#dettlaff (briefly)

[unapologetic-ciri-shipper]

SNIPPET - GOD from the PAST

Fear-filled dreams haunted her this night, as they did almost every night. Not that Ciri wasn't used to it. Most of them had their origins in her childhood: the ominous black rider who always turned into the Wild Hunt or dreams of her grandmother Calanthe's death and, again and again, the sea. Wild tides that broke the ship on which Ciri sailed through her dream and dragged her down into the depths. In the current dream, she let all this happen, listening to her heartbeat and watching the ever-shrinking bright surface of the water as she sank down into the depths. Yen had taught her that. Conscious dreaming, influencing dreams and from Geralt she learned to face her fears. Not to forget them, but to see fear as a useful companion that showed her danger and gave her access to her instincts. When she was afraid of the dark, she and Geralt spent a night in the forest training sword skills in complete darkness. When she was afraid of the water, he taught her how to swim and dive and, of course, how to defend herself against drowers in the water. Yen and Geralt's training prepared her for the confrontation with her fear. And so she floated in her dream and watched calmly as she drowned. Admittedly, there was something peaceful about it. Once she had accepted these superficial layers of fear, she knew where it came from. She dreamed of her mother's death, falling off the ship, drowning in the storm, in the darkness, in the sea off Skellige. When her panic used to take over when she was alone, she saw the apparition again. The image of white-green light, the magical manifestation of her elder blood, then pulled Ciri out of the water. But this time Ciri was very calm and watched the anxious thoughts pass her by. The figure would not appear like this. Ciri realized that she had never asked it for its name - if the magical being had a name at all, after all, it was nothing really physical. It was simply the embodiment of the Elder Blood itself.

Ciri smiled and watched the moonlit surface of the water, which was getting smaller and smaller.

'Enough of this dream. I can imagine better things.'

Ciri closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she was standing on a snow-white plain. Dettlaff was standing in front of her. Heat rose to her face.

'This is definitely more beautiful.'

"Dettlaff? This isn't just my dream, is it?"

Dettlaff nodded.

"Do you remember the last time? The dream level where you fought the shadow monsters. Only this time it's Regis who's allowing the resonance."

Ciri smiled at him as she walked towards him.

"Right, it's the same feeling."

She stepped closer to him and saw his tired, almost sad look. His smile didn't mask the emotions underneath. As she scrutinized him, he turned his face away.

"Is everything all right with you?"

"Not really... But this place is peaceful, more peaceful than what I dreamed."

Ciri's hand moved almost automatically to his forearm.

"I can understand that very well. My dream was cruel too."

"But you were calm. I didn't sense any panic from you."

"Ahh that... training from Geralt and Yen. Conscious dreaming and a kind of witcher's meditation to pull yourself out of frequent nightmares. I don't know if I can teach you anything new. But if you want, I can show you some of the things I've learned from them?".

Dettlaff smiled, this time the underlying sadness was less prominent.

"I'd like that."

Ciri paused and briefly considered whether to ask the following.

"What were you dreaming?"

Dettlaff swallowed and looked at the gleaming white floor. The pain was written all over his face, a pain she knew. She took a step towards him, but didn't dare take his hand. She knew how she felt at times like this and how upset she had been by the odd well-meant but unsolicited touch in the past.

"I won't ask any more... Would you like me to keep you company?"

He nodded again and Ciri sat down in front of him, her legs crossed and her hands resting loosely in her lap. His breathing was erratic and his nails clawed into his thighs as he tried to bring what was apparently bubbling inside him back under control. Ciri tried to feel into the connection, Regis created unconsciously between them, to catch something of his emotions, what he felt at least from what Ciri knew of this resonance. But Regis' own emotions were far too present in the background. And so she waited patiently, her hands subtly and unobtrusively palm up as a gesture to him. And to her surprise, Dettlaff grasped her hand, trembling slightly.

"I deserve to have these dreams, since I killed these people."

Ciri squeezed his hand.

"Don't forget the woman who had put you in this position..."

"Irrelevant. I killed her."

She screwed up her face. Syanna's story had shaken her deeply when Geralt and Regis had told her about it in Toussaint.

"Which she absolutely deserved."

Dettlaff looked up at her in surprise.

"And yet I regret it."

She fell silent, painfully lost in memories of her time in the rat gang. Her raids through the countryside, where she took her anger out on others, with that alias name, Falka, and like Falka hundreds of years ago. Not burning the ground, but soaking in the blood of those who stepped within range of her blade. Her sword made no distinction between young and old. The blood of innocents was on her hands and no matter what her motives were then, those motives left a stale taste on her tongue now. Ciri saw how Dettlaff gently turned her hand upwards and, lost in thought, traced the lines on the inside of her hand, which suddenly triggered a crazy feeling in her.

This could have been a perfect moment. A moment in which time almost stood still, the moths barely noticeably flapping their wings or the dust in the air forming a glittering swirl. But instead, all the light on this dream plane disappeared. She could still feel her fingers on Dettlaff's cool skin as she tried to reach out and grabbed at nothing.

"Dettlaff!"

Her hands scanned the smooth floor where he should have been sitting and she cursed aloud. As panic began to rise within her, she took a deep breath and felt into the bond. The amount of foreign magic was overwhelming, compressing her chest and making it hard to breathe, but she sensed Dettlaff somewhere. Ciri remembered the magic lessons with Yen about reading minds. She adjusted her breathing, searched for a ley node and drew magic from it, but the tightness didn't vanish. She tried again... Nothing.

A familiar figure of light appeared beside her, illuminating the area.

"They're attacking us, you and Dettlaff... I'm afraid you'll have to rely on my magic, my dear Ciri."

Ciri screwed up her face at the thought of how exhausting this would be for her body and sighed heavily.

"I know..."

The light figure resembling her image looked at her and smiled.

"I will help you. It only takes an ounce of our magic to banish this dream mage... And just a little more to kill him. It's your choice."

Ciri puffed out a laugh.

"Not today, but I want it to hurt. Hurt a lot... Nobody attacks Dettlaff!".

Well this is it so far. That chapter will be betaed at first in german than translated. I am currently writing the following chapter. Hope you like my version of Dettlaff x Ciri shenanigans and the concept of Ciri's source magic. Feel free to comment and share your thoughts ❤️

Read the series in english here

[wolfsbane-and-nettles]

Detlaff finds Geralt after Blavikin...

just a WIP that I want to come back to, but no guarantees. I really want to draw Geralt as I see him in the books...which is NOT handsome as hell...games give him an awesome glow up.

My headcannon is that from the ages of like....40-90, he is in his awkward ugly duckling years. He finally out grew what little youthfulness he had left in his appearance. He is depressed as hell, as one could guess, and it shows in how he presents himself.

After Geralt and Dettlaff had traveled the Path together for many years, they decide to go their separate ways briefly...within two years, Geralt ends up earning the moniker "The Butcher of Blavikin". As soon as Detlaff hears the news, he is off to find Geralt again, and finds him sitting in the rain, dissociated out of his mind, and staring off into an empty, muddy field.

"...home. Wanna go home..." was all he managed to croak out when he managed to speak again. Only for Dettlaff to remind him that he could no longer return to Kaer Morhen.

[arkhaniel]

A little something for my friend @marmottine with her OC Moira.

It takes place between her own fic “Have You Seen This Cat” and “Mine and Only Mine” 

Merry Christmas my dear! / Joyeux Noël et merci pour toutes nos belles discussions <3

Nazair, year 1278, on the terrace of the Blue Mare Inn

Local silver merchants' shouts could be heard along the crowded street where various artisans were selling their refined vases, silverwares, goblets, plates and other beautiful wares shinning under a warm summer light.

Painters and poets were also gathered on the patio where Sinead was absently drinking her raspberry juice, looking with interest at the beautiful nazairi tissue decorating the handrail on which her right arm laid.  

Yes, Nazair was an inviting place, just how her friend had described it to her. It would be a shame not to stay for a while. Sinead put her glass back on the little round table where she sat, and ran a lazy hand in her short brown hair, readjusting her earrings on the way.

“Always day-dreaming isn't it? Things haven't changed much apparently.”

Her thoughts were cut off by a playful tone coming from her left. Rising her head, she locked eyes with yellow ones staring at her, a large smile playing on the newcomer lips.

“Moira!” said the woman, raising from her seat and taking her friend in a tight hug. “Finally you are here! I nearly fell asleep waiting for you!”

Moira looked at the content of Sinead's goblet.

“Are you drinking juice? That's why you were falling asleep, I will buy us something to wake you up.”

Grinning at her, Sinead went back to her seat, gazing at the witcher girl walking inside the Inn to order some drinks.

She have changed, she thought, looking at her friend's long yellow dress framing her muscular form, and at the brown hair falling on her back, barely hiding the scar on her neck. Since when she wears her hair without tying them? And a dress? She could barely believe it.

Moira came back with two pints of beer, and, cheering loudly, the two companions began a friendly conversation after having taken several gulps of their Redanian Lager.

“I am glad you finally decided to visit me, Sen, what took you so long? Sure it can't be that old rascal you used to work for as a bodyguard in Kovir?”

“No,” answered Sinead with a sigh, “I told you last time we met in Toussaint that I was done working for him. I have my share with imbeciles. I was earlier hired by a non-human family, dwarves to be precise. They succeeded in having the monopoly on dimeritium ore on Upper Aedirn after they began the mining of orichalcum in caves nearby. They got a lots of enemies in the process and need a constant protection. I found a temporary solution while I visit you here, they will manage without me for some times.” She finished with a smirk.

“You told me you had a week no? It's plenty of time to catch up with the last three years. I was beginning to suspect that you didn't wanted to meet my companion.” She cast a knowing look to Sinead whose blood drained from her face.

“No... not at all. You told me so much about him in your letters, I can't wait to meet him.” The woman gathered her sudden sweaty hands and raised her back, looking down at the street. “Surely he must be very special that man who managed to make you dress in a more feminine way.” She glanced at the witcher medallion with a cat figure around Moira's neck. “Still with the kind of profession you have, your choice is to say the least very surprising... and dangerous. I hope you know what you are doing.”

The witcher beamed at her friend, relaxing in her chair. “Trust me Sen, I will never be with someone like him if I wasn't sure of my decision. I am sure you will change your mind before the end of the week! Did I told you we just rent a new house in the city? Nothing too fancy but we needed a place that could both suits his needs as a surgeon and our own desire to have enough space where we won't get disturbed. Actually we plan to move back to Dillingen soon, perhaps in a month or two.”

Listening to her friend's excited explanation, Sinead couldn't help being worried about meeting him. Moira trusted her enough to reveal the true nature of the man called Regis. A higher vampire... a blood drinker. Sinead never met one before, and her friend did praised his many merits but still... With all the men on this world why she had to choose a vampire?

Later that afternoon, Moira led Sinead to a colourful house, lying in front of a courtyard filled with various plants. Before the witcher had time to grasp the handle, a man opened the door suddenly, smiling at them both with open arms.

“Miss Mater-Duvalier, a pleasure to finally meet you!” said the man, bowing slightly to her, a hand to his chest. “My name is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, but please Regis will do just fine. How do you find our dear Nazair, not too noisy?”

Looking at him up and down, Sinead opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came from her. That man was the complete opposite of what she had imagined. Instead of the cold and calculated being she thought of meeting, a cheerful middle-aged man harbouring a warm expression was standing on the doorway. He even looked like the chatty type, which surprised her even more. Nothing on him could indicate his belonging to the non-human (and frightening) category.

Moira gave a tap in her arm to put her out of her non too-subtle stare.

“Yes!” exclaimed Sinead, “I mean no, not too noisy. In fact it's a rather charming city.” She  cast her head down suddenly shy at his intense eyes. “I am looking forward to visit more of it with Moira as my guide.”

“Excellent!” answered Regis, leading them inside the house. “I hope you are already hungry for I intend to prepare some tasty nazairi speciality for tonight dinner. While you wait I am sure Moira will show you the guest-room.”

                           .............................................

The food was as promising as Regis told them, even so with some spicy red wine coming from the coast that Regis pronounced with a perfect nazairi accent, Zweigelt.

“Soooo,” voiced Moira while they were wandering around the borders of the city, watching the sunset. “What are your impression on Regis? I saw the way you were looking at him and I can already tell he enthralled you with his tale about psilocybe mushrooms and the distillation of its essence to create as he said «hallucinogenic narcotics capable to hinder the most preposterous allegations of the so called vigorous lover»” both friends laughed in unison at the perfect imitation.

“I have to admit that he put the world of herbalism at a new level of interest for me. He seems to be a rather passionate person, and he have a very special way to captivate our attention. I think I begin to see why you picked an immortal blood-sucker as your companion. I guess he is as good in bed as he is with rhetoric.”

Moira pushed Sinead playfully, seeing by the giant grin on her friend's face that she was trying to mess with her. By chance no one was around them to hear their suspicious conversation.

“A lot happened since the first time I saw him in Brugge during that winter in his little cottage. I met with many, travelled in unknown places, saw things from new perspectives. We parted way and found ourselves on each others path again. There were doubts, sadness, happiness and love.” Gazing at her friend, she stopped, smiling. “But at the end I felt like I belong somewhere again, just by his sides.”

Sinead put her arm around the witcher's shoulders. Yes. I can see it now. That smile on his face that's echoing on your own. The cat has found its way home.

“By the way,” said Sinead while they sat on a bench along the path. “Who was that handsome black-haired guy who walked inside the house during our dinner and turned back as soon as he saw me in the room? Did I frightened him that much?”

Moira laughed. “Don't mind him, he is not very fond of newcomers. His name is Dettlaff. He is a very good friend of Regis, leaving nearby close to the city.” A grin appeared on her face. “Mm actually, maybe we could meet him someday, if you are willing to stay a bit longer and not afraid of wild being?” She empathized the last words with an exaggerated tone.

Sinead raised her brows, sharp blue eyes came to her mind. “Why not? Dettlaff you say? With all the men I have met those last years, I am ready for anything!”

[witcher-not-quitter]

Cat naps (Dessi x Dettlaff)

Inspired by one of those drabble sentences posts(dont’ mind the grammar stuff) ao3 link here

“You snore in your sleep. But… it’s adorable, okay?”

It was only a few weeks into joining his beloved on her Path when Dettlaff noticed that Dessi is more comfortable letting herself deeply sleep with him around. With that came certain sleep patterns that the vampire has been quite acquainted with. It started with her rolling over in her sleep, facing him before letting out a big sigh. It was a que for what comes within minutes. 

First it was very quiet where most would not have picked up with human hearing, but he knew better. The nasally snore soon picked up from the witcher in her deep sleep. It lasts for several minutes before cutting off sharply and his witcher’s legs twitching and mumbling, what he assumes, explicit insults for whatever she is chasing in her dreams. Dettlaff stifles a chuckle that threatens to rumble out of him at how Dessi’s sleep reminds him of some of his lesser kin who dream of their hunts.

The snoring returned once more from his mate and Dettlaff purrs instinctively from comfort as Dessi’s snores lure him into his own slumber. His mind almost turns to dreams when the sudden leg being thrown over him and a very huffy turn from Dessi has her limbs sprawled out on top of him as her face buries face down into his chest. Dettlaff briefly wonders in his witcher’s ability to breathe when a loud strained snore continues once more.

 Dettlaff’s body immediately tenses as he bites down his own lips to keep his amusement from becoming verbal. Another muffled snore from Dessi broke Dettlaff’s resolve as small, barely contained laughter shook the vampire. The third muffled snore cut off at the sudden movement as a very bleary eyed witcher pushes herself up on Dettlaff's chest and blinks slowly enough it seems she was falling back to sleep. 

“Hmpts goin on?” Dessi mumbles out as her eyes barely focus on the smitten vampire. The vampire rumbled a content purr as he rubbed her back with one hand, 

“It is nothing, my sweet bloom.” The witcher’s already scrunched face scrunches up more, 

“Mph doesn’t sound like nothin.” she moves to lay down again with her head on Dettlaff’s shoulder with a huff. Dettlaff grins down at his witcheress who sleepily expects a further answer.

“You snore in your sleep when you are comfortable. It is,” he pauses, “adorable.”

The silence following leads the vampire believing she has fallen asleep once more as he rubs his hand slowly over her shoulder blades a muffled ‘not adorable’ was heard.

“I assure you they are, mijn zoete bloei”

“No,” Dessi grumbles out.

A smile pulls Dettlaff’s lips into a toothy and teasing smile, “Yes.” he said simply.

“Nngo,” she muffled as she turned her head and buried it into the crook of his neck. He waits this time for a minute or so, his claws gently scratching up and down his witcher’s back in a way that he knew would have her out in record time.

 “Yes,” he said once more, quieter than before so he may get the last word in and for a time, he waited in silence. Soon after he moves to kiss the top of the wild flaming hair of his lover and Dessi shifts only to relax once more in a sigh. Dettlaff moves to lay his head back down and let his own eyes shut as he drifts to his own sleep. His last memory was the nasally snore that picks up. 

—

Dettlaff watches as his witcher adjusts her armor as they prepare to travel again on the Path in just a few moments. The lack of arguing about her own snoring this morning leads the vampire to think that Dessi was not awake enough to remember him teasing her.  He can’t help but hum absentmindedly in amusement. “Oren for your thoughts?” Dettlaff’s eyes meet his lover as he realizes she heard him.

The vampire stood from the fallen tree he had been sitting on and slowly moved over to his witcher and cupped her face. Dessi immediately turns into the hand and kisses his palm, making Dettlaff purr.

He leans in close, “only that I love my mate so very much,” before closing the gap and giving a slow kiss. Dessi melts into him and Dettlaff couldn’t help but grin a bit mischievously into the kiss. The witcher pulls away at the feeling and narrows her eyes with scrutiny which scrunches her face adorably. “And that you snore and I find it quite adorable, my love.” he gives her a toothy smile.

 The way she puffed in exaggerated  indignation gave an image of a riled up ekimarra pup, “It is not cute.”

“It is not,” he notes the different word Dessi used, “it is adorable.” 

“Nuh-uh” the witcher crossed her arms in faux irritation but her lips kept tense to prevent herself from breaking the play and smiling.

“I assure you, it is and I will have the last word once again, my heart.”

Dessi’s brows pinch and her head tilts, “what you mean, again?”

Her confusion puzzled the vampire, “when you woke up last night and told you it was adorable?”

“But I didn't wake up? Slept like a babe,” there was truth in her words and Dettlaff realized she was still asleep then as well. The coming too sparks a new factor that he loves his mate for.

“Ah i must say then that your ‘sleep arguing’ is just as adorable as your snores,” he swoops to kiss her forehead. 

Dessi rolls her eyes, ”did not sleep argue.”

“Did too.”

The witcher just shakes her head and changes the topic, forfeiting the little game of theirs, “Yeah yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.” she smiles again at Dettlaff, “Let's head out, we should hit the nearest town in a couple of hours.”

“As you wish, my dear,” he follows as she turns, but not without grabbing his hand first. The  witcher gives a short whistle to signal the horses to follow as they walk together. Dettlaff can’t help but think how beautiful it is to learn something else about their loved ones even though they have been together for some time. 

[tantumuna]

“I can’t wait until we’re alone. There are so many things I want to do to you right now.” Regis and Dettlaff?

Regis x Dettlaff "I can't wait until we're alone. There are so many things I want to do to you right now." rating: T cw: public dirty talk __

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All around, stretching from one corner of the square to the next, the market bustled. As long as it continued to bustle, Regis and Dettlaff would wander around in the same path, waiting for their favorite stalls to clear of people long enough that they could slip in, purchase what they needed, and slip back out.

They didn’t come out to market very often, because they didn’t need to. Most of what they needed they grew right on their own property in Regis’ lovingly tended to garden. Usually, the people weren’t out in such droves, but the sun was high, and the breeze blew enough to keep the air around them cool. With such a nice day, it was no wonder people had come out to do their shopping. Something about a sunny day made the peaches taste better, but good tasting peaches were starting to not be worth the wait.

“Regis, could we please go home?” Dettlaff asked. They still had to walk the entire way back. If they left within the hour, they’d get home before it got too dark.

“I was counting on this today,” Regis argued. “There was this pie I was going to make.”

“It’s always pie with you.”

Regis gave a fond smile and non-too subtly wrapped his arm around Dettlaff’s waist. “We’re old, Dettlaff, there’s not much for us to do but enjoy the finer things, don’t you think?”

Dettlaff stilled. As Regis pulled his arm away, his hand brushed deftly over the top of Dettlaff’s ass, giving away exactly what he meant by finer things. That was the point of the evening—a little date night between the two of them—so Dettlaff shouldn’t have been surprised, but his brows still shot up. To do something so publicly was a bit shameful, but Regis did it without so much as a flush to his face. He only walked off, though their stall still hadn’t cleared out, which meant they weren’t buying peaches, and they weren’t heading home.

Dettlaff hurried after Regis as to not be left in the crowd, and when they came together side-by-side once more, their shoulders brushed briefly. Regis eyed a different stall, one that was selling books and manuscripts instead of food, which meant they weren’t going home until the peach stall cleared.

“We will still make it home for our evening, won’t we?” Dettlaff muttered. He didn’t dare talk too loud, not with all the people wandering around them.

“Of course. Do you think that I’m not looking forward to it?” Regis gave Dettlaff a sideways glance, a smirk on his lips.

“I—think so, from time to time,” Dettlaff admitted. A flush hit his face when Regis’s fingers wrapped around his. With that grip, Regis pulled Dettlaff inches closer to him so he could speak softly.

“I can’t wait until we’re alone,” Regis whispered. “There are so many things I want to do to you, right now.”

A flush stole down Dettlaff’s face, and he coughed to try and hide his sudden embarrassment. All he succeeded in doing was drawing a few eyes as Regis laughed and pulled away. Regis didn’t pull so far away that they couldn’t talk, and that was the important part that Dettlaff noted as they moved away from the stall. They couldn’t lock arms or hands like a young man and woman would be able to, but they could brush knuckles and fingertips here and there. They brushed shoulders.

When they were weaved deeply enough into the crowd that other conversations drowned them out, Regis leaned in close.

“Are you curious, Dettlaff?” He asked. He couldn’t help but ask.

“This is hardly the place—”

“I’ll take my time with you this evening,” Regis interrupted. “We’ll get you undressed nice and slowly, and once you’re naked, Dettlaff,” Regis eyed him from the side, smirking once more, “you’ll put your arms behind your back for me, won’t you?”

Dettlaff swallowed and found himself unable to answer.

“You want to be good for me. I can see it on your face.”

Dettlaff turned at just the right moment to watch a group of older woman leave the peaches stand. That was their chance, but they still had to get to it. What had been a few feet before now seemed like miles and miles to walk with Regis beside him.

“We’ll use the ties, this time. I won’t make you hold your arms there the whole night,” Regis continued.

“Regis, the peaches,” Dettlaff said with a strained voice. They approached the stall quickly, yet Regis continued to talk.

“I’ll see you kneel at the end of our bed, and then I think I’ll…” Regis trailed off just as they approached the stall, “Take two baskets, please,” he said much louder with a smile stretched across his face.

Dettlaff’s breath caught in his throat, and disappointment swelled inappropriately. He shouldn’t have been beside himself to not hear what it was Regis was about to tell him, but his curiosity burned brighter with every passing second. Watching Regis exchange coin with the woman behind the stall was painful, as was seeing the way Regis handled the peaches with gentle fingers. Dettlaff wanted those fingers on him. He wanted Regis’ eyes on him, voice focused on him. He wanted everything he could have.

Dettlaff looked forward to their night more in that moment than he had the entire week of planning. Before they’d gotten to the stall to buy their peaches, Regis had been more than happy to talk about it in those hushed whispers, but once he had his peaches, he didn’t say a word. All he gave Dettlaff was a smile and a glance, nothing more. They weren’t going to be able to get home fast enough to sate Dettlaff’s growing need, but that may as well have just been the point.

“Coming, Dettlaff?” Regis called. Regis was already on his way towards the edge of the square, which meant he was headed home.

“Yes,” Dettlaff choked, and he meant it.

He couldn’t wait to get home.

[afterhoursfic]

Oh, but imagine Detlaff and Regis, both in higher form, trying to fit into Eskel at once. Sharing his ass or spitroasting him, while Geralt begs for his turn, or sucks Eskels cock.

Anon you are killing me over here.

Eskel would be desperate for it, hell they'd all be desperate for it and Geralt especially to see Eskel get thoroughly wrecked but the vampires do have an upper braincell handy and know it'll take weeks bwfors Eskel can think of taking them both in his ass.

Doesn't stop Eskel from mouthing desperately at evefy inch of Regis' cock he can reach and it is one of the messiest and best blowjobs Regis has ever gotten and okay maybe both him and Geralt envy Dettlaff a little for being able to fuck such a talented mouth.

I can just see them tying Gsralt up next to them, force him to force and just hump the air trying to get any friction and whining so pretty when he gets nothing. Maybe Dettlaff has a little toy, no bigger than 1 or 2 fingers thats just slowly fucking Geralt, maybe even matches the pace he sets and its torture being fucked so rough, quick, and dirty and not feel the thick weight of a cock splitting him open.

But Geralt will definitely get his turn, after he's cleaned up all the come over Eskels face, chest, and dripping out of his ass. Hell he even has the pleasure of Eskel sitting on his ccok briefly, feeling how loose and fucked open he is and knowing he'll be the same soon has him coming before he can try to stop himself.

[queenxxxsupreme]

Hay this might be a rough request, but I am a complete mess rn so this is definitely about me haha. But could you maybe do something for Regis with a Reader who's falling for him, but has struggle to let people inside her life as she's been abused mentally as long as she can thinks and as she's having a breakdown Regis finds her and she's about to confess what she feels for the higher vampire but is scares to be hurt? - 🦊

If you don't want to write this just let me know. ❤️

A/N: hi babe I won’t bombard too much but if you ever need anything my box is open or you can DM me 

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, mentions of suggested partner abuse but nothing descriptive

***

You were sitting alone at a table in a large room with Kaer Morhen that you declared to be the dining room. You were preparing dinner, making enough for all of the boys should they return. Vesemir was off tinkering with some ladder he’d been talking about all week. Apparently it needed to be repaired. 

You hissed as the blade of your knife slipped and caught the inside of your thumb. The knife was abandoned at the table as blood started to steadily seep from the wound. You used your skirt - dirty at the hem from tending to the goats earlier in the day - to stop the bleeding. 

“Damn bastard.” You cursed, glaring down at the knife. 

“What did I do already?” Lambert teased as he crossed the room. You didn’t realize he had even walked in until he spoke. You jumped and turned your head to him, smiling.

“Hi, Lambert! How was the journey?”

“Shitty and long, as usual.” He took a seat at the table with you. “Anybody here with you?”

“Vesemir arrived late last week.” You nodded. “Geralt, Ciri, and Jaskier are here with Regis and Dettlaff. Yennefer keeps popping in and out whenever she wants. Have you heard from Eskel?”

“A while ago.” He picked up a strawberry from a bowl on the table. “Ran into him in Aedd Gynvael about three weeks back. Said he had an archgriffin contract to finish up and then he was gonna head here. Figured he’d be here already.”

You nodded, letting your skirt fall back into place. The bleeding had stopped but it burned. 

You moved over to the pot of soup hanging over the fire. It was bubbling nicely.

“Is this winter gonna be the winter where you tell Regis?”

You turned your head to look at Lambert. He moved towards you, wanting to inspect what you were cooking. He was always very cautious about eating anything someone else made for him. You remembered him telling you a story of one of the few times he let Geralt cook. Apparently everyone in the keep got food poisoning. 

“Tell…. Tell Regis what?” You asked quietly, brows furrowing together. 

“That you fancy him.” Lambert rolled his eyes at the word. It was very, very rare for him to like someone as quickly as he took a liking to you. You’d heard Eskel say something to Geralt about how Lambert knew what it was like to grow up in an unsafe home, that you both shared similar upbringings prior to his arrival at Kaer Morhen. You never asked the young wolf about it, never wanting to pick at old wounds.

“Don’t play stupid, Y/N.” 

You flinched at the name but Lambert didn’t notice. He had moved away towards the table where you had been cutting up potatoes. You knew he meant nothing by it, but you couldn’t help your stomach twisting up into knots.

“You know we all can see how you swoon every time he’s in the same room as you.”

“Can you keep it down a little, Lambert?” You asked him, messing with your skirt as you went to the table. “I-I don’t want him knowing.”

“Why not?” Lambert looked up at you. “You want me to help you with the potatoes? You’ll lose a finger at the rate you’re going.” He nodded to your hand. You had more than a couple knicks on your hands and fingers. You weren’t the best at using a knife, but you tried your best. 

“Please.” You nodded softly. Your eyes followed Lambert as he went over to the wash basin to clean his hands. “I…. just don’t think it’d be wise of me to do that. To…. To put myself in that position.”

“I don’t blame you.” Lambert sighed, drying his hands off on a towel. “Opening up to people sucks ass.”

You smiled a little. 

“How’s Aiden doing, by the way?” You tilted your head to the side a little as you sat down across from the wolf. “Is he coming this winter?”

“Said he might.” Lambert muttered. “Probably won’t show up until the middle of a snow storm or something stupid.”

You admired the witcher for loving someone, and you were a little jealous. 

You chewed on your bottom lip, looking down at the three little cuts on your fingers.

“What are you thinking about?” Lambert asked, keeping his voice low. 

“Nothing.” You answered a little too quickly. 

“I can see the steam coming out of your ears, kid. This is one of those rare times I ask you what you’ve got going on inside that head of yours. The polite thing would be for you to take advantage of that.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his yellow gaze.

“How…. How do you do it, Lambert?” You brushed a few pieces of hair behind your ears. “How do you let yourself get like that? Become vulnerable for Aiden? I-I mean, I can’t even comfortably open up to Geralt or Eskel and I’ve known them for the better half of a decade. Sometimes…. Sometimes it’s hard opening up to you even and we’ve known each other how long?”

“Feels like a lifetime.” He sighed, nodding his head. Lambert had met you years ago when a chort had invaded your village. “Uh, it’s hard, kid. Really hard. But you just…. If you really like someone, you’ve gotta let it happen.”

You looked down at the table, your fingers brushing over markings in the wood. 

“Yeah, I get it. But you…. You’re a witcher.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him. “If…. If Aiden were to get…. If he were to be, um, harmful to you…. You could stop him.”

Lambert stopped cutting the potatoes and looked across the table at you as realization hit him. 

“Regis is stronger than you. That’s what you’re afraid of.”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip.

“I know no amount of me telling you this will help, but Regis isn’t that kind of guy.” Lambert shook his head. “He’d never….” The wolf trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. “And you know Geralt wouldn’t associate with someone like that.” 

You nodded your head and opened your mouth to speak when Ciri, Dettlaff, Regis, and Geralt walked in. Your eyes darted to Lambert, who very briefly met your gaze before looking over at the small group. You moved away from the table as everyone started to sit down. You went to the fire to check on the soup. 

“I was just telling Y/N here that I heard from Eskel a few weeks ago. He should be here any day now.”

“Good.” Geralt sighed, taking a seat at the table. 

“Y/N? Do you need help with anything, dear?” Regis asked. 

You looked over your shoulder to him, your voice caught in your throat as your heart started to beat a little faster. 

“Erm, I-I think we’ve- Lambert and I have everything under control.” You looked over to Lambert, who didn’t look at you. You knew he’d never tell anyone about your feelings towards the Higher Vampire, but you couldn’t help feeling that maybe he would. Your trust had been violated by those you thought the world of before. 

***

Later on that evening after everyone ate their fill of soup and helped clean the kitchen, you retreated to the library. The entire night it felt like you were tense and on edge. You weren’t too sure what it was, but it probably had something to do with the fact that Regis had sat beside you the whole evening and tried multiple times to engage in conversation with you. You did your best to keep the conversations going, but it wasn’t easy. That voice in the back of your head kept telling you that you needed to shut up before he realized that you were into him. 

You got a book and sat down in your favorite chair. It was large and comfy and rested close to the fireplace so you could stay warm. 

You tried to focus on the book, to immerse yourself in the story, but it just wasn’t working. Your mind was going a million miles a second and you couldn’t gain control of your thoughts. Your lungs couldn’t pull in enough oxygen. You felt dizzy and nauseous at the same time. 

The book was placed down on the table next to you and you leaned forward, your elbows on your knees and your hands over your face. 

You tried counting to make the invasive feelings go away, but that didn’t work. You tried to stop thinking about everything that could go wrong if you were to tell Regis of how you felt, but that didn’t work either. Warm hands touched the back of your hands, making you flinch. You pulled your hands away from your face to see Regis kneeling before you. 

You sucked in a sharp breath, sitting back in your seat to put space between you two. Your hands found the arms of the chair, gripping them tightly. 

“Are you okay, dear?” Regis asked you, brows furrowed together in concern. 

You sniffled pitifully and wiped your cheeks with your sleeves. 

“I-I’m-I’m fine, Regis.”

“What’s gotten you so upset?” He tilted his head to the side a little. 

You shook your head, unable to answer him. 

He stood to his feet, messing with a buckle to his jacket. 

“I’ll leave, if you’d like some space.”

“No!” You shouted, even though you didn’t mean to. You turned your head away from him, closing your eyes tightly. You needed to tell him. You needed to get it out. Maybe that was why you felt like you were going to explode, because you needed to tell him how you felt. “Please…. Please stay.”

He retrieved a chair from one of the tables and pulled it over to you. Regis kept his distance though, not wanting to invade your space. 

You opened your eyes but you couldn’t turn your head to look at him. There was nothing but silence as he waited patiently for you to speak. 

“I’m-I’m sorry you.... That I raised my voice at you.” You whispered, your voice weak and broken. 

“There’s no need to apologize, my dear.” He assured you. The way he spoke to you so gently, so softly, nearly made your heart melt.

You brought your eyes down to your hands, picking at your fingers. You took a deep breath, before finding your voice again. 

“I-I want to…. To tell you how I feel. But I can’t.”

“Why not?” Regis didn’t sound upset with you. He didn’t sound impatient. He was calm and quiet. 

Your lips pressed together in a tight line and you shook your head. You turned your head to look across the room at one of the windows. The moon was shining in, casting a rectangle of light onto the old stone floor. 

“I can’t let myself…. I can’t be like that with someone. Not after what’s happened.” 

If Regis didn’t have such good hearing, he wouldn’t have been able to hear what you were saying. 

His heart broke hearing your voice, hearing how upset you were and how hard it was for you to get this out. 

“I’ve had too-too many people in my life…. that have hurt me.” You shifted around in your seat. 

Silence fell between you both. You couldn’t find the right words to add on to what you were saying, to get him to understand. 

“You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with doing, my dear.” Regis’s voice was smooth like honey as he spoke to you. “I won’t pretend to know what you’ve been through, because I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through. But I need you to know that I’d never put my hands on you, Y/N. The thought of it….. It makes me sick.”

“It’s not just that, Regis.” You brought your eyes to meet his. “I-I was with a man for three years. He never hit me, but sometimes I think hitting me would’ve done less damage than his words.”

This time, Regis couldn’t hold your gaze. He couldn’t bear the look in your eyes as you tried desperately to fight back the tears. You were fearful, terrified even. He wasn’t sure if it was because of him, or something else entirely, but he couldn’t help feeling as if he was partially to cause. 

You looked down at your hands. 

“I-I care about you, Regis. A lot. And I can’t-I can’t stop it, as badly as I want to.”

“I care about you as well, Y/N.” Regis fought the urge to put his hand on your shoulder or on the back of your hand. Now wasn’t the time for that. “But we don’t have to act on these feelings, not if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

“It isn’t fair to you.”

Regis held his hand out for you, praying that he wasn’t overstepping. You looked down at his hand, taking note of how wide his palm was and how long a slender his fingers were. Your hand hesitantly found his, your fingertips brushing along his palm and up to his wrist. 

“My dear, it isn’t fair that you’ve been with someone who didn’t treat you like the queen you are.” His grip tightened on your hand gently. “I am willing to wait as long as needed for you. If there’s never a time you are comfortable with exploring more within our relationship, then that is okay too. I just want to be here for you.” 

You nodded your head, smiling a little. Your heart raced in your chest, but this was a good racing. You didn’t feel sick. 

“You’re so sweet, Regis. I-I want to hug you.” 

He nodded and stood up. You did too, taking quick note of how your head barely reached his shoulders as his long arms wrapped around you tightly. You buried your nose into his chest, closing your eyes. 

“Thank you, Regis.” Your words were muffled against him. “I know I’m not the easiest to be around sometimes.”

“Oh nonsense, my dear. You are an absolute treasure.” Regis murmured against your hair. 

“Can you…. maybe…. read to me? Like you did last winter?” You kept your face in his chest, afraid to face him in case he said no.

“I’d like nothing more than to read to you, my dear.”

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an–actual–human–disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[eredins-a-king-aint-he]

Being a Multi-Shipping bastard with a love for rare pairs is such a mood 😂

But yeah, I played Hearts of Stone and I really loved the dynamic of Gaunter and him (just like I loved and was unprepared of the tension between Dettlaff and Geralt in Blood and Wine XD)But when I looked at ao3 there weren't many stories of them and most of them were smut. (Nothing against smut but I want other things too). It's an interesting ship to look at all of the ways it could go. Either the angsty or even dark side of it or a more soft side.

Though it's also interesting to explore how Gaunters interaction would go with other Witchers. I sometimes like to imagine how hard of Stone would have been if it had been another Witcher taking the contract, for example Lambert.

I knew of the Letho/Lambert ship and I def. understand why people ship it but wasn't aware of Eskel/Letho until I saw art of it on your blog!

And on topic of crack ships...I kinda like the idea of Dettlaff/Lambert? It doesn't even have to be in a romantic sense tbh but I think they could have an interesting dynamic.

Response under the cut cause I like to get very wordy lmao

The first time I played HoS I was like “who tf is this creepy man oH NO BAD” and the second time my eyes had been opened and I was like “oH WAIT OKAY” and wow the noise I made when I heard him laugh right before the test thing he makes Geralt do???? Mortifying, especially because I was on call with two friends at the time, rip me

But also the way he says “business with you is pure pleasure” to Geralt(during the “bad” ending)???? Unreasonably horny, Gaunter, who gave you the right

(I haven’t put much thought into Geralt/Dettlaff, but it could be interesting🤔)

So yeah my first instinct with Gaunralt was immediate smut time but I have branched out more, mostly by asking for fic prompts, and explored them a little more as a pair with fascinating potential for both sweet fluff AND dark angst👀 I may explore the angst a little more at some point if the muse permits

Oh man at one point the thought of Gaunter/Lambert did occur to me but the main thing that made me go hm maybe not was that Gaunter hates when people are rude to him, and will outright kill them for it if he can afford to, which I imagine is pretty frequently, and Lambert is usually pretty darn rude. HOWEVER if he needed Lambert for something maybe he’d put up with the rudeness? I haven’t really worked out how that would happen tho but it’s a fun thought

I’ve also considered Eskel/Gaunter, but honestly I feel like Eskel would see Gaunter and just be like “thanks but no thanks” and Nope tf out of there. Tho as I mentioned I can defo see Eskel and Gaunter together but really only with Geralt involved too

I even briefly considered Gaunter/Letho but I can’t see that working particularly well. If Gaunter managed to rope him into something he would probably just do his job and then fuck off immediately without even taking a reward😂😂😂

One day I may explore Lambert/Letho a bit more, it’s an intriguing pairing, but idk how nuanced it would be? In my mind they would kinda just grate on each other’s nerves until they banged I guess, which I can appreciate, but with Eskel/Letho I personally hc them as being able to be vulnerable and sweet with each other, which is something two big scary burly dudes might not be able to find very often... and while I do enjoy the sexy times dynamic of Eskel being the soft and gentle one and Letho being super hardcore, I almost prefer to consider the softer side of Letho and the more aggressive side of Eskel when they’re together? Idk I just love Letho to pieces and I feel like the instinct is to make him super tough and hardcore and unfeeling, but I just want him to be able to be vulnerable sometimes, yknow? It must get tiring to have people assuming you’re a brute 24/7, someone needs to hug him and let him be soft

But yeah I’m pretty sure that about 25% of the Eskel/Letho tag on ao3 is my fics, though the lovely and fantastic @dravenxivuk is actually the one who got me into them in the first place, she does some really incredible art of them too!!!💕

And oooh interesting!! I have no idea how Lambert and Dettlaff would mesh?? Maybe like bc Lambert can have a sort of abrasive charisma he does something offhand for Dettlaff without really thinking and then they sorta become like drinking buddies?? (Basically what happened with Dettlaff and that nobleman whose name I do not remember lmao)

Idk!! I’d be curious to hear more thoughts on that👀

[darth-salem-emperor-of-earth]

OCtober: Day 23

Day Twenty-Three: Dating Sim

THIS IS ONE DAY I WAS WAITING FOR! THE ONE THAT IS PERFECT FOR FRITZI! XD

While I was laughing and agonizing over Fritzi’s three love interest options, my friend once joked that a part of her story/route was “Fritzi the Otome”. Hence why this day is so apropos for her. XD

(Artwork by the talented @rayeliann​)

So Fritzi would have four routes available: one route where she doesn’t end up with her three possible LIs, the Aryan route, the Roche route, and the Dettlaff route. The routes would start off the same, allowing Fritzi/the reader to let her spend time with each man, explore all her choices outside of romance, and deal with both the joys and sufferings of her life as a noblewoman, soldier, spy, and dhampir in Temeria. No matter who she chooses in the end, she will still give birth to Alexia Lagorio, her bastard daughter with Aryan, and adopt Oliver, the Bootblack she encountered while Regis and her tried to locate Dettlaff. These two children are important to Fritzi and her story and they come into the picture before she can make any final decision about her love life. And she knows all three men will accept Alexia and Oliver wholeheartedly and treat them as their own children.

The Aryan route is for Aryan La Valette, her childhood friend whose mother and her mother have secretly hoped the two of them would become close enough were they’d be inclined to seek out each other without the prodding of either family. He confesses his love for her after when he is treated and recovers at Castle Lagorio from escaping imprisonment after La Valette rebellion and Foltest’s death. Their courtship begins before Nilfgaard invades and briefly are betrothed soon after. Their troth is only dissolved when she has to confess she cannot have children (at the time, she doesn’t say the reason for this is her halfbreed blood because she doesn’t know at the time how he’d react to her not being fully human) and Aryan has to fulfill his duty to his family and house. It was a heartbreaking moment for them both. 

The Roche route is for Vernon Roche, the first man Fritzi ever loved. He is the first one outside of her family (save for Fritzi’s friend, Ahnya) to learn about her dhampir heritage. Instead of shunning her, he decides to better use her talents for the Blue Stripes, sparking the flame of love within her. They do end up drinking together after a feast made in Geralt’s honor for protecting King Foltest and all that alcohol causes them to sleep together. However, things don’t go quite smoothly the day after and Roche doesn’t realize his feelings for her until much later, when he is tracking down Foltest’s killer. It gets a little awkward when he brings Anais to Castle Lagorio for Fritzi to be the future ruler’s second instructor, per John Natalis’s request. 

The Dettlaff route is for Dettlaff van der Eretein, the third man to lay claim on Fritzi’s heart after she struggles to deal with the loss of her uncle/birth father after the birth of her daughter, the war on her homeland, the man hunt on nonhumans and magic users, her relationship with Aryan and Roche, and just trying to survive and not feel so lost. She goes to him to revive her birth father, Alexei, another higher vampire. Even though her initial quest doesn’t go as planned, it does help to bring these two closer together, so much so she helps Regis track him down and try to save him from the whole Syvanna mess. Once he slowly recovers and comes to terms with the Syvanna aftermath, he returns to Regis and then Fritzi later, starting to see her in a different light. 

[midwinter-fox]

Paint

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Days passed like a strangely pleasant dream - the kind that makes one wonder when the nightmare would rear up and shatter the tranquility. Every waking moment Dettlaff spent either with his flock or in the arms of his lover. The sudden change had Regis in a state of titters when he found out, so delighted was he that his dear friend was finding a place for himself that wasn’t secluded in a dark cavern in the mountains. When Dettlaff expressed his desire to stay with her, it was all the better for all three.

Regis was absolutely elated for his friend, and while Leonore was just as happy, it also meant they had to make her practically empty home a little more livable for more than one person. She expressed her desire to purchase more furniture - including a much larger bed - but Dettlaff convinced her that it wasn’t necessary. When his newfound lover departed for work, he took to his craft with renewed vigor. Never had Dettlaff been both so excited nor so anxious about his artwork, but now he had to earn Leonore’s approval for the furniture he planned to make himself. It was better this way, both so he could make everything a comfortable size for a man of his height and so he could hopefully receive his beloved’s praise. He’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t doing this solely for her admiration.

He’d had to ask her what she required for her house, but only because he wasn’t entirely certain what was and was not necessary in a typical home. Regis’ wasn’t much of a reference considering there were additional pieces of furniture in place of usual ones to accommodate for both his medical and cosmetic professions. The bed was a given, but had she not expressed her desire for an actual dining set, he’d have probably neglected to make one. After all, he ate in his room or with his pack, and Regis ate while he worked. On top of that, she was in need of a separate wardrobe to accommodate his clothing, but when he actually thought about it, a sudden realization hit him.

He was leaving.

To live with Leonore.

Even with Rhena, he’d only ever lived with his pack or with Regis. That both were so close was a great reassurance, but something akin to fear was rising up and he didn’t know how to calm it. Rather than dwell on what could be causing these tumultuous feelings, he busied himself with preparing to build the necessary furniture for what was to be his new home.

The basement of Regis’ house was both where the distiller for his mandrake brew was kept and where Dettlaff saw fit to keep the tools of his trade. There was a little workbench where he would keep the toys and trinkets he worked on as well as various tools for larger projects. There wasn’t much any more after abandoning most of his belongings in Beauclair, but that no longer bothered him. With the death of Rhena, he almost never felt any desire to do much of anything any more, least of all anything that would make him happy. That had begun to change since meeting Leonore, which was quite evident with his insistence that he provide for their home.

Theirs. He wasn’t sure why the thought almost overwhelmed him.

Dettlaff wiped away the dust from a stack of papers, all of which contained sketches of various items he’d repaired and, at times, small doodles that he just didn’t have the heart to toss. The books he’d purchased to mend were here, but being recent additions, they were still free of grime for the time being. Those he would try to work on later if he still needed something with which to distract him from his usual dark thoughts and repressed memories.

After a bit of sifting through the various carving instruments he kept, he found the ones he searched for beside a worn and torn teddy bear. Every tool he kept in here had been acquired after departing from Toussaint, but only because Regis wasn’t quite as gifted when it came to woodworking; as such, repairs were usually made by Dettlaff’s hand. Tools found, he turned to go back up the stairs leading out of the cellar, but his eye caught something lurking in a far corner.

It was a canvas, the last one he’d attempted to use upon settling in Dillingen. Someone had removed the sheet he kept over it, revealing the half-painted silhouette of his past lover. As loathe as he was to be reminded of her transgressions, he could never dispose of the damned thing. There was too much sentimentality that kept him from doing anything more than letting it sit in the basement and collect dust. Maybe one day he might get some new materials with which to finish it or maybe even the heart to finally rid himself of it, but not until he could look at it without his gut twisting horribly. So far, that had yet to happen.

With a shake of his head, Dettlaff returned above ground and ventured around the side of the building to where a pile of wood sat. It would take a while to have it all finished, but if he started with the bed, he could have the most important pieces done by nightfall. The day was warm and quiet, so he removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and set to work.

Regis watched his companion from a window, though he wasn’t sure if Dettlaff knew whether he was being watched. It was always a treat to observe such an artist at work, and to see how skillfully the wood was inspected, cut, and carved reminded him of just how talented his friend was. Such a shame such talent went to waste those days, for Regis could remember many times in which new paintings would be proudly displayed upon finish and how happy Dettlaff would be with the results. The barber-surgeon really didn’t need another reason to curse Syanna’s name, but here it was. He hadn’t seen a new painting since the unfinished piece hidden in a dark corner of the cellar, and even then it was of the very woman that had become Dettlaff’s muse then crushed his heart.

A knock at the door distracted Regis from his thoughts momentarily, but now he wondered who would be there so unexpectedly. There were no appointments for that day, so that he would have a visitor was unusual. Upon opening the door, he couldn’t help but grin.

“You know, Dettlaff is actually outside at the moment. You can go around the side to find him,” Regis commented to a smiling Leonore, though her arms were full of parcels. “If you’d like, you can set those down in here before you go to see him.”

“Actually, I’m here to surprise him,” she whispered, knowing full well that if Dettlaff was anywhere nearby, he’d have no problem hearing her.

As soon as Regis stepped aside, she walked in to set the packages down on a table. To protect her little secret, he went to the window out which he could clearly see the other vampire and drew the curtains closed. Curious, he returned to Leonore to see what she’d brought.

“I take it these are for him?” he asked, to which she nodded. “May I ask what’s in them? I warn you, Dettlaff is incredibly receptive to gifts. You’ll not be able to keep him away from you if you plan on presenting these all at once.”

“I’m not opposed to that,” she shrugged, “but I told him I’d be getting these for him anyway. I don’t think he’s expecting it though, which is why it’s a surprise. I finished my deliveries especially quick today so I could bring them.”

“You still haven’t said what they are.”

“Oh! Sorry.” She blushed. “It’s painting supplies. Brushes, pigments, and I’ve got an easel here too, but he’d have to put it back together first. I also got about a dozen or so eggs so he can make his paints himself.” When Regis’ expression fell a fraction, she frowned in response. “What..? You don’t think he’ll like it?”

“Oh no, I think he’d adore anything you gave him, but I’m afraid he hasn’t touched a brush since we arrived here a few years back.”

“Oh, I know. He told me he’d lost his muse, but I thought that maybe if he actually had the supplies, when he does feel the desire to paint again, he actually can. And, if he decides he’d rather not for the time being, then you have eggs you can eat.”

This brought a smile back to his face. She was thoughtful, though a bit irresponsible with her funds. With how many small parcels were there, he didn’t doubt she had spent nearly a fortune on it all. There were about five packages there, but he didn’t see anything that could hold a small canvas.

“Did you happen to bring something on which he can paint..?”

She stopped and stared at him for a moment, face slowly getting ever redder. That answered his question quite effectively before she even had the chance to groan and smack herself in the forehead. The display made Regis snort.

“I’m such an idiot! I’m standing here all proud of myself and I forgot the damned thing he’s supposed to paint on in the first place!”

“Oh, I’m sure you two will figure something out. He’s still bound to be grateful that you got him anything in the first place.” He was still chuckling at how hilariously adorable she looked when angry. Her cheeks made her look like a grumpy chipmunk, but he wouldn’t say as much.

The sound of a door opening shook her from her internal punishment of herself, but Regis just stood and smiled as Dettlaff strode into the room, wood shavings stuck to some of his clothes as well as the hair of his forearms though he’d tried brushing most of it off. Upon seeing Leonore there, he paused.

“What are you doing here..? You were not to be back before dusk I thought.” The confusion written across his face was concealing his underlying concern. Why would she be back so soon if not for something important?

“Would you like some privacy? I’m sure you know where his room is by now,” suggested Regis, knowing full well just how emotional Dettlaff could get when given gifts. After all, he’d been the one to give his friend the first he’d ever received.

“Sure,” she responded briefly before gathering up the parcels and trotting off down the hall in which the room was. When Dettlaff hesitated, she poked her head around the corner. “Are you coming?? I’ve got something for you!”

Dettlaff exchanged looks with his friend, but when Regis shrugged and grinned, he decided to follow, bits of wood shavings leaving a small trail on the floor as he went.

“You wanna close the door?” Leonore asked as Dettlaff walked in the bedroom, though her back was turned to him as she set up the packages on the covers of what was soon to be his old bed. He shut the door behind him, but eyed all of the parcels now set out with a sort of wonder.

“What is all of this?”

“It’s for you! Go ahead and open them. These ones here would probably be best first,” she gestured to the smaller two, “or you can save them for last. It’s up to you.” She was radiating excitement with how she bounced on the balls of her feet and smiled at him expectantly. It was effectively rubbing off on him, for he was smiling before he even knew what it was that lay within the parchment packaging.

Carefully, he used a claw to tear the paper that covered the first parcel. It was the smallest, but it was about a foot in length. As soon as the wrapping fell apart, he picked up the paint brushes that lay within like they were made of glass. The larger handles were polished and yet shaped in a way that they fit perfectly between his fingers while the thinner brushes were sturdy despite being perfect for the most intricate of details. Vair hair bristles tipped each brush; the mere thought of how smooth the lines would be with each stroke made him all too eager to test them.

“You.. bought these..?”

“Well, yes and no. Some things were easy enough to find out in nature, but yes, the brushes were purchased.” Leonore picked up a second parcel and held it out to him. “This one I was able to gather myself.”

This package was larger, and when he tenderly set aside the brushes to take it, he noticed it was lighter than it looked as well. He opened it much quicker this time, then lifted the wooden lid of the box that lay inside. There were several compartments inside - about ten in total. Each one held a different colored powder.

“Pigments. How did you find such a vibrant purple?”

“Wild indigo, dried and ground. That one was probably the hardest to find simply because purple is such a rare color. I hope it works well.”

Awed, he slowly closed the box and set it just beside the brushes, but he didn’t bother opening another gift. Rather, he took Leonore by the arms and pulled her to him, holding her against his chest in a crushing embrace. She did her best to return it, though her arms were pinned to her sides.

“Thank you, truly,” he murmured against her hair, voice thick with emotion. “You’ve no notion of how much this means to me.”

“You’re very welcome.” Her voice was a bit strained considering he was making it hard to breathe, but as soon as he heard it, he released her and apologized. “It’s fine, love. I told you I’d keep an eye out for more art supplies for you.”

“Yes, and you said you would make me aware if you found anything so I may procure it for myself. I did not think you would go so far as to acquire any of this, let alone for me.” He hugged her again, though this time he was more careful about it by winding his arms under hers. This allowed her to hold him in return.

“Alas, I forgot to grab a canvas for you. I even grabbed an easel, a palette, and some eggs for you to make the paints, but you’ve nothing to actually paint on..”

For a moment, he remembered the unfinished painting downstairs, but that wouldn’t do. No, he wanted nothing to do with the memory of his heartbreak - not when he wanted nothing more than to hold and love the woman in his arms now.

“You’ve spoiled me as it is, liefje. Think nothing of it.”

“Well you deserve to be spoiled! I’ve never felt so wanted nor appreciated as I have with you. This is just my way of thanking you for being, well, you.”

Ah, if only she knew what she was doing to him. There was no way he could be more sentimental than he was in that moment. He almost wanted to cry. Too choked up to say anything, he instead buried his face in her shoulder and held her close, relishing in her smell and her touch when words utterly escaped him.

“Don’t you want to open the rest of them..? You may not have a canvas, but we can still do some painting I think.”

When he pulled back to look at her, she smirked back up at him. Her eyes were suggestive, but what she was getting at was lost on him.

“What would you suggest..?” he asked, which made Leonore’s smirk turn into a grin.

“You’ll see. Get something we can use to mix paint in. It’ll get a bit messy, soooo you might want to take off your clothes.”

She removed herself from his embrace and picked up the largest of the packages carefully. While she took to opening it, Dettlaff decided to do as she said. When he returned with a handful of small bowls (though Regis initially protested, he promised to clean them once finished), she was already pulling out some of the eggs.

“How many did you grab?”

“Eleven; one for each color, some water, and the egg whites. The colors can be mixed on the palette for other hues.” When he set them on his nightstand, she noticed that one did, in fact, already have water in it.

“Good. Give me the empty ones.” And so he did.

She was right about one thing: this was truly a messy affair. Initially, Dettlaff planned on being very careful with such a project, but she had little regard for cleanliness. He was grateful he’d shut the door again, for she was quick to remove her blouse when she accidentally spilled some egg white on it. Alluring as the sight was, he was far too amused by her childlike excitement with helping him make paints. Before long, they had both discarded most of their clothing and had nine bowls of paint with a prepared palette. Somehow, Dettlaff had managed to keep at least his trousers clean, but Leonore had to undress down to just her undergarments. Her pale skin ended up with flecks of paint in various places thanks to her own clumsiness.

“Liefje, how are you so careless..?” he asked as he wiped a bit of black from her cheek, but she responded by dipping a finger into the red and wiping a smear across her own chest.

“Because I’m your canvas.” He raised an eyebrow at her when she grabbed one of his new brushes and handed it to him.

“You.. You wish for me to paint on you?” He was incredulous, but he took the brush and eyed her almost completely nude form with renewed interest.

“Why not? I feel bad for getting you all of this and then you not being able to use it. So, problem solved. I’m about as pale as a canvas, though admittedly I’m probably not as smooth..”

“You are perfect.” The words were automatic, like they were already on his tongue before he had to think of saying them. It effectively left her flustered. “But what would you have me paint..? This is not my preferred medium, but I will not deny that it is more exciting than the conventional means.”

“Well.. I already started it for you I guess.” There was a faint blush to her cheeks, her eyes avoiding his as she suddenly became bashful. “You um.. I mean, you may as well start with red I suppose..?”

With that as a starting point, Dettlaff dipped the brush into the vermilion paint on the palette, but on a whim mixed it with a bit of white. Since he had no real plan, he instead let his hand move of its own volition. When he touched the pink bristles to Leonore’s skin, he could see her visibly shiver.

“You are not uncomfortable, are you?” He only asked as a courtesy; his mind was already starting to wander as he envisioned what he wanted to create upon her skin. “You will have to lay here for a while and remain still.”

“I’m alright, take your time. This feels good, actually. Do you need me to remove my underwear?”

“Only if you do not wish for them to be accidentally painted.”

Briefly, she shifted so she could remove her last article of clothing, but as soon as she did, she laid herself out on the ground for him. Presented as she was, she looked beautiful in his eyes - then again, she was always beautiful to him, inside and out. She was so trusting of him, and it warmed his heart. His human canvas still once again, he once more ran the brush across her skin and watched as she closed her eyes and sighed. It seemed she truly was enjoying it, and with that reassurance in mind, he let himself paint freely.

After an hour, he’d only just barely finished her chest, the beginning of a sunset landscape spreading down from her collarbone. A few times he had to stop and get some clean water for his brush, and each time he would come back to her snoozing peacefully on the floor. As soon as the bristles touched her skin again, she’d hum and sigh in contentment. There were a few spots he found to be ticklish, so he made sure to be quick as possible so as to avoid accidentally smudging anything. This was far more engrossing than he’d initially thought, and so he was beginning to be invested in this particular piece.

It was with some difficulty that he managed to paint across the swell of her breasts, especially when her breathing kept hitching the closer he got to her nipples. As frustrating as it was as an artist, as a man and her lover, he wanted nothing more than to close his lips over each bud and lavish affection on her with his tongue. Part of him wondered if this was what she’d planned - to have him tease her with the brush then take her with his body. However, this was the first time in a long time that he actually wanted to paint and had an image in mind of what to create. Thus, he kept his mind off of the smell of her arousal and on the task at hand.

By the third hour, her torso was completed. It was fairly quick when compared to his previous works, but painting on skin didn’t allow for as much detail as he would like - not when it was a medium he was unused to. She kept fidgeting when he tickled her, so he had to be quick lest she make a mess of both of them.

He tried to limit how many colors he used initially, but the more he painted, the more ideas came to mind. Nostalgia was what inspired him, particularly the memories of Nazair as day gave way to night. The view of the setting sun behind Rhys-Rhun castle from across the Muredach was one he remembered fondly, especially when one was just high enough to view the garden that once flourished past the keep’s walls.  He could recall when that garden had been full of life before the castle had been abandoned and fallen into disrepair. Now, he viewed that very scene across the expanse of his lover’s torso which ended just past her navel.

“Have you finished..?” she asked, drawing his eyes to hers. “May I move now?”

“Yes. It is unfortunate that at some point you will need to wash it off. Remind me to recreate this on a true canvas. Admittedly, you made a fairly poor one.” She rolled her eyes at him.

“I’d like to see you do any better,” she retorted before dipping a finger in the blue paint and flicking it at him. “It doesn’t help that you painting my breasts made me incredibly horny.”

“I was thinking more on the moments in which your laughter shook the brush as I attempted intricate details, but I noticed your arousal as well.” There were specks of blue in the coarse hair on his chest now, and though he tried to wipe it off with his thumb, it was far more stubborn than it was on Leonore’s body. Now they had a mess to clean up, much to his chagrin. Cleaning was his least favorite part of making art. “Will you help me clean before washing yourself..?”

“Nope. I’ve got something much better in mind.”

“It would have nothing to do with you painting me, would it?” He cocked a brow at her as she sat up and looked down at herself.

“Have you ever tried finger painting?” When he shook his head, she grinned. “I’m certain I can get you to like it.”

His curiosity got the best of him; rather than begin tidying, he watched as she dipped her fingers into the blue again and trace them along his naked abdomen. The hair that trailed down his stomach textured it rather oddly from his perspective, but he enjoyed her touch even with cool paint being left in her finger’s wake. The thought of having to clean himself wasn’t a very comforting one, but he would accept it in favor of his lover’s hands on his body. This time when she went for more, she took a handful of the green and let it drip from her palm before pressing it to his chest. When her hand trailed upward toward his shoulder, the droplets of paint rolled down his body and made him shudder. The liquid was slow and cold and thick, but the sensation made him hum in approval knowing it was her hand that caused it.

“Remove your pants.” The simple command was obeyed immediately; Dettlaff stood so he may remove the offending article of clothing, though there were already flecks of paint splattered across them. That wasn’t his lover’s concern though.

Her hand was once again being dipped in paint, this time the purple. She didn’t even wait for him to finish pushing the waistband of his trousers past his hips. As soon as his semi-erect member was freed, she ran her tongue across the head and pressed her hand to his pelvis to allow the paint to drip down and around the base of his shaft. As alien as it felt, he couldn’t help the involuntary moan that slipped from his lips. This was perhaps one of the oddest activities he’d partaken in, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

For only a moment, she suckled at the slit that tipped his member, but just as his mouth fell open in another, more silent moan, she stood and claimed his mouth with hers. Purple was smeared up across his stomach and chest, blending now with the blue and green, before the hand bearing the paint cupped his cheek. The paint on his lover’s body was still wet, and so that too ended up coating his skin when she pressed herself flush against him, but he cared for nothing other than Leonore’s tender affections. He broke the kiss to finish removing the last of his clothing, but then immediately took her wrist and dragged her down to join him back on the floor.

When he took her breast in his palm, he ran his hand up to mirror her earlier actions, now cupping her cheek with a painted hand. She pulled back to smirk at him.

“Told you I could get you to enjoy it.”

She was silenced by his mouth on hers again, but there was no protesting on her part - not when he was further messing up his masterpiece on her chest with his groping. They were both grateful that he’d not painted any lower, else their joining would be fairly uncomfortable. When his hands moved from her chest to her hips, she helped guide his cock to her entrance and sank down onto him with a low, pleased groan.

They moved and moaned together, the paint only further smearing across their bodies whilst she rode him. Dettlaff tried to take her slowly, but with how her hips rotated against him, he was quickly losing composure. He ended up laying back completely so he could better thrust upward into her, delighting in how her eyes closed in ecstasy and breasts bounced in time with their pace. His hands covered her breasts once more, fingers pinching the painted buds tipping them to make her moan ever louder. How he adored the sounds she made, but he was also focused on the sight of the multitude of colors mixing on her skin. It was entrancing though the original product was ruined beyond recognition.

Without warning, Leonore reached for another paint - the charcoal black - and poured some of it across his chest. When she leaned down to kiss him again, it was pressed into his chest hair and spread between their bodies. When she sat back up again, she ran her hands through it and up to his neck. There was no pressure applied, but the sensation of her wet hands gripping his throat made him involuntarily whine.

“I.. I’m close, love.. F-fuck– Ah~!!” Her exclamation was followed by a final press of her hips and a drawn out cry, she seated herself fully on him as her orgasm washed over her. Once again he gripped her hips, but only so he could thrust into her a few more times then follow her climax soon after. When she collapsed on top of him, he immediately ran his hand across her back and traced soothing sunset-colored circles into the skin.

They lay in bliss as the paint dried and they came down from their pleasurable high. Neither one wanted to move, but they knew they eventually needed to clean the awful mess they’d made of each other and the room. It didn’t help that the paint that was caked onto their skin was beginning to itch and crack, but Dettlaff wasn’t about to allow his lover to go walking nude through the house with another man living there, no matter if that man happened to also be his closest friend. It was all the more reason he needed to finish their furniture, but this distraction had been a very welcome one. Eventually, Leonore removed herself from his body, his seed causing further mess for them as it spilled from between her thighs. She just snorted in dry amusement.

“At least it isn’t more paint.” Her lover rolled his eyes at her humor as he stood.

“Remain here and I will draw a bath for us, though we may need to take more than one..”

“Hey, it’s more time I get to spend with you and be completely naked at the same time. I think that’s a win for both of us.” Her light-heartedness in spite of all of the cleaning they had to do made it hard not to smile.

Upon leaving the room, he made sure to close the door behind him to allow Leonore some privacy. As he made his way to the washroom, Regis spotted a multi-colored mass from the corner of his eye while he tended to dinner. The sight was, for lack of a better word, remarkable.

“Dettlaff?? What the hell happened to you?!” He dropped what he was doing to get a better look, unbothered by the other’s nudity and more concerned by the fact that it looked like a black mass was attempting to strangle him then ended up vomiting a rainbow down the front of him. Dettlaff grudgingly turned to face him.

“We.. Mh, we got carried away.”

“Please tell me you at least plan on cleaning up whatever horror of an aftermath you left behind.” The look of both disgust and unease made it clear that Regis was displeased with the situation, but Dettlaff’s nod didn’t make him feel any better.

“We do, once we’ve finished bathing.”

“If you finish bathing. I’m going to assume she looks just as bad?” Regis asked, but only got another nod in response. It appalled him how this man had no shame sometimes. “Well, I’ll ask that you try not to make this a common occurrence until after you’ve moved out. I was planning on making your room into an examination room, but if the mess is as awful as I think it is, I suppose it’ll have to wait until you two finish cleaning up after yourselves.”

“It will be done, I assure you.” Dettlaff turned to go back to setting up a bath, but paused for a moment. “I also apologize for causing you such distress. I will do what I can to remedy the issue.”

“I’m certain you will, my friend. Now please, you smell of eggs and sex, and I would really like to forget that I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering such a foul odor.” Before Dettlaff disappeared into the washroom, he called out as an afterthought. “And wash out the tub when you’re done!”

When he heard the door close, he shook his head and sighed then went back to preparing dinner. As much as he enjoyed having the other vampire staying with him - especially when it helped his heart heal - inwardly, Regis was grateful that such sexual escapades would be restricted to Leonore’s home instead of his own; he’d no doubt be finding paint in the spare room no matter how many times he scrubbed the floors now.

[knighterrors]

@beastend said: “I wish I could take away your pain.“ / meme.

     There’s a gasp that escapes him quietly, lips parting slightly as he lifts his head. Viridescent gaze finds itself upon Dettlaff, brows knitting together at as he contemplates the words spoken to him. It’s... odd, truly, to hear such a thing. Having dealt with scornful looks most of his life, unkind words and cruel treatment ( from himself as well as others ), the knight’s forgotten what it was like to be cared about. To have his wellbeing questioned, to be told that if possible, his hurt would be taken away. It confuses him, briefly for the time being.

     And then, perhaps, it clicks that maybe Dettlaff, too, as been through as much pain he has. And such a thought makes his fingers clench against the back of his palms, eyes casting down once more. If it were the case, Suzaku shares the sentiment– that if he could, he would take away the vampire’s pain if it meant he no longer suffer.

     Was that what he was trying to get across to the knight? That there’s a semblance of care for him to not wish to see him suffer? His brows stay pressed hard towards one another and he exhales a slow breath.

     “... Would you, truly?” The question is whispered, more directed to himself, to reassure that Dettlaff is speaking the truth ( and he knows he is, there’s no feeling the words are a lie ) and Suzaku lifts his gaze again, a somber smile placing itself on his lips. It’s rare that he finds himself trusting someone completely, heart closed off to keep those out, those he may find himself caring for ( and those he may end up losing ). But there’s... comfort, as strange as it is, in Dettlaff’s presence and the words that he speaks. It sounds as though it could be a promise.

     And the knight feels it is one.

     “If it meant that the ache you may feel will be gone too... I would take your pain as well,” And again Suzaku’s gaze is cast down once more, “And I’d thank you, Dettlaff, for wishing happiness upon me again.” Even if I don’t deserve it. “You are worthy of the same.”

[toussainttwins]

"Nissa...." He croons quietly one evening as they lay together beneath the setting sun, one claw reaching forward to move a strand from the succubus' cheek, lingering briefly to caress the skin. "Tell me of a tale... a happy one."

Once I fell for a sailor from Skellige. The sangbonbon was not very apt with compliments, yet turned out to be a honey-tongued when the subject concerned the tales of his land. He shared many a fairy-tale with me. Here is one.

The Jarl had three sons. The oldest was gifted with swords and arrows, the middle was gifted with words and charms, and the youngest was gifted with nothing, but his father’s unconditional love. Seeking to pass his crown in a peaceful manner, the old Jarl declared that the throne will belong to the one, who will win himself a suitable wife first. The brothers set each to his own path. The oldest got himself a wise warrior princess  from Northern Realms, with eyes like amethyst and hair like the wild waves of the sea. The middle brother got himself an Ofiri princess with dowry as rich as her beautiful voice and a viper-quick dagger inside her sleeve. And the youngest got himself…a frog. The humble frog turned out to be a sly beauty and a loyal lover. She succeeded in all 3  tasks the Jarl set before the wives. The frog princess turned starlight into flour for a wedding pie, woven her husband-to-be a robe from the first golden threads of dawn, and turned the drops of dew into an army of able-bodied men for her dowry. Yet the next morning after the merry  wedding she disappeared. Without a trace or a farewell. The youngest son was devastated, rejected the crown which he won, and declared that he was no fit to set his foot into his ancestors land before he found his beloved spouse. Many a moon grew ripe in the sky, while he travelled far and wide, seeking for his lost love.

At a lonely windy steppe he met a raven and wanted to kill a bird, for a raven is believed to bring a bad-luck on his wings. Yet he looked at the creature, and its beaded eyes seemed to be full of wisdom and passion as his own. He sighed and strayed his hand. “Son of Jarl, I’ll help thee. For to save your beloved you have forsaken your cowardice.” And the raven joined the Son of Jarl and helped him in many a way.  

At a high cloudy mountain he met a goat…or wait, two goats it were. With beautiful creamy fur! and wanted to kill them, for goats could feed him and cloth him. Yet he looked at the creatures, and their gentle eyes seemed to be full of kindness and understanding as his own. He sighed and strayed his hand. “Son of Jarl, we’ll help thee. For to save your beloved you have forsaken your avarice.” And the goats joined the Son of Jarl and helped him in many a way.  

At a dark sombre forest he met a wolf and wanted to kill him, for a wolf is a dangerous creature and to slay one is an honour for a warrior. Yet he looked at the creature, and its eyes seemed to be full of sly humour and loyalty as his own. He sighed and strayed his hand. “Son of Jarl, I’ll help thee. For to save your beloved you have forsaken your vanity.” And the wolf joined the Son of Jarl and helped him in many a way.  

The company travelled as far as to the land of Death and freed the cursed  frog princess. In the end they returned to the Jarl kingdom all together. The new Jarl made peace with his brothers and they respected that new man as they never respected him when he was hiding under the skin of his vices - cowardice, avarice and vanity. The new Jarl loved his wife, but did not forget his friends. His raven sat on his shoulder and was never slanted, his little goats danced around his feet and were never hunted and his wolf was guarding his sleep and was never shun.

Nistana finished the tale with a beaming smile. Yet a lie laid curled at the corner of it. Dettlaff wanted a happy tale and, as an artful seamstress and a kind succubus, she fulfilled his desire. Who cared about the little frivolities she allowed herself in trimming it a bit?

In the original retelling, the son of Jarl freed his beloved, true. And she went to rule the land and honoured the creatures, who rescued her. But the last companion the Son of Jarl met, told him thusly, sitting at the throne of ebony and bone:  “Son of Jarl, I will grant thine wish and free your wife. For to save your beloved you have forsaken your life.” And his Death gently took the Son of Jarl by his hand and lead him to eternal rest.  

[riviae]

95. "There's no going back if we do this."

witcher drabble prompts: geralt/regis set during b&w 

“Geralt,” Regis starts, pacing back and forth inside the crypt, fingers clutched tightly to his satchel. “There’s no going back if we do this.” 

“So be it.” the witcher replies, rising from his seat on the dusty cot. “I’m not letting you martyr yourself–never again.” 

Regis stills, a pained look flitting across his face, dark eyes heavy with grief. “I’m not fully healed. When Dettlaff realizes we’ve tricked him, he will not respond kindly. I do not wish to put you in any more danger.” 

“I’m not just going to sit back and let Dettlaff raze the entire city to the ground. And you’re not going to sacrifice yourself either, Regis. I won’t let you.” 

The vampire bows his head and grimaces, lips pulled into a thin line. When he finally looks up, gaze softening at the startling open expression on Geralt’s face, Regis can only shake his head. “Why? Why risk your life for me–an otherwise immortal being? A monster who, in truth, deserves little of the kindness you’ve extended to me.” 

“You’re really gonna make me spell it out, huh?” Geralt says, lips briefly curling upwards. “For an age-old being, you sure can be horribly oblivious.” 

“P-pardon?” 

“I love you.”

“You…” Regis fumbles for the right words, mind racing. For a brief, horrifying moment he wonders if it is all a cruel dream–a longing he had tried so desperately to snuff out to no avail. The thought itself disrupts his focus, whatever words of affection he wished to voice dying on his tongue.  “…love me?” he instead finishes lamely, crossing the distance to Geralt in a storm of grey smoke. 

“Yeah. Now’s the part where you either tell me the feeling’s mutual or to go fuck off.” the witcher rubs the back of his neck, looking away. It’s the closest to bashful Regis has ever seen the man act, stirring some sense of urgency back into his mind. 

When Regis reaches for Geralt, cupping the nape of his neck in a strong but gentle hold, the vampire remains corporeal despite the urge to surround the witcher, to feel every molecule against his own. He settles on a kiss, surging forward so quickly that if it weren’t for his hold on Geralt, he would have likely fallen back. 

Geralt melts into the kiss, completely at ease, a pleased rumble reverberating from his chest. When he pulls away to breathe, he can only grin, fingers tugging the vampire back to him. 

“As you’d say, the feeling’s mutual.” Regis laughs, unabashedly tipping his head back as pure mirth warms his blood. “And please, never fuck off. I don’t think my heart could take it.” 

Geralt snorts. “Alright. That I can do.” 

[darkswore]

send a symbol | accepting!

@betemorne sent: 🤗 to pull in for hug (but i accidentally deleted the ask like a dumbass)

Her breaths were ragged, vision blurry. It was the first time she had transformed in this world, and it felt… different. She hadn’t needed her dragonstone to begin or revert the transformation, for one, but she was also a lot larger than she was normally. The fear of losing control was no longer there, as she hadn’t felt the tug of decay once during the fight, but it had turned into fear of that form itself.

The hunters who had pursued the duo through the woods, yelling obscenities and attempting to kill them, were dead themselves. Ripped to shreds, bodies torn and mangled beyond recognition. Kamui thought briefly of the families they might have had ( how could you bury a body without all of it? ) and choked back a sob. She didn’t want this. She just wanted her and Dettlaff to be safe.

For his part, Dettlaff seemed composed. He merely wiped his hands, his claws already retracted and his face once again that of a gentleman. He didn’t seem fazed at what they had done, but stared at her intently. First time?, seemed to be the unasked question, but she nodded all the same. He clicked softly and stepped towards her, but she met him halfway, crashing into his chest and letting out a strangled sob. She listened as his voice hummed through his chest as he told her it’d be alright, it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, there was nothing she could do.

“I just… I just wanted t--to keep us… keep you safe,” she whimpered. “I’m… I’m so s--sorry.” Gods, she was sobbing like a child... but she felt his arms tighten around her, and she knew it was okay to cry to him -- Dettlaff wouldn’t judge.

They stood there a long while, Kamui crying into his chest and Dettlaff holding her tight and stroking her hair. But they soon released their grips on one another, both knowing they had to leave this place, and quickly, lest they be discovered.

[merulanoir]

Last Sentence Meme

@xpityx​ tagged me! <3 :D

I’m also an adult and cheating is half the fun, so here, two sentences I last laid my little gay hands on.

“How about you take him to bedroom, get him out of those clothes? Maybe you could take the edge off.” (From the smut fic, no surprises there. I’m editing atm, totally not doing memes on Tumblr.)

As Dettlaff allowed his eyes to slip closed he wondered briefly whether he had made a mistake, after all. (And this one is something else altogether, hah.)

@kaeltale and @softest-punk got anything to share with the rest of us?

[queenxxxsupreme]

angst 14 with dettlaff please?

A/N: first of all I need to thank my lovely husband Aerin @writingawaymylife for helping me with this!! He helped me so much with just making this little fic sooooo much more intense. You are the absolute best and I’d be so lost without you<3 And second, this makes me soft for sad Dettlaff :(

14. “Should you be drinking that much?”

Your fingers trailed along the wall as you made your way slowly down the hallway. 

Your home was silent, save for the sound of thunder rumbling quietly in the sky and rain tapping against the roof. 

You shivered. The house was chilly. The fire in your room and the main room managed to die sometime after you went to sleep. 

The hallway ended and you found yourself gazing into the pitch black that was the main room of your home. 

Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the room. 

You spotted the dark figure at the table, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and a chalice in hand. Lightning came again, and you were able to see the bottles of liquor that were scattered about the table. 

With a little flick of your wrist, the burning embers in the hearth grew into a fire, lighting up the room. This gave you a better look at the figure sitting at your kitchen table. 

His hair was dark with strands of silvery white hair here and there. The locks aren't nearly as neat as he usually kept them. Instead, a few fell across his forehead. The off lighting in the room made the centuries old vampire appear even older, made the lines in his brow from years of scowling appear deeper. 

His eyes didn’t lift from the chalice in his hand. He said nothing, though you knew he was aware of your presence. 

You rubbed your hands together and moved towards the fire, wanting to warm up your toes and fingers. Your eyes left his as you turned to face the fire, hands sticking out in front of you and fingers wiggling. 

You let out a small shaky breath, relieved that there was finally warmth. 

“Why aren’t you in bed?” You asked, turning your head to the side so you could focus better on the man behind you. 

“I am not tired.” He answered quietly, his voice deep and enchanting. 

You sighed softly. 

“You haven’t slept in two weeks, Dettlaff.”

He said nothing to you. 

You turned to face the man you had opened your home to. 

“Why?”

Again, he was silent.

You crossed the room, inspecting the liquor bottles. Your lips pressed together in a firm line. He’d found your stash hidden in the back of a cabinet. 

“Should you be drinking this much?” You moved around the table, counting seven empty bottles. 

“Your human liquor does little to beings such as myself.”

“Then why would you drink this much if you know it wouldn’t work?”

“I figured it would be better to try this than to go out and slaughter someone to get the outcome I want.”

Your brows drew together as you stopped in front of him. 

“What is wrong, Dettlaff?”

“I wish to be left in peace, darling.” He leaned back in his chair, placing the chalice on the table and resting his hands along the tops of his thighs. “If I wanted to discuss my troubles, I would have stayed in bed with you.”

A breath escaped your lips, shoulders slumping just slightly, but you didn’t let his words get to you. 

You noticed his eyes were focused on something in his hand, something silver and round. At first, you thought it was a coin he was fiddling with. But a quick flash of lightning flooded the room and you were able to see what it truly was. 

Circular and engraved with words, the pendant paused between his index and middle fingers before being flicked into his palm. His fingers, long and slender, closed around it, hiding it from your gaze unintentionally. 

Your stomach twisted into knots, a storm brewing within you. 

It was Syanna’s, something he had gotten her during their time together, a time when you two had been apart, when you lost contact with him. You didn’t understand why he kept it, even after all this time, why he’d keep something so tiny and meaningless. It was gifted to her. 

Why would he want to keep it? 

Perhaps it was because it reminded him of her, of the lesson he wanted to remember. How humans could be deceiving and manipulative. How he needed to be more cautious with who he let in. 

Part of you felt guilty for what happened. There was a fight, stupid and pointless now that you looked back on it. It led to you both taking time for yourselves, a needed break. 

Syanna found him when he was down, when he was weakened. She slipped into his head, faking any feelings she claimed to have for him, and used him to get back at her sister. 

You were angry with him at first, angry with what he had done, with the destruction and terror he had caused throughout Beauclair. But when you found him collapsed on your doorstep, the anger melted away. He was broken, fragmented. He wasn’t the man you remembered. 

As he explained everything to you, the anger returned, this time directed at the woman who hurt him, who ripped his chest open, tore his heart out, and left him bleeding.

You sighed heavily through your nose and turned to go to your room. Once you were at the edge of the hallway, you turned back to him, your hand finding the wall as you leaned against it.

“You know, it would be lovely to see the man I fell in love with once in a while.” Your words were quiet whispers, but you knew he could hear just fine. 

Blue eyes finally flickered up to meet your gaze. His jaw ticked. 

“I haven’t seen him for a while.” You added, shaking your head softly as you looked down at the ring on your left finger. It was expensive and old, golden with a red ruby stone. “If you…. If you see him, tell him that he’s missed.”

“Ever so dramatic you are, my dear.” Dettlaff let out a heavy breath. His voice was smooth and low, a pleasant elegant timbre.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widened as an ache found its way into your chest. His words took a little longer to process, the bluntness and audacity was abrupt, something you weren’t used to from the man you loved so dearly. The aching pain was quick to turn into anger upon realizing what he said. The anger festered in your veins, bubbling and burning as you took a step towards him. 

“Dramatic? For wishing that the man I married would quit relishing the past? Quit dwelling on things that cannot be changed? For wanting him to look to the future where he has control over his actions rather than trying to change the past?” Your voice turned cold and bitter. 

Narrowed eyes dug into his, breaths coming out harsh and quick as you waited for him to say something.

His gaze hardened as he looked at you. 

“I’m going to bed.” You waved a hand dismissively at him. If he wasn’t willing to open up to you, to let you help him, then there was nothing you could do to aid him in healing. 

•*•*•

You weren’t sure how long you were there laying in bed listening to the rain tap against your bedroom window. 

Too many thoughts were racing through your head. 

Would this be the end of your marriage with Dettlaff van der Eretin? 

You heard the bedroom door creak open but you didn’t dare to look at him. You were still upset and irritated with how cold he had been. 

There was quiet moving around before there was silence. 

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Dettlaff?”

“I-I’m-I’m sorry.” His whispered, his timbre voice trembling slightly. 

You turned over, brushing your hair out of your eyes. He stood on his side of the bed, broad shoulders slumped and head tilted down. 

“I’m so sorry for-for everything.” He brought his hands up to cover his face, ashamed. 

Seeing the man you loved break down, shoulders shaking and tears running down his face, broke your heart. He was always strong and composed. Very rarely did he let his emotions be known to the outside world, especially after what happened with Syanna. He became masterful at keeping his emotions hidden, locked away safely in the confines of his mind. After Syanna, the fear of becoming vulnerable to someone again was deeply rooted into his heart.  

It seemed, now, however, that the weight of his troubles was too much to bear. He could no longer hide the pain from you. 

You crawled over to the edge of the bed. 

“Come here, my love.” You beckoned him toward you with one hand, sitting up on your knees. 

Long and slender arms wrapped around you, holding you so tightly that breathing wasn’t easy, his face finding comfort in the crook of your neck. 

Your arms slipped around his broad shoulders, one hand resting between his shoulder blades while the other cradled his head to you. 

Warm tears dampened your skin. His shoulders shook with every quiet sob that racked his body. 

“I don’t want to lose you. Not again.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Dettlaff.” You assured him, turning to kiss the space behind his ear. “I just…. I need you to not be afraid of opening up to me. I know your reasoning for being carefully guarded, but I’ve been with you for the better half of two centuries. I was here long before she ever came into your life. I’ve never given you a reason to doubt me or my intentions.”

He squeezed you just a little tighter, his lips pressing kisses into your collarbone. 

You held him for a while as he calmed down, until all he did was hold you close and sniffle every now and again. 

“Let’s get this coat off of you so you can sleep properly, my love.” You suggested, pulling away hesitantly. 

He nodded, keeping his head bowed as you worked to undo the buckles on his coat. Once they were undone, you pushed the coat off of his shoulders and then began to untuck the dark gray tunic he wore beneath the coat. He allowed you to pull it off of him and toss it aside. 

You hooked two fingers underneath his chin, tilting his head up so that you could see his icy blue eyes. They were teary and red. 

The pad of your thumb swiped across his cheek, brushing away a stray tear.

“I love you, Dettlaff.”

He nodded once again, unable to use his voice. 

You moved away from him, getting comfortable on the bed before Dettlaff joined you. 

He laid with his face buried in your chest, long and slender form spread out across the bed diagonally.

You did your best to cover him, but he didn’t seem too concerned about it. 

You combed your fingers through his dark hair, humming softly in hopes that he’d drift off to sleep. 

“I love you.” The words were hushed, muffled by his mouth being pressed against the skin of your chest. But you heard them, and smiled softly.

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