. “I believe we have a tea party to make up.”

Caroline and Louisa both let out soft gasps, their eyes immediately widening and looking up at you. After a very small nod, they both scrambled up and began cheering.

“Yay! A tea party!”

Caroline sprang over toward Minho, and before you could scold her, she held out her arms and practically threw herself at him. He caught her easily and let out a very delighted chuckle, though, which eased your slight worry.

You quickly but meticulously put the game away, tilting the board so the red and black discs slid off and into the box before folding it up and sliding it back on the bookshelf where you’d found it.

“Come on, Mama!” Louisa called, now standing at the door with Minho and Caroline. She was already holding his hand and beckoning you hastily with her other one.

“All right, I’m coming,” you answered with a soft laugh as you hurried over there.

“I apologize for interrupting your game,” Minho said as the four of you began toward the back door of the manor.

“Oh, no, it’s all right,” you assured him. “I am quite positive the girls would much rather have a tea party than play a game of checkers.”

“Is that right?” Minho asked Caroline, bouncing her a little as he carried her.

“Yes, of course!” Caroline chirped.

“What about you, Miss Louisa?” he asked, turning to look down at her skipping beside him.

“Tea parties are deliciously good fun!” she replied.

As you pressed your lips together to hold back your laughter, you heard Minho say in a quite confused tone, “Well, yes, tea parties can be quite delicious.”

“Wow!” Caroline and Louisa gasped as soon as you all got near enough to the gazebo.

And, you had to admit, you were even impressed.

Minho had set up the table to rival one at the palace. A white, lacy table cloth covered the surface, and multiple tiered trays sat atop. There were pastel-colored cakes, powdered and jellied and frosted biscuits, tea sandwiches cut into bite-sized triangles, floral teacups, and a centerpiece of pink, purple, and white flowers from the garden nearby.

Being the mother of two children, you had -- obviously -- hosted many tea parties in your day. But never one as elaborate as this.

“Oh, my,” you whispered as Minho bent to let Caroline down. Both of the girls ran to the table, though they stopped just before reaching the chairs so they could gaze around in wonderment. “My Lord, this is -- you didn’t have to go to so much trouble!”

“It was no trouble at all, I promise,” he assured you with a particularly charming grin. And then he said to the girls, “I hope you brought your appetite. Cook has prepared only her finest treats, and I must say, they look rather scrumptious.”

The three of you remarked on the seemingly endless amount of tasty-looking treats as Minho walked around the table, holding out a chair first for you, then Caroline, then Louisa to sit down. Before he sat down in the empty chair across from you, he reached for the teapot and offered to serve.

You didn’t even have a chance to remind your girls to remember their manners when Caroline bowed her head slightly at Minho and said, “Thank you very much, M’lord.”

Louisa followed suit when he poured some tea for her, as well, and you shared an amused grin with him when he reached your seat.

“Thank you,” you said softly, locking gazes with him and trying to ignore your thumping heart.

After he had served the three of you milk and sugar for your tea, Caroline nagged at him to sit down so he could have some tea, too.

“You are a guest at the party, not a servant!” she reminded him, sounding very much like the eldest child she was. “Sit down!”

You cleared your throat, and Caroline immediately added, “Please.”

Minho bowed his head to her before taking his seat. The two of you exchanged knowing glances before he turned to help Louisa fill her plate and you turned to help Caroline.

The four of you had one of the loveliest -- if not the loveliest -- afternoon you’d spent in ages. The biscuits and cakes and sandwiches were just as delectable as Minho had surmised, and the tea was hot and soothing.

Not to mention, the company was amusing and very enjoyable.

In fact, you were quite sure you had more fun watching Minho interact with your daughters than you did anything else. The way he looked at them, smiled at them, spoke to them -- you hardly even felt like indulging in all the treats because your stomach was filled with butterflies. He was kind and warm, patient and understanding. He didn’t talk to them as if they were six and three-years-old but as if they were smart, intelligent humans -- which they were. He wasn’t patronizing or condescending, and he didn’t act like he knew better because he was an adult. He --

Well... he treated them exactly how you would want a father to treat his children.

How you would want a father to treat your children.

Once the teapot was empty and the food trays were (mostly) clear, you broke the bad news to Caroline and Louisa that it was time for their afternoon nap. They didn’t take it nearly as badly as they usually did, though, most likely from all the sweet and savory snacks they’d just consumed.

“Come on, darlings,” you said as you pushed your chair away from the table. “I’ll take you up to the nursery.”

As your daughters sluggishly pushed their own chairs back, Minho stealthily made his way over to you. You tilted your head curiously at him, and he placed his mouth right next to your ear, murmuring just low enough for you to hear.

“Would you mind meeting me back here after you’ve taken them up?” he asked.

You nodded, hoping he understood that it meant you would meet him and not that you would mind meeting him. Because you certainly didn’t mind.

But you were a bit nervous.

Your heart was pounding the entire time you walked Caroline and Louisa up to the nursery. And it pounded even harder after you’d tucked them in and closed the nursery door behind you, as you meandered back through the halls and down the stairs, as you approached the back door yet again.

You took a deep breath before you lifted your hand and took hold of the doorknob, turning it slowly and pushing the door open.

As you walked on shaky legs toward Minho (who was standing with his back to you, his hands clasped loosely behind him), you were quite certain you wouldn’t be able to even speak properly. Your heart was simply hammering inside your chest, and your stomach was doing somersault after somersault.

But, to your surprise, your voice sounded rather calm when it left your lips. “What did you want to see me for?” you asked.

Minho turned around quickly, his eyebrows raised expectantly. But his expression warmed when his gaze landed on your face, though that only made your heart and stomach even more of a mess.

“Miss Y/N,” he said softly, letting his hands unclasp and his arms come to his side. “I... There is something I must say to you, though I must admit... I don’t quite know where to start.”

You gulped down a knot of anxiety in your throat and nodded gently. “I’m listening,” you murmured.

Minho took a deep breath in preparation... and then he took a rather large step toward you. He reached for your hands, taking them in his and bringing them up in-between you toward his chest.

“I know it’s been barely two weeks since we met,” he began, first studying your hands in his before shifting his gaze to lock on yours. “And I truly hope I am not bombarding you or being too forward or scaring you away, but I’ve had the most wonderful time getting to know you. I feel like it’s been two decades rather than two weeks, and I...”

He took another deep breath, and you realized you could hardly breathe at all.

“I have never felt like this about anyone before,” he told you, his eyes practically piercing into your soul. “And I wouldn’t be saying any of this if I didn’t feel like you might feel the same way.”

You stared back at him, your brow furrowed deeply and about a million thoughts running through your head.

You wanted to tell him you didn’t feel the same way. You wanted to tell him you weren’t ready to marry again and fall in love again. You wanted to wiggle your hands free from his grip and step away and tell him you would be leaving in the morning.

...But you couldn’t.

When you opened your mouth to say something, you found the only words which would come out were, “I’m just... not sure if the timing is right.”

Minho’s expression stayed the same, but you saw a spark of hope bloom in his eyes. He squeezed your hands tighter and began to speak again.

You weren’t even quite sure what he was saying, though -- something about waiting and taking all the time you needed or something. You were, shamefully, too focused on his lips.

You were just so close to him right now, and you had never noticed how... nice they were. The lower lip was just a bit plumper than the upper, and they just looked so... kissable.

Of course, the thought of kissing a man who was not your late husband was entirely and incredibly new. And it should have terrified you. It should have made you want to escape and run for the hills.

But, instead, it made you want to...

Without another thought, you took a step forward and closed the gap between the two of you. You stood on your toes and, quite hungrily, pressed your lips to his.

Part 5

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