#but like you know he's gonna get with geralt too

[podcastenthusiast]

Sometimes I listen to the Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace and as you do I think about Jaskier composing it at Kaer Morhen.

The first part of the song has this really soft, simple-sounding guitar (I dunno shit about music but it sounds like maybe 2-3 chords?) and his voice is quiet, tentative, a little sad. I imagine Jaskier with his new lute; he doesn't know yet if his burnt hands can still play like they used to. Honestly he's afraid to find out.

But he knows he has to sing to help the elves, the witchers, everyone. And he also knows that if he doesn't finish this particular song it's likely to tear him apart. For a while it hurts to strum even the simplest melody, which is only a little better than the numbness and weakness he'd feared. Still, anything more complex is impossible to play.

Yennefer reminds him that even with magic it will take time for his hands to heal (adding that she'll learn to play the damn lute herself if he doesn't fully recover). Ciri shows off her new fencing calluses with pride and that reminds him it will take time to develop his own again, too.

It does get better. Everything does. He sings, he heals, he plays the lute until his confidence returns. He tells the story of the Seven, of course. He tries, in his small way, to make things right.

It takes a long time but when he finally finishes the Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace, a song that's just for him and no one else, it feels like exorcising a spirit from his body.

Geralt--having overheard it because this is a witcher fortress full of witchers--looks at him like he's seeing Jaskier for the very first time.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Steamy｡⋆.

Steve Rogers x plus size reader

Stolen shampoo, hot shower and a perky little ass

Warnings: fluff, nudity but no smut, domestic fluff, some crack humour, implied smut WC: 564

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

5k Follower Celebration

You were absolutely covered in sweat and grime, a result of letting Sam pick your hiking trail for the day and of course he picked one that would give you a ‘challenge’. 10 miles of mostly uphill terrain later, you were so ready for a hot shower and a nap with your boyfriend. 

Your clothes came off piece by piece as you stumbled through your apartment until you reached the bathroom, where the shower was already running. You smirked as you tugged off your panties and slowly opened the door, revealing the site of a lifetime. 

The steam made his pale skin glow under the bathroom light. Water rolled down the defined muscles of Steve’s back, droplets getting caught in the divots and valleys of his shoulder blades and the small dimples at the base of his spine, leading right to the perky ass of your dreams. 

You bit your lip, it was far too tempting.

Your hand whistled as it flew through the air and collided with his perfect cheek with a satisfying smack. Steve immediately froze up, his hands still buried in his hair where he had been massaging in shampoo. Your smirk widened as he slowly turned to face you, his pretty blue eyes wide.

“Did you just… slap my ass?” 

“And what are you gonna do about it doll?” You retorted with Steve’s usual line when he was the one to smack your ass. He glared at you so hard he didn’t even notice that you were completely naked. You let your own gaze drift downwards, following a particularly fat drop of water as it rolled down his torso. It raced between his toned abs before getting lost in the thick patch of hair right at the base of his pelvis.

Your eyes wandered lower but before you could go down any further, Steve’s hands flew to cover himself. “You’re objectifying me.” He whined yet his bright red cheeks gave away just how much he enjoyed your attention.

“You like it.” You stepped into the shower, letting out a happy groan as the hot water washed over your sore muscles. Your boyfriend wrapped a muscular arm around your thick waist and tugged you into his chest.

“How was the hike?” He asked as he pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“It was fine but you need to tell Sam-“ You paused and sniffed at Steve. He raised an eyebrow at you but you ignored it and instead wound your fingers into his hair to pull him to your level. You buried your nose against his scalp and inhaled deeply. “Did you use my shampoo?”

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet?”

“How. Dare. You. Do you know how much that stuff costs! I only use it for special occasions!” You slapped a hand against his chest, purposefully ignoring the way he was flexing his pecs. Steve caught your wrists in one big hand. You thrashed playfully in his hold.

“Hey, it makes my hair look good.” He defended.

“Oh like you need to look any better than you normally do.” You sassed.

It was Steve’s turn to smirk as he pushed his hips forward and pressed his hardening cock into your soft stomach. “I just need to do my best to keep up with you.”

“Fuck you.” 

“I’m trying.” He grinned and you rolled your eyes and leaned into him.

Request: Steve Rogers: 13,12 and28 @as-white-as-snow-love

Marvel Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Join my taglist!

All works @im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3slothy @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @Lucypaulette @midnight-shadow-va @mooniequeen @slutfor-fictionalmen @km-ffluv

Marvel @lokiandbuckysdoll @andreasworlsboring101 @pretty-npeach @cakesandtom @elizabethmidnight2017 @beautyb1ade @bitchy-bi-trash @mewlingoizys @queer_poncho @everything-is-awesomesauce @hc-geralt-23 @wisteriia222 @certifiedhunter @annhells

[petew21-blog]

The singing Witcher

Geralt laid in his bath after having sex with a local whore. He fought a witch today thanks to Jaskier pissing her off with some comments of his.

A scream through the building:"Geraaaaaaalt!!!"

Geralt:"Fuck..." Jaskier. What now?

Jaskier stormed into the room. Closing the door behind him. "Geralt! Geralt she's back and now she's more pissed than before"

Geralt:"Jaskier what did you do now?"

Jaskier:"I had to celebrate that victory of yours today. So I sang a song about it. It was slightly mocking her"

A bang on the door. Geralt stood up, still wet, naked. And took out his sword.

Jaskier already saw Geralt naked, but even in a moment like this he had to take a look. Geralt now ready for the witch with two swords. He chuckled.

Bang! The door were now wide opened. The witch stormed in ready for Geralt. She binded him with some spell. Geralt was now fighting invisible ropes

"Why are you defending this worthless shit screaming and not able to sing human, Geralt? He makes fun of all of us. Everyone who's not a human like him"

Jaskier:"That's not true, I actually mock only those that Geralt meets on the journey"

Geralt in pain, struggling:"Jaskier. Now is the time to shut your mouth"

The witch:"Yeah, as he said"

She observed the two men. "Oh I have an idea. Haha. This is gonna be good. Well Geralt since you already tried to kill me while defending him, I'll give you a gift. You will be able to have your friend so much close to defend him. And you, you little rat, you will be able to sing about more adventures and see everything Geralt sees so nothing escapes your songs. Maybe singining them now will be more fun"

Their appearances started to change. Geralt noticed Jaskier's hair getting longer and white, while his were receding. Jaskier was getting bigger, while he was shrinking. They were becoming each other.

Geralt:"Stop this"

The witch:"Only you can stop it. The reversal is hidden in love" and then she disappeared in a black fog

Geralt's binds were now set free. He looked down to see Jaskier's now naked body. He looked to the right to see his shocked body with ripped clothes that couldn't withstand the transformation.

Jaskier looked down in shock. Now in his much lower voice:"Geralt? Fuck." his voice surprised him, but also amused him. Hearing Geralt's voice coming out of him gave him an idea:"Toss a coin to your witcher!!!" his low not singing voice echoed the room as Jaskier laughed after trying to sing it

Geralt:"Jaskier stop this now!"

Jaskier:"Oh Geralt this is amazing. We could make so much money with this. The singing Witcher! Can you imagine?"

Geralt:"No and that will not happen. We will swap back"

Jaskier:"Not to disappoint you, Geralt. But you heard her. 'The reversal is hidden in love' and as you are in my poet's body you already know what that means"

Geralt:"No, it must be something else"

Jaskier:"What else? Falling in love with each other. I don't think so. We have to have sex together, Geralt"

Geralt did his grumpy sound, but it sounded as if Jaskier had a sore throat

They laid next to each other for hours. No one wanted to move

Geralt:"Let's just get this over with" he said as he got to his old dick. Now looking way bigger from someone else's perspective. It was hairy with big balls. Not hard, bit Geralt would take care of that. He knew what his dick liked. He started making small circles with his tongue around the head of his dick while jerking it at the same time. He felt the dick hardening in his mouth

Jaskier was enjoying this way too much. He was smiling the whole time, but stopped before Getalt looked at him. He had everything good now. Great body. Great view of Geralt's dick. And his old body sucking on his big cock.

He felt like he needed to be more dominant now. With all the muscles there was no way he would let Geralt dominate him

He pulled his old hair to lift his head

Jaskier:"On your back!"

Geralt noticed the change of expression in his old face from Jaskier's amused look to a much serious one so he obeyed. A wave pf fear and submission swept over his mind

He was now on his back, his old body on top of him, pushing his legs apart. Making his way inside of him.

Geralt could feel the hair pulling in his ass along the sliding shaft inside of him. Jaskier's body must be so much weaker than his. The pain he felt was overwhelming.

Geralt felt pleasure like he never has before. He liked pain and this was painful enough

Jaskier:"I'm so tight"

Geralt:"Would you just shut up and fuck me?"

Jaskier:"Show me how much you love it that you're getting fucked by yourself!"

Geralt:"Jas...."

Jaskier:"Show me" and pushed harder

Geralt:"Ahhhhhhh.... fuck me!!! I need my dick. It feels so good" screamed and didn't even notice how much more talkative he was getting the more the two of them fucked

Jaskier didn't warn him. He just pulled out and between the moans of pleasure shot cum on Jaskiers chest

Jaskier collapsed, sweaty next to Geralt

Jaskier:"Well that happened"

Geralt was quiet after what just happened. He couldn't believe it. But he knew he liked it. Jaskier's body did. He was now becoming more and more like him. Having some of his memories. He knew that if he would start singing now it would sound good and he would probably even enjoy it

Geralt:"You seem different, Jaskier. I feel different. But I thought we would swap"

Jaskier:"Hmmmrrr. Yeah"

Geralt:"You're a bit more like me. You don't talk as much as before. My personality is taking over and so is yours. I feel like I can't stop talking "

Jaskier:"I do"

Geralt:"We have to find the witch"

Jaskier:"No need to rush" he said as he grabbed him from behind and pulled him back to himself

They were in mountains on track to find the witch. They knew they were close. Her hiding place was in front of them. A small fire burning in the distance

Her voice echoed from the rock a over:"Coming for help, my dearest witcher?"

Jaskier's deep voice echoed back at her:"Reverse this!"

Geralt tried to show that he was still the one who was previously leading them in his old body:"Yeah do that. We don't want to stay like this and I don't want to perform another one of his songs. So now do your thing and we'll be on our way"

The witch:"Oh, Geralt. It's so funny to see you being so talkative for a change. And you, singer, finally shut your mouth. I hope it was a great lesson for the two of you. Now....."

Geralt:'Now what."

The witch looked genuinely surprised and laughed hysterically:"Hahaha. You two. You didn't. Hahaha"

Jaskier:"What?"

The witch:"You fools. I told you that love was a way to reverse this. All you had to do was live the life of the other person to understand them better"

Geralt looked at Jaskier. "So it wasn't about making love, but loving the other one as he is?"

The witch:"Yes. How could you think any different. You chose your fate now"

Jaskier:"What do you mean by that?"

The witch. The sex sealed your swap. You are in these bodies forever

They sat on the edge for hours. Observing the view. Contemplating what to do

Jaskier:"We could ask Yennefer"

Geralt:"She won't help. Not now."

Jaskier:"So you just wanna stay like this?"

Geralt:"We can go to the coast. Fish, swim, drink, live."

Jaskier:"You would really abandon your adventures?"

Geralt:"There isn't much I can do now with your body. Neither can you until you learn how to properly fight."

Jaskier:"You're right. Before we learn how to be each other completely, we'll be dangerous to ourselves."

Jaskier stayed silent for a while and then responded. "Fine. Let's have a life together on the beach. But If you will piss me off, I'll start singing and I can guarantee you that my ears hate it"

Geralt smiled and grinned at his old self knowing how much he hated his voice, but was grateful for the friend he found in his life

A story request from inbox

That henry and joey swap story, amazing. What about inside world body swap. Where Jaskier and Geralt swap bodies thanks to some random witch and she tells them the only way to swap back is to fuck each other. But it actually makes the spell permanent. (They got each other memories n skills or smth)

[gwynbleidd-enthusiast]

"Something ends, something begins" by Andrzej Sapkowski (fan translation), is making me tear up. Yen and Geralt are gonna marry and Ciri is grown up enough to live by herself. 💔🤍

"I'll get going right after the feast," Ciri repeated.

"I want... I want to feel the wind in my face on the back of a galloping horse again. I want to see the stars on the horizon again, I want to whistle Dandelion's ballads at night. I'm longing for a fight, the dance with a sword, I'm longing for the risk, for the delight victory brings me. And I'm longing for solitude. Do you understand me?"

"Of course," he smiled sadly. "Of course I understand you, Ciri. You're my daughter, you're a witcher. You'll do what you must. But I must tell you one thing. One thing. You can't run away forever, even though you'll always try."

"I know," she replied and cuddled herself closer to him. "I still have hope that one day... If I wait, if I'm patient, then I, too, perhaps will live such a beautiful day like this... Such a nice day... Even though..."

"What, Ciri?"

"I've never been pretty. And with that scar..."

"Ciri," he cut her off. "You're the most beautiful girl in the world. Right after Yen, of course."

"Oh, Geralt..."

"If you don't believe me, ask Dandelion."

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 22

Geralt rides into a town only to see a small family fumbling around in the street in a panic. Apparently they're a family business of fishermen who are worried that something much bigger than a fish has swam into a trap of theirs. Geralt gets a promise of money for getting rid of it and goes off to kill whatever water monster it is. But he gets to where they describe the beast and he finds... A mermaid? It's trapped and tied around in a net, facing away from Geralt, and clearly in pain, though he doesn't know why, yet. The webbed ear of the mer flicks and it turns to face him, hissing. Geralt holds his hands out in a placating gesture and sloowly walks closer, only for the mer to slam the full weight of it's tail into Geralt's legs and sweep him off his feet. Gods damn it. It can never be easy. Geralt draws his sword, and begins cutting the trap off the mer, even as it hisses, flails, and tries it's absolute damnedest to claw his face off. He ends up straddling it like it's a fucking gator, and when he frees it of it's restraints, it's only then that he can finally make out the giant wound on the mer's side. Too big and nasty a wound to just release it into the water. Oh great. It's gonna LOVE this. But it's not like he has to DO anything about it. He's a cold, emotionless witcher. He doesn't care of the mer lives or dies. If the wound is infected or kills the mer, he couldn't give less of a damn. So Geralt is currently walking up to his room at the inn, with a very angry hissing mer thrown over his shoulder, clawing the shit out of his armor. When he asks for the bath to be filled, blessedly nobody asks any further questions. The mer stops struggling as soon as it's in the bath, but it sure is still hissing at him. Geralt puts his sword away and takes off his armor and the hissing lessens. Now it's just whenever he gets too close. Big problem. He needs to get close in order to patch up it's wounds. The mer has the biggest, brightest, inhumanly blue eyes, with slitted pupils. It has sharp teeth, and twinkling iridescent blue scales dusting across the edge of it's face and it's cheeks. It stops hissing at him to listen to the bard perform downstairs. It stops attacking him, even as he pokes and prods at their wound. This is great! Except for when the bard stops and the mermaid goes back to thrashing and screaming- So Geralt is forced to hum songs under his breath to calm it. It's pupils expand and it stares at him in awe, with a slightly parted mouth. Geralt's just happy it stopped flopping around like a- w- Well... Like a fish. He fixes it all up, and shares his food, and softly hums to it the whole night, before it curls up a bit more and starts nodding off. He stops humming and steps to the inn's bed, only to be surprised when hearing a voice behind him murmur "Thank you." Oh shit-

[fangirleaconmigo]

Hello dear! i asked this once but it was as a chat response so asking here just in case it got lost, no hurries! Bookverse! Dandi and geralt, Geralt gets turned away at the brothel (again) and Dandi decides if no one is gonna treat his witcher like he deserves, he'll have to.

(plz ignore if this is not relevant to your interests!)

Pan, my dear. I know you sent this almost a year and a half ago. I ADORE getting prompts, but inspiration strikes when it strikes, the fickle ho.

Geralt x Dandelion. Rated Explicit. Bottom!Geralt (first time bottoming).

Geralt is turned away from a brothel, and Dandelion takes care of him. This is porn with feelings. Love and smut ahoy. 7k words(ish)

-----

The woman at the door whispered something in Dandelion’s ear. 

In other circumstances, Geralt might have heard what she said. He was standing only a few feet behind the poet, and his witcher hearing was certainly capable of it. But he didn’t hear, because he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention. His mind was occupied. 

He and Dandelion had been drinking in a nearby tavern. When Dandelion suggested a brothel to relax him, Geralt happily trailed after him like a trusting pup. On the way, the witcher let his mind wander in and out of a series of increasingly vivid, sexually charged visions. He was already aroused and bristling with excess energy when they arrived at the door. 

Dandelion tilted his head towards the girl. “Milady,” he responded, “why are you telling me this? Are you proud or something? Are you also proud when you get a canker on your ass? It’s a personal situation if you ask me.” He glanced back at Geralt for support, laughing haughtily. “It is lucky that my erection is more insistent than my convictions, and that I have already promised my friend an unforgettable night in your establishment which I am loathe to renege upon.”

Geralt was at a loss, trying to put together what was happening with context clues. He didn’t need to wait long. The woman looked desperately at Geralt and leaned closer towards the poet. “I said. Humans only.”

Geralt heard it that time. His stomach sank. He felt a familiar mix of humiliation and anger, which he promptly suffocated until he felt nothing. He tugged on Dandelion’s sleeve. “Come on, Dandelion.”

Dandelion ignored him. He threw his arms out. “And? We are men,” he said to the girl. He looked around melodramatically and declared a bit too loud, “I didn’t bring my horse to partake!”

The girl at the door nervously avoided Geralt’s gaze. “Master Dandelion,” she whispered strenuously, “the witcher cannot come in.”

Sometimes the ‘humans only’ rule applied to Geralt. Sometimes it didn’t. Clearly, at this place, it did. He tugged again on his friend’s sleeve, to no avail. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

To his frustration, Dandelion ignored him yet again. The poet drew himself up to full height and stuck his nose in the air. “I pity your lack of education, dear girl, but witchers are human beings. That is just a fact. But luckily for you, I am feeling generous. If you let us in right now, I will not alert your madam to this offensive gaffe.” 

“Shut. Up. Dandelion,” gritted out Geralt. This time he grabbed the poet’s arm. 

Dandelion yanked his arm free. He briefly glanced at Geralt. “Let me handle it. I understand these types.”

Geralt groaned and looked around desperately. A few men were wandering up the footpath towards them, customers, no doubt, who would be witnesses to the whole ordeal. 

The madam appeared next to the girl at the door. She was an older woman in a lovely burgundy gown. Dandelion brightened and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Oh, I am so happy to see you, my dear lady. I hope you can clear up this misunderstanding. My friend is 100% human, I assure you,” he glanced back at Geralt. “He was born to a woman, magic though she was, and a man. Well,” he corrected himself, “we don’t rightly know who his father is.”

Geralt cringed.

“But,” the poet lifted a finger, “if you required confirmed paternity for everyone in this establishment your building would be empty as a pair of testicles after they’ve had a run at the place. You’d be in the poor house by Thursday.” The poet was picking up steam. “Half the nobility in this town claim to be descendents of great emperors, but they were secretly sired by a particular beefy blacksmith who lives two doors down, or a certain wiry goatherd who is quite randy, and one count I know of personally,” he leaned in even closer, “was sired by an actual goat, I can tell you that story…”

“Master Dandelion,” the madam hissed through her teeth, “I would if I could, but it’s a party for the warden and half the security forces will be in tonight. I’ll be shut down! You can see he’s…different!” 

“What?” yelped Dandelion. Turning and looking at Geralt, pretending to be gobsmacked, then returning to the madam. “Because of his mutations? Why, that’s sheer ignorance.  Mutations are endemic to life itself. We’ve all got them!” He batted his unusually blue eyes. “Some find mine quite charming.”

The madam was not nervous like the door girl. She looked straight at Geralt, though she had the goodness to be apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt dragged Dandelion away successfully this time, but the troubadour did not go quietly. One of the men coming down the path caught his attention. “Duke Heyward has a third nipple!” He shouted over his shoulder. “That’s a mutation! Can’t have that! Better turn him away! Errant nipples might ruin the mood!”

The man steadfastly ignored him and bowed to the madam. He was granted entrance, nipples and all.

“They’re all such tiresome, small minded, unimpressive donkeys,” Dandelion seethed as they walked back to the tavern. “Count Vamonet can’t tell a sonnet from a scrotum. Prince Galino farts when he comes, and he has to pay the girls extra for it. And the Algloval family are a bunch of inbred--”

Geralt’s attention turned inward as Dandelion ranted about the wretched local nobility and their many failings. The witcher returned to his thoughts as they made their way through the streets. 

These kinds of rants usually made him feel better, and it did, somewhat. But there was still that tension, that pent up frustration. He was still rock hard in his trousers.

“Pathetic, the lot of them. Pox on them all,” finished Dandelion, waving at dismissively at the air. He stole a look at Geralt. “You’re awfully quiet. You haven’t told me to shut up yet. Do you feel quite alright?”

Geralt sighed. “Fine. It’s fine.”

“Well, your face still looks sour.” Dandelion brightened. “Do you want me to see if Helen is interested? I can make myself scarce.”

That was the second time that night that he’d offered the same. “No!” Geralt almost shouted it. Dandelion stopped in the street. Geralt took a few steps before he realized it and he turned to face his friend.

Helen was the server girl at the tavern, who had set the night in motion. Dandelion first performed a set, then sat down, damp curls stuck to his forehead, open tunic flaunting the dusting of blonde hair on his chest. Helen, who he’d been winking at during his performance (along with every other person in the audience), informed him that she was off work, and plopped right down his lap. The poet happily spread his thighs to give her a better seat, and wrapped his arm around her waist. 

Geralt had been enjoying the evening, but at the sight of the two of them together, was seized by a growing frustration. Helen’s breasts spilled nearly out of her top and hovered near Dandelion’s face. His friend leered at them, lips so close to their gentle swell. She ever so delicately opened her legs under the table. 

She wasn’t wearing anything under her skirt, and Geralt watched Dandelion’s hand creep up her thigh. Her cunt was probably hot and wet, just waiting for him to--

“Geralt?” Dandelion had abruptly asked, stopping what he was doing. “What is the matter?”

Helen looked up. When she saw Geralt’s expression, she visibly shrunk away.

“Oh pet,” Dandelion protested, turning his attention back to her, “he isn’t angry, please, that’s just his face. He’s a big pussy cat, really.”

Geralt, realizing he was scaring her, forced a smile. It only made matters worse. She scurried away.

Dandelion seemed to be conveniently forgetting that fact at this very moment. They faced one another on the dark street. 

Helen is terrified of me, Geralt thought of saying. That was what Geralt meant to say. But something else came out of his mouth. “I don’t want you to make yourself scarce. I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

Dandelion looked surprised, and then intensely interested. He shoved his hands on his hips and looked down at where Geralt’s trousers strained to contain his cock. His tongue darted out and wet his lips before making eye contact with some effort. “Well. What do you want, Geralt?” He asked it casually, lightly. “There are other girls that don’t work in brothels. The night is young, yet. Tell me. What were you imagining for tonight? Talk to me.”

What were you imagining?

Geralt tried to remember the thoughts that excited him on the way to the brothel. Why had he been so very distracted that he’d missed the door girl’s whisper? 

They were visions of pretty girls servicing Dandelion, right? Perhaps those visions should have been of the girls servicing him. But...Geralt stood, taking a moment to recall his fantasies. Well, pox on it. Fuck. The girls weren’t even in them. 

It was all Dandelion sprawled out in bliss, with his trousers shoved down to his ankles. It was Dandelion with his head lolling back, eyes half lidded, lips open. It was Dandelion thrusting languid and whining up into welcoming lips.

Surely, he, Geralt of Rivia, didn’t want his friend that way. He didn’t think he was that kind of man. True, there had been youthful experimentation at Kaer Morhen, but it was all boys there, what else were they going to do? When he’d fallen for Yen, he thought....well he thought that was that. But now. Fuck. He was beginning to doubt.

Geralt looked into the quizzical eyes of his dearest friend. Then he turned on his heel and fled. He could hear Dandelion chuckling and calling out to him. “Geralt, come back! Blast it!”

But the witcher made a beeline to their shared room at the tavern. He was dressed for bed and under the covers with the candles out by the time Dandelion returned. Dandelion came in humming, carrying a lantern, and two glasses of wine.

“Good evening, Geralt.” Dandelion said loudly, shutting their door with a graceful tap of his heel. “I see you are already in bed for the evening.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say. “Helen wouldn’t have you?” He muttered bitterly. “She looked so eager.” But he dragged himself up to lean against the headboard. The covers fell around his waist, so he grabbed them and clutched them to his chest.

Dandelion set the lantern and glasses on the side table, and shrugged off his coat. He was still humming to himself. His lightness of spirit was slightly insulting, when Geralt was so obviously set on brooding.

The poet came to sit on the edge of the bed. Geralt’s heart raced as the mattress dipped and the warmth of Dandelion’s body filled his space.

It all felt different now, the shared room, the shared bed. All of it. The air crackled. The witcher was terrified. That was why his pulse was racing, right?

His friend sat in uncharacteristic silence for a few moments, contemplating the bedspread and then Geralt. After a moment, he spoke softly. “Geralt, those idiots were pricks to you tonight.”

His compassion caused a warmth to blossom in Geralt’s chest, but that was the kind of thing that makes a man lose control. So he shoved it down and avoided his friend’s eyes. “It’s fine.” “No, it’s not,” said Dandelion. “But well,” he smiled, still looking softer than usual, “you’ve always got me, and about a thousand other friends, to whom you are as ordinary and human as a person can be. Boring even. And the whores at that place are rubbish anyway.”

Geralt half smiled despite himself and looked up. “You said their advanced techniques would change my life.”

“I lied to make you feel better.”

Geralt gasped in sarcastic shock.

“You know,” said Dandelion. Now he was the one looking down. “I haven’t told you this yet Geralt. But I was once a harlot myself.” 

Dandelion raised his eyes and for a brief moment, they looked into one another, trying to read what the other was feeling. The air between them was fragile, as though a wrong word could shatter whatever was changing between them.

Geralt wanted to be sensitive, but he was overcome with images of Dandelion naked and in compromising situations. It was the same images that had plagued him earlier in the day. “Did you... like it?”

It was the right thing to say, at least for now, because Dandelion relaxed. “I did.” He shrugged. “Most of the time anyway. Like any other job in that regard. I don’t want to brag,” he said, in his characteristic way that indicated he very much did want to brag, “but I was too popular. I got too successful. And I preferred to be famous for my music. So gradually, I-” he picked at the bedspread, “-stopped.”

“Too successful,” Geralt asked, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. “Were there enough women to keep you busy?” he asked. “Seems like they wouldn’t have to pay for services.”

“You’d be surprised,” the poet answered. “They don’t pay you to fuck, Geralt. They pay you to leave without a fuss.”

Geralt nodded. He supposed that made sense. 

Dandelion picked up his wine glass from the side table. He took a sip and swallowed primly with pursed lips. Geralt watched his throat bob with fascination. He realized that he was staring, so he picked up his glass to give himself something to do other than gape.  

“But truth be told,” Dandelion’s voice lingered on the words casually, “my specialty was other men.”

Geralt should not have picked up his glass. It was a mistake. He was taking a sip the moment Dandelion said ‘men.' He coughed, and pounded his chest.

Dandelion chuckled richly. “Are you alright?”

His friend was laughing at him. Geralt was a mess of righteous indignation, hope, and desperate desire.

“‘M Fine,” he said, putting down the glass. He wanted to avoid his friend’s gaze, but that would be admitting defeat. He met Dandelion’s mirthful, predatory eyes. He immediately lost composure.

He was looking at the poet’s lips. His collarbone. The way his shirt was slightly transparent, and how every time the poet took a deep breath, his chest rose and Geralt could see his nipples. 

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I am not,” mumbled Geralt defensively. “Witchers can’t blush.”

“Sure, my darling, if that is the story you prefer.”

It was the first time Dandelion had ever called him darling. He called him my dear all the time. Geralt loved it every time, but darling was just a little more...romantic.

Geralt had no idea what to do with his face, his hands, or his rebellious cock, which was every bit as hard as before.

“What are you thinking about Geralt?”

Why did Dandelion sound so blasted smug? The prick. Geralt’s fingers trembled, his pulse raced. He decided to just let his body speak for him, without thought. “If I came to your brothel. In those days.” He tried not to stammer, but he sounded halting. He decided to just push the words out. “Would you have serviced me? A mutant.” 

He was staring at his own hands now. He almost jumped when Dandelion’s hand covered his own, warm and tender. 

Geralt looked up, relaxing into the touch.

Dandelion looked amused, but fond. “That depends.”

He was toying with him, the fucking bastard.

“On what,” Geralt asked flatly.

“I’d ask to take a look at your cock.” His eyes sparkled. “To see if it is mutated of course.” He moved his hand to the side of the sheet and pinched, as if ready to pull it aside.

Geralt tried not to smile. A smile would be an admission that the charms of his friend had vanquished him yet again. 

“Well, go on,” teased Dandelion. “Answer me. Will you let me inspect your prick to see if it is too mutated to fit in my mouth?”

“You’ve seen my cock,” Geralt grumbled, wriggling, trying to hide how the aforementioned anatomy twitched at the forthright, confident manner of his friend. 

“Yes, but I don’t remember what it looked like,” said Dandelion with faux innocence that did not suit him. “I’ve only seen flashes. In and out of baths, that kind of thing. And of course, I have always been too gentlemanly to sneak a peek.”

“Liar.” Geralt bit his cheeks. He nodded at where Dandelion’s hand held the corner of the blanket. “Well, go ahead.”

Dandelion’s face broke into a shit eating grin. He took the edge of the sheets and pulled them aside. Geralt inhaled fast and held his breath. He had on a flimsy undergarment with an opening at the front. His excitement was extremely apparent.

Geralt wriggled a little again, repositioning himself. He felt utterly exposed. Why was it making him more aroused than he had ever remembered being in his life? 

It was Dandelion’s reaction to his body. Geralt could smell lust, and the wave of it that came off his friend was so powerful, the witcher was instantly intoxicated by it. Furthermore, the poet was looking at him with such a ravenous expression that Geralt blinked. It called to mind a wolf staring at a cut of raw meat.

Geralt was used to being the hunter. He had never been the prey. A thrill ran through him the likes of which he had never experienced.

“Geralt.” The poet was suddenly earnest, tight, and controlled. The switch made Geralt dizzy. His friend pulled his hands back, and squeezed his own thighs. 

“Yes?” Geralt rasped.

“I cannot restrain myself any longer.” His voice trembled. “If you want me to stop now, you’re going to have to throw me out on my neck”

Geralt tried to respond, but only an airy squeak of nothing came from his mouth. He tried again. “Good. Don’t. Don’t restrain yourself that is.”

“Fucking hell. Sweet Melitele’s milky tits.” 

Dandelion scrambled to straddle Geralt’s lap. Eyes shining, he cradled the witcher’s face in his hands. Geralt’s arms, of their own accord, wrapped around the poet.

Dandelion kissed him with such ferocious tenderness, Geralt felt his eyes prickle. That ferocity...Dandelion had wanted to do this for a very long time. Maybe years. And the tenderness. Dandelion kissed him like he was the most fragile, precious creature in all of creation. 

The thought that Dandelion might have been harboring a hidden love for him was a shocking revelation. But Geralt could not fully grasp it. Not when his body’s reaction to Dandelion’s tongue and his weight on Geralt’s lap was leading him to yet another shocking revelation.

“Dandelion,” he cleared his throat and tilted back just enough to leave a sliver of space between their lips as they panted.

“Yes, Geralt.” 

“Am I...this kind of man?”

Dandelion threw his head back and laughed. It was a bit rude actually. He ground his hips ever so slightly on Geralt’s hard cock. Geralt made an aborted noise of pleasure.

“Oh, I quite think you are darling,” Dandelion said smugly. “Wait. Does that vex you?”

Once again, Geralt didn’t want to think. He just wanted to respond. “I don’t think so,” he said. Then he realized the truth. “No. Not a bit.”

“Ah, well then. Shall I proceed?”

“Please do.”

Dandelion slipped off of his lap. Geralt found it difficult to abide the loss of his body. “Wait.”

Dandelion’s response was muffled by his shirt slipping from his head. “Apologies, my dear, but I must make haste, in case you change your mind.” 

His dearest friend was pulling off his clothing at a blinding rate, vibrating with an air of disbelief and excitement. 

“I won’t change my mind.” After it came from Geralt’s mouth, he realized that it was true.

Dandelion flashed him another smile. “Still. I won’t take any chances.” 

Dandelion was quickly naked and scrambled back onto the bed without much grace. “Hips up.” 

Geralt lifted his hips. Dandelion stripped away Geralt’s underclothes. Then, they were naked together. 

What shocked Geralt the most was that it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He felt nothing but pleasure at the sight of Dandelion’s full erection, nestled in a puff of blonde curls. He felt nothing but excitement when the poet straddled him yet again, his solid but soft torso in Geralt’s grasp. The witcher groaned at an embarrassing volume when Dandelion wrapped his nimble fingers around his cock.

“May I, love?” Dandelion licked his lips.

Geralt’s heart almost stopped. “Say that again,” he whispered.

“May I....love?”

“Please. Yes. Anything.”

Dandelion scooted back and dragged his warm tongue up the entire length of Geralt’s erection, lingering on the tip, kissing it messily. 

Geralt writhed. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Dandelion batted his lashes then sucked Geralt’s entire cock into his mouth. Geralt almost shouted, but managed to clap a hand over his mouth and turn it into another moan.

He wanted a release. He wanted to explode.

His mind may not have realized his feelings for his friend, but his body was certainly aware that this was something he’d been holding in for a very long time.

But Geralt didn’t just want to cum. He wanted to do it on his friend, in his friend, it didn’t matter how.

“Let me. I wanna.” He gasped. “Fuck.”

Dandelion looked at him with soft but hungry eyes as he bobbed on his cock. At the sight of the poet’s expression, the way he looked stuffed with Geralt’s cock, the witcher thought he would lose it. But his friend expertly stopped just before Geralt’s peak. 

He toyed with the witcher like that for some time, bringing him to peak, then pulling away. As he did, he ran his hands all over Geralt’s body. He murmured sweet nothings to him.

“You’re so gorgeous like this love. Look at you. Oh, fuck you’re stunning. I can’t believe I get to look at you like this.”

Geralt melted. He melted into his mouth, he melted against the bed. He became a blubbering, begging mess of a man. 

“Please, oh, please. Just let me. Just. Oh, fuck.”

Just when he thought he had reached the height of pleasure, Dandelion began to use his fingers. 

“Spread your thighs, darling.”

Geralt thought to protest. He felt self conscious. But he had said that Dandelion could do anything, and he’d meant it. Allowing himself to act without overthinking it had gotten him here, so the strategy was clearly working.

He spread his legs obediently.

Geralt fell apart when Dandelion cupped him, caressed him, and massaged him firmly in places he’d never even seen. 

Vaguely, he thought that the room next to them could probably hear him whining. If he were allowing himself to think about it, he might have been embarrassed. But he wasn’t.

When Dandelion returned his lips to his cock, he also grasped his shaft, moving both his hands and his mouth expertly, Geralt came. His body locked up and his moans were silent and airy. He covered Dandelion’s head with his hands and thrust into the eager lips of his dearest friend. He shoved and shoved until he released in a haze of animalistic desire.

Then he fell back, slackened and panting. 

Dandelion kissed his softening cock. He licked up all of Geralt’s spend and made a show of swallowing it for him.

Geralt stroked Dandelion’s damp locks lazily. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.” 

Dandelion crawled into his arms, placing a sweaty kiss on Geralt’s temple. They were both damp, from sweat and tears. Geralt squeezed him tight, waiting for the thudding of his heart to subside.

“Fuck.”

When Dandelion’s erection brushed his thigh, Geralt wanted to kick himself. He had been so wrapped up in his own pleasure, he’d been selfish. He needed to make sure Dandelion got satisfaction as well.

“What can I--” the witcher stopped, realizing he had little idea what the fuck he was doing. What could he even offer? Back in Kaer Morhen in his teen years, there had mostly been furtive yanking and sucking in closets and dark dormitories. And here he was with a proper expert, a former professional. What skills did he really have? How did you fuck a man without hurting him? Shit, he couldn’t fuck anyone right now anyway. He leaned forward and kissed Dandelion. “What do you want, poet?” He figured that was a better question, instead of promising something he couldn’t deliver, at least not in a competent way. 

Dandelion had a half smile, like he was up to something. “Well, since my wildest dreams are coming true today, I’m just going to ask for it.”

Geralt barked a laugh, and felt slightly, deliciously self conscious. “Alright. Spit it out.”

Dandelion leaned closer, kissed Geralt’s cheek, and whispered provocatively in his ear. As he did, he traced languid circles on Geralt’s chest and stomach. This, Geralt thought, was what made Dandelion so popular. That and the expert cock sucking.

“Witcher mine, I have been following behind you for years,” he murmured sensually. “And do you know what has always confounded me?”

“What?”

“Having to stare at your round, juicy looking, perfect peach and never being invited to fuck it.”

Well. Geralt hadn’t expected that. He’d never really thought of himself that way. As an object of such fervent desire. 

“My. Ass?”

“Oh yes, love. You’d better believe it.” Dandelion’s eyes fluttered closed and he hummed in bliss, like one did after taking a big bite of a pastry fresh out of the oven. “The shapeliest ladies have nothing on your delicious plump looking posterior. Has no one told you?”

Dandelion had called him love again. Geralt was beginning to understand that every time Dandelion called him love, the witcher felt willing and able to scoop out his own organs and gift them to the poet if he so desired them.

"No."

“That is a tragic story indeed.” Dandelion ground his rock hard cock into Geralt’s thigh. “How someone with such a perfect ass has never been told about its charms.”

Geralt allowed himself a slightly smug smile and he squeezed Dandelion tighter. He kissed the side of the poet’s head and hummed into his hair. “Really? That good, huh?”

The poet growled and rolled his hips again. “Please, Geralt. Don’t make me beg.”

Well. Shit. Geralt’s heart beat faster. “I want to, but. I don’t. I’ve never.” Then he just blurted it out. “Does it hurt?”

Dandelion stopped what he was doing and rolled over, propping himself on arm. He looked absolutely gleeful. “You mean I would be the first? Me?”

Geralt looked away and flushed a bit. He hummed his assent.

Dandelion practically whooped. “I will be taking Geralt of Rivia’s virgin ass? Have I died? Is this heaven?” The poet caught himself. “I mean, of course, only if you want to.” He tried to sound sexy and soft again, but his leering smile looked ridiculous.

It was a pathetic effort, but it still pleased Geralt for some reason. He was doomed, wasn’t he?

“I’m not a virgin. Obviously.”

“Still. May I?” 

“Just. Be careful. You will, right?”

Dandelion took one of Geralt's hands and nuzzled it. Managing to find gentle sincerity within himself, he said, “Of course I will, love. I will be gentle. I will be tender. I will make it so very lovely for you.”

Geralt nodded. “Alright. What do I do?” He felt a bit moronic asking, but he would feel worse if he did something wrong.

“Well, I was rewarded by the sight of your handsome face in ecstasy. Now, since for all I know, this could be my only chance, I would be honored to enjoy the sight of your perfect, round ass jiggling as I fuck it.” 

Geralt swallowed. “So, I turn over?”

“If you please.” Dandelion scooted back on the bed, kneeling, watching rapturously as Geralt agreeably turned over. The witcher was rewarded with a low whistle. “Oh, yes. Sweet mother of mine, what a specimen of a posterior.” Geralt could feel Dandelion’s soft, strong hands gliding over his body and squeezing his ass. The effect, along with Dandelion’s evident enthusiasm made him prickle with pleasure.

“Shut up.”

“I will not. I am already writing the ballad as we speak.”

There was no use telling him to shut up again. Geralt closed his eyes and reveled in the sensation of being caressed. His scars were particularly sensitive, and Dandelion was sliding his hands over every last bit of him.

“Hands and knees, my dear witcher.”

Geralt obediently rose onto hands and knees. Dandelion moaned, gravelly and wanton. Geralt could hear him stroking his own cock as he squeezed one cheek then the other. Experimentally, Geralt arch his back, and enjoyed the strangled groan-laugh behind him.

If he had felt exposed before, that was nothing compared to what he felt now. Now he felt completely, utterly vulnerable. And yet? His body buzzed with pleasure low in his abdomen. 

Geralt could hear Dandelion shift. Then he felt a kiss, followed by a playful nibble the back of his thighs. Dandelion leaned away to reach for something.

“Relax, love.”

Geralt heard Dandelion remove his rings, and then he heard a tin of something open and close. Then Dandelion’s fingers were at his entrance, slippery and wet. Geralt shivered. He flinched.

“Shhhhh,” Dandelion quieted him and patted his haunch as though he were a skittish mare. Geralt relaxed. 

“It’s alright,” cooed Dandelion. “The famous poet Dandelion will be your first. Think of the stories you will be able to tell your grandchildren.”

“You’re an idiot.” Geralt chuckled but his laugh turned into a drawn out ‘oooo’ as Dandelion entered him with a finger. “See, that’s nice isn’t it, Geralt?”

It took Geralt a moment to answer. It was a new feeling.

“Y-y-yes?” he said. 

“Is that a question or an answer, my witcher?” Dandelion asked playfully. He slid further and Geralt released a sigh. His body wanted to scoot away, and shove backwards at the same time. But Geralt decided not to do either. He just held still and allowed himself to feel.

“Yes.” He answered breathily, but with more confidence that time. 

Dandelion scooted closer. Geralt could feel the warmth and the softness of the hair on the poet’s legs as they pressed against his. How his friend managed to slip in a second finger at the angle, Geralt wasn’t sure. But the tightness, the fullness, made him whimper. 

“Oh, that sound,” growled Dandelion. “I cannot wait another second, Geralt, my dear, I am going to fuck the sense out of you.”

He could hear slippery noises as Dandelion quickly slicked his own cock. The poet grasped him with one hand. Geralt stole a glance back and saw his friend’s ravenous, predatory face. He saw the blonde poet grasping the base of his cock, lining himself up. The tip of his tongue was stuck out, and he was lost completely in the moment.

Dandelion felt Geralt’s attention and he looked up. They locked eyes right as Dandelion pushed. Geralt whimpered and his body jerked, but Dandelion held his hips stock-still with surprisingly strong hands as he pressed inside with an excruciatingly slow gentleness. “Here you go, love. You can take this, can’t you?” he purred.

Geralt sensed that taunting Dandelion right now might yield some interesting results. “I won’t break. Fuck me already.”

Dandelion’s eyes ignited and he squeezed Geralt so hard, he knew he would be bruised. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes. Fucking do it already.”

It was daring talk for an amateur, Geralt knew. But he had stopped thinking. He was just spouting off now.

Dandelion bent over him and wrapped his arm around his hips like a vise and thrust. Geralt could tell his friend was still holding back, but the motion made him feel such shocking fullness, that it chased all rational thought away, emptying his mind.

Dandelion pulled back then. Right when Geralt thought he would slip away, Dandelion thrust again. Geralt marveled at how tight he could feel, the sounds the poet could punch from his throat. The sounds were cut off every time Dandelion’s hips made impact, but grew louder and more frantic with every stroke.

Dandelion’s hair brushed his back. He could feel his friend’s lips by his ear. “You love it, don’t you. Your ass is the perfect vessel for my cock, isn't it?” he whispered, his necklaces slightly grazing Geralt’s shoulder blades. The poet was beginning to sweat and his chest dragged down Geralt’s back.

Geralt nodded. It was difficult to manage while bouncing on another man’s cock.

“Say it,” Dandelion challenged him.

“Yes. I’m yours.”

Dandelion tenderly brushed Geralt’s hair away from his neck, and kissed the back of his neck as he fucked into him.

As the witcher’s body became more lax and able to accept the intrusion, Dandelion thrust with more power. Geralt had to brace himself against the wall to keep from slapping into it.

Dandelion was no longer treating him with kid gloves. Geralt had no idea that his body would allow anything inside that deep. He bounced and shook and cried out. He felt like some kind of rag doll.

“Dandelion,” he whispered into the dark. 

“Say that again,” came the response from behind him.

“Dandelion.”

Dandelion’s pace grew more furious and punishing. Geralt was shocked by what his body could take. Dandelion began to sound like him, grunting, and moaning.

But right when he thought Dandelion would peak, he stopped and pulled out.

“Don’t stop,” Geralt begged. He writhed and reached back, grasping to pull his lover back.

“Be still,” Dandelion chided.

Geralt obeyed. He quieted himself and became still, waiting on hands and knees. His thighs trembled. His hair stuck to his sweaty, sticky body.

Just when he was ready to ask Dandelion what the fuck he was doing, he felt the poet grasp both sides of his ass and part him. The cool air caressed Geralt on his sensitive skin and he shivered.

Dandelion swore a filthy oath in several different languages, only some of which Geralt understood. 

“I’m going to watch myself cum in you, witcher.”

Dandelion leaned forward and pushed down on Geralt’s back. The witcher wasn’t sure what the poet wanted, until his elbows buckled and his face was smashed against the pillow.

Dandelion hummed, ever so pleased with himself. He whistled. “That’s better. What a view.” He grasped the witcher, trapping his hips.

Geralt closed his eyes, determined to feel everything, to remember everything. The fat head of his dearest friend’s cock nudged him. By now, Geralt was fucked, slick, and ready.

Now it was the poet’s turn to whine like an animal when he slid inside Geralt. 

“Look at you, swallowing my cock. You were made for me to fuck.”

The pillow under Geralt’s face grew damp, and he groaned into it as Dandelion took his pleasure.

The poet shoved as deeply as he could when he came, and the sound he made was cathartic. He held Geralt still, draped over his back, as he rode out his pulsing orgasm.

“Oh, Geralt. My darling.” He whispered it so quietly into Geralt’s back, that if Geralt were not a witcher, he might not have heard it.

Dandelion collapsed next to Geralt and pulled him close. They held each other in the dark, by the flickering lamp. They lay intertwined, clinging to each other, allowing the enormity of what they had done to settle over them. 

What if everything changed.

What if nothing changed?

“Geralt?” Dandelion’s voice was surprising small. “Kiss me?”

Geralt ran his fingers through Dandelion’s hair. And he kissed him.

They would start there.

[winters-mistress]

Cuddle pile

It's cold. It's so fucking cold that Ciri thinks she may honestly ask the gods to take her to the next world, because nothing can be as cold as this. She's got two pairs of leggings on, two pairs of socks, one of Geralt's tunics, her pair of gloves that Eskel had found for her, and she's buried underneath several blankets. Yet, she's so cold. She's so fucking cold.

The door opens, she can hear the squeak of the hinges. Footsteps come towards her, she can tell by the gait that it's Geralt, he's trying to be quiet, but he knows she's awake.

"Ciri?" she peaks out of her cocoon of blankets, one eye blinking up at him. His lip twitches, and he reaches towards her. "Cone here, it's too cold for you to be here alone. Especially with the fire refusing to catch."

She realises that the fireplace and the torches are dead. How many times has somebody came in and tried to warm her, only for the wind to blow it out?

Her thoughts distract her enough that Geralts breath upon her cheeks startle her, but she doesn't jump when his arks finally pick her up, blanket cocoon and all.

She makes a questioning noise, but never says no to Geralt giving her a hug. She's carried like a baby out of her room, out of the wing, down two flights of stairs, down another corridor, a third set of stairs, before they end up at the kitchens.

She makes a confused noise. It can't be breakfast time yet, the keep is pitch black to her puny human eyes.

"Why're we here?" she asks, rubbing her tired eyes.

"It's too cold, even for us. Gotta rest." Geralt says. Ciri blinks at him.

All in all, the witchers are good when it comes to her sleeping. When her nights are plagued with the horrors of her past and future, and she wakes up screaming with wet cheeks, the witchers let her sleep in whenever her rest finally turns peaceful and dark. They allow her afternoon naps after training and chores are done, and send her to bed when she stumbles into the dining hall with dark circles under her eyes. Early nights and late starts aren't punished, and as long as training and chores are completed at some point in the day, the witchers don't particularly care when it happens. Hell, shes been wrapped up like a baby by Lambert of all people when they had determined she needed a sleep.

Which is why it shouldn't be surprising when he turns the last corner and finds five Witchers laying a couple feet away from the cracking fireplace underneath the stew pot. They've got blankets and pillows and furs, and look rather comfortable. Laying all over each other, looking rather like a puppy pile. Even Aiden joins in with the snuggling.

"Pups." Vesemir rumbles when he sees them both. Geralt puts her on the floor, kneeling down next to her.

"Come here, girl, get comfortable. Gonna be making camp here for a couple'a days." Coën clarifies when he sees her confused face. Ciri blinks, but nods. These things make sense, and she's seen all the men here hug, but admittedly, this is the first cuddle pile she's been privy to.

She turns upon her side, feeling Geralt curl behind her, trapping her in with his arms, wrapping her in another blanket. She hums, wrapping her hand over his, before Eskel pulls them both close, and she smiles, closing her eyes, feeling the warmth seep into her.

And tonight, she will sleep sweetly indeed.

[imagineredwood]

2. Chocolate 🍫

Summary: You’re making Valentines Day treats for the club and Bishop is your taste tester, but one can only eat so much chocolate.

Pairing: Bishop Losa x female reader

Warnings: none, all fluff

Word count: 435

"This one is the strawberry."

You plopped the tiny chocolate into Bishop's mouth, eyes on him as he chewed and then nodded, able to taste the tartness of the strawberry as it blended with the sweetness of the chocolate.

"It's good."

He spoke carefully, not wanting the syrup to run out of his mouth again like it had on the last two. You grinned, happy that he liked this one as well. You were making chocolates to take to the clubhouse for Valentine's Day, and of course, Bishop was your taste tester. You were trying different variations of fruit and other flavors to mix with the chocolates and while they were delicious, Bishop was starting to get a rush, this now being the seventh piece of chocolate you had shoved into his mouth. He watched as you turned around and plucked another one out of the tray, turning to face him again for what felt like the millionth time.

"This one is orange."

The Mayan groaned and he didn't miss the small frown that showed up on your lips

"What's the matter? You don't think you'll like the orange one? I know it's different but it's a good combination, I promise. It's refreshing."

Bishop chuckled and reached for your chocolate-free hand, lacing his fingers with yours tenderly.

"I believe you, mama. I swear I do. I'm sure that one is just as good as the last ones, if not better, but if I eat one more piece of chocolate I'm gonna throw up."

"Oh."

You laughed nervously, putting the orange creamsicle-flavored chocolate back down onto the tray.

"I'm sorry. I have given you a bunch to try. Kinda lost track."

Bishop laughed again, hand squeezing yours again. He reached for the piece himself and held it up to your lips instead this time, smiling as you ate the tiny heart. You gave a soft sound of approval and beamed as you looked at him.

"That one's good too. They're all good. Hope I didn't give you a stomachache."

Bishop shook his head, eyes twinkling as they looked at you with love. Love for your talents, love for your creativity, love for you working so hard to make treats for his brothers. He loved you. Well and truly. His lips were sweet as they pressed against yours ever so gently.

"No stomachache. But maybe you should come lay down with me on the couch for a bit. Just in case one starts up."

You traced the white hairs at the center of his beard with a smile.

"I think I can spare an hour or so."

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl  @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast  @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114   @destynelseclipsa  @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben  @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @weirdosandhopelessromantics @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @xonickibaby @cruzwalters @myakai13 @mrsstevenbuchananstark @lyly00 @kaystacks17 @cole-winchester  @alexxavicry  @savagemickey03  @fanfic-n-tabulous   @gangstaliciou06

Mayans MC taglist

@dazzledamazon​  @abunnykisses​ @briana-mishell24​  @wrcn9fvlcver​  @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @krysiewithak​  @appropriate-writers-name​  @blessedboo​  @megapeacelovemusic-blog​ @emoengelfurleben​ @blowmymbackout​ @abby-splace​ @kola95​ @black-repunzel99​ @redpoodlern​  @myakai13​

@cruzwalters​  @danimals1096 @po3ticb3auty​ @lyly00​ @im-just-a-mississippi-girl​  @angel-121​ @fanfic-n-tabulous​ @90sisthenew80s​ @lovelytricia @librarian1002

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Here is my thumb at the polling station!! I was gonna take a picture directly outside but someone else was taking a selfie and I felt weird waiting for her to be done. Anyway what do I get in exchange??

HELLO THUMB. I like that you've got a different coloured sign, bravo.

I'm using this opportunity to share some of what might actually be the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. This is the start of chapter two, but... yeah. It's pretty obvious what's going on here. The only context I'll give is that this is post-everything, post-game, "settled down and married and owning an inn in Toussaint".

(I'd also like to thank @spielzeugkaiser for encouraging this one)

Also adding a cut because it's long and I couldn't decide where to cut it off 😅

---

“Geralt, my darling love, my handsome witcher, my saviour of men?”

“What do you want?”

“I— what makes you think I want something?”

“You only use that tone when you want something and it’s—” Geralt shuffled around in bed and peered out of the window. It was still dark out. “Before dawn,” he finished. Paused. “What are you doing up, anyway?”

Jaskier stared down at him, dressed only in a nightshirt which Geralt was fairly certain was his.

“I heard a noise,” he said.

Geralt resisted the urge to pull him back into bed. “You heard a noise.” He repeated, tonelessly.

“Yes. It woke me up,” Jaskier continued. “And now there’s something in the stables.”

With a grumble, Geralt finally sat up. “What is it?”

Jaskier gave him an exaggerated sigh. “Well I don’t know, do I?”

“Why don’t you go check, then?”

“What if it’s a bandit? Or some sort of horrid beasty? You truly can’t expect me to deal with it, can you?”

For a moment, Geralt considered suggesting just that. But Jaskier had a point. He was  famously unhelpful in these sorts of situations. With a sigh, he swung himself out of bed and hastily dressed in the first clothes that he could get his hands on. After a second of consideration, he grabbed his sword as well.

“Come on, then.”

There was a disturbance in the stables, it turned out. Geralt could hear the horses snuffling and pacing - clearly something had spooked them. As they approached the sturdy stone building, Geralt could see that the door was swinging open.

“Stay here,” he muttered towards Jaskier over his shoulder.

“Right-o.”

The stables smelled like horse and sweat. But beneath that, a tang that Geralt didn’t recognise. And beneath that, one he did: blood.

It was too early and he was too tired to fuck about. He gripped his sword, set his shoulders, and called into the dark.

“I know you’re in here,” he said. “Show yourself.” 

At first, nothing happened. And then there was a rustle from the far corner, and a voice.

“Please, m’Lord—” 

A head appeared over the hay. A man. He was all cheekbones and angles, with a thatch of wild untamed hair. Geralt’s first thought was how young he looked. Probably no older than twenty-three or four. He looked terrified, too, and his eyes swept over Geralt in a dance Geralt had grown familiar with. The expression of fear melded from one of being caught, to one of being caught by a witcher.

As the man moved, the smell of blood grew stronger. There was a little cut on his face, just below his eye - which was marred with a huge purple bruise - but that alone wasn’t enough for such a strong scent. Geralt wondered where else he was bleeding from.

He wasn’t a bandit. He didn’t seem particularly dangerous.

“Please,” the man repeated, struggling to his feet. “Please, I’ll just— I’ll go, I swear, I just needed—”

He took a step forwards and immediately toppled, grabbing onto the wall to steady himself. He was clearly more hurt than he was letting on, and he looked exhausted. Geralt wondered how long he’d been running for. What he was running from. When he met the man’s eyes, they were wide and swimming with unspilled tears, and again, all Geralt could think was how young he looked.

Younger than Ciri, even.

Shit. Geralt was going soft. 

“Jask,” he called over his shoulder. “Come here. I need a hand…”

Jaskier’s face appeared in the doorway.

“I’m not sure what you think I can—” his eyes landed on the man. “Oh. Oh, Gods, Geralt, what’s going on?”

Geralt shrugged. “I don’t know. Help me get him inside…”

Jasker, thank Melitele, was better at this than Geralt. He quickly rushed over to the man, wrapped an arm under his shoulders to support him, and started talking to him in a low, calming tone.

“Are you alright? Look, just— you’re going to be okay, yeah? Just lean on me like that—”

Together, they manoeuvred the young man out of the stable and across the yard, his legs threatening to give out with every step.

“Thank you—” he mumbled, his voice hoarse. “Thank you, I don’t— I just— Thank you—”

“That’s quite alright,” Jaskier said, giving him a little squeeze. “What’s your name?”

The man sniffed, and winced.

“Penn.”

[podcastenthusiast]

"Here should be safe to set up camp," Geralt says, scanning the treeline with his eyes in that odd witcher way. Like he's seeing much more than a mere mortal could.

"Thank the gods," sighs Jaskier, who's been really starting to regret skiving off those physical fitness courses at Oxenfurt.

"Get a fire started while I tend to Roach."

"Oh Geralt, I'd love to, I would. Truly it's colder than a sorceress' shapely—"

"Jaskier."

"Well, as they say: you can lead a bard to timber, but you can't make him—"

"Just do it, Jaskier."

"I don't know how! All right? I've never built a fire in the middle of nowhere before! It's not one of the seven liberal arts, and I much prefer my fires stoked by comely barmaids in taverns."

Geralt looks at him for a long moment. It's a complicated look—frustration and amusement and a hint of regret. Mostly it's a look that says Jaskier is an idiot for joining him on the Path.

"Right," Geralt says slowly. He begins building the campfire himself.

"I imagine they teach wilderness survival to baby witchers at witcher school."

Geralt looks at him again and there's something different in his expression. The ghost of a smile? Jaskier doesn't quite know how to read it.

"Kaer Morhen," he says. "And yeah. Something like that."

"Oh?" Jaskier has to rein in his enthusiasm, his curious questions. Geralt so rarely reveals anything personal about himself or his past. Not that Jaskier has been forthcoming in that regard either. They live in the moment, day by day, but some context would help his creative process.

Besides all that, he genuinely wants to get to know Geralt a little better.

"Vesemir took me out into the forest one day. Gave me a knife and left me there for a month."

There is no bitterness in his words. If anything, the witcher sounds...almost fond. Nostalgic. Proud of his younger self for overcoming the challenges his mentors set before him.

It takes a moment for the true meaning of that to sink in and, once it does, Jaskier is horrified. His own parents weren't great, but even they would never simply abandon him.

"He just— like as a test— what—?"

"Real eloquent, bard. I doubt he had any choice. Probably wasn't even supposed to give me anything."

"How old were you?" he demands, unsure if any answer will make this revelation less abhorrent.

"Six? Seven? Maybe eight. I don't know." Geralt makes a gesture with his fingers and the pile of wood beneath his hand sparks with flame. "Not old enough to have learned Igni yet."

He can picture it, too, so vividly. Curse his dammed artist's imagination. Geralt, just a kid, alone and scared and definitely cold—because no one bothered to teach him how to start a fire.

"Stop it," the witcher snaps.

"What?"

"Looking at me like that. I'm fine. I was fine back then. Wasn't so bad at all compared to the Grasses. Vesemir came back for me like he said he would. I survived the trial—no, I didn't just survive; I exceeded all expectations, which is why they..." The witcher trails off. Takes a breath.

All of that... It's quite a lot of words for Geralt. Honest words, even.

It's his job to talk, to sing, to commit the most painful and difficult experiences to beautiful poetic verse. But Jaskier doesn't know what to say to his friend right now. Surely he has to say something.

"Geralt..."

"Don't waste your pity. Save it for the ones who didn't make it through. I did."

"Okay," the bard replies, careful and tentative. He isn't a brave man, nor a particularly kind one. But Jaskier considers himself an honest fellow so he adds, "Just because you made it through, you know, that doesn't mean what happened to you was all right, Geralt. Children aren't supposed to be left alone to fend for themselves."

The witcher laughs—a humorless, wretched sound. He doesn't say anything at all to that. Which is okay, really; Jaskier just needed him to hear it.

There is a long silence. The fire crackles. Jaskier absently strums his lute.

"You're gonna write a ballad about this, aren't you," Geralt says after a while.

"No!" Maybe. Yes. He won't perform it.

"Hm."

The fire crackles.

Quite out of the blue, Geralt tells him, "I befriended a wolf back then."

"What? You're joking!"

"Witchers don't have a sense of humor. Common knowledge."

"Common misconception. Most people are just stupid. No, hang on, stop distracting me—You had a pet wolf?!"

"Not a pet," the witcher corrects, smiling faintly. "Fangtooth was her own wolf."

"Fangtooth?" Jaskier repeats, struggling to contain his amusement. "Not Roach?"

"No."

"Forgive me, but that's adorable."

"I was just a child. I wanted to stay with her in the wilderness. Be a wolf, too. Or a knight." He shakes his head dismissively. Silly childish dreams.

"But you didn't," Jaskier says. And feels stupid for saying something so obvious.

"Too late for that," Geralt replies without reproach. "I was already a witcher."

"As a child, I wanted to run away and join the circus," the bard offers.

"Of course you did."

They're quiet for a moment then. Comfortable, shared silence. Just the sounds of birds and forest creatures, and Roach contentedly eating grass. The fire crackles.

"Geralt, will you teach me to light a fire? Without witcher magic, obviously, since I don't have any."

"Why?"

"Because...well, because I could be a more useful traveling companion. Like Fangtooth must've been."

"...Fine," Geralt agrees after some thought.

It is a skill he will be very grateful to have on freezing nights in the coming years, especially whenever the witcher is too injured or ill from those dreadful potions to help set up camp. He will try not to think of the child Geralt once was, subjected to horrific tests of his ability to survive all on his own.

Except he hadn't been on his own back then, not completely. And he isn't alone anymore, either.

[bardcore-jaskier]

♡My immortal Jaskier headcanons♡

So here are my headcanons, because I refuse to believe that our ball of sunshine has an expiration date...

So, I know Lauren said that Jaskier not aging in the show was just a filming mistake, something they simply forgot to do and on a completely logical level I am fully aware that in canon Jaskier is completely human, 100%. And I also know that they're not gonna change it, no matter how much some of us may wish they did (Although why not? They already strayed so far from the books and made so many changes, might as well go the extra mile)

Realistic-ish headcanons:

- Jaskier is part elf, perhaps quarter elf like Yennefer, it is an entirely justifiable headcanon, theoretically, Jaskier's human father could have married a half elf commoner woman (who may or may not have had the pointy tips on her ears cut off with a knife to avoid human prejudice)

- Jaskier has a fae ancestor, somewhere many many generations back in his ancestry, so his entire family is suspiciously long lived but nobody cares because Lettenhove isn't politically important and therefore doesn't catch the attention of the prejudiced Nobles farther up the royal court chain.

- Jaskier unintentionally drinks the same elixir mages/sorcerers drink to prolong their life. I read that chaos wielders don't have naturally long lifespans, they semi-regularly drink an elixir with mandrake roots in it to slow the aging process. According to Witcher Wiki, you can only buy mandrake root in Lindenvale and my headcanon is that Jaskier experiments with many different tea blends to see which one is more effective for soothing his throat after singing. So at the age of 29-30, he wanders into Lindenvale and buys some dried mandrake to make a tea, after one sip he felt more rejuvenated than ever and since that day, mandrake root tea has become his number one go-to, he drinks it as often as he can.

More fanfic centric, less canon possible headcanons:

- Jaskier is a Dryad. (Yayyy trans Jaskier headcanon) Since Lettenhove is so tiny, it isn't even on the Witcher continent map, but a simple Google search says that it is Located somewhere in Kerack. Kerack borders with Brokilon, so it's kind of a nifty little loophole for fanfic writers to use and place Lettenhove somewhere near the forests where Dryads live.

And while most Dryads treat any man that enters their realm as a mere sperm donor, Witcher Wiki does also mention that some Dryads can form emotional relationships and fall in love with humans and/or elves, but in the end, all Dryad born offspring is AFAB. So imagine this, Jaskier's father falls in love with a Dryad, she falls in love with him, they have Jaskier, Jaskier notices early on that he feels like a boy and his rich Viscount father hires a mage to help Jaskier transition early.

- Jaskier is a higher vampire, higher vampires are a HIGHLY secretive society, even in canon, part of the reason why even Witchers have so little information about them is because they prefer to hide in plain sight and are ridiculously good at it. Jaskier doesn't age, has no self-preservation instincts, doesn't buy a horse and yet still keeps up with Geralt on foot for 20 years. Jaskier's personality isn't fake, he doesn't act like someone else, it's all him, but his clumsiness is a little bit of an act, he also purposefully avoids physical fights, it comes across as fear of getting hurt but in reality it's because he's afraid of appearing too strong and exposing himself. Lettenhove doesn't appear on maps, because it doesn't exist legally, it's just a castle hidden in the woods, a safe place for higher vampires, kinda like Kaer Morhen is for Witchers, Jaskier's parents just happen to be the ones who run it.

[poledancingdinos]

Hostile Territory - Chapter 21

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 2.4K

Warnings: none for this chapter

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112  @utterlyhopeful-fics  @marantha @kebabgirl67  @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @persephonepraxidikechthonios @enchantedbytomandhenry  @narnianaos  @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019

Masterlist

Day 204

“Leah! Where the hell are you?”

Without warning, the door to Leah’s bedroom was pushed open, startling both Leah and Sy awake. Instinctively, Sy reached under his pillow, which was devoid of his usual handgun, while Leah sat up so fast she almost slipped off the edge of the bed.

“The hell, Caleb?”

“Shit, my bad.”

Though he was apologizing—sort of—Caleb made no move to leave. There was really no need to avert his gaze either since Leah still wore her t-shirt and Caleb was no stranger to seeing in that particular outfit whenever she came back from visiting Ash but didn’t people usually shut the door when they walked in on someone?

Willing her heart rate to slow down, Leah put her head in her hands and took deep breaths.

She was home.

She was in her bedroom.

The man at the door was her brother Caleb.

The presence shifting next to her was Sy.

There was no threat.

“Fuck off,” she choked out.

Below the blankets, Sy put his arm over Leah’s lap, resting his forehead against her as he stroked her hip. To the outside eye, it probably just looked like a sleepy snuggle but hopefully it would provide Leah enough comfort to pull her away from her impending anxiety attack. In all honesty, Sy’s heart was racing too.

Mercifully unaware of their inner turmoil, Caleb misread Leah’s reaction, mistaking her panic for embarrassment and playing it off by doing what older brothers do best.

“You’re never in bed past six and you’ve literally never brought a guy home. How was I supposed to know you’d suddenly discovered one night stands?”

Leah looked at the clock on the nightstand, noting it was half past eight. To someone working a nine to five it was still early but for someone used to working through the night or getting up for oh-five-hundred PT, it was practically a lie in.

“Right,” she relaxed back against the headboard, squeezing Sy’s arm as a silent ‘thank you’. “And what’s your reason for still standing there now that you know that I’m not alone?” she countered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Caleb smirked, casually crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “To be honest I was waiting to see how long it would take before your boy toy gets uncomfortable and leaves.”

Sy scoffed as he turned over, stretching an arm above his head and shamelessly showing off his bare chest. “I’ve had to shower in a room full of naked strangers while someone counted how long I had to scrub each part of my body. I’m not gonna get uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, and I’m a doctor but that doesn’t mean I need to see your morning glory.”

Leah looked down to realize that Sy’s change of position onto his back had shifted the blankets aside, revealing the tented top sheet. Holy shit. She knew for a fact that he was wearing underwear and yet it was still visible enough for Caleb to notice from the doorway.

Sy still didn’t seem bothered—and really, he had nothing to be ashamed of—but he nonetheless moved the blanket to cover his manhood.

“Was there a reason you came barging in here?”

Caleb turned his focus back to his sister. “We’re having a bonfire tonight. I got someone to cover me for tomorrow so I get to drink more than one beer for the first time in forever.”

“If you drink more than one beer you won’t make it past ten you old grandpa.”

The man in question gasped in mock outrage, clutching his imaginary pearls. “Well, it seems you need a lesson in respecting your elders, young lady. And while we’re at it, a reminder that premarital sex is a sin.”

Caleb made a move towards the bed and Leah quickly climbed over Sy in an attempt to get away, managing to knee him in the ribs as she did and eliciting a small grunt from him. Unfortunately, her brother was too fast, managing to catch hold of her before she escaped the room and throwing her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

He marched her into the hall bathroom, starting the shower on its coldest setting before stepping them both under the freezing spray.

Leah shrieked like a banshee, not feeling the need to hide her discomfort or appear tough for her big brother. She couldn’t attempt to wriggle out of the hold, not unless she wanted him to slip and crack both their skulls open.

“I’ve learned my lesson, put me down!”

Both of them shivered violently, their skin covered in goosebumps, but Caleb was committed to his little punishment.

“I don’t think so. I need to wash away your sins.”

Leah didn’t bother arguing that she and Sy hadn’t actually had sex. It wouldn’t have mattered since neither sibling actually believed premarital sex was a sin. It had simply become an inside joke between them because of the way their grandparents had abandoned their parents.

“I’m clean! Now put me down!”

Her brother simply hummed as if he were considering whether she was, in fact, purged of her sins.

“Caleb!”

The water finally shut off and Leah was unceremoniously deposited back on her feet. At least Caleb was kind enough to take a clean towel from under the sink, draping it over Leah’s shoulders before pulling his own off the drying rack.

“The guys are meeting us at the cabin at two to set up.”

With that, he left the room to go change, leaving wet footprints behind. When Leah looked up, an amused Sy stood in the doorway, having apparently taken the time to find a clean shirt and shorts instead of coming to her rescue.

“You look like that girl that climbs out of the TV to kill people.”

Easily imagining what he meant with her soaked strands loose around her face and the long shirt sticking to her skin, Leah joined in on the laughter. She didn’t miss the way his gaze slid down to her hardened nipples peeking through her shirt. Thankfully, it was dark enough not to be completely transparent.

Sy moved into her space, wrapping the towel tighter around her shoulders and rubbing her arms to give her more heat.

“Your lips are blue,” he said as if feeling the need to explain why he was crowding her space. She hadn’t realized until then how badly her teeth were chattering.

“I should get some dry clothes and get back in the shower. I need to clean my tattoo anyway.”

Sy nodded, not making any move to back away.

“You can use the bathroom downstairs if you want to clean up. Caleb can find you a towel when he’s done changing out of his scrubs.”

“What exactly am I cleaning up for? I heard ‘bonfire’ and ‘cabin’.”

Leah moved closer to Sy, stealing more of his body heat. “We have this cabin about a half hour out of the city. Our dad was thinking of setting up a dog rescue on the property before he…” Leah trailed off, clearing her throat. “We always used it for bonfires and parties since there are no neighbors.”

Sy did his best to mask his deception at spending yet another day sharing Leah’s attention. At least he would get the evening to make up for the poor first impression he’d likely made with Caleb. No one wanted to meet their little sister’s boyfriend while he was half naked in her bed, much less while sporting morning wood.

“Alright, that sounds like fun.” He placed a kiss on Leah’s forehead. “Now go get warmed up, darlin’, and I’ll see if I can put together something to eat.”

When Sy got downstairs, Caleb was sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone with a mug of coffee.

“Can I get in on that?”

“Shouldn’t you be gone by the time she gets out of the shower?”

Although he didn’t sound hostile, Caleb was definitely playing up the ‘big brother’ act. Not one for bootlicking, Sy decided to go on with his plan to make Leah breakfast while Caleb got used to his presence. It had worked on Aika, surely humans weren’t too different.

“Nope, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

He went over to the fridge, thankful to find a fresh carton of eggs and a loaf of bread.

Caleb set his phone down, leaning back in his chair as he studied Sy. “Who are you again?”

“I’m—” He almost introduced himself as Captain Syverson but caught himself at the last second. “Sy.”

The younger man continued to watch as Sy opened almost every cabinet in the kitchen, pulling out what he needed from each. He’d found the plates and bowls by the sink, the mugs above the coffee maker and the spices in the pantry but he still couldn’t locate a frying pan.

“Psy as in psychic?”

“As is short for Syverson.”

Finally, Caleb stood from the table, going over to the stove and pulling open the drawer to reveal three different frying pans.

“You’re her CO,” he stated, the tone of his voice taking a complete one-eighty. “Heard good things about you from Niki.”

“Was that before or after I dropped a building on him?” The snarky comment slipped out before Sy could think better of it. He still hadn’t forgiven himself for that incident.

“After actually. He called from Germany.”

Although Sy had gotten an update on his injuries, he hadn’t known Niki had been moved to Germany. It was a relief to hear that Caleb had spoken to him and that he was—presumably—doing alright.

Caleb picked up the cinnamon Sy had just set down and added more of it to the egg and milk mixture Sy was preparing.

“Leah really likes cinnamon,” Caleb said in response to Sy’s unspoken question.

“Thanks.”

“So… do you always shack up with your subordinates or is it only the ones ten years younger than you?”

“Have you always been a jackass or is this something to expect now that you have the letters ‘MD’ after your name?” Both men turned to find Leah toweling off her hair. “Are you done bothering the nice man who’s volunteered to feed me?”

“Fine.” Any further argument he might have had was cut off by a massive yawn that threatened to swallow the whole room Kirby style.

“I bought decaf if you want coffee before you go to bed.”

Caleb had sent her a copy of his schedule for the two weeks she was in town so she already knew he’d just come off a twelve hour shift at the hospital.

“I already made myself a cup,” he answered, shaking his head, “I was just waiting to see if you would take my car and go get some groceries while I get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I can do that. How many are we feeding?”

There were a handful of meals they normally made at the cabin since the kitchen was only stocked with the basics so the number of guests would likely determine what she needed to buy.

“Full house.”

Leah let out a low whistle. “You do realize that you guys are not fifteen anymore and that feeding all of you plus girlfriends is the equivalent to feeding a small army?”

“Then you should be perfectly qualified for the job.”

Caleb finished off his coffee, leaving the mug in the sink before making his way over to his sister. He pulled a wad of cash from the pocket of the flannel pants he’d changed into, setting it on the table before placing a kiss on the top of Leah’s head.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

With that, Caleb went up to his old bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Leah began preparing a fresh pot of caffeinated coffee, making enough for them to have at least two cups each.

“You’re not really ten years older than me are you?”

Sy stepped away from the stove where their breakfast was now beginning to cook. “Uh…” He was actually nine years older than Leah but the only reason he knew that was because he’d seen her date of birth in her personnel file. “Almost, yeah. I’m thirty-one.”

“I never realized there was that much of an age difference between us.” She didn’t expect an answer, thinking out loud more than anything, so she was surprised when Sy spoke from right in front of her.

“That’s because you don’t act like any twenty-two-year-old I know of.”

She studied his face, hoping to figure out whether that was good or bad but since Sy’s face was almost always a blank mask, Leah needed to continue with the whole ‘speaking her thoughts out loud’ thing.

“Is that a problem?”

A flash of something that looked a lot like pain passed over his face but the expression quickly faded to its usual impassiveness.

“Not necessarily.” Sy returned to the stove, flipping the slices in the pan. For a moment, Leah was hurt by his avoidance, thinking that was the full extent of his answer but then Sy faced her again, crossing his arms over his chest.

“For some people, bein’ young and stupid and makin’ mistakes is how they learn.” He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he spoke.

Leah slowly approached Sy, carefully placing her hand over the spot on his chest that was marked with the X-shaped scar. By piecing together the bits of information she’d gathered from Sy, she had determined that there was a story behind the scar but she’d never dared ask.

“Is that how it was for you?”

With a deep exhale, Sy put a hand over hers as he met her gaze. His heart was racing but her touch didn’t make him uncomfortable the way other women’s had in the past. “I’ll tell you the story but only if you promise not to use it as a reason to push me away.” 

He could all too easily picture her shutting down and thinking that he’d said all the right things but had meant none of them.

“I promise.”

With a slow nod, Sy shut off the stove, scooping the French toast onto plate and handing it to Leah.

“I was twenty-one,” he began before proceeding to recount the horrible night that most definitely qualified as the mistake of a stupid young boy.

Chapter 22

[starfirewildheart]

Chapter 11

Geralt looked out the window at the still falling snow in the presunrise hours. The colors seemed more beautiful today than he ever remembered. He heard Naurel start to move and went to her. Sitting beside her on the bed he leaned in for a soft kiss. “How do you feel?” The new lovers had spent the rest of the day and the entire night in his room exploring each other.

She stretched and smiled up at him, eyes still sleepy. “Wonderful.”

“Not sore? I didn’t hurt you did I?” His strength always concerned him when touching humans but especially with her because he’d lost himself in the pleasure a few times.

“Sore in some places but nothing bad.” Running her hand over his arm, “Stop worrying love. You didn’t hurt me, I promise.” He relaxed a bit and she sat up pressing another kiss to his mouth. “Are you ok? You’re up early.”

“Aye, perfect,” he smiled. “As much as I would love to stay up here for a month you need food and water to replenish and we should give your body some time to rest.”

She pouted at him but the grumbling in her stomach made her realize he was right, as usual. “Fine, if we have to.” She got up and started getting dressed still blushing softly as he watched her.

Down in the dining hall, a few of the witchers were already having their breakfast when they arrived. Geralt got their food and led her to a table where Ciri, Coen, Jaskier, and Lambert set. Once they were seated she suddenly became nervous. They, well she, hadn’t been very quiet last night. What If they heard her? Geralt placed his hand on her thigh having picked up on her increased heart rate and she wrapped her own arm around his bigger one almost hugging it to her. She picked at her porridge, thankful when a conversation started.

“What’s the training agenda for today?” Geralt asked Ciri.

“Lambert said something about a training platform for witchers,” she answered proudly.

Lambert had the good sense to sort of cringe knowing that Geralt would likely not approve. “I just thought it would be a good way to learn some defense. If you think it’s a bad idea we can do something else.”

Ciri’s huff didn’t go unnoticed but Geralt acted like he didn’t hear her. “She’s chosen you and Coen to do her training. I won’t get in the way of that. Naurel and I will be practicing today.” He looked down the table at Ciri, “Please be careful. The course is made for a witcher who’s more advanced in their training. When they fall and break a limb or split their skull we can put them in the laboratory and give them elixirs to heal them. You do not have that ability.”

“Gonna practice with the straw people again?” Lambert teased Naurel.

“Probably,” she nodded. “I’m sure it’s sort of like practicing with you though, the straw just doesn't talk back and crack stupid jokes.”

Coen spits his water across the table laughing. “Good one!”

Naurel reached over and shook his hand with a huge grin on her face. “Thank you.” Having started to relax a bit more she loosened the death grip she had no Geralt’s arm some and started eating. “What are you doing up so early Jaskier? You usually sleep till midday.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he eyed her.

“Oh no, are you still hurting?” she asked, concerned for her friend.

“A bit but that’s not why I couldn’t sleep.”

“The cold?” Geralt asked as he took a bite of bread.

“My room is next to yours and you,” he looked at Naurel, “Are not quiet my dear. And you,” he pointed at Geralt, “How do you go so long?!” Ciri started giggling and the other witchers joined in teasing them and moaning mockingly.

Naurel’s face flamed red as she buried her face against Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt however just laughed good-naturedly at their friends. He’d intended for them to all know that she belonged to him. Last night left no doubt. After a few minutes of teasing Vesemir and Eskel came in. He’d heard them teasing the pair and was laughing too. “Enough,” he rumbled. “You’re just jealous because your brother is making those noises with his girl and not by himself.”

Geralt gave a grateful look to the old witcher before lifting Naurel’s head off his shoulder and kissing her softly. It wasn’t lost on him the Eskel went to an empty table and didn’t join them. She finally spoke again to ask Vesemir a question. “What is the cooking schedule here?”

“Each person takes a day cooking all three meals,” he told her.

“I would like a turn if that’s agreeable. I feel like I need to be contributing in some way.”

“Yes! Of course! Please! It has to be better than Lambert’s” Came several replies from all the witchers. She laughed.

“You don’t have to but If you want to, it would be most welcome,” Vesemir told her.

“I’d love to,” she beamed. “Someone let me know when it’s my turn.”

“Tomorrow,” they all said in unison. She laughed and continued talking before heading out to work on her sword training.

 

It was getting late in the afternoon when Geralt saw Lambert and Coen approaching with a bloody, frustrated Ciri in tow. They all sat near him watching Naurel hit the straw dummy. He looked over at Ciri, “Going to survive?”

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” she frowned as she rolled her shoulder. Stupid human body and its human limitations.

“You beat the strawman yet?” Lambert teased Naurel.

“Why don’t you spar with her and find out?” Geralt suggested.

Naurel and Lambert said “Huh?” at the same time.

“Spar with her, not you?” Lambert verified.

“Yes, I will coach her, nothing more,” Geralt nodded.

“Come on little girl,” Lambert said excitedly, grabbing his sword.

Naurel was looking at Geralt like he had grown another head as he approached her. “He’s going to kill me!” she whispered.

“Do you trust me?”

“Do you have to ask?”

“Start out with the blocking moves I showed you. When I want you to switch to offensive strikes I will call them out.” He kissed her head, “You can do this.”

“Yea,” she shook her head no at the same time causing him to chuckle. “Just remember if he kills me we can not do a repeat of last night witcher.” All of them laughed, damn witcher hearing.

Naurel did everything exactly how Geralt had shown her and made her practice on the dummy a thousand times and to her surprise, she managed to block all of his attacks. He’d been easy at first but by the end, there was some force behind his blows. “Strikes,” Geralt called out. “Keep your form, your arms are dropping.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel roared and launched an attack.

Geralt shoved Naurel to the ground away from them so that she wasn’t hit. Both men landed punches and kicks hard enough to draw blood instantly. Witchers fighting was scary to watch especially when you were in love with one of them. She felt the tears spilling down her face as Ciri ran to her and helped her to her feet.

The other witchers finally got the two separated after several attempts. Coen noticed that Eskel’s eyes were black indicating he’d taken an elixer before coming outside. He’d planned this attack. Distracted by his thoughts Eskel was able to shake free and storm Geralt again whose arms were still being restrained. No one had time to react as Eskel kicked Geralt as hard as he could between the legs with his elixir enhanced strength. Everyone let Geralt go and tackled Eskel to the ground. Geralt fell forward, curled over unable to catch his breath, and finally threw up in the snow.

Naurel and Ciri ran to him trying to help him however they could. Naurel grabbed a handful of clean snow and wiped his face and neck until he was able to catch his breath. She had to balance herself when he leaned all his weight on her pressing her face against her neck. “Shhh, love try to breathe,” she encouraged rubbing his back.

At this point, Vesemir had come out and ordered them to take Eskel to the dining hall before kneeling beside Geralt. “Wolf,” he placed his hand on his back feeling how hard he was still trembling. “We need to get you inside so I can tend to you. It’s going to hurt when we stand you up but it has to be done.

Geralt nodded because he couldn’t speak and felt strong arms around him lifting him up. He was sure his balls had ruptured, it felt like they had been hit was an anvil. Unable to hide the grimace as he was moved he griped Vesemir and Coen’s shoulders in a bruising grip. He was grateful that they went no farther than the dining hall because he didn’t think he could have stood much more even letting out a whimper when he was lowered down on some furs that had been placed near the fire.

Jaskier moved Ciri out of the line of sight to give Geralt some privacy as they laid his head in Naurel’s lap and stripped him. He had to be restrained while he was examined for damage but thankful after a few potions and elixirs he was no longer fighting them. Naurel dipped a cloth in a bowl of water and wiped his sweaty brow and face unable to do anything else to help while Vesemir and Coen worked. Once Geralt was treated and covered with a blanket Vesemir said something to him that was too soft for Naurel to hear before standing. Geralt turned with a pained grunt and wrapped his arms around Naurel’s waist hugging her as he rested his head on her.

Vesemir was livid when he stormed across the room to Eskel. The yelling echoed through the room like screams off a mountainside but Naurel didn’t think Eskel looked repentant at all. She smiled as Ciri came and curled against her side close to Geralt and ran her fingers through his hair offering comfort the only way she knew how as well. The yelling went on for over an hour before Eskel was sent to his room for the night because Vesemir was too angry not to hurt him during punishment at the moment. Eventually, everyone scattered about talking softly or going to their rooms. Thankfully Geralt had calmed enough to meditate and help his healing.

Wolf and flame tag list

@kneelforloki

@shellyshellshell

@warriormirkwood

@mollymal

@secretdreamlandmentality

@salvawhxres 

@dizzybee03

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 15

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 14 🟣 Part 16

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

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

Warnings: Ongoing vampire shenanigans, mentions of blood, biting, angst. SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), face fucking, Dom!August, p-in-v sex, and we're finally putting that special little talent August has to good use. I think that's all necessary warnings, but as always; tell me if I missed something, please!

Word count: 4334! (hm, yes, beautiful number <3)

A/N: Alright! We're finally fucking some vampires - ones who don't answer to the name "Mike", that is. So I guess it's a moment we've all been waiting for... Or like... Y'all have been waiting for, I knew it was going to happen. Enjoy, loves.

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

“Hello, princess,” August yawned as he stepped into the kitchen. “Everyone’s out.” It was not a question, but rather a statement – of something so glaringly obvious that you had already figured it out before you set foot outside of Sherlock’s bed, where you had woken up. He’d been the last to feed last night, after Mike had gracefully accepted – save for some slight protesting – that you wouldn’t share his bed that night, no matter how happy you were that he was home again. Now, he was probably out to talk to some teachers about his recent absence. Sherlock had kissed you goodbye that morning at an absolutely unholy hour, to make the commute to his new workplace – a university in another city almost two hours away. Marshall was… where he always was, working some case or another until he could barely stand on his feet.

August was the only one of the guys who had taken a vacation these weeks, and you found yourself oddly grateful that you weren’t all by yourself this morning.

“Hey,” you answered, “want some breakfast?”

He laughed, taking your hands in his and leaning his forehead against yours. “Allow me,” he muttered. For the first time, you dared to ask him why he always seemed so happy to cook for you – the question made him laugh. August didn’t laugh often, but when he did… The sound was something mystical, in a way you couldn’t quite explain. “It’s my second-best way of showing you how I feel about you,” he chuckled.

“What’s the first?” You realized your error too late, and by the time you figured that out, August had you pinned between the counter and his body, with no possibility of escape.

“I could show you,” he said, grinning widely.

“You know how I feel,” you teased, hoping to get him to do the heavy lifting, which – surprisingly – he didn’t. Instead, he took a step back.

“No, princess,” he sighed, shaking his head. “That’s not gonna work.” He stepped closer to you again, putting a hand against your cheek. “I want to hear the words. From you,” he mutters, his voice dangerously void of emotions – until you look into his eyes.

“August?” With your thumb, you gently wiped the tears away. “What’s wrong?”

“Yes, I know how you feel, but talk to me, please,” he whispered softly. “I want your feelings for me to be important enough for you to say them out loud. Despite my already knowing them.”

“Oh, August, I didn’t think…”

“No one ever does,” August replied to you plainly, although there was an apologetic smile on his face. “Promise me, princess… Share your feelings with me, your desires with Mikey and your thoughts with Marshall the way you talk to Sherlock.”

Slowly, you became aware of August’s hands, resting on your hips. Resting your head on his shoulder, you leaned into him, and he responded by wrapping his arms around you. “All of them?” you asked quietly. His answer was a simple nod. You hummed – a half-chuckle that didn’t seem to surprise August at all. “You make my heart beat faster, and when you touch me, it sends shivers down my spine – even if you just hold me like this… When I think about you at night, I feel butterflies. I am so completely, incredibly and undeniably attracted to you, and I want to know you in every possible way.”

Before you had good and well finished your sentence, his mouth was on yours, eagerly moving against your lips, the coarse hair of his mustache scratching your skin. There was something uniquely romantic about the way he kissed you, as if you could feel the walls he normally had put up around him fall away – as if he was really letting you in for the first time since you’d met him.

After some time, he broke your kiss, holding your face in his hands. He moved away, leaving you looking into a pair of hungry blue eyes. “Can I take you to bed?”

You gasped your answer – a clear, resounding ‘yes’ – and nodded as his eyes begged you to temporarily waive the ‘human speed’ rule in the house, which you gladly did for him in this instance.

When your back his the mattress, you laughed. “You need this, don’t you?”

“’Need’ is a strong term,” he chuckled, laughing when he saw your puzzled expression. August pulled you into his side, where you quickly got comfortable.

“There’s something about you, August,” you sighed. “Something that’s not entirely like the others. Something…”

“A little deviant?” he asked, using your words from the day before. You nodded. That was exactly what you were getting at. “I’m surprised you noticed. Most of my kind… or kinds, I suppose, don’t.” He absentmindedly ran his hand over the arm you had lying across his chest. “I’m not a full vampire.” Now that was surprising… “I wasn’t bitten, I was born. About four hundred years ago. I am a vampire – my father was one. My mother, however… She was a succubus.”

“Succubus as in… female sex demon?” you asked, slightly confused by the revelation that those, too, existed.

“Put bluntly, yes,” August chuckled softly. “They’re quite rare, and there’s not a lot known about them, unfortunately. It’s said they need semen to survive, which we know isn’t true, but it’s a rather persistent piece of folklore. They feed off energy of a sexual nature – orgasmic nature, to be precise.”

“Do you?” It didn’t sound like much of a problem to you if he did.

“Yes and no,” he answered vaguely. “It can’t sustain me, but it’s a very nice snack. My gifts to feel and influence other’s emotions seems to be a result of my mother’s proclivity for perceiving those energies…”

“So, when you say ‘nice snack’…” Your voice trailed off, but August laughed understandingly, anyway.

“I mean I’m going to make a point of making you cum so many times you won’t be able to stand,” he growled in your ear before chuckling. “You like it when I talk to you like that, don’t you, princess?” Instead of answering him, you squirmed in his arms. “I love how comfortable you are around us,” he said suddenly, taking you by surprise – to say the least. Nevertheless, you knew exactly what he meant.

“It’s very… liberating,” you said slowly, “not being able to hide from you guys… At first it scared me, but now – ever since the agreement, I’m sure you noticed – I don’t want to hide anything from you anymore.”

“Nothing at all?” August asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively. What could he possibly be up to now? Hold on…

“What’s the… range on this gift of yours, Walker?” you snapped, slapping him on the shoulder out of reflex, hurting your hand in the process. “Do you just go around listening… feeling in on my, eh… private time with Mike?”

“I try not to,” he replied apologetically. ‘Try’. A very nice word to hide a ‘yes’ behind. “Sometimes I can’t help it… You and Mike – especially Mike, unfortunately – are very loud in your affection for each other. When you first moved here it was so bad I had to leave the house on occasion…”

“August!” you shrieked, pulling the pillow from under your head and putting it over your face to hide your embarrassment – completely unsuccesfully, of course. Your cheeks were burning, and you were overwhelmed by shame – not just because August knew some extremely intimate details about your sex life, but also – if not mostly – because you found that really, really hot in a way you couldn’t describe, even if you tried.

“Marshall couldn’t stand the two of you, either,” he chuckled, “but he didn’t feel the same way I felt about you back then.” Right… August had a thing for you when you first moved into the apartment… “I can tell you’re curious,” he laughed, “it wasn’t a crush so much as a… craving. It’s not gone – it never went anywhere, if I’m being perfectly honest with you.”

“A succubus-craving?” you asked, putting the pillow back where it belonged.

“Incubus, technically, but yes.” He turned his head, laying his forehead against your temple. The soothing baritone of his voice seeped right into your bones, making you shiver, and an involuntary moan escaped you. “It’s a very intense need to see that you’re taken care of.” August startled you by gently sucking your earlobe into his mouth, and biting down on the soft flesh, making you gasp. “And I would have preferred to be the one doing it myself, but as long as he managed… And from what I’ve gathered over the past months, he manages just fine…” His voice was nothing but a low growl now, with a jagged, feral edge to it that effortlessly caused goosebumps. “But today…” “It will finally be you,” you sighed. Fact of the matter was that you had been waiting for this moment as much as he had – although maybe not for quite as long.

“Well… I need you to do something for me first,” August said softly while he grabbed your hand and guided it between your legs. “Touch yourself. Cum for me. Let me know how it feels…”

“You know how it feels,” you muttered. It had only been a few months since you first had sex with the lights on, for crying out loud, and now August, who wasn’t your boyfriend, wanted to watch you finger yourself until you came so he could what? Get off on it himself? This was beyond scary…

“I want to know what it feels like when you know I’m watching you,” he growled, “you’re different like this, just like you’re different when you’re by yourself. Sometimes I wish I had Marshall’s gift, too, so I could know if it’s different depending on which one of us you’re thinking about.” With every word your heart rate climbed higher and your cheeks burned hotter. “You do think about us, don’t you?” There was no point in lying, but there was also no way you could speak, so you nodded. While August was talking, your fingers had started to move as if by magic, drawing circles around your clit. Soon, you found yourself restricted by your underwear, and you slipped your hands underneath the fabric. “All of us?” Another nod. “Separately?” The question pulled you away from your self-induced pleasure; your eyes flew open and your muscles cramped. When your eyes met August’s, it was like he’d tapped directly into your most private thoughts. Maybe you hadn’t been speaking the whole truth when you said you had nothing to hide from them anymore. But it was no use trying; August may not have been able to read your mind, but he had certainly felt your heart skip that proverbial beat when he mentioned it – as if your eyes didn’t give away everything anyway. Despite your obvious terror, August didn’t seem prepared to drop the subject. “Hm, I’d be up for it.”

“What?” You hadn’t really expected that to be his response to your half-admitting to having thoughts of fucking more than one of your housemates at the same time…

“After a few centuries…” he made a vague gesture you were not sure you understood the meaning of.

“Does it get boring?” you asked.

“Never,” he nuzzled your neck, occasionally pressing his lips to your skin. “It always feels different.” His hand covered yours and gently guided it back into your panties. “Please,” he muttered, “keep going. I need to know.”

Your fingers seemed to move on their own again, but this time, you didn’t get distracted by the words August muttered into your ear: “You’re killing me, princess. Cum for me, please.” After that, he showered you with praise, every word of it bringing you to new heights until you finally exploded. August let out a loud gasp. “Fuck, princess you’re delicious.”

“Right,” you chuckled while trying to catch your breath, “incubus-snack.”

“And a catalogue-building moment,” August chuckled mischievously.

For a moment, you wondered what he could possibly mean by that, and then you felt it; another orgasm building inside of you, steadily and very quickly, and without a single touch.

“Are you serious?” you laughed.

August responded with a dark chuckle. “Until you can’t stand, princess,” he reminded you of his promise from before while he continued to push you towards your sexond climax without so much as lifting a finger. “Be a good girl and cum for me again.” Naturally, you were more than happy to oblige, and August roughly pulled you into his side – almost hurting you – when you came again, whispering another comment about how good it was in your ear as you did.

“Are they as good as the… manually obtained ones?” Weird way of putting it, but for lack of a better way to say it…

“Every bit as good,” August hummed contently, “I could do this all day.” Honestly? So could you… Sure, your muscles would get tired eventually, but the lack of friction meant you could likely keep this up for quite a while. Besides, you doubted that August’s gift would let itself be stopped by a little leg-cramp. “The one thing that’s better…” His voice trailed off as he slowly kissed his way down your neck, his hands slipping underneath the old t-shirt you wore to bed. Without thinking, you reached for the hem and pulled it over your head, leaving August chuckling at your sudden eagerness. Your hands moved to undo the buttons of his shirt, but you soon got distracted and allowed tourhands to roam his chest.

“The scars…” you whispered as your fingers trailed the raised crescent lines on his chin.

“Paris in the nineteenth century was a dangerous free-for-all,” he sighed wistfully, “it was swarming with vampires and other creatures. Succubi, incubi, werewolves, vampires, some monsters you’ve never even heard of. Feeding was a criminal offence, and this was France, so breaking the law didn’t typically end well.”

“Yet you seem to remember it fondly,” you said bitterly, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from saying something stupid. “What was her name?”

“Miriane,” August answered. “And his name was Elias, in case you were going to forget about that question.”

“Was she like me?” you asked. “Or was he?”

“He was,” August remembered, “but she found him, and he was hers – and so was I. Admittedly, I was first, but… like I said. Free-for-all. My gift made it easier to find willing victims, but as you can see, I got attacked a lot. That ended with him. Until…”

“What happened?” you asked breathlessly, looking at August with wide eyes.

“I left,” he snapped. Clearly that was the end of that line of inquiry…

“Who attacked you?”

“Other vampires. Ones without powers. Ones with powers that were less useful in those particular instances. Most of us didn’t want to kill to survive, but few had the option. I guess one would consider me lucky, even though I hardly have what’s considered an ancient gift.” He scoffed, then smiled, sensing your confusion. “Sherlock’s is – the compulsion, I mean. My father has it, too. Unsurprising, since he and Sherlock were turned by the same man.”

“So Sherlock is more or less your uncle?” you asked with a barely discernible smile on your face.

“Oh, please, no! Trying to impose human family ties on vampire covens is next to useless and will quickly make several things very, very awkward,” August laughed, laying his head on your chest. His hand moved up to cup your breast – which he somehow managed to do incredibly casually.

“Awkward, how?” Why? Why did you always have to know? The answer would probably make things awkward and…

Luckily, August was smarter than you in this particular instance: “After, princess.”

And that was the end of your conversation; August turned his head to wrap his lips around your nipple, and that was your cue to cease any and all rational thinking. So, this was wat patience felt like? Several centuries of practice in restraint? Paired with the ability to feel exactly what each move did to you… All those things put together should have made him better than Mike in more ways than one – maybe even more than the obvious – but weirdly enough, they didn’t make him better so much as exquisitely different. You’d become used to the way Mike would spend a whole lot of quality time with your boobs, so the fact that August moved on relatively quickly only to tease you relentlessly when he settled between your legs was almost disappointing in a way.

“I’m not Mike, princess,” August laughed when you tangled your hand in his hair in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to pull him to where you needed him most.

“I know that,” you huffed, scowling down at where August was busy scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Immediately, his icy blue eyes shot up, meeting yours.

“Do you?” He raised an eyebrow in that way that made you want to punch him and bit down harder on your leg. “I might even try Marshall’s favorite technique,” he said indifferently, a grin spreading on his face as you struggled to remember what he meant by that. Oh no! August chuckled when your expression told him you finally remembered. Another nip at your thigh was followed by the wet warmth of his tongue soothing the sting of the playful bite, and finally another stinging sensation as he sucked on te sensitive skin.

“Do you know you’re not Mike?” you chuckled. He rolled his eyes at you. Why did it make you so happy when he did that? Simply because he looked so incredibly hot while doing it? Then again, when did this man not look incredibly hot?

He stuck to that one love bite, and seemed to decide that that was plenty of teasing for today. As it turned out, being able to feel exactly what you felt was as good a gift as being able to sense desires. Honestly, it was such close competition that you wouldn’t dream of trying to figure out which was better – even more so because it would cut into your ‘enjoying being eaten out’-time. As if you had a prayer at thinking straight while August worked your pussy with his mouth, anyway; as soon as he flattened his tongue against your clit, it was over for you. Your back arched off the bed and you tangled your hand in his hair to pull him closer.

He finished you in no time, chuckling as he kissed his way back up your body again.

“I need you inside of me, now.” Whoever this breathy, more-moan-than-anything-else voice belonged to, it couldn’t be you, could it?

“Good girl,” August murmured. A few swift moves later, he was naked. You let your eyes travel down his body and sighed. He looked just as good as you’d imagined. “Let me take care of you.” Another orgasm hit you out of nowhere as August teased you by sliding the tip of his cock along your slit. It startled you – unnecessarily, of course. You just hadn’t noticed him putting on a condom. Fucking vampires – literally.

“Please stop teasing me,” you pleaded, “and come here.” Pulling him in was a fruitless endeavour, as always – annoying the everloving hell out of you, as always. And as always, the alternative – him indulging you – would have made matters so much worse. So he stayed put, teasing you more, until you were a squirming, whining mess underneath him, and he had an insufferably cocky grin on his face as he made you cum again, and again. You’d already lost count – but his eyes clearly told you that he hadn’t. “God, I wish you were Mike,” you blurted out. It was a lie – you were happier than happy to be here with August right now, but damn the man could do with half the patience he had.

A sadistic chuckle escaped him. “You’re so incredibly desperate for me,” he whispered. “I didn’t know it could feel this good.”

“Another snack:?” you asked sarcastically – and before you registered any movement at all, August’s hand was on your throat.

“It’s that attitude, or my cock, princess,” he snarled, “you can’t have both.” The pressure on the sides of your throat increased slightly, and you gasped. The next orgasm felt different – heightened, in a way, no doubt by the way he handled you right now. “So, which is it?”

As far as you were concerned, this condescending asshole could go to hell – which you didn’t neglect to tell him. Did it have the predicted effect? Absolutely. Did it have the desired effect? Not even close.

He dragged you up by your hair. “Knees.” Not a question. Very, very much not a question. It was also impossible to disobey him, as he still held much of your hair in a tight fist at the back of your head. “Open.” You had to give Mike credit; when he’d done his little failed experiment, his August-impersonation had been eerily on point. Which, of course, you hadn’t known at the time. But now… now you knew. And God, it suited August so much better – although he’d already shown you he could easily do ‘sweet and caring’, too.

Despite the orders shooting straight for your clit, you opened your mouth with the utmost reluctance, helped along by August’s piercing glare and a very persistent thumb that all but forced its way into your mouth. You made a few quick mental notes for comparison – you simply couldn’t help it. Mike was all about sensations; temporarily taking senses out of the equation, heightening others, playing with them, blending pain and pleasure… August didn’t give a damn about sensations. And who could blame him. He could already make you feel anything he wanted without lifting a finger… This was about control. And he was going to have to fight for it. At least that’s what you would have bravely thought about the whole situation if you hadn’t had cock stuffed balls deep down your throat, tears gathering in your eyes, and a ruthless man hovering over you, making you gag around him.

He fucked your mouth like he owned you – and he wasn’t wrong about that. You couldn’t move away from him, you couldn’t breathe, and the tears blurred your vision to the point where you couldn’t see, but you didn’t panic, finding comfort in the thought that August could feel exactly what you were feeling. A few months earlier you’d never thought you’d feel this way, but now you trusted him to take care of you on such a deeply intimate level, that you instinctively relaxed around him. He wouldn’t hurt you.

“That’s my good girl,” he said softly as his grip on your hair relaxed a bit. Oh, he still held you in place, but not with the same iron grip he’d used before. This was softer, gentler and something vaguely reminiscent of a kind of trust.

Surely enough, he soon let go of your hair altogether. “Keep going.” His voice was gentler now, but you didn’t dare make the mistake of assuming anything was up for negotiation. Despite your realization, his hand found its way to the back of your head again rather quickly, nudging you along. “You can do better than that,” he said as he pushed himself deeper into your throat until you were taking all of him again. “Perfect.”

When he let go of your head again, you quickly found yourself in the same predicament. “Just because I let go of you, princess,” he grunted, a tinge of annoyance to his voice, “doesn’t mean you don’t have to take every inch of me. Come on.”

He didn’t allow you to stop sucking him off until you were taking all of him, all by yourself – and for a good while. As you did, he kept giving you those little compliments that made your heart beat faster. Somehow, knowing he knew exactly what his words did to you made it even more exciting. By all means, you should feel terrifyingly exposed, unable to hide from him and his gift – or any of the others – but you didn’t. It was, as you’d mentioned before, very liberating to have them know everything.

After some time, he pulled away, sinking to his knees in front of you, cradling your face in both hands as he wiped away your tears with his thumbs. “You did so well, princess,” he whispered, leaning in so he could press his lips to your forehead. “Now be a good girl for me and get on your knees on the bed so I can fuck that pretty little pussy.”

You had to admit, as you very willingly – eagerly, even – crawled onto the bed again, that August had already done a very good job of fucking the attitude out of you, and something told you he hadn’t even really started.

This time, he didn’t tease you. He just sank into you with one smooth thrust.

“Fuck, princess,” he grunted, his tone suggesting he was going to say more, but he didn’t – or, more accurately; he couldn’t. His near-continuous stream of moans was interrupted only by the occasional swearword as he set an intense pace. With every thrust, your walls clenched around him, your thighs quivered and your fingers’ grips around the sheets tightened. “I’m gonna make this short,” he growled as his hand found it’s way into your hair, and he pulled you up until your back hit his chest. His final thrusts into you were merciless, and another orgasm rippled through you – his doing – exactly at the same time August reached his own peak.

Moments later, the vampire had taken care of cleanup and he held you snugly against his chest, where you quickly threatened to doze off, if it weren’t for Mike, who came home at that moment.

[kueble]

Like a Desperate Thing

Here is an extremely late fill for the @witcher-bows-and-arrows prompt “More.”  This is dedicated to @jaskierswolf who requested some thigh love.  Thanks for an amazing prompt!

Explicit. Warnings: Mild breathplay, rough oral sex, Dom/sub. 1,600 words.

Geralt/Jaskier

---

Once the last email is sent, Geralt closes his work laptop and stands, stretching his arms up over his head since he’s been at it for so long.  He checks the clock and realizes he maybe went a little too long, but he knows Jaskier will still be right where he left him.  With a smile on his face, he leaves his office and heads back to the living room.

Jaskier is indeed right where he left him, kneeling on a yoga mat in front of the couch.  They’ve tried pillows, but Jaskier doesn’t like the way they make him fidget, claiming they’re too lumpy to work.  Geralt reaches down and runs his hands through Jaskier’s hair, tilting his head up to meet his gaze.  He’s completely naked, clasping his own wrists behind his back.

He’s absolutely perfect.

“Sorry I took so long,” Geralt apologizes, and Jaskier just beams up at him.   “You didn’t move the whole time, though.  Such a good boy for me.  Good boys get rewarded.”

“Please sir,” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt runs his thumb over his lips.  He’s painted them pink with some sort of gloss, and the look really works for him.  The eyeliner is a lovely little touch as well, because it really makes his blue eyes brighter.

Jaskier darts his tongue out, lapping as the pad of his thumb, and Geralt can’t help sliding it inside.  He presses down on Jaskier’s tongue, drawing a quiet moan out of him.  His eyes start to go hazy, and Geralt increases the pressure, giving him something to focus on.  He leaves his thumb there until Jaskier is whining and drooling around it.

“What do you want?” Geralt asks, and it takes Jaskier a moment to respond.  He blinks slowly, already going under, and Geralt revels in how amazing he is at this.  He was born to be on his knees like this.

“Can I suck you off?” Jaskier asks before hastily adding, “please.”  They don’t use titles when they play like this, since neither of them really care for them.  Jaskier’s little pleases are more than enough for him.

“Of course you can,” Geralt tells him before stepping out of his sweats and boxers.  He takes his shirt off as an afterthought, wanting to keep it clean.  He sits on the couch, legs spread and cock ready for his perfect little pet.  Jaskier waits until he gestures him over with a wave of his hand to crawl over to him.  He kneels between his legs awaiting more instructions.  “Go on then,” Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier leans in.

Geralt is half hard already, and he quickly hardens the rest of the way as Jaskier wraps his slender fingers around his cock and strokes him slowly.  Apparently he’s not in the mood to rush things tonight.  He looks up at Geralt through his dark lashes, and Geralt brings a hand down to cup the back of his head.  It’s just to hold, no real force behind it.

The first lick is tentative, just a flick of Jaskier’s tongue across the head of his cock.  He moans softly before lapping up the bead of pre-come gathering there.  Geralt groans when he sucks the tip into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it as he does.  Jaskier’s mouth is hot and wet, and Geralt barely manages to hold himself back from thrusting into it.  But no, he’ll give him his time to explore before he takes over.

Jaskier’s eyes flutter closed as he swallows Geralt down, moaning as he takes him so well.  He works Geralt’s shaft with his hand, unable to fit all of him inside.  Geralt knows he can deepthroat him, but he lets Jaskier draw this out.  He looks gorgeous like this, lips stretched wide around Geralt’s thick cock.  His lip gloss is already smearing, and Geralt knows it’s going to be completely ruined by the time they’re done.

“So good for me,” Geralt whispers, and Jaskier keens under the praise.  “It’s my turn now, though.  Gonna fuck this pretty little mouth of yours.”  Jaskier whimpers around him, sending a shiver through him.  He stills, though, giving Geralt complete control of him.

Geralt starts gentle, just a slow thrust of his hips as he holds Jaskier in place.  His eyes are unfocused, and Geralt knows he’s deep in subspace right now.  He looks so stunning like this, and Geralt can’t help increasing his speed, bucking his hips roughly as he buries himself to the root.  Jaskier just whines and drools around him.

He is so pliant right now, just totally slack as he lets Geralt fuck his face.  Geralt moves his hand from Jaskier’s cheek to the back of his head, tangling his fingers in his soft hair.  He tugs sharply, and Jaskier gasps, clearly desperate for more.

Since he’d give his pretty boy damn near anything when he’s so good like this, Geralt slams his hips into him again.  He holds him there, watching Jaskier bliss out as Geralt cuts off his air.  He’s crying now, eyeliner smudged as fat tears fall down his cheeks.  Geralt pulls back right before he hits his limit, slipping all the way out and watching as Jaskier gasps to fill his lungs.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this.  Such a pretty little slut for me.  You’re absolutely beautiful when you’re crying your eyeliner off,” Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier preens under the praise.  He reaches down and swipes a thumb through the runny mess under his eye, and Jaskier leans into the touch.  “Want me to finish in your mouth or on your face?” he asks, and Jaskier just stares up at him stupidly for a long moment.

“Face please,” he slurs out, and Geralt grins down at him.

“Good boy, using your words for me,” he whispers, making Jaskier groan again.

And then he takes himself in hand, stroking his cock quickly.  He’s close already thanks to Jaskier’s clever mouth, and his orgasm builds at the base of his spine as he looks down at Jaskier’s eager gaze.  His mouth is slack, tongue stuck out as he waits for Geralt to come on his face.   It looks like he’s ever wanted anything more in his entire life, and that thought is what sends Geralt’s hurdling over the edge.

The first splash of come hits Jaskier on the cheek, and he moans wantonly as Geralt aims for his tongue next.  He sits there with his mouth open, catching as much as he can as Geralt frantically strokes himself through his orgasm.  He grunts as the last dribble falls and clings to Jaskier’s lip.

He looks like sin personified, and Geralt couldn’t love him harder if he tried.

Jaskier is shaking now, his own neglected cock red and leaking between his thighs, and Geralt knows he shouldn’t tease him any longer.  Still, he can’t help reaching down and trailing his fingers through the pearly stripes painted across his cheek and sliding it into Jaskier’s mouth.   He whines and sucks it clean, rocking on his knees, his hips humping the air uselessly.

Risking oversensitivity, Geralt rubs the head of his flagging cock against Jaskier’s pink lips, moaning when he swipes his tongue across it.  Geralt hisses and twitches though it’s too soon to get up again.  Still, he stays there until Jaskier has licked him clean, petting his head in appreciation before slumping back against the couch.

He pats his thigh and Jaskier scrambles into his lap to straddle it.  His cock looks so hard it must ache, but he hovers above Geralt’s skin and waits for instructions.  Geralt leans in and kisses him lazily, swallowing down each whimper that comes up until he’s sure Jaskier must be ready to burst.  He pulls back with a grin and settles his hands on Jaskier’s hips, not gripping but just light enough to ground him.

“Good boys get to come,” Geralt tells him softly, dragging another whine out of him.  He looks down at where Jaskier’s dick is leaking onto his hairy thigh and nods sharply.  “Get yourself off, no hands, just use me.”

It’s like a switch flips, and Jaskier goes from perfectly still to humping him like a desperate thing.  He buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, gasping as he rocks his hips against him.  He’s so wet that his cock slides easily across Geralt’s muscular thigh, and he just holds it still and lets Jaskier find his pleasure.

It doesn’t take long, and Jaskier clings to Geralt as he finds release, his fingers digging into his shoulders as he shakes in his lap.  He whines, breath hitching while he grinds down into him and shoots off in bursts of hot come between them both.  Geralt whispers praise into his ear, the brush of his lips against him making him whimper brokenly.  Jaskier keeps rolling his hips until he’s drained and then collapses onto Geralt.

“Such a good job,” Geralt murmurs into his hair while he runs his hands up and down his sweat-slicked back.  Jaskier shivers and pants against his neck, drooling on him in his fucked out state.  “I’ll give you a few moments before we head to the bathroom.  I’ll draw you a hot bath and get you cleaned up and fed before I tuck you into bed.  So good for me, love.”

Jaskier sighs happily and melts into his embrace, practically emanating trust and affection and Geralt’s heart feels so fucking full.

---

NSFW Tags: @tothedesert @mayastormborn  @allinthebones @selectivegeekwithstandards @trickstermoose67 @dapandapod @theweirdlynx @tedrakitty @sharinalein @iamaqt314 @silvermintnightprincess @rockysstupidity @live-long-and-trek-on @larawrmonster @thesynysterunknown @rebard-main @gryffinqueen-blog @fangirleaconmigo @mothmanismyuncle @fontegagrilledcheese @thestarkwinter @lokibus @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @221birl1823 @strippiluolamies @concussed-dragon @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @feral-jaskier @hayleynzlive @answrs @jaskierswolf @holymotherwolf @thisislisa @firefly-party @officerjennie @theshapeofcool @singerin @flawney @viking1919 @peanitbear @blues-tunes @panerato @nephilimeq 

If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know. Thank you!

[catierambles]

Alternate Instincts Ch.12

Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC: 1109

Warnings: smut

The next morning, she approached Sy's room door, a mug of coffee in her hand. Easing it open, she peered through the gloom until she saw him still sprawled in bed on his back, his sheets to his hips with an arm over his eyes. Given how low his sheets were, she pretty much guessed he liked to sleep in the nude.

“Sy?” She asked and he hummed at her, but didn't otherwise respond. “I brought you coffee.” He just hummed again and she went to the bed, setting the mug down on the bedside table and sitting down sideways, the mattress dipping under her weight. “I made pancakes and there's still a bunch left, but the way Walter was digging into them, I'd hurry up if you wanted any.”

“M'good.” He mumbled and rubbing at his face and beard as his arm dropped from his eyes, blinking heavily with sigh.

“You'd think a former Army Captain would be a morning person.”

“I was a mornin' person when I was in the Army because I didn't have a choice.” He said, “Now I got one.”

“Fair enough.” She said with a soft chuckle.

“Mikey already up?” Sy asked, “I usually gotta pull him out bed by his ankle or else the boy will sleep all day.”

“I got him up by ripping the blankets off him.” She said and he snorted, his eyes closed.

“That'll do it.” He said and she leaned over, laying her head on his chest.

“You're handsome.” She said and he chuckled.

“Thank you.”

“I mean, really handsome. Like, goddamn so handsome.” She said and he chuckled again, his hand laying on her hair. “I like your nose.”

“My nose?”

“You have a very nice nose.” She said, “It's strong, but in a good way, not in the way that people usually use the term to describe someone and they're trying to be polite.”

“Well, I'm glad you like my nose.” He said with a smile, “I like your...everythin'.”

“You're only saying that because I'm your Mate.”

“Babe, if I didn't, you wouldn't be my Mate.” Sy said, “It ain't just my wolf whose attention you grabbed. I hadta take notice too. You bein' my Mate was just the cherry on top. Like I told you, it's always gonna be you." Shifting up slightly, she kissed him, feeling his hand cradle the back of her head. “You taste like pancakes.” He pulled her back when she tried to pull away, taking her lips in a kiss of his own and her hand laid on his chest, nails moving through the layer of hair covering his skin. The feeling of fur made her shiver and she slid her hand down to his stomach, his breath catching as he broke the kiss. “Close the door.” He let her get up and she went over to the door, closing it and heading back to the bed, his eyes on her as she pulled her shirt over her head and pushed her shorts down her legs, stepping out of them.

Sitting on the bed again, her hand slid under the sheet, her fingers wrapping around him and starting to stroke slowly. He quickly grew hard, filling her palm and he shuddered, his head falling back against the pillows.

“You're so big.” She whispered, moving up to press her lips to his neck and he swallowed heavily, his hips twitching up into her hand.

“Fuck, baby, you don't know what you do to me.”

“I can guess.” She said and nipped at his skin with her teeth, squeezing him gently and driving a gasp from his lips.

“Need you.” He said, “Fuck I need you.” He pulled her up into a kiss, wrapping his hands around her waist and turning them over so he was above her. “I need my Mate.”

“Yes Sy.” She sighed as his fingers delved between her legs, two pushing inside her and starting to pump lazily as his thumb worked at her clit.

“So warm, baby, so soft.” He whispered, his lips moving over her neck, “Gettin' so wet for me.” Her body responded to him so easily, so quickly, just like it did with the others, far quicker than any man she's been with before she met them. She didn't know if it was because they were all sinfully good looking, or if it was because they were her Mates, but right now, as Sy aligned himself, she didn't care.

“Fuck!” She gasped as he started pushing into her and he paused.

“M'I hurtin' ya?”

“No!” She said, “It feels good, it feels so good.” He resumed easing into her, a groan shaking his chest as she took him. His soft grunts against her neck as he moved made her cling to him, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck, Steph.” He growled and she heard fabric tear but paid it no mind. Gathering her in his arms, he rolled them so she was above him and she sat up on his hips, moving against him as he rocked up into her. His nails were sharp claws as she entwined their fingers, pushing against him as she rode him. She didn't even hear the door, didn't even know someone had come into the room until gentle fingers turned her jaw, soft lips taking hers in a kiss.

“He taking care of you, love?” Walter asked and she nodded.

“Join in or fuck off.” Sy growled and there was a pause before Walter gave a snort, pulling off his clothes and kneeling on the bed behind her, Sy making room for him.

“Lean back.” He whispered in her ear and she leaned back against his chest. Her eyes closed as she felt his fingers between her legs, circling her clit as Sy continued to move inside her.

“Almost—almost—” She came with a cry, pushing down flush against him as she pulsed around him.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, taking his hands from hers to hold her hips, pumping up into her a few more times before he released with a snarl. “Shit.” He said breathing heavily, his hands running up and down her thighs. “You never heard of knockin'?”

“I did.” Walter said with a snort, “A few times.”

“She's fuckin' perfect, Walt.” He said, relaxing against the bed and her hands smoothed over his sides.

“I hope you can go again, love.” Walter said against her ear, his hands sliding over her stomach. “Because now it's my turn.”

“You guys are going to kill me.” She said, “Death by orgasm.” They both just gave low chuckles, the promise in the sounds making her lower stomach clench.