#yennefer vengerberg → exposed

[blueberry-fiction]

Yennefer’s Body

Yennefer of Vengerberg x fem!reader

(18+) Minors please DNI!

Sleep came to her quickly these days, allowing Yennefer’s precognitive dreaming to take over every moment of her unconscious existence. The ability had not come to her easily at first, but after decades of tedious practice it had proven to be immensely useful. Waking from these dreams of the future was, however, always disorienting and tricky.

It was not uncommon for local bards to sing tales of less experienced mages becoming stuck inside of their dreams. Some stories even claimed to require another mage's spell to break the dreamy trance. But Yennefer was not going to become one of those tall tales, at least not tonight.

No, tonight cool ocean air drifted lazily over The Great Sea and across the clear night sky, eventually making its way up toward the cracked window near the place where Yennefer now slept. Her eyes flickered wildly behind her closed lids and all at once, Yennefer could feel herself waking from the strangest dream she'd had yet.

Her mind was groggy and her eyes squinted against the moonlight that illuminated her chambers. She'd never seen this far into her future before- Into their future.

How had Yennefer met her? She couldn't remember that part now. Instead, her mind eagerly played back to her the parts she could remember, eyes shutting slowly once more against the chill of the night air.

She could recall the moment she realized who Y/n was meant to become to her. She could recall the moment Y/n grasped the intensity of her feelings. She could recall, but chose to skip over, the turmoil that immediately followed Y/n's understanding. Instead, Yennefer's mind settled on a more amorous scene she'd experienced with this puzzling Cidarian girl.

Wrapped in the mystery of what she'd dreamt of, endorphins slowly washed over Yennefer's body where she laid, her sleepy mind wandering away from her. Never before had someone been able to elicit such intensity from her- A curious mix of electricity tinged with tranquility that spread like wildfire through every nerve in her body, rendering her attempts at stringing the memories together completely useless.

She had never been touched in the ways Y/n had kissed and caressed her in her dream. Yennefer felt as if she'd been trying to devour her fully.

Roaring heat lingered around Yennefer's head and above her chest, fogging the last bit of lucidity her mind could muster. She carefully slid the heavy wool blanket she'd been nestled under away from her and uncoiled her body slowly in the silvery moonlight that filtered into the room through her window.

Almost unconsciously, her hands began to wander lightly across her now exposed skin, and she silently savored the delicate pressure each fingertip created. Traversing each curve with ease, Yennefer's fingertips tenderly grazed against the top of her full breasts and slid slowly toward her nipples, which responded excitedly to her gentle touch.

She pinched lightly only for a moment, just as Y/n had in her dream. Goosebumps jumped to life across her sensitive skin, and she relished in the sensation.

Slower still, Yennefer's fingertips slid gently over her rounded breasts and down toward her core leaving a wave of tiny raised bumps in their wake. They carved a path between the moonbeams that now danced across every curve of her naked body. The moonlight lapped at every inch of her greedily, just as she knew Y/n would someday, and illuminated her neck, her chest, her navel, and all that lay below.

"What good may come of this?" her mind challenged listlessly, attempting to tether her to reality. None, probably. Only more longing, perhaps. Yennefer could not care at this moment, as the pulsating between her thighs had grown louder at her mind's suggested denial.

Yennefer's fingertips hovered above the spot just over her navel. She realized then that the palms of her hands felt moist, having actually sweat at the vision of Y/n touching her. Truthfully, she hadn't been sure she could still do that after years of enchanting her body with various spells, but she’d heard rumors that some emotions could still elicit such a human response, should they be felt intensely enough. Now she knew the rumors were true.

Spreading her legs just wide enough to fit one hand comfortably between them, Yennefer traced a straight line downward with her right hand, toward the source of her insistent longing. She gasped audibly as her hand made contact with the tender skin it found there.

The folds of her body felt delicate and so sensitive to her touch, but she wouldn't let this deter her from venturing further. With only her index finger, she traced a single vertical line along the center crease, slowly stroking up and then down, parting the skin only a fraction as she moved.

Yennefer took a slow, deep breath in to steady herself, noticing how the salt tinged air danced across her lips and tongue deliciously. Y/n had been so tender and loving in the dream, and she desperately wanted to relive that moment now.

She uncurled a second finger, granting it permission to join the first's careful caressing. As they traced their path along her crease, she applied a bit more pressure, pushing just a fraction deeper. She realized then that the moisture she'd felt on her palms was not contained to just one place, and she relished in the discovery.

Fully indulging in her lust, Yennefer mirrored the memory of Y/n's fingers with the motion of her own, submerging both fully into her wetness in search of the spot Y/n had stroked so attentively in her dream.

Suddenly, she knew she'd found it. Holding both fingers there, Yennefer began to draw small circles above the most sensitive bit, just as Y/n had.

Yennefer's lips parted and she let out a low whimper as her circling fingers pressed harder into the spot. She'd never made a sound like that before, and the surprise of it brought her mind back to her for a brief moment.

Still, she could feel electricity pulsing through her body, her fingers unwilling to resist their pursuit for pleasure. Yennefer helplessly descended back into the depths of her lurid memory.

The sensation of Y/n's soft, wet tongue kissing and licking at her body haunted her every thought. She clung desperately to the dream, hoping for it to never fade away.

With her left hand, Yennefer gripped the blanket she'd cast aside earlier, as if to ground herself. The images now playing behind her eyelids coupled with the ceaseless assault her fingers carried out on her soaking crease sent her even further into dizzying descent.

As if possessed by the memory of her dream, Yennefer's fingers slipped down her dripping folds and directly into the starved opening that called to them from below. Her body suddenly begged her to hasten.

She pressed both fingers deeply into herself. A guttural moan escaped from the back of her throat and resonated against the stone walls of her chambers, the sultry sound of it encouraging her to move more swiftly.

Her motion became automatic, in and out, deeper, and deeper still. Yennefer's moans were coming at regular intervals, her mind racing at the memory of Y/n's gentle mouth and tongue. Suddenly, as if a spell had been cast against her, the pleasure she'd spent so long building rapidly overwhelmed her senses, reaching across every nerve of her aching body from her toes to her fingertips.

All at once, euphoria crashed over her like waves against the Cidarian Coast and silence enveloped her, rendering her unable to hear even the sound of her own breathing. Yennefer's body pulsated rapidly, hot and wet with pleasure at the memory of Y/n.

Gradually, Yennefer returned to herself, realizing she'd completely ruined the blanket she'd been clinging to.

X

[kazofdirtyhands]

Every part of him felt raw and vulnerable, like an exposed nerve. As Kaz stared at himself in the mirror, he tried to comprehend what the hell had happened, and who he was supposed to go to to fix it. 

He’d entered the empty bar and had been fixing himself a drink when everything came flooding in. Memories - two sets of lives - trying to overwhelm him. 

Jordie’s corpse, beneath his palms, far too vivid a memory to handle. 

For the past hour, he’d locked himself in the bathroom, heartbeat and lungs going overtime to keep himself afloat. Everything ached and he had tried to push it away, all of it, because he couldn’t figure out what anything meant.

Even in the best of times, Kaz had never liked when there was something he didn’t understand. He’d tried to understand everything, take it apart piece by piece until he knew it all and couldn’t be fooled, but this - he couldn’t take apart his own mind. Even if it felt like the town had done the job for him. Now, he’d managed to compose himself enough to try to understand. Powers, Grisha, must have done this. His memories were mixed, though, bits and pieces not quite fitting together. He needed to find his crew. Inej. He should find Inej. She had to be in as bad a state as he was. The others? Jesper stuck in his mind, and he knew he’d seen him in this world. Nina? Matthias? Wylan? He wanted to scream as memories continued to overwhelm him, the face staring back at him having Jordie’s eyes, Jordie’s hairline, far older than his brother had been when...

Crash.

His fist went into the mirror, shattering his own reflection, shards of glass slicing into his leather glove. Kaz hissed, tugging out bits of glass while he grimaced in pain and tore the glove off, using a towel to blot at the blood that welled on his bare fingertips. 

[help-i-need-a-cool-username]

You know the increasing popularity of Yennefer And Jaskier Share A Bed At Kaer Morhen Because "Its Cold" has got me thinking. Some fics have touched on how Yen doesnt have to do this to stay warm, especially if she had to go thru a recovery period and thats over now. So i guess they could keep up the "its cold and we're just weak humans" if Yen says that using magic to stay warm all night is a unnecessary drain (whether or not thats true...)

But then you have Ciri. Geralt hears Yen and Jaskier, two people who hate each other, are sharing a bed every night because its that cold at night, and immediately thinks how Ciri has been sleeping alone in the cold for a month(?) now.

So the truth about Ciri can make or break yennskier's flimsy excuse. Either Ciri is relatively fine and the excuse is bogus (unless they blame it on her youth or her not 100% human heritage, which are weak arguments, or the rooms with rats really are that much warmer), or she's been freezing every night and hasnt told anyone because she's been trying to look tough

[heytheredeann]

Stay another day

Tags: Episode: s02e06 Dear Friend... (The Witcher TV), Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Needs a Hug, No Actual Betrayal AU, Because I can            

Summary: She almost goes through with it.

Notes: I wrote this in bits whenever I had a minute to put two sentences together, because I needed to LOL. Enjoy!

.

She almost goes through with it. The portal is open and danger’s at the door, she couldn’t protect Ciri herself if it came down to it, not without her powers, and if she tries hard enough she can almost fool herself into forgetting that her true motives are far from being pure—then, of course, Geralt comes for them, gets rid of the danger in her stead and calls out to her.

It’s a plea, and he looks so hurt.

There’s a part of her hissing viciously, bleeding and pained and wanting back what’s hers, reminding her that he hurt her first, that if she wants to sacrifice whatever inauthentic feelings blossomed between them it’s her right, that he deserves it—

Somehow, it’s not enough. She can’t. This is his child, and Ciri doesn’t deserve to be collateral damage on her quest to put herself back together anyway. She isn’t new to feeling too broken to fix, after all.

She steps forward enough to clasp Ciri’s arm, pulling her back towards her, towards Geralt. She feels her struggle on instinct, like someone that is all too used to being chased and trapped, and it makes her a little sick to think that she was about to betray her trust.

Yennefer pulls her out of the portal, stumbling back and meeting her wide eyes when she turns. “Yennefer…?” Ciri begins, confused and frightened, but she doesn’t have to explain, because Geralt has already broken through the door and walked up to them in strides.

“Are you okay?” he asks, apprehensively, one hand on Ciri’s arm as he looks her over. Yennefer swallows and takes a step back, her eyes glued on Ciri’s face, on the terror that she can see bubbling under the surface even as she tries to suppress it. Ciri plasters herself at Geralt’s side, wrapping her arms around him and shaking her head against his chest when he asks if she’s hurt, and it takes Geralt calling out to her by name for Yennefer to realize she has become the object of his attention now.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, and the way his eyes pierce through her makes her feel oddly exposed.

“Yes,” she says, with a brisk smile. “He never got to us.”

She isn’t sure if Geralt’s hum of acknowledgement didn’t sound particularly convinced or if she’s just being paranoid because of the guilt already growing heavy in her chest.

[More on Ao3]

[myriadimagines]

Preference: The Witcher

— walking in on you changing

Characters: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier, Yennefer of Vengerberg

Warnings: implied nudity i guess? 

Requester: anonymous

Request: “Hi there! Since preferences are still open can I ask please Jaskier, Geralt and maybe Yennefer and Cahir walking on reader they have feelings for changing clothes?”

A/N: preferences need a minimum of 3 characters, so i included both yen and cahir because otherwise just geralt and jaskier wouldnt be enough. hope you like it!

— CAHIR MAWR DYFFRYN AEP CAELLACH

“Oh, I—”

Cahir freezes on the spot, completely at a loss of what to do. He already doesn’t know how to act around you because of his feelings for you, but this situation is so much more difficult for him to navigate. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Cahir flustered up until that moment. He probably gets even more embarrassed than you, and he’ll quickly excuse himself after he manages to compose himself. Afterwards, when he sees you again, he’ll come up to you to give you a proper apology, nervously avoiding eye contact as he does so. 

— GERALT OF RIVIA

“Ah, fuck.”

Geralt is quick to avert his eyes for you, turning around to grant you some privacy while you get changed. He might not be able to help himself with a small glance, but he’s quick to march right out of the room if you’re in one, closing the door and giving you ample time to get back dressed again, and he’ll make sure to call out to you to ask if you’re ready before coming in again. As much as he wanted to properly check you out, he’ll brush the whole incident off, pretending it never happened so the both of you can save face. 

— JASKIER

“Oh, y/n! I- I’m terribly sorry, I must be in the wrong room— well, I mean I am in the right room, you are the person I was trying to find, but—”

Jaskier gets pretty flustered, and he gets even more flustered if you’re embarrassed about it. He’ll apologise profusely, babbling on about how it was an accident. He might inadvertently confess is crush in the moment during his flustered, incoherent apology, as he’ll find himself trying to compliment you, but cringing because he doesn’t want it to be in a creepy way while you’re half exposed. When he finally stops talking, the two of you will nervously laugh it off, and Jaskier will quickly escort himself out of the room to let you finish changing.

— YENNEFER OF VENGERBERG

“Well, hello to you too, y/n.”

Yennefer doesn’t even bat an eye when she walks in on you. She can’t help but smirk, somewhat amused, but she’ll turn around to give you privacy. But she came into the room for a purpose, after all, so she’ll continue talking to you or going about her business while you’re changing. If she notices you getting self conscious, she’ll walk up to you and reassure you that you have nothing to be insecure about, and especially since she has feelings for you, Yennefer doesn’t have any reservations about flirting with you complimenting you. 

tag list: @fairytalesforever​ / @ruvaakke​ / @azeret-mirror​ / @fangirlsarah16​ / @multifandomfix​ / @randomfandomimagine​ / @lxncelot​ / @ofthedewthesunlight​ / @bravelittlesunflower​ / @ta-ka-shi-ma​ / @thereagles​ / @batfam16​ / @swanimagines​

[nonbinary-renfri]

After they’re done and Yennefer’s eyes have raked over the expanse of his sweat-dappled skin, her fingers find the raised teeth marks gouged into his thigh. She sits up, tracing along scarred edges. “Ooo, nasty. This one’s new.” Leaning over, she lightly bites on top of the healed wound and drags her teeth over his skin, drawing a twitch and a warning growl from Geralt. With a satisfied smile on her lips, Yennefer slinks back up the length of his body, tweaking the nipple closer to her along her way before settling into the mattress next to him. Geralt rolls into her, playfully catching her earlobe between his teeth in retaliation. He bites gently at her collarbone and presses a kiss to her bare chest just above her sternum. She lets him nuzzle in close to her, tucking his face into her neck, the tip of his nose brushing her jugular. Geralt breathes her in, burrowing past that familiar perfume of lilac and gooseberries to the rich yet earthy scent of cloves and another similar scent with just a hint more salt that takes his mind to both loam and luxury.

He’d looked at her and thought she should smell of sweet plums and rich wine, and instead she smells like the wildest depths of the forest.

“I think I saw my mother recently,” he says into her skin and her hand pauses where she’s playing with a strand of his hair.

She winds the white lock around her finger. “I don’t know what that means, Geralt.”

“She’s a sorceress.” Yennefer pulls sharply on his hair, but he ignores her request for a name, continuing, “I came close to dying, while I was still searching for Ciri, and I think it was her, my mother, who healed me. It seemed like dream, but I’d be dead if it truly was one.” Geralt is quiet for a moment, unsure if the ache in his chest will steal the words from him. “She looked nearly the same as the day she abandoned me on the road outside the witcher’s keep.”

He can hear the rage in the lungs beneath his ear as Yennefer breathes deep, once, twice, before she speaks. “Some people don’t deserve to be mothers,” she says loftily and she means it to sound callous, like there isn’t pain running through every word of that statement, but the fingers stroking through his hair are a little rougher than maybe she means them to be. Geralt does not mind. He is not delicate; the tugging soothes an itch he wouldn’t have known to scratch.

There are moments, where you can tell someone something with a few words and in that instant hand them a huge chunk of who you are. Because not only does it tell them something about how you came to be, it reveals every lie, every excuse, every silence that you have ever used to hide that truth away from them.

Geralt breathes in Yennefer’s skin. Breathes out, “I was… most witchers are children claimed by the Law of Surprise.”

Again, she stills beneath him as she takes in the information, lets it run its course through her mind. He wonders what moments she’s thinking of, what conversations (arguments) might be revealing themselves to her under a new light. Yennefer goes back to picking apart a tangle she’d either found or created in his hair. “That makes a surprising amount of sense.” Her voice is softer than he expected. “No wonder you were terrified of your Child Surprise.”            Her fingernails scratch against his scalp as she cradles him close to her. He has exposed a vulnerability, given her something that can be used against him, and she would not be her if she does not exploit it. Yennefer doesn’t hesitate to put this new tool to the test, a single question all she needs to carve him open and expose his deepest fears with her usual uncanny precision. “Would you kill to stop what happened to you,” to us, “from happening to her?”

“Yes,” he snarls into her throat, bared teeth against her jugular that know the taste of lifeblood, know that biting into a neck just right releases a flood like ripping the cork out of a wine barrel, and all she smells of is satisfaction. The answer comes to him as easy as breathing and he wonders if this feeling in his stomach could be fear. Geralt thinks he may be holding on to her too tight and part of him wants to let go of the body in his arms, to crush the bedsheets in his fists instead as something he does not know how to name shudders through him. But this is Yennefer in their bed and she abhors it when he tries to protect her, even if it’s from himself. So instead he moves to spread rough hands wide over the smooth skin of her back and clutches her closer than he should dare. This is Yennefer, and she will forgive him bruises before any implication that he thinks her weak.

She pulls him from where his nose is buried in her pulse, thumbs nestling in that tender place behind his ears, and her eyes are shards of amethyst. She asks of him, “Would you kill Vesemir?”

He’s staring at her because he doesn’t think he’s ever given her that name, but also because it’s a question he has asked himself in the time since Ciri’s arms wrapped around him in that forest, one he has pondered only on the deepest, darkest nights. Geralt hopes it will never become more than a what-if, because he believes the old man has changed, believes the apologies always buried in his eyes; he does, he believes him, he does… but there’s a shattered little piece of him that used to be an innocent young boy and it can’t trust anything, anymore. And that’s why he knows his answer.

Geralt meets Yennefer’s frigid gaze and begs with golden irises for her to understand, to know what his reply is. He doesn’t want to-

“Say it. Out loud.”

Gods, he’s missed her. Missed this. She’s ruthless, makes him honest where it counts, and her ambition burns into him. She expects him to make hard decisions, to be perfect and unfailing and better than he would be for just himself. It’s ice, and familiar, and Geralt can finally breathe.

“Yes,” he gasps into the air that hangs between their lips.

She nods, satisfied. “Good.” She’s studying him now, a molten softness warming her crystal gaze, one hand sliding forward from the back of his neck to caress his cheek. Geralt feels flayed open and he wants to close his eyes, so he does. Fingertips gently trace along his jawline, the swirled etchings unique to her skin rasping over his stubble. Yennefer’s thumb drags across his bottom lip and Geralt tries to snag it between his teeth, breath catching in a quiet whine as it slips away from him. She guides his face back down to her throat and he takes it for the offering that it is, biting along the line of her collarbone towards her shoulder. As he soothes reddening marks with his tongue, Yennefer hums contentedly under him, her hands twined into his hair.

“Aretuza bought me,” she tells him, because Yennefer of Vengerberg pays her debts and she thinks she owes him something, now. And. It’s a piece of a cypher that makes her up, but it doesn’t reveal her as Geralt’s confession did him. He’s still missing too much to see her clearly, to know how to decipher what he’s looking at; she’s offered him merely a taste of what lays deeper, the tiniest secret sip of her given like she’s daring him to try and steal a mouthful more. She tells him nothing else and Geralt does not have the breath to drown in the past tonight; he is content to drift towards sleep beneath the quiet and her gentle touch.

If Yennefer were someone corny like Jaskier, Geralt might have fallen asleep to a whisper of, you’re important to me. He doesn’t need her to say it, though; her fingertips tracing his features are enough of a full circle for him.

[wilwywaylan]

Did somebody say “Fantastic Beasts AU for the Witcher” ? Because I’ve been brainstorming :D

It would probably go a bit like this : Ciri is a very powerful witch, so of course, Grindlewald wants nothing more than put his grubby hands on that power. Problem is : Ciri is the adopted daughter of one of the most feral wizards in the whole world (or at least town). And Geralt of Rivia is not very happy (understatement of the year). Either he’s an Auror going rogue, or he’s already rogue and just doing his magic stuff, but either way, Grindlewald has a pissed off Wolf on his back now.

While Grindle-hunting, Geralt bumps into a non-maj singing at a corner for money. He brushes it / him off, but the no-maj witnesses some feat of magic of other, and of course, writes a song about it. MACUSA is not happy, of course, and siccs their best Auror, Yennefer of Vengerberg after him. So now, Geralt has to find Ciri while he’s got an Auror on his tracks, a no-maj who knows about him and the wizard world and may expose their existence, and more chaos around New York because of course there’s a magicozoologist on the loose. Seraphina is So Done With Everything.

And yes, Geralt is wearing leather chaps. (and I so  want to make him either a werewolf or a wolf Animagus, but I haven’t decided yet.)

(and Geraskier is probably endgame, or maybe with Yen too, I’m not too sure)

[owillofthewisps]

got a goddamn nerve

notes: may i make up the angst from the other day with some filth? fun fact writing yennefer is terrifying, she’s so beautifully complex and forceful and delicate that i am worried i can’t even do her a semblance of justice.  but also. i really needed some smut with her. and i am feeling filthy in this chili’s tonight.

title is from fka twigs ‘in time’ (which is on my femme top playlist lmao)

not doing my taglist because this is - not geralt. 

rating: explicit.  this is straight up pwp. well. not straight. but you get it. (warnings: hairpulling, yen giving the strap, vaginal fingering, some d/s elements, lil bit of choking, cockwarming elements, dirty talk, mentions of Geralt during sex, mentions of public sex, maybe a hint of praise kink, just general filth.)

pairing: yennefer of vengerberg/female reader

word count: 2.2k

Yennefer is a force of nature, chaos barely contained.  As a lover, she’s something of a hurricane, but you’ve always chased storms.

“My perfect little crescent moon,” Yennefer purrs.

You whimper.

She has one slim hand wound through your hair, her deft fingers fisted tight at your nape, little pricks of pain melting down your spine to puddle in your cunt.  Yennefer is an unrelenting river, her hands eroding you to her will, forcing your head back until your spine curves like a bend in the riverbank.  Until it curves like a crescent moon.  She holds you still in the velvet expanse of her night sky, surrounding you, encompassing you.  

She traces a finger down the skipping stones of your vertebrae.  You can feel the waxy streaks of her lip paint drying on your skin, a meandering trail of her paths across the map of your body.  She thumbs at one streak of it gently, rubs the stickiness of it from your sweat slick skin.  Sometimes you aren’t sure if she’s rubbing the paint from you, or further into you.  It doesn’t matter, you suppose.  Each touch of her lips sinks into your skin.  The imprint of her lips lives under every inch of you, marks you beneath the surface, burns like a comet below your skin.  You know the touch of her lips will never truly leave you.

“Yenna,” you breathe.

The yank on your hair is short and sharp and vicious.  The biting sting radiates through you, sends a moan tumbling from your lips.  It trickles from you like wine, warm and full-bodied.  Yennefer laughs, low and pleased, and the sultry sound of it makes you squirm on the thick stone cock splitting you wide, your thighs trembling.

She’s pushed deep in you, bottomed out, her slim hips flush against your ass.  It’s the biggest you’ve ever taken.  Yennefer had spent an inordinate amount of time opening you, had filled you with her fingers one by one, gazing up at you with violet eyes gleaming like twilight, until your slick dripped gleaming down her hand, your cunt clenching with each strong stroke.  Still, when she had pushed home, her hips nestled against yours as she speared into you, your voice had broken on her name at the fullness.

You can feel every inch of it against your sensitive walls, even when she’s still, just her fingertips tapping against the soft skin of your stomach.  That alone sends you fluttering around the stone, sensation dancing up your spine like lightning, each press of her fingers a strike point.  

“Hush,” Yennefer tells you.  “Don’t be impatient.”

She pulls your head to the side with her grip on your hair, tugs hard to expose the column of your throat, and lays a biting kiss at the junction of your neck and shoulder.  She licks at the indent of her teeth.  Her grip on your hair slackens, just a smidge, so that she can crowd forward, until you can feel the softness of her breasts against you, her nipples pebbled and tight.  You swallow down a whine as she slips just a hint deeper.  

“So pretty like this,” she murmurs.  Her ebony hair flutters over the curve of your shoulder like a raven’s wing, drapes soft against your skin.  “So pretty and so good, speared open for me.  You always take me so very, very well.”

You clench.

“Mm,” Yennefer hums.  “I could keep you clenching tight on me for hours, darling.  I don’t think I could tire of the sight if I tried.”

She reaches down, draws a circle around where you connect, where the stone splits you wide.  You keen at the touch, too light and too little, just a soft brush of her fingertips at the wet of you.  Her hand tightens in your hair, gives a soft pull that’s still enough to make you shudder.    

“Do you think they would notice?” Yennefer muses, slipping her fingers up your cunt to circle around your clit.  You spasm.  “If I had you take me at the dinner table, had you sit so pretty on my lap, had you warming thick stone in your tight cunt as the others bantered and laughed?”

She snaps her hips sharply, one quick, hard thrust, and you coil tight like a bowstring, swallowing down a scream.

“Well done, darling,” she says, unknotting her hand from your hair and petting at your flank.

Without her hand to keep you taut, you crumble like an ancient tower, collapsing into the soft cradle of the bed.  The stone cock slips out of you, the thick head of it catching at your hole.  You hiss out a quiet breath.  Yennefer presses a kiss against your shoulder, and then another, and another.  She kisses a constellation into your skin, and then she pulls you back up to your knees.  

Yennefer swipes the fat head of the cock through the wet of your cunt. The slick sound it makes brings heat to your cheeks.  She nudges at your clit with the stone, pulls a deep, primal noise from somewhere deep inside you.  

“You get so wet,” she muses. “Geralt would know, I suppose.  He’d be able to smell your ripe cunt before I could even fully seat you on my cock.”

The moan drips from your lips like thick honey, sweet and slow, and you fold like a paper crane.  Yennefer laughs again, a low, predatory rumble, and slips an arm around your waist to keep your ass up. The bedsheets are cool against your warm cheek, and you close your eyes.

“You would do it though, wouldn’t you, darling, if I asked?”

You can’t even squeak out an answer, because she steals your air as she spears into you again. The cock presses heavy in you, the weight of it monumental, sending sparks skittering up your spine.  You try to push back up to your hands and knees, to arch into every inch of skin that you can, but she places a slim hand between your shoulders to hold you down.

Her touch runs across your skin like heat lightning, darting from nerve to nerve until your synapses are singing a symphony to her storm.  

“Would you let me choke you on his cock?” she wonders.  Her fingers stroke along your spine, stroke at the damp hair at the nape of your neck.  She shifts her hips to sink deeper into your fluttering cunt.  Your whine rends the air, rises high like a hymn, a prayer at her altar.  You have written her a hymnal of moans in your time together, a collection of sounds she pries out of you when she lays you bare in more ways than one.  “You always look pretty when you’re gazing up through those damp eyelashes.”

You can feel her eyes on you, know they have darkened to the plum bruise of the night sky.  She traces a finger under your chin.  You turn back to her as best you can, pinned down as you are.  She’s radiant, a lightning storm come to life, her obsidian hair tumbling like rain over her shoulders, something sly tucked into the corner of her plush lips.

“I don’t think I could bear to share you,” Yennefer hums.  She presses her thumb against the pad of your lips.  You part for her, roll your tongue over the digit, and taste the salt of her skin just beneath the tang of your cunt.  

“Good,” she tells you.  You tighten around the stone.

Yennefer drapes herself over you.  She’s silken against you, soft like a spring storm, something warm and soothing and rippling with contained power.  She flexes her hips and you sob out her name as she pushes deeper still.

“Yenna,” you plead.  

“You sound as pretty as you look.”

“Yenna,” you say again, trying to push your hips back into the cradle of her.  “Please.”

She brushes a featherlight kiss just beneath the shell of your ear.

You start to say her name again, the sound of it soft on your tongue, and your teeth snap down on the sound as she pulls back and thrusts.

Yennefer fucks into you with sharp, hard snaps of her hips.  You sink your fingers into the sheets with a quiet wail, the pleasure spiking along the staircase of your spine, running down the ladder of your bones to pool hot in your cunt.  She catches you off guard with a slow, deep stroke, one that scrapes along every nerve in your sensitive walls, and you choke on your breath.  

Caught in the tide of molten pleasure, you don’t notice she’s woven her hand through your hair until she pulls.  The sting of it lights up your nerves.  You cry out, and she pulls you up by the hair, gets you onto your hands and knees, and then wraps a slim hand around your throat.

“So noisy,” Yennefer chides, but you can feel her pulse racing against you, can hear the little skip in her breath.  She gives a few more short, sharp strokes, and you clench around the girth in you, little noises spilling from you ceaselessly.  How easily she unravels you, pulls at the loose string of the tapestry of your pleasure until it takes you apart, until only the frame of you is left, the bones that have the print of her lips carved into them.

Her fingers tighten around your throat, just slightly, and you curse.

“There you are,” she says, pressing a smiling kiss against your shoulder.  “I can feel you trembling.”

“Gods, Yen.”

“Not quite,” she says, and then she’s leaning back, pulling you with her until you are cradled in her kneeling form, your thighs spread wide over hers.  She keeps you curved like a bow with her grip on your throat, lets you settle deep onto the cock.  You grind down on it, let your weight carry you down on the girth of it.  

Yennefer sets her teeth against your shoulder blade.  You whine again, circling your hips, until the stone grinds over every nerve in your cunt and you’re fluttering around it.  Yennefer fucks up into you with a strong flex of her hips, presses filthily deep inside you, until you are spasming around the stone, little tremors rolling through you.  It’s just short of enough.

“I’ll be nice,” she says.  “Because you were so good.”

You clench.  She tightens her fingers around the column of your throat, pressing just hard enough, until you can feel the air catching in your chest.  Yennefer thrusts up roughly, until you’re gasping, your breasts bouncing with each hard shove.

Her other hand slips to your cunt.  She spreads you wide, her nimble fingers playing over you like the sun shimmering through the forest’s canopy, light and fluttering.  You arch into her delicate touch.  

“Are you going to come on my cock?” she purrs into your ear.  “Clench tight around it and come apart at the seams?”

“Yes,” you grit out as she loosens the collar of her fingers on your throat.  “Yenna, please.”

“Delightful little thing,” she tells you, her breath drifting hot over the shell of your ear.  She sweeps a thumb over your clit.  “Go on, then.”

Yennefer spears deep into you, the girth knocking your thin breath out of your lungs, and she rubs firm, steady circles over your clit.  You sob, the sound torn out of you, your back arching as your muscles go tight. The gathering lightning knits into a single bolt at the bottom of your spine and strikes ground, rolls over you in a flash of white that leaves you blinking.  Your voice cracks like thunder as you come screaming.  

You slump against Yennefer, let her cradle you.  Your thighs are trembling against her.  She traces idle patterns over your hips.  Her lips are gentle as she presses a soft kiss against your cheek, the return of softer clouds after the storm has rolled on.  

When you start to stir, she slips out of you.  You hiss a soft breath as the cockhead catches against your cunt and flop forward onto the bed.  Yennefer brushes a kiss against your shoulder, hiding her smile in your skin.  

You roll over.  She leans up to cage you beneath her.  Her dark hair falls like a curtain around your face, shielding the two of you from the world.  You cup her cheek; rub a thumb over her cheekbone, trace the curve of it.  “Yen,” you murmur, eyes flickering to hers, finding spring peering back at you.  You wonder if you can find a dress in the same shade as her eyes.    

“How do you feel?” she asks.

“Fucked out.”

She laughs, her eyes crinkling at the edges.  “Not too much?”

“No.”

“Good,” she murmurs, and then she is leaning down to you, is curving soft against you.  You meet her kiss delicately, settle into the twilight dusk of her tenderness.  You trade lazy kisses, lick soft into her mouth.

She’s tracing the tip of her tongue over the cupid’s bow of your lips when you feel the stone cock drag against the lips of your cunt.  Yennefer slides it between your thighs and ruts there.  She presses a soft kiss at the corner of your lips and pulls back.

“Once more, darling,” she tells you.  “And then I want to come on your face.”

Yennefer leans down to kiss your half-hearted protest away, and you let her storm sweep you back up.  

[sargassostories]

anon asked for: 

shitty prompt time: modern!au emhyr and geralt are having the custody fight of a lifetime over ciri and have angry hatesex whenever they meet in private to try and work it out.

cw: un-negotiated breathplay. This is not dub-con or non-con but it is very dark, fueled by Geralt’s self-hatred, and has no established boundaries and is not tender or kind in any way.

“He does this on purpose, you know.”

Geralt gritted his teeth as he and Yennefer, his close friend, ex, and currently his custody lawyer, waited for Emhyr to show, every part of him tensed with anticipation.

“We could always arrive later, Geralt.”

“No. Then he’d be on time. Just to fuck with us.”

Sure enough, thirty minutes later Mr. Emreis swept into the room, his lawyer in tow, looking polished as ever and smug as shit, his power practically wafting off of him. Geralt grinded his teeth so hard he saw Yennefer flinch.

Two hours later, Geralt could no longer feel his teeth or his face, and although Emhyr’s composure seemed air-tight, a vein in his forehead was pulsing so strongly Yennefer kept staring at it, waiting for it to burst.

“I know you don’t give one single shit about her! Not one!”

“Mr. Rivia,” Emhyr purred, his eyes glistening menacingly. “How dare you.”

“Why don’t we end here for today, hmm, Vilgefortz?”

“Fine idea, Ms. Vengerberg.”

The two began shuffling their papers to cover the sound of Geralt and Emhyr putting themselves back together. Geralt felt Yen’s hand brush his back, checking in and helping lead him out, but he didn’t budge. He was still breathing hard, embarrassed about his outburst, hating how Emhyr could crawl under his skin like this with so much at stake. Hating how it felt like a game to Emhyr, and how he always seemed to fall into his trap. 

They exchanged a glance and he quietly shook his head at her, and she left the room with Vilgefortz. He needed some time alone. Time to think, to breathe, to process what had just happened. He needed to punch something, to be perfectly honest.

Suddenly he heard a sharp breath across the table and realized Emhyr was still there.

“We don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” Geralt felt his voice resonate through him.

“I’ll stop anytime you’re ready to give up,” Geralt growled back.

“And why would I do that, when you look so delicious all worked up like this?” Emhyr asked with a cruel grin, which only grew crueler as he watched Geralt’s brain short out.

Because right next to his hatred of this man was his humiliation at what they’d done together, what they kept doing, almost every single time they met. Flashes of the past flickered through his mind, quick memories of Emhyr’s head thrown back, his Adam’s apple exposed as he moaned, the feeling of Emhyr’s bony hands gripping his hips, the sensation of him filling Geralt, fucking into him rough and fast, taking what he wanted. Geralt felt his cock hardening in his suit pants, desperate to feel that again, feel used by this man who was already fucking him over in so many other ways.

Geralt looked at Emhyr and found he was watching him carefully, a predator waiting for his prey to make the first wrong move. But Geralt was also a hunter. He felt the heat rise in him as a very bad idea came into his head.

“You’ll have to try harder than that to get me worked up.”

Emhyr said nothing; he just leaned back slightly in his chair.

“Come here,” he said quietly, commandingly.

His heart pounding, Geralt rose from his seat and slowly walked around the giant boardroom table that filled the conference room. He could feel the weight of Emhyr’s gaze on him and it sent shivers across his skin. He did his very best not to strut, not to change his pace, knowing Emhyr was unabashedly drinking in his muscular form as he moved, the way his dress pants clung to his ass and thick thighs. The way his sweater draped off his chest, his already overly-invested nipples.

As he approached Emhyr, he realized he had no idea what to do. He knew he would sink to his knees with just a word. But he desperately wanted to force a reaction from Emhyr, too.

So he slid onto the table, his legs wide on either side of Emhyr. Leaving him almost eye-level with Geralt’s cock, which became more observable by the second.

And Emhyr observed. He stared. He very slowly drew his gaze up Geralt’s body, sizing him up, inspecting him, until he met his eyes. Geralt felt a bony hand on his knee.

“Show me.”

Geralt did his best to keep eye contact, to not let Emhyr see anything on his face, but knew he was blushing.

“If you want something, you’re going to have to show me,” Emhyr drawled, leaning back in his chair again, his hand still on Geralt’s knee.

“No.”

“Then I suppose this meeting is over,” Emhyr sighed and removed his hand from Geralt’s knee.

Geralt let out an involuntary grunt.

“Oh?” Emhyr asked, the question belittling. As though he already knew what Geralt would do.

Geralt looked away, blushing, as he slowly unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants, letting them slide slightly off his hips.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, drawing his cock out of his briefs, and gave it a few easy strokes.

Emhyr looked up at him with a smug, knowing smile. Geralt thumbed over the head of his cock and held back a hiss of pleasure, trying to stay calm. He would not let Emhyr see how much this, touching himself on command, was affecting him, even if he could see how aroused it made him.

Emhyr grinned, leaned forward, and suddenly took Geralt’s length into his mouth and down his throat in a smooth motion. Geralt let out a whimper at the hot, tight wetness surrounding him, at the devious way Emhyr’s hand snaked up his thigh, at the way his other hand grabbed his ass to pull him closer. Emhyr released and took him down again, coaxing out a low moan.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered.

Emhyr eased off with a wet pop and sat back in his chair like a cat with the cream.

“Forearms on the table,” he said softly, and Geralt found himself flush further with anger, humiliation, and a swelling desire. “Quick now, or someone will find you like this.”

The thought of someone finding Geralt giving himself over to this man twisted something within him, and he found himself easing off the table and turning, obeying, placing his palms and forearms on the table, pressing his ass back for Emhyr.

“Like this?”

What he didn’t expect was the long mirror on the opposite wall, showing him exactly what he looked like. He watched, startled, as Emhyr rose and stood behind him, meeting his gaze in the mirror. Geralt’s white hair was already slightly mussed, his suit rumpled, and Emhyr was watching him hungrily. Geralt found he couldn’t take his eyes from what he saw.

“Good boy.”

A thrill ran through Geralt. Emhyr roughly pulled his trousers and briefs off his hips and down to his thick thighs. Geralt could feel him palming at his ass, groping freely, inspecting, savoring possessively.

“Very good.”

Geralt shivered again, then saw him slip a tube of lube out of his trousers pocket and smirked. Knowing Emhyr wanted this-- Geralt found himself arching and glancing back at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Hoping for this, were you?” Geralt asked him.

“I knew you’d be desperate for it, Geralt,” Emhyr answered coolly as he squeezed a little lube onto his fingers, easily capping the tube and spreading the fluid around one-handedly. “I don’t want to hurt you. Too much.”

Geralt inhaled sharply as Emhyr’s fingers pushed right inside of him, inspecting and testing, challenging.

“If you want me, just fucking take me.”

“Not until you’re ready for me,” Emhyr said, curling a finger and brushing it just so, to make Geralt choke out another moan.

“Hush, or someone will hear you,” Emhyr cooed evilly. Apparently satisfied, Geralt felt him withdraw his fingers and let out a tiny huff of disappointment, then felt Emhyr wipe his fingers on his round ass.

Geralt glanced up into the mirror to meet his gaze, to make sure Emhyr knew how much he hated him, even as he let him do this to him.

Emhyr stood behind him and held his hips tightly as he lined up and slowly pressed into Geralt.

Emhyr was true to his word. Every inch burned, but Geralt was determined not to flinch. He pressed his teeth together, hard.

“Too much?” Emhyr asked wryly.

“Can hardly feel a thing.”

Annoyance marked Emhyr’s face, and he thrust the rest of the way in in a single snap, jerking Geralt’s hips forward, trapping his cock against the edge of the table. Geralt grinned, knowing he was getting under Emhyr’s skin.

Emhyr leaned in close, draping over Geralt so he could speak right behind his ear.

“I’m going to use you, Geralt. Just the way you like it.”

Geralt shivered as Emhyr straightened and kept to his word. He fucked into Geralt roughly, curling the end of each thrust to just tease at Geralt, to give him just enough pleasure within the definite pain that the heat kept building in him. 

Geralt caught sight of himself in the mirror, at the wanton, desperate look in his eye-- his hair disheveled now, face flushed, mouth wet and open. And Emhyr behind him, not a hair out of place, in total command, hands gripping his hips so tightly the skin was white. Yet Geralt could feel him grow harder, feel his thrusts begin to stutter slightly, had been fucked by him enough times to know he was close.

Geralt met his gaze and licked his lips, smirking. “You disgust me.”

Emhyr grabbed his hair and pulled him up slightly, snaking his hand forward and gripping his throat.

Geralt gasped with pleasure as his hand tightened, thumb pressing against his vein.

“Such a filthy slut.”

Geralt moaned against him as Emhyr kept thrusting hard and fast. He could feel how fast his heart was beating, see how flushed he was. Geralt wriggled, pushing back against Emhyr, then brought a hand back to grab his ass.

He felt Emhyr inhale sharply-- that was the only indication he had that he came.

Emhyr still held his throat tightly. Geralt began to feel dazed as he felt Emhyr soften within him, felt a slight sticky hot wetness creep out of his ass. He looked into the mirror, in an almost dreamlike state, and saw Emhyr’s hand snake around, felt it circle his cock and begin to stroke.

“Absolutely filthy.”

“You seem to like it enough,” Geralt whispered.

He saw Emhyr frown, felt him stroke harder, and found himself gasping and bucking into the touch. He was so overstimulated, the lack of oxygen making him dazed and tingly...

“I should leave you passed out right here,” Emhyr growled. “Let someone find you with your leaking cock out, cum dribbling out of you like the used slut you are. Maybe they’d have a go next.”

Geralt could barely breathe, barely moan, wondered if Emhyr would really do it, and the image of it, the danger of it pushed him right to the edge.

Geralt felt Emhyr release the hand on his throat, instinctively choked in a breath, felt the cool oxygen flood his system and his release follow. Emhyr clapped a hand over his mouth to smother his moan and kept stroking him through the orgasm, even as Geralt hissed and writhed against the overstimulation.

Finally Emhyr released him, removed his hands, and slid out of his ass. Geralt watched, gripping the table, as Emhyr quickly tucked his cock back into his trousers, glanced in the mirror to brush a few strands of his salt-and-pepper hair back into place. He looked almost the same as when he’d walked through the door a few hours earlier, but Geralt noted with pleasure the slight edge of anxiety in his eyes, in his movements. Maybe he’d finally gotten under this man’s skin.

“Leaving so soon?” Geralt asked wryly.

Emhyr turned and looked at Geralt like he was looking right through him. Geralt was suddenly very aware of how fucked out he knew he looked, and of the cum making its way out of his ass. He quickly tugged his briefs and trousers up. 

Emhyr patted his cheek and quirked an eyebrow at the cum streaked across the boardroom table.

“You’d better clean this up. I’m afraid I don’t have time to watch you do it with your tongue, like you’d like.”

And with that he buttoned his suit jacket and swept from the room, leaving Geralt stewing.

read on a03

[retvenkos]

for the no context ships can i get one for the witcher? im bi so go crazy go stupid 🤪 some ??? things about me include

falling 15 ft out of a tree when i was like 7 bc i climbed it in flats even tho my dad said not too and the fact that i landed in the ONE spot clear of anything that could have punctured me has solidified my thoughts of me having terribly good luck

landing on the metal ball things ppl put on vehicles to pull trailers behind them with and getting a black eye to the point where my teacher thought my brothers hurt me?

when i was 12 i tripped on my combat boot laces bc i didnt have enough time to tie them and hit my head on the bus steps and now have a scar exactly 1 cm long and according to the doctor had it been any closer, id have issues with my eye (my right eye is literally worse than my left lmao)

in recent years ive tripped up stairs very gracefully

whenever id fall over in school id always manage to catch myself

one time when i was running out of class i rammed into another person and ended up being thrown into the lockers. all i remember was not being able to move and crying even though i was trying to talk. i didnt get any medical attention for it either

during my freshman yr i had a crush on this cute nerdy boy and convinced a friend of mine to give him a note i wrote and not to listen to me no matter how much i asked them not to give it to him. i watched him read it before banging my head on the table bc i was so embarrassed.

i found out my boy bestie liked me right before we got into quarantine and used covid to ghost him for eight months before wishing him a happy birthday.

uhhh i overshared to my teacher abt le mental illness so now hes always asking if im alright and checking in via email. its nice but i feel like such a chump

dis one isnt rly random kinda sad tbh. i never let myself truly feel any genuine emotion bc when i was younger nobody validated them so i deadass ALWAYS invalidate my feelings before anyone else gets a chance to and its such a whiplashy feeling??

ha i feel like i went in too much but there ya go, an auto biography exposing me for how mf clumsy i am

hey, hey, amirah? you deserve the world,,,,, sadly, tho,,,,,,, the world keeps giving it to you,,,,,, 

my attempts at jokes suck, but MOVING ON,,,, i am setting you up with the one and only yennefer of vengerberg because there is something about the elegant one falling for the clumsy one that i adore,,,,,,,,,, plus i feel like the two of you would really just vibe and have a friends to lovers storyline going on,,,,,,,,,

[ao3feed-geralt-jaskier]

by ButchTheDoggo

They say it's better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all That must be a load of shit

  Yennefer Vengerberg has updated her status. A stone sank to the pit of Jaskier's stomach and, even worse than that stone, was the flutter of hope in his chest. Unlocking his phone, Jaskier hoped against hope that maybe it wasn’t what he thought it was.

Unfortunately, he was always right when he didn’t want to be. Where Yennefer’s profile had once said “In a relationship” it now read “Single”. Fuck.

Or

Jaskier and Geralt have been friends for years. Jaskier has always been there for Geralt through everything and this time is no different. Except, songs are sung, Geralt finally gains half a brain cell and realizes that Jaskier writes songs about him, and Jaskier's feelings are exposed.

Words: 2947, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg

Additional Tags: there is like no Yennefer in this, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Songfic, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Is Not a Witcher, First Dates, Fluff and Angst

[the-winter-witcher]

The flowers trio having to go under cover to overthrow a rival family,and of course the rival family has some sort of banquet with slaves and auctions,and Jaskier gets in with Geralt and reader as his slaves,so Jaskier has to sit there and grind his teeth and observe how every fucker stares at what is his,has to decline a obscene amount of money from said fuckers because they want to try the merchandise,reader and Geralt really don't care, possessive Jaskier is fun Jaskier after all

Sorry this has taken me so long, I knew what I wanted to do with it I just needed the story to get there. I’ve changed it up a lil bit, hope that’s okay. 

“This isn’t what I had in mind when you said we’d be attending” Jaskier huffs as he takes in your attire, the sordid combination of black leather and latex accented by silver chains that adorns your body, and rolls his eyes. Geralt’s not dressed much better; a thick leather collar wraps round his neck with a silver ring hanging invitingly from the center, and you know that underneath his coat he’s wearing practically nothing aside from a stunningly well fitted pair of shorts that you’d picked out for him.

“Oh hush darling, don’t pretend that you don’t know what a Vengerberg party entails”

“If we stick to the plan we’ll be fine” Geralt’s voice is low as you approach the long sweeping drive that leads to the familiar sight of the Vengerberg residence. The dark black leaves of the cherry plums lining the gravel pathway are adorned with bursts of bright violet from the thousands of fairy lights strung along them, small beacons to guide you towards the towering spires ahead. You hear Geralt swallow thickly at your side, no doubt feeling the same creeping sense of unease that you do at the thought of being back here and seeing Yennefer again after all of this time. 

A light touch of your hand on his seems to bring him out of his head and back to you and you offer him a reassuring smile, “we don’t have to do this, sweetheart, we can still turn around and walk away”

“I’m fine” his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he replies, “it’s only for a few hours anyway”

You’re about to ask again, reassure him that it’s okay, you’ll find another way to get the information, but you stop short when you realise you’ve already reached the heavy set wooden door of the entrance. It’s as intimidating as you remember; dark wood, thick and heavy, with wrought iron fixings and a solid door knocker that’s decorated with the signature pattern of lilac and gooseberries. Geralt wastes no time in grabbing it, three angry thuds sounding against the solid surface to signify your arrival. 

It’s only a matter of mere seconds before it’s swung open and you’re greeted by the sound of the party in full swing; loud chatter and thrumming bass flood your ears, and the fetid smell of alcohol tinged debauchery winds through the air so thick it’s almost visible.

“Darlings, hello! Right on time of course” the sharp trill of Yennefer’s voice reaches you before you see her, and you notice Geralt tense slightly out of the corner of your eye as he prepares to see her for the first time in five years. Jaskier isn’t faring much better and you can feel him nervously drumming his fingers where they rest on your waist.

“Yennefer!” your smile is as warm as your voice as you see her come into view.  She’s just as beautiful as ever, her dark hair pulled up into an elaborate updo adorned with delicate diamonds, her lips painted red and her dress a long flowing gown of black and white layered chiffon.

“Y/N, oh how lovely to see you again” as she gets closer you pick up the ever so familiar scent that you’re so accustomed to, it clouds around you until it’s all there is as she pulls you in for a hug and presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you so much for the invitation” Jaskier’s voice sounds cool on the surface and you’re sure that anyone less attuned to him wouldn’t hear the notes of anxiety playing underneath. You’d have to ask him about that later.

“Hmm, hello Yennefer” Geralt’s reaction is a little frosty, “how’s Istredd?” If she’s upset by his greeting she doesn’t let on, instead she pulls him in for a hug that he protests at first until he no longer can. 

“Oh he’s fine, thank you, not here tonight unfortunately. This” she gestures around, “isn’t really his thing. It seems like it certainly is yours though” she smiles fondly as she lets him go and he seems to have finally relaxed, settling in to stand between you and Jaskier.

She takes a step back so that she can see the three of you, “So you have a plan? I assume so or you wouldn’t be here”

“It’s a blind auction at the end of the night like usual, right? I can see the” Jaskier coughs awkwardly, “lots, and bid. Nobody knows who’s bidding, highest bidder wins?”

“I see you remember the rules, which means you’ll also remember that these two darlings will need to mingle” she smirks when she sees the scowl Jaskier is wearing at the thought of others touching what is his, “I’ll leave you to it” and with that she shoots a wink directly at you before flouncing away.

“Let’s get this over with then” Jaskier growls as he slings his arm over your shoulder protectively, his eyes boring into the faces of anyone who dares to look at you for too long, “this better go fast.”

It’s a pretty simple process the three of you have once you get started; the majority of the bidders are drunk or high out of their minds which makes it easy for you. It’s easy enough, the rich fuckers are quick enough to grab at you, sneering at you and Geralt as they ask for a test drive of the goods, and once you have them alone you pin them down- the quick draw of a blade hidden in one of your boots, the rough hand Geralt has gripping their hair and the sharp hiss of a whispered threat has loose tongues wagging in each and every one of them, yet you’re unable to recover the information you need. Not due to lack of trying, no, it seems like your intel had been wrong, nobody knew anything about Stregobor. Jaskier isn’t faring much better himself as he tries his own tactics on the other “lots”, hoping that while they’re away from the usual cruelties of such affairs and being treated with some kindness for once they might crack; although they’re eager to talk to him, none can provide any information.

You’ve made your way through roughly two thirds of the guest list by the time the bidding is called and you watch as Jaskier leaves to make his way to the auction room.

“Fucking waste of time”

“Jaskier might have found something, you never know” your voice is hopeful, “we’ll find out soon enough. Besides, it’s not been a total waste of time… You know I like watching you when you work. I promise to show you just how much the second we’re done with this”

“I suppose you’re right, not a total waste” he smiles, “I could the same to you”

“Oh don’t think I haven’t noticed, I know that’s not a gun in your pocket"

He’s about to respond, his face just in front of yours and a teasing glint in his eye but you’re interrupted by one of the event stewards ushering you towards a private room. 

“Come on, let’s go see Jaskier and we can finish our conversation there” your hands run across the bare expanse of his chest before hooking a finger through his collar and pulling him along behind you.

The second you’re through the door you’re all over each other, hands grasping onto any patch of exposed skin they can find, teeth and tongue clashing as you kiss messily, fire flooding through you both as you can finally enjoy yourselves.

“Should we wait for-”

“No he’ll be here any second”

“You’re right”

“Fuck, Geralt” you whine as he pins you against the wall, legs wrapping round his waist to pull him closer before pulling him in for another heated kiss.

“Ahem” the sound of someone clearing their throat stops you in your tracks.

“I think you’ve got the wrong room” Geralt doesn’t even turn around as he speaks, instead he keeps his focus on you.

“I’m exactly where I want to be, Geralt” you can see the confusion on his face as he gently sets you down, making sure to keep himself between you and the newcomer as best as he can as he turns to them.

“You” Geralt’s voice is measured as he takes in the figure that is most decidedly not Jaskier, and he takes a step forward as he assesses the potential threat.

“Careful there mate, don’t do anything you might regret” another silhouette appears from the doorway, one you know all too well, and you take an involuntary step towards it as though to make sure you’re not seeing things. You instinctively place yourself between Geralt and the newcomer as you really survey them, taking in the familiar features as they come into view.

“Shelley?” 

“Hello love, it’s been a while” his smirk causes Geralt to bristle behind you. 

“Where’s Jaskier?”

[wickedrum]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, i haven't read the books nor played the games, Angst, Fluff, Magic, Implied Sexual Content, Established Relationship, Yennefer is a good friend, Bickering, Kissing, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Magical!Jaskier, Friendship Summary:

Geralt is on the ground, exposed, vulnerable, surrounded by weeds and buttercups, the moon lights his silver hair and then his amber eyes as he looks up, up at the nightwraith, the nightwraith whose taloned hand is arcing, arcing over the Witcher, arcing until -

“Geralt!” -- In which Jaskier might have some magic

[thevelvetroad]

describe my blog tag game

tagged by my wife @fineosaur

icon: daenerys in season 1 lookin real sad and beautiful, i love her 

content: asoiaf related shit, photography and art (reblogged, always with credit to og artist), getting exposed by @fineosaur, the witcher - mostly the game cos im obsessed but also jaskier x geralt shit posts, my own fic ads + moodboards, supporting gendrya fic writers

letter colour: weird maroon colour man idk 

url: hahahhahhahh i read too many existentialist novelists and philosophers so i thought a username like that would make me cool. fun fact, i am not but the literature emo in me still fucks with it 

header: yennefer of vengerberg from the witcher 3: wild hunt (ugh my queen, im so gay for her) 

blog title: “we are our choices” a quote by jean paul sartre whom i love dearly, it is also a sticker on my laptop. my therapist doesn’t agree with it sjsjjsjs  

im tagging: @yanak324 @harrenhollaback @go-catch-a-chickn @ohnoshefell anyone else who wants to do this :) 

[ofrxvia]

Inoctum Sent : Tiles, our muses get frisky in the bathroom 

NSFW Drabble || Accepting ! @inoctum​

Geralt was quite relaxed at this point, having had a heated bath to soak in for a while. The water was still warm, having been cycled out twice now by some magical device, he was convinced he could easily stay in that tub forever. He had sunken low into the warmth, head, hands, and feet just barely out of the water, against the rim of the tub. Those long white locks of his were tied high in a tail and left to dangle on the outside of the tub, having long been washed and dried. This was purely Geralt being lazy in the bath.

The sound of footsteps approaching the door brought a slight fracture to the comfort of his bath, golden eyes slowly cracking open to glance at the door, and hope that whoever- the scent of lilac and gooseberries slowly started to creep from the door, turning his growing agitation into curiosity tinged with delight. And sure enough, when the door opened, he was greeted with the ever pleasant sight of Yennefer of Vengerberg.

Already, he was starting to sit up, his torso now fully exposed from the water, feet sinking back in. Water dripped down his scarred skin, some even pooling in the slight ridges those scars provided. A slight smile was playing along his lips, the kind Geralt always had when he saw her. Golden eyes met with violet, and he noticed her attire was little more than an expensive looking robe that stopped just short of her ankles, black as her hair with all the adornments white as snow. Her usual style. An eyebrow rose as he went to question why she was there, only for her to let the robe come open, and off, exposing that she was bare as he. That cut his words off immediately, a pleased...purr of sorts coming from the Witcher as he looked at her. The door shut with what he was sure was magic from her, but that was barely registered as his attention was on her after all.

                                                                                   “Glad you like what you see, Geralt.”

The words told him either she was in his mind, as she usually was, or he was giving himself away with his gaze. Likely both. He decide to play with the fact that she was in his head, imagining all the many things he’d like to do with her, some of them repeats, some of them new. That amused smile and the matched low laugh that slipped from her told him she had been in his head, and he merely smiled all the wider.

There was nothing said as she made her way toward the tub, Geralt keeping quiet as she slowly moved to settle in with him. That smile stayed plastered on his lips, sitting up a bit more as Yennefer straddled him, sinking into the water on top of him. “Yen, I-” Her index finger cut his words off immediately, touching it to his lips as he spoke. Golden eyes cut to violet while she leaned toward him, feeling her chest pressing gently against his own while her hand moved to his left cheek, her other hand cupping at his right so she was holding his head. Her lips pressed to his gently, and he did not hesitate to kiss her back, pressing his lips into hers with a bit of heat behind it. After all, soft was hardly something Geralt was good at, though he did try.

Calloused hands gently pressed at her hips, arms having moved from draping along the tub to touching her. Holding her smaller form in his grasp was a delight, slowly pulling her down until she was settled snug against his body. He could feel the heat of her against his arousal, just where he wanted her to be, the weight of her pinning it between them while they got comfortable. He knew she could feel him against her, the moment that she settled where he wanted, a noise had risen in her throat. If she could read his mind, he could read her body, the involuntary actions she smothered before anyone but him could have a chance to notice. He could feel her lips curling, smiling against his as she got comfortable against him, and his arms moved from guiding her to holding her, wrapping around her to keep her against him. He kissed her again, and this time her teeth touched his bottom lip, biting at it while looking him dead in the eyes, letting go after pulling it for a moment. His smile widened once he had his lip back, and as that happened her hands were busied in his hair, kissing him again while she pulled the tie that held his hair up, letting it fall loose so she could properly tangle her fingers within.

A noise of pleasure slipped Geralt’s lips a moment later, pulling back from her hungry kiss in surprise. Yen smiled a bit more at him, obviously delighted that the subtle rolling of her hips against him had finally registered. He leaned forward, catching her lips again, but Yen put her hands on his shoulders now, pushing him back until he was as flat against the tub as she could get him. That look in her eyes told him exactly what she wanted him to do, and he did it. He stayed exactly where she put him, smiling up at her as she kissed him once again.

Geralt was usually quite good at keeping track of time. He could tell the passing of a minute two hours after having seen the time, but the average time of day was something he could always figure. But Yen, Yen made him lose all sense of time. His thoughts were so focused on her that even if she was still in his mind, it wouldn’t give her anything to work with, he simply wanted her. And it seemed right that Yen was in just the same mood.

A delighted growl left the Witcher’s throat as her hand sunk into the water, feeling her gripping him at his pace. Her body lifted away from his for a short moment, offering him a smile before slowly sinking down him, only stopping when she could settle into his lap again. That smile she had given him was more pleased than anything, her hands now pressing against his abdomen, just at his navel. His hands were now on her ass, grabbing at her and pulling her forward to rock her against him. The gasp that slipped from her made the action quite worth the way her nails dug into his skin. The way Yen rode him was a bit more vigorous than her teasing had been, the water of the tub now splashing a bit more noticeably, though Geralt certainly didn’t care. A deep groan of pleasure slipped him as she worked her hips against his, hands squeezing at her ass and thighs while her touch began to travel upward. She was exploring him as she rode, looking for new wounds, as she always did. He knew when she found one, her touch would linger there, gently rubbing over the mark as if she was committing it to memory. But she said nothing about it, nor would she at any point unless they needed tending to. Soon enough, Yen’s hands were at his shoulders, nails biting at his skin while she bounced on his lap with force, splashing the water out of the tub all around them. Geralt was vocal with his pleasure, groaning and growling for her while she worked him over. But he wasn’t one for doing nothing, even if she had put him down where she wanted him. His grip on her body tightened, keeping her from moving for just a moment while he shifted beneath her, planting his feet against the bottom of the tub. As she began moving again, his grip having loosened, he bucked his hips against her pace, earning him a few delighted noises from her lips. Those few noises turned into louder cries as they went on, Geralt chiming in with deep groans of pleasure as well. His hands slid to her hips, holding her down as he felt her nails really bite into his shoulders, grunting at the fact that she was actually making him bleed while she shook on top of him, pulling his body as tight into hers as she could while she rode out her pleasure. And once she was somewhat recovered, Yen was pressing her lips to his neck and jawline, humming softly before she sat up, flicking her wrist in a way that sent the water of the tub away, and left them both dry as if there hadn’t been water at all.                                                           “Take me to the bedroom, won’t you? We’re not done yet.”

[drhu0806]

Tagged by @stvnningstrike! 

rules: name 10 favorite characters from 10 different things and then tag 10 people

Wei Wuxian (Mo Dao Zu Shi/Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation) 

Stocke (Radiant Historia)

Claude von Riegan (Fire Emblem Three Houses)

Persona 5 protagonist (Persona 5) 

Vivienne de Fer (Dragon Age) 

Persona 3 female protagonist (Persona 3 Portable) 

Yennefer of Vengerberg (The Witcher)

August Willenheim (When the Night Comes) 

Garrus Vakarian (Mass Effect) 

Roy Mustang (Fullmetal Alchemist) 

Gueeeeeeeeeeeeeeess I’ll tag @fleeting-fantasy, @portman-natalie. @storiesandblurbs, @bluvixen, @jesterlavorre-lionett, @chenkari, @exposed-whimsy. @warlock-enthusiast, @elfrooted, and we’ll just pretend I have 10 people to tag alright