#[lute get out of the sweet bowl] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gremlinmodetweeker · 3 months

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Hello hello! If you are willing, maybe you can write something about König and his SO (gn preferably) regarding homecooking and just the delights of the kitchen! I think we just need some good domestic love from him.

Abso-flipping-lutely I can write that for you. I need my sweet baked goods dammit. I hope you enjoy this disgusting amount of fluff. I think it is GN, but I could be wrong. There might have been something I wrote that I didn't see, but I did try to keep it GN.

Also shout out Kitchenaid. I'm not sponsored, but if I could be I would be. Please sponsor me Kitchenaid. I want a Kitchenaid stand mixer so badly.

1.4k word count. Story below the cut. No warnings needed except exceptionally sweet fluff.

In Three Days

König, for all that was wonderful about him, was a bit of a hazard in the kitchen. Not because he was a bad cook, oh no König is a fantastic cook. He’s just a menace when you’re baking.

“But it is still flour! How is it any different than cake flour?” König grumbled as he put the whole grain flour back into the cupboards, switching to grumbling in his native language to keep you from smacking him with a wooden spoon (again).

“It is not the same. Cooking and baking are different, König,” you turn to keep a careful eye on him. You didn’t particularly trust him to not just make a show of putting it away only to put it in anyways. “You can’t substitute everything like you usually do.”

You not-so sneakily slipped in between him and the cupboard, preventing him from trying to go for it when you weren’t looking. He squinted down at you, sniffed, and spun on his heel to turn back to the bowl on the kitchen island.

“First you do not want margarine, then you do not want me to use baking soda instead of baking powder, and now you are complaining about what flour I use,” he muttered to himself.

“If your suggestions weren’t awful, I might consider them,” you raised your wooden spoon in warning.

He took no heed of your weapon, instead choosing to move it to the side with a finger and look at you incredulously, “I make fantastic suggestions.”

“If I listened to you, our cake would already be a disaster,” you snapped back.

“But I am right. It is more efficient! It is cost effective!” König crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“We agreed that money wasn’t an issue!” you bonk his masked nose with the spoon, leaving a small white spot.

He shakes his head, but walks back to the screen of your laptop and crouches down to look at it properly.

“That many eggs?” König spat.

“Yes, that many eggs,” you replied as you pulled out the carton from the fridge, “it’s a big cake.”

“But that is so many! What cake needs ten eggs!?” König whined as he helped you crack the eggs into the bowl of the stand mixer.

“We bought these eggs for the cake, so you knew what you were getting into when you came with me to the store,,” you reply, dropping the last egg white into the bowl.

“And then what do we do with all these yolks?” König pointed to the bowl of yolks beside him, “you are not allowed to throw them out.”

“We’re not throwing them out, we’re using them for the lemon curd filling,” you explained as you set the bowl into the fridge.

“So that is why you bought the lemons…” König mused. He nodded sagely as you turned on the stand mixer. Not long after, the mixture was ready for the next step.

“Who puts sour cream in cake? It is…” König squinted, “wrong.”

“It’s to add moisture,” you scraped the paste into the bowl, then turned on the mixer again. You turned it off and glanced over at him, “see look, I told you we needed a Kitchenaid mixer.”

“I still think it was too much,” König shook his head dismissively.

“So you want to mix the batter yourself?” you raise your eyebrows at him, daring him to try challenging you.

“I could. I am tired today, but I could do it,” König asserts defiantly. He crossed his arms over his chest, showing off his thick forearms.

“Sure thing buddy,” you roll your eyes, “keep telling yourself that.”

König simply muttered a few words in German as he checked on the oven.

“Are you sure the temperature is correct?” König asked.

“Aren’t you the one that set it?” you countered.

“Yes, but I want to make sure,” he replied.

“Well, check the recipe. It’s right there,” you pointed at the laptop.

He glanced between the laptop and the stove before nodding and turning back to you.

“Yes, it is good. The oven is set to one seventy-seven.”

“Wait what?” your eyes widened in horror.

“What?” König stiffened, “there is no problem, is there?”

“Why is the oven so low?” you hurried over to the stove, abandoning the cake mix in the process.

“Low? No, it is high! That is high!” König blinked and looked down at you as you checked the oven’s LED display.

“No, that’s-Oh. Celsius, not fahrenheit,” you gave a relieved sigh, “don’t do that to me! You had me panicking there.”

“It is not practical to use imperial,” König said, his tone too haughty for his own good.

“Yeah, but I’m used to people using imperial in recipes,” you shrugged and walked back to pour the rest of the dry ingredients into the wet.

“Well you are used to people using the wrong measurement system,” König huffed as he trailed behind you to the stand mixer.

“I am…” you dumped the last of the dry into the wet, “sure, whatever.”

König rolled his eyes, but he left it at that. Instead, he stepped back to go back to what you were doing earlier.

“Are you mixing it too much?” König leaned over your shoulder.

“No? I don’t think so. It should be good. Can you go check the video for me?”

König returned to the laptop, coming back a moment later with an affirming nod.

“You are right, my love. I am sorry,” König clapped a hand on your shoulder, giving it a soft rub before flicking the stand mixer off, “now it is done.”

“Thanks,” you smiled and leaned back to kiss him before taking the stand mixer bowl out and to the island.

König ended up being the one to measure out the pans, having done the weight calculations while you worked. You called him a nerd, he called you an idiot before kissing your forehead.

“My favorite idiot,” he’d said, sweet as the German buttercream frosting you’d both made earlier.

Once the pans were in the oven, you both sat down on the counter stools.

“That was so much work,” you groaned and stretched yourself over the soapstone island. You stretched out one hand and took his hand in your own. He gave you a light squeeze, then went limp. Evidently, it was a long day for both of you.

“Thanks for all the help.”

König sleepily turned his head to you, then gave you a small nod.

“Always.”

“I’m so happy to have you,” you squeezed his hand, “you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

“I can say the same of you,” König leaned over and slung an arm over your shoulder, then dragged you and your tool over to his side.

You huffed, but leaned into his side.

“You could’ve asked me to move.”

“This was more efficient,” König insisted.

“Was it now,” you kissed his chin through the mask with a smile, “so, just three more days?”

“Three more days,” König agreed and hugged you tightly to him. You melted into his hold with a smile.

“You looking forward to it?” you asked.

König squeezed you tight, “More than anything. Even if it does cost so much.”

“Hey, you agreed I could do what I wanted,” you laughed, “and I cut costs where I could.”

“You could have gotten your own tailor, but you went second hand. You are unbelievable,” König grumbled, but gave you a kiss, “but I am thankful. Others would spend my money like water, but you are careful. You are not good at math, but you are smart with your money at least.”

“I’m not that bad at math,” you nudged his side.

“No, but you are bad enough for me to laugh at you,” König smirked under his mask.

“Anyways, are you tired?”

“So tired. Do you want to lay down?”

You nodded eagerly. You followed him to the sofa, where he flopped down and dragged you onto his chest. He rubbed his hand over your sore back and hummed contently.

He rolled his head back over the armrest and sighed.

“If only I knew our wedding cake would be so much work.”

PS: Recipe I used (I doubled it for the story)

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theluckywizard · 1 year

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In the Shattering of Things, Chapter 27: A Reluctant Elegy

A Dragon Age: Inquisition Longfic featuring Rose Trevelyan x Cullen with a side helping of x Garrett Hawke

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44881447/chapters/118159150

....“I suppose I could break out a classic for our fellow Fereldan,” says Harritt. He strums a wild introduction that instantly riles the boys. Cullen looks like he knows what’s coming, scratching his forehead and hiding his amusement behind a strategically placed gauntlet as he leans on his elbow against the table. Harritt begins with a massive grin:

“You know Andraste’s old mabari.

He don’t show up in the chant.

And if you ask those holy sisters,

Well, they’ll say Andraste can’t

Have had some big old smelly wardog…”

The boys are hollering, Letty is singing and even Cullen is mouthing the lyrics. I sit sheepishly among them in a delightful sort of Fereldan prison.

“But all Ferelden knows it right:

Our sweet Lady needed someone

Who would arm her feet at night…”

At the zealous urging of Sam, Cullen is actually singing, struggling to contain his smile. Letty interjects over Harritt’s wild interlude.

“I had no idea you had such a fine voice, Commander,” she says with a beam. Neither did I. Cullen sits there blushing modestly while Letty turns to me. “Don’t mind us Southern barbarians while we get our jollies.” They continue, the boys and Cullen stomping and clapping as they sing, growing rowdier.

“And there’s Andraste’s mabari

By the Holy Prophet’s side.

In the fight against Tevinter,

That dog would never hide.

They say the Maker sent him special,

Always loyal, without pride,

So he could be the sworn companion

Of the Maker’s Holy Bride!”

Harritt lets the song end there but I’m certain it goes on for several more verses.

“I haven’t sung that song in twenty years at least,” Cullen says, his mood buoyant, flushed from the merriment of the music, accepting a heaping portion of apple pudding in a wooden bowl. Somehow the riotous singing evolves into a half hour of me showing Tom how to play a few basic chords on the lute which he enjoys tremendously, looking up in pride when a proper major chord resonates across the compact space. I show him exactly three, the number needed to play any number of songs but especially Andraste’s Mabari and Harritt promises that he’ll refresh his memory if he forgets. Tom eagerly thrusts the instrument into Cullen’s unprepared hands next.

“Your turn, Commander!” he declares and Cullen looks at the thing utterly helpless, holding it up like a freshly soiled baby. “Show him, my Lady!” I’m as cornered into it as Cullen is and he looks as red as I’ve ever seen him– and frankly a little terrified. I shake my head at him with a smile and drag a stool across from him. At first, I try to instruct him without having to touch him because I desperately want to and I need to keep my head on my shoulders. But showing him where to put his fingers on the fingerboard without guiding them is nearly impossible so in a matter of minutes I’m physically arranging his fingers over the strings, forming them into the simplest chords. I’m bathed in an intoxicating pool of my own adrenaline as he muddles his way along, laughing at his own clumsiness through our cloud of blushes.....

Tagging the DAFF Crew

@warpedlegacy, @rakshadow, @rosella-writes, @effelants, @bluewren, @breninarthur, @ar-lath-ma-cully, @dreadfutures, @ir0n-angel, @inquisimer, @crackinglamb, @nirikeehan , @oxygenforthewicked

#cullen x female inquisitor #cullen rutherford #dragon age inquisition #cullen x trevelyan #dragon age cullen #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #rose trevelyan #commander cullen #DAFF #Fereldans #eventual smut #slow burn #mutual pining #enter hawke

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kroashent · 1 year

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Return to the Tavern - A Familiar Tail

Marie deCygne set down her mug with a satisfied sigh, the sweet tastes of buckwheat and barley lingering from the last sip of the amber honey beer. Without the drink to occupy her. She glanced around the table. Morgiana, of course was nowhere to be seen, replacing any vice of drinking with some other mischief of her own creation, no doubt. Kathalia sat opposite, leaning her chair back on two legs, swirling the wooden bolee of cider, looking annoyed, but uncharacteristically pensive. She fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing her leg and she continued to play with her drink.

Gwae, on the other hand, was almost buzzing with intense energy, her fingernails wrapping constantly on the table as she bit her lower lip, leaning so far forwards across the table that she was almost standing. Marie blinked at the unexpected position for the normally collected Gwae, following her gaze to see her icy-eyes locked on the red-headed sellsword opposite her. Then Marie noted the stack of three ceramic bowls piled in front of the silver-haired eladan, each having been recently filled with a drink called "Damona's Boon" according to Haizea and something considerably more bawdy according to her clientelle. The cocktail, a mix of sugar-sweetened cream, buckwheat whiskey and cherries, was popular among the Faerie peoples, enough that it was offered this deep in the Ar Goat. Marie personally found it a little too sweet for her liking, but Gwae, evidentially, shared no such qualm. Marie smiled a slight grin, and then stood, taking care not to bother the intense Sidhe as she moved to get another drink from the bar.

The bartender, it seemed, had stepped out, as no one was behind the bar as Marie approached. She peered casually over the edge, finding the space empty, and turned her attention to the large casks of beer and wine stacked in an alcove behind, the faded arms and labels of brewers and vineyards across Letha and beyond. She imagined Kathalia would have just reached over the surface and picked up a bottle of her choosing, but Marie waited, puzzling out each label on the casks and drifting in her own thoughts until a voice brought her back to the moment.

"What'll it be." The voice belonged to a woman with dark hair, dressed in a simple apron and dress. There was something off about the new bartender. Marie hadn't even seen her approach as she stood, patiently waiting. Marie blinked, caught off guard as she quickly pushed away her momentary unease and returned to the present.

"A... cidre please," Marie muttered, trying to remember what she had planned on ordering. Her head was swimming, a sensation similar to standing up to fast, as she leaned on the counter to support herself. "Brut."

"Coming right up!" The bartender replied, pouring the amber liquid into a wooden bolee. "So what brings you to Ker-Ahes, and to the Silver Wheel?"

"I'm a trouvere." Marie responded with a practiced flourish and bow, despite the muffled pounding in her head "Seeking out new songs and stories of the Ar Goat, and spreading those I know."

"Oh, a traveling bard!" The bartender clapped her hands together with glee. "Tell me, do you know 'Ballad of the Blood Moon?"

"It sounds... familiar..." Marie mumbled, a fog descending over her thoughts.

"So, you'll play it? Drinks on the house if you do!"

Marie nodded, picking up her lute and making her way to the edge of the bar. She exhaled, taking in the room. Everything seemed oddly placed, like a film was placed over the room. She strummed a note on her lute, almost feeling the vibration travel through the space, sending a ripple shw could almost see across the room.

"The fires burned in Fourtongue's halls, as winter's breath assailed stone walls holding back winter's chill, yet shadows gather round the hill. Whispers of the Black Dog's return, as cold winds blow and lanterns burn. Howl, Howl, the Black Winds Blow Howl, Howl the Blood Moon's Glow"

Marie felt a prickling upon the back of her neck as she continued to play, scanning the tavern room as she strummed along. There seemed to be movement in the crowd, but Marie played on.

"Our walls are thick, our gates are strong, Black Dog may gather with his throng, but our swords are sharp, our arrows keen We'll drive him back into the green. Fourtongue raised his might ax, to show he feared no dog of black Howl, Howl, the Black Winds Blow Howl, Howl the Blood Moon's Glow"

Marie's breath quickened as she played, the hair on the back of her neck bristling in an unseen breeze, growing thicker as the flames of the candles began to waver. Her fingers kept plucking the strings of her lute, even as black claws sprouted from them, growing thicker and sharper with each vibrating note. Kathalia jumped to her feet suddenly, Gwae following with hunter's reflex. By now, the crowd was worked up, joining in on the short refrain.

"A great wind blew in from the Black, courage growing weak and slack The fires snuffed, the chill rushed in, the hillside rang with awful din. The Prince, cast out, had come back home, spilling blood and cracking bone. Howl, Howl, the Black Winds Blow Howl, Howl the Blood Moon's Glow"

Brown fur spread along the bards fingers as she played, teeth sharpening into glistening fangs as she smiled, continuning the song. The music sounded beautiful, more deep and melodic than she had experienced, each strum and pluck as clear as a winterrule sky. Her ears lengthened, stretching into points resembling her red-haired friends. As if on queue with the song, the laticed windows of the Silver Wheel tavern flew open, the freezing Black Winds rushing in, the candles fluttering wildly as Marie, heart racing and breath quick, sped up her pace, the muffling fog replaced by the clarity of a winter sky. Actual howls seemed to replace parts of the chorus as the crowd began to stand, bottles and chairs crashing to the floors as tables were suddenly overturned.

"The castle's gates of might oak, first they splintered, then they broke. With claw and fang, the Black Dog came, with snarling howl and b...burning flame... The bloody prince with Horned King's Boon, turned his sights upon the ... moon." Howl, Howl, the Black Winds Blow Howl, Howl the Blood Moon's Glow"

Marie stumbled across the song, despite knowing the words and music by heart. A soft brown fur spread across her ears as they continued to lenghten, her fingers thickening as she played. She panted, her face begining to stretch into a fang filled snout as she sang, growls finding their way into the pauses of the bloody ballad. Something pressed against her pants, tearing at the seams to reveal thick brown fur. Claws ripped through her soft boots, revealing her pawlike feet, heels arching upwards as the tips of her black claws sharpened. Gwae had Kathalia against the walls as chairs and tables began to overturn, the glamour faltering. For a moment, Marie faltered as the crowd turned before her eyes. But she felt exhilarated. She could almost smell the blood of the Fourtongue and the burning of Pont-Ivi. A hunger and excitement rose within her, pushing her onwards.

"The moon became as red as blood, the trickle of death became a flood The gates, the gates, the Fourtongue cried, but the walls had broke, the archers died. With wind of black and moon of red, the son climbed the stairs for father's head...

Marie's muzzle reached its limit, giving the bard an unmistakeable canine visage. Her feet, ripped through her boots, were now paws, sharp claws scratching the floor. A tail finally burst out from its fabric prison. The lute dropped from lupine paws and Marie did not finish with the refrain, instead joining the chorus of howls filling the tavern.

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

Val's Notes: I mentioned before that these particular drawings were drawn years ago, and for a few reasons, simply never saw the light of day. I wanted to share them with you all, but also turn them into something more, adding in a story to add a new creative flow rather than reposting the older work without additon, as well as rehabilitate my crippled drive to write.

I'll admit, this is probably my least favourite of the multi-part drawing series, but I really had fun with Marie actually doing bard things and transforming as she sings a relevant song. I may do another picture down the line that properly matches up with what is happening in the story.

I hope you enjoy Marie's song. Would people be interested in me creating a full version (With the singer less wolfy by the end of it)? I imagine there's more before and after the part Marie sings.

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

Others in this set:

Gwae: https://www.deviantart.com/kathalia/art/Moonlight-Maidens-Return-to-the-Tavern-877714588

Kathalia and Gwae: https://www.tumblr.com/kroashent/723946985005170688/moonlight-maidens-return-to-the-tavern-by?source=share

Kathalia: https://www.tumblr.com/kroashent/724028159030345728/return-to-the-tavern-kathalias-brawl-i-did-say?source=share ----------------

If you're enjoying these pieced, please check out the full length Kroashent story, Kroashent: Bal Des Loups. I'd love to hear people's take on the story as I continue to work on it!

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

If you would like to support my art help the world of Kroashent come to life, as well as receive other rewards like sneak-peaks, exclusive versions and sketches, please visit my Patreon page, with a wide array of tiers for all budgets: www.patreon.com/Kroashent Check out the full story of Kroashent: Bal des Loups, on Archive of Our Own or in this gallery: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3141606 Want to chat Kroashent or Val's art in general? Drop in on Kroashent on Discord: discord.gg/MZjc3Gg Learn more about the world of Kroashent on our official Wiki: https://www.worldanvil.com/w/alvez-kroashent

#kroashent #werewolf art #team werewolves #TF #Transformation #julycanthropy #Kroashent: Bal Des Loups #werewolf #Marie deCygne #Acrasia Beldam

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izzy-b-hands · 2 years

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Keep trying and failing yet another new OFMD fic idea of the Revenge being crewed by all of six ppl after Ed maroons everyone else (i know in theory some of his old crew might be around to help, but it being just him, Ivan, Fang, Izzy, Jim, and Frenchie is much funnier.)

The whole thing being Ed only volleying between angry and violent during raids to sad and locked in his quarters otherwise, not eating or sleeping well

Leading to Izzy pissing Jim off because he's pacing constantly and here Jim I made cookies see if he'll take these, no it has to be you because he chucked the bowl of soup at me I tried to give him earlier and i think it's because I was the one to give it to him-

so Jim breaks into the locked quarters with cookies and is like. pls. Ed. Kraken. Edward. Blackbeard, I'll use whatever name you want just fucking eat something before i kill your first mate

Frenchie meanwhile is enjoying the rest of the leftovers from Izzy's million previous attempts to get Ed to eat with Fang and Ivan (they all agree he isn't a bad cook really. He needs to season things more and he's no Roach, but then again no one is so they gotta have reasonable expectations of this frustrated fearful man who keeps crying while trying to make Ed a quiche)

But then, Jim doesn't return.

Izzy is out immediately to Ed's room, yet another dish in his hand (its snake, and Ed likes snake and he made it using Ed's own recipe, so maybe, maybe he'll eat this)

only to find Jim and Ed sitting on the floor together, sobbing because they miss their boyfriends.

But, they're both eating, and the cookies are nearly gone

Izzy sits and doesn't intend to stay but they get talking and fuck he's so tired and he bursts out a confession of caring and love to Ed

Who's started in on the snake and stares for a minute before being like. oh fuck fr? Jack said you had a thing for me years ago but I figured he was fucking with me

Cut to all three of them crying now over the many Emotions filling the room, snacking away because sometimes food just Helps. It can be a warm hug when u feel utter shit.

Fang wanders in shortly after with bread and marmalade to check on them, only to wind up sobbing in Ed's arms while Ed apologizes for what he made Fang do to his dog

Frenchie doesn't intend to do more than check in on them too, lute on his back and a plate of pastries in one hand and holy fuck Iz these are actually really go- oh god why is everyone crying

(edit to add that for Frenchie it's because he misses Wee John. So much it kind of hurts. He didn't think he could miss someone like that and unrelated he has this song he wrote abt how a room can feel so empty with one even if before it only held two ppl-)

cut again to poor Ivan as the final participant of the group cry and nibble session, bearing a few more plates of food (including the quiche, which isn't perfect but like. Izzy tried lmao)

He's not even crying over anything in particular, he's just been really fucking overwhelmed since Ed got back and needed the release of emotions

It's v sweet cuz they end up full and snuggly and emotionally exhausted, napping on the floor surrounded by plates

Which is why they run aground, but it's fine because it's the same one Stede managed to get the dinghy stuck in with the rest of the marooned crew, so happy coincidence!

#tw disordered eating #to be safe #i have three WIPS of this one idea so im typing this to just. get it Out because I doubt any of them are gonna get done lmao #soon as the six of them see everyone else tho u know they're all gonna burst into tears again #while offering stede and the rescued crew leftover quiche through their tears

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horsedadgeralt · 3 years

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Hey Dear! I’m writing about your 300 follower prompt happening 😃 I thought about a fic of Geraskier, maybe some good old hurt/comfort, first kiss and/or get together after the djinn accident. (I know, I know it was like a 100 years ago but going back to the old times are so nostalgic 😃) Please add anything you want to it, I’d be happy with anything you’d give 😊

Congrats on your blog! 🥰

🫂 and 😘

Thank you so much for your sweet ask! This got longer than expected and I hope you like what I came up with. It was my first time writing about the Djinn-incident and I may come back to it in the future, so thanks for the inspiration <3

wc: 1.5k cw: none tags: post!djinn, hurt/comfort

read it also on ao3!

“It’s been a week.”

Jaskier looks up from his notebook, the pages in front of him still blank even though he has been sitting at the table for the better part of an hour trying to fill them.

“Since I’ve last heard you sing,” Geralt adds, sitting on their bed with a wooden mortar in his hands, currently stocking up on his potions for the next contract.

They had arrived in town last night after having spent a few days on the road, and the pay offered for the head of the cockatrice threatening the townspeople was too good an opportunity to pass on.

Jaskier clears his throat before he answers. It still feels raw, like there’s an itch he can’t scratch.

“What about it?”

Geralt stops grinding the herbs and puts the bowl down on the bedside table, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees before answering.

“I have never heard you silent for this long.”

It’s true. Apart from carrying it on his shoulder, he hasn’t dared touch his lute ever since he woke up in bed with that insane witch and promptly nearly lost his life a second time in the process.

Jaskier is scared of what’s going to happen if he opens his mouth for anything other than the bare minimum, anything more than “I’ll have ale and stew,” or “We’d like to pay”.

What if his voice is gone? Broken, scratched, the rich baritone he so carefully honed over many, many years gone forever.

Or, worse: What if his voice is still there?

What if Geralt realizes that maybe, he shouldn’t have tried to save him? The Witcher wanted him to shut up so desperately, he nearly killed him in the process.

Yes, he sought out Yennefer and subsequently saved him from his demise, but still.

Geralt wanted him to shut up.

His muse wanted him to shut up.

And whilst the Djinn wasn’t able to grant Geralt his wish, Jaskier can try.

Can be good. Can be quiet. Can be less.

“I’m surprised you’ve noticed.” He almost whispers the words, looking back down at the blank pages of his notebooks.

His head is filled to the brim with thoughts, but he can’t write them down. It’s like there’s a wall, put there by the Djinn. Too tall to climb. Too strong to tear down.

What’s a bard without his words? What’s a bard without his voice?

He hears Geralt get up from the bed and walk across the room. There’s scratching and the sound of wood against wood, and then the Witcher is right there next to him, sitting on a stool.

Jaskier doesn’t look up, the only thing he dares to look at his notebook.

It almost feels as though the pages are taunting him, telling him to fill him, to spill his secrets. He couldn’t even if he tried.

“Jaskier, you’re not exactly known for being quiet,” Geralt says, and god, does it sting.

Jaskier, you’re loud. You’re obnoxious and you take up space. Too much space. Too loud.

“Seems like you did get your wish granted after all, then,” he presses out through clenched teeth, gripping the quill in his hand so tightly he can hear it snap. Great. Now he really can’t write.

A hand on his thigh forces him to look up.

Geralt’s hand is warm, and the worried expression on his face makes Jaskier’s heart ache.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Suddenly it feels as though the Witcher is mocking him, the furrow in his brows nothing more than a grimace.

He throws away the quill and gets up from his chair so abruptly that it topples backwards and lands on the ground with a loud thud. Jaskier doesn’t care though, instead pacing around the room with the feeling of Geralt’s hand on his thigh still lingering in his mind.

He knows that the Witcher is watching him, can feel his eyes on his back. How he wishes that for once, it wasn’t him doing the talking.

Finally he stops, arms crossed in front of his body and a defiant look on his face.

“You can’t tell me that you’re this stupid.” The eyebrow Geralt raises in response only adds oil to the fire that is burning in Jaskier’s chest. Maybe he hasn’t lost his voice after all.

“You asked a Djinn to get me to shut up. We all know that didn’t work, so I’m just finishing what it couldn’t.”

At that, Geralt gets up from his stool and walks the few steps necessary until he’s standing in front of Jaskier, arms loosely hanging at his side.

Even now, with all the rage the bard is feeling inside of him, he can’t ignore the sharp line of Geralt’s jaw, the broad shoulders and the soft waves in his hair. Even now, he could get lost in those amber eyes, and he hates himself for it.

“Jaskier, I am sorry. But I didn’t know the Djinn was there and I immediately went to get help!”

Jaskier lets out an ugly laugh.

“Ah yes, truly one of a kind-help you managed to find there. So good you fucked her right after you were done saving her life.”

The softness in Geralt’s face is gone, replaced by an ugly sneer.

“You have no right to say that, and you know it.”

Jaskier knows that the Witcher is right, and yet he can’t stop himself.

“Tell me, Geralt, do you secretly wish it was her you were travelling with right now? It’s okay, you can drop the facade. Just say the word and I’ll be on my way, never to bother you again.”

Strong hands grab him by the shoulders and then he is slammed against the wall, the stone doing nothing to lessen the impact.

“Shut up,” Geralt yells, and as soon as the words have left his mouth Jaskier can see the regret in his eyes.

He lets go of his shoulders and the bard lets himself slump to the floor, head hanging low.

“Well. There’s that,” he says.

“That’s not what I mea—”

“That is exactly what you meant,” Jaskier interrupts, looking up at the Witcher from where he’s sitting on the ground.

He has never felt smaller, and so it is only fitting that the other man is towering over him.

“No!” Geralt cries out, his voice frustrated. He runs a hand through his hair before pressing his hands to his hips.

“No, it’s not! Sometimes I feel as though you don’t listen, no matter how often I try to tell you something.”

“I heard you loud and clear this time, I promise you that.”

“You didn’t. Do you really think I hate you so much that I want you dead?”

Jaskier doesn’t answer, only lets out a ragged breath in an attempt to mask the tears that are welling in his eyes.

“Look at me, Jaskier,” Geralt says as he kneels down until they’re at eye level. Once again he puts his hand on Jaskier’s thigh. Jaskier wants to reach out, interlace their fingers. He doesn’t. He only does as he is told, staring into those amber eyes that remind him of the sun.

“I don’t want you to be silent. I don’t want you to shut up. I wish that I could take it back.” Geralt lets out a small chuckle at the irony of the statement, but there is no humour in his voice.

Jaskier can feel the tears streaming down his face and the rough fingers wiping them away. He leans into the touch.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters out.

“I’m sorry because I was wrong, too. I knew that you hadn’t slept in days and yet I wouldn’t give you some peace. Somehow I was too warped up with myself to see just how much you were hurting. I’m sorry, Geralt. And I’m sorry for what I said about Yennefer, it really isn’t my place to judge someone for their choice of lover.”

He puts his hand on top of Geralt’s. It is the Witcher who interlaces their fingers, the motion so effortless as though he has done it many times before.

“I’m sorry, too. I…” he swallows and it is obvious that this, talking about his feelings so openly, doesn’t come easily to him.

“I miss your singing. I got so used to it that I forgot how beautiful it is.”

Jaskier squeezes their hands, trying to be reassuring without interrupting him.

“Yennefer is important to me, but not as important as you are. There were a thousand things I wanted to say to you when you were laying in that bed, unconscious… but mostly I wanted to just hear your voice one more time.”

At that, the Witcher lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s knuckles. It is fleeting, over in the blink of an eye, and yet his skin tingles where Geralt’s lips touched it.

He smiles, and Geralt does, too.

Jaskier knows that there is too much they haven’t talked about yet. Too many things that need, deserve to be addressed before they explore this more. But there’s a chance.

He opens his mouth.

“When a humble bard…”

tagging @natilieal @herostag @luteandsword and @clarebear66

✨

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfiction #kathi writes

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asweetprologue · 4 years

Text

salt rain

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Rainy day Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: T (for canon typical injury) Content Warnings: None Summary: Geralt is injured on a hunt and confesses to Jaskier, thinking that this is the end. Jaskier is pissed. ao3

The raindrops fell into his eyes, stinging as they mixed with the sweat on his brow. Geralt blinked them away, staring up at the gray sky above them.

“Bet this’ll make a good ballad,” he said, the lightness of his tone probably contradicted by the way his teeth were stained with blood. He let his head fall to the side so that he could better see Jaskier, who shot him an infuriated, terrified look.

“Don’t fucking say that,” he said, turning his gaze away as he pressed hard into Geralt’s side, where the archgriffon had torn him open with a well aimed swipe. Geralt had stabbed through its throat while it hovered above him, but the thing had fallen nearly on top of him. Most critically, directly on top of his bag of potions, which were now no more than a few shards of glass on the ground. He had more back at the campsite, with Roach, but she was too far. They’d never make it there in time.

Jaskier pressed against the wound with some kind of fabric. His doublet. He was stripped down to his shirtsleeves, the thin linen fabric clinging to him as the rain drenched it. Brown hair flopped down into his eyes, pushed flat by the downpour, and Jaskier pushed it out of the way impatiently. “You’re not going to die out here,” Jaskier muttered, almost more to himself than Geralt.

It was a nice sentiment, but a naïve one. He had no potions. The rain was soaking him and Jaskier both, ensuring that his wound continued to run bloody. Without Swallow or White Raffords, there was no way he could heal from such a large injury, not without serious medical intervention. “Jaskier,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

Jaskier didn’t look up, his jaw clenched hard as he tried to put pressure on the hole in Geralt’s side. “You’re not,” he choked out through gritted teeth. “You can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, reaching a hand up to grasp the edge of Jaskier’s shirtsleeve. He felt weak already, the short distance to Jaskier’s wrist taking monumental effort to traverse. He opened his mouth, panting, and the rain fell on his tongue in splashes of clear, sweet spring. “Jaskier, please, look at me.”

This time Jaskier turned, his wide eyes clearly brimming with tears. He sucked in a breath when he saw Geralt’s face, his expression crumpling a bit. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, a choked admission of guilt. Geralt’s heart clenched in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries.

“It’s alright,” he said, trying to focus on the bard even as his vision swam. His hand fell to rest on top of Jaskier’s, where it was still pressed hard to his side. The skin there was warm and wet, though he didn’t know if it was blood or rainwater he found there. He was so tired. He wanted to close his eyes, but that would mean looking away from Jaskier’s beautiful, worried face, and he didn’t have the strength for that yet. “I’m glad you’re here, Jask.”

“Don’t,” Jaskier said, pleaded. Geralt couldn’t tell if he was crying, face too wet with rain to say. “Don’t do this, please.”

“Not much of a choice,” Geralt replied, feeling his eyelids growing heavier. The ground beneath him was warm, and that, he knew, was blood, mixing with the rain and turning the dirt to mud. It was over. “I’m sorry. Don’t wanna… leave you.”

“Then don’t,” Jaskier cried, one of his hands coming up to cradle Geralt’s cheek. He blinked his eyes open, not realizing that he’d closed them. Jaskier’s hand was so warm against his cold skin. His eyes were so blue. “Stay with me.”

He couldn’t, so instead he just said, “I love you. Jaskier. I love you.”

Jaskier made a sound like he was the one who’d been stabbed, a choked cry of pure misery that Geralt felt echoed in his own chest. “No,” he sobbed, “how can you say that? Not now, please-”

“Always,” Geralt sighed, feeling his eyes slipping closed again. “Always have. Sorry.”

“Geralt? Stay with me, please, darling, please stay with me. Geralt? Geralt!”

Geralt slipped into darkness.

It was a surprise that he woke.

He knew immediately that he was alive because of the pain. It was dulled from the sharp, twisting agony that he’d felt lying in the field, but it was still there. His side throbbed with the telltale itch of his too-quick healing.

Upon forcing his eyes open, Geralt found himself lying in a thin bed in what looked to be a room at an inn. It was familiar - not the room itself, but the woodworm eaten timbers of the ceiling looked just as they had three nights ago when he and Jaskier had passed through the last town. It was a small thing, truly only fit for one person, but Geralt could see both his own bags and Jaskier’s lute case leaning against the small fireplace. Geralt sat up slowly, feeling the newer skin on his side pull at the movement. Still not fully healed, but it must have been at least a day since he fell unconscious. How was he alive? He had been sure, so sure, that this had been the end, even told Jaskier-

Oh shit. Jaskier.

Geralt threw back the thin blanket covering the small bed and heaved himself out of it, wincing as his side screamed at him. He’d had worse, certainly, and he needed to find Jaskier. The only thing that put his mind even slightly at ease was the presence of the lute; no matter how angry Jaskier was at him, he would never leave his instrument behind. Geralt just had to find him, convince him that it was no big deal, that he didn’t mean it like that. That he knew Jaskier didn’t feel the same, and there was no reason things had to change between them. Panic made Geralt’s throat tighten, and it wasn’t just the strain of his recent injury making his heart pound double time in his chest. He had to find Jaskier.

He pulled open the door to the room, letting it slam into the wall behind him, and practically threw himself into the hallway. Only to run headfirst into Jaskier as he rounded the corner, their foreheads cracking together. Geralt felt something warm and wet coat his front as whatever was in the bowl Jaskier had been holding tumbled out of his hands.

Geralt stumbled backwards, cursing as he looked down at the stew now coating his bare chest and the bandages around his waist. He hadn’t even thought to put on a shirt. Jaskier scrambled up from where he’d fallen flat on his ass, one hand pressed to his forehead.

“What the fuck,” he hissed, “are you doing up?” Geralt looked up, startled by the vehemence in Jaskier’s tone. “Shit, look at you, now I don’t have any lunch! Fuck.” Jaskier stepped forward, bowl abandoned, and his fingertips touched the edge of the bandage around Geralt’s middle. His fingers skimmed over the skin just at the edge, and Geralt suppressed a shiver. “Look at this mess. You shouldn’t even be standing, are you alright? We need to change these, come on.”

Geralt allowed himself to be maneuvered, Jaskier herding him back into the room and pushing at him until he sat back on the rumpled bed sheets. The floor was chilly beneath his bare feet, and Geralt spared a moment to feel a bit foolish for rushing out of the room in not much more than his braies in his eagerness to confront the bard. Now that they were in the same room, he found himself unable to even speak as Jaskier fluttered about, griping to himself. He was clearly angry, though Geralt couldn’t tell if it went beyond irritation at being bumped into. After a few moments Jaskier threw down a handful of bandages and gauze that he’d pulled from a bag resting on the single trunk in the room, the closest thing to a table. Geralt didn’t recognize it; Jaskier must have purchased some supplies while he was out.

“I don’t know what you were thinking,” Jaskier muttered, brow furrowed as he knelt before Geralt, right in between his knees. Normally having Jaskier in such a position would be enough to make Geralt flustered, but now he just felt anxiety crawling up his neck. Jaskier began to pull off the soup-soaked bandages around his waist, fingers gentle even though his brow was still wrinkled with consternation. He fell silent, using the ruined fabric to wipe the rest of the stew from Geralt’s chest before reaching for the clean supplies next to him.

Geralt reached out and caught his wrist, his own grip tentative. Jaskier could have broken out of it if he’d wanted to, but instead he froze. “I don’t need them,” Geralt grunted softly, waving to his side with his other hand. He didn’t have to look to know that most of the healing was done. The wound might still be partially exposed, but it was no longer bleeding, and witchers couldn’t get infections like normal humans. There was no need for extra bandages that would only slow him down.

Jaskier wrenched his hand out of Geralt’s grasp, his jaw clenching. “I say you do,” he snapped. “How would you know, anyways? You’ve been asleep for the better part of two days, while I took care of… all this.” He gave a sharp nod towards Geralt’s injury, though he avoided looking at it.

“I’m… sorry.” Geralt shifted awkwardly as Jaskier unspooled a roll of gauze and began to gently wrap up his side once again. He didn’t fight it further, afraid to make Jaskier even angrier than he already was. This must be about something more, he thought with a sinking feeling in his gut. Jaskier had seen him injured plenty of times, and he’d never been so infuriated. It could only be about what Geralt had said to him, before.

I love you.

His own jaw tightened at the memory, the feeling of the rain on his face as he felt himself slowly bleeding out, just wanting Jaskier to know how he felt. He’d just wanted to say it. Just once.

And look where it landed him.

“How, uh.” He started and stopped, distracted by Jaskier’s hands as they hesitated over his wound, gently pressing the gauze down. “How am I…?”

“Alive?” Jaskier finished, voice still brittle. “Yeah, that is the question, hmm? It was Roach, really. I whistled to her - I’m quite good at that, did you know? Good lungs I guess. Anyways, she heard me and came. Brought all your potions, and I was able to get enough Swallow into you to slow the bleeding, enough to bandage you up and get back to town. It wasn’t easy, mind, you’re a heavy bastard and these arms are not meant for manual labor. Thank the gods Roach is used to taking care of your sorry arse, or I’d never have managed. You were bleeding all over the saddle, and I couldn’t remember which one was White Honey and which was White Raffords, and if I’d given you the Honey you’d have been bleeding out even more, so I just had to get into town and find a healer, which was a damn difficult thing to do in that storm-”

He was rambling, sharp, angry words carrying an undercurrent of anxiety. Geralt set a hand over Jaskier’s where they were tying off the bandage, just before he pulled away. “Jaskier,” he interrupted, as gently as he could. “Thank you.”

Jaskier blinked at him, seemingly startled. “Wh- For what?”

“You saved my life.”

“Well,” Jaskier said, “Roach did all the heavy lifting.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said again, imploring. Jaskier pulled his hands away, blinking hard as he looked away from Geralt and towards the fire. He didn’t move out from between Geralt’s spread knees, but he was no longer touching either. His arms crossed defensively, his hands tucking under his armpits. “I’m sorry.” Geralt didn’t know what else to say.

“You should be!” Jaskier suddenly exploded, standing up and pacing across the room. Geralt reached for him, but he was already gone. He watched from the bed as Jaskier threw his hands up, turning back to point an accusatory finger at him. “You were bleeding out in my arms and you choose that moment to what, confess your- to confess to me? Then, Geralt? That’s not fair! You can’t just say something like that and then almost- and then-” He put a hand over his mouth, turning away. His shoulders were shaking slightly.

Geralt rose, horrified. He stepped up to Jaskier’s side, hand hovering over his shoulder but unsure if his touch would be welcome. “Jaskier, Jaskier, I’m sorry,” he said, panicked. “Please don’t be upset. I’m not- It doesn’t have to change anything. I know it was out of line, I’m sorry.”

Jaskier wasn’t listening, scrubbing hard at his watery eyes. He looked up at the ceiling, taking a shaky breath. “I mean, I understand you might have had your reservations before,” he said, voice strained, “but how was I supposed to get over that?” He lowered his gaze, meeting Geralt’s eyes. This time there was no rain to mix with his tears. “Knowing that you… that we could have been…”

Geralt was at a loss for words. “I didn’t think,” he stuttered, “I didn’t think you would feel the same. As me. I just wanted you to know.”

Jaskier inhaled sharply, a wet, pained sound. “You meant it?” he asked.

Geralt nodded gravely.

Suddenly he had an armful of bard, Jaskier flinging his own arms around Geralt’s neck as he buried his face in his throat. A sob shuddered out of him, and Geralt brought his hands up to spread across Jaskier’s shoulders. His side twinged painfully, but he ignored it. “You almost died,” Jaskier gasped, one of his hands burying itself in Geralt’s hair and clutching almost painfully. “How could you tell me you love me and then leave me?”

“I didn’t want to,” Geralt murmured, pressing his cheek to Jaskier’s temple. “I just wanted you to know. That I… loved you. Love you.”

“I’ve loved you for twenty years,” Jaskier hiccupped, his forehead pressing against Geralt’s shoulder. “You could have said it any time.”

Geralt pulled back a bit, one of his hands coming up to cradle Jaskier’s face as he met his gaze. He felt breathless, something light stirring in his chest even as he mournfully took in the tear streaks on Jaskier’s cheeks. “You too?” he asked, heart in his throat.

Jaskier choked out a laugh, and turned to press a brief kiss to Geralt’s palm. Geralt couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped him. “You’re the stupidest man I know,” Jaskier said into his hand, before looking back up at him. “Of course me too.”

Geralt couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward, from letting Jaskier’s breath gust over his nose before he used the hand on his cheek to guide Jaskier’s mouth to his own. It was only a brief press, sweet like fresh rainwater and salty with Jaskier’s tears. He pulled away slowly, pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s. When his eyes fluttered open, he found Jaskier staring at him, blue eyes startlingly bright.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you,” Jaskier said. He didn’t sound angry, though. His voice was still shaky, but a small smile was spreading across his mouth. “Don’t do that to me again.”

“I don’t plan to,” Geralt agreed easily. His side still throbbed, but the pain felt far away, and Jaskier was warm and soft in his arms. “Even if you’re still mad, would you do something for me?”

Jaskier hummed. “Depends on the request.” His fingers had gentled in Geralt’s hair, petting across the base of his skull.

“Will you say it?” he asked, tracing a thumb under Jaskier’s eye. Wiping away the last of the dampness there.

Jaskier looked confused for a moment, and then his face brightened like a storm cloud had passed. “Oh,” he said, fondness saturating his voice. “Oh, Geralt. I love you. I always have.”

Relief, affection, joy. Geralt felt lighter than he had in years. “Me too,” he said, leaning in to speak the words against Jaskier’s lips. “I love you too.”

tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire, @theamazingbard

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #witcher #tw: injury #fic #witcher fic #fanfiction #my work #sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo #s&s #sorry the prompt was automatically kind of sappy so I made it angsty #>5k #hurt/comfort #sort of #forgot to put this under a cut initially oops

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mctherofdragons · 4 years

Text

Slumber Party | G.W.

♡ Matching pajamas, birthday suits, her spit taste just like juicy fruit. // Slumber Party, Ashnikko

Pairing: Ginny Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, post-war, mentions of LGBTQ issues, girl on girl, best friends to lovers, mutual masturbation, touching, dirty talk, oral (female receiving).

Author’s Note: I’d like to dedicate this little diddy to my fellow Ginny simps, @gcdric and @vogueweasley. Also, I’m queer as a two dollar bill. Don’t send me biphobic asks. Anyway, here’s my first Ginny smut. Enjoy <3

All characters in this story are 18 years or older!

___________

You had been friends with her for as far back as you could remember. Everything about her caused butterflies to bloom alive deep in your gut and your palms to get just a little sweaty. However, you had not even come out to yourself, let alone to the rest of the world, when you first met Ginny Weasley. Even so, you and the feisty redhead had become friends quickly and that had never changed.

Even now, with so much changed after the war, you found comfort in the constant and lasting friendship you had with Ginny. She was your secret keeper; best friend; confidant; and the person you called when everything went to shit. Ginny was the absolute world to you. That’s why what happened last night felt both magical and dreamlike. You had never imagined that Ginny would reciprocate feelings toward you. But to say she had merely requited would be an understatement.

You were laying on your bed with Ginny curled up next you. She rested her head on your shoulder, her soft, ginger braid dancing against your bare shoulder. You were watching a scary movie together, sharing a bowl of popcorn and laughing when the other jumped. Ginny should squeal just a bit and bury her face in your neck, causing waves of heat to erupt between your legs whenever her breath caught against your skin.

Once the movie had ended, you flicked the lights off, crawling under the covers with Ginny. The room was left with just the warm, dim lighting from the Christmas lights you had hanging around your ceiling. You both lay there in silence for a while.

Eventually, you began to speak, figuring neither of you were able to fall asleep. You and Ginny both turned to face each other, propping yourselves up with your elbows, hands resting on the sides of your heads.

“So, tell me about the guy you’re seeing.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m seeing him. We text sometimes, but mostly, we’ve just been fucking.”

“How is he?,” You giggled along with Ginny at the sound of your question. Ginny fell silent, adjusting her arm to get more comfortable.

“Y/n, can I ask you something? It’s weird.”

You flipped onto your side, able to making out Ginny’s face slightly in the darkness.

“Gin, we’ve been friends for over ten years. It’s not gonna be weird.”

“Have you ever had an orgasm?”

You burst out laughing, before realizing Ginny hadn’t so much as giggled. You reached over tucked her hair behind her ear, shocked at your own advance. “Yeah, I have, Gin. Lots. Have you?” The redhead took a deep breath, looking down for a moment and chewing her lip. Your stomach fluttered at the sight of her pink lip between her teeth. “No.”

“Not even from yourself?”

She shook her head and your heart hammered. “I don’t think I do it right. Can you help me?” You wanted to pinch yourself because there was no way in two Hells Ginny Weasley was asking you to teach her how to fuck herself. Yet, she flipped onto her back, sliding her silky pajama shorts off quickly. You followed suit, kicking your Hogwarts Alumni sweatpants off as quickly as you could. You noticed Ginny hadn’t been wearing panties, and you were already soaking through your own.

You looked over at her, catching sight of her pussy. She wasn’t completely shaved, just trimmed. You’d always wondering if the curtains matched the drapes and so you were over the moon when you saw that Ginny had just a bit of soft, red hair between her legs, too.

You reached down into your black lace panties to begin rubbing slow circles on your clit. “So, you’ll want to start nice and slow.” You watched with hitched breath as Ginny let her pale hand begin to toy with her pussy. She moaned a little, tipping her head back. You smiled, continuing to work on yourself.

“Now, a little faster, Gin.”

You listened to Ginny’s beautiful moans falling from her lips. The sound could have been better than a symphony to you then. It was breathy and idyllic - feminine yet feral - like Ginny was a goddess and you were lucky just to be next to her. Ginny reached over and grabbed your hand, guiding it down onto her clit. “Ginny-” “Please, I trust you.”

You slowly touched Ginny’s sensitive clit, rubbing softly. You listened to her come undone a little bit more. You slid your fingers between her folds. Ginny was soaking wet. which caused your fingers to slide perfectly into her waiting hole. You fingered her with your forefinger and middle while your thumb continued to swirl her sensitive bud. Ginny arched her back desperately, grinding up onto your fingers. “That feels so fucking good. Holy shit.” “Hey,” you whispered, moving her face toward you. She smiled a bit before you moved in for a kiss. You could have cried right there, unbelieving that you were finally meeting the lips of the girl you had wanted for so long. Ginny swiped her tongue along your lower lip and you allowed her entry.

“I want to eat you out, Gin,” you whispered when your lips finally parted. Ginny smiled and nodded, allowing you to move to pull the blankets away from her. You began by kissing slowly down her belly, before moving to part her thighs. You hummed as you kissed her milky and pale skin, relishing in the feel of the velvety soft flesh beneath you.

“P-please, y/n...” You smiled when you finally pressed your mouth to Ginny’s hot and waiting pussy. Using your tongue, you swirled small circles onto her clit. “Mmm,” the sound fell from your lips as you opened your mouth wider, licking a stripe from her clit down to her opening. Sliding your tongue back up caused Ginny to moan loader. Hearing your best friend cheering you on made you all the more excited to make her cum properly. You attached your lips around her clit and sucked, causing her to buck her hips upward.

As you continued to lap at her sweetness, Ginny reached down. You put both of your hands up and she intertwined her fingers in yours. It was both unbearably sexy but also intimate. You flickered your tongue against her, moving between suckling, kissing, and lapping at her pussy. You moved your tongued in a zigzag motion down her pussy and back up again. Ginny tasted like the sweetest fruit you’ve ever eaten. You couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. She squeezed your hands tightly and bucked up a bit. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna...oh, I’m gonna fuckin’ c-cum, y/n...” You nodded, beginning to work at her with more enthusiasm. Any shame you had was gone as you sucked and slurped at her hot cunt, taking in the taste of her. Finally, she came, squeezing her thighs around your head and bucking her hips wildy. The sound of her reaching her orgasm was heavenly, soft and feminine moans filling your room, and causing your own wetness to coat your thighs. When she finally was laying on the bed still, her chest rose and fell rapidly. You wiped your mouth on the back of your hand and moved up next to her. She kissed you softly, smiling. “That was literally...unreal.” You pulled her close, letting her lay her head on her chest. She took a deep breath before speaking. “I like you, y/n. I mean, more than just as my best friend...” “I like you, too, Ginny. I have for a long time.” She kissed you again, moving to sit up a bit. “Can you...teach me how to...eat you out?” You laughed and nodded, spreading your legs open. “Oh, abso-fucking-lutely, Gin.”

#ginny weasley #ginny weasley fanfiction #ginny weasley. x reader #wlw #sapphic #sapphic fanfiction #wlw fanfiction

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invisibleraven · 2 years

Note

Spamming you bc obviously I am. "Chivalry is overrated, get in my bed" for Sweet Tarts 💕

Carrie tried to block her ears from the noise raging on outside her home, but there was no real way to avoid it. The peasantry was revolting due to their stupid queen letting them starve, and felt all the upper classes needed to pay as well. Well Carrie was not going to be one of them!

"M'lady, are you ready to go?"

Carrie turned, and there was Reggie, her loyal guard and constant companion. He had told her of a safe place they could go, escape this turmoil. She had rushed to pack a bag, but she hesitated, looking around her opulent suite.

She knew she would never come back here. Never again would she see the art adorning the walls, sit under her favourite willow tree whiling away the hours with a book. She couldn't bring her harp, or her pianoforte, nor her scores of clothes. She grabbed easy things to wear, a few essentials, a bag of gold and then paused. There was her jewellery box, and though she was loathe to think about it, dumped it in, knowing that selling the pieces might mean survival later on.

"Yes, I'm ready, let's go," Carrie replied, resolute. Reggie nodded, and threw a plain brown cloak at her, then guided her down to the kitchens. Most of the staff had fled, or worse, joined the revolutionaries, and Carrie prayed that none would be the one to bring about her end.

Reggie grabbed her hand, and Carrie tried not to gasp. His hands were calloused and worn from his sword, or from playing his lute on his off hours, but it has never once touched her. Propriety had always prevented it, no matter how handsome Carrie had found him. But now was not the time to dwell on such things, as Reggie was pulling her towards safety, and not into his arms as she so often dreamed.

They made it out of the basement, sneaking towards the stables, where thankfully the horses were still there. One stood ready, Carrie's own steed, Diamond. Reggie quickly threw a saddle on his own stallion, Zephyr, and they took off towards the countryside.

Carrie spared one glance back at the manor where she had grown up, the place she had last seen her parents before they passed. Now she could hear glass breaking and see smoke stating, and she shed a tear for her home. But then she turned her eyes once more towards the road, knowing no good would come from dwelling on the past.

They rode until sunset, their steeds tiring, and came across what Reggie assured her was a friendly and reputable inn. He slipped the innkeeper extra gold for his silence and lead Carrie to the simple room he had procured after a bowl of hearty stew.

Of course, the problem was that there was but one bed. Large and comfortable looking to be sure, but it sat solitary in the room. "I-I will leave you to get ready," Reggie said, his face a bright crimson as he darted from the room.

Carrie shrugged, and stripped out of her now dusty clothes, brushing them off as best she could before packing them away. She used the small basin to wash, tied back her hair and slipped under the worn looking quilt. It was no down filled mattress, but Carrie was just grateful to have a place to lay down her head without fear.

Reggie entered, keeping his eyes averted from the bed, and quickly tossed his own cloak and boots to the floor. His sack was a makeshift pillow, his cloak a blanket. He blew out the candle and murmured a good night to Carrie.

"You cannot intend to spend the night on the floor can you?" Carrie asked. "You must be sore from the day of riding, and we'll have another one tomorrow. Come up with me, there is plenty of room."

Reggie turned over, glancing up at her, his face caught in a sliver of moonlight. "M'lady, I am simply trying to be chivalrous."

Carrie snorted at that, "Chivalry is overrated, get in my bed. Please, I will feel dreadful if you spend the night down there."

Reggie stood, then slowly peeled off his outer layers, leaving him in his simple trousers and shirt. "If you're sure m'lady."

"I wouldn't have suggested if I wasn't," she replied, lifting up the quilt to let him slip under it. "And please, from now on, just call me Carrie." A yawn ripped from her throat, and Carrie gave him a sleepy smile. "Good night Reggie, and sweet dreams."

Reggie gazed down at her, with all the love in his heart shining through, though she couldn't see it, and in the softest voice, replied. "Sweet dreams... Carrie."

#filled prompts #ficlet #jatp sweet tarts #julie and the phantoms

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Eye of the Storm

Warnings: nonconsensual sexual acts (tags to be added throughout series)

This is dark!Thor and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a new servant at the palace of Asgard but the job isn’t so easy as you thought.

Note: So I have been wanting to start a Thor series for months but I also have this little devil on my shoulder @lokislastlove who is constantly in my ear so while I continue to play with my old series and try to finagle whole chapters, I present to you what will eventually be a very scary Thor.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The palace was overwhelming in its splendor. You had never set foot in such a place and now it was to be your home. No, you weren't to live among the upper floors of nobles, but to serve them and reside with the other servants below. You couldn't complain as already the position was preferable to your former. You didn't miss the steam of the launderers down by the docks nor did you miss the smell of fish guts and worse things.

Melora was to share the thin hay-stuffed mattress with you in the servants' quarters and so it was also her task to accommodate you to your new duties. It was simple enough to clear away the plates and scraps of the wealthy and sweep away the dirt left behind by the soles of their polish boots and sandals. It wasn't some new and extraordinary mission, only the setting was different.

You first week was overwhelming only for all the new faces; servants and aristocrats alike. The latter swept by in their silky gowns and capes as you paused to show deference. You'd bend your knee and bow your head until they passed then resume your work in the corridor. You truly preferred the kitchen where there was little risk of encountering any of the noble Asgardians. One slip and you could be back to the docks or worse.

Melora had already told you many stories of errant eyes and harsh consequences. Her former bed mate had scuffed the toe of Prince Loki's boots and was dismissed the next day. You wondered how long you would, or could, last. You'd just have to do what you did best, fade into the wall.

That night, the king, Thor, planned a feast to mark his late father's name day. It was to be a significant affair and the palace was alive with frenetic energy. Servants toiled below and nobles harried above to dawn the perfect attire for the occasion.

You tended to the evening's meal along with the kitchen staff; several boars spitted for the occasion and mounds of vegetables pealed and speared on long skewers to roast. Casks of ale and wine were rolled in from the cellars and ewers shone as they were loaded onto carts along with stacks of golden plates, bowls, and goblets. You'd never seen such turmoil, not even when a storm crested just off the shore and the fishermen flurried to unload their wares should their ships be lost.

The hours flew by as the chores seemed endless and as the signal was given to start arranging platters, you were picked out with a dozen other girls to carry ewers filled with wine to the feast hall. Melora was just behind you, her toes whispered behind your heels as she kept close.

"We'll be serving for the night. It's tiresome, not a moment off your feet." She muttered. "Those nobles stomachs are as endless as their pockets."

You nodded, your voice locked deep in your chest. The hall glowed with glass lanterns that illuminated golden silk draped artfully from the columns around long trestle table lined with benches. You recalled the nicest dinner you'd ever attended was held by your mother when you were a child. Seasoned fish and carrots shoveled down in the small house behind the smithy.

Melora stopped you as you made to follow Irene to the north wall. She touched your arm and kept her voice low.

"We will keep an eye to these tables," She pointed the the three rows between you as she took her place beside a marble plinth, "Stay alert but don't let your eyes stray."

"Alright," You mumbled softly and hugged the ewer.

Scarlet table clothes draped the long tables and the golden dishes were set out precisely. You were distracted from your awe by movement near the doors. A man with a horn entered and placed his lips to his instrument. Voices rose from the corridors and the brass called to the approaching nobles, arriving from the ceremony held on the palace green

You lowered your eyes as the nobles entered in pairs and trios and larger groups. They trilled as they found a seat among the trestles and when all were upon the benches, the horn sounded again. The guests stood and quieted as they looked expectantly to the doors.

It was a moment before the king appeared. He wore his golden crown and formal cloak of a similar shade. You peeked at the hem of his cape but kept your chin down. You hadn't yet been in the presence of King Thor and you had been content to avoid him. The thought of it made you quiver. While he was known to many as a jovial king, you'd found that those rumours did not come from the lips of the palace staff.

Music rose from the harps and fine lutes as the king's footfalls echoed through the hall. As he neared the table at the head of the chamber he turned and his people fell into an uproar. The applause was raucous if not overdone. You suspected that obligation was more the reason than admiration.

Well, it wasn’t your duty to surmise.

The king sat and the nobles followed suit. You mimicked Melora and the other servants as they walked the length of the table and filled the cups of guests. You went to the casks hidden behind a curtain at the rear of the hall and refilled your ewer before returning to your vigil. The hall burgeoned with the sound of scraping cutlery, buzzing voices, and booming laughter. For a moment, you envied them all. What was like to be them?

A cup raised and a call came for a drink. You diligently made your way along the table and filled the goblet. You glanced across as Melora did the same at the next table, just a little further down. A hand reached back and squeezed her ass. You blanched and righted the ewer.

You retreated, eyes on the floor. What should you do if it happened to you? Melora only giggled and carried on. What if you overturned the pitcher? Well, Melora was rather pretty, perhaps it would not happen to you.

The night wore on as such, pouring and standing. You noticed that Melora was not the only servant prone to wandering fondles. None of the women seemed particularly bother however and tarried from their perches along the wall to act coy for the noblemen.

"Drink! Drink!" A deep voice called as a giggle chirped just in the next row. "Drink! Servant! Who will serve their king?"

Tho sounded as drunk as the next guest. You glanced over, just for a second, and took in his long golden hair and thick beard, the rosiness in his cheeks and the fire in his pale blue eyes. You looked around and none of the other servants seemed to hear him, they were all too distracted by the words and coins offered by the lascivious guests.

You blinked and hesitated. The wine sloshed in your ewer and you looked around once more. The king continued to call, growing increasingly irritated. You watched your feet as you turned and began down along the wall. You walked behind the line of chairs at the head table, fewer than the rest. Only Thor, his brother, and his closest friends had the honour.

Your heart was beating in your ears as you grabbed the handle of the ewer and lifted it from against your stomach. You saw the tail of his gold cloak, hung from the back of his chair, and his crown, sat beside his plate. You kept your head down as you stopped beside his chair. You squeaked first, your words garbled, then tried again.

"Your majesty?" You held up the ewer and he put his cup out toward you. You filled it and he rescinded it so quickly, some splashed over the rim onto his hand.

You bowed and backed away slowly. You heard a deep gulp as you focused on the legs of the chairs.

"Another, sweet maid," He called before you could get past the end of the table.

He had drank so fast, you wondered how he did not keel over. You returned to him and filled his goblet again. He chuckled and took another drink.

"Your majesty," You repeated and took a step back.

"A shy one," He mused and you stopped. "I've not seen you before."

Your eyes rounded at the floor and your lashes fluttered.

"Me, your majesty?" You asked.

"Yes, you, I don't speak to my own brother," He scoffed. "So, are you new or have you hidden in the shadows?"

"I arrived at the palace only three weeks past, your majesty," You said.

He leaned on the arm of his chair and waved his fingers along the edge of your vision.

"Come closer or speak up," He urged. "I cannot hear you."

You swallowed and took a breath. You struggled to steady your voice.

"Your majesty." You said loudly.

"Well, you may look upon me, should you wish. It is not forbidden. Not looking, anyway." He drank again and held out his cup. You stepped closer to pour and watched the wine trickle from the ewer but still could not look up. "Very well. Your ears seems sharp enough. Stay close, I am thirsty."

You uttered another 'your majesty’ and carefully tiptoed away. You thought he would remand you once more; tell you how you had failed at the mere act of walking. He didn't and you backed up to the wall. You felt a warmth around you. He was still looking at you but you did not dare to raise your head. You did not dare to see what should happen if you did.

🌩️

The rest of the night was uneventful aside from the king’s lingering eyes. By the end, you suspected it was some sort of game. The same that all the other men in the room seem to be in on. The only difference was that your reticence made it little fun for either side. And in the end, there were a dozen other servants who would gladly accept the king’s ploys.

When the feast hall was empty, you remained with the rest of the servants and those who came from the kitchens to help clear the trestles and decorations. Like many of the others, Melora was still giddy from her flirtations and there was a slight jingle to her step as a few coins were nestled in her bosom.

The next time there was such an event, you might request to remain in the kitchens. The very thought of those men touching you made you recoil and the memory of the king’s taunting gaze made you burn in humiliation. It was one thing to clean up after others, it was something else entirely to be mocked by them.

You were exhausted by the time you returned to your shared mattress. Melora whispered with Magga as you slung your arm over your head in hopes of tuning them out. It was so late that the morning arrived within a few hours and you woke with a heavy head. You pulled on your servant’s dress over your slip and belted it first with a plain strap of leather and then the apron you wore to mark your station.

You yawned as you went to fetch your broom and bucket. You were stopped by Agnes as you did, the older maid often sent you off where you were needed before ordering another to fix their cap or their dress. She caught the handle of your broom and snatched the bucket from you as you stared at her dumbly.

“The king has council this morning and I heard what Melora got up to last night.” Agnes took the broom and pail from you, “You will take her place and mind your place. You girls…” She sighed. “As quickly as you’ve come, you can go. I shouldn’t have to remind you so often.”

You nodded and she pursed her lips.

“Well, better go. You don’t want to be barging in in the midst of royal business,” She shook her head. “Remember to keep your mouth shut and your head down.”

You gave another silent affirmation and flitted past her. Melora rolled her eyes as she was handed your broom and you gave her a pitiful smile. You didn’t tarry to commiserate as you realised you had to find the council room on your own. You’d only passed it once in your short time in the palace and you weren’t quite trusting of your memory or sense of direction.

You went down the east corridor instead of the west as you reached the upper floor. When at last you righted your course and found your way, the chamber was empty. You placed the steins before the seats and poured the light ale in each. As you left the pitcher in on the side table, the door croaked and you turned to greet the first arrival.

Prince Loki entered with an arched brow. You bent and averted your eyes at once. You recited a quavering ‘your highness’ and he grumbled in response and sat. He let out a long breath and turned the stein before him with his long fingers.

“You haven’t any wine? Or in the least, water?” He asked.

“I brought some water as well but no wine, your highness,” You offered.

“Very well,” He shoved the stein away from him.

You poured him a glass of the water and he took it without platitude. He sipped and rubbed the arm of the chair as he leaned back and hooked one leg over the other.

“My brother and his cronies are ever late,” He sneered. “You might quit your hovering until they arrive.”

You bowed your head and backed up to the wall. The prince picked at his nails and fidgeted then another entered and he greeted him in monotone. Lord Geir sat heavy across from him and grabbed the stein impatiently. He was followed by Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, Amund, and the solitary female, Sif. The king was last, almost a whole hour after his brother as he strode in and greeted the room with a booming jape.

Loki rolled his eyes and you caught yourself staring at the nobles. You sucked your lip in and listened as Thor sat and the wooden stein scraped on the table.

“You all look well-rested,” He mused and a grumble rose from the table. “I must say I didn’t sleep much. Lady Dagny is rather persistent.”

“Brother,” Loki cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, “Shouldn’t we begin? You are already late and the day does pass us by.”

“Jealous?” Thor chuckled. “Oh, but you always were rather dull. I doubt you’d know what to do with her if she did venture to your bed.”

“This is a council meeting not one of your repugnant socials,” Loki drawled. “I’ve come here to tend to business but if you haven’t any business to tend, I will be on my way.”

“Don’t you fret, we will attend to business,” Thor declared and made a horrible squelch as he emptied his stein. “Once I get another ale.”

“Perhaps water would--”

“Ale,” Thor ignored his brother’s plea and waved his stein in the air.

You jolted away from the wall and took the pitcher from the table beside you. You swept around the table, head down in hopes the king did not recognize you, though you had faith he would not remember you, be it for his drunkenness or the sheer number of faces in the palace. You poured and uttered a “your highness” before you drew away.

You stood against the wall once more and stared at the back of the chair in front of you. Hogun’s shoulders slumped as he leaned on the left arm and yawned. You swore you were being watched but again did not look up. You assured yourself it was your paranoia. And after a night, you were certain it had been as much before. Thor was a king with much bigger concerns than a servant; especially you.

As promised, though with obvious reluctance, Thor began the session. You didn’t understand much of it and even if you did, it was difficult enough to listen to the dry discussion. You filled the cups as bid and kept your vigil by the wall. Your feet were sore from standing still for so long but so was the life of a servant.

After two hours, the king gave his dismissal but not without a final disagreement with his brother who did not agree with some tax on lumber or another good. You hadn’t really followed. One by one, the council members trickled out. All but the king as he leaned back in his chair and belched.

“You’ve got more ale?” He asked.

“Your majesty,” You grabbed the jug again and neared. “Another stein at least.”

He waited silently as you poured the dregs of ale into his cup but he did not touch it. Your doubts were no longer so firm in your mind. He was most assuredly watching you. You made to back away and he raised his hand, his palm to you as he hummed.

“Stay.” He ordered. He sat forward and took the jug from you and put it on the long table. “Sit.”

You glanced over to the seat as he pointed to it. You didn’t move, too nervous, and just stared.

“Must I tell you again?” He warned.

You sat, almost falling as you did. Another “your majesty” rose out of habit.

“Look at me,” He planted his elbow on the table and he leaned forward and tried to look in your eye. “Sweet maid, look at me.”

You braced yourself and slowly lifted your head. As your eyes met his, a smile spread across his face. You blinked and your eyes fell just as soon as they’d risen. His arm slipped from the table and he grabbed your chin. He lifted your head and squeezed. You looked at him and took a deep breath. Your hands tangled in your lap as you went rigid in the chair.

“Does the sight of me offend you?” He asked.

“Wh-wh-- No, you’re majesty,” You stammered. “I only… Out of respect, I--”

“You have beautiful eyes,” He said softly, “I wouldn’t mind so much to have them upon me.”

Your brow crinkled despite yourself and he released you. He chuckled and grabbed his stein. He tilted it slightly towards you.

“Thirsty?” He asked. You shook your head. “Ah, you wouldn’t-- Other duties no doubt await you.” He took a swig and placed the cup down. “Be on your way then, sweet maid. I will not keep you from your diligence.” His eyes clung to you as you stood warily. “Your devotion is most admirable.”

“Your majesty,” You as good as whispered.

“I fear I haven’t your name,” He said.

You flinched and had to think. You were stunned by the simple request but managed to eke out your name. His smile grew and he nodded as he rubbed his knee thoughtfully. He said your name gently and nodded.

“I might see you again,” He said. “You do seem to be everywhere.”

#thor #dark!thor #dark thor #thor x reader #dark thor x reader #dark!thor x reader #fic #dark!fic #series #dark fic #mcu #marvel #au #eye of the storm

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witcherslittledove · 3 years

Text

Home is Where the Heart Is

A Joey/Henry lockdown fic - AO3

Rated: T

Words: 7k ish

CW: RPF, covid, far too much pining?

_______

“I’m sorry, Joey,” Madeleine sighed again, pressing her head into the crook of Joey’s neck, her hair tickling his cheek.

It was pulled back into a messy bun, flyaway strands surrounding her face in a halo, and as the sun shone from behind her, she looked like some kind of angel. Joey wondered, not for the first time, how he’d even been so lucky to have Madeleine as a friend. She truly was a wonder, his favourite person and light of his life. Everyone should have a friend like Madeleine Hyland.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple as he pulled back from her embrace. “Nah, it’s alright, Madeleine. Your parents need you, much more important than little old me.”

“Oh fuck that, you bastard, stop fishing for compliments,” she laughed, swatting him on the arm.

“Aww,” he pouted, “Oi!”

She’d hit his arm again, barely a tap but he pretended it hurt, rubbing his arm and pouting even harder at his friend.

“Come off it, Joey. You’re staying with Henry for the rest of lockdown, that’s hardly a trial,” she teased, poking him in the chest.

Ah yes.

Henry.

The bane of Joey’s existence, mostly because of the fucking ginormous crush he had on his co-star. He hadn’t known Henry had been signed on for Geralt until his audition, really he hadn’t known much at all, just that he’d be auditioning for a bard and that he should probably take his lute to the audition. A spur of the moment decision that had turned his life upside down. He’d gone from a nobody to... well, not exactly famous but people had started to recognise him, much to his despair.

And then there was Henry.

He’d been admiring Henry from a distance for a few years now, watching him in the Tudors had sort of been Joey’s bisexual awakening, and then he’d suddenly been thrust into the most bizarre experience of having to work fairly closely with the man.

Joey would never forget the feeling of Henry throwing him over his shoulder as if he wasn’t almost the same size as Henry.

Fuck, that had been hot.

And now, Joey had to cohabit with said crush for an indeterminate amount of time, preferably without making a fool of himself.

He was doomed.

Of course, he could have said no when Henry had offered his place when Joey was grumbling about being alone during lockdown after Madeleine's parents got sick, but no… Henry had stared at him with such shining hope in his eyes that Joey never stood a chance.

Joey just needed to keep reminding himself that Henry was straight. He was practically the poster boy for heteronormative; classically gorgeous, action star, gymrat, lover of sports and building fucking computers.

Okay, maybe Joey was generalising a tad, but it was a form of self-defence.

Christ, the mere thought that Henry could be interested in men… interested in him.

It was too much.

So here he was, saying goodbye to his best friend whilst waiting for his biggest crush to pick him up. Madeleine bundled into her car with the last of her bags, and Joey was left waiting on the pavement. In all honesty, he would have preferred to drive to Henry’s place himself or at least get the tube, something where he felt like he was actively doing something. The waiting was killing him, making his thoughts run out of control. Maybe he shouldn’t have packed his guitar. He could have at least been tuning it, or plucking out some meaningless melody, anything to keep his hands busy and his mind distracted.

When the black car pulled up, Joey let out a sigh of relief before realising that it was very much frying pan, fire. Luckily, before he could really start to panic, the back door opened and Joey was almost bowled off his feet by a large bundle of fur that Henry claimed was a dog and not, in fact, a bear.

“Kal!” Joey greeted warmly, burying his fingers into Kal’s neverending fur, and letting the dog lick all over his face.

“He’s missed you,” Henry called in lieu of a greeting.

He was wearing a grey henley that looked like it was two sizes too small and his dark blue jeans seemed to strain against his quads. Henry’s arms were crossed in front of his chest and he looked down at Joey with a blinding Hollywood smile that made Joey’s heart flutter. Dark curls seemed to have finally recovered from the weeks stuck under Geralt’s wig and they fell in front of his so very blue eyes.

He was bloody gorgeous, and it wasn’t fucking fair.

So Joey did the only logical thing, and started to coo at Kal instead. “I’ve missed him too,” he trilled happily into the dog’s fur, scratching Kal behind his ears. “Such a good boy! The bestest, cutest doggo.”

“He’s not the only one who’s missed you, you know,” Henry groused, although when Joey looked up, he was still smiling so Joey didn’t feel too bad for paying far more attention to Kal than the gorgeous specimen of a man that is Henry Cavill.

“Aww, you sap,” he chuckled. “Well, I still haven’t forgiven you for those cruel and terrible words you cursed me with the last time we met.”

It wasn’t the last time they’d met. They’d had a few scenes after the argument in episode six. Scheduling had meant that it wasn’t filmed entirely in order, and then there had been reshoots and post-production parties, premieres and the table reads for season two, but it was a sort of in-joke. Joey liked to tease Henry about the argument, they’d both lurked enough online to know that ‘the mountain’ was a big fucking deal to the fans of their characters.

Henry rolled his eyes and opened his arms out for a hug which Joey eagerly returned, inhaling the soft musky cologne that Henry wore and enjoying the strongs arms that wrapped around him. He loved hugs, but most of Joey’s male friends would do that god awful hug and pat thing, then pull away too soon. Henry had never been like that and it was delightful, even if it really didn’t help the not so little crush that Joey had on the man.

It was cliche but it really did feel like coming home.

Fuck.

He was utterly screwed… and not even in the fun way.

The drive to Henry’s place was quiet, Joey spent most of the time watching the streets of London roll past as they weaved through bendy roads that webbed across the city. The traffic was weirdly non-existent, a side effect of a global pandemic, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the ghost towns from films and books.

It was truly haunting, spooky in just the right way. Horror and the Wild had very much had woodland magic vibes, but driving through the dead streets of London, Joey wondered what happened to the fae when a city sprung up near their home. Did they adapt like the wildlife did? Urban spirits that lurked in the shadows, in the alleys, behind the bins and cobbled streets at the back of theatres.

Most theatres were supposed to be haunted, Joey had always wondered just who the spirits were that glided through the aisles when the shows went dark.

Henry didn’t feel the need to fill the silence which Joey was grateful for. On set, with Jaskier on his fingertips, Joey was happy to joke about and laugh and banter, but he was nervous about the move to Henry’s and the silence gave him time to get lost in his own imagination, a reality that wasn’t quite the one they knew.

He was almost disappointed when the car pulled to a stop in front of a rather grand house. It was part of a terrace but that was unsurprising, most places in London were, but it was much nicer than the shitty little flat that Joey shared with Madeleine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

They were poles apart. Even being friends was unrealistic. How the hell was Joey supposed to even pretend they were in the same league? It was fine. Everything was going to be fine. Joey just had to be a perfect house guest, no clumsy mistakes, no setting fire to any ovens, and no slipping in the shower and messing up his ankle.

He’d just have to spend all his time with Kal lest Henry find out just how much of a walking disaster he could be.

Henry had only offered because he was a caregiver, selfless and kind in everything he did. He would have done the same to anyone else if they’d mentioned spending lockdown alone. Joey was just the lucky one.

Or unlucky.

He hadn’t quite decided yet.

Yes, he would just have to spend his days with Kal and his guitar, stay out of Henry’s way and then everything would be fine.

Right?

___

Joey’s plan went according to plan for almost an entire week. He mostly kept to his room and occasionally the living room. Henry wanted to show Joey some films he liked and it would have been rude to say no, so Joey curled up with Kal on the floor to keep some space between them. That way he wouldn’t be tempted to snuggle up against Henry’s chest the same way he did with Madeleine, only it wouldn’t be the same because Madeleine was his best friend and Henry was… well… Henry.

It was such a mess.

And he was probably being an arse.

They’d gotten along so well on set in between takes, but now, without Jaskier there as a crutch, Joey’s anxiety was getting the better of him, and all because of a stupid crush. This would all be a lot easier if Joey were straight; no awkward crushes, no pining for a man he couldn’t have, no… whatever this was?

He could flirt and tease and banter just like he would with any of his friends because it was harmless.

If only.

No.

He had to do better. The reason Henry had invited him to stay was so neither of them would be alone, and despite all his cuddles with Kal, Joey was really starting to feel touch starved. He’d never gone so long without human touch.

The problem was that Henry was just so fucking sweet. He was so bloody understanding that it made Joey just yearn even harder. There was never any pressure to hang out, just gentle suggestions, and the most amazing home-cooked meals that Henry said could be heated up another time if Joey wasn’t hungry. The wine Henry picked out to go with the meal was heavenly, and fuck, the man could cook.

He felt like he was being seduced; wooed with the most gorgeous culinary delights that were truly to die for.

What was a poor bisexual to do?

So every evening Joey would sit across from Henry at the table, trying to joke and laugh just as they had before, but even to his own ears it felt flat. Madeleine’s voice in his head reminded him that that was probably his anxiety speaking but, of course, he ignored it. They ate their food and then Joey would either retreat to his room with his beloved guitar or Henry would suggest a film.

Until Henry decided enough was enough.

Joey was lured from his room with the sweet delicious smell of pizza, and when he came down the stairs he found Henry already on the couch, two boxes of pizza and a couple of beers already opened and ready to go.

There was no sitting on the floor, not with pizza and a Kal. Joey wouldn’t get to taste the greasy wonders of his takeaway if he sat on the floor, and the pizza box was already being guarded by Henry on the couch.

He had to break his rule.

Fuck.

“Kitchen table not good enough?” he teased with a quirk of his lips.

Henry scoffed. “Who eats pizza at the table?”

It was a fair point and sighed, resigning himself to an evening pressed up against his friend when his cuddle instincts got too much. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing, maybe it would help get him out of his head and into the moment… maybe he should just let Jaskier out of the box and pretend that all was fine?

No.

He could do this. Just… be himself?

“Before I open this box, there is one very important question I have to ask,” he said far too seriously, barely able to hide a smile as he scooped the pizza box into his lap and sat down next to Henry, keeping a safe distance between them.

“There’s no pineapple.”

“Oh thank fuck for that,” Joey laughed and opened the box. It was a standard pepperoni pizza, not his go to, but it was a safe option and one that was always yummy regardless of the restaurant. “Garlic dip?” he asked with a cock of his head.

“Damn, I hoped you wouldn’t like it,” Henry grumbled and pulled a small green topped tub from inside his own box.

“You!” Joey said in mock outrage, “keeping the beloved dip from me. It’s like the mountain all over again.”

“It’s not like the mountain,” Henry grumbled. “I didn’t make the script, you can’t keep blaming me for that.”

Joey’s heart sank as he wondered if he’d taken the joke too far, but when he met Henry’s gaze he saw the man was smiling despite his grousing. “I can,” he insisted.

“Hmm,” Henry replied in his most Geralt-y voice.

And with an internal sigh of relief, everything seemed to be okay. Yes, Joey was pulling some of his energy from his beloved character, but so was Henry, and it seemed to smooth out the edges of his anxiety. The beer helped and everything seemed a lot more relaxed with the takeaway pizza and the film already starting to play on the TV.

“I’m sorry,” Henry whispered after the pizza was finished and the credits had started to roll.

Joey’s head was resting on his friend’s shoulder but he’d managed to keep himself from koala hugging… so far. The vulnerability caught his attention though, and he sat up wearily to peer at Henry.

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by inviting you here.”

Joey wanted to swear, to stomp around the room and tear the place upside down. He’d fucked up. He knew he’d fucked up, his damn anxiety keeping him from being the person he wanted to be, the person he knew he could be if his head just shut up! He didn’t do any of that though. Instead, he slumped back down to lean against Henry and took a deep breath.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t?”

“No. I’m just- it’s hard for me, being somewhere new,” not a lie, not entirely the truth, “and I didn’t want to encroach on your space. This is your home, and I- umm- I didn’t want to get in the way.”

Henry laughed, running a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back off his face, and Joey was entranced for a moment, wanting to reach out and feel the soft hair between his fingers for himself. It was a miracle that he managed to keep his hands in his own lap.

“Joey, this is our home, for now at least,” Henry said with such conviction and warmth that Joey made a sort of strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Our home?”

“We have no idea how long this nightmare is going to last. It could be months, Joey. I want you to feel like you can relax here,” Henry insisted, wrapping his arm around Joey’s shoulder and pulling him into a sideways hug.

“Right- yeah, no, I know,” Joey mumbled, trying and failing not to blush.

Now that Henry wasn’t really having to watch what he ate and stay dehydrated for dear old Geralt, he was big.

And Joey was weak.

It was like all his wet dreams were becoming a reality, one by one.

He was just monkey-braining over the fact that Henry was one big, large, strong man that wanted to take care of him. It was pathetic. Joey wasn’t exactly small himself, and he could, should the role require it, hold up pretty well in a sword fight with Henry and not look entirely ridiculous.

“And I know Kal is very cute,” Henry teased, nodding to the dog who was sprawled on the carpet in front of them, “but if you ever need a hug, he’s not your only option.”

Joey definitely didn’t squeak this time. Instead, he finally let himself snuggle up to Henry the way he’d been wanting to all evening, every evening since he’d arrived. “Like this?” he teased.

Henry chuckled, and just squeezed his arms tighter around Joey, “Exactly.”

“I’m sorry,” Joey mumbled. “I was being an arse.”

“No, it’s not your fault.”

Joey scoffed.

“I should have been clearer on day one,” Henry sighed, “although seeing as you live here now, maybe you should cook?”

Joey laughed nervously, burying his face into Henry’s jumper. “Neither of us want that,” he muttered. “Trust me.”

“I’ll help?” Henry suggested, which of course brought forth a dozen images of cooking together, dancing in the kitchen to whatever songs fell past Joey’s lips, lazy early morning kisses as they waited for the coffee.

He swallowed, blinking away the fantasies. “How about you cook, and I’ll help?”

“Lazy,” Henry said with a chuckle but just pulled Joey closer.

“Only trying to keep you safe, darling.”

Darling.

Fuck.

“I mean, Henry, sorry, slip of the tongue. I mean- fuck. I call Madeleine darling all the time?”

“Joey, it's okay,” Henry reassured him.

“Okay.”

With a sigh, Joey untangled himself from Henry’s arms and gathered up the pizza boxes and empty beer cans. Booping Kal on the nose as he went past, he busied himself with clearing up. It wasn’t much and didn’t take long, so sooner than he would have liked he poked his head back around the door.

Henry was sitting on the floor, rough-housing Kal, chuckling as the dog kept licking at his face. The sight made Joey smile softly, and he almost didn’t want to leave, but he was getting tired and he really didn’t want to slip up again. He couldn’t blame every mistake on Madeleine. It wouldn’t be fair to her.

“I’m going to bed,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his hair. “See you tomorrow, Henry.”

_______

After that, things started to get easier. Joey would flop down onto the sofa next to Henry in the evenings regardless of what they were doing. Sometimes he’d lie with his head in Henry’s lap whilst they both read a book, other times he’d pluck at his guitar and laugh over stupid limericks that he could make up about his co-star. True to his word, Henry made Joey start helping with mealtimes, although he soon regretted that decision but refused to back down. The food still tasted good but the presentation was lacking. They spent an afternoon trying to bake bread together… Joey’s did not turn out so well and Henry’s attempt was thankfully less than perfect but still edible. The little flaws made Joey feel a little less inferior, and made Henry seem all the more human.

Kal still got a lot of Joey’s attention. How could he not? He was just so fluffy and adorable, plus Joey loved the little pout that Henry did whenever Kal got more hugs than he did. Joey could pretend that his friend was jealous, and that just helped him sleep a little easier at night.

Cuddling on the couch had become their usual routine, and it settled something deep inside of Joey that had been becoming restless. Mornings were spent watching Henry workout. Joey joined in occasionally but usually he would just cheer Henry on from the sidelines sipping his cup of tea. It was a sight to behold, and Joey thanked the lord that the gyms were currently closed otherwise he would never have been allowed to enjoy the view.

Henry’s arse was truly spectacular.

Despite his morning workouts, Henry had definitely gained a rather lovely layer of fat over his previously tightly toned muscles. He looked stronger. He looked cuddlier. Joey’s crush was only getting worse by the day, wanting to run his hands over the broad muscles of Henry’s back, thighs, arms… wherever he was allowed, but he just settled for the cuddling each day.

Joey tried not to think about the fat building over his own stomach and filling out his cheeks, barely noticeable unless you’d had a lifetime of his mother breathing down his neck about his weight. He was cuddlier too, that’s what he told himself whenever the familiar buzz of anxiety started to build up.

And anyway, Henry didn’t seem to mind.

Kal certainly didn’t. The beast of a dog had started to share the sofa with them in the evenings, squishing between them for maximum cuddle potential until eventually he got bored and retreated back to the floor.

It was really starting to feel like home. There were signs of Joey around the house, sheet music left on the TV cabinet, a set of spare lute strings in the kitchen, the bastard instrument tucked away in the corner of the living room until Joey could bring himself to pick it up. Two sets of keys now hung up by the front door so they could both take turns walking Kal without having to worry about getting locked out if the other was busy. A fluffy worn blanket was now strewn over the big armchair where Joey liked to sit during the day. Even the fridge now stocked Joey’s favourite rosé wine.

All in all, Joey wasn’t hating lockdown. It was frustrating but he enjoyed being inside anyway, and well, the company was pretty great.

The two of them were curled up on the sofa watching the Great British Bake Off on netflix, gin and tonics flowing a little too freely, and Joey felt like he was on top of the world. He had the best cuddler in all of England, nay, the world, a big fluffy puppy to boot and some bloody brilliant booze in hand.

The best thing was that Henry’s hoody had shifted up at some point during the evening, and Joey couldn’t take his eyes off the soft but defined muscles that were often hidden under Henry’s clothes. The dark hair that dipped beneath the exposed band of Henry’s boxers was tantalizing, and Joey longed to reach out and touch…

Only he was drunk enough that his inside thoughts had his hand moving before he could realise, landing on Henry’s stomach.

He froze and stared up at his friend with wide eyes.

“Oops,” he slurred.

“That’s my stomach,” Henry pointed out.

And still Joey didn’t remove his hand, relishing the bare skin beneath his fingertips, but he knew he needed an excuse, so he did the only logical thing and launched his attack. Henry was stronger than him, but Joey had the element of surprise as he tickled his friend, fingers dancing across the exposed skin as Henry desperately tried to shove Joey away. They were both laughing, too busy pushing and pulling at each other, that neither of them quite registered that at some point in the tussle, Joey had straddled Henry’s waist in an attempt to keep him pinned down.

Until suddenly their lips were barely a breath apart.

Oh.

“Hi,” Joey mumbled, smiling coyly down at Henry, the longer strands of his fringe falling into his eyes.

“Hi.”

It wouldn’t take much to lean down and kiss him, maybe Henry would even reach up first. There was no denying the sudden pull between them, and god, Joey wanted it. He’d wanted it for so long now.

So close.

The warmth of Henry’s breath brushing against his lips.

Eyes closed.

Hearts racing.

A soft whisper of a moan.

And then a bark rang out in the room, startling Joey and shattering the moment. He cursed as he fell to the floor, the world spinning from the gin and giddy burst of adrenaline. Kal jumped up into Henry’s lap, barking and whining excitedly at his owner, checking that he was okay following Joey’s tyrannical tickle attack.

Joey felt like an ice bucket had been dumped over his head, feeling far too sober, far too fast.

He’d almost kissed Henry.

Fuck!

“Right,” he slurred as he pushed his hands back through his hair- too long, needed a haircut. “Bedtime, sleep. Yup.”

“Joey?”

“See you in the morning?” he mumbled, although glancing at the clock, he wondered if that was a little optimistic. “Tomorrow,” he amended.

“Tomorrow,” Henry agreed, looking a little disappointed.

Joey refused to think about it. He wouldn’t start to hope. It would hurt too much if this all went wrong.

______

They didn’t talk about it.

Or rather, Joey, didn’t talk about it.

Henry tried to bring it up the next morning but Joey just laughed it off before his heart could get torn to pieces. He didn’t need confirmation that his crush was a no go. He already knew, but he really didn’t need to hear the words. Not to mention his hangover was an utter bitch and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and feel sorry for himself, which is exactly what he did.

After a few days, or was it weeks, months, years? Time seemed to stop existing, all Joey knew was his clothes seemed to be tighter than before and he was in desperate need of a haircut, but after a lockdown-eque period of time, all was forgotten. They fell back into their usual routine, and Joey’s crush continued to simmer just below the surface, unnoticed by Henry.

He’d started to facetime Madeleine most evenings just before bed now that the novelty of living with a bloody filmstar had worn off. He missed her terribly and she seemed to be going crazy at her parent’s house. There was a twinge of guilt stabbing in his chest when he realised he’d all but forgotten about her the first few weeks of lockdown, but it was nice to catch up with her again.

Henry was brilliant, but he was no Madeleine Hyland. He wasn’t Joey’s best friend.

And sometimes Joey just needed to vent about Henry’s stranger habits. Like seriously, why wass there that weird sponsored water just stationed around the house? And what was with the weirdly staged selfies on instagram. It made Joey feel a whole lot better about his own lack of media presence. He’d rather be a mystery online than this boomer energy than Henry had going on.

Venting to Madeleine helped too, he got less frustrated about the shit hole that was life during a pandemic. A little less angry, a little less depressed, and a little less pathetic with his pining over Henry, although Madeleine would probably disagree.

She was probably right.

The sudden cold turn in the weather hadn’t helped. It wasn’t too bad but Joey had mostly brought summer clothes with him because he honestly hadn’t thought he’d be staying more than a couple of weeks. Thankfully he’d thrown in a couple of onesies for comfort reasons so he spent most his days dressed like a tiger and hoping that Henry would find it endearing. The best part was his onesies were a bit looser and fit him more comfortably than his normal clothes. A lockdown diet was brilliant, but not exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d gone shopping all those years ago.

What he hadn’t expected, was for Henry to rock up to dinner wearing the stupid bunny onesie that Joey had left in his room.

“There,” Henry greeted him with a broad smile, “Now we match.”

It wasn’t fair. Joey wanted to kiss him so badly. The white onesie was a little short on Henry, pulling up just above his ankles, and it still managed to stretch at his shoulders, but it was so fucking adorable and Joey could pin point the exact moment his crush tumbled over the edge into love.

It was the crinkles at the corner of Henry’s eyes as he smiled, the slight tilt of his head, the sparkle in his ocean blue eyes.

Except they weren’t just blue. No, there were specks of golden brown in one eye, that were just captivating. Joey felt like he could so easily get lost in Henry. Every time he looked at the man he found something new and exciting.

“Darling, you look adorable!” he cooed, before he could get too distracted by the fluttering of his own heart. “Very cuddly.”

Henry chuckled and opened his arms wide, allowing Joey to barrel into them. “That was the idea.”

“So, what’s for dinner?” he asked, hoping that Henry would have forgotten that-

“It’s your turn to cook.”

“Bugger,” Joey whined. “Cheesy pasta?”

“You made that last time,” Henry teased.

“I’m very good at carbonara!” Joey countered.

“Melted cheese on pasta isn’t carbonara.”

Joey scoffed. “Eh, close enough.”

“Fine, make your cheesy pasta.”

“Carbonara,” Joey said with a wink. “I’ll add bacon this time.”

The pasta was overcooked and the bacon was a little chewy, but it was dinner, and afterwards Henry made them both extravagant hot chocolates made from actual chocolate rather than powder shit that Joey used. It was covered in whipped cream and marshmallows and had a healthy amount of Baileys to top it off. They curled up on their usual spot on the sofa, buried under blankets and held the warm mugs close to their chests.

If it had been snowing, then Joey would have thought he’d walked into a Christmas film, all it needed was a fireplace and some fairy lights. It was cosy and warm, and a little bit romantic, or it would be if Henry was interested in men and Joey was his type.

No, he couldn’t think like that.

They were friends, good friends, good friends that liked to cuddle and almost kiss if the dog hadn’t interrupted.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

He took a long gulp of his hot chocolate to stave off his anxiety, not noticing when his nose dived straight into the whipped cream until he looked up to find Henry staring at him with a fond expression. Warmth flooded through Joey’s chest as he returned the smile, feeling high on love and sugar.

“Hi,” he breathed, sounding as love sick as he felt.

Henry’s smile brightened, filling the whole room with light and Joey could have sworn he could hear the swell of violins in the soundtrack of his life.

“Hi,” Henry replied easily as if he hadn’t stolen Joey’s breath, heart and soul. “You- umm, cream, here!”

Henry tapped his own nose.

“Oh cock!” Joey hurried to wipe his nose, almost spilling his hot chocolate in the process, “Fuck! Bugger, shit balls!”

Henry, the bastard, just laughed, his arms reaching out to steady the mug and stop Joey from falling to the ground. “I think you made it worse.”

Joey snorted “I got that, yup, thanks.”

This time he could feel the sticky sweet cream clinging to his cheek, the subtle taste of vanilla on his lips. He pouted up at Henry, gazing through his eyelashes in a way that he hoped could be played off as friendly, but also maybe a little bit seductive. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips and he barely resisted the urge to wink.

Maybe there had been more Bailey’s in his drink than he realised.

Instead, he just wiped his face and snuggled back up to Henry, pulling the blanket up to his chin. They settled on watching Always Sunny, so Joey didn’t really have to concentrate. He let the tension drain from his body as he listened to the familiar TV show and then closed his eyes. Warm, happy and wrapped up in the arms of the man he loved-

Joey fell asleep.

He didn’t notice the way Henry was staring down at him as if he hung the fucking moon and stars, or the inner turmoil his friend was plague with as Henry resisted leaning down to kiss Joey in his sleep.

No, Joey was blissfully ignorant, sleeping better than he had in weeks.

________

The rest of lockdown went by in a blur. Their routine started to seem normal and any doubts Joey had about spending so much time with Henry faded away. They bantered easily like they had on set, laughing and giggling over whatever stupid thing one of them had said. Henry would spend hours playing his video games whilst Joey zoomed Madeleine to work on their new album together. When the regulations relaxed they started to walk Kal together, enjoying the quiet summer days and fresh air. The cuddling never really stopped, and some mornings Joey would wake up still curled up against Henry’s chest, their limbs tangled from the night before.

Those were Joey’s favourite mornings. He’d be stiff all day from sleeping on the couch but he could pretend, for just a few moments, that things were more than they were.

The pining never went away but it was truly the sweetest torture that he’d ever had to endure. The domestic bliss being barely a step away from everything he craved.

And when the time came for Joey to return to his flat with Madeleine, he felt like shit. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay in the strange fantasy world he had with Henry, eating too much food and drinking too much wine, cuddling and watching crappy Netflix shows.

Which was why he was sat, staring at a messy pile of clothes on his bed, clothes he’d not worn in weeks. Over the chair were his onesies and a collection of jumpers and hoodies that he’d stolen from Henry over the last few months and weeks. Kal stared up at him from the floor, tail thumping against the carpet.

Joey sighed and ran his hand through his hair, trying desperately to ignore the ache in his chest that was growing more painful with everything second that passed. “I don’t know, Kal. I should be happy about going home.”

Kal didn’t respond, his tail still wagging away just like it always did whenever Joey paid attention to him.

“I miss Madeleine, of course I do, but living with Henry has been great. And you, I love you, big fluffy puppy!” He cooed with a big smile as Kal barked happily and jumped up onto the bed. Joey laughed as he tried to keep his face away from the attack, wrapping his arms around Kal’s neck and pressing his nose into the fur.

“If I tell him how I feel that’s just going to make season two really really awkward, but I just feel like I’m missing a chance, you know?”

If Kal knew, he either didn’t care or just enjoyed watching Joey suffer. There was no reply and Kal just rested his head in Joey’s lap.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, still running his fingers through Kal’s fur. “You’re no use.”

Kal snorted at that and Joey rolled his eyes.

“But I love you anyway, yes I do!”

“Ready to go?” Henry asked from the door.

“Shit!” Joey yelped. “How long have you been standing there?!”

Henry chuckled, striding into the room and perching on the bed opposite Joey. He reached out to scratch Kal on the head with a dazzling smile. Joey felt his cheeks warm up and he buried his face in Kal’s fur to hide the blush. So many months and he still couldn’t stop his heart from racing whenever Henry smiled. He was pathetic.

And he was running out of time.

He knew it was a bad idea, even entertaining the thought of dating a co-star, but he’d regret it if he didn’t give it a shot. I mean he could always blame the mixed signals if it went wrong. They’d nearly kissed twice and Joey didn’t even cuddle Madeleine as much as he’d cuddled Henry. They were probably the only people that were less touch-starved during the lockdown than before.

So Joey was going to tell him.

Just three words.

He could do that.

Fuck!

He couldn’t do that.

“Joey?” Henry said, reaching out to squeeze Joey’s shoulder.

Joey blinked. Had Henry been talking to him? He’d asked a question so that would make sense. God, his anxiety had gone through the roof, it was like that first day all over again.

“Need to pack,” he mumbled, gesturing at his clothes.

Henry let out a long and heavy sigh, sounding just as thrilled about the idea as Joey did. “I suppose you do, yeah. When is Madeleine due over?”

Joey hummed, glancing at his watch. “Ten minutes ago. Lockdown traffic must be a thing of the past.”

“Pity.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Henry sighed.

Neither of them moved, both staring glumly at Kal who was happily nestled between them. It was strange but Joey had almost begun to think of Kal as his, theirs. Their home, their life, their dog. He would miss Kal very much.

He would miss Henry even more.

“Do you have a start date yet?” Joey asked, the restrictions were lifting and there were talks about getting back to work again, but it was all up in the air.

Henry shook his head. “Should be getting a call from my agent some time this week. I need to make sure my other projects can work around the schedule.”

Joey smirked, “Or my dear witcher will have a new face next time we meet,” he teased.

Henry scoffed. “Not a chance, you’re stuck with me, bard.”

“You still owe me an apology,” Joey shot back, not quite realising how close they’d gotten during their mock argument.

He swallowed and licked his lips, one hand reaching up to scratch the stubble on his cheek. His face was burning right up to the tips of his ears, his heart thumping in his chest. There was a spark of electricity crackling between them, the scent of coffee lingering on Henry’s breath.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Henry promised, voice hoarse and low, making heat spread through Joey’s body and the world around them seemed to disappear.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Henry breathed, the words shaky.

Joey longed to reach out and brush his fingertips along the strong line of Henry’s jaw, to feel the scratch of stubble beneath his skin. He longed to tangle his hands in the dark mess of curls, to see if they were really as soft as they looked. It felt as if there was a magnetic force pulling them closer, a string tying their souls together, binding them as one. Joey couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to, and he was over that. He couldn’t live inside his head any longer, not when there was a chance.

Hope.

Deadly, poisoning his very soul, until he could think of nothing except Henry’s lips on his, hands roaming bodies, pulling at hair, unable to resist the promised pleasures of sin. Tongues tangling. Hearts singing. One breath shared between two. Heat. Lust. Love.

Just Henry.

His love.

Joey closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Henry’s, their lips barely ghosting over each other, you really couldn’t call it a kiss; not yet. One more breath, a millimetre to close the gap.

A horn honked from outside and they pulled apart before they could cross the bridge, past the point of no return.

Joey let out a slightly manic laugh and ran his hands through his hair, whilst Henry went back to stroking Kal as he cleared his throat.

“Bollocks, I still haven’t packed.”

“I’ll invite Madeleine in for some tea,” Henry chuckled, stretching as he stood up.

Kal barked happily and jumped down, wagging his tail as he sniffed at Henry’s socks.

And Joey was left alone once more.

“Fuck!” he groaned, covering his face as he flopped back onto his pillows.

By the time he finished packing, Madeleine and Henry were laughing away in the kitchen like old friends.

Like Joey and Henry had so many times.

He wasn’t special. Henry was just that guy.

Hope.

Dangerous and lethal, stabbing into the heart and tearing the soul apart.

“Ready,” Joey mumbled, holding up his suitcase and guitar. “Might take a couple of trips, I have another bag upstairs and the damn lute.”

“Not sure I ever heard you play the lute?” Henry teased.

“Yeah well,” Joey grumbled and turned away from the kitchen before he could start crying.

He really really didn’t want to cry in front of Henry. What was a little heartbreak between friends? At least he could channel that into Jaskier whenever they finally got back onto set. God, he was a fucking mess.

“I’ll help you,” Henry volunteered because of course he would. He probably just wanted Joey gone sooner.

The poor bloke probably couldn’t wait to have his own space back without Joey’s inedible attempts at cooking, non-stop music and chatter, lazy slobbish evenings in front of the TV.

He wasn’t going to cry.

He wasn’t.

Fuck!

Joey sniffed and stumbled out the door, his hands gripping his suitcase so tight he thought he might break the handle. Back home with Madeleine, to his life, and his bed, and nights spent drinking too much wine and lurking on social media.

He’d just about managed to throw his suitcase into the boot when he heard a loud bark behind him, followed by Henry grunting. Joey was almost knocked off his feet as Kal bundled into him, circling around as he jumped up, winding the lead around Joey’s body and pulling a poor Henry with him.

Not that Joey was particularly complaining about having Henry pressed up against him, but did it have to be when he was crying?

Henry cursed, struggling to keep hold of the lead. Their faces were close and they had to wrap their arms around each other to keep steady. Joey laughed through his tears, reminded of a similar moment from one of his favourite Disney films.

Only Kal was a lot bigger than a Dalmatian.

“I don’t think he wants you to leave?” Henry said, smiling sheepishly.

Joey smiled back despite his broken heart. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“I- I don’t want you to leave either,” Henry whispered so quietly that Joey wasn’t sure whether he’d heard it at all. “I- umm, I like having you here… with me.”

“Oh,” Joey replied stupidly.

“Fuck, I- Joey… Can- can I kiss you?”

The world turned upside down. Joey's heart stopped and everything started to spin. He tried to process the words but nothing seemed to make sense. There was no fucking way that Henry had said that, that he wanted to- wanted to…

Fuck!

“Oh,” he repeated, blinking at Henry as he licked his lips. “I mean. Fuck. No, I mean… Christ. Yes. Please. Yes.”

Henry chuckled and cupped his cheek, pressing their lips together in the most tender of kisses, taking Joey’s breath away right there on the pavement. Joey just giggled when they parted and then swooped back in for another kiss, and another-

And he never wanted to stop.

He didn’t need to breathe, he just needed this; Henry’s lips on his.

Henry had other ideas though, pulling away with a blinding smile.

“Stay with me?”

Joey nodded and threw his arms around Henry’s neck. “God, yes.”

And then they kissed some more. They had months of lockdown to catch up on, after all.

#the witcher rpf #henry cavill rpf #Joey batey rpf #Joey batey/henry cavill #Joey/henry

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senashenta · 3 years

Text

Sugar

Title: Sugar (for @witcher-trick-or-treat)

Prompt: Candy

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Notes: My first SFW prompt! Go me! :D More SPN AU. I could probably do all the prompts for this event in SPN AU and Buffy AU. lol. Read it here on AO3 if you'd rather. <3

SUGAR By Senashenta

Halloween was coming and Jaskier was face-first in a giant bowl of candy. When Geralt rounded the corner to find him wolfing down the treats he stopped in his tracks, blinked twice, then realized he should have expected as much and kept right on walking, past the table where the angel was gorging himself on sweets to the kitchen to get himself a beer.

Eskel had bought the candy. Not that they would get any trick-or-treaters at the Kaer Morhen bunker, of course, but he liked to celebrate the holidays, even if it was just in little ways like buying a couple bags of Halloween treats. He’d probably forgotten about Jaskier obsession with candy at the time he was buying them.

Geralt didn’t one hundred percent get it, but Jaskier had tried to explain it to him once: he didn’t taste food the same as a regular human did, he tasted the molecules and atoms it was made up of. Apparently candy and sweet foods—pastries, cakes, pies, etc—had the best, most interesting kinds of molecules. They danced on his tongue.

Well, there was one other thing he liked just as much, but Geralt put that thought out of his mind for the moment.

Standing in the entryway of the kitchen, he watched Jaskier dig through the huge candy bowl, picking out specific candies and setting them aside, discarding others entirely, and he couldn’t help the fond smile that tugged at his face, turning his lips up at the edges. He really did love the angel. Truly.

It was a strange thought, that he was in love with someone. He had never thought that it would or could happen. But then he’d never thought someone would fall in love with him, either. And then Jaskier had come along…

Jaskier was quirky, unusual. Didn’t understand a lot about humanity. Had horrible fashion sense (but Geralt could give him a pass on that, he’d grown up with Lambert after all), and inhaled sugar like it was oxygen. But he also played the lute so well it brought tears to your eyes. He cared deeply for his friends, worried about them, fought with them, for them, and cried when they got hurt. He was a messy sleeper, but, when he slept in Geralt’s bed (which happened more and more often as time went on) he cuddled up to him, unafraid of the big bad Wolf.

The fact that he was technically possessing his vessel didn’t quite sit right with Geralt, but Jaskier had explained it until he was blue in the face and Geralt had finally had to just grudgingly accept it. It helped that his vessel, Julian, still shared the body with him, and piped up with comments and opinions from time-to-time. Though Geralt could do with less commenting on their sex life…

“Geralt!” Jaskier finally came up for air from the candy bowl and noticed him standing there. He smiled brilliantly, the bright, happy smile he always smiled when he saw the Witcher. The smile that made Geralt’s stomach flip and his heart clench. “Come sit with me! Eskel bought candy!”

“I know he did,” Geralt allowed, even as he wandered over to pull out a chair and sit down next to the angel, setting his beer on the table, “I told him it was a bad idea, you’d be into it like a kid on Halloween.”

“Rude.” Jaskier pouted and returned to the bowl of candy, picking through it and continuing to sort the candy into piles. “If you guys didn’t want me to have it, you shouldn’t have left it out like this.”

Geralt made an amused noise. He picked up his beer and took a drink, then gestured toward the various piles of candy, “so what have you got going on here?”

“Mm?” Jaskier looked up again, hands full of candies, and glanced around himself at the piles. “Oh. They’re sorted based on molecular content. Here, see, these ones are the best ones because their molecules are very active and interesting, but these are the worst ones because their molecules are dull and lifeless.”

Taking a glance over the dull and lifeless pile, Geralt was amused to find boxes of raisins and Good n’ Plenty’s there, among other things, like black liquorice and candy corn. “You don’t like candy corn? It’s basically just straight sugar.”

Jaskier made a face, “it’s molecules taste funny.”

Geralt chuckled and couldn’t help reaching to run his fingers through the angel’s hair affectionately. Jaskier hummed and leaned into the touch, pleased and, at least for a moment, distracted from the arduous task of sorting candy. When Geralt’s hand slid out of his hair he brought his own up to grasp at Geralt’s wrist and turned his head to press a kiss into Geralt’s palm gently.

It was such a loving gesture, and no one else was around—so Geralt smiled, a soft expression, and offered quietly, “I love you.”

“Oh.” Jaskier looked up at him in surprise. He didn’t say it often, especially unprompted. Now Jaskier was taken aback for a moment before he smiled again, soft and fond, and finally shifted out of his own chair and over to Geralt’s, climbing into his lap with no preamble. He nuzzled into Geralt’s neck with a happy noise. “I love you, too.”

Geralt just set his beer down again and wrapped Jaskier up in his arms, tilting his head to angle for a kiss. Jaskier returned it easily, and they were just sitting there, trading gentle kisses when Lambert walked in… then stopped in his tracks and made a frustrated noise, gesturing between the two of them and the table they were sitting at.

“That’s the communal dining table, is nothing sacred?!”

#shut up sena #sena writes #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #witchertot #witcher spn au #geralt of rivia #jaskier #angel!jaskier

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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years

Note

Could you write something about how Jude is trying to hide a wound from Cardan but of course, our Cardan baby founds out and dotes/freaks out... your an amazing writer 💞💞

The Stubborn Queen

Pairing: Jude × Cardan

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2441 words

Summary: Against Cardan's wishes, Jude goes on a mission and injures herself there. She is determined to hide the injury from Cardan but that is not easy.

Jude was an absolute fool.

When she and her husband had been informed that one of the lower ranking lords from the Court of Termites was visiting Elfhame, her first instinct had been to go after them as she always did and see for herself what business the Lord had, coming here unannounced.

As if he heard her thoughts, Cardan had said to the Bomb, "Keep an eye on him. Jude and I will be busy today."

Bastard. He knew she wanted to go after him, had probably made plans to keep her away already. Jude had grumbled under her breath, much to The Bomb's amusement and then huffed away, no more than a child who had been denied her favourite toy. Now, Jude was playing with a dagger in her hand with one thought in her mind, even if she knew it made her a fool because Cardan was right. There was no reason for her to risk her life. She was not expendable anymore and yet, she was restless.

Cardan sat beside her on their bed, sheets still rumpled since he had turned the servants away. He placed a cautious hand on her shoulder, only for it to be brushed off by his wife, his queen. "Jude," he whined.

"Can I help you, Majesty?" Pissed. She was pissed and restless and worried.

Cardan rolled his eyes, then took her hands in his own. He shifted so that he was facing her now and said, "My sweet villain, you can help me by staying out of trouble. You are Queen now—"

"I know. But I need to be doing something other than this paperwork. Something real," Jude said.

If she had known being Queen would be so miserable, maybe Jude would have remained a spy.

Cardan stared at her for a few seconds. "If you insist on risking your life, Jude, you will have to take me with you."

The Queen of Elfhame pressed her lips into a thin line. "You are untrained. You would raise suspicion," She argued. "And one of us needs to stay alive."

"Then why go at all? Why not let someone else do it, Jude?"

"Because I do not trust anyone else, not when your life is concerned." There. She had said it. The memory of a fanged beast that had haunted her sleep every night since that day. Now that half the truth was out in the open, Jude saw no reason to hide the rest. "Sometimes, it feels like these last five months didn't happen—like I cut the serpent's head and you didn't come back. It reminds me what it felt like to lose you and I don't think I can survive it again."

Cardan gently wiped the tears off her cheeks. "I came back, Jude. And I will never leave again."

"But what if-what if you did? I would gladly risk my life a thousand times if it meant saving yours once. Elfhame needs you. I am the expendable one." More tears rolled down.

Ire flashed across Cardan's face—ire not at Jude but at her words. He breathed deeply at the thought of something happening to Jude but the anger did not quite leave his eyes when he said, "Never say that again, Jude. You are not expendable, not to me. If something happened..." He did not let himself finish that thought.

Jude curled up beside him silently, her eyes falling shut and breaths soft and steady. Only once the High King's breaths matched hers and she was sure he was asleep, Jude snuck out of the bed. With how exhausted they had been recently, she doubted he would wake up any time soon. Thus, Jude grabbed Nightfell and a few wicked looking daggers before she was sneaking out of her own home, all while the thought of Cardan in his serpent form still lingered in her brain.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

If Jude had thought sitting on her ass and letting someone else keep an eye on the minor lord had been foolish, she thought what she was doing now was worse. She had not planned to engage in a fight, not when she spotted the mercenaries the young Lord had hired for protection. If anything, the absence of usual guards had only made her more suspicious.

She had been right to follow him to a discreet location near Hollow Hall, had heard clearly in her own human ears the order he had made of his acquaintance. "Slip a small amount to his food, enough that he would weaken enough to convince the Queen-bitch to trade with me for antidote."

Anger flared inside her chest, visions swarmed with blood—Cardan's blood on her hand. Jude had unleashed herself upon the men.

Now, as she sloppily stitched up the gash across her abdomen, Jude wished she had listened to Cardan. If nothing else, she wished she had brought someone with herself. She had managed to kill every single one of them but ended up with this wound, the stitches itching mercilessly at her. The wound on her thigh though... She refused to even look at it. With magic in her veins, it might heal in a day or two.

There was no way Jude was going to admit to Cardan what she had done or how he had been proved right.

That was why she was limping to the throne room now, her body screaming at the pain even as she willed her expression to remain calm. Fortunately for her, Cardan's attention was directed towards one of the lesser nobles as Jude settled down beside him.

Her breathing had almost turned steady by the time Cardan turned to her. "Where did you disappear to, darling Jude?"

"Taryn," Jude said in a calm voice. "Taryn called to meet her at her estate."

Her thigh was throbbing badly and her head was pounding. Jude wondered if Cardan could hear the pounding of her heart against her chest over the sweet music that flowed out of a faerie's lute. Cardan placed a casual hand on her thigh, far too close to the wound and Jude tensed.

Cardan frowned. "You look pale, love. Would you like us to retire for tonight?"

Oh god, her leg was going to kill her. She twisted in her seat to face him—a bad move since it pulled at her stitches. Jude reined in the urge to wince, shook her head. "No. I didn't get much sleep. I would-I would like to lie down. You should stay." She hoped her words came out more confident than she felt.

Cardan watched warily as she rose from her throne, face carefully blank. She wanted to cry out in pain but if Cardan knew, she would not be sneaking around again. He would make sure of it.

Jude took a step ahead, then swayed on her feet. Cardan was instantly at her side, a hand placed on her lower back. "If you were so tired, you shouldn't have come here."

Then they were making their way through the ballroom, each step an agony. They had made it to the hallway, a few faeries lingering there when two of the stitches ripped out beneath her dress. By the sharp sniff beside her, she realised Cardan knew too. He had smelled the blood on her, even through the ridiculous amount of scented herbs she had rubbed herself with to cover the scent.

Cardan halted, then turned to her, panic written over his face. "What happened, Jude?"

Blood had seeped out through the purple tunic she wore. So much blood. Cardan barked out a string of curses, calling for the healers. Pure wrath glittered in his crow black eyes, even as he kept his voice soft. "Who did this, Jude? Where were you?" Then realising she was in no position to speak, Cardan said, "This is going to hurt but we need to make it to our chambers. I am sorry." And then he had lifted her in his arms, gentle as he could be.

This time, Jude could not keep the cry of pain inside. Perhaps this was hell. The pain blurred her vision, even as Jude realised she was in her room.

Cardan held onto her hand as the healers first ripped out her own stitches. She screamed every time, holding her husband's hand in a crushing grip. He had taken to wiping the sweat on her face, around her neck with a wet cloth as the healers worked. Panting through her teeth, Jude said, "I was right. He was planning to injure you so I would trade for your life. He knew... He knew too."

Cardan tensed, fighting to keep his voice steady as if her pain hurt him just as much, if not more. "What did he know, sweet Jude?"

"He knew you were the one to attack too," She said between her shouts, still breathing heavily. "My mortal life is not half as significant."

Cardan's hand stopped rubbing circles on the back of her hand. "We will talk about this later, love." She knew they wouldn't. They never did.

Jude shook her head. "You can avoid the topic all you like but even the high king of faerie can not fight nature."

Cardan looked like he wished she had struck him instead. He sat beside her silently as the healers worked, then left the chambers. Jude drifted off to sleep, hand still clutching his. When she woke up, Cardan was sitting at his desk, a steaming bowl of soup beside him.

He was beside her the moment she tried to sit up, snarling, "Don't move."

Jude might have moved then, just to piss him off if she hadn't noticed the concern in his face as he surveyed her, then thrust a bowl of steaming hot soup in her hand. "Eat."

"Stop giving me orders," Jude growled.

Cardan was not taking any of her shit today. "Perhaps if you had heeded my request before, I would not need to."

She deserved that.

Heat flushed Jude's cheeks when Cardan sighed exasperatedly and took the bowl, feeding her himself with the spoon. It reminded her of a certain mortal woman who had sat at little Jude's bedside and cared for her similarly. The memory warmed something inside her.

"Why do you do this, Jude? What did I do to deserve this torture?" She hated the way his voice broke, as if her pain overwhelmed him.

She rasped, "I am sorry."

"Do you know how scared I was? Do you have any idea how much it hurt to hear you scream, to see you in pain? You say your life is not significant and yet every time you put yourself in danger, my heart stops dead inside my chest! It does not matter whether you are spy or queen, I will never forgive you for risking your life, Jude..." Tears rolled down Cardan's cheeks, washing away the glitter that had been painted there.

Jude was stunned into silence. What could she possibly say? Her own face was damp as she tried to sit up again.

Cardan glared at her as if to say, I told you not to move. If Jude would not stop for her sake, she stopped for Cardan's. She had never fathomed someone could love her as much and yet, it must all have been true it it came out of his mouth.

"You are absolutely terrible and reckless and you have no regards for the pain you cause me and I hate you for this!" Cardan scolded, though the words held no bite.

She made a show of sighing, "I am fine, you bastard. Stop fussing."

"I will not. This is your punishment. For the next few weeks, you will not so much as leave your bed without my permission, not until you are healed."

And despite herself, despite the agony ripping through her, Jude smiled.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Cardan lived up to his words. Jude was completely forbidden from leaving her bed for the whole week that followed. It drove her insane and she might have escaped, had Cardan not spent every waking moment with her.

"I am not hungry," she told him now.

Cardan raised an eyebrow as if to say How dare you presume you have a choice. When Jude made no move to accept the bowl of soup he extended towards her, the High King sat down beside her on the bed and raised the spoonful of steaming hot soup to Jude's lips.

Jude shook her head but let him feed her. It was only when the bowl was almost finished that she said, "You worry about me too much."

"Since you do not worry about yourself, someone will have to," Cardan said.

Jude might have bit back some sarcastic remark, might have insisted he should stop fussing over if she hadn't heard the hurt in his voice. The disappointment.

She sighed. "I am sorry. You can't deny that I was right though. If I hadn't gone there, you could have died."

She needed him to understand that it had not been some twisted urge to cling to her independence or some whim she had had. She had needed to go there and assure for herself that her husband was safe.

Cardan cupped her cheek in his hands. "Anyone who hurts me would be a fool, my sweet villain. Your wrath is something that should not be provoked."

She hit him in the shoulder half-heartedly, then leaned towards her husband, her King. "Sometimes it doesn't feel real, that this happened." Only here, in the privacy of their chambers could she admit the nightmares that plagued her in her sleep. Most of them involved Cardan ending up dead.

As if he could see it in her thoughts, Cardan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Jude's forehead. "I have given you my heart, Jude. You are not doing a very good job at protecting it."

She couldn't promise to not go off on missions again but—"I promise to learn from my mistakes."

Though that resolved things between them and the tension in Cardan's shoulders released, it did not keep him from fussing over her all day. "Where do you think you are going, Jude?" He said.

Jude rolled her eyes. "Bathroom. Will you accompany me there too?"

The smirk on Cardan's face had Jude throwing an obscene gesture his way as she made her way to the bathroom. He was waiting right outside for her when she finished, hand outstretched. Jude debated telling him she could walk but maybe it would not be the worst thing in the world to be pampered by Cardan.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

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#jude duarte #the cruel prince #the queen of nothing #the wicked king #cardan greenbriar #high king cardan #high queen jude #high queen of elfhame #jude greenbriar #jude x cardan #jude fanfic #cardan fanfic #jurdan fanfic #jurdan fluff #the folk of the air #tfota #tfota headcanons #tfota fanfic #incorrect tfota quotes

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vampire--dad · 4 years

Text

For the Witcher Writers’ Circle Server prompt bingo! @lovelyeskel

Prompt: Established Relationship

——————

“You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

Jaskier smiles. He wasn’t sure about growing a beard, but since Geralt did for the winter, he thought he might as well. Over the years his hair has slowly become streaked with gray, including his facial hair. He just about fainted when he saw the first one grow through. It only spread from there. Geralt loves it. He never thought the bard could be any more beautiful, yet here he is, his ageless smile framed by brown and silver hair. The hair in the top of his head has grown as well, now brushing against his jawline. Geralt can’t help but run his fingers through it whenever he gets the chance. It’s as thick and soft as ever.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, mister,” Jaskier says, setting aside his lute and delicately placing himself across Geralt’s lap. The witcher’s arms slide around his waist and pull him close. “You still owe me ten ducats for throwing that snowball at Eskel’s backside because you didn’t have the balls to start the fight.”

“Mmm. What’s mine is yours… or some shit like that...”

Jaskier laughs as Geralt peppers his cheeks and lips with kisses.

“I’m sorry to tell you, dear heart, that’s not how it works,” Jaskier chuckles.

“What are you going to spend it on anyway? It’s the middle of winter.”

“I happen to be saving up for new lute strings.”

“I’ll buy you new lute strings.”

“Is that an excuse to get out of paying me?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Geralt.”

They chuckle and share a slow kiss. Ciri feigns gagging as she witnesses them over Eskel’s shoulder. Her uncle laughs and scratches his head, wondering when this girl got so good at gwent.

Lambert sees it too. He hates to admit that seeing his brother happy with Jaskier stings. He once had someone like that. Once. And he slipped right through his fingers. He should never have let Aiden go on that contract in Ellander alone. He should have gone with him. Maybe they could have fought off Karadin and his assassins together. But there’s no use in reminiscing. He and Geralt saw to it personally that Aiden was avenged. Perhaps killing Karadin was cold, but he couldn’t let the man go on after what he had done. Philanthropy means fuck all when your past is covered in blood. You don’t get to walk away from that. Or at least that’s what Lambert tells himself.

The doors to the keep burst open, groaning loudly enough for them all to hear. All eyes shoot up to the hall that leads to the entrance. Several of them reach for swords as the wind howls inside. Vesemir goes first, scowling at the hallway as he approaches it. Eskel and Ciri are the next to stand, Ciri holding a blade as they walk towards the hall. Not just anything can open those doors when they’re bolted shut. Geralt shifts Jaskier off of his lap with a frown and joins Lambert as they disappear down the hall together. Jaskier is left in the common room by the fire, knowing he won’t be much help.

A man covered in snow leans against the open door, shivering and clearly too weak to stand on his own. Short, sandy brown hair hangs damply from his head. Vesemir grips him by the collar and tosses him against the stone wall as Geralt and Eskel struggle to close the doors against the wind. Ciri props the man’s chin up with the tip of her blade, revealing a pale, scarred face, a weak toothy grin, and a pair of familiar yellow eyes— one, at least. The other is covered by a thick leather eyepatch.

“Alright, sweetheart, lay off. I don’t mean any trouble,” the witcher chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender.

Lambert stands frozen in the hallway, staring at the man, but at the sound of his voice, his heart almost stops beating. It can’t be. It’s not possible. Before any more can be said, he forces himself between Ciri and Vesemir, shoving his father and niece out of the way, and stands before the man with tears gathering in his eyes. He knows that voice, that smile, that beautiful man he tortured himself for ever letting go on his own.

“Aiden…?”

“Here he is, the man of the hour,” Aiden laughs weakly. “I was just looking for you, wolf—”

Whatever shitty joke Aiden had planned for him is cut off. Lambert throws his arms around Aiden and squeezes him tight, trying to reassure himself that this is real. He is real. Aiden is alive. His arms are wrapped around Lambert’s middle and his head tucked into the crook of his neck just the way he used to. He grabs Aiden’s face and plants a bruising kiss on his lips as the others watch in bewilderment. He barely even notices they’re there. Aiden’s lips are ice cold and just as sweet as he remembers. A tear slides down his cheek as he squeezes his eyes shut. Ciri doesn’t think she’s ever seen her uncle cry. He pulls away with a relieved laugh.

“You asshole, I thought you were dead,” Lambert breathes, brushing Aiden’s wet hair from his eyes. He pulls Lambert closer in desperate search of any warmth he can cling to.

“Please, takes more than a measly little crossbow to rid you of me, wolf,” Aiden says affectionately, gently wiping a tear from Lambert’s cheek. “Now can we please talk about this somewhere warmer? I just about froze my ass off getting here.”

Without a second thought, Lambert lifts Aiden from his feet and carries him to the common room to sit by the fire. The other four witchers stand about, looking from person to person in confusion. Geralt smiles knowingly.

“So that’s why he killed Karadin,” he mumbles. “He thought he had lost the man he loves.”

“You seem to know what’s going on,” Ciri says with her hands on her hips. “Mind filling us in?”

Geralt explains their story as he remembers from Lambert. Vesemir and Eskel glance down the hall with reproach at the mention of a cat witcher. Geralt gives them a look of warning. He remembers feeling the same reproach, but he won’t judge the man if Lambert, of all people, loves him.

“I know the reputation that the School of the Cat has made for itself, but this is Lambert. He doesn’t trust easily, we all know that. If he can trust this one enough to let him get that close to him, perhaps we need to trust his judgment.”

Eskel and Ciri nod slowly. Vesemir doesn’t, but Geralt knows better than to push it. They return to the common room where Aiden is wrapped in a blanket before the fire with Lambert by his side. Jaskier has run off to the kitchen to get him something to eat. He and Lambert talk quietly about the things that had happened to him while he was gone, the wolf staring lovingly at the cat and stroking his hair gently. Eskel’s never seen that look on Lambert’s face. Perhaps Geralt is right. If anyone can break through that rough exterior Lambert keeps up, they deserve their trust.

As the others take their seats nearby the fire again, Lambert sits up a little straighter and introduces everyone. His arm is wrapped tightly around Aiden’s shoulders.

“These are my brothers, Geralt and Eskel, Geralt’s daughter, Ciri, and Jaskier is Geralt’s husband.”

“Daughter?” Aiden asks, cocking an eyebrow at Ciri. “Witchers can’t have children. What kind of chaos did you have to meddle in to end up with one?”

“It’s a long story,” Ciri and Geralt say in unison.

Aiden had always known he was going to end up at Kaer Morhen with Lambert’s family. He could never tell if he looked forward to it or dreaded it. The School of the Cat has a reputation and he knows the wolves will hold him to it until he can prove otherwise. He nods slowly and turns back to Lambert.

“And what about the old bastard— where’s he gone off to? What about him?” Aiden asks.

“That’s Vesemir. Our... mentor.”

Vesemir has retired to his room without a word. Lambert is almost relieved. If anyone is going to give Aiden a hard time, it’s him. Lambert was never one to refer to Vesemir as their father. Geralt and Eskel do, when he’s not around, but he can’t. The man might have taught him everything he knows, but he’s not his father. His parents are long dead. Aiden nods slowly.

“I remember you telling me about him.”

Jaskier returns and hands Aiden a bowl of stew. He smiles gratefully at him, noticing at last that he is the only one who doesn’t have yellow eyes, the only non-witcher in the room. He quirks his head slightly at him.

“It’s not common to find a human in a witcher’s keep, let alone married to one,” he says. His voice constantly carries a tone of mischief. “How did that happen?”

Jaskier chuckles as he sits next to Geralt and slips an arm around him. He sees why Lambert would like this one. He’s got that same snarky sense of humour.

“Many, many years of following him around and trying to keep him alive until he realised I wasn’t so bad for a bard,” he teases, gazing at Geralt lovingly. The witcher chuckles and kisses the bard’s cheek.

“More like many, many years of annoying me until I realised there was no getting rid of you,” he says with an amused smile. Jaskier laughs softly and shakes his head. They could save the flirting for later.

“Enough of that, you old brute. Aiden, how did you get to Kaer Morhen in the middle of winter? It’s bad enough to travel in winter in general, but up here in the mountains…”

Aiden shrugs as he shovels stew into his mouth. It’s been weeks since he’s had something proper to eat.

“The mages that found me had planned on keeping me until spring. I had other ideas. One of ‘em found me pretty enough to help me sneak out with a few of their warming potions and some extra cloaks,” he says with a smug grin. Lambert’s hold around his shoulders tightens possessively. Aiden rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry, wolf,” he teases. “Nothing happened. I was busy sneaking out to get back to you. Couldn’t let you go without me for too long.”

“Just making sure,” Lambert mutters.

Lambert lays on his side, propped up on his elbow, watching as Aiden strips himself of his sodden clothes before the fire. As long as it has been, neither of them want anything. They just want to spend the night in each other's arms as they used to after a hunt.

“That scar is new,” he observes. He knows all of Aiden’s scars like they’re his own. Aiden glances down at the thick pink line that creeps across his ribs and down his back.

“Oh, right. Cockatrice. Little fucker caught me off guard,” Aiden says indifferently, slipping under the covers with Lambert. His skin is cooler than usual. Lambert runs his fingers along the scar as if he’s committing it to memory along with the others.

“If that’s the case, you deserved it,” he teases, kissing along Aiden’s jaw with a smirk. “Should never have had your guard down.”

“I’d just lost an eye, wolf,” Aiden chuckles.

“Shame, too. You’ve got the prettiest eyes…”

“Lambert…”

The wolf sighs with content as he pulls Aiden into the circle of his arms and presses a soft kiss on a scar on his shoulder. It’s his favourite, that scar. The one he gave him when Aiden decided to introduce himself by trying to kill him. His hands roam down Aiden’s back, fingers brushing over old bumps and ridges from past battles. It’s soothing, for both of them. He still can’t quite believe that Aiden is here, he’s alive. He might just go visit those mages and see if he can return the favour once winter passes.

“I’ve missed you, kitten.”

Aiden smiles softly. He loves when Lambert calls him kitten. There were times he thought he’d never hear it again.

“I missed you too, pup.”

#geraskier #lambden #let lambert be soft #i love that bastard so much #i promised kellie something soft after the amount of angst i wrote yesterday #fanfic #the witcher

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