#I mean it MEANS Clamp are paying attention to the moon details

[completeoveranalysis]

[11]

OH EXCUSE ME?

DROPPING BABY WATANUKI IN ON THE LAST PAGE WITHOUT EXPLANATION?

AND THE IMPLICATION THAT LAVA LAMP IS OFF HAVING A GOOD TIME WITH SAKURA

MEANWHILE HIS DECISION WILL AFFECT HIS [redacted] LEFT BEHIND?

HEARTBREAKING.

But on the plus side! The moon is back to normal here!

Whatever that means!

[1kook]

A COLLECTION  [ updated: 8 . 23 . 21 ]

— STATUS ONGOING — NO REPOSTS — ASKS under #ncouple ! — Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr

—NETFLIX & CHILL.

summary If you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality.  warnings smut in the forms of grinding, oral (f), cum eating, vanilla unprotected sex, dirty talk misc use of the oldest trick in the book (“your hands are sooo big”), shy oblivious AND gentleman jk? pick a struggle, brief ment of app developer kook, evil and conniving oc  word count 10.2k  posted june 12, 2020

—HULU & WOOHOO.

summary But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. warnings slight feelings of insecurity, smut in the forms of fingering, cunnilingus, cum eating, squirting, hand jobs, unprotected sex, riding, slight praise kink  misc if you’re not a Jersey shore fan honestly GET OUT, mentions of capitalism😡, more kind/understanding kook, basically a “what are we?” fic but silly, irresponsible emailing habits, its so dumb just read word count 6.3k posted july 4, 2020

—IMAX & CLIMAX.

summary The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings smut in the form of blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl (? kinda), daddy kink that morphs into ily kink misc  jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count 9.8k posted august 5, 2020

—KISSANIME & FOREPLAY.

summary You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans. warnings mentions of hentai, smut in the forms of cunnilingus, masturbation (f), oral (f), use of a sex toy, fingering, nipple play, face sitting/fucking/riding idk (f), praise kink, hints of dumbification, cum eating, jk is like passive aggressive in this one, 4 (f) orgasms, this is the kicker: sub kook at the end😳, like 2 sec of dom yn lol, & u get 0.002 sec of adams apple kink misc more dumb story lines, made up sex stores bc my creativity knows no bounds, Jungkook plays nice but is actually mean for the majority of it, once again doyeon plays a pivotal role in the furthering of women empowerment, internal love monologues about jk best boy<3 word count 8.2k posted september 1, 2020

—DISNEY+ & BUST.

summary There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door.   warnings arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of humiliation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment (? idk lol), unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, the return of mean jk, desperate jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf misc angst, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count 13k posted september 9, 2020

—ESPN & BDSM.

summary You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.   warnings smut in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink misc kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count 12.7k posted september 14, 2020

—YOUTUBE & USE LUBE.

summary You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, tit fucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook misc domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count 8.7k   posted september 30, 2020

—VIKI & HICKEYS.

summary Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.   warnings a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries, jk is a good boy n I want him to be happy   misc there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide word count 16.3k posted january 14, 2021

—PEACOCK & SWEET TALK.

summary “I wanna watch Solange in Bring It On,” Jungkook smiles, and you have to wonder who exactly this blond man is and what he did with your teen-movie-hating boyfriend.   warnings smut in the forms of kissing, cunnilingus (eating out + fingering), light praise, a lil body worship, jk fat cawk, brief nipple play, playful jk, unprotected sex, riding and missionary, the jk hand kink, I love you kink, jk wants nudes, jk’s cheerleader fantasies mentioned, spit kink, light choking, jk has like a scent kink (?), mention of collars and pet play misc app developer jk becomes even MORE app developer-y, oc is anti-google, there's plot, a 2 year anniversary, Solange knowles appreciation, BLOND JK!!!, gets sappy for a sec, seahorse marriage mention, doyeon x joon side pairing, jk is disgustingly dreamy and oc is threatened by that fact word count 10.7k posted march 23, 2021

— CRUNCHYROLL & RAIL.

summary Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. warnings smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… misc fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality word count 8.7k posted may 21, 2021

—FUNIMATION & PROCREATION.

summary Never mind your upcoming wedding, this was perhaps the greatest moment of your life— the day Jungkook sought out an anime on his own. warnings kissing, smut in the forms of cunnilingus, cum eating, mentions of anal, doggy style, unprotected sex with the intention of pregnancy, spitting, hand holding<3 misc the wedding night, Doyeon strikes again, jjk watches  jjk, oh no not twins word count 9.1k posted july 31, 2021

—BOOMERANG AND BANG. 

coming soon

—COOKIES & CREAM.

summary Jungkook will watch a thousand cheesy Christmas movies if it meant making you happy. (And maybe having his dick sucked.) warnings smut in the form of blowjobs, face fucking, cum facials, fingering, overstim, double orgasm, r*mantic sex, riding, unprotected, cream pies, jk does this weird thing where he licks her face yeah idk, jk loves seeing his gf cry, jk has an obsession with jizz   misc jk pov !!, eggnog slander, jk hates xmas movies, oc dresses like a sexy mrs claus, Elf !!, jk is in loooove word count 7.1k posted december 23, 2020

— TUTUS & TIARAS.

summary your first pregnancy through the lens of your husband warnings smut in the forms of penetrative sex, sex while pregnant, unprotected sex, tit play, cunnilingus, mutual masturbation, sticking the tip in and jacking off/cockwarming?, creampies, nose kink (? like she grinds against his nose), infatuation with scent, frottage/grinding, lactation kink, titluvr jk [bass boosted] misc married ncouple <3, domesticity, jk pov, mood swings, pregnancy, GIRLDAD!JK, DILF!JK, pregnant!reader, jk’s kids are virgos its true  word count 10k posted august 23, 2021

— one.

summary Maybe Jungkook wasn’t always as cool and composed as you initially believed. But that’s okay, because you love him all the same.  word count 1.3k posted September 10, 2020

—two.

summary Even after all these years, all these doubts, and all this solitude that was really no one’s fault but his own, he still finds himself hoping that maybe you’ll be the one. word count 1k posted september 11, 2020

—three.

summary But Jungkook loves the sun. word count 1.5k posted september 12th, 2020

—four.

summary For the last ten minutes or so his mind has been bothered by one thing and one thing only— the hair that hung in his face. word count 800 words posted september 22, 2020

—five.

summary Startled and inexperienced, he can’t do anything but rub his hands over your back. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he murmurs, even though it’s not. word count 1.3k posted september 22, 2020

—six.

SUMMARY Jungkook enjoyed pushing you down, indulging you in all your little fantasies, but he too had some he wanted to live out. WC 1.8k POSTED september 25, 2020

—seven.

summary And lastly, Jungkook will bring it full circle by indulging you two in some good old fashion spooky sex where he nuts inside you because the only thing scarier than a scary movie is a pregnancy scare. It’s a perfect plan. word count 2k posted october 30, 2020

—eight.

summary You always do this— always ask for more. You take and you take until there’s nothing left for Jungkook to give. But Jungkook is the same.   word count 1.9k posted december 28, 2020

—nine.

summary “I think that, like— me and you? We’re like, totally destined,” you ramble, “you should, like, take my number! And maybe we can, like— Netflix and chill one of these days?” word count 2.2k posted january 8 2021

—ten.

summary See, there’s no one in this world who ignores his house rules more than you. Even worse, there’s no one on this planet who can make Jungkook ignore his own rules like you do. word count 1.4k posted february 14, 2021

—eleven.

summary You’re too bright, too… there. His shell is too small. word count 1.2k posted may 3, 2021

—twelve.

summary Anyway, if it was up to Jungkook, Kim Doyeon would not be a member of the Engagement Ring Committee. word count 1.4k posted may 8th, 2021

—thirteen.

summary Because for as much shit as you let him get away with, Jungkook is certain you’ll draw the line today.   word count 1k posted june 13, 2021

—fourteen.

summary Jungkook needs you to know that you can always count on him. word count 1.3k posted july 6, 2021

—fifteen.

summary It’s Jungkook’s teenage fantasy— being pushed down by a cheerleader. word count 3.1k posted august 9, 2021

— sixteen.

summary Your skin is warm and smells like sunshine. Jungkook can’t really explain it. (And also like the sunscreen you had doused him in earlier, but that isn’t as romantic.) word count 1.9K posted august 11, 2021

—seventeen.

summary She looks his way and suddenly Jungkook is nineteen again, in his dorm, listening to the first person he ever thought he loved telling him he’s too much to handle. word count 1.6k posted august 18, 2021

beautiful banners made for series!

cute and cozy gif by the lovely @ladyartemesia​ 

LASTLY: 

[misselko]

LIONESS

Warnings: Angst, fluff, small violence

Words: 20.130

 

“Begin.”

Loud clashing of lances can be heard through Garreg Mach hallway.

The red-haired skirt chaser barely able to hear you said it when you rushed him. Sylvain knew that he should focus on his strikes.  He didn’t have time to be impressed at this small, petite girl that is jabbing her lance so fast against him. Devastatingly fast. And strikingly strong. ‘It is such a wonder how a small, petite body like hers held so much power’. That’s the last thing that passed his mind before (Y/N)’s lance has cracked so loudly against his that he thought it might snap. Beautiful, fierce, deadly (E/C) orbs that staring into his soul has captivated the Gautier heir and got him hard knock on his shin, felling him over.

“Whoa there! I yield. You do like it rough, don’t you, (Y/N)?” Sylvain raise his hands on the air with and winks seductively. Rolling your eyes, you put a light tap on his neck at his remarks.

“Though she be but little, she is fierce. (Y/N) is the youngest among us, but she is indeed a Lioness!” Dimitri claps over your third in a row winning for today. You beat Felix in sword and Dimitri in the lance spar.

“That’s what you get for skipping classes, Sylvain. And.. keep up with your solid techniques, excellent moves, and rapid quick footwork, (Y/N). That’s all for our combat class today,” said Professor.

“She’s a few inch shorter than me but she had effortlessly defeated Blue Lions’ strongest lancer and swordsman! That’s my favourite lil sis (Y/N) for you!! ” said Annette giddily. She hugs you in a death grip embrace and sings her silly song.

Everyone are so nice to you, to the point of spoiled rotten! Especially Ingrid and Mercie! They are like your big sisters, always offering their help to ride pegasi and give endless supplies of baked sweets that you love very much. Felix is kinda harsh and always eager to spar with you, but he’s the first person to get angry when someone bullies you because you are so small. So kind, almost feel like a big brother! Dimitri helps you with your late night studies and picking books in the higher shelves on the library a lot. Dedue and Ashe cook dinner together with you on your duty day.

They see (Y/N) as the sweet smol bean that has to be protected at all cost!

“Are you free tonight, Munchkin?” Care to join me to visit the town and get something to eat? I know this little restaurant that has nice dessert! My treat, of course! Think of it as a token of congratulations from me on your brilliance today!” Sylvain put his hand on your shoulder in a friendly gesture and wink seductively.

“Seteth will scold us for sure, Syl! This is the fourth or fifth time we went for a late dinner this week,” you pout at his invitation. “He won’t. I’ll walk you back before curfew as usual. Don’t want my Kitten to get  hurt on her way back. Night walk can be dangerous, you know.”

“Why you are being so nice to me, Syl... Your girls will be upset and kill me for sure.”

“Nah.. I don’t have any! It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful evening alone. Besides, I don’t want to let my Munchkin starved in her sleep! Not to mention that you just looked awfully cute with your cheeks stuffed.” You smacked his shin and rewarded with a loud yelp from him.  “Lead the way. And.. it’s not like I like it or something like that, you know! Don’t get any wrong ideas,” you hide your blush and took his huge hand in your tiny ones.

The food was delightful as usual and Sylvain stay true to his words about going back before the curfew.

As you both closed the large door’s that marked the dormitory, you were greeted by the crisp spring night. Warm wind passed over your forms, and crickets chirped in the night.

“While we’re at it, how about a little board games rematch at my quarters? I got a new strategy to show you, Syl!”

“Bring it on then, (Y/N)! Let’s bring some sweet buns as usual to snack on later as well, then.”

“It’s a deal!”

“I’d think playing it on the bed would be more comfortable than doing it on the floor. You might catch another cold and passed out like last month in my room. It scared the living daylights out of me! Nope, never trying that again.”

“It’s not fun being frail and get sick easily.” You sigh.

“No problem. Think of it as a good chance for me to get to carry you around in my arms. For our weddi-- Ouch!!” he faux a sad face melodramatically when you punch his hand away playfully. “You might be small and petite but these hands are a force to be reckoned with. You’re as strong as a lioness,” said the philanderer as he ruffled your hair affectionately.

 

It was such a beautiful night.

---

“Do you have a moment, Miss (Y/N)? I have something important to tell you regarding my research and your Crest. We can discuss it in more detailed manner in my research room,” Professor Hanneman ask you out of the blue after the afternoon battle strategy class.

 

“Crest? But I’m sure I don’t have any, Professor! It’s stated as clear as a day in my enrollment documents, isn’t it?”

 

“There’s a mistake, Miss (Y/N). And I sworn it on my name as the Father of Crestology, you do HAVE a Crest. A Major one at that! Congratulations! I have sent a letter to your family and inform other Professors and your House Leader regarding this matter. I have my suspicion about your Crests since I watch your  prowess at combat and when it activates, the timing, and the flash of....”

 

You are a bit shocked about this and decided to ignore this fact, having a hard time to process this shocking information. Your family and other members of Blue Lions will be very surprised of this information. Is it going to be a good thing or not? Professor Hanneman’s murmurs fell on your deaf ears as you politely excuse yourself out of his room. ‘It’ll be better to keep this as a secret to avoid unwanted attention nor unnecessary commotion’ you think to yourself.

---

Moons have passed. Then the night of the ball came. Urged by your curiosity, you are eager to wait for your true love at the Goddess Tower. You were hardly expecting to see Sylvain, of all people. The surprise at seeing each other was mutual. The both of you stood there for a moment, simply enjoying the scene before you. You wrapped your arms around yourself to stave off the chill that went down your spine, shuffling closer to the older man.

 

“Do you even believe the rumors about this place?” he asked as he lay his uniform coat over your shivering form. “My curiosity gets the best of me. But am glad to find you here, Syl.”

 

“Huh.” Sylvain went quiet, his face etched with contemplation. After he thought about it a little, he let out a huff of breath and frowned.

 

“Well, the person I’m interested in... is already here. You’re here alone. I’m here alone. I was thinking maybe....”

“Wait. Me?”

“Well, of course! We’re the only two people here, aren’t we? I keep thinking about it, and it just makes sense. My Crest and yours...”

“How did you...?”

“Dimitri told me. I have confirmed it with Professor Hanneman as well. A Major one, he said. So lucky.”

He looked down at you menacingly. Your eyes were averted away from his, looking away into the distance. “What do you mean? I’m still me, Syl.  Crest or no Crest.”

Despite your dismissive answer, something changed in his expression. He took his hands from behind his neck and stalked towards you. This wasn’t at all like the kind and flirty Sylvain you loved. He’s... different.

“You know what? I’m a bit jealous. The whole time you were growing up, you never knew you had a Crest. You were free. Nobody pretended to like you. I kind of hate you for that...” he slammed you hard against the wall behind you. Strangled pained noise came from you.

His knees rest on either side of your petite body and his arms cage your head, his much bigger hand grasp yours roughly. “All you’re worth to me is a little bit of fun. We’ve been having fun, haven’t we? I thought that you understood,” Sylvain’s face a mere inch from yours, glaring daggers at you. You can feel your tears begin welling, threatening to spill at his words.

 

“Is that really what you think of me? I thought... I was different. So… our friendship has just been for nothing?” you muttered quietly, holding back your sobs.

 

He scoffed. “Of course you are. You’re just some dumb noble looking for crest babies. You never meant anything to me.” His rejection was validation of your worst fear, that you were just like every other girl. Your friendship had all fallen apart and meant nothing for him.

 

“Playing around with girls is the most fun a guy can have. Besides, I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t intend to change how I live my life. I’m a good-for-nothing, if you haven’t noticed, but I’m still a noble with a Crest. That’s all anyone cares about. It’s best to avoid getting too serious with fools like me.” His expression darkens and unreadable. The carefree mask was long gone.

 

“My Crest bring me nothing but pain. I thought maybe...if I made someone else suffer, it might help me feel better.” His hand shot up and grabbed you by your throat. Sylvain held you in front of him, tightened his grip, choking you hard. His caramel eyes glowed dark with excitement.

 

“Unnnghhh......Syl....”

You tried to squirm away but he clamped his hand tighter, making it harder for you to breathe. Your legs felt weak and limp. The pain was too intense.

 

“You were a spoiled brat who should pay for that Crest. Maybe I’ll collect the debt.” His expression dark as he looked up at you.

 

Focusing yourself, you punch his jaw as hard as you can. To your surprise, a blinding flash of your Crest shows up when you smack him as hard as you can, making Sylvain flinch in pain, dropping you with a loud thud on the cold floor. You stumbled back and dropped to your knees. Gasping for air, you tried to rub the pain from your throat, doing your best to pick yourself up.

 

“Sylvain Jose Gautier!  I care not for your Crest nor title! It means nothing to me. I like.. no, love you because you are the strongest, kindest, funniest, and the most caring person that I know. Even you are such a skirt chaser, but you always very considerate and protective of me. I never felt this way before about someone. This is my first time but... This… This was a mistake. Sorry. I hope.. you find your own happiness someday,” you said, your voice is raspy from his deadly grip and your sadness. Tears were finally flowing freely from you.

 

Sylvain’s posture becoming rigid despite his feigned relaxed position. “H-hey,” Sylvain said, his voice softened somewhat. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry...”, he tried to pat your head, but you step back instinctively. The red head flinch and turned away when he saw angry purplish hue on your neck. Guilt began creeping on his conscience.

 

“I believe you. You’re not a bad person, Sylvain, no matter what anyone says. I care about you. Our friendship, dinners, late nights walk and banters... I cherished them a lot. Really, I do. I love you, Sylvain.” You couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t look at anything besides the floor. “That’s what I came to tell you, but... nevermind. Good night, Syl. I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

 

“Did you mean that? (Y/N), wait!” He spoke with disbelief.

“Why would I lie?” you asked, hardly audible. “Goodbye, Syl.”

 

His pleas fell on deaf ears as you dash yourself as fast as possible from Goddess Tower, locking yourself inside your quarters, clutching to Sylvain’s uniform coat, while crying yourself to sleep.

---

That’s the last thing that you can remember from your Academy Days. Things were never the same since that night. You never talk to the playboy ever again since that incident. No more night walks or late board games. When you have to work together in weekly duty, there’s an unseen awkward distance and heavy tension between you two.

 

The notorious philanderer went back into his old ways, going around with a different girl each day. You often catch him glimpse at you with eyes full of remorse and sadness (mostly when he thinks you aren’t looking or noticing). Everyone in the Blue Lions noticed the changes between your relationship but being very considerate of your feelings and trying to not mention anything about it.

 

Your Father called you back home because of his grave illness in Pegasus Moon, insisting you to leave the Officers Academy behind. Blue Lions was taken aback and sad with your abrupt leave. Going back to your home in Fhirdiad, days flies in a blur motion into moons and years.

---

It’s been 5 years since you left your Academy days in Garreg Mach.

A bloody coup led by Cornelia causes Duke Rufus and Dimitri both to be apparently killed. Her  tyranny left Fhirdiad in poor state with poverty and famine. Holy Kingdom of Faerghus thrown into disarray condition with their Prince’s disappearance. The nation is plagued by civil strife and hardship.

 

With the vast majority of the former Kingdom lords having bent the knee to the overwhelming power of the Empire, all Blaiddyd territory, including the Kingdom capital, is ruled by those who are cooperating with the Empire, and is thus renamed the Faerghus Dukedom. Houses Fraldarius and Gautier were left to spearhead the resistance as the primary opponents of the Dukedom.

 

As the legitimate Marchioness of your major noble house in Blaiddyd territory after her Father’s passing, (Y/N) decided to keep on fighting against Empire until the bitter end, along with Houses of Fraldarius, Gautier, and Galatea. You keep maintain close relationships them, mostly with the neighbouring Houses, Fraldarius and Galatea. Whether it may be reinforcements soldiers to House Fraldarius or stock supplies to House Galatea, you are so much eager to give it all (sometimes by going there personally—much to your advisors’ dismay) to aid them.  Being always giving or adding the most relevant information about current war state developments made you overjoyed when you heard about the news of Dimitri’s plan to recapture Fhirdiad.

---

It’s been forever since your last time fighting on the battlefield. Reclaiming the capital is a daunting task with shortage of soldiers and resources. Rodrigue’s death is a devastating blow to Faerghus’ military strength and resources. Not to mention that House Gautier and Galatea has any resources to spare. With limited resource of your own House, you decided to prioritize evacuation of Faerghus’ citizens and helping Blue Lions to the utmost.

 

Dimitri marches for Fhirdiad, causing the oppressed citizens to revolt against Cornelia’s tyranny People are rebelling against Cornelia and Fhirdiad has turned into a gruesome battlefield. Fire was everywhere The sound of metals echoed loudly in your ears. Large Titanus crowded the streets and wreaking havoc upon buildings and citizens. With your sword in your hands, you leap and cut through Kingdom Soldiers that is preparing to activate Viskam turrets against Felix.

 

You pushed forward with great caution. When you are done helping a pair of elders and children under the rubbles to evacuate, you saw him. Sylvain. Fighting over a mage and a large Titanus all by himself. Did he get separated? He barely dodged a fireball when you strike down that mage.

 

“Munchki--!” He gasped, surprised to see you back.

“Watch out, Syl!”

You leap in front of him, parrying and slash back at the Titanus’ large appendages that is going to smash him. Sylvain cast a Ragnarok and taking down the golem-like creature with a loud explosion, sending flying debris everywhere. He gasped, grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the way. 

 

“Ugh... that hurts. Are you okay, Munchkin?” He was trapped under the rubbles and the first thing that he asked is your safety?

“W-why did you do that, Syl? You got hurt protecting me. Didn’t you want to kill me?”, you said as you helped him out from the rubble.  Fortunately he is okay aside from a few scratch and bruises.

 

“When I thought you were going to be killed for real, my reflexes kicked in. I reacted without thinking. It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being jealous of you. But, come on, I can’t help looking up to you.” He look at you with eyes full of worry and sadness.

 

“Sylvain..... Well.. It’s been awhile, but as much as I want to chat with you, we have to help Professor and Dimitri first. Cornelia has brought us so many sufferings. Now’s the time to put an end to all of this. And... thank you, Syl.” He nods and push forward to throw his lance at a Pegasus Knight that is fighting against Ingrid.

 

“I will go to deactivate Titanus’ lever. I know its location and it will help everyone tremendously against that gigantic monster! I’ll open Fhirdiad’s secret passages within my House territory to help everyone to get better access to Cornelia. When I’m done with it, I’ll regroup with reinforcement soldiers from my House to evacuate more citizens on the east side of Royal Capital, then go to help Dimitri fighting against Cornelia. See you later, Syl. Please stay safe.” You bid your farewell and run through smaller alley path, doing your missions, leaving Sylvain astonished at your very thorough, detailed plans.

 

Without the Titanus, Cornelia only has archers as her backups. As you take the archers down with Felix and Annette, Professor and Dimitri are working together to close in on her and take her down. It was a gruesome battle, but thanks to everyone’s efforts, casualties were kept to minimum and reclaiming Fhirdiad is a big success after Cornelia has been defeated.

---

It may be spring, but the nights are quite chilly here in Fhirdiad. The people are rejoicing at the return of their King. After a hard won battle of reclaiming Royal Capital of Fhirdiad, celebratory feast shows no sign of stopping. Growing weary of the festivities, you decided to excuse yourself from the banquet at the castle balcony.

“Munchkin. Here you are. His Highness has been looking for you. He wanted to express his gratitude for your loyalty and huge help at reclaiming Fhirdiad.”

“Good evening, Syl. We just did our utmost to help. Fhirdiad’s  peace and safety of the Blue Lions is of the most important thing for me, after all.”

A moment of silence passed where both of you stayed still, just basking in the moonlight and enjoying each others’ presence for a while.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” You are taken aback when Sylvain bows his head deeply in front of you.

“I know I messed up really bad and it’s fair enough if you can’t find it in your heart to forgive me. My jealousy got the best of me and it has brought you so much harm. Most girls just want me for my title or my Crest, and when I thought that it was the same for you, I… I was the one who made a mistake. I’m sorry, truly I am.” Peeking at him from the corner of your eye, you could see the furrow of Sylvain’s brows, the frowning twist of his lips. It was a look you’d never seen on him. Regret and pain. He looks so vulnerable. Somehow, you didn’t doubt the apology.

“Please elaborate, Syl.”

“Since I bear a Crest, my parents made sure I was never left wanting. My older brother didn’t have one, and so when I was born, he was pushed aside. My mere existence stole everything from him. There’s so many people that want to get close to me because of my crest. Because of something I didn’t even want to be born with. I wish I could have cared as little about my Crest as you do yours...,” he grimaces, running a hand through his hair briskly. “Women smile at me for the same reason my parents adored me...and my brother wanted me dead. And I have to meet them all with a smile because I have a Crest.” Sylvain purses his lips.

 

“But you–you’ve never treated me differently. Always being there for me and understand me, and…and–I like you, (Y/N). No. I love you so much that it scared me. A lot,” he says, closing his eyes.

 

“You say that, but it doesn’t excuse the things you’ve done.” You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to let him see mixed expression you were making at  his sudden confession but you knew he was looking at you. Intently.

 

“I was devastated when you left Garreg Mach years ago. I lost you once and I won’t let it happen again. So.... what I’m saying is…” he hesitated and briefly appeared at a loss of words which is very unlike of him.

He hugs you closer very tightly it hurts, cradling you gently against his chest. This close, you can feel the rapid pace of his heart and his nervousness. “Can you give me a second chance?” Sylvain’s touch was awkward and clumsy.

“......I will. But first… Please let me go, Syl. You are crushing me.”

Sylvain paused, as if unsure. “Did you mean that?” Vulnerability colored his tone, softened it. “I’d like to be a man who deserves that. Who deserves you. Even if you want nothing to do with me, one day I will find a way to make it up to you, to earn your forgiveness. I promise.” His voice wasn’t strong with his infamous flirtatious bravado. It was sincere.

 

“You’re so much more than just your Crest or your status, Sylvain Jose Gautier.” Taking his much bigger hand in your tiny ones, you smiled and whisper it against his hand. “You are the most amazing, kind, strongest, and nice man for me. Your path is your own.  I love you just the way you are, Sylvain. Crest or no Crest.” His face turned dark red instantly redder than his hair at your words. Sylvain.exe has stopped working

“You are going to be the death of me, Munchkin!!” Sylvain yells frantically. You can see his ears flushed furious red. He can die happy now. Goddess Sothis please take his soul.

“Why you still call me Munchkin, Syl?” you asked much to your curiousity. “It’s been years but you barely grow a few inch! But y-Ouch!! He yelps when you jab at his stomach. “But you have... grown into a fine, smart, and beautiful woman.”

 

“Time hasn’t been so kind to me in these past years, Syl. After my Father’s passing, I have to succeed him. Being a Marchioness isn’t an easy task but I learned so much and am still learning.”

 

“My sincerest condolences for your loss. But... he must be very proud of you, Munchkin. You will be a great Marchioness. Strong, thorough, quick-witted, and lovely as a—”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Mr. Gautier.” You rolled your eyes at him. The redhead laughs softly and embrace you in his arms.

 

“When this war is over, will you come with me to my homeland? It’s time for the first step in the right direction. I don’t want to marry a girl who wants to use me for my Crest or a girl who someone else chose for me. I want to marry someone I really care about. With you by my side, I’m excited to find out what this new way of life is all about. (Y/N), I’m serious. Marry me. I’d do anything for you. I’m done lying, especially to myself. I’m going to spend the rest of our lives together trying to make you happy. I promise.”

 

 “I’d like to.... introduce you to my parents. They’d love to have a new Gauti—Gyaahh!!!” He shrieked when you stomped your feet on him. “I’m so DONE with you, Syl!!” you said with exasperated look, looking away trying to hide the rising heat in your cheeks. ‘A future with Sylvain...’

 

There’s a pause when you catch his gaze and find something vulnerable there, something familiar. The flicker of hope, mirrored in your expression. It’s as if everything falls into place and clicks. Then his lips were on yours, soft and hesitant, so unlike his usual self. Your eyes fluttered shut, your lips moulding against his, as his hand came up to cup your cheek. It was all the confession you needed.

 

“I will, Syl. I promise.”

---

Bonus:

When Professor and the Blue Lions heard about your new relationship with Sylvain, they offer you heartfelt congratulations and throw a little dinner party. Dimitri is OVERJOYED and sobs a little when he saw you are radiating with so much happiness. Back then in your Academy days, he was the one who worry about you the most when Sylvain treated you poorly, after all. Ashe and Dedue throw a lavish dinner to celebrate (Y/N) and Sylvain’s relationship that evening. Mercedes and Annette provide everyone with tasty sweets and dessert. It was a heartwarming small party among Blue Lions members.

Sadly, Sylvain didn’t get to celebrate it together. Rumors had it that Felix and Ingrid has beaten him to a bloody pulp (with Professor’s EXCLUSIVE permission) because he made you their lovely sweet lil sis wept and hurt. Sylvain kept on mumbling something between “Don’t ever hitting another girl”, “RUIN his Lance of Ruin”, “Don’t ever taint her”, or “You’re finished”. Even the kind and benevolent Mercie turned her back and refuse to heal Sylvain. The Gautier heir almost went to hell that evening.

 

The poor, traumatized philanderer will changing his ways for the better for sure.

[writinglizards]

My Heart Just Knows

Sequel to Don’t Stop (I Can’t Turn the Feeling Off)

Summary: Jaskier pays Geralt a visit at his studio after a long day. Geralt makes it very good for them both. 

Paring: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, Dom/Sub play, use of the word ‘sir’, semi-public sex

Read on Ao3

As their relationship progresses, there's...a slight change. Geralt texts more often, more openly. He tells Jaskier when he's having a bad day, when he's worried, when he's struggling with this, all of it, and he gives Jaskier the opportunity to connect to him, to reassure and explain. And in return, Jaskier does his best to be a little more manageable. He doesn't smother him in attention, doesn't text incessantly, or call, or make a general nuisance of himself. They're...they're finding a balance.

They go on a few more dates, little things that end in sweet kisses and sometimes a frantic fuck at either Geralt's apartment or Jaskier's house. It's good. It's good, and Jaskier's terrified of when and how it's going to end. He keeps telling himself that they both want this, that it's not likely Geralt's just going to break it off, suddenly tired of the attention that comes with Jaskier being a popstar after he’s had his fill of Jaskier's body. He's not...he's not like that, Jaskier knows. It doesn't make it easier to deal with, but texting Geralt about it does, so he continues to do that.

Bad day, Geralt texts him sometime shortly after 1 pm, you wanna meet up for dinner? I'll pay.

Sure. You thinking that Nilfggard place downtown again?

If that's what you want, yeah. Just wanna see you.

Jaskier's chest is tight as he reads over the words. "Hold still," Yen tells him, pinching his bare shoulder aggressively. He flinches, whining, and she smiles only a little meanly at him when their eyes meet in the mirror, "you can moon over Geralt later."

"Yenna--"

"No, don't you 'Yenna' me, Jaskier. Later. You've got another interview." He grumbles in response, shoving his phone between his thighs to eliminate the temptation of looking at the texts again. "And if this goes well enough, I'll cancel the 3 pm interview."

"Really, Yen?" he asks, sitting up a little straighter. Her smile softens just a little, goes a little more genuine around the edges.

"Mm. But only if this goes well. And that includes hair and makeup, you imbecile, so hold still." He does, smiling all the while. He knows she's offering to cancel the later interview so he can meet Geralt at his studio as he closes down for the evening. He also knows if he points that out she'll overload his schedule just to prove a point. It's practically a game.

The interview goes well enough, and Yen scowls only a little when he comes back to the hair and makeup room with his best pout in place.

"Yenna--"

"Oh, shut up, for Melitele's sake. I already canceled," she says before he can even ask, and he can feel the smile on his face, stretched so wide it hurts.

"You're the best, Yen."

"I'm aware," she says primly, "now sit back down. We've got a meeting to catch in an hour and you can't wear stage makeup to it."

By the time she drops him off at Geralt's studio building, he's exhausted, but looking forward to it. They haven't talked much since setting up dinner tonight, and Jaskier's hopeful Geralt will want to take him home (or let Jaskier take him home). It's...it's been a while since they've gotten off together, although they've seen each other plenty. And they haven't fucked in even longer.

He rides the elevator up, shifting from foot to foot anxiously until the doors snick open on the correct floor. He ducks into the office less than a minute later and is delighted to find Aiden at his desk with Lambert in his lap, very obviously making out.

"Hello darlings."

"Son of a--fuck," Lambert yelps, tumbling out of Aiden's lap and directly onto the floor. Aiden fumbles a hand out to catch him but he's laughing and he's not much help.

"It's been a good day for everyone, I see."

"Hi Jaskier," Aiden smiles, helping Lambert up who shakes off his hands immediately, glowering.

"Listen, popstar--" he starts in, aiming for intimidating, but the effect is diminished by the way Aiden melts behind him, smile soft and fond, "--Geralt doesn't know. You can't--"

"Can't say anything? My lips are sealed." He mimes pulling a zipper closed in front of his mouth and Lambert fumbles to a stop, confused.

"...Really?"

"Really. It's not my place to go blowing your big secret, dear." He winks over Lambert's shoulder at Aiden, who erupts into snickers, a hand clamped over his mouth.

"And what do you think is so funny, kitten?"

"I--I just--" he has to pause to breathe, to calm himself down, "We've been dating three years and Jaskier's been dating Geralt two months and he already knows. Lambert--"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he grumbles, but even he's grinning a little now.

"Am I missing something here?"

"It's a secret only from Geralt," Aiden tells him helpfully, "everyone else knows."

"Ah." That's... "is there any particular reason?" he asks. Lambert shrugs and Aiden grins broadly.

"Geralt told Lambert not to harass me two days after we started dating and it was just...too funny to correct." Lambert snorts a laugh and Aiden's grin softens as their gazes catch and hold, "And here we are."

Jaskier's chest tightens watching them. It's clear they care about each other, clear they love each other, and he's...he's happy for them, he is. He just hopes...

"Aiden, when's that next appointment?" Geralt's voice calls from somewhere in the workroom, making Jaskier jump and Aiden roll his eyes.

"He canceled," he hollers back, dragging Lambert back down into his lap with a grin, "you're cleared for the day." There's a vague rumble of assent from the other room as Lambert beams and twists back to press a kiss to Aiden's throat, swinging a leg over the armrest of the chair to lounge back in his lap, Aiden's arms around his waist, his back to Aiden's chest.

"You aren't afraid he'll walk in and catch you?" Jaskier asks, and Lambert laughs.

"Pretty boy's real focused at work, popstar," he grins, "why, I've--"

"Okay," Aiden laughs, slapping a hand across Lambert's mouth, "no lurid details, thanks." Jaskier can't help but laugh.

"Ask me again when princess isn't here," Lambert grins, elbowing Aiden playfully. Aiden slaps at his chest vaguely.

"Behave."

"I always behave, kitten."

"Mm, no, you don't," he says, but he still presses a kiss to Lambert's cheek, "now are you gonna let me work or are you gonna have to go sit in the car until I can get off early to pick puppy up from daycare?"

"Fuck you," he mutters, cheeks tinged pink, and Jaskier bites back a laugh. Ah. So that's what that means.

"Do you think he'd mind if I--" he trails off, gesturing vaguely toward the back room, and Aiden refocuses on Jaskier, smiling.

"Nah, go right ahead. I'll shout before anyone comes in, no worries." The wink he sends Jaskier implies he knows very well what they've gotten up to in the past. Jaskier fights down the blush burning in his cheeks as he steps through the door.

Geralt's stitching together an outfit across the room at one of the large, industrial sewing machines, humming softly under his breath. It's a tune Jaskier recognizes, one of his songs.

"Aiden?" Geralt asks, not turning to look, and Jaskier's chest aches with how much he loves him, this quiet, attentive man.

"Try again, love," he says softly, and Geralt swears. Jaskier laughs as he pulls the fabric away from the machine and snatches up a stitch ripper.

"Couldn't have waited another fucking minute, could you?" he grouses, "you ruined my seam."

"Mm, I'm sure you can fix it," Jaskier grins, crossing the room to press up behind him, drop his chin onto Geralt's shoulder, "I believe in your very capable skills, darling."

Geralt grumbles irritably, but he also turns to kiss Jaskier sweetly, so he can't actually be that mad.

"What are you doing here so early?"

"Good boys get their last interview of the day canceled so they can come visit their very important other half," he murmurs, kissing along Geralt's throat, "and I've been such a good boy, sir."

"You want me to put you in your place?" Geralt asks, and it sends a shock of heat straight to Jaskier's core. He'd just been teasing. They haven't...Geralt's not really interested in dominating and Jaskier hasn't slipped on him since that last time with the dildo. The thought of it--

"Don't tease me, love," he murmurs, kissing Geralt's throat again as he pulls away. He twists to look at him, expression thoughtful.

"I'm not."

"Geralt. I know you don't...you don't like that."

Geralt twists, getting his hands around Jaskier's waist and tugging him forward, thumbs pressing into the jut of his hipbones just above the waistband of his trousers, "It doesn't do anything for me, but I--you like it. And I like to see you feel good." It sends a shiver down his spine.

"Aiden's in the other room," he whispers, but it sounds like a weak protest even to his own ears.

"And my last appointment canceled. Aiden won't come back here because he doesn't want me to give him any extra work." He says it matter-of-factly, but he's not pressing, just...offering.

"What about dinner?"

"We can get something after, if you want," he murmurs, pressing his lips to bare skin peeking from the deep v of Jaskier's shirt. He sinks his fingers into Geralt's hair, petting gently.

"Will you take me home afterward?" He's...a little nervous about...about after. He doesn't play as a sub often for a number of reasons, one of which being his sub drop can be...bad. Most people don't want to deal with that.

"Of course," Geralt hums, lips barely brushing his skin, "whatever you need from me, Jask," and that's...

"Please," he gasps, tightening his grip in Geralt's hair, "sir, please."

Geralt breathes out quietly for a moment, and then his shoulders straighten as he pulls away. Jaskier lets him go.

"Go kneel by the couches. Don't touch anything, yourself included. If you're very good, I'll take care of you after I've fixed the problem you caused. Understood?"

Jaskier swallows hard and nods. Geralt just raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Go sit."

Jaskier feels a little thrill go through him as he crosses the room, settling down on his knees by the client couch. Geralt watches him critically until he's settled and then he nods, more to himself than to Jaskier, and resumes his work on the sewing machine.

It's a unique thrill, to be on the other end of their play, to have Geralt ignore him. He's already hard and aching in his trousers and watching the curve of Geralt's shoulders as he works is only getting him more wound up. He shifts, biting back a whine, and the sound of the sewing machine stops.

"Do we have a problem over there?" Geralt asks, tone severe, and his stomach clenches so hard it almost hurts.

"N-no, sir," he mumbles, forcing himself to stillness. His hands settle on his thighs and he squeezes sharply, trying to calm himself down. Geralt stares at him for another long minute before he turns back to his work. Jaskier lets out a breath.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the slow rush of breath in his lungs, the easy inhale, exhale pattern. He tries to focus on that rather than the burning under his skin, his own arousal. At some point, every exhale becomes a whine, but he's so far gone he doesn't notice until Geralt snaps at him.

"Can you be quiet?" he asks, and when Jaskier's eyes snap open, he's not even looking at him. He whines again, louder, unable to help himself. "Answer the question, Jaskier."

"N-no," he admits, and something in him roils to admit that he can't be good enough for him, can't--

"You need help?" Geralt asks, tone a little softer, and Jaskier sobs, nodding.

"Please."

Geralt sighs, a long, slow exhale, and then he's standing. He pauses to scoop something up from a nearby table before approaching Jaskier.

"Will this work?" he asks, presenting a scrap of fabric for Jaskier's approval. It's soft and silky from the looks of it, and Jaskier nods, tilting his head back and letting his mouth fall open as if to take Geralt's cock. Geralt groans.

"Cheeky," he mumbles, thumb pressing temptingly against his bottom lip, "misbehave and cause distractions and still think you deserve my cock in your mouth." He takes the cloth and winds it tight before shoving the fabric gently between Jaskier's teeth.

He moans as the fabric presses against his tongue, soft and silky like he knew it would be. Geralt stretches the ends of it back behind his head and tips his head down with one hand, knotting the fabric tightly but not so tightly it causes undue stress on his jaw.

"How's it feel?" Geralt asks, "nod if good, shake your head if it needs adjustment." Jaskier hardly waits for the question to be out of Geralt's mouth before he's nodding, tongue pressing against the fabric as he works his jaw testingly. There's a little give, but not too much. It's perfect.

"Good," Geralt says fingers settling on the hinge of Jaskier's jaw and digging in just a little, "you stay quiet and let me finish my work, and then we'll see what you've earned." Without another word, he turns and crosses back to his sewing machine. Jaskier could cry.

He tries to be good, but it's so fucking difficult. He's hot and hard in his trousers and Geralt looks so good, shoulders pulling the fabric of his shirt tight across his back as he bends over the sewing machine and Jaskier whines around the gag.

Geralt starts humming again and Jaskier forces himself to focus on that--the pleasant melody of it, the way it makes his chest tight with fondness. He lets himself get lost in the sound, and when the sewing machine stops humming, he doesn't even notice.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice is soft and his fingers along his jaw are gentle. He can't remember closing his eyes, but opening them takes an enormous effort. "Good?"

"Hmmph," he mumbles through the gag. His tongue feels thick, his thoughts syrupy. He's not sure when he slipped into subspace but it's...pleasant. To put it mildly.

"Will you behave if I remove the gag?"

"Mmph."

"Alright," he says, as if Jaskier had answered with something intelligible. His fingers shift gently through Jaskier's hair before unknotting the fabric and easing the gag, damp with saliva, from between his teeth.

He gives him a minute to work the stiffness from his jaw, one hand cupping his face gently as he does so almost automatically. His half-lidded eyes are locked on the clothed cock not a foot from his face and it makes his mouth water to think of getting his lips around it. He hopes Geralt thinks he's been well behaved enough to let him suck him off.

"Color?" he asks, and it's so hard to make words work, but--

"Green," he rasps out, voice wrecked. Geralt hums.

"You were very good after the gag. Do you think you deserve my cock?" he asks conversationally, and Jaskier sways forward without really meaning, cheek pressed to the front of his trousers, "Answer me, Jaskier."

He rubs his face against the firm bulge of him, like a cat, moaning. He can't do much else.

"In your mouth?" he asks, voice low, and Jaskier moans again, soft and shaky. Geralt hums in response.

He doesn't say anything, just unbuttons his slacks, holding Jaskier back with one hand in his hair as he works them down his hips enough to pull his cock free.

Jaskier moans again, mouth falling open when Geralt rubs the head across his slightly parted lips, one hand around the base of his cock and the other still tight in Jaskier's hair. Distantly, he knows what comes next, but right now all he can process is the slick of precome on his lips and cheeks. His tongue flicks out to lick the taste from his lips. Geralt groans.

"You're so pretty on your knees, sweetheart," Geralt says, and it ignites something hot in Jaskier's gut, something ravenous. Geralt uses endearments so rarely. To hear it now lights him from the inside and Jaskier shivers with it. "You going to be good and let me fuck that sweet little mouth now?"

"Please," he rasps, barely loud enough to be heard, but Geralt makes a soft noise.

"Good boy," he breathes, and Jaskier chokes, gut clenching tight, "hands on my thighs. Don't want you tempted to touch yourself." He whines softly, but follows the directions, digging his fingers into the soft fabric of his slacks and bunching them under his hands.

As soon as he does, Geralt presses forward and Jaskier's jaw falls farther open, his length sinking between Jaskier's lips.

"Fuck," Geralt sighs. He stops about halfway and Jaskier mumbles incoherently in protest as he pulls backward before thrusting forward again, only a little deeper. "You feel so good, Jask."

He does his best to be good for him, tonguing along the length and sucking at the head as he pulls back, but it's hard to be present enough to do a good job. Mostly he just lets his jaw go slack as he whines around his length, lets his mouth and throat be used as Geralt presses in until he bottoms out, Jaskier's nose pressed to his pubic bone and buried in coarse white curls.

"Your throat's so tight," he groans above him, working his hips in short little circles as he bumps against the back of his throat. Jaskier's gone lax--he can feel the fullness, but it's only distantly uncomfortable. His fingers flex in the fabric of Geralt's trousers and his dick pulses hotly and he just...floats.

"You want me to come down your throat?" Geralt asks, breathless, and Jaskier whines, unable to respond. He does, he does, but-- "Words, Jaskier."

Geralt tugs him off his length, the red, swollen head of his cock bobbing enticingly before his lips as he pops free of Jaskier's mouth. He's enraptured with the slickness of it, the way precome beads needily at the head, the string of saliva still connecting his swollen lips to the plumpness of him.

"Words, Jaskier," Geralt repeats, tone severe, and it breaks him out of it, just a little.

He glances up at him through his eyelashes, mouth hanging open. His dick aches and his throat aches and he wants so badly for Geralt to find his pleasure in using him--wants to be good.

"Please," he forces out, "come down my throat, sir."

It's all the encouragement Geralt needs. He growls roughly as he shoves his dick back between Jaskier's lips, and Jaskier sucks and laves greedily at him, desperate to feel his release hit the back of his throat.

"Not gonna be long," Geralt warns, voice rough, and Jaskier moans brokenly, fingers tightening in his trouser fabric again.

Geralt shoves his hips against Jaskier's face twice, three times, before spilling. It's messy and thick and more than he was expecting--he chokes a little even as Geralt pulls back, gives him room to swallow.

"Shh," he's soothing, grip gone gentle in Jaskier's hair, "I know, 'm sorry, sweetheart. Swallow, love, you're fine."

Geralt's thick fingers wipe the tears from his eyes, the ones he didn't know were there, as he swallows, panting roughly.

"You did so well, Jaskier," he murmurs when Jaskier's mouth is empty again, breath rasping in his lungs, "so good for me, thank you, sweet." He shivers.

They don't move for several moments. Geralt guides Jaskier's forehead to his hip, lets him rest his head there as he catches his breath and presumably decides what to do with him. He's so hard it's painful and he can barely breathe for how badly he wants Geralt to finish him off.

Despite that, he's also aching for Geralt to deny him, to tell him he was good but not good enough, to have him sit, ignored and untouched, until his arousal dies, until he's no longer burning for it.

"How should I reward my good boy?" Geralt asks, fingers carding gently through Jaskier's hair, and he can't help but whine. Maybe someday he'll tell Geralt about how badly he wants to be denied, but right now-- "what do you want, Jaskier?"

"Wanna get off," he slurs, voice wrecked. He hardly sounds like himself.

"Do you deserve for me to jerk you off, or should I let you rub against me instead?" he asks, and the thought of that, of not being given what he really wants--

"Please," he mumbles, unable to give voice to it, "please, sir."

"You'd like that?" Geralt asks, tone conversational. Of course he knows Jaskier would like that--they've talked a little about his need for denial, talked about how hot he gets for humiliation. Geralt obviously doesn't know quite the extent of it and Jaskier had thought Geralt was choosing to go easy on him. Now he knows he's just playing the game.

Geralt steps back, settling on the client couch, and widens his thighs. Instinctively, Jaskier shuffles forward to press between them before Geralt hauls him up to straddle his thigh, knees resting on either side. He threads Jaskier's arms around his neck and Jaskier shakes with his effort to hold still.

"You don't touch yourself," Geralt says softly, "you keep your hands around my neck. I'll touch you if I want. You can move, but you're going to come in your pants, understand?"

The shivers trembling up his spine intensify and he nods, hiding his face against his arm and Geralt's neck. "Yes, sir."

"Good," he says, palms settling on Jaskier's hips, "get going, then."

Geralt's hands fall to rest on the swell of his hips, just holding, and Jaskier has to encourage himself into movement, rocking forward gently. Geralt doesn't reprimand his speed or give him directions, so he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to bite back a whine. He doesn't want to upset Geralt, wants to be good, wants--

"Hey," Geralt whispers, lips brushing Jaskier's temple, just a gentle graze, "follow what your body wants, Jaskier. There's no rules here." It's exactly what he needed to hear and he whines openly when Geralt encourages him to move faster, to chase that white-hot feeling burning in his gut.

He snaps his hips forward, grinding his cock along the press of Geralt's thigh, shifts to grind harder up against his stomach for a minute before resettling along his thigh, panting hard.

"There you go, Jaskier," he breathes, squeezing his hips gently, and Jaskier could cry for how good it feels, "good job, sweetheart, just take what you need."

"'M close," he gasps out, twisting his face to press his lips to Geralt's cheek. He hadn't been asked to kiss him and he hadn't been told it wasn't allowed, so--

"Yeah? Come on, Jask, what do you need?"

"You," he sobs out, and Geralt turns to meet his lips with his own, kissing him slow and sweet as Jaskier grinds hard against his thigh and comes in his pants, shaking and gasping into the kiss.

He rides out the feeling with shocky little rocks of his hips, eyelids fluttering, and Geralt holds him through it, palms sliding up his back and then back down, even and controlled. It's grounding and it's exactly what he needs to force himself back into control, to pull himself out of the fog of needy subspace he'd fallen into.

When he pulls back, finally, Geralt's watching his face closely before he breaks into a soft smile. "There you are," he says, voice soft and reverent, "how was it, Jask?"

"Good," he says. The word is inadequate to describe the way his entire body feels light and fuzzy, the wave of tiredness suddenly tugging his eyelids down. Geralt smiles.

"Yeah, I bet," he leans forward to kiss him, quick, "I was...okay?" Oh. Oh.

"You were perfect, love," he says, because it's true, "thank you. I wouldn't...I wouldn't trust just anyone to dom for me anymore. You did a very good job." Geralt doesn't respond outwardly with more than a nod, but Jaskier can see the way the praise lights him up from the inside, the way his smile pulls a little wider, eyes crinkling just a little more at the corners.

"Thank you, I'm...not as comfortable. Domming." Jaskier knows. They've talked about it, a little bit, about how Geralt doesn't really get the idea of finding pleasure in the power. "This was...good," he says haltingly, and Jaskier perks up.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he affirms, before ducking his head, blush spreading up his cheeks, "I...liked seeing you take your pleasure...because of me." Ah.

"You just love to spoil me," Jaskier mumbles, cupping his face and leaning forward to kiss him, soft and sweet, "no matter what role you take. My good boy."

"Ah--" Geralt makes a soft noise at the praise, pressing into Jaskier's kiss for one quick, heated moment before he pulls away, "we should...uh. We should go. I could take you home?" Geralt asks, voice low.

"Sounds like a plan, darling," Jaskier can't help but grin. His pants are sticky and uncomfortable, come rapidly cooling, and he's not looking forward to the walk back to the car, but--

"Here," Geralt says, pulling away to move to the other end of the room and rifle through a set of drawers, "go change." It's a simple skirt, colorful but not flashy, and Jaskier can tell just from looking at it that it's his size. His heart skips, chest tightening.

"You made this for me?"

"Mm," he's not looking at him, "I did." Jaskier laughs breathlessly and he feels...so light.

They leave the studio a few minutes later, Jaskier's soiled pants in a bag. In the front office, Aiden's behind his desk and Lambert's across the room in one of the waiting chairs. Interestingly, his hair is mussed and his shirt buttons are a little off.

"Lambert, don't harass my employee," Geralt burrs, tugging Jaskier after him, their arms linked, "Aiden, you can go home early, whenever you're ready."

"Will do, boss man. Thanks!" He catches Jaskier's eye and fucking winks.

He doesn't say anything about it until they're in the elevator.

"So Aiden and Lambert," he starts, not intending to give away their game but just...prod Geralt's own assumptions (he's not sure how Geralt doesn't know they're fucking, honestly) but Geralt breaks him off with a groan.

"Aiden and Lambert are...weird. Especially together. It's best not to think too hard about it," Geralt says, and Jaskier's lips twitch. They're in for a long con, alright. "So, my place or yours?"

"Mine," Jaskier purrs, leaning up to nip Geralt's jaw. Beneath his lips, Geralt shivers, "we haven't got to use my bed yet."

[bibliocratic]

Ooo jonmartin prompts ya say? 👀 If you're still taking requests, I'm really feeling some Supportive Monster Boyfriends angst rn. Either jon being Very Eye and martin calming him down, or martin being Very Lonely and Jon pulling him back, whichever....😁 --@screaming-introvertedly

Here you are! Supportive Martin and the Eye-based horror his boyfriend sometimes turns into like some sort of shitty superpower

(some content warnings for violent imagery and graphic hurt/comfort, I’ll add more detail to the tags. 

Jon rocks him awake violently, his nails leaving reddened half-moons in the skin of Martin’s arm, clamping his other hand vice-tight over his mouth. He is panicked and panicking and Martin’s pulling his beaten, aching body up out of muddy awakening, dredging together the scraps of energy he has left.

Jon releases him, and makes sloppy gestures, their meaning imperfectly delivered with how rushed he’s being; Up. Leave. Corruption. Now. Leave. Now. Now.

His mouth and hands make a terrified picture of desperation, and Martin’s staggering to standing, steadying himself on the rust-mossed bannister of the car park stairwell they’ve been sheltering in, trying to shuck exhaustion from his limbs to paw around for his backpack.

It’s too late anyway.

Martin can hear the skittering, scraping tumult approaching up the floors below, and Jon must know something he doesn’t, because he’s grabbing Martin’s hand and tugging him manically up, pushing him when he thinks Martin’s going too slow, and their feet are tripping on the concrete stairwell and still Jon is trying to pull them both upwards with nothing but his will and shaky legs. Their thumping, irregular steps echo in the boxy space, and still they aren’t fast enough.

They come as a mass. A roiling, compacted sea of matted, boil-plagued fur and knotted tails. Mouths frothing rapid cry out a hideous rending song that scampers and squeals, and they pour up the steps like a wave and break against them as they run.

Martin fights hard as they’re blocked in at a higher landing. He’s getting good at fighting these days. He scythes with a home-made weapon of brute force and nails while Jon burrows into their backpack, and then he’s being handed a flare as Jon casts down a glugging spill of petrol, and that when illuminates in a fetid barbecue stench takes out a good few of them. Yet they are legion and there are only two of them, and they were shattered and wasting before even this assault, and Martin is not fast enough.

He remembers hearing Jon holler in agony, his body turning in a pirouette of violent motion and intended impact and private terror, and he doesn’t even manage to complete his turn. A rat-king, made of up dozens of writhing furry bodies latches into his leg, using the leverage to claw savagely at his chest with a dozen back legs, a mauling amalgamation of impossible, flesh-rot limbs.

Something chomps into the meat of his arm and dangles there. He screams himself, the sound too big in the stairwell, a return cry of a dozen distant howling Martins, and his body shudders felled as he’s pulled down, and he keeps on screaming. He’s lost sight of Jon. There’s blood and matted fur over his eyes. His lungs expanding with a breathless terror, he tries to batter them away like midges in a summer heat as they swarm over him and take him for food.

The patter of their nailed feet over his cheeks, the paper-cut, dig-drag sensation of the onslaught, the decisive and brutal splitting bite and rip of the skin of his throat.

“Stop.”

The rats stop. So does Martin. The scream bubbles un-made and unvoiced in his chest and he can’t blink the blood out of his eyes. He can’t see Jon, but he doesn’t expect to. It’s not Jon that’s here with them any more.

“Tell me,” whisper-demands-croons-sings the thing that is no longer Jon, voice crashing on the rocks of them with with a wave-foam aftertaste of static and Martin’s mouth fills with the saliva of every shameful story he’s ever kept secret, every unkind thought, every mistake, every evidence of his fragile humanity laid bare.

“Tell me your story, Tangled Hoarde of Many Claws,” compells the voice of the Archive. “Let me rip your song from your spines.”

Martin pays hideous witnessing to the rats’ screaming. He sees when they start rocking their mismatched, desecrated bodies, moaning and keening, when they start dying with all the violent grace that was probably afforded to Peter Lukas. The infected bodies that survive turn delirious, wailing in confusion, lost from their hive, dragging their broken-backed, broken-brained bodies from the battleground, and the Watcher drinks it all in.

Martin feels the compulsion flicker and falter like a loss of pressure. His mouth remembers the agony of his body.

The thing that is not Jon watches him for a steady moment. The edging of its eyes stretches, retracts like the bodies of jellyfish, and pupils bloom into existence like opening flowers with a sucking, popping sound. Still the thing stares and Martin wails at the torn places of his skin, and the flayed torn places in his head that the thing is calmly perusing through as his movements get weaker.

He wants Jon here. He is trembling, and blood-loss woozy and he wants Jon to tell him it’ll be ok.

It is a body in all the ways something can be technically a body, and it moves in all the ways something can mechanically move. The hands that touch him are not the thin-spindle fingers that are deceptively calloused, they are not hands he knows, hands that have held him with a cherishing softness. There is nothing soft in this gaze, like being the only thing in the sights of some predator on a desolate, wind-scoured moor, nothing soft in its hold as it observes the violence done to Martin’s body.

Martin gasps and thrashes faintly, gargles blood through the weeping gash in his throat, and the thing makes a sound like a snarl of tape being wound back.

“Breathe,” his body is commanded. It doesn’t even have a mouth any more. It sounds its demand in the fibres of his skin, in the tendrils of his slipping-away consciousness, and Martin almost weeps at the meat-hook immoveable yank of it as he’s made to persist.

It is unendurable to continue. And the thing, that flexes the outline of a face that could have been Jon’s, whose eyes have lost all colour, replaced by the shock-wide black of pupils like the unblinking gaze of owls, will not permit him to drop into unconsciousness. Martin is instructed to live and breathe and survive in this blood-soaked, echoing stairwell, and his abused body does as instructed. It is efficient, this brutality of meatball surgery, but there is nothing human in it, and Martin’s throat gags on a wail as a tourniquet is applied to his leg.

Finally, eyes that could be eyes he knows boil down to the front of the thing’s face.

“Sleep. Long and dreamless,” comes the final command. Martin has no choice in the matter.

He awakes in a different place. There was a multi-level shopping centre running off one of the floors of the car park, and he opens his eyes in the plush-carpeted, desolate foyer of a multiscreen cinema. His body an anguish, aching and bruised to the bones of him. He blearily looks at the patch on his arm, the neatly sewn stitches and tape marking his skin, manages to move his arm with a pained wince to touch at the padding of gauze at his throat, his upper leg.

Around him like the elements of a summoning circle; medical gear, antiseptic and needle driver, tissue forceps, blood-heavy bindings discarded along with make-shift compressions. Martin wonders how much of his body needed mending. How much of it was commanded to.

Jon is there. His face ashen and smeared with Martin’s blood, the horrifying vista of his face returned to almost normal. Martin watches an eyeball roll back and into the scar tissue of Jon’s throat. He has his back against a circular plinth, body collapsed and folded uncomfortably like he’s lying where he fell.

He’s not looking at Martin. His eyes – his own dark pupils returned to him – staring off at a distance Martin cannot reach, a horizon he cannot venture to.

There are the drying trails of tears down Jon’s cheeks. His mouth is moving but it is not his voice that spools out but a testament of horror bestowed by some other poor soul using a mimicry of their voice.

Jon has the expression on his face of a man who has spent a long time drowning.

Martin wonders if he’s too late to bring him back to shore.  

Martin reaches out, fumbling, his motions jerky, imprecise. His reach limited by the bindings of his wounds, he flails his hand to touch Jon’s leg, the bare skin revealed below the line of the trouser leg, the only part of him he can reach.

“Jon, come back,” he pleads hoarsely, and stares at him as if hoping to snag his gaze away.  “Come on, you can do it, come back to me.”

Jon’s eyes blink slowly, like a lizard. His mouth doesn’t stop moving. His body has started shivering, though it’s warm enough here.

Martin wets his lips and wishes for water.

“I broke my wrist when I was six,” he says, the words scraping up the side of his throat. Jon’s eyes flick to him, and there are still the embers of a hungry light there. He has stopped talking. He is paying attention.  “I used to play rugby, though I was never any good at it. There was a fight in the changing rooms when I was thirteen, and I stopped playing after that.” Martin sucks in more air and Jon’s gaze doesn’t leave him. He’s stopped shivering.

The Eye likes the tales of minor tragedies, of fears and hurts and heartaches and so Martin feeds it like a praying man might light votive candles to try and lead his loved ones home.

“The first boy I loved, it-it was, we were at uni, but he was so ashamed of who he was he kept me a secret too,” he continues. “I am frightened that one day I’ll become my dad. I miss Tim and Sasha. I knew I had a crush on you when you told me I could stay in the Archives, and even then, I wished it gone because I didn’t want to be hurt again and I thought you’d be the sort of man who’d tear me down to build himself up.” He clenches his fingers around Jon’s ankle. “I am scared that one day you’ll drown. Come back, Jon. It can’t have you, come back to me.”

Jon sways and blinks woozy. He looks at Martin, seeing again, and his gaze is thready and human and terrified.

He’s stumbling, crawling on hands and knees to Martin’s side. Stuffed in his mouth are all the sorries and regrets and pains Martin can see writ large over his face; his hands span bird-flighty over Martin’s healing, shattered places.

“Jon, I’m ok, you saved me, Jon, we’re alive.”

Martin uses his arm to pull him close. Jon’s hands are beginning to scatter in explanation, in apology, but Martin shushes him with a croaky, relieved sound and holds him, a known quantity cradled in his hands, rocking his creaking, bruised painfully human body as tight as his battered limbs can bear.