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cosmos-coma · 2 years

Note

Could you write something about the reader being soft and gently tactile at the beginning of their relationship and Lambert having no idea how to react to this since he’s not used to such things

AKA attempts to cuddle cause Lambert.exe to crash

Lambert.exe has crashed

A/N: Lambert is an absolute goof. Idk if this is exactly the "gently tactile" you had in mind, but I thought this felt very fitting.

Pairing: Lambert x Reader

Words: 787

Warnings: none! (well, real quick editing).

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You flopped back on the singular bed as you two finally settled down at the inn, the comfort of a soft mattress enveloping you with ease.

Lambert laughed quietly as he watched the mattress bounce with you and slid his gear off his shoulder. “Since you’re obviously so comfortable, I guess I'll take the first bath,” He said as he headed towards the bathroom, “don’t get too comfortable now, sweetheart. If you stretch out any further I’ll be sleeping on the floor.”

You grinned and starfished out, “or you could just cuddle with me..?”

You weren't offended as he snorted with laughter and closed himself off in the bathroom. It was still fairly early in your relationship and while you Lambert could be playful and handsy sometimes, he didn't seem to be able to be serious and gentle. But you supposed that was just how he was brought up.

He had told you a bit about the trials he faced as a child, the friends he lost. You knew he had turned to humor and clowning to cope with the difficulties he had grown up with, and being a witcher meant no body would be gentle with you- not even yourself.

He may not be used to such gentle loving as you badly wanted to give him…

But damn it if you weren't gonna love him like that anyways. You were nothing if not persistent after all; how else would you snag such a stubborn witcher?

Lambert exited soon enough, a small bit of steam wafting out after him as he came out looking fresh and new. A towel wrapped around his waist and his facial hair looked a little neater trimmed than normal, “your turn, mattress hog… the baths already warm and full for you.” he said with a hint of warmth in his teasing tone.

“You’re so sweet…” you grinned as you hopped up, “My big sweet monster hunter, my honey like witcher..” you said as you came over to him, mischief playing on your face already as you stalked closer, arms out.

“No, no, what are you doing- Y/n, back down.” Lambert warned, one hand on his towel and the other stretched out to keep you at bay.

“My warm hearted, funny jester of a man…” You grinned and jumped toward him.

Lambert was sure you were just going to pull down his towel, so he wrapped his free arm around you and held you tight against his chest. You were immovable and secure.

“Oh no…. Why hasn’t that spark left your eyes?” He asked, a worried look crossing his face until he realized “... I’ve fallen into your trap…”

You grinned as you surged forward to pepper the love-starved man in kisses. Sweet, quick, and soft- you had hoped Lambert might take your love a bit better in smaller doses, but you still watched him falter.

His face blushed a faint pink- something quite bright for a witcher- as he sputtered bits of words and you couldn’t make out. His hand stayed just as tight around you and you’re pretty sure you could hear the gears in his head whirling.

“Oh, Lamb..” You laughed softly as you patted his chest, pulling back to grab a few of your things. “Don’t worry, I won’t overwhelm you right away. You just go get comfortable, yeah? And I’ll be back for you soon” You kissed his cheek gently and lovingly as you made your way past him and to your waiting bath.

Lambert took a few more moments of stunned silence before his body let him kick back into gear. He would never admit it to another living soul, but he took a moment then to savor the lingering of your lips on his skin.

You sighed a breath of relief as you returned from the bathroom, a fresh scent rolling off your newly scrubbed skin.

Lambert's eyes followed you as you rounded the bed and climbed in beside him. Your hand outstretched questioningly, followed by the rest of you and you slowly brought yourself in to cuddle up against him. You gave him plenty of time to object and pull away, and to your surprise, the objection never came.

A small smile stretched across your lips as you laid your head down over his heart, your arms circling his waist to keep him comfortably close. You could still feel him seize up, his brain whirling like a top as he processed the tenderness of your touch.

Slowly though- and you didn’t think it true at first- his hand came and rested on your back. Perhaps it wasn’t a full cuddle, but it was a big step for the love-starved wolf and you couldn’t be prouder.

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#lambert secretly wants soft things #but its so secret even he didn't know #lambert #witcher lambert #lambert x reader #lambert x y/n #lambert x you #lambert witcher #the witcher fanfiction #Lambert imagine #witcher lambert imagine

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hidden-misthios · 2 years

Text

Something in the Orange (part 1)

Pairing: Lambert x female!sorceress!reader

Word count: 3 230

Summary: When Geralt of Rivia disappears, Jaskier has no choice but to ask his best friend for help. Although struggling with her own issues, Y/N agrees and they join Vesemir and the others in Kaer Morhen. The search might be difficult but not as difficult as the certain redheaded witcher who keeps challenging her.

A/n: Just like my last Lambert fic, this one is going to be a mix of games, books and show. Excuse any grammar errors you find.

Find me.

Those were the only words Y/N heard in her dreams for last eight nights. She didn’t even see a person who kept repeating them and it was tiring.

A dark fortress surrounded by a veil of rain and brief flashes of thunder. Not a place she ever visited but Y/N had a feeling she knew the place like a palm of her own hand. As soon as she approached old wooden doors and opened them, the melody of the organ started playing in the distance, filling her ears. No matter how much she wandered around the castle, she could never find the person playing them nor the instrument itself. At some point, she would give up, but each time, the music would become louder and faster. Then, she would suddenly remember why she came here in the first place. She was looking for someone! But as soon as she tried to remember who it was, the world around her started to spin, making Y/N feel like she’s going to fall. She would close her eyes, trying to focus but nothing helped.

And then she would wake up.

In her bed at her own house, in middle of Novigrad.

She didn’t have time or energy to interpret her own dreams. As an oneiromancer, Y/N’s job was to read the future and past using the dreams of others. Her own had to wait for now.

***

Corrine Tilly, Y/N’s mentor, was furious again. Y/N was late for fourth time this week and those dreams were the reason why. Y/N didn’t share them with Corrine yet but she owned her mentor explanation. That is, if Corrine doesn’t fire her.

“You know, if you don’t want to work for me anymore, you’re free to go. This is getting ridiculous.” Corrine said, crossing arms on her chests. Y/N closed the doors behind her and approached the brown-haired woman. Corrine was young sorceress who built quite a reputation for interpreting other people's dreams. Her customers were usually wealthy residents of Novigrad but every now and then someone from outside of city walls would show up and ask for her help.

Corrine lived off this money for seven years now and she could afford an apprentice. Y/N was quite lucky to learn from Corrine. She learned how to control the dreams better. Which, for some people proved harder, especially if they weren’t truthful at first.

“I’m sorry Corrine, I really am.” Y/N started. “But it’s not my fault.”

“No?” Corrine raised her eyebrows and starts slowly pacing around the customer room. This was the biggest room of the house and it was fully decorated to look and feel like a bedroom. There was a spacious bed full of pillows, big carpet, lots of candles and clary sage incense for customers to fall asleep easier.

“I-I…” Y/N tried to sort out her thoughts “I have dreams.” she said, fully aware that everyone else would find these words absurd but she knew her mentor. Corrine knew very well what those words meant.

“What kind?” woman asked in serious tone, sitting down on her chair and crossing her legs. That was her spot whenever she would interview the customer and Y/N couldn’t help but feel like one at the moment.

“Recurring.”

“For how long?”

“Eight nights.” Y/N answers.

“And you’re telling me this now?” Corrine asks. Y/N could swear she heard disappointment in her mentor’s voice.

“I didn’t want to bother you. I knew our schedule was full this week-”

“Y/N, you’re not just someone I’d squeeze into schedule. If you have any kind of problem, not just dream related…you can always count on me.” Corrine’s face softened.

Y/N was about to say something when the doorbell rang and they both turned to the doors. No one was supposed to arrive until noon. It was too early.

“I’m sorry, but we are not taking in any new customers right now-” Corrine stood up.

“Good thing I’m not new, then.” Jaskier’s head popped up through the door.

“Viscount. Come in.” Corrine smiles at the bard. Although Jaskier said he doesn’t care about his viscount title, Corrine was still addressing him as one.

Jaskier approaches her with a wide smile, theatrically leans down and kisses Corrine’s hand. Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes but still smiled a bit. She had to admit, her best friend knew his way around women.

“It’s nice to see you again, dear Corrine.” Jaskier speaks and then finally turns to Y/N.

“What brings you here?” Y/N asks. Usually, they would meet at Rosemary and Thyme, the cabaret that Jaskier himself owned. Before Y/N found Corrine, she worked there to help him out and in return Jaskier gave her a roof over her head.

“We need to talk.” Jaskier says completely serious this time. Corrine took that as her hint.

“I’m going out. If you need me, I’ll be at Triss’ place.” she says, throwing the dark blue cloak around her shoulders. They said their goodbyes and as soon as sorceress left, Jaskier moved closer to Y/N.

“Look at this.” he hands Y/N folded piece of paper. Y/N opens it. It was a letter, obviously written in distress or hurry.

Bard,

In light of recent events, I have no choice but to ask for your help. I cannot discuss the details in this letter but I assure you, if you still care about the White Wolf, you’re going to want to join us as soon as possible.

He’s missing.

P.S. Oh, and bring a sorceress along. I am aware you know quite a few.

Y/N looks back to Jaskier. This sounded odd. Jaskier took the letter back, looking at it like it might tell him more if he asked nicely.

“Who sent this?” Y/N asks. She figured that the White Wolf was Jaskier’s friend Geralt of Rivia, the witcher she had only seen once. But the V on the bottom of the page wasn’t giving any clues.

“It’s probably Vesemir, Geralt’s mentor.” Jaskier said, folding the letter.

“Why does the witcher need your help? What are you going to do? Sing them your latest hits until they figure out where Geralt is?” Y/N asks, raising her eyebrows. Jaskier give her an annoyed look.

“Very funny. Also no, because I happen to be very good at tracking-”

“Jaskier, you got lost on your way from Oxenfurt to Novigrad.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to complain, but Y/N wasn’t having it. “It’s a 15-minute-long horse ride.”

“It was early morning; I was still half asleep.”

“Forget I said anything.” Y/N realizes she should drop it. She turned around and started preparing incense for their first customer that day.

“Are you coming with me?” Jaskier asked.

Y/N turns around to face him again. “To Kaer Morhen? Jaskier, you can’t be serious.”

“Why not? You are a sorceress and Vesemir said I should bring one.” Jaskier shrugged. Y/N gave him a look.

“He didn’t mention me specifically. I’m sure Felicia Cori would love to help you out.” Y/N said. Felicia was practically Geralt’s fan from the moment she heard about him in Aretuza, academy for young ladies who were practising magic. She lived couples of streets further and was a good friend of Corrine.

“But I’m not asking her, I’m asking you, Y/N.” Jaskier said, slowly losing his patience.

“How on earth is my skill of any use to you or them? We don’t even know what happen to your friend!” Y/N says, crossing arms on her chests.

“You could form a dream for Vesemir and see where Geralt is.” Jaskier suggested.

“You know that those don’t always work for missing persons.”

“I know but can you just once believe my judgment?” he asks. Y/N raised her eyebrows. She believed his judgment lots of times and it usually meant nothing but trouble. This sounded like one as well.

“Absolutely not. Jaskier, I’m not horse riding for a week for no reason. I have no clues, no ideas how to handle this. And also, how am I supposed to leave Corrine? She’s already pissed at me for being late-”

“Let me handle everything. And we are not horse riding.” Jaskier says proudly.

“No?” Y/N asks, tilting her head a little.

“I’ll show you.”

***

And there they were, the next day, at Rosemary and Thyme’s attic. There was only one candle burning and the air was filled with dust, smell of old books and costumes. Y/N had to jump over a couple of old suitcases before they finally stopped walking.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, dusting herself off.

Jaskier didn’t answer but started looking through the old bags on the floor. Y/N crossed arms on her chests, waiting for the bard’s explanation.

“Ah, here it is!” he finally said. Y/N looked at his hands. He was holding a crystal. Not just any crystal. That was a power crystal and it was used specifically for portals.

Y/N gaped. “Jaskier, how did you get that?” she asked cautiously. Jaskier started moved further into the dark attic, Y/N following him.

“Turns out doing favours for sorceresses has its perks.” he answered merrily.

“Do you even know how it works?” Y/N raised eyebrows.

“Of course! I’ve been to Kaer Morhen on multiple occasions thanks to this portal right there.”

“Fine. Turn it on, then.” Y/N says, her voice suddenly soft. Ironically, she didn’t like portals. Traveling through them was quick but Y/N preferred other methods. Unfortunately for her, this was the only magical way to get into Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier cleaned the crystal with his sleeve and then moved closer to the wooden wall. There, Y/N saw a shelf with nothing but small steel stand in the middle of it. Jaskier slowly approached and placed the crystal on the stand. Nothing happened.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, suddenly worried.

“We need to revive it. It’s dead.” Y/N realized.

“How? I’m no medic nor-”

“Move.” Y/N tells him and Jaskier obeys. Y/N takes the crystal in her hands and clears her mind. Using a simple, yet powerful spell, Y/N starts off the crystal. Its core started glowing and she places it back on the stand. Loud sound of wind filled their ears. The wall in front of them vanished and dark twirling circle appeared instead.

The portal was open.

“Let’s go.”

The welcoming party is not really welcoming, Y/N thought as soon as she saw the unfamiliar faces. Jaskier didn’t seem like he was bothered by it. They walked across the long hall and approached the table occupied by two armed men who didn’t exactly smile at their presence.

“Eskel, Coen. Nice to see you again.” he slightly lowered his head.

“Who’s this, bard?” the taller one, Eskel, Y/N presumed, asks as he crossed his arms on chests. He looked like he wasn’t happy to see newcomers. Or oldcomers. Or anyone at this point.

“Ah, yes, right, manners. This is Y/N. Very powerful sorceress. Vesemir told me to bring one. So, I did.” Jaskier explained.

“Pleasure.” Y/N said, trying to sound more delighted than she truly was.

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” Eskel said.

“What is that supposed-”

“Enough.” a deep voice echoed through the hall. “Jaskier. Sorceress. Please join me.”

Y/N and Jaskier both turned around towards the exit. There, was an older man standing, his face scarred and old but still Y/N felt like his presence required utter respect.

That must be Vesemir, Y/N realized.

Jaskier and Y/N both joined him. Jaskier briefly introduced them and Y/N nodded at the old witcher. Vesemir then led them down the hall without word. They walked for a while in silence, passing by several closed doors, until they finally reached the right one.

Vesemir opened the door and let them into the big round room with high celling. There, in the middle of it, stood one large table. The walls were filled with books, bottles and various herbs. Old chandelier in the middle of room was the only source of light.

They approached the table and Vesemir unfolded three papers in front of them.

“This is all we got.” he said, suddenly sounding tired.

Jaskier took the first paper and stood next to Y/N. There, in the middle of the page, were three words written in black ink.

“That could be Elder speech. Really old one.” Y/N said. She learned basics at the academy, but these writings were definitely old. She wasn’t even sure if she saw them in their school books.

“Do you know what does it say?” Jaskier asks quietly.

“I’m not sure. Let me see.” Y/N says, taking the letter from Jaskier’s hands.

“It’s not in any of our books. I tried everything but couldn’t make a sense of it. The last letter that arrived is the only one that’s written in Common.” Vesemir said, handling the smallest piece of paper to Y/N. She frowned.

This one was indeed written in Common speech but this time ink was dark red. Y/N sincerely hoped it wasn't blood.

“Wolf got taken. “She read the first sentence and then noticed another one on bottom of the page. “Will pay for his sins.”

Their Common is not perfect. Who could this be? Elves?

Y/N noticed how Jaskier’s jaw clenched. She never saw him this quiet and serious.

Vesemir then hands her the last paper. This one had a drawing. It was a simple one, but Y/N immediately figured what it was - an open palm of hand, with drops of blood on each finger. In the middle of the palm was a much bigger drop of blood, shaped like a tear.

“When did you get these?” Y/N asks, looking at all those letters in her hands.

Vesemir opened his mouth to answer but the loud squealing of door hinges interrupted him. The door opened and stranger walked in. With wolf medallion hanging around his neck and long red curls framing his face, he walked towards them.

“Stop wasting time, Vesemir.” he looked at his mentor, completely ignoring Jaskier and Y/N.

Y/N raised her eyebrows slightly.

Would it kill them to show some politeness?

“Lambert, this is Y/N. She’s going to help us decode these letters. And you’re going-”

“We should be out there looking for him! Not wasting time with these stupid letters.” he raises his voice. Vesemir gave him look of complete disapproval.

“You don’t get to decide what is a waste of time or isn’t. Now, show Y/N the library and get her whatever will be needed.”

For a second, Y/N thought Lambert would just storm out but then he finally looked at Y/N.

“Follow me, witch.” he muttered quietly, the anger still present in his tone.

Y/N squinted her eyes. “Sorceress.” she corrected him. Lambert just stared at her, his eyes also squinting. Jaskier, still standing on Y/N’s right side, stepped forward and cleaned his throat.

“Term ‘witch’ is mostly used by those who call themselves witch hunters, you know, it’s usually a derogatory term-”

“I know. Now, follow me.” Lambert interrupted him, still not looking away from Y/N. Y/N didn’t want to give him the pleasure of seeing her in discomfort so she stepped forward and joined him.

“Find me if you need anything.” she told Jaskier before leaving, giving him a comforting look.

Jaskier nodded, but she could see concern in his eyes.

Finally, she turns to red headed witcher and joins him down the hall. They walked in silence, Lambert clearly keeping his distance. Unfortunately for Y/N, the library was located at the other end of the Kaer Morhen and their awkward, silent walk took a while.

“Does your library have any books of First elves?” she asks when they finally made it. Lambert sat on top of the table and shrugged.

“Do I look like librarian? I have idea. I haven’t been in this part of castle for 5 years. You’re on your own, witch.”

Y/N approached the table so quickly she even surprised herself. Lifting her hand, with a small orb of red light in it, she pushes it towards his face. Lambert face was stone cold, no fear.

“Call me witch one more time, I dare you.” she hissed. She lowered the orb a little. He didn’t seem fazed at all.

“Don’t challenge me if you can’t keep up, sweetheart.” he suddenly grins. Y/N was about to protest but then she feels a soft pressure just above the bellybutton. She lowers her eyes and sees short but sharp blade, resting on her corset.

Y/N frowns.

“Seems like you’re forgetting why I’m here, witcher.” she warns him, ignoring the blade. Lambert raises his eyebrows a little then finally drops the blade. Y/N still stepped aside just in case.

“To decode some stupid letters, which are-”

“Yes, yes, waste of time. Now let me work if you don’t plan on helping me.” she says and walks away towards the shelves.

She heard Lambert mummering something but this time she decides to ignore him, switching focus on those old books in front of her. It was clear that someone organized them alphabetically long time ago but every now and then she would find some who obviously wouldn’t fit into that order. There was lots of books about herbs, survival skills and potion making but those weren’t helping at all. So, she moved to another bookshelf. There, Y/N found some historical books about Continent.

Beatrix of Kovir.

The Elder Blood.

The Conjunction of the Spheres.

And then, Y/N saw it. The old, yellow copy of Elder Speech Dictionary. She grabbed the book and started flipping pages. Few minutes passed by and…

Nothing.

All the symbols, words and phrases were something she was already familiar with. She sighed and put the book back in its place. She knew this wouldn’t be easy. Y/N took another look at those letters. That hand symbol bothered her. She felt like she saw it somewhere.

*Few hours later*

It was dark outside when Y/N finally looked through the library window. Some time ago, Jaskier showed up with a glass of wine and dinner which Y/N barely tasted. She couldn’t eat until she figured out the hand symbol. Lambert was long gone, with no explanation or excuse, but Y/N certainly didn’t mind.

Just some time after midnight, the doors of the library opened again.

“You’re still here?” Vesemir asked, entering the room and then closing the doors behind him.

“I can’t sleep until I figure this out.” Y/N answered, flipping through the Book of Urban Myths. Truth is, she was not looking forward to her dreams. She knew she would have to relive that dream all over again.

Vesemir chuckled, but it sounded miserable. “I appreciate the optimism but I’m afraid the books won’t do much of help.”

Y/N stopped flipping through the book and looked at Vesemir.

“You’re right. We should try my method.”

“Which is?” he raises eyebrows.

“Jaskier didn’t tell you? I’m oneiromancer.” Y/N said, closing the book in her hands.

Vesemir thought about it for a second and then slowly nodded. “We should give your method a chance then.” he said, crossing arms on his chests.” But not with me since I haven’t seen Geralt for a while now and therefor won’t be much of use to you. You should do it with the one who last saw him.”

“And who was that?” Y/N asks, glad he agreed with her.

“Lambert.”

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honeywitchers · 2 years

Text

Washed Away

A/N: This is from another one of my blogs that I decided to seperate my Witcher content from. I plan on deleting the original from that blog so if you have seen this before under a different name I promise I didn’t steal the story!

Pairing: Netflix!Lambert x Fem!Reader

Content and Warnings: Fem!Reader, no use of Y/N, term of endearment “Dove” is used, established marriage, strong language it’s Lambert come on

Word Count: 1,755

Summary: While Lambert is ventured out on a hunt, his wife becomes trapped in their leaky cottage due to terrible flooding.

The cottage you and Lambert shared was nothing to be impressed by. It was small, creaky, leaky, and the wooden floors often came with a high risk of splinters. On the days it rained, you spent most of your time finding spare buckets and other random containers to place underneath the spots in the roof that allowed rainfall to pass through freely.

On the days it was sunny and breezy, you forgot everything that was really wrong with your home, enjoying the natural breeze squeezing through the cracks to cool off you and your three month old Irish wolfhound pup, who your beloved Lambert brought home after a particularly long hunt. He claimed that the pup refused to leave his side after he found her owner dead, unlucky enough to have been killed by an Alghoul. Even after he left the desecrated village, the small puppy continued to follow him. Now, she was the innocent loving little creature who kept you company while Lambert was out on hunts. She made you feel less alone and made it easier to cope with his absence.

Today was a time where the thick droplets of rain were invading your home. Buckets you found inside of the horse barn behind your cottage littered the floors throughout the living room and kitchen. Your puppy, Blair, investigated each and every bucket with her nose, nudging each one as she sniffed them. Her ears perked up from the sounds of the water splashing up from the filled pool of water and hitting the sides of the metallic containers. You were worried about water damage and if your struggling home would hold up, and Blair was having the time of her life. What a playful pup she was.

“Maybe when Lambchop returns home, he’ll see if he can fix some of these holes in the roof….whaddya think, girl?” You spoke to Blair, bending over to lightly scratch the top of her head, smiling as she squeaked in delight. Your hand proved to be more interesting than the bucket now.

As soon as you moved your hand away from petting her, she returned to sniffing the buckets, her curiosity once again taking over. You stood up with a huff, looking around your home, truly taking in how subpar the interior was at the moment. You swore if you took a wrong step, your foot would go straight through the beaten down and rotted floorboards. With this somewhat heavy rain, you weren’t sure how much longer the roof was going to hold. All you could do was think about how badly you wished for Lambert to come back soon. The lack of his presence made you feel uneasy.

The rainy day came and went, the next few turning out to be just the same. A seemingly never ending rain was now beginning to swiftly flood the path leading up to your shared cottage. If the water rose any higher over the next couple of days, you and your helpless pup were going to be trapped.

Lambert’s hunting expeditions were extremely unpredictable, so you were never quite sure when he would return home….or if he would return. Still, you found yourself peeking out the half unhinged front door to the cottage twice every hour, hoping to see his chestnut colored horse, Seraphina, who he affectionately named due to her fiery personality. To your dismay, each peek came with nothing but disappointment. Only rising rain waters and strong gusts of wind threatened you from the unforgiving outdoors.

The following night, you decided you were going to give your most desperate attempt at bringing Lambert home sooner. You brought Blair into your bedroom and closed the door behind you, trying to keep her away from the flood waters that had inched their way inside of the cottage and leaked halfway out into your living room. She whined in protest when you picked her up originally but quickly found comfort and peace curled up at the end of your bed. Seeing this made you wish you could find the same amount of bliss without Lambert filling one side of the bed. You didn’t know what else to do. Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes as you knelt down onto the rough floor, leaning your elbows on the edge of the mattress. You began to pray to the gods. You prayed for his faster return, his safe return, and you prayed that the gods would listen in the first place. When you were done, you still felt an uncomfortable emptiness. He still was not home and rainwater still threatened the already questionable stability of your home. How were you going to get yourself through this?

Morning came as slowly as it ever had, you spending most of the night lying awake and waiting for the water to inevitably reach your bedroom. This time, however, as dawn appeared, rays of sunshine appeared with it. The warmth of the light felt almost unfamiliar after days of cold and wet fear. Using the light to your advantage, you glanced down to check the state of your bedroom floor. Sure enough, to your horror, the water beneath you was slowly lapping at the edge of your bed. You awoke Blair from her unaware slumber, clutching her close to you. Rather than the rain and flooding soaking her fur, your tears were doing the job just as well.

You were out of hope. Your will was slowly and painfully being drowned under the relentless and unforgiving waters. The front of your cottage was surely lost, furniture and food with it. There were no other horses residing in the barn, as you weren’t typically one for adventure and travel, contrasting the man you had fallen in love with. Clothes that usually had their place in the homemade trunk in the corner of your bedroom were now floating on the surface of the murky cold waters mixing with the mud and grit on the ground. You had nothing but Blair, and nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape.

“Dove?!?”

You lifted your sunken head and wiped some of the tears staining your face. Were you hearing things? Was that a voice, or the gods taunting you?

“Dove?!? You in here? Son of a bitch, you better be alive in here, woman!”

No. You knew that voice. That voice was warmth.

“Lambert??” You called out, your voice hoarse and trembling. “Lambert, is that you?!?”

“Yes, it’s me! What in the ever living fuck are you still doing here?” Lambert’s voice was getting closer, the sounds of heavy sloshing water accompanying it.

“Where was I gonna go, Lamb, you’ve got Seraphina with you! I can’t exactly ride Blair out into the woods!” Blair started to lick your face as you spoke.

“Shit, shit, for FUCK’S SAKE! I’m coming!”

You let out a sigh of relief. Your rugged off roading husband was on his way to you and your sweet pup.

“Wait, are you trudging through the water and mud?”

“Ah, not exactly, dove. Think my trousers would be torn to shreds in this thick shit.” Lambert answered, his voice sounding like he was merely inches away from the bedroom door.

Then you heard it. A loud but quick neighing came from outside the door. The gods certainly couldn’t be playing a joke on you now.

“Lamb….my love….did you bring your horse into the house?”

“Well, how else was I gonna carry you out of here? I’m just thinkin’ smart! Seraphina’s a lot taller than I am, Dove.”

You rolled your eyes at your self proclaimed genius of a husband, although still more than thankful that he was there to rescue you. Just a moment later, your bedroom door slowly creaked open, resisting against the rising water.

“Holy shit.” Lambert cussed.

He eyed the water that was starting to rise above the edge of the mattress you were huddled on, thinly coating the bottom of Blair’s paws. The hem of the silken nightgown on your figure was beginning to flow with the water.

“Alright, let’s go before you turn into a Drowner. I’m not into that.”

“Lambert, you find humor in the weirdest things, you know.”

Lambert shrugged his shoulders and reached down to grab Blair as you held her up in the air, wanting to keep her safe before yourself. After the pup was seated on his lap, he reached into a pouch on the side of Seraphina’s saddle and pulled out a leather strap with a buckle on it.

“Hold still, ya little shit.” Lambert scolded as he tried to prop up Blair against his chest. As soon as she calmed down more and lessened her wiggling, he gently wrapped the strap around himself and the confused puppy, locking the buckle in place to create a secure holder for her. “Arms up, Dove.”

You stood and balanced yourself using the posts to the headboard on the now soaked bed, reaching your arms out to meet Lambert’s.

“Jump!” Lambert ordered.

You did as he said without question and jumped up, your landing being supported by his weight. You didn’t quite make it to the top of Seraphina’s saddle, your feet submerging and dragging through the opaque water.

“Son of a bitch!” Lambert grunted as he caught your body, using his upper strength to lift you up the rest of the way.

After you shifted yourself to properly sit on the horse, he directed her out of the bedroom, into the living room, and out of the cottage. The water was so deep and caked in layers of mud that the sound of Seraphina’s hooves were seemingly mute.

“Lamb….where are we gonna go?”

A heavy silence filled the air.

“The flood just took our home….we have nothing.” You continued, your voice cracking.

“Not to be a sappy shit but, Dove, you’re my home. Wherever we go, I’ll be home as long as I’ve got ya’.”

You leaned forward to rest your cheek on your husband’s back. Just moments ago, you were fearing for your life and wondering if your grave was going to be the dark and cold depths of the floods, afraid that your precious pup was going to share the same fate. Now, you were atop your love’s prized horse off to find another home, snuggled into his back, with Blair strapped in safely against his front like she were a human child. You knew he loved that pup, and there was nothing he could say now to convince you otherwise.

#witcher #lambert witcher #lambert x reader #witcher imagine #lambert imagine #witcher fic #lambert fic #netflix witcher #netflix lambert

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linkerbell · 3 months

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Gotta get that daily kiss in 😩✨

#narilamb #narinder x lamb #cotl #cult of the lamb #lambert #narinder #my art #big juicy kiss for the cat #now imagine if they touched mouths

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gutsby · 3 days

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Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

#‘HIS FIST IS BIG BUT MY GUN’S BIGGER’#‘HE’LL FIND OUT WHEN I PULL THE TRIGGER’#ms. lambert was INSANE for that #supporting women’s rights and wrongs all day long in this fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic

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lil-vibes · 5 months

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i havent been able to get @bamsara 's amnesia au outta my head for WEEKS !! so have these bc narinder being more openly affectionate will be the end of me fr

#i tried to get ops designs right hhh #idk if dream!narilamb are a Thing in that au but i imagine they will have a field day if they are shshsh #that bit in trod where lambert dies from posion and nari is holding them in his palm? yeah id imagine hed enjoy feeling their soft wool when #when he has actual feeling in his hands yk? when they arent just bones idk cat make biscuit is my favourite thing so #chat i think im out of my art block godbless 🙏#onto narilamb yuri 😌😌#pebbles (me) ramblers #cotl #my art #trod au #narilamb #cotl lamb #cotl narinder

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aychama · 4 months

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Narinder is VERY much the maiden Lamb wants to rescue (I’m so glad you liked it!! Your Lamb’s knight armor was SO fun to draw!)

Im happy you had fun! Have this little sketch I was working on as a treat!

#ask #cotl #cult of the lamb #aychama #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #narilamb #sketch #doodle #I imagine getting out of a carriage would be hard for a man with a veil lol #do not question the name of the file #and be thankful you guys can’t see the rest of the sketches #cuz I might be loading lambert with some trauma #royal au ask #royal au

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the-s1lly-corner · 20 days

Note

YoHi! I really like your posts;), I wanted to order a romantic one of Cotl, a Lambert meeting a S/o who is also a lamb? I can imagine how much he got attached and happy to find another one just like him

Lambert x lamb!reader

speed writing this while my silly little period of sadness dies down a little because my ass cannot focus while im like that grrrrrrr notes: reader is gn, lamb reader, short post cws: mentions of mass death and murder, canon typical stuff

to say you both cling onto one another the second you find each other is... a soft way of saying it

they always mask themselves as this put together leader who is bothered by nothing- but the fact that there is still another lamb takes them out of it for a moment

and if they find you in the process of being sacrificed by cultists?

you blink and the next second all of them are dead, and youre being cut from your restraints

even after the danger is over and youre brought back to the cult you hover around each other a lot

of course they ask if there were others with you, and visibly wilts when you say there werent

the bishops of the old faith were thorough when purging sheepkind- but not enough, leaving just the two of you behind

naturally theres some bias for you, you ascend the ranks of the cult- from simple follower to disicple

and the second they get a golden skull necklace, theyre giving it to you

better than constantly dying and getting ressurected

the dread they feel when you die for the first time cannot be put into words, they scramble to bring you back as soon as possible

you both have clothing made with some of each other's wool- id like to view it the same way as when people wore necklaces with their loved ones hair in it... you carry a piece of each other everywhere you go

so gentle with you, but when they hold you their grip is firm

not enough to hurt you, but they seem scared that someone is going to steal you away

loves showing you some of the areas around the cult's grounds- maybe they can take you fishing.. just the two of them!

doesnt want you to go on crusades with them, though, and refuses to let you leave the grounds without a missionary necklace

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ursae-miinoris · 4 months

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finally done with my narilamb designs.. there's probably a bajillion mistakes but i can't be bothered to fix them all

#art #cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl lamb #lambert #narinder #cotl narinder #narilamb #if you squint hard enough it's technically narilamb #yes they have wedding rings i just couldn't be bothered to draw them #i imagine they're the fancy type #heights are not accurate btw i just wanted the designs out #nari is supposed to be taller than the lamb #im also gonna be putting these guys up on artfight if i get the a-okay on their designs

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justanoasisimagines · 18 days

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Sweetheart

Hey my lovelies, back with another love letter. My requests are open and you can find my request guidlines pinned to the top of the page! Also if you have any Autumn/Halloween requests send them in! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

I hate to be away from you, but work is work and it gives me the opportunity to provide for you in hopes we can comfortably. I don't want you working all hours at the Tavern. I have seen how the owner and the patrons treat you. It isn't acceptable love. No one needs to speak to someone that way. To treat you as if you are less than. I don't want you working there anymore which I've been working so hard. I want to help you make your dreams come true. I want you to set up your stool on the market, to say your wares. We could travel together this way. I wouldn't have to be away from you all summer. Then in the winter, we could retire to Kaer Morhen. As almost like a break at the end of a long year. You've always loved in there in the snow. Perhaps, we can find a space in the castle so we can get away from the others from time to time. They are my family, but we need our privacy. I'll be stopping by in the next moon cycle or so depending on work. I love you, Lambert x

#The WItcher imagines #The WItcher imagine #The Witcher one shot #The Witcher oneshot #Lambert imagines #Lambert imagine #Lambert one shot #Lambert oneshot #Lambert x Reader #Requests are open #Love Letter

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cosmos-coma · 2 years

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Hey!! I really love your writing! All witcher characters are very much on point, it’s amazing😍 i would have an idea for a Lambert fic if you don’t mind! How about reader is very much interested in learning from the witchers and hunting down monsters herself but Lambert is just very overprotective of her and thinks she’s insane for risking her life but in the end reader actually saves Lambert’s ass?? And they get together after that and it’s all fluff?? You can add anything to it, i love your Lambert!💜

Beasts and Books

A/N: Aww, thank you so much! I've been worried about my characterization- especially of Lambert, but I'm so glad you like him! and Okay, so fair warning this isn't edited like my other ones usually are and that's because I got carried away and wrote the longest one shot of my fucking life lol. I hope you enjoy it!!

Pairing: Lambert X Reader

Words: ~4k

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Years ago- back when you were growing up in Velen, you actually started out as a farmer's daughter. Your mothers worked hard, taking care of the sheep, shearing them, and weaving the wool into yarn or bolts of fabric. You had been placed in charge of raising the lambs, rounding them up, and generally keeping them out of trouble. It was a lot harder than it sounded.

They often fought with each other or knocked over their milk buckets and seemed to do everything in their power to get you just that close to selling them and being done with them. But you knew your mothers would never allow it and so you grumbled and just kept on.

But it was the lambs actually that happened to change your life too. It had been raining all morning and you had almost finished feeding the lambs when “Hold on- One, two, three, four, five- Where is number six?” you questioned, looking to the rest of their little faces as if they’d even have the manners to answer you, let alone the vocal cords.

You scowled, hiking up your skirt as you stepped around in the muck, trying to find a sign of the tiny little lamb that got loose- the youngest of the batch this year. “Ah-hah!” you exclaimed when you spotted the trail of little hoofprints that slipped past the gate. He must’ve slipped through the fenceposts- he always was good at using his size to his advantage.

“Come on, lamb! I’m not gonna do this all day!” You followed the hoofprints into the forest nearby, prints few and far between as he must’ve been having the time of his life evading you. “Baaaa!” he let out a little bleat from just beyond the shrubs before you.

“Gotcha!” you grinned and popped your head over the shrubs, finding the lost lamb chewing on a rather damp book. “Well now, what have you gotten into?” You asked as you scooped him up, another bleat escaping him as the book fell away from his mouth. It looked like he’d found his way into an abandoned camp. There was a cold abandoned campfire and evidence of a bed roll flattening down the lengthy grass; you found bits of broken leather here and there- probably from someone doing repairs.

“Looks like whoever it was left in a hurry…” You commented, ignoring the lamb who was now more interested in chewing on the ends of your hair than anything else. You flipped open the worn cover and read the title of the book aloud, “Brother Adalbert’s Bestiary… huh”

“Y/N!” You heard one of your mothers call from the house; she must’ve come to check on how you were doing in the rain and not seen you in the lamb’s pen. “Coming, Mother!” You shouted in her direction and quickly scooped up the book before trudging back towards the house.

Once you got back home and finished up with the lambs you parked yourself right in front of the crackling fireplace, drying both yourself and the book as you carefully flipped through it again and again, reading as you dried out its pages.

‘Ghouls, nekkers, wyverns, barghest, the list goes on and on’ you thought to yourself as you skimmed through the pages, despite having been out in the rain it wasn’t as damaged as you thought it might be, even the notes lining the margins of each entry were still legible. You flipped to the beginning again to make sure the pages were dry when you came upon a little mark on the inside of the cover. It was a little sketchy and messy, but it looked like a little drawing of a wolf head next to the Letter ‘L’.

That was then- now you were a little older- still a farmer’s daughter, but now you were responsible for hunting monsters. You were no witcher, that was obvious- but you still made do. You had studied that bestiary until you knew it like the back of your hand, you saved up all your money to buy yourself a rinky-dinky set of armor and an old sword. You started small- fighting only what you knew you could take on; barghests and ghouls mostly- occasionally you attempted to help rid the swamp towns of bloedziuger, but you had yet to get down the speed you needed when they exploded into acid.

You ran your fingers over the dappled scaring on your arm, a testament to when you had started out on this path you had chosen. You had used your smarts to set traps for your monsters to make it easier for you as a regular human, earned some good coin, and invested that into better equipment. Now you had a good custom-made silver sword, a sturdy but light set of armor, and were beginning to save up for a good horse too.

“Alright Miss, this is as far as I’m taking you.” the cart driver had said, pulling his mule to a stop in the middle of a small village. “You can walk the rest if you really need.” he kept watching you expectantly as you hopped off the back of his cart, making sure he didn't see the few apples you had swiped into your bag.

“Yeah, thank you…” You murmured and handed him a few orens from your satchel to which he grinned and nodded his head.

“Much obliged, Miss…” He tipped the edge of his worn-out hat and continued off down the road.

“Yeah, sure you are…” You let out a sigh and stretched your legs, before heading over to the notice board. “Let’s see what we’ve got here…”

You glanced it over, seeing mostly trade notices, but it seemed that there were a few notices you could actually fulfill too; wolves had attacked the livestock of one house, while wyvern seemed to be picking up the sheep of another one nearby. Probably were getting bothered by the same monster, but you figured you'd check them both out to be safe.

You glanced around the town as you stood- it smelled overwhelmingly of animals and stove fires, but your nose had become so used to those over the years that it hardly struck you anymore. A few old women sat out in front of a house, idling and chatting in the late afternoon while chickens clucked and scurried around the streets openly. You guessed there would be a few more hours of sunlight left, so you probably had time to start your investigation before it became too dark for you to see.

You set out to the other side of town to investigate the wolf contract first, figuring yours get the easy things out of the way first.

And Thankfully it really was only wolves that were bothering this farmer and you were able to finish up the contract just before the night began to really fall. So you headed back to the local Inn, coin enough for a room now in hand, and maybe even enough for dinner too if you negotiated right. You were fortunate, you knew, that you were completely human- After all, it meant that people almost always treated you better. You didn’t have any problem with nonhumans, in fact, in this line of work you had even met several pleasant ones you'd like to see again- but you also couldn't ignore that you benefited from the way others treated them.

It had just become fully dark when you came up outside the inn, torches along the road lighting your way back. When you came to the town square you heard a man trying to talk to one of the older ladies you had seen before.

“Hey, you. Yes, you Miss. Where the hell are all the notices for witchers? I thought this was Velen- you guys always have some sort of shit going on for us to solve.” he said, sounding rather obnoxious as even his horse seemed to huff in protest.

After grumbling something about ‘kids these days’, she motioned towards you, “apparently you’ve been beaten to it, Mutant. And I thought you witchers were supposed to be faster than us humans…” She snapped back at him with a smug look on her face.

The man quickly turned to you and now you could see his yellow cat-like eyes and the scar running down beside his right eye. He had worn but rather unique armor and twin blades strapped to his back.

‘Nope. I’m not dealing with this right now’, you thought to yourself and quickly slipped inside the Inn. You went up to the innkeeper first thing, getting a room for the night and what little food and drink you could afford with the rest of your coin. Thankfully the witcher still had yet to come inside yet so you tucked yourself in a corner to eat and read by yourself.

You opened up the bestiary as you ate, looking over the entry on wyverns. You had read this entry over dozens of times, but you didn’t want to risk missing anything that could help you later.

“One room for the night if you will.” The man from earlier asked, now at the innkeeper's table.

“Afraid we’re all out of rooms. She got the last one.” The keeper said as he threw a thumb in your direction.

The turned to look and you were sure he swore under his breath at the exact moment you did before his face twisted into a frown. His footsteps were quiet as he came over to your table, setting his swords down. “So first you take all my contracts, then you take my room. Who the hell are you anyway? You don’t even look like a witcher, you look more like a wannabe knight.” He said callously.

“Wow, quite the introduction. Are all witchers as charming as you Or do you have them all beat?” you retorted flatly, not even sparing another glance up at him. “It’s just my luck I guess. My luck and your getting fucked.” you added, chucking a bit at your own rhyme.

A wicked grin crossed his face and he leaned in closer, chin resting in his hand. “Oh..? You’ve got a bit of a bite in you, huh? I’m Lambert…” He introduced himself.

You looked at him, giving him a quick once-over with your eyes before you cracked a small smile his way and nodded. “I’m Y/n.”

“Y/n? Well, now I have a name for all my problems. So what’s got you so enwrapped that you can barely look up at me? It’s gotta be pretty good because I’m- Hey, I know that book.” He reached over and took it from right in front of you.

“Hey!” you yelled and went to snatch it back, but his witcher instincts made him far faster. “That's mine-”

“Where the hell did you get this?” he seemed a lot more serious now as he held up the book and looked back at you, suspicious eyes looking over your face to see any indication of lying.

“I found it in the woods years ago, its Mine-” you went to emphasize again, but he interrupted you once again.

“No. No, this is mine.” He stated and opened up the inside cover, pointing to the little wolf drawing and the ‘L’. “This is me. Lambert of the school of the wolf. I lost this thing ages ago. I didn’t think I’d ever find it again.”

You sighed as you watched him look over it with a level of care that was reserved for that of something like a childhood friend. This was the book that had shaped your life up to this point, but…. If it belonged to someone else, isn’t it only right that they have it again? You’d read that thing forwards and backward anyways, what more will it be able to tell you?

You let out a small sigh but kept quiet as he flipped through the pages when he paused for a moment. “Wait- this note isn’t mine… Neither is this. ‘Afraid of bees and will actively avoid established hives’ , ‘bad climbers. Easy to trap in pits and kill, but will become feral in their attacks. Keep out of reach.’ “ Lambert read aloud, looking from entry to entry at the notes you had written in as you learned.

“These are… yours? Did you… use this book to become a monster hunter?” He asked, looking at you in a mix of wonder and confusion. “You’ve got to be fuckin' insane- why would a human ever want to become a monster hunter?” after a half second of thought he handed the book back to you, which you brought to your chest possessively.

“You said it yourself, Velen always has shit going on for you guys to solve. I grew up here and it's turning into something that’s almost too dangerous to live in. I wanna change that.” you shrugged it off as if it was nothing, but what you did held great importance to you.

Lambert was quiet for a moment, something that you gathered was probably unusual for him, as he seemed to take in your words.

“But-” you started, trying to shift the topic and lighten the mood a bit. “How about to make up for stealing your book and all your jobs I let you stay in my room with me. You set up a bedroll in front of the fireplace or something.” you grinned a bit as you offered, watching his face turn from something serious into a charming smirk that you could feel draw you in a little more than you'd like to admit.

You two spent the rest of the night chatting and throwing quips back and forth at each other, and before your drinks were done it felt like you had known each other for decades. There was a layer of sarcasm over much of the vulnerability there, but you could see past it easily.

When you two made it up yo your room for the first time that night you discovered that the one bed the room had was actually a lot bigger than you had thought it would be. There was easily room for 2 people to sleep and still keep a bit of distance if they wanted.

“Hey, Lambert?” you looked back at him as he came to the door, “not to be too forward, but would you like to just share the bed? I can keep to my own side if you can.” you posed to him and set your stuff down on one side.

“Sure as hell beats the hell out of a bedroll.” He smiled and dropped his stuff on the other side and began pulling off his armor.

Your brain became like fuzzy static as you watched his tunic ride up through the motions he went through. The thin strip of skin and the distinct line of the ‘V’ his pelvis made was all you saw, but it was all you needed too.

“Don’t tell me our little monster hunter is getting distracted…” he said smoothly with a little chuckle to his voice.

Your blush glowed like a radiant lamp and you quickly turned away to snuff out that burning flame. “I just- well. You don’t want your armor on for sleeping? Isn’t it safer that way?”

“What- are you gonna stab me?” he moved to lounge out on the bed, putting his arms behind his head and exposing his midsection to you again.

“Well- I. No, of course not.”

“Well, then I should be fine. Are you just gonna stand there all night?” He said with a huge grin, patting the bed beside him. That bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

“Shut up” you looked away and quickly and quietly got down to your tunic and underclothes. You climbed under the warm covers and pulled the blanket high around your shoulders. “Are you gonna sleep above the covers tonight?” You asked, rolling over to face him and pushing your hair out of your face.

A smile came over him when he looked over at you, it was softer than the others he had offered you tonight and a little more sincere as well. “I’m gonna be up for a little while. You know us Witchers, we don't really sleep much.” He shrugged and ran a hand through his already pushed-back hair. “Don’t you worry about me, you get some sleep…”

You struggled to hold back a yawn as you nodded in agreement. “Goodnight, Lamb.” you mumbled before drifting off into a sound sleep.

“Goodnight, little monster hunter…” the witcher mumbled quietly as he watched your sleeping face. He hadn’t felt this… soft sort of feeling before. Something that felt so deep and so real it almost scared him to admit he was feeling it, but as he looked down at your sleeping face he felt ease wash over him. How could you throw yourself into such a profession? Didn’t you know the risks? You even had the choice of it, unlike him…

“Mmph…” you mumbled out as you shifted in your sleep, reaching out for something that wasn’t there.

Without a second thought, Lambert put his arm in the way of your reaching hands, smiling a bit as your hand naturally found his and you held his arm close to you in comfort.

“What am I gonna do with you..?” he mumbled into the quiet night once more.

When morning came you woke up to an empty and cold bed, but you weren't sure why that seemed to hurt for some reason…. But within minutes your witcher had returned with breakfast in hand.

“So, we’re hunting a wyvern?” Lambert asked as he handed you a plate.

“Good morning to you too.” you remarked with a smile, “looks like. We can prepare after breakfast?”

And so you two did, when breakfast was finished you two gathered up your things and made for the stables.

“Here, you can ride on the horse. I’ll walk- I hate trying to follow a creature's trail on horseback…” he justified as he helped you up, hands on your waist as he boosted you up.

“Thanks, Lamb… lead the way?” you smiled down at him, grabbing the reins.

You two made your way to towards the last house on the way out of town, looking around for evidence of this wyvern and following the blood trail towards what you could only guess would be a nest.

“So, look-” Lambert started. “Why don’t I just take this one? You know how tricky these draconids can be.” He offered, looking up at you to see your reaction, but it wasn’t exactly what he was hoping for.

Your brow furrowed and you shook your head. “What? No. I’ve taken monsters on my own before so why should this be any different?” you argued. “No, If you want we can fight it together, but I'm gonna be there either way.”

“Look- I get that you’re supposed to be a monster hunter and all, but why would you want to go ruin a pretty face like that? Why don’t you just keep yourself out of trouble?” he sounded a bit less hypothetical now and a little more like an argument.

“So you think I’m pretty?” you asked with a smirk, trying to turn the topic of conversation. You really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. You’re a monster hunter! And even though you’re still figuring things out you didn’t want it to stop you.

The witcher only sighed at your response. “Yeah, I do…” his words drifted off a bit as he slowed to a stop, his horse automatically stopping beside him. “Hey, I’ll be right back, okay? I’m gonna go take a leak before the fight. First rule of being a witcher you know”, He said and headed off into the thicker brush, his somber tone resonating in your mind.

“That cannot possibly be true.” you laughed a touch and watched him go, sighing a bit, but taking the moment to get your things ready, bombs and potions from the recipes scribbled in the back of the book.

But it was taking quite a while for Lambert to come back…

“Come on, Lamb! I’m not gonna do this all day!” You shouted, feeling a sense of Deja vu as you called those words. You waited around a few minutes more until you heard an exasperated and pained cry coming from far off past the brush.

“Damn it, Lambert!” you yelled as you processed what he had done and stirred his horse into motion, tugging its reins towards said noise. You were angry, to be honest. I mean, did he just think you couldn’t do it by yourself? Did he think that because you were human you couldn't fight like he did? The thoughts alone made your blood boil and your skin grow hot and itchy as it was whipped by the wind.

When you finally came onto the scene you saw Lambert rushing around on the cliff's edge, battling the aged draconid all by himself. You practically threw yourself off the horse and into the fight as you came in close. “Damn it, Lambert! You lying bastard!” you yelled and drew the Wyvern's attention to you now as you stabbed your sword into its tail.

“Don’t yell at me, it was for your own good!” He yelled back as he cast Igni, vying for its attention to come back to him.

“My own good? You sound like my bloody mothers!”

“Sweet Melitele, I did it to protect you!” Lambert shouted, looking to you instead of the wyvern now and dropping his guard.

“Lambert…” you sighed, breath coming out in heavy huffs as you fought off the creature. But you didn’t get the chance to say anything more before the annoyed creature whipped its tail at the witcher and flew off with the last of its strength.

He had jumped back in just the nick of time but unfortunately didn’t realize how close he was to the edge. With one foot on stable ground and the other about to step off the cliff’s edge, his body's momentum had him off kilter and about to topple over….

“Lambert!’ you yelled and ran towards him, grabbing him by his sword’s sheath strap just in time and yanking him forcefully back onto safe ground. You stumbled backward to safety and landed on the ground right beside your annoying witcher.

“How’s that for ‘I did it to protect you’?” you huffed in an attempt to catch your breath, nudging Lambert with your elbow as he processed that he had almost died.

“Holy shit….” he muttered, reaching unconsciously for your hand- much like you had done just the night before.

You set your sword down and put your hand out to find his. “Lamb… while I admire you trying to protect me I don't want you to become overprotective. I love doing what I do- after all, I chose this path. And I know I'd love it more if I could work side-by-side with you” You looked to him as you talked, watching his expression turn sincere, but not uncomfortable. “I’d love to learn more about monster hunting from you, but don’t count me out just yet, okay?”

Lambert nodded, a smile forming over his features as he squeezed your hand. “I suppose it’s the least I can do since you saved my life… How about we finish off this wyvern together?”

You nodded, a grin spread across your face once again. “Together.”

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Taglist: @open--till--midnight @writingmysanity @dark-academia-slut @madamemelancholysstuff

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#yesss i love a good lambert #i hope you enjoyed it! i know it might not have been everything you asked for but i got really passionate.#Lambert #witcher lambert #lambert imagine #The witcher #As always im usually thinking of Game!lambert #but you can imagine him however #tw3 #Lambert x you #Lambert x y/n #Lambert x Reader #Witcher self insert #self insert #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfiction #Request me anytime!

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