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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 5 months ago

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Part 26

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 25 🟣 Part 27

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

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

Warnings: Fluff, ongoing vampire shenanigans, angst, Mike being an idiot, feral!Walter.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Soooo we're back with another instalment of the vampyboys! We're not hating on jellybeans today, no worries! (Ain't that a relief?) Enjoy!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo

“Hey, Mikey…” Your voice came out hesitant and small. Not for any particular reason, other than an especially useless fear of rejection. “Would you please feed?”

“Oh, yeah, sure!” He sounded surprised, especially when you stopped him from going for your neck. “Ohhhhh, like that!” He grinned up at you while simultaneously pulling the hem of your shirt up. You let him take it off, barely noticing when he took off your bra as well.

“There’s one more thing I’d like you to do,” you muttered. You were so certain you wanted this, and so afraid Mike wouldn’t be okay with it…

“Anything, Sweetcheeks,” he said with a big smile while he wriggled his way down until his face was where it needed to be.

“I want you to leave the bite,” you whispered, stroking his cheek.

Mike moved back up, leaning his forehead against yours. “Are you for real?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “More than anything. Don’t get me wrong, I want the others like that as well, even if they don’t know it yet—”

“They know,” he interrupted. “We’ve been talking about it, kinda… August complained that he wanted to mark you, and Sherlock countered that he wouldn’t let that happen unless he got a black-on-white promise from you that he’d get his turn, too. He was kind of aggressive about it. I— ehh… I really think we should let them know about this.”

“Wise words,” you mumbled. “I'm impressed.”

“I hope the offer to let me feed my favorite way still stands, though?” he asked, smiling at you like he was looking at his favorite thing in the whole world — which probably wasn't even too far from the truth.

“Why do you like that so much,” you wondered out loud. There had to be more to it than a simple love for boobs, right? You looked down at Mike, who looked up at you, his deep frown telling you he didn't appreciate the disturbance just as he was about to sink his teeth into you.

“I think by now we've established that I have severe abandonment issues,” Mike said. It sounded like he was joking, but you knew he wasn't. It was a silly coping mechanism, and you weren't going to accept that this time.

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said softly, running a hand through his unruly curls. “But we can't always accommodate those, Mikey. That wouldn't be healthy, either.”

“Are you suggesting I go to therapy?” Mike said, faking shock and indignation. Then, he smiled. “Great idea, Sweetcheeks. Which is why I scheduled an appointment immediately after I came back from… being gone, I guess? But the waitlist is kinda long, so… It'll be a while.”

“I'm proud of you,” you hummed as Mike finally got to start his dinner — well, snack. You immediately sensed his desire for closeness, intimacy and, just like last time, you — ‘boobs' and ‘blood' were actually very low on the list. You locked your fingers in his hair and sighed, almost with relief. There was no need to pull him closer: he took care of that for you just fine, wrapping his arms and legs around you in the most adorable, comfort-seeking way.

Suddenly, you were overwhelmed with Mike's need to be taken care of, stronger than anything he'd desired up until this point, and when you unclenched your fist to move your hand…

“No! Don’t let go of me.”

“I'm not letting go, silly,” you whispered, stroking his hair and the back of his head. You were about halfway on your way to realizing what had happened when you felt Mike's teeth retreat and he looked up at you with big eyes full of shock.

“I didn't say that out loud,” he stammered. “I know I didn't say that out loud, because I very specifically remember thinking I didn't want to say that out loud.”

“That's…” But you were out of bed before you could speak, with Mike at your side who was furiously knocking on a door at the end of… some hallway — you weren't even sure it was the same hallway your room was on. Mike had managed to put a shirt on you, but it was both inside out and backwards.

“Sher-lock, open this door! Now!” What was this door made of? Reinforced concrete? Mike was definitely slamming it hard enough to…

“What the devil is going on, Mike?” A disgruntled Charles appeared behind you. “Unless you somehow managed to accidentally almost kill her, I hardly think this can't wait until morning.”

Marshall appeared next to Charles, with an equally unhappily surprised look on his face. “What did you do now?” His eyes dropped to your chest, where they rested for much longer than what you considered appropriate. He kept his gaze locked on you for so long, that you looked down yourself. Mike, in his infinite wisdom, had put you in a white shirt, that now showed two very obvious red dots at boob-height, and you watched Marshall as he clearly summoned every shred of restraint in his broad, imposing body to keep himself from dragging you back to his room — or maybe even just taking you right here, you weren't quite sure.

“I'm considering ‘right here’,” he growled at you.

“Am I stating the obvious when I say it would not be appreciated?” Sherlock said from the doorway as he dodged Mike's fist, which he’d still been slamming into the wooden door with nearly unperceivable speed and strength. “Might I inquire as to Mike, what the fuck?” For God knows what reason, hearing Sherlock swear was hot.

“She heard my thoughts,” Mike said breathlessly.

“Were you feeding?” Charles said, taking Mike's quick nod for an answer. “Well, there's your—”

“Mike doesn't hear thoughts, Charles,” Marshall reminded him quietly. “I do.”

“And you're sure it was a thought?” Sherlock asked carefully.

Mike nodded furiously. “Hell yeah. And not something I was even planning on saying out loud. So. That's Marshall's gift, right? She heard my thoughts using his gift while I was feeding. That's weird, right?”

“Uncommon? Yes,” Sherlock said with amusement to his voice. “Weird? Not particularly. Apparently, she has an aptitude for the gift.” He turned to you. “We might see if we could train it, if you're interested. Tomorrow. Now, please leave. I’d like to get back to bed.”

“I thought you didn't need to sleep,” you said with a smile.

“Oh, I don't think we interrupted his sleep, Sweetcheeks,” Mike said while his normal smile widened into a cheeky grin. Was he implying… The mental image of Sherlock, ehm… taking care of himself was almost too much.

“Mike…” you started, intending to tell him to stop joking, but as you watched Sherlock’s cheeks, which were suddenly flushed… Mike was right. That was… unexpected.

“Darling, I—” He stammered the words so softly you barely heard him.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” you said with a smile. He wouldn't be apologizing for another damn thing. Not something as mundane as this. Not on your watch.

Sherlock was gone before you blinked, and Charles was nowhere in sight anymore, either. That left just you and Mike, and a once more very intense-looking Marshall in the otherwise empty hallway.

A heavy hand closed around your throat — not squeezing, just… holding you. The other, you saw from the corner of your eye — held Mike pinned to the wall.

“I don't care,” he said, his voice a deep, threatening growl, “that he gets laid three times for every single chance I get. I really don't.” Sure didn't sound like he didn't care… “But this is the second time he's paraded you around like this — bleeding and wet… Is that for him, love? Because he likes to spend his time sucking on your tits?” His hand moved from your throat to your chest, where he brutally squeezed the boob Mike had used as a juice box. You winced when he put his fingers directly over the bite. “Is it sore? I bet he didn't take care of that bite the way he knows he should before he rushed you out of his room, now did he?”

He pulled your shirt up with one hand, still pinning Mike to the wall with the other, and sealed his mouth over your nipple, covering the wounds Mike's teeth had left, and he ran his tongue over both marks with great care. Mike squirmed against the wall while he watched, powerless in Marshall's tight grasp. For the first time since the ambush, you took the time to take a good look at the way Marshall was holding him, and you noticed his feet didn't touch the floor.

“Mike,” he growled when he took his mouth off your breast again. “If you do this to me one more fucking time, I'm going to ask August for the keys to the" — he side-eyed you for a split second — “basement, where I'll chain you to the goddamn wall, and then I'll fuck her right in front of your eyes, understood?” Ehh, did you have a say in this? Not that what you'd be saying wouldn't be ‘yes, please', but still. It was nice to be consulted every now and again.

When Mike's feet hit the floor again, he grinned at Marshall. Bold choice, if you were perfectly honest. You probably would have gone with ‘cowering in fear of what he'd do to you', but alright. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he said casually before walking off, leaving you standing there with Marshall.

“Punk,” Marshall muttered under his breath before smiling at you and turning around.

“What's in the basement, Marshall?” you said as he started to walk away. “Marshall! What's. in. the. basement?”

He was already gone, of course — as was Mike — and you were standing in the unfamiliar-looking hallway all by yourself, telling yourself that it was physically impossible for the hallway to become longer the longer you looked at it. Mike hadn't picked one of the doors you saw, so you had to be in a different part of the house. A different floor, maybe.

“I'll take you back to Mike,” Sherlock's voice sounded softly behind you. “It's a bit of a maze, especially in the beginning.” He silently asked for permission to carry you, which you granted him, and within seconds you were at the right door.

Sherlock knocked before you could. “Girlfriend delivery,” he said, waiting for Mike to reply before he opened the door — probably a wise decision. You could never be certain what you'd find where Mike was concerned.

“Mike,” you said as you crawled into bed with him again and Sherlock left the room. “What's in the basement?”

“A wine cellar,” Mike said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Some storage…”

“Mike!” you hissed.

“Now, if someone told you August had the keys to a special room in the basement of this house — as Marshall did — what would your very first guess be?” he teased.

“Sex dungeon,” you blurted out without thinking about it for so much as a second. On top of that being so completely on brand for August, it was also the only thing that would remotely make sense considering the conversation that had just taken place.

Mike grinned from ear to ear. “Duh. It's not technically his, by the way,” Mike told you. “And, before you ask, yes there are restraints that we — or… Me, specifically, apparently,” — he glared at you — “can't break. Why you wanna tie me up, babe?”

“Because I think it would be so fun to watch you squirm, especially since you’ll know exactly what I’ll so desperately want to do to you,” you said with an evil smile. Mike groaned — it was the sweetest sound on the planet, as far as you were concerned.

“You’re mean,” he muttered as he snuggled into your side, pulling the covers tight around him. “And Marshall is mean, too.”

“Why is he mean?” Your mouth morphed into a sweet smile involuntarily. “Because of the threats he made back there?”

“No, that sounded like a perfectly exciting night, actually.” Mike grinned up at you. “His stupid gift ruined my snack.”

#mike hellraiser fic #mike hellraiser #mike (hellraiser)#hellraiser mike #mike hellraiser fanfiction #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #walter marshall #hc sherlock #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #august walker #august walker fanfiction #natural fic #naturalfic

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zambehnation · 2 months ago

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I need more omega!geralt and alpha!jaskier. In general, but also with pup Ciri. Like: geralt's always been mistaken for an alpha because of how he looks and acts on the surface and how he's been trained all his life to be a big strong witcher and he's never really seen himself as being any type of omega until he meets his child surprise and it awakes something fiercely protective in him and he just wants to give her everything, make sure she's well fed, comfortable, happy and safe. And he doesnt realize anything has drastically changed in himself until he finds himself growling and snapping at teen boys when they get too close and when he asks for ciri to nest with him when winter rolls around in Kaer Morhen while in early preheat. He gets embarrassed until ciri drags her furs in front of the fireplace with him and he tucks her into it like hes swaddling a babe and he realizes she's his pup.

And, Jaskier's always wanted geralt. Couldn't have cared less in the beginning what geralt's designation was. Only that he wanted to help geralt and give him things and show him all the ways life could be better on the Path. Being an alpha didnt matter much next to a big strong witcher but he'd satisfy all those pesky instincts by taking care of geralt in little ways like with nice hot baths, tending to geralt's wounds after the monster of the week had taken a chunk out of him, negotiating his pay with dubious townsfolk but seeing geralt with ciri is his own personal hell. If he'd thought he could be content with being geralt's friend, seeing him with a pup he takes such good care of is awakening instincts he have preferred to vanquish with a sword.

Suddenly he wants to claim geralt for himself- mate him, bite him, pup him-

Bonus points for yennefer being the cool aunt for ciri all while taunting and teasing jaskier until he breaks and whisking ciri away kindly when jaskier loses his mind and proceeds to maul geralt just before geralt's heat.

#geraskier #fanfic prompt #the witcher #witcher fanfiction

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bookished · 1 year ago

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DAWN DELIGHTS: THE CABIN CHRONICLES PT. II

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-> Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x f!reader witch

-> Summary: Geralt is fully determined to leave the cottage to keep on track of his duties, and because he is getting a little intoxicated of you, but you have to stop him on his tracks to take care of his open wounds, even if it takes a little more effort.

-> Rating: +18

-> Word count: 1.933

-> Warnings: mentions of blood, begging, slight mention of size kink, fingering, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, a little bit of deep throat, praise kink

-> Author notes: second part of the cabin chronicles, i hope you enjoy it!

GERALT OF RIVIA awoke in the dim light of the early morning, his senses immediately sharpening as he registered the empty space beside him. The sheets were cool, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. His fingers reached out instinctively, searching for warmth that was no longer there.

The night before had been an intoxicating blend of passion and tenderness. Geralt had been captivated by your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint that matched his own whenever he did a brief move to please your body.

The Witcher winced as he gently touched the wounds on his battered body. The pads of some of his fingers were slightly covered in light blood, not too thick to worry him, but enough to make him curse under his breath because they didn't cure properly, which didn't surprise him after the night you both spent on the bed and almost every surface of the small cabin.

As he lay there, thoughts of the night danced through his mind. The way you had teased and challenged each other, the shared pleasure that happened in the darkness, and the warmth of your embrace.

The scent of your hair still lingered on the pillows, and Geralt inhaled deeply, savoring it. It was a fragrance that would stay with him, a memory to hold onto during the lonely nights on the road.

With a sigh, he slowly rose from the bed and began to dress, careful to not hurt himself anymore, the echoes of your moans and pleads still fresh in his mind. He knew that he couldn't stay, that his path would lead him away from this place and from you. But for a brief moment, in the stillness of the morning, he allowed himself to revel in the memory of the night you both had shared.

As he prepared to leave, Geralt couldn't help but wonder if your paths would ever cross again.

You were just about to go inside the cabin, after setting out early in the morning on your quest to find healing plants. Your senses were telling you something was not right, and you were ready to dive in your thoughts, when you bumped into a hard wall.

Only, it was not a wall, but The Witcher's chest. Startled and realizing your sudden intrusion into his personal space, you quickly backed up, your heart racing.

Geralt of Rivia's piercing gaze and imposing presence had you momentarily taken aback. You stammered an apology, "I-I'm sorry, didn't mean to run into you," as you tried to regain your composure. His expression remained stoic, and you couldn't help but feel a mixture of awe and trepidation in his presence.

When you realized he was fully dressed, his clothes still dirty with his dried blood, and he had his sword tucked in, you knew he was about to leave.

"Geralt, please, you can't go in this state," you implored, blocking, or at least trying, his path with a mix of worry and determination in your eyes.

He scowled, but his pain was evident, and he reluctantly stopped. "I don't need your help."

You could sense the smell of fresh blood and your gaze went straight to where his latest wounds were made. You spotted bright red freckles of blood and you frowned. That shouldn't be happening.

You took a step closer, your voice softening now. "Stubborn as always they've said, but even Witchers need assistance sometimes."

He shook his head no and was determined to leave when he bypassed you. You felt bad, as you were also responsible for what happened last night that made his wounds open again.

"Geralt." Your voice was so soft, it made him stop in his tracks and gaze at you over his shoulder. You felt he was giving in, until he looked away from you and started walking again, but you could notice he was hurting. You were desperate, guiltiness taking over you. So you tried again, "Geralt, please."

He stopped and stayed there for a few seconds, and when you thought he would ignore you, he took a deep breath and turned around and with a reluctant look, he allowed you to guide him inside while his grunts and murmurs were inaudible.

You guided Geralt inside the cottage, the warm and earthy scent of dried herbs and potions filling the air. The enchanting aura was enough to make you feel dizzy from the memories of the night of passion spent here. The smell of him surrounding your senses.

"Sit tight and take off your clothes," you said softly, your fingers deftly selecting various herbs and ointments from the well-organized shelves. "These will help you heal."

"Usually, when I take my clothes off, I expect my companion to do the same." Geralt remarked, a grin slightly creasing his upper lip, his stare fixated on your face.

Your cheeks flush with an unexpected warmth after you processed Geralt's words and as he stood before you. His rugged, weathered appearance and piercing yellow eyes had a way of making your heart race, and the way he pronounced those words, it was too much for you.

He noticed the subtle change in your demeanor and raised an eyebrow, his expression unchanging. "Why the sudden blush?" he inquired in his deep, gravelly voice. "Do you need me to touch you first?"

Flustered, you stammered, "No, it's fine."

You slid the dress down your shoulders and arms, letting it drop to your hips, and Geralt made a sound of appreciation. You lifted your face to stare back at those yellow eyes that were now devouring you. You swallowed the lump in your throat.

While staring back at him, you let your dress fall to your feet with a slight movement of your hips, which Geralt didn't let go unnoticed, and you could see the exact moment he resisted the grin to form wildly on his face.

"Don't stop on my account, I'm really enjoying the view." He murmured, still gazing at you and your curves.

You defied him with your eyes and your words. "You know that's not what we're here for."

"And I also know you don't like being told what to do unless you're naked," he outfaced you back.

Your breath hitched in your throat, furious at him for making you feel that way. You turned your back on him to appease the anger burning inside you from his words.

How could he? But you didn't know if what was making your insides burn with anger was that he said that out loud, or that you knew it was true.

Either way, you were now focused on mixing the healing plants, your cheeks now blushed and heated up while you worked in silence, knowing damn well he had a full sight of your bare ass. As if he didn't see it the previous night, or touch it.

Once you had everything done and ready, you took a deep breath before facing him again. You couldn't let him get to your feelings. Not yet, at least.

Once you had that pretty face in front of you again, you couldn't help but notice how much fun he was having with all of this, a shit eating grin on his face. So you decided to get even.

The wounds on his body were severe, and with gentle hands, you began tending to his injuries, cleansing and bandaging them. But Geralt winced as you did. The sting of antiseptic herbs brought discomfort, but he endured it. His amber eyes reflecting the pain he seldom allowed others to see.

You worked methodically, cleansing and dressing his wounds with a precision born of years of experience. Geralt clenched his teeth and let out a low, guttural sound as the pain from his injuries surged through his body. The sound was a primal, involuntary response.

Each labored breath was accompanied by a soft, pained hiss, a testament to the relentless torment he endured. Geralt's attempts to mask the pain were futile as his body involuntarily vocalized the anguish he was going through, and you felt the need to ease the pain for him.

"How can I make you feel better?" You asked him, your tone was filled with the fire of conviction. You wanted to help, but you didn't know how.

"Damn it," he muttered, his voice hoarse and strained. "I've faced worse than this." He paused to catch his breath, the pain evident in his every word. "How about you put those hands to work and pleasure me, instead of just defying and hurting me?" Geralt stated, his brow furrowed in agony, spoke through gritted teeth as sweat beaded on his forehead, the pain making his voice tremble and his words a struggle. "Are you gonna be a good girl for me? Get on your knees now."

You just nodded your head yes, wetting your now dried lips with your tongue, and obeyed. You took no time to get on your knees, looking up at him, where his frowned brow and gaze filled with pain controlled every move you made.

"I get so hard when I'm around you." The White Wolf spoke soft but firmly. "I know you'll make me feel so good."

You wasted no time in getting a grip on his girth and putting it in your mouth. The sound coming from the back of his throat is animalistic and raw. You can't get your eyes off him while you work your tongue on his tip, making him throw his head back and let out a loud moan.

"Feel what you're doing to me?" Oh. You did. Some of his pre-cum was already on your tongue. Your hands wandered all over his thighs. his abs, his chest. He was so hot, almost sweating naked there. "That's all because of you."

You unconsciously moaned around him, which almost drove him crazy. He lifted his hips from his seat, not much but enough to make you feel him pushing down your throat. Your mouth was full of him, all you could smell, taste and feel was the White Wolf in front of you.

"Fuck... just... right there!" He groaned grabbing a fist of your hair, his piercing amber eyes on your face and the way you were taking him so well. "That feels so good!"

You kept going, noticing how his cock tensed and got thicker, so you sucked him even harder, not being able to look away from his beautiful face, even though you could feel your throat having a hard time keeping the pace. You wanted to watch his face while you made him cum.

"I want you to swallow like the good girl you are." He muttered between gritted teeth and heavy breathing. Your hands wandered a bit longer, you felt his lower abs twitching and tensing, and you knew he was almost there. So you forced your head down a little more.

That move was enough to break him. You felt the thick ropes of salty cum on your tongue, his cock twitching and splurting semen. You kept your head in place, his hands never leaving your hair, pulling it more instead. You moaned around him, he almost couldn't keep his eyes open and you were mesmerized by the beautiful creature in front of you.

He was sweating, his chest rising and falling swiftly, and trying to catch his breath. He didn't let go of you until you swallowed it all.

"You've been so good for me," Geralt said, still a bit out of air. "What should your reward be, hmm?"

Did you enjoy it? Please, consider leaving a comment, reblogging, sending feedback in any way or buying me a coffee. If you would like to request something, go and message me. Also, if you'd like, you can check my masterlist or send me any prompts. Happy reading!

#uservolkova #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher fic #the witcher #kinktober 2023 #female reader #x reader #geralt z rivii #geralt x f!reader #geralt x you

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catierambles · 2 months ago

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Alternate Instincts Ch.32

buckle up buttercups

Sy pushed open the hospital doors, August and Walter coming in behind him. He had gotten the call from Geralt, saying Mike had been stabbed and Stephanie had been taken. He didn’t have to say by who, they all knew. He went up to the front desk, the intake nurse looking up at him.

“I’m Markus Syverson, lookin’ for my brother Michael Syverson, he was brought in not that long ago.” He said and she typed on the computer briefly before turning her attention back to him.

“He’s still in surgery. Please have a seat and the doctor will be out when he’s been moved to a room.” She said and he nodded, going into the waiting room and taking a seat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Sy.” He heard and saw Geralt come from a side hallway, pushing up from the seat. “I talked to the doctors, let them know what had happened.”

“What did happen?” Walter asked.

“Mike and Steph were dancing, I checked a message on my phone. When I looked up, they were gone. That’s when I felt a Feral and got the text from Mike.” He said simply.

“Lewis?” August asked.

“Didn’t see him, but yes.” Geralt said.

“Why did they leave out the back?” Walter asked, “Why didn’t they get Geralt’s attention?”

“It don’t matter why.” Sy said with a sniff, “Maybe he threatened‘em if they didn’t leave with him. That many people around, Steph wouldn’t cause a scene, potentially get civvies caught in the crossfire, but it don’t matter. What matters is what happened after and what happens now.”

“I found her phone in the alley.” Geralt said, “Can’t track her that way. I wasn’t able to find anything on Lewis and none of the Trackers in the area have reported sightings.”

“Probably ain’t his real name.” Sy said and Geralt’s phone went off in his pocket and he dug it out, his hands still stained red.

“What.” He said, “I can’t, you’re going to have to bring him to me.” A pause before his lips pulled into a snarl. “Because my fucking Mate has been taken by a fucking Feral, that’s fucking why, Vesemir. Got it, see you in a couple days.”

“What was that about?” August asked after he hung up.

“I found Albert.” He said and Sy blinked at him in surprise.

“As in...”

“Yeah.” He said with a nod, “Starting looking for him when you told me about him.”

“Geralt, I didn’t ask—”

“You didn’t have to.” Geralt said and Sy reached out, squeezing his shoulder.

“Albert?” Walter asked.

“My youngest brother.” Sy said, “The baby of the family. He had his first shift while I was deployed and manifested as an Omega. Dad kicked him out.”

“How old was he?” August asked.

“Twelve, maybe thirteen.” Sy said, “Where’d you find him?”

“Shelter in Chicago.” Geralt said, “I was going to get him when Vesemir, a Tracker in Chicago, called me to give me the confirmation that it was him. He’s going to bring him here instead.”

“This Vesemir a good guy?” Sy asked and Geralt nodded.

“He trained me.” Geralt said and Sy gave him a nod in return.

“For Michael Syverson?” They heard and looked over at the doctor in scrubs standing there, going over to her.

“I’m Markus Syverson, his brother.” Sy said.

“Your brother is out of surgery.” She said, “We were able to repair the damage.”

“He was stabbed with silver, is he—”

“There’s no sign of silver toxicity.” She said and he sighed, giving a nod. “He kept trying to shift during surgery so we had to give him a dose of alprazolam. He’ll be out for a while, but I expect him to make a full recovery.”

“Can I see him?”

“Of course. He’s this way.” She said and they followed her down the hall and into a recovery room. Sy hesitated in the doorway when he saw Mike laying in the hospital bed, looking pale and weak.

“Fuck.” He ground out, going over to the bed and sitting in the chair next to it, taking his hand in his own and holding it tightly, his forehead pressed to the back of it. Walter went over to him, holding his shoulder and his eyes were red when he looked up at him.

“He’s going to be okay, Markus.” Walter said.

“I know.” He said, “It’s just...he’s my baby brother. I promised him when we were kids I’d protect him and...”

“I know.” Walter said.

“How are we going to find Steph?” August asked, more to himself than them. “Can’t track her phone and we don’t know where he took her.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know.” Sy said, “August, Geralt, think you can reach out to who you can in the Council? Jordan Lewis may not be his real name, but he’s gotta have a paper trail somewhere. Wouldn’t be able to work and find a place to live without it.”

“I’ll call Leon.” August said and took his phone out.

“I have a couple people I can reach out to as well.” Geralt said, “I just need to...wash my hands first.”

The hours dragged on for an eternity, neither August or Geralt making any headway with tracking down Lewis. Sy looked up as Mike’s hand tightened in his, seeing his eyes open as he gave a sharp inhale through his nose.

“Hey.” He said and Mike looked over at him.

“Hey.” He said, his voice rough and Sy let go of his hand, pouring him a cup of water from a pitcher on a cabinet against the wall and bringing it to him. He took it without a word, draining the cup. “Where’s Steph?”

“What do you remember?” He asked.

“Pain, Steph callin’ my name, then wakin’ up here.”

“You don’t remember textin’ Geralt or talkin’ to him?” Sy asked but he shook his head.

“Where’s Steph?” He asked again.

“We don’t know, Mikey.” Sy admitted, “August and Geralt are callin’ in favors, but we’ve got nothin’ yet where he might’ve took’er.”

“We need to find’er.”

“We’re workin’ on it.”

“I’ve gotta bad feelin’ Markus.” Mike had worked hard to get rid of his Southern accent, but it still came out from time to time, usually when he was tired.

“I know. We all do.”

“After what they found out about’im...I don’t wanna have to identify her body.” Mike said.

“None of us do.” Sy said, “Steph’s tough, she’s gonna fight him tooth and nail.”

“He’s a Feral.”

“I know, but the way she took him down last time, she ain’t gonna make it easy for him. She’s a survivor.” Sy said, “She’ll hold out until we find’er. I know she will.”

“I can’t lose her.”

“Me either, Mikey, me either.”

#henry cavill #captain syverson #walter marshall #august walker #hellraiser mike #geralt of rivia #alternate instincts

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poledancingdinos · 6 months ago

Text

Soundtrack of Debauchery - Part 3

Pairing: Young!Syverson X OFC (Jessie) X Mike (Hellraiser)

Word Count: 11 118 words

Warnings: SMUT, D/S vibes, Vaginal Fingering, Masturbation, Spanking, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Alcohol, Drug Use, Angst, Canon-Typical War Situations/Trauma

Taglist: @raccoon-eyed-rebel @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @electricfashionbookszipper @rosecentury

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

As Jessie pushed through the door of her apartment, out of breath from dragging eight heavy grocery bags up five flights of stairs, she was greeted by the sound of her boyfriend cursing up a storm.

She set everything down in the kitchen, taking the time to put the cold stuff away before she investigated what had her boyfriend kicking up such a fuss.

She'd expected to find him with his headphones on, playing one of his online games but, to her surprise, she found him in a tangle of sheets—and not the sexy kind.

The mattress was on the floor, propped up against the bed frame, the sheets were in a pile on one side of the room while the pillows were stacked on the other and in the middle was Mike holding the large king size duvet and duvet cover.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Mikey jumped, letting go of the blanket as he spun to face Jessie.

“Shit, youʼre back already?”

Brows furrowed in confusion, Jessie checked the time on her phone.

“I was gone for almost three hours.”

Mike’s face dropped, looking around at the messy bedroom.

“Really?”

Jessie nodded, stepping further into the room.

“I… I know you’ve been working extra hard trying to get things ready for when Nate gets home so I thought I’d check a few things off your list.”

His eyes stayed downcast as he scratched the back of his head and Jessie’s heart damn near melted along with the surge of panic that had been elicited by the sight of the upturned bedroom.

All of the sudden, Jessie had thrown herself at Mike, causing him to let out a small ‘ompf’.

Taken aback, Mike hesitated a few moments before returning the embrace and pressing his cheek into Jessie’s hair.

“Thank you.”

Letting her go, Mike huffed. “For what? I just made everything into a bigger mess than when you left.”

He’d wanted to help shoulder the ridiculous load his girlfriend had begun to carry from the moment she heard Sy was going to be home but obviously he was incapable of doing something as simple as washing their bedding. He’d been utterly defeated by linen.

“Are the sheets clean?”

“Yeah, I left them on the floor because I needed the basket for the clothes I put in afterwards. I got stuck trying to get the covers back on the blanket and the mattress. I don’t know how you get the duvet to go in flat. No matter what I do it just ends up in a tangled lump.”

They had one of those bug proof and waterproof mattress covers that fully wrapped around the mattress and zipped shut. Jessie wasn’t afraid to admit that getting the damn thing back on the heavy king mattress was one hell of a workout. Mike had never been the one to change the duvet cover, nor had he been the one to take it off since Jessie had stripped the bed before leaving so he had no way to know that there were ties in the corners.

“I’ll help with those then you can finish making the bed while I put the groceries away.”

Together, they held the mattress on its side, working the tight protector over it before lifting the whole thing back onto the frame and zipping it shut. Next came the duvet which they shook out and laid out on top of the mattress.

Jessie reached for the cover which she flipped inside out while Mike watched attentively. “See these little strings in the corners?” She held them out for Mikey to see. “They tie to the loops in corners of the duvet so that it doesn’t get all bunched up inside the cover when you use it. I like to lay them on top of each other and tie the upper corners first.” Jessie demonstrated what to do on one side while Mike copied on the other. “Then I flip the cover right side out over the duvet and pull it down little by little. That way the blanket stays flat on the bed the whole time and I don’t have to worry about holding it up or making lumps anywhere. When you get to the bottom, you tie off those corners and you close it up.”

It was all very simple once she’d explained it and Mike felt a little silly that he hadn’t been able to figure it out on his own but Jessie hadn’t made fun of him or shooed him out of the room. No, his beautiful, sweet, patient girlfriend had taken the time to teach him what to do.

“Thanks, babe.” He pulled her closer, placing a kiss on her cheek. “I can finish up from here.”

“Thank you for helping. I know it probably seems like I’m going a little crazy but Sy has been gone for so long and he hasn’t even seen the apartment since we signed the lease. I just want this place to feel comfortable and homey.”

Mike hugged Jessie tighter and she pressed her cheek against the soft, well-worn cotton of his shirt.

“Home is anywhere you are, babe. He’ll appreciate all the effort you put in but you’re always going to be his main focus.”

She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed the reassurance that Sy would be happy no matter what he came home to. The last week had been spent organizing and reorganizing every room in the apartment. Yesterday Mike had come home to find Jessie on her hands and knees, scrubbing every inch of the bathroom. Today her focus had been the kitchen which also included a massive shopping haul to get all of Sy’s favorite snacks and enough food to hopefully last the ten days he was home without someone having to take a few hours out of their day to get more. Laundry had been on her agenda for the evening and tomorrow morning she planned to vacuum and mop so that the place smelled fresh as he walked in.

With a final squeeze and a peck on the lips, Jessie returned to the kitchen to unpack the groceries. Mike joined her a few minutes later, making quick work of the remaining items before sending Jessie off to watch a show in the living room as he made dinner. He wasn’t as skilled a chef as Jessie but he was great at greasy stoner food which, by the look of his girl, was exactly what she needed.

Once his loaded nachos were in the oven, he went down to the building’s laundry room to pull his clean clothing out of the dryer. By the time heʼd fished folding everything, the cheese on the nachos was deliciously bubbly and golden.

He insisted on dishing up the food himself, bringing the plates into the living room where Jessie was able to enjoy a quiet evening for the first time in over a week.

Before they went to bed, Mike made sure Jessie was extra relaxed by making her cum on his tongue, two dexterous fingers pumping inside her, then took her to bed where she fell asleep to the comforting scent of freshly cleaned sheets.

Sy was dog tired after the fifteen hour flight home from the Middle East, the subsequent flight back to Pittsburgh and the Uber ride to what was technically his apartment. At least, it was his apartment on paper though he hadn’t so much as spent a single night in it. He’d gotten a little bit of sleep on the plane but it wasn’t enough to make up for nine consecutive months of shitty sleep.

The driver dropped him off in the first available spot on the busy street and Sy walked the rest of the way to his building where he froze in front of the door. The key was in his hand but he felt strange using it to let himself in even if Mike and Jessie were expecting him. There was a nagging voice in his head that told him that he should ring the buzzer like any other guest would.

He’d changed out of his uniform already so he didn’t draw as much attention from passersby as he stood there, internally debating what to do.

His phone chimed in his pocket, momentarily interrupting his train of thought. Pulling it out, Sy laughed as he read the words on the screen.

Mike: I saw you pull up. Get your ass up here already.

Without any further hesitation, Sy unlocked the door and began the walk up the fifth floor. When he arrived at the top, Mike was casually leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Took you long enough. Are stairs getting too hard for you in your old age?”

“Mike, I’m twenty-six not ninety-six.”

“That’s what I said—old. You’re officially closer to thirty than you are to twenty.”

With a scoff, Sy approached, dropping his duffle and pulling his annoying little cousin in for a bear hug. Mike clapped him twice on the back, laughing as he did.

“I missed you too, kid.”

“Alright, listen,” Mike began as they pulled apart, “Jessie’s been freaking out all week trying to make this place perfect for you so: boots off in the hall, tell her that supper smells nice and there’s a bottle of bleach under the bathroom sink. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

Sy couldn’t help but smile fondly as Mike spoke. He wasn’t thrilled that Jessie had been stressing out about him coming home but he was glad she had Mike looking out for her.

Wordlessly, Sy kicked off his boots, leaving them by the door before stepping into the apartment. There was music coming from the kitchen which was on the other side of the hall from the door. If Jessie was in there cooking, she most likely hadn’t heard Mike open the door.

“Come find me when the food’s ready,” Mike said as he crossed the apartment to one of the two bedrooms and closed the door.

From the living room, Sy went left, walking into the dining area. To Jessie’s great dismay, the kitchen was absolutely tiny. There was only about four feet of counter space between the stove and the sink. The fridge was in a small nook perpendicular to the rest of the kitchen. If the door was open, it partially blocked the stove.

Still, she’d insisted that it was better to compromise and choose a place with a bad kitchen and low rent rather than to pay a few hundred dollars more a month for a nice kitchen that would never belong to them.

Jessie had proven time and time again that she could cook an amazing meal on absolutely anything. This time was no different. The scent of whatever she was stirring on the stove was making his mouth water and there was what looked like homemade crusty bread and a chocolate cake cooling on the counter.

The next song began to play and Jessie wiggled her hips to the beat. She was wearing extra tight skinny jeans with a loose fitting knit sweater that stopped a few inches above her waistband.

Before he could think better of it, Sy crossed the space in three wide strides and gave her a quick spank before sliding both hands to her stomach and hugging her from behind. Jessie jerked as she startled but she didn’t make a move to turn around, instead blindly swatting his hands.

“Michael Lucian West, you promised no shenanigans today!”

Ouch, full name. Jessie was definitely wound up too tight.

“I made no such promise,” Sy growled against her ear, his hand sneaking under her shirt.

“Nate!”

Dropping the spoon, Jessie turned in his hold and crashed her lips to his. Sy had the foresight to switch off the burner before he put two large hands on her ass and hoisted her up, moving them over to the rarely used table. It was so rarely used, in fact, that there were only two chairs.

As soon as Sy set her down, Jessie was undoing his pants and slipping her hand inside to grab his cock.

“Jesus, Sweetheart, give a man a warnin’.”

“Doesn’t feel like you needed a warning to me.”

The warning wasn’t to have time to get hard, the warning was to keep from coming at the barest touch. He caught hold of Jessie’s wrist, pulling her hand out of his pants and over her head until she had no choice but to roll onto her back with Sy looming over her.

“Behave,” he warned, moving her other arm so that he held both wrists in his hands, “or I’m gonna have to find creative ways to teach ya patience.” Sy nipped at her ear then attacked Jessie’s neck with his lips. The hand not pinning her wrists in place pushed her sweater up to reveal her lace covered breasts.

Sy was definitely an ass man but he loved Jessie’s tits. They were a nice handful without being so large that she always needed to wear bras for support which meant that sometimes she wore what she called bralettes. Mike and Sy just referred to them as her sexy sports bras. They were his favorite because there was no lining behind the see-through lace, allowing him to see just how turned on she was by how her nipples pressed against the thin fabric.

He circled one hard bud with his thumb, silencing her gasp with a hungry kiss. Jessie squirmed under Sy’s touch, wrapping her thighs around his waist and pulling him closer.

She lifted her hips to grind against him but a sharp pinch on her nipple caused her to yelp and drop back to the table.

“I said, behave.”

“Make me.”

With a growl, Sy freed himself from Jessie’s hold by hooking an arm under her knee and rolling her onto her stomach so that her feet were on the ground and her front was flat against the hard wood. A sharp spank echoed through the small room, followed by three more in quick succession.

“You act like a brat then I’ll treat ya like a brat. Shirt off, bra too.”

While Jessie pulled her sweater over her head, Sy unfastened her jeans, working the tight denim down her legs. Once he’d tossed the garment aside with her panties following soon after, Jessie was left naked while he was still fully dressed.

“Put your hands on the table.”

The deeper than normal tone of Sy’s voice made Jessie’s whole body shiver in anticipation. She planted both palms on the table, resisting the urge to look at her boyfriend over her shoulder.

Jessie wasn’t sure what had come over her. It hadn’t been her intention to jump on Sy the moment he walked through the door. She’d planned to welcome him home with a hot meal and some quality time all together but it was like something inside her had snapped.

Getting the apartment ready for Sy’s return had kept her mind busy over the last several days but the instant she saw Sy, it was like all the worry she’d experienced since his deployment had come crashing back.

She’d needed to know that he was real. She needed to know that he was there, living and breathing in front of her.

There would be time for slow love-making later. Right now, Jessie relished every sensation that bordered on that edge between pain and pleasure because that meant that the man she loved was back home, safe and sound.

Thankfully, Sy seemed to be more than willing to indulge her mood, kicking her legs further apart and putting her pussy on full display.

Stepping back as he ripped his shirt over his head, Sy took a moment to appreciate the view.

“Fuck me, that’s a beautiful sight.”

“Syyyy,” Jessie whined. Her clit was throbbing with need but with her legs spread wide, she couldn’t even squeeze her thighs together for some relief.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he taunted, pushing his pants down his thighs. The answer to his question was already obvious by the way she was practically dripping onto the floor.

“I need you.”

“Do you now?” Sy stroked himself while trailing a hand up the inside of her thigh. “You feelin’ empty?” he asked, leaning forward to nip at her shoulders.

“Yes.”

His hand continued to creep upwards at a torturously slow pace, finally coming to circle her clit. “You need to be filled?”

“Yes!”

One finger slid through her folds, easily pushing inside. “Is this what ya need?” Her core clenched around him, searching for more.

Jessie made a disgruntled noise. “No.”

Dropping his underwear to the floor, Sy added another digit. He pumped two long fingers in and out, making Jessie moan when they pressed down against her front wall and reached that place hers never could. “How about this?”

“No.”

A cry of frustration filled the room when Sy’s fingers disappeared but it quickly turned into one of relief as his cock took their place. Pushing all the way in, Sy didn’t stop until Jessie was pinned between his hips and the table.

Brushing Jessie’s hair aside, Sy rested his forehead against the nape of her neck. “And this?” he choked out. “Is this what ya need?”

“Yes,” she said on an exhale.

Wrapping an arm around Jessie’s front, Sy took a moment just to feel. His calloused palms moved down the soft skin of her stomach, following the curve of her hip to her thigh before retracing its path back up to palm her breast.

When he no longer felt like the slightest movement would push him over the edge, Sy gave a tentative thrust. And fuck him if it didn’t send a burst of pleasure all the way down to his very core.

Chasing that feeling, Sy repeated the motion, eliciting a moan from the both of them. As his pace quickened, Sy planted a palm on the table next to Jessie’s and grasped her hips with the other.

Every slam of his pelvis against her ass was punctuated by the sound of the table knocking into the wall. If the neighbours happened to hear the noise, the accompanying grunts and moans left no room for doubt as to what was happening on their side of the wall.

Sy’s peak was approaching far too fast for his liking. In a desperate attempt to stave it off, Sy pulled out, spinning Jessie around and lifting her to perch on the edge of the table. This time, when she wrapped her legs around him, he didn’t protest, choosing to kiss her instead.

Her hands clawed at his back as she scrambled for purchase, the vigor of his thrusts not diminishing in the slightest. The change in position added delicious pressure to her clit, causing her to clench around Sy’s girth.

“Fuck! Baby, I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ close,” he panted, knowing he neared the point of no return. Jessie couldn’t form words in response so instead, her half-hooded gaze found his as she nodded her understanding. She was right there with him.

Her head fell to his shoulder, looking down at where they were joined and seeing Sy’s bare cock disappear inside her. She unintentionally clenched at the sight, pulling a string of curses from Sy as his rhythm faltered and he spilled himself deep inside her. Following close behind, Jessie’s body shuddered, her walls milking every last drop of Sy’s release.

They remained like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace for what could have been seconds or minutes as they came down from their high. Eventually, Sy pulled out, resulting in a trail of cum to escape as well.

“Oh shit.”

Jessie didn’t need to open her eyes to know that Sy had just noticed the lack of condom.

“It’s okay,” she reassured, letting herself lay back on the table. “I’m still on birth control.” Not trusting her legs to hold her, she decided that the table was as good a place as any to rest for a minute.

She heard Sy move around the room, turning the tap on and off before a wet cloth gently swiped over her core. Soon, she was lifted into Sy’s arms as he walked them, completely naked, out of the kitchen.

Mikey was usually the one to wrap himself around her for a post-sex cuddle. She had to admit, clinging to Sy like a koala, she could see the appeal.

Sy assumed that the room not currently occupied by Mike would be their bedroom and he was pleased to see he was right. Gently, he laid Jessie on the bed, putting one of her blankets over her so she wouldn’t get cold as he searched for something comfortable for her to wear.

As much as he liked her skinny jeans, they were not the most comfortable for an evening of lounging at home. He opened every dresser drawer, pulling items out as he went. At the very bottom, he found the clothing he had left behind, neatly folded and organized. He distinctly remembered telling Mike to shove his box of clothes at the back of their closet along with his few other belongings but one of them had apparently disregarded his request in favor of giving him his own drawer.

He pulled on fresh underwear, his favorite black sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts before dressing Jessie in her own flannel bottoms and another one of his shirts.

“I was supposed to be the one doting on you.” Jessie gave him a sleepy little pout. The look was so adorable he couldn’t help but kiss her.

“Mike said you’ve been workin’ yourself ragged all week and ya made me an amazin’ dinner for tonight—which I hopefully didn’t ruin by interruptin’ ya. The least I can do is clean up the mess I made.”

The sound of a door opening pulled their attention to the hall where an amused Mike stood with his arms crossed.

“I figured that it was safe to come out since the building has stopped shaking.” Mike laughed as he dodged a pillow Jessie threw his way. “Sorry, Sweetcheeks but I’m fucking starving.”

“Dinner might have gotten a little cold by now. Can you put the stove on medium and stir the pot every now and then?”

“On it.”

Whenever Jessie entrusted part of her cooking to Mike he took the task very seriously. He would be damned if he ruined her careful efforts by letting something burn or overboil. She’d made something with a French name which she had said was essentially beef stew with a red wine base. His stomach had been growling non-stop for hours.

Sy put a hand out to help Jessie up.

“The food smells great, Sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Let’s go put Mike out of his misery, I bet he’s been waitin’ all day to get a taste.”

They made their way across the small apartment, still holding hands.

“You would lose that bet. He’s been sneaking bites whenever I go to the bathroom.”

When they joined Mike in the now quiet kitchen, he was just finishing up setting the table.

“You’re lucky the kitchen wall is made of brick or we would not be getting our security deposit back.”

Mike had pulled the table out of the corner to allow for a third chair to be added, making the damaged wood visible. They had no attachment to the table they had picked up for thirty dollars on marketplace so the sight just made the three of them laugh.

“You should check the food and I’ll go get my gaming chair.”

Jessie stirred the contents of the large dutch oven, nodding to herself when she deemed the food ready for consumption. “Sy, can you slice the breed?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She pointed him to the knife, cutting board and the wicker basket, instructing him to put a clean towel under the bread. It was still warm as Sy sliced it and he was all the more impressed as the crust crackled and the light, fluffy inside was revealed.

Mike rolled into the kitchen, using his chair as a sort of scooter by putting one knee on the seat while his other leg pushed off the floor. Save for their bed and mattress, that was the most expensive item of furniture in the entire apartment. Once they’d found all the communal pieces of furniture, Mike had used his remaining savings to finally buy a decent chair for his home office.

After graduation, Mike and Jessie had both searched for jobs in a multitude of cities. Sy had just been stationed in Fort Campbell pending his deployment and with Mike working in computer programming, he was able to find a fully remote job with a company which was, ironically, based in North Carolina near Sy’s old base.

The deciding factor had been Jessie finding that Pittsburgh was a good place to be for someone looking to make it in publishing. Moving there left them farther apart than they wanted but Mike and Sy had convinced her that it was the best long term move for her career to start out in one of the top cities for her industry.

“Who gets to sit on Butt Stallion?”

“I’m sorry,” Sy looked over his shoulder as he placed the bread in the basket and folded the towel over it to keep it warm, “did you just call your chair Butt Stallion?”

“Hell yes, I did,” Mike said, spinning the chair to point at the giant unicorn print on the backrest. “Butt Stallion.”

Most men would probably have balked at the idea of having a unicorn print anything in their office but Mike had been thrilled to order that design. Unicorns fucking rocked. It didn’t hurt that the whole collection had been on clearance either. Apparently the way to attract female gamers was not to use an aesthetic reminiscent of a five year old’s princess tea party. Who knew.

“If you’re offerin’ up Butt Stallion, I won’t say no.”

“Have at her.”

They took their seats around the table, Sy sitting at the end with Jessie and Mike on either side. Taking his first bite, Sy released a low groan, immediately shoveling another spoonful into his mouth.

“That good?”

“Sweetheart, this isn’t good, it’s fuckin’ fantastic.”

Jessie preened under the praise. Cooking meals for her boys was definitely one of her favorite ways to show her love. Mikey loved to eat and he made sure to always show his appreciation when she made more elaborate meals.

Mike didn’t mean to let Jessie do most of the household chores but she didn’t have any specific schedule and if happened more often than not that Mike would get home to freshly washed sheets or sparkling clean floors. Since he didn’t want Jessie to feel like she had a child rather than a boyfriend, he usually did the dishes or made supper on weekdays.

“So, what are your plans while you’re here? Other than marathon sex with Jessie, I mean.”

“I dunno. I guess I was so focused on gettin’ home that I didn’t really think ‘bout what came after.”

“Did your parents say if they were coming finally?”

“I think they said they had a flight next Monday evenin’. They wanted to come out when you were both back at work.”

They’d each managed to take some time off while Sy was home. Since Mike worked remote, he mostly took half days because that still allowed Sy to hang out and talk if Mike wasn’t in a meeting. Jessie took Mondays and Fridays off both weeks, giving them long weekends together.

“They won’t be staying here will they?” Jessie didn’t mean to sound unwelcoming but the apartment was not made to house five adults and she was not thrilled at the idea of Sy arranging for his parents to stay with them without so much as a warning.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart, last I heard they had their eye on an Airbnb.”

“Good, that would have made for awkward breakfasts. This apartment is not as soundproof as I thought.”

Jessie laughed. “I could have told you that. You scream like a banshee whenever you play online.”

Pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth, Mike’s head tilted to the side with the most adorable little frown.

“Is that why you always go to the library when I play? I thought you just took advantage of the nights I was busy to go out.”

“Mike, I use an e-reader, I don’t have any other reason to go to the library. Haven’t you ever noticed there are never any books lying around?”

Mike looked over his shoulder at the pristine living room, seeming to picture what it looked like seventy-two hours prior. Though Jessie had cleaned any clutter in the apartment, she was right about there never being any books on the coffee table or by the bed.

“Shit…” He scratched the back of his head with a wince. “Sorry, Sweetcheeks.”

Jessie simply smiled fondly. “It’s okay. It forces me to get some work done without procrastinating. When you had that marathon gaming weekend I got three separate freelance jobs finished.”

She didn’t speak much about her freelance jobs since there wasn’t much she could say about them but they knew that beta reading stories for aspiring writers was not always an easy task. There were times where Mike could see her cringing from across the room. Nonetheless, she had perfected the shit sandwich method in order to provide professional and constructive feedback.

“Still, I’ll try and watch it from now on.”

The rest of dinner went by in much of the same way. There was some good natured bickering, Mike and Jessie caught Sy up on what had been going on in their lives and Sy told a few funny stories from his deployment that weren’t classified.

The boys did the dishes, refusing to allow Jessie to help so they sat her down at the table with a cup of herbal tea and had her ‘participate’ by telling them where everything belonged. Once the kitchen was back to spotless, they all cuddled up on the couch with a movie that had been released while Sy was away. It was the latest in one of Sy’s favorite series and neither Jessie nor Mike had seen it yet, preferring to watch it for the first time all together.

Squeezing three people on their couch was not the easiest of tasks since Mike and Sy both insisted on having as much of their body as possible in contact with Jessie’s. Eventually Sy settled on one end with Leah resting her back against his side. Mike was stretched out on the remaining length of the couch with his head on Jessie’s lap.

When Sy noticed Jessie beginning to nod off, he made Mike sit up so Jessie could stretch out instead, her head resting on Mike’s lap and her feet over Sy’s. By the time the credit began to roll over 2 hours later, Jessie was fast asleep.

Sy carefully stood, moving Jessie’s feet to the couch before lifting her into his arms. The fact that she was already wearing her sleep clothes allowed him to let her sleep and simply tuck her into bed.

“Wanna follow me to the roof?” Mike asked as Sy shut the bedroom door.

Going up to the roof would allow them to speak freely without worrying about waking Jessie.

“Sure, lemme just grab a beer.”

“And a jacket. With the wind it can get pretty cold up there.”

Sy found a thick hoodie in the entryway closet and took two beers from the fridge before following Mike out into the hall and up the stairs.

They sat on the old patio furniture Mike had dragged up. He didn’t smoke very frequently anymore but on the few occasions he did, he made sure it wouldn’t smell in the apartment. He made quick work of rolling his joint then lit it and took a long drag.

“I need to ask ya something before ya get done with that. And I need ya to be honest with me.”

In a surprisingly considerate move, Mike blew his smoke away from Sy. He noted that he’d also sat himself down wind so it wouldn’t blow back onto them.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

“Do you wanna get married one day?”

Mike’s eyes narrowed, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “I know gay marriage is legal but I think marrying your cousin is still frowned upon.”

Sy rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to punch Mike in the arm. Of course Mike would crack jokes when Sy was trying to have a serious conversation.

“I mean in general.” Sy shifted in his seat, taking a moment to uncap his beer. “Forget who you’d be marryin’, is marriage something ya want?”

Mike fiddled with his grinder, using his thumb to spin the top.

“I don’t know, it’s not really something I ever thought about.” Okay, that was not entirely true. Mike had briefly considered what it would be like to get married when Jessie had gone down a Pinterest rabbit hole and was looking at different wedding color schemes. He took another inhale of his joint, holding the smoke in for a little longer than normal before finally blowing it out. “Do you? Want to get married, I mean?”

He looked at Sy from the corner of his eye, not wanting Sy to catch his gaze and read him as easily as an open book.

“Growin’ up the way I did, how could I not? If I’m half as happy as my parent after thirty years of marriage I’ll be a lucky fuckin’ man.” His parents were the picture of wedded bliss. They’d been high school sweethearts and voted best couple in their yearbook. “Pop still talks about how beautiful mama was on their weddin’ day.”

Mike’s body went stiff for just a moment before he seemed to force himself to lean back in his seat.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad mom never got married. The fucking jizz donor would have have gotten half of every dime she made and he didn’t deserve that.”

The tone of Mike’s voice didn’t match the words he’d spoken. To the untrained ear, he would likely have sounded angry but Sy knew there was something else in there.

“So you’re sayin’ you’d prefer it if ya didn’t get married?” Sy pushed. “Even knowin’ that you’d never do that to Jessie?”

“I don’t know, Nate!” Mike stood from his chair, standing to put his joint out against the brick wall of the interior roof access door. He turned and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do I like the idea of Jessie being my wife? Fuck yeah, I do. Is getting married something I’ve always dreamed about? No, absolutely not. It’s not like we can both marry her anyway so if getting married is something you want then it’s better if I don’t think about it too much.”

Sy’s face went soft, realizing what was bothering his cousin.

“Mike,” he said, keeping his voice calm and reassuring, “can you sit down? Please?”

The younger man looked up, his eyes betraying the emotional turmoil he was experiencing. Wordlessly, he obeyed, reclaiming his seat.

“If ya disagree with what I’m about to say, the conversation ends here,” Sy affirmed. “I won’t say anything to Jessie and we don’t bring the subject up again until one of us is ready to pick out a ring.”

He paused, waiting for Mike to give a small nod in understanding.

“You’ve done a lot of growin’ up in the last two years. It’s like meetin’ Jessie has helped ya see what I’ve always known. You didn’t suddenly become a man that’s capable of takin’ responsibility and bein’ a good stable boyfriend. You’ve always been that guy, it just took the right girl to make ya want to be him instead of the party boy. I’m so fuckin’ proud of ya for steppin’ up. I know that our relationship with Jessie is unconventional to say the least but I’m glad you guys have each other. It makes it easier to be away knowin’ you’re there, that she’s not just sittin’ at home waitin’ on a phone call that might never come.”

“Nate…” Mike was starting to think he knew where things were going and he didn’t like it.

Sy ignored his interruption, needing to get everything out. “I didn’t mean for this to be a conversation about who gets to marry her. I know that legally speakin’ it can only be one of us but I think we can both agree that if she wanted to marry us both, it wouldn’t matter who’s name was on that piece of paper, she would be my wife just as much as she would be yours. The reason I asked at all is because…” Sy took a deep breath, steeling himself for the last part of his speech. “I want to marry Jessie before I go back. If something happens while I’m away, I want her to get the death benefits. It would give me peace of mind knowin’ that you’d have the extra income and that ya wouldn’t have to carry the financial burden on top of everything else. But if being legally married to Jessie is something that is really important to ya, I will respect that. The payments would stop if she ever got remarried anyway.”

The silence stretched out as Mike processed everything he’d just heard. His brain wasn’t working at full speed but he was still lucid enough to fully understand the gravity of Sy’s words and it scared the shit out of him.

“What brought this on, Nate?”

Sy palmed his nap with one hand as he picked at the label of his beer with the other.

“We uh… We had some close calls.”

Mike shook his head, his mouth agape as he stared at his cousin.

“It’s more than that. You’re the most annoyingly rational person I know, you wouldn’t be jumping to marriage from a few close calls.”

“You know I can’t talk specifics,” Sy grumbled but Mike didn’t let him avoid the question that easily.

“I’m not asking you to give me specifics, I’m asking what the fuck happened out there to make you think about all this? This isn’t just a passing thought. You had the time to think about what it would do to me and Jessie if we lost you. You had the time to think that maybe having a bit of extra cash would make the grieving process easier. You had the time to look up whether or not that money would still be coming in if Jessie got remarried to me. What the fuck happened?”

Mike’s voice had gotten progressively louder as he spoke and Sy was grateful they were having this conversation outside of Jessie’s earshot.

Sy leaned forward, resting both elbows on his knees and rubbing one hand over his mouth.

“Everything,” he whispered. “Everything happened. Not just the shit we lived, the shit we saw…” he swallowed the lump in his throat, not sure whether he should continue but Mike leaned forward as well, showing Sy that he had his full attention. “The first time we saw a kid get killed, we were in the city. The kids were runnin’ around the square. We could hear them laughin’ from where we were waiting in the humvees. Then one of ‘em stepped on a landmine.” It wasn’t necessary to say anything more. “The second time, it was in a small village. This little girl was in the path of a stray bullet. The next half dozen times it was a lot of the same. Different cities. Different circumstances. What never changed was the fact that those kids were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The worst sound I will ever hear is the gut wrenchin’ scream of a mother findin’ her child like that. I can’t get it out of my head.”

Sy’s eyes burned but he fought back against the emotions bubbling under the surface or he would break down before he finished. He was used to it by now. He’d been keeping those emotions at bay for months.

“I’m not sayin’ it’s the same, but… I keep picturin’ that scream comin’ from Jessie.”

Mike was not above pulling Sy into a bear hug. The distance and the angle of their chairs made it more of an awkward side hug but neither man complained. There was no telling how long they stayed that way but when Mike felt Sy’s grip loosen, he pulled back, leaving only a firm hand on Sy’s nape.

“I get where you’re coming from. Money isn’t everything, though it sure as hell makes life easier when you have it. But Nate, asking Jessie to marry you for the death benefits?” He shook his head at the idea. “How do you think that’s gonna make her feel? I don’t disagree that it makes sense for you to be the one she’s legally married to one day but she deserves better than a half-assed proposal and a courthouse wedding. Your career is already taking so much away from you both, don’t let it take this from her too.”

Objectively, Sy knew Mike was right but he still couldn’t help but feel like he needed to do… more.

Sy cleared his throat taking a sip of beer to chase away the tightness. “Are you guys doing alright with rent and stuff? Do you need me to send more money?”

Though he recognized the change in topic for the diversion it was, Mike didn’t stop it. They’d both said what needed to be said and they’d both gotten their point across.

Since signing their lease, Jessie and Mike only allowed Sy to pay a few hundred dollars for rent and utilities each month. They didn’t want him paying a third of everything without actually living there so they had compromised by letting him contribute as much as a storage unit would cost since that was essentially the only benefit to having an apartment while living on base.

“Yeah, we’re doing okay. We aren’t starving and all the bills get paid on time but Jessie’s been working side-hustles to try to put some money aside. Her job isn’t as hands-on as she’d hoped so she’s probably going to have to pay more for an editor if she ever decides to self-publish one of her manuscripts.”

“She ever end up tellin’ ya what the hell she’s writin’ about?”

Talking about Jessie was the best way to lighten the mood. They were both like love-struck puppies and any mention of Jessie immediately made them smile. Seeing her picture every night before he went to sleep had gotten Sy through some thought ops.

“Nope. I know she used to write fanfiction which is posted online somewhere for everyone to see but she won’t even tell me what her username is or what fandom she posted in. We have a deal that if I read something and guess that it’s hers she’ll come clean but I haven’t had any luck so far.”

Sy didn’t know much about fandoms or fanfiction. He’d mostly heard the popular kids in school make jokes that fanfiction was basically just bad porn written by friendless middle-schoolers. Back then, he hadn’t had time to open any book other than the mandatory reading so he was not in a position to judge the veracity of those claims.

“So she probably writes romance then, right?”

“That’s my guess but who knows.” Mike leaned back, crossing his feet on the table. “Maybe I’ve been reading enemies to lovers when I should have been reading eldritch horror. If I at least knew which actor she was thirsting over I’d know if I was on the right track.”

A sly grin pulled at the corner of Sy’s lips. “You still talk to Jessie’s old roommates?”

His cousin frowned at him. “Yeah,” he confirmed, a hint of suspicion in his voice. “Why?”

“I’ve got an idea. Gimme your phone.”

When Mike handed over the device, Sy checked the time, noting it was just past eleven which, for a bunch of recent grads who liked to party their weekends away, was still early. Perfect.

Putting it on speaker, Sy called the one person who knew their girl better than anyone else.

“Mike! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you guys this week. Isn’t Sy coming home?”

“Actually, Mel, we’re both callin’. Mike and I need your help with something.”

“Damn Sy! Glad you got home safe. What’s up?”

“We’re surprisin’ Jessie with a trip up to this little cabin in the middle of nowhere for a quiet weekend. We wanna plan for a movie night but there won’t be any Wi-Fi or cell reception out there so we won’t be able to just scroll through Netflix until we agree on something. The plan is to download a couple of options but we can’t agree on anything. Mike suggested we pick something with her favourite actor to get her all hot an’ bothered but this dipshit says her favourite actor is Channing Tatum when clearly it’s Chris Evans. Can ya please tell Mike he’s wrong and I’m right?”

Catching on to the ruse, Mike’s face lit up. “You can’t tell me Magic Mike is a bad choice! It’s literally meant to make girls wet!”

“You don’t seriously believe Jessie would prefer to watch a bunch of hairless pretty boys shake their asses in speedos over a fucking super soldier.”

“First,” Mel cut in “lemme just say it’s fucking adorable that you guys are surprising Jessie with a romantic getaway. Second, you’re both dipshits because you’re both wrong. Her favourite hunk is Alexander Skarsgard. She was fucking obsessed with True Blood even if she refuses to rewatch anything beyond season four. I promise that if you make it through Tarzan, she’ll ride you boys like wild broncos all night long.”

Mike placed a series of excited smacks on Sy’s shoulder and Sy had to wave him off before Mel could hear and question what was happening on their end of the line.

“Got it. Thanks Mel.”

“No problem! Tell her to give me a call to thank me for all the orgasms.”

As soon as they hung up, Mike took his phone back and began furiously typing.

“Alexander Skarsgard plays Eric Northman in True Blood,” he said more to himself than to Sy. He continued muttering as he typed, eventually sitting back and scrolling through what Sy imagined were his search results.

“What exactly are ya lookin’ for?” Sy finished off his beer, placing the empty out of the way in case Mike got too excited and began pacing.

“I’m hoping that one of the usernames will jump out at me but if they don’t, I’ll click through a couple of users to see if the posting timelines fit with when I know Jessie was active and start reading those.”

“How many results are there?”

“For this pairing? A hundred and forty-two.”

Sy assumed a pairing was a specific couple though he wasn’t sure how Mike would know which one to look at.

“You’re hopin; that you’ll just stumble on the right story out of a hundred and forty-two results? We don’t even know if that’s the right character.”

“It’s a hell of a lot better than ten thousand plus results. This is manageable. Jessie didn’t have a computer until she was fourteen and she hasn’t posted anything new online since she started working on her own novels two years ago. That narrows down the timeline.”

Sy opened his mouth to tell Mike that he was grasping at straws but Mike whooped before he could get a word out.

“Oh shit… Oh fuck, this has to be hers.”

Stunned, Sy’s mouth now hung open for a different reason. “I know I got ya a lead but you’ve been lookin’ at this for months. Now, after two full minutes, you think you’ve actually found it?”

“The fucking username is ‘Jasey_Rays’ this has to be her.”

With a shake of his head, Sy indicated he didn’t understand the link. Mike looked up from his phone long enough to answer the unspoken question.

“Online, people tend to call you by a shortened version of your username. Usually it’s the first word or first syllables. Having her online name sound like her real name is an easy choice.” He’d always wondered why some of Mike’s friends called him Jabba. Apparently it was because his gaming username was ‘JabbaMikeez’. “Then there’s the fact that ‘Jasey_Rays’ is also a play on Jasey Rae which is a song by All Time Low, a band she most definitely knows seeing as she grew up in fucking Baltimore.”

He had to concede that what Mike was saying made a lot of sense. Even if he did sound like he was trying to prove a conspiracy theory by connecting pictures with red string.

“Is Jessie into CNC?” Mike asked after a moment of silence.

“What?”

“Consensual non-consent. You know, where she pretends to fight you off and struggle but it’s with the intention of you overpowering her and giving it to her rough.”

No amount of locker-room talk could have prepared Sy for that question or the casual way Mike described CNC. Sex, or lack of it, was a frequent topic of conversation on deployment but Sy didn’t usually contribute much of his own interests.

“Why does it matter?”

“I’m checking the story tags to see if it sounds like something Jessie would write.”

“Why are you askin’ me? It’s not like I’d have been able to do that with her from an ocean away.”

“I don’t know,” Mike made a vague gesture towards Sy, “you give off dom vibes, maybe you guys talk about these things when you have phone sex.”

“We’ve never had phone sex.”

Mike dropped his hands to his lap, his head jerking towards Sy.

“What?! Bro, what the fuck are you waiting for?”

“There’s no fuckin’ privacy when I get the sat phone. It’s not like I could take care of myself and I don’t want the guys overhearin’ and have them know what gets Jessie off.”

A shiver travelled down Sy’s spine at the idea of his squad jerking off to thoughts of Jessie.

“So what, you stick to sending her horny texts and dick pics?”

“Mike, if I’m usin’ the sat phone it’s because there’s no fuckin’ cell service. Even when I was out here I never sexted with Jessie.”

“Now I understand why your banging was on the Richter scale earlier. Jesus…”

He went back to scrolling his phone. “Okay, which one of these do you wanna read? We’ve got—”

“What do you mean which one do I wanna read? This is your harebrained idea.”

“Yeah but if we both read something and I’m right we can both pick a scene and act it out with her.”

That… did sound kind of fun. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in exploring some kinkier practices with Jessie. Not CNC. But Mike hadn’t been totally wrong about the dom vibes either. This was a good way to bring that up. That was, if Mike was right and he’d really found Jessie’s account.

“I’m not pickin’ anything to read unless I know those are hers. That username business could just be a coincidence.”

“You try finding proof then.”

Mike shoved his phone in Sy’s hands, instead busying himself by rolling another joint.

The website on the screen looked similar to a library catalogue. There were no pictures or personal posts, just titles and summaries. It was no wonder that trying to find Jessie’s account without any hint on where to start would have been an impossible task.

Though he loved Jessie to death, the idea of reading vampire porn was not an appealing one. There was no way he was going down that rabbit hole without being absolutely certain it was hers.

Sy was about halfway through the list when one of the titles caught his attention. He recognized it because it was a lyric from a song he’d heard a thousand times. He’d held Jessie in his arms as she sang every word on the weekend they first met. “What’s Generation Kill?”

“Nothing sexy about the show so I wouldn’t expect there to be any smut in those stories.” Mike obviously misunderstood why Sy was asking. “It’s the HBO version of a story by a reporter who spent some time in Iraq with US Marines,” he explained, holding his joint between his lips as he dug his zippo out of his pocket.

Dammit. That actually did sort of confirm it. “This is hers,” he stated plainly, handing the phone back to Mike.

“Wait really?” he asked, a plume of smoke escaping as he spoke. “How do you know?”

“The chapter titles of the Generation Kill story are lyrics from the song Hero of War by Rise Against. Jessie knows every word by heart. That’s as close to confirmation as you’re gonna get without askin’ her.”

“Nate, you’re a fucking genius, you know that?”

Sensing that he had well and truly lost Mike’s attention—not that he minded—Sy stood from his chair. “I’m gonna go join Jessie. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t. Thanks for your help.”

Sy made his way inside, double checking that the door was still propped open and Mike wouldn’t get locked out. As quietly as he could, Sy stripped down to his underwear and slipped into bed beside Jessie. She was on her stomach with one knee raised in a half frog but when Sy put an arm over her back she rolled over, mirroring her previous position with her head on Sy’s chest and her other leg over his stomach.

Holding Jessie tight against him, Sy breathed in the scent of her shampoo, committing it to memory. It was surprising how much he’d missed the little things like that or the way she hopped around when trying to put on extra skinny jeans. At twenty-two years old when he’d been fresh out of college, twenty years seemed like child’s play. Now, it was beginning to look like a lifetime of missed moments just like this one.

Eventually, Jessie’s soft breathing lulled him into a light sleep. It wasn’t until Mike joined that he was able to drift off completely, knowing that his family was safe and sound by his side.

Jessie woke to an empty bed, something she hadn’t expected to happen with both of her men being home. Looking at her phone, she saw that it was only shortly after nine which was still early on a day where no one had to be anywhere.

She stepped out of the bedroom, noting that the office and living room were both empty which meant the boys were likely out or in the kitchen. By the sound of things, it was the latter. After a pitstop in the bathroom, Jessie crossed the apartment, pausing when she heard Mikey speak.

“Dammit, I think I fucked this one too.”

Remaining out of sight under the arch that separated the small dining area from the living room, Jessie allowed herself to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“You were supposed to turn the heat down,” Sy’s still gruff voice answered.

“I did! It’s not chunky like the first one, but it looks nothing like the video.”

“Mike, the eggs are gettin’ cold and the ham is gettin’ burnt.”

“I’m trying! Easy hollandaise my ass.”

Realizing what had the boys bickering so early in the day, Jessie moved out of her hiding spot. Eggs Benedict were her favorite breakfast food but she didn’t make them often because they were a hassle to prepare. Jessie feared the tension might boil over if she didn’t intervene and help them out.

“You can reheat the eggs in boiling water when you’re ready to plate.”

Both men spun towards Jessie, Mike holding a saucepan and a whisk, Sy holding a slotted spoon. If they hadn’t been mid freakout, Jessie would have found the sight quite amusing.

“Hey Sweetcheeks.”

The kitchen was a mess of pots and pans, three plates sitting on the counter with English muffins waiting to be toasted.

“Show me the sauce,” she requested gently as she approached Mike. He was wearing a faded grey t-shirt with blue and black plaid flannel pants. He was adorably sleep rumpled but his eyes betrayed his anxiety which was likely caused by his failed attempts at making a hollandaise.

Jessie examined the sauce, giving it a quick stir. “The sauce broke, let me see if I can fix it instead of starting over.”

Mike’s shoulders slumped but he nodded in acceptance, putting the pot back on the double boiler.

“Can I make you coffee, then?” he offered, knowing that coffee was a safe bet. All he had to do was put the water and grounds in the machine and he knew exactly how much milk and sugar Jessie liked. He’d long since memorized how she took all of her favorite hot beverages

“Yes please,” Jessie said, placing a peck on his cheek before she turned to Sy who had apparently decided that shirts were not needed in the kitchen—even when frying Canadian bacon. He wore jersey shorts and nothing else, leaving his tanned skin on full display. “Can you get some fresh water boiling to reheat the eggs? You won’t need much since they are already cooked.”

They each focused on their respective tasks. Taking direction from Jessie, Mike put the buns in the toaster then assembled the different ingredients on the plate. Goddess that she was, Jessie managed to salvage the sauce. Though Mike could tell the texture wasn’t perfect, he prayed it would still taste good.

Before they sat down to eat, Jessie wrapped her arms around Sy’s neck, giving him a quick kiss before doing the same to Mike.

She kept him close, making sure he met her eyes as she whispered, “Thank you for making me breakfast.”

Mike touched his forehead to hers. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry you had to fix what I fucked up. Again.”

“Mikey,” she said, shaking her head, “I fuck up hollandaise two out of three times, that’s why I know how to fix it. You guys did ninety percent of the work, I’m not going to complain about helping you for the last ten.”

His arms tightened around Jessie, crushing her to his chest as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. When he finally released her, he had her take a seat on Butt Stallion at the head of the table. Every time Mike made that sort of mistake, it felt like he was lacking a rudimentary skill he should have already developed as a twenty-three year old. And every time, Jessie was there with a few helpful tips and encouraging words to help him bridge the gaps. It didn’t make the discouragement magically go away, but it sure as hell made him feel better. He hoped one day he’d be able to return the favour.

It was one of the reasons he was so hell bent on reading her work. He wouldn’t be able to help with the editing but he could discuss ideas with her, read her drafts as she progressed to give feedback or simply be there to talk her off the ledge when she wanted to throw her computer at the wall. He wanted to be her safe space the same way she was for him.

She’d said before that she loved talking about her fanfiction online but that she didn't discuss her book ideas publicly because she didn’t want anyone to make the connection between her (hopefully) paid and unpaid works. Something about how her novel was essentially fanfiction with the names changed. He had a feeling that, like him, she was probably her own harshest critic and he worried that without someone having her back, she might never have the courage to put her first book out there.

Beside him, Jessie took a giant bite of her food, moaning at the taste.

“That good?” Sy joked, throwing her own words back at her.

“Absolutely.”

With a weight lifted off his shoulders, Mike tucked into his meal. He’d had no idea what to expect, having never eaten that dish before, but he could easily see why it was his girl’s favorite.

Once Jessie was pleasantly distracted by her food, he decided it would be a good time to put into effect the plan he’d come up with the night before. He’d read two of the shorter fics he suspected were Jessie’s and one longer story. The contents had been both expected and unexpected.

It was obvious there was a lot of thought put into building the world from the longer fic. There was both depth and complexity to the characters and their backgrounds which impressed him. The shorter stories had been straight up sex but it hadn’t made him cringe like he thought he would. No, instead, they’d made him hard.

He shot a glance at Sy, nudging him under the table. Sy raised a questioning brow but seemed to guess what was about to happen from the look on Mike’s face.

“Hey Sweetcheeks,” Jessie looked up from her food, pausing to take a sip of her coffee, “I saw this post on Instagram and I wanted to try it with you. Finish the sentence. ‘I’ve never told a lie—’”

“‘And that makes me a liar. I’ve never made a bet, but we gamble with desire. I’ve never lit a match with intent to start a fire. But recently the flames are getting out of control.’” Mike would have been satisfied with the first sentence to prove she knew the song but of course Jessie was an overachiever. “You could at least make it a little harder. You might as well have said ‘It was never a phase, it’s a lifestyle’ and belted out the chorus to Dear Maria, Count Me In.”

She took another sip of her coffee, sitting back in her chair.

“Alright, what about this one,” Sy said, knowing exactly what Mike was trying to prove. “‘A hero of war, is that what they see.’”

“Just medals and scars. So damn proud of me.’ As opposed to the version of the chorus from earlier in the song which is ‘A hero of war. Yeah that’s what I’ll be. And when I come home. They’ll be damn proud of me.’”

Feigning nonchalance, Mike looked down as he stabbed a piece of egg with his fork. “Seriously, all the signs were there with the emo music, I don’t know why I never thought vamp sex was your kink.” He lifted the fork to his lips, chewing the small bite as he waited for Jessie’s reaction.

Both boys waited as Jessie put the pieces together, a definite blush creeping up her cheeks. For a moment she stared wide-eyed at Mike before her mouth snapped shut and she glared at Sy. “How the hell has he been trying to figure that out for months and you get it in less than twenty-four hours?”

Sy let out a deep belly laugh. “I make a living on strategy and tactical decision-making, Sweetheart. It’s nice to be able to use it when the only thing on the line is the possibility of Mikey getting to act out vampire sex.”

Jessie’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Okay, so tactically speaking, who blabbed?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lied, his voice dripping with amusement.

“I mean, which one of my old roommates blabbed?”

The boys shared a guilty look.

“Technically,” Mike defended, “she just told us you had a thing for the viking vampire.”

Jessie let out an exaggerated sigh, proving she wasn’t actually mad at either of them. “And who wouldn’t? Tall, blond, gorgeous. And the fangs…” She fanned herself, batting her lashes like a school-girl.

Mike squawked. “And what are we, chopped liver?”

“Meh,” Jessie waved him off, returning her attention to her food. “You’re not that tall. Or blond. You do have nice baby fangs though.”

Mikey showed off said baby fangs with a wide grin before following her lead and taking a giant bite of his food.

“So, if Mikey wanted to act out the vampire sex, does that mean you called shotgun on the werewolf sex?” Jessie asked Sy.

Mike made a choked noise, falling into a coughing fit. Once it finally subsided enough for him to take a breath, he washed it down by chugging half his glass of orange juice.

“What werewolf sex?” he asked breathly.

“Oh, did you not see those?” she asked coily, knowing damn well he hadn’t by his near-death experience. “It’s the ones with Alcide as the male interest. He’s played by Joe Manganiello.”

Sy was actually familiar with that name. He was one of the ‘hairless pretty boys’ from Magic Mike although he was more familiar with him from his role in Spider-Man.

“I thought that was just another vampire. Isn’t that what the whole show is about?”

“Yes but it’s a world where vampires are real. Of course all the other supernaturals exist as well.”

He had to admit, if Mike was the vampire of the trio, he was undoubtedly the werewolf which made him wonder what Jessie would be. Probably a succubus. Okay, maybe more of a nymph, but you’d think she was a succubus the way she had him and Mikey all riled up.

“You know, we should do an escape room or something while Nate is in town.” Having cleaned off every last crumb from her plate, Jessie stood to put it in the sink. “Put that big brain of yours to good use,” she teased, wrapping her arms around Sy from behind.

“Ooh, that’s a great idea, Sweetcheeks. There’s a horror room I’ve been hearing about ever since it was rated one of the top ten escape games in the world. I don’t think three people is enough to finish it in time, though.”

Sy turned his head to look at Jessie over his shoulder. “What do you say? Wanna try it out?”

“Only if one of you promises to hold my hand if I get scared.”

“Deal,” the boys answered in unison.

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #mike (hellraiser) fic #mike (hellraiser)#mike (hellraiser) x ofc #Mike (hellraiser) fanfiction #cpt syverson #cpt syverson fic #henry cavill #captain syverson smut

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cyberrat · 2 days ago

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89th Batch Of Fics: 8th Fill

Geralt/Gaetan/Jaskier – Part 2/4 – a/b/o; alpha!Geralt; alpha!Gaetan; omega!Jaskier; hurt/comfort; magic healing dick – Geralt and Jaskier slowly but surely wrap Gaetan up in their little net. Is it a trap when they only have the best intentions?

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It’s a low blow, maybe, but despite his vague acknowledgement of such, Geralt has yet to find an argument to himself that would really stick about why indulging in Jaskier’s proclivities was wrong.

Omega were, in general, eager to provide. Jaskier has twisted it into some kind of perversion that had hit Geralt unprepared but had been, in hindsight, not unsurprising. Jaskier wants to provide. Not just some vague little trilling and puttering around a home to make it a warm little nest.

He throws himself into it with all he has and doesn’t stop until the Alpha is a whining mess.

Geralt can see Gaetan’s eyes widen in alarm as the Omega starts moving, shoulders hunched and face probably rather intense. He propels himself past Jaskier before the Alpha can draw his blades.

There’s a scuffle and a lot of growling and hissing as Gaetan, taken by surprise, tries to twist out from beneath Geralt’s heavy bulk.

The other Alpha is smaller and lighter, though not less dense with muscle. He’s a model student of the school of the cat. The burst of anxious anger is acrid on Geralt’s tongue, lips folding back in a snarl.

“At ease,” he croons at the struggling Alpha. If he had not been struggling with his wounds from the massacre, it would have been impossible to subdue him as fast as he does now. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on him at all. As it is, he rolls them until he’s on his back with Gaetan on his front, an arm curled around the other Alpha’s throat. “Calm,” he whispers into his ear. “He will not hurt you.”

There’s a low growl of denial – the notion of an Omega hurting him scratching his pride – that tapers off into a squeaky little thing as Jaskier takes a few steps closer. His gaze is, as Geralt had thought, intense.

The flush on his cheeks has crawled down his throat and is probably warming up his tits beneath their generous carpet of fur. Geralt has yet to meet an Omegan man that is as hairy as Jaskier. It’s an oddly endearing quality.

Jaskier looks like he is unaware of the powerful Alphas struggling. He’s just staring at them, mulling something over in his head slowly like inspecting a timeless vase. He hums, melodious and trilling but nice and throaty. Almost a growl but not quite.

He goes down on his knees, Geralt kicking his own legs – and Gaetan’s – apart to let him nestle on the ground between their thighs. Gaetan has stopped his struggle enough that Geralt slowly stops choking him. He moves his arm until he only has his hand wrapped around the Alpha’s throat, ready to restrain him again if he were to become aggressive toward Jaskier after all.

Gaetan isn’t exhibiting aggression, though. His scent is a complex mixture of things as he lifts his head and just peers down his body in quiet interest, staring at the Omega.

Jaskier reaches out, grabbing a hold of Gaetan’s thickly muscled thighs and letting his fingers dance up, across his hips toward the fastenings of his pants. “Poor Alpha,” he croons. The tops of his ears are brick red. Geralt can smell the blood pumping fast and sweet through his veins and from the way Gaetan starts to squirm, the other Alpha is very much aware of it as well.

Geralt growls low and soothing right into the witcher’s ear. His tongue flicks out, lapping at the lobe. He can taste a speck of blood and has no idea if it’s Gaetan’s or one of his victims’. It doesn’t matter. Not when Jaskier is fumbling to get Gaetan’s pants open and practically falls forward face first, nuzzling into the open fly and noisily inhaling his scent right from the source.

Both witchers still, staring down at the Omega and listening to his throaty groan at the thick scent of cock and sweat.

Gaetan groans something; it sounds like a prayer but Geralt is not familiar with the language. The other’s hands are reaching down but he does not dare touch the soft hair of the Omega. Since Jaskier always keeps himself in the background to keep his hands as clean as possible while Geralt does the dirty work, he is absolutely pristine compared to the Alphas watching him with rapt attention.

It looks like Gaetan has the same qualms of disturbing that cleanliness as Geralt always has. There is something oddly… sacred about a perfectly hale Omega.

“What… is this?” Gaetan grits out between his teeth. Geralt can feel him subtly arching his back, shoulder blades pressing into Geralt’s chest and hips helplessly lifting as Jaskier starts to peel his tight pants down so he can rub his cheeks against the sweaty, half-hard Alpha dick inside. He’s trilling with satisfaction.

“Fascinating, is it not?” Geralt growls softly, his warm breath fanning against the top of the shorter Alpha’s head. He can feel Gaetan shudder in his arms. He has stopped struggling and Geralt has stopped restraining him. His arms around the cat witcher’s shoulders and chest is now just a comforting hug as he lets him struggle and squirm and rub the muscled swell of his ass against his slowly growing cock.

Geralt continues softly: “He loves this. It’s mesmerizing to watch.” Yellow eyes slide from the shell of Gaetan’s slowly flushing ear down to Jaskier who has managed to pull Gaetan’s pants down enough to let his cock spring free. He looks delirious as he opens his plump lips and is about to suckle the other’s cock down his throat. “What is it you call it?” he asks before Jaskier’s mouth is too full to talk.

The Omega’s eyes slowly travel up Gaetan’s body, briefly stilling on the sight of his armor soaked with blood where the pitchfork slid in mercilessly. When he finally looks up to both of them, he looks already cock drunk without having done anything yet. Gaetan makes a soft sound at the back of his throat.

“A s-s-savior complex,” Jaskier slurs.

Gaetan grunts, confused and Geralt shrugs one shoulder. He lowers his voice to murmur: “He just loves taking care of hurt Alphas.”

Another questioning grunt. Gaetan seems to have trouble wrapping his head around any of it, and Geralt does not fault him. No amount of training can prepare a man for Jaskier on a mission. How sweet his Omegan trills are as he coos about a hurt Alpha and snuggles himself down between his legs like the sweetest little treat.

How dark and honeyed his eyes look when he looks up and holds Gaetan’s gaze as he slowly opens his mouth nice and wide for dick.

Gaetan becomes very still. Geralt doesn’t think he is even breathing at that point, but he lets him be. Lets him figure it all out as he starts to carefully rock his own hips up, rubbing his bulge back and forth against the other Alpha’s ass.

For now, Gaetan is nice and docile. He must not be noticing the advances of another Alpha for how focused he is on Jaskier. That’s alright. Geralt is used to it.

This is not the first time he and Jaskier take an Alpha into their midst, after all.

#cyberratting writes stuff #geralt/jaskier #geralt/gaetan/jaskier #a/b/o #alpha!geralt #alpha!gaetan #omega!jaskier #hurt/comfort

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wren-of-the-woods · 1 year ago

Note

Maybe 10 or 23 of the casual affection prompts? Geraskefer or whomever tickles your fancy!

10: placing their chin on the other's shoulder 23: brushing strands of hair away

I went with both! Here's 1k of Geraskefer softness. On AO3 here!

The forest around their little camp, Jaskier thought as he bickered happily with Yennefer, was very green.

The late afternoon sky was overcast, gentling the light as it fell on the woods beneath. A thicket of ferns and vines surrounded them, speckled with white flowers. Buttercups grew scattered on the ground. The huge leaves of what might have been some sort of maple seemed to float above them, almost glowing green in the soft light. Above them soared conifers larger and taller than any Jaskier had ever seen.

They had found a small area that was more or less clear of bracken, where they made a fire and pitched the tent Jaskier had insisted they buy. On one edge of the clearing was the base of a fallen tree, the now-vertical roots of which created a little wall to shelter them from the wind. On the other was a tiny stream. Jaskier and Yennefer sat in the hollow created when the tree’s roots were ripped out of the ground, Jaskier leaning back against a large root while Yennefer tended the fire.

It was gorgeous. Their surroundings had, admittedly, been lovely for much of their day’s travel, but this was their first real opportunity to slow down and enjoy it.

As such, Jaskier was absolutely not surprised to find that Geralt was drawing.

It had taken many long years of observation, persuasion, and stealthy gifts of art supplies for Jaskier and Yennefer to get Geralt to do something about his long-held love for art. Geralt had, as far as they could make out, always loved to observe nature and to draw, but he had so deeply internalized nonsense about witchers not being allowed to indulge that for many years the only art he allowed himself was what could be explained away as notes on monsters. It was only when Jaskier caught a glimpse of his bestiary and saw skilfully drawn illustrations of monsters and plants adorning the pages that he realized just how much passion Geralt was hiding.

Jaskier had tried for years to bring Geralt’s hidden skill into the open, but ultimately it was only with Yennefer’s help that he succeeded. Now, bolstered by the support of both his lovers, Geralt drew more than Jaskier had ever seen. He was truly good, able to capture the essence of a place or a creature with just a few strokes of a pencil. Jaskier could not help but feel a mixture of fondness and pride every time he saw Geralt at work.

Geralt always enjoyed having new subjects to depict, so neither Jaskier nor Yennefer bothered him when he sat on a small log and became absorbed in his notebook the moment they made camp. Soon, however, the late afternoon faded into evening. The gentle light began to grow dim. Jaskier started to think about preparing dinner. Geralt had hardly looked away from his work in over an hour.

Jaskier looked at Yennefer. Yennefer looked at Jaskier. Silently, they reached an agreement: an intervention was in order.

Dropping the thread of their casual argument easily, Yennefer got to her feet. Geralt blinked up at her as she made her way over to the log on which he sat.

“Hey, you,” she murmured, crouching down in front of him.

His hair fell in front of his face as he looked up and tilted his head at her, and she gently brushed it back behind his ear. He smiled softly at the gesture. The two of them looked tender and almost painfully beautiful, framed by the ferns. Jaskier let out a happy sigh before smiling and standing to join them.

“What are you drawing?” he asked as he drew near. “Can I see?”

“I— hmm,” said Geralt. “It’s not very good.”

“I highly doubt that you’re capable of creating anything remotely mediocre, dear heart. You care too much.”

“Hmm,” said Geralt again. It was not precisely an agreement, but it was not a refusal.

Moving slowly so as to give Geralt plenty of time to shift away or close his sketchbook — as much as he wanted to look and encourage Geralt in his art, Jaskier was loathe to cross a boundary if Geralt truly did not want them to see — Jaskier approached. Geralt frowned up at him but did not move away.

Jaskier settled on his knees behind Geralt, giving Yennefer a small smile. He leaned forward to put his chin on Geralt’s shoulder. He looked down at the sketchbook, and his breath caught in his throat.

Geralt had not drawn the trees. He had not drawn the stream. They were merely a backdrop. There, on the page, rendered lovingly in black charcoal, were Jaskier and Yennefer.

Yennefer was smirking, her eyes sparkling as she glared playfully at Jaskier. Jaskier’s grin was wide and bright. The scene was depicted so tenderly, the drawing so obviously full of love, that Jaskier felt tears come to his eyes.

Yennefer must have noticed his reaction, because she leaned over for a look of her own. She gasped.

Geralt glanced nervously at Yennefer and reached back to put a hand on Jaskier’s knee. Jaskier covered it with his own.

“It isn’t quite right,” said Geralt softly, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I can’t… I’m not as clever with words as you, Yen, and I can’t put what I feel into a song like Jaskier. But I thought, maybe, I could put some of what I feel in this.”

Geralt sighed. Jaskier could tell he was about to say something self-deprecating, so he shifted further forward to wrap his arms around Geralt from behind, squeezing hard.

“I… it’s beautiful. I don’t even know what to say. You’ve made me speechless, Geralt. Me.”

Geralt huffed a small laugh at that. Yennefer leaned forward, careful of the sketchbook, and took his face in her hands.

“I’ve had portraits drawn of me before,” she said, “But none… none were like this. I’ve never seen myself on paper like this before.” She swallowed. “Thank you.”

Geralt let out a shaking breath. “Thank you. For showing me I can do this. I can be this.”

“I love you,” said Jaskier, unable to hold it back. “We love you. So damn much.”

“I love you, too,” Geralt whispered.

Yennefer carefully picked up the sketchbook and charcoals and set them aside, then pulled Geralt towards her into a kiss. Jaskier, his chin still resting on Geralt’s shoulder, watched them with a soft smile. When they eventually pulled apart, Geralt took his hand and used it to draw Jaskier in front of him for his own kiss.

The fire crackled. The breeze rustled gently in the trees above them. Somewhere in the distance, a warbler sang. Jaskier could hardly stop smiling.

The three of them stayed there, embracing in the ferns, for a very long time.

#geraskefer #geralt #jaskier #yennefer #the witcher #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #julian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher fanfiction #wren writes #alllthequeenshorses #tysm for the prompt!!!#i took the opportunity to work in my beloved artist geralt headcanons <3

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sayafics · 1 year ago

Text

Soul-bonds & Heartaches - Chapter IV

Hey guys! Sorry for taking such a long break, I had a lot of fsmily events over the last few weeks and had a hard time juggling time.

I do hope you enjoy the update, though. I think this chapter will be the last for this series unless there's specific prompts/ideas you want to see. (If so, let me know in the comments or asks! I'd be v happy to write them <33)

TW: implied SA, slight violence

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

Geralt had searched for months, the days scraping by as he looked for Andromeda in every shadow, in every smile, in every laugh that haunted him on his travels.

He had left his friends - left them all so he could find her.

Cirilla was safe with Yennefer at Aretuza, and Jaskier had wandered to distant lands, his heart full of broken ballads of an unfinished journey.

Geralt and Yennefer had kept a tentative friendship, ever so cautious to not overstep the boundaries Geralt had so diligently drawn up. Friendship came to them with ease, but every interaction was soured by guilt from one party and longing from the other.

Geralt ventured through the continents, unsure of what guided him and where. His mind was bare of thoughts and his heart burning with emotions he had never been taught to deal with. He was a mess.

He had barely slept since Andromeda had left, living off the scarcest meals as his stomach turned to lead at the idea she may be starving in some backwashed village all because he had messed up and sent her running.

Andromeda was a princess. She was not made for the life he lives. Yet she still followed him into danger, still healed his every wound, and still stood bravely in the face of death if it meant Cirilla would be okay.

She trusted Geralt, trusted him to help them survive, to help them live and find a purpose. Now she was alone, far from them all. And he did not even know if she was safe.

Andromeda was an enigma, a presence so addicting he felt his skin crawl at the realisation he had been so far apart from her for so long. His heart would burn as it longed for her. His mind was plagued with the sound of her voice, his skin imprinted with the sensation of her hands brushing against his skin as she took care to treat his wounds after every battle, his eyes tracing her silohuette in the shadows as he forced himself to sleep at night.

Months.

Months of searching and no success.

Geralt was laid back in a bed, facing the ceiling as he laid an arm over his forehead and scrunched his eyes closed in defeat. He couldn't get her out of his head, her eyes burned into his mind, and sometimes, in the dead of night, he would pretend she was watching him as he slept. Ever a watchful eye, a caring friend, a loving mate.

Perhaps that was why this situation took him by surprise.

He smelt it - a deep and honeyed scent of orange blossoms and jasmine tickling his senses as he leapt up from his place on the bed.

He inhaled deeply, a wild beast searching for its prey. His shoulders tensed as he leapt up to replace his sword and dagger into their respective belts, hands rummaging through blankets and over furniture to collect trinkets and vials he had thrown carelessly across the tavern room as he lost himself in his grief.

Geralt marched through the tavern he had taken residence in, deaf to the cries of indignation of drunk patrons he barged past and eyes seeking a familiar head of hair in the crowd.

His senses led him far from the tavern he hoped Andromeda was hidden in, pushing him to march towards the outskirts of town.

Geralt had never found himself fearing for his life, never had he faced a creature he could not slay and never had he doubted the skills instilled upon him from infancy.

Yet, in this moment now, as he tore through the wilderness in the careful embrace of the night sky, the air thick with fear and horror as the smell he had been craving - the smell he had been fantasising about for months - made itself known to him and grew stronger as he drew closer, he felt a shred of fear wedge itself in his heart.

He could hear a stuttered heartbeat, ragged breaths, and a cloying scent of terror threatened to burn his eyes.

He dared not speak a word, fearful even the faintest whisper would turn his trail into phantom sensations, and he would be following nothing but an echo. A ghost of the woman he had lost.

Still, his shoulders were raised in determination, eyes narrow as he searched through overgrown shrubs and low-hanging trees, head on a swivel as the hand on his right side twitched, ready to reach for his sword if a threat made itself known.

"Please..."

It was a quiet whisper, a pleading whine. And that's how Geralt knew.

It was her.

He would recognise the melody of her voice anywhere. He could be holding onto this life by a thread, and her voice would the only thing he wanted. Needed.

Geralt broke out into a sprint, hand drawing out his sword as he feared what creature could have her so subdued by fear.

He came to a stumbled halt as he took the scene in ahead of his, hand tightening around his sword as a threatening sneer painted itself across his face.

There she stood with her back to him, she was dressed in leathers. They looked clean, neat. Next to her foot laid a single dagger, the hand that seemingly held it before had blood flowing from it, ruby pearls cascading down her fingers to seep into the damp soil.

The sight reminded him of the night with the ghouls, of how he had bled similarly before running to find her, only to miss her by a hair's breadth.

He had found her now.

But she was not safe.

Her back was to him, but he could see how her figure trembled in fear, a calloused hand twisted itself into the careless waves her hair had been flowing down her back in, a knife held to her throat as a man threatened her with a painful death, and forsaken torture.

It didn't take long for the pair to realise someone had joined them, and as the assailant took in Geralt's presence he twisted the girl harshly so her back was against his chest, the hand in her hair tugging her head back so he could press the knife harshly into her skin.

"Geralt."

Andromeda's eyes were wide, pupils blown by fear and mouth parted in surprise.

She looked... good.

She looked healthy, and had it not been for this moment he had stumbled upon, Geralt was sure she had been safe too. The hollows of her face had filled slightly over the months she had been gone. Her eyes no longer held an ache and were not weighed down by pain and longing. As though she had been eating properly, and was able to sleep through the night despite her fear of the dark.

"Rory..."

Her face shuttered at his whisper, drawing in a sharp breath as she ignored the threat of the man behind her and focused on taking in the man who stood in front of her.

Despite all his betrayals, all the hurt he had inflicted upon her, despite his harsh words and unprovoked actions, she found a weight lifting from her shoulders at the sight of him.

He looked ragged, as though he was worn down and tired. And some part of Andromeda was selfish enough to hope she was the cause of it.

A wince escaped her as the man pressed the knife harder against her throat, feeling a warm trickle down her throat, pooling at the hollow at the base of her nack.

A growl ripped from Geralt's throat, "let her go and I'll give you a quick death."

The man scoffed, "an' why should I do that? She's mine, I found 'er first. Get lost Witcher, we don' want y'r lot 'round here."

Geralt huffed in amusement, taking a step foward as he raised his sword higher in a show of promise, "what do you want? If not a quick death."

The man's eyes narrowed, his dark, bushy brows drawing into a frown and peeking past the strands of ebony hair that fell over his face in rivulets. His face had paled when he caught sight of the Witcher, but now it began to redden at the reminder of the cause of his indignation, "this bitch stole me silver. I need repayment, so 'm here t' get it. Been huntin' her down for weeks now, quick little brat, this one. Think I deserve a reward."

A leering smile stretched across the face of the gaunt man, the hand in her hair leaving to wrap around her waist as he pulled her further into him, pressing and feeling.

Andromeda screwed her eyes shut as nausea threatened to overwhelm her senses.

Geralt twisted his head, his heart roaring at the scent of fear that rolled off her in crashing waves, at her quiet whimpers and horrified glances.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a hefty bag he had been rewarded for a recent job he had been successful in. He threw it at the man's feet, wary to give into violence so soon, afraid his need for vengeance would only cause Andromeda more hurt.

No, first she had to be safe. Then he would do what his mind was screaming for him to when he first came upon the scene.

The man looked towards the bag in amusement, eyes dragging their way back to Geralt - "no amount of silvers goin' t' gimme what I need."

"And what do you need?"

"Her. Or her bits at least."

Geralt's heart thudded at his lecherous smile and travelling hands, face grim as he tried to think of a way to help without risking Andromeda getting hurt.

Andromeda spoke then, "then you'll let me go?"

Her voice was quiet, tainted with despair and dread. Geralt screwed his face up in anger and cut off the man with conviction before he spoke, "you won't touch her."

The man laughed unashamedly, head thrown back in glee, "already am Witcher, see."

His hands roved over her, dragging harshly from her waist to her stomach, spanning up to the valley of her breasts and tracing her throat before winding itself in her hair once more. All the while, Andromeda screwed her eyes shut, her stomach roiling in protest at the feel of his touch.

"It's okay, Geralt," there was a whisper of defeat as she looked at him, her eyes glittered as they pooled with expectant tears. The situation was too precarious, too unpredictable. She knew Geralt couldn't help her without risking her life, and a part of her felt envious when she thought of how he had succeeded in helping those who had been in much more vile situations than her own. A traiterous voice told her that if Yennefer had been in her place, he would have fought endlessly for her safety without hesitation.

But Andromeda was not Yennefer, and she didn't hold the same place in Geralt's heart that Yennefer did.

"It's okay," she repeated, her voice stronger despite the fact she felt herself breaking as the seconds passed. She would accept the fate ahead of her. She would pray for her survival and beg the Fates to allow her the strength to move past it and be better.

But if she were to succumb to death, she would walk into its welcoming arms with a relieved smile, "it's okay, Geralt," tears flowed down her face freely now, shoulders lowering as she forced her body to relax, "you'll be free." To love Yennefer, to be with her without guilt.

She had expected to find silent relief in his eyes or a sigh of understanding to escape past his lips. Instead, her words seemed to anger him. Her acceptance of her fate, her willingness to give her body and free will away simply because she thought he would be happy, ignited a blazing fire within him.

Geralt would fight endlessly for Yennefer. But he would wage wars for Andromeda. He would level cities and burn worlds in her name.

It was Andromeda who he pined for all these years, Andromeda whom he wished to pick but felt undeserving of, Andromeda who he was tied to so intricately that he revered the bonds which attached them with unadulterated adoration.

It was Andromeda. It has always been Andromeda.

Geralt nodded, his face expressionless as he lowered the arm holding his sword. The assailant fould himself straightening in surprise, baffled at how the Witcher had given up so easily.

Andromeda's face crumpled in a mixture of understanding and disbelief. It was what she had expected. She wasn't Yennefer.

Geralt lowered himself to the ground, bending at the knees as he placatingly spoke, "I'm going to put the sword down, then I will leave."

The man didn't understand why Geralt would discard his sword before leaving. If Geralt accepted the assailant's terms, then he could leave freely with his weapon if he so wished.

He opened his mouth to speak as such, but a vicious roar escaped Geralt, one filled with grief and guilt and anger as his left hand was thrown forward from behind his back and a knife lodged into the dark-haired man's kneecap.

The assailant let out a wail of agony, falling to the ground harshly. He hadn't expected the pain, hadn't expected Geralt's harsh attack, so the knife fell freely from his hands without causing Andromeda much hurt.

She fell to the floor with the injured man, but before he could reach for her once more she leapt away from him, eyes wide in fear as she saw how he frothed at the mouth and spewed off slurs at both herself and Geralt.

Geralt didn't wait a moment longer, leaving his sword behind he lauched himself at the man. Geralt burned with rage, every scent and every sound a reminder of how close he was to losing Andromeda all over again.

He continued wailing on the man, every hit harder than the last, and his anger did not wane until the man took a rattled last breath. It was then he looked up to find Andromeda staring at him in stunned silence.

Andromeda should have been wary and fearful of Geralt. Her heart should have trembled as he stood to step over the crumpled corpse to stalk his way to her. She should have trembled and cried at the sight of him inhaling deeply, refamiliarising himself with her scent and the overwhelming bounds of emotions that spurted from her uncontrollably.

But as she reached towards his hand that was stretched towards her, palm up - staring at his raw and bleeding knuckles, at the spurts of blood which speckled across his face and the greasy strands of hair that fell across his face - she found herself bubbling in desire.

He had done this for her. To protect her.

She glanced towards the motionless body behind Geralt, hand finally enclosed in his own as he tugged her up to stand - he had killed for her.

He had killed for her.

Andromeda didn't have a chance to look into his eyes, to see the passion and fear and love that drowned his amber eyes. Instead, Geralt drew her into a shaky embrace, as though he couldn't believe she was standing in front of him, as though he couldn't believe he had found her.

When Andromeda didn't rear back from his gentle touches, he tightened his arms around her as a shuddered breath escaped him. He buried his head in the tresses of her hair, finding solace in the familiar scent of orange blossoms and jasmine as he i haled deeply. He tried commiting her form to memory, tried to memorise how her body melded into his own, how it fit against him.

But Geralt could spend an eternity with her in his embrace, and he would still yearn to hold her for longer.

Geralt stiffened at the feeling of a light caress against his back, it was a hesitant touch he soon recognised as Andromeda returning his embrace.

He could no longer help it.

Geralt of Rivia. Butcher of Blaviken. The White Wolf. The Witcher.

All of these twisted parts of his were warriors, stripped of emotions and imbued with skills and tactics.

Yet, in her warm embrace, his eyes began to burn as traiterous tears escaped.

Andromeda closed her eyes in quiet relief at the feeling of his tears against her head, hoping to cherish the moment before Geralt of Rivia replaced her Geralt.

Before Yennefer's Geralt took the place of her own.

"Come back."

Yennefer's Geralt never did come back, and Andromeda found herself wondering if he had even existed in the first play or if he had simply been a mask to hide Geralt's deeper feelings.

His voice was raw, it was quiet. Almost child-like, tinged with desperation as he held onto her tighter, fearful she would slip between his fingers once more.

"Come back, Rory," he pleaded, "come back to me. Come back with me."

She shut her eyes in agony, knowing every inch of her being begged her to say yes. But she knew better, after all this time, she knew better than to blindly say yes.

The truth was, over the last few months that she had been gone, there were no burning sensations that plagued her. There was no sign through her bond to Geralt displaying that he was laying with another.

Not even a burn of the lips like the one she had felt so many moons ago.

But she knew better.

"Do you love her?"

She had to know. She couldn't leave him without knowing, and she couldn't stay when she thought he did.

Geralt pulled back, hands reaching to cup her face as he pulled her face up to look at him, his eyes earnest as he spoke, "I did. Perhaps a part of me still does."

He saw the way her face crumpled at that, but he forced himself to continue, "but it's a thing of the past. I picked you. I pick you. I have every day since that night by the fire"

A harsh laugh escaped her as she tried to pull away unsuccessfully, "then why did you kiss her that night?"

He closed his eyes as he was overcome with guilt, "I didn't do it because I love her. I told her I wanted you, I needed you. She wanted to say goodbye. And it was wrong of me, I know, and I am so sorry, little one. But it is over, never to happen again."

"How can I believe you? You lied to me once already."

Her words were spoken defeatedly, but it caused determination to rise in Geralt. He brought a hand to reach for her own, placing her palm against his chest, against his heart - "ask me."

She looked at him in confusion, a small frown tugging at her lips, "what?"

"Ask me."

She knew what he meant, of course she did and she found herself breaking into a sweat as she tried to string her words together.

"Do- do you love me, Geralt?"

"Only you, only ever you." Andromeda could feel his thudding heart, the way it beat against its cage as he confessed the truth after so long, begging to bare himself to the girl. To show all his scars and faults, and plead with her to accept him and love him as he is.

She found her own heart began to beat in sync.

"It's only ever been you, Rory. You're all I ever want," he leaned closer to her, nose brushing against her own as his breath fanned over her mouth, the sensation causing blood to rush and tint her face a darkened pink. "I love you," the whispered confession came out at a rushing pace. He began echoing his words as he teetered between kissing her or letting her go.

Thankfully, heart satiated by the confession, spirits reignited, and doubts diminished, she looked at Geralt with eyes full of adoration. Her hands skimmed up the leathers of his arm, carressing over his broad shoulders before tickling up his neck as they took their place at the edge of his jaw, close enough to tug a few strands of hair as she dragged him closer.

Her tongue flicked out her mouth, lightly tracing the shape of his lips only a breath away, every accidental brush against his lips caused Geralt to flush red until his impatience got the better of him, "kiss me."

The demand was fulfilled with vigour as Andromeda soared up on her toes as Geralt leaned down. They met with a soft kiss, their lips gliding against each other as hesitance melted into passion, and they began to pour eons' worth of unreminisced desires into a single kiss.

The kiss caused their souls to brighten, a pleasurable burn racing through their body as the claim Geralt had made all those years ago sang harmoniously at their union.

Andromeda wasn't sure how long they had been kissing, but when she pulled back to gasp for air she found herself tucking back some loose strands of hair behind his ear, a shy smile bracing her face as she confessed, "I love you too."

"Come home, little love."

Home was where her heart lived, with her family. With a grumpy Witcher, a runaway princess, and a boisterous bard.

"Take me home, Geralt. Take me whever you go."

They stood there for some time, their heads leaning against one another, eyes closed as they basked in each other's presence.

Andromeda's hand found its way back to Geralt's chest, finding solace in the racing beats of his heart.

Geralt's hands had never left Andromeda's face, absentmindedly tracing the contours of her face, following every blemish and scar that graced her skin.

Soon night turned into dawn, and they looked at each other with renewed vigour in the golden light, drinking in the site of each other hungrily.

Geralt had found Andromeda.

Andromeda had found Geralt.

Taglist: @welliguessiwritethingsnow @kneelforloki @xicesam @lovesickollie @supersoilderswhxre @henryownsme @makemydaysworthit @pookiesnatcher @starlightaurorab

#geralt smut #geralt x reader #geralt x yennefer #geralt of rivera #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri #cirilla of cintra #princess cirilla #cirilla of vengerberg #witcher cirilla #the witcher #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier

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the-desilittle-bird · 2 years ago

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Author's Note- I don't know if this counts as a fluff or an angst. Perhaps starting with angst and ending with a twisted sort of fluff? I don't know. Anyway hope you all like it.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

Twisted Feelings

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary- When (Y/N) reaches Storm's End to deliver her mother's message to the Lord, she not only finds someone unexpected but also experiences a change...

Tag List- @eliseline, @little-moonbeam-666, @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @shopping, @lizlovecraft, @dayane, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @all-things-fandomstuck, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @morganastrucker, @shrexy, @helloitsshitzulover, @daringboba, @minaxcarter, @b-tchymoon, @stargaryenx, @hukio, @saraelizabeth26, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @eudximoniakr, @themaze13, @candypurplebutterfly, @5moremin, @yariany02, @issybee0611

Warnings- Blood, Carving out an Eye, Gore, Typical Westeros, Aemond and his twisted care and feelings

GIF Credits to @jjangredpanda

The rain had significantly increased as (Y/N) had reach Storm's End to deliver her mother's message to House Baratheon, only to find her uncle there; standing tall and nobly with a taunting smirk on his scarred face.

As much as he taunted her, challenging her for a duel. She knew that she wasn't there to participate in violence, opting to let her uncle know of her plans to go back in peace, without any blood on her hands or his.

Aemond only accessed his niece, his eye trained on her figure. His new betrothal thrown out of his mind as he let his eye trail down the curves the young princess had came to possess.

"I will take my leave then, Lord Baratheon," (Y/N) said, her breath heavy as she kept a cautious eye on her uncle who seemed to be too silent for her liking. The Stag Lord nodded, making (Y/N) sigh inwardly in relief; only that it was shortly lived.

"Wait, Lady Strong," she heard her uncle call, making (Y/N) tense up as she turned slowly to face the One-Eyed Prince. "Prince Aemond," she greeted, trying to stop the tremble of her hands. "Do you believe that I will let you go so easily?" Aemond sneered, his hand slowly creeping back into his coat.

"I come as a messenger, not any warrior. I shall not fight you, as I have informed you beforehand," (Y/N) said, taking a step back. Aemond smirked, his fingers removing the eye patch he wore, revealing the sapphire in the place where his eye was supposed to be.

He heard her take a deep breath, his eye took notice of the tremble in her hands as she clutched on her coat. "I wish a payment. An eye for an eye," Aemond demanded, throwing his dagger to her. "Carve out your eye for me, my lady. I wish to make a gift out of it for my mother."

(Y/N) eyed the dagger suspiciously, trying to keep herself from shivering. She looked up to the Lord of the Storm's End to find him watching her carefully and closely. "Thinking much, Lady Strong?" Aemond taunted, taking a step towards her.

"Might I remind you, I am in this situation for your dear brother. It is your eye or his. Now, you know better, don't you?" Aemond smirked as he watched the gears in (Y/N)'s head work. "That's what you wish then? My eye?" She asked, walking to the dagger and picking it up with shaking hands.

Aemond only hummed, a smirk forming on his face as he saw her eyeing the dagger up close. At last, he thought, his revenge will be taken.

(Y/N) extended thr dagger towards him, surprising him. "It is only fair for you to do it yourself, my lord," she explained, making Aemond's smirk only widen as he took the hold of the dagger, moving close to grasp her face.

His rough and calloused hand gripped her jaw, tilting her face up, his fingers wrapping around her hand while he looked closely at her face; relishing in the concealed fear of the bastard princess.

"Which one, dear niece?" He asked, letting the fear settle down in her bones. "Whichever you wish for, uncle," she replied, tears brimming in her eyes as she prepared herself for the pain which would surely come any second now.

"It is only fair for you to lose your left eye, as I did," Aemond whispered, their face too close for any of them to speak too loudly. He felt her nod, as she closed her eyes to try and stop her tears.

His thumb caressed her left cheek before moving to stretch the skin below her eye. The dagger in his other hand raised to her face. (Y/N)'s hand found his coat as she gripped on it, surprising the prince who would soon scar his niece for her entire life.

The tip of the dagger met the corner of her eye, elicting a large scream from the princess as it was slowly dragged to cut the eye out of its socket. (Y/N)'s vision blurred as she tried to stay still. Blood dripped down her left cheek, staining both her face and Aemond's hand.

Aemond carved out the eye carefully, his thumb continued to caress her cheek as her wails echoed through the cold wars of the castle. The loud screech of her dragon could be heard in a distance.

An unusual and unique sort of closeness stayed between the uncle and the niece as he took her eye out from its socket, letting go of her face as she crumbled down to the floor, clutching her face in her hands.

Aemond stared at the amethyst eye and the lady near his feet. (Y/N)'s wails quieting down to broken sobs. He kneeled down beside her; too close than appropriate for a betrothed man.

"Niece," he called softly as he pocketed the eye, his empty hand caressing her shoulder. His eye gazing down at the figure beside him. He heard her groan, trying to remove the hand from her shoulder.

(Y/N) stood up, her left hand placed securely on her now empty eye socket as she turned and ran out, leaving behind a shocked Baratheon court and a kneeling Targaryen.

(Y/N) sat, curled into her dragon inside a cave they found near the outskirts of Storm's End to shelter themselves from the raging storm outside. A large piece of her undershirt wrapped around her head, bloodied from her eye, to hide the hideous sight.

The fire crackled in the cave, the only sound except of that of the rain. In the silence, (Y/N) hide herself into her huge dragon, tears spilling down her unharmed eye and dropping down on the warm skin of the dragon.

"I apologize for what I did to you," came the voice, most unexpected for (Y/N). She jumped in surprise, clearly startled and scared of him as she tried to crawl back into her dragon's embrace. "I am not here to harm you, niece," Aemond whispered, kneeling down with hands held up in surrender.

"The harm is already done, uncle," she replied, her voice cracking in the end. The bleeding from her socket had stopped but the left side of her face was stained in her blood.

"I... I apologize," Aemond managed to speak out. "Apologies won't heal it, uncle. What is done is done," (Y/N) hissed, her hand drifting to the hidden dagger in her boots.

"I am aware, (Y/N). But... I was blinded by rage," Aemond said, he stood up. (Y/N) scoffed, standing up clumsily, as she grabbed onto Shrykos' scales to cease a fall.

The ache in her head worsening as she stood up. Her peripheral vision quickly became hazy, making her dependent on only a quarter part of her vision. The muscles of her face screamed as she tried to laugh sarcastically at her uncle.

She took in a deep breath trying to stop the urge to scream and writhe in pain in front of the man who caused the pain at the first place; to not show any signs of weakness in front of her enemy.

"You need to get to a maester soon, or else it would not heal," Aemond suggested softly. (Y/N) scoffed at the sudden concern from the man who was once close to her, more than her own siblings. "You care rather too much," the Velaryon princess hissed, her hand slowly creeping to her wound as the pain intensified.

A low growl bubbling in her throat as she tried to stand properly without her knees giving up on her weight. "You should come to King's Landing with me. The maesters will treat the wound properly as they have... experience with it," Aemond said, stepping towards her.

"And become your hostage? Never. I did rather die here than go with you and stay with your tratious family," (Y/N) hissed, her voice cracking slightly at the end as her legs gave up on her weight. The lady sat there clinging to her wound and growling and whimpering in pain as the world faded away; only the everlasting pain existed.

And soon, the world of unconsciousness embraced her gently, taking away the pain from her and letting the cold numbness creep into her spine, spreading throughout her body.

#aemond targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #house targaryen #aemond imagine #aemond x fem!reader #house of the dragon #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #house of the dragon aemond #house of targaryen

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 1 year ago

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One of two kinds - Part 1

Masterlist

A/N: "Part 1", Nina? Part 1? And it's 8.7k words long? Yes, yes, yes, part 1. Guess centaur!Sy will have to wait for a bit, right? I don't even know how I came up with the idea for werewolf!Geralt (affectionately known by me and a few others as "Weralt") but OH BOY am I glad I did... And then Geralt kept getting bigger and the Druid kept getting smaller, and now we're left with this.

I don't think this qualifies as monsterfucking just yet, but rest assured I promised someone knotting and that will happen...

Characters: werewolf!Geralt x halfling!druid!OFC (unnamed)

Summary: When you find a wounded, new werewolf in the forest, you can't just leave him lying there. Perhaps the enormous man will turn out to be exactly what you needed...

Word count: 8.7k

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, NSFW, MINORS DNI, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), p-in-v sex (unprotected. Be smarter!), dirty talk, SIZE KINK, annoying banter (❤️), lots of teasing, mentions of sexual assault, murder, blood, violence (that took a turn), and just so that no one is confused and comes after me for this later... SIZE KINK!!! And one suggestion of a very inappropriate use of wildshaping... I think that's all but if I missed any, let me know.

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @ellethespaceunicorn @mayloma @keanureevesisbae @summersong69 @ylva-syverson @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @livisss @peyton-warren @ramadiiiisme @mysweetlittledesire

The groans and whines cut through the forest, clearly half-animal half-man to your ears. It awakened your curiosity; it was likely a shifter, or so the wolf-like howls would indicate. Wolf-hybrids were so rare that you almost discarded the possibility immediately, but shape shifters were common enough in all forms.

Swiftly you flew through the thick of the forest, towards the source of the cries. He wasn’t difficult to spot; a bright white fleck on the forest ground – and one of considerable size.

Behind a tree, you shifted back, carefully rearranging your skirts – for some reason – before stepping into the small clearing where the creature cried. He was possibly the largest wolf you had ever seen! An adult male, from the looks of it, but a new one. One who had only found his wolf recently. Older wolves rarely went through the trouble of shifting to their full form unless it was a full moon or mating season...

Careful not to startle him, you crept towards him until his big, golden eyes locked on yours, in them an expression of pain so overpowering that you nearly felt his agony yourself. The cries got louder until one echoed in your head: “Help!” He spoke the Common language, to your surprise. He didn’t feel human, even after you disregarded the obvious animal energies.

“Shh,” you said when he yelped, clearly in tremendous pain. He allowed you to touch his head, leaning into your touch and nuzzling your hand. From here, you could see a rather gruesome cut on his stomach and a bite mark on his thigh from something not much bigger than him – but maybe a lot angrier. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” you whispered to him while trying to think of a way to move the behemoth out of the cold. Even your wolf form wouldn’t be large enough to move him.

With the absence of other sensible options taken into consideration, you arrived at the conclusion that magic was the only viable solution. The creature whined softly as your spell lifted him off the floor, and you dragged his levitating body carefully through the woods, until you found the cave you were looking for. The rough floor was cold, but it would have to do.

“You need to shift back,” you whispered as you sat by his enormous head. Gods, whoever this was had to be an exceptionally large man – especially compared to your small frame... “I know it hurts, and I know it’s terrifying, but I can’t heal something as big as you,” you pleaded. You ran your hands through the soft white fur on his neck in an attempt to calm the wolf down. It was obvious to you that he was fighting his shift, and you knew that meant it would hurt him all the more. He simply couldn’t hold on to his wolf form forever.

Slowly, the rhythm of his breathing steadied under your touch. “Good, good...” you muttered, raking your fingers through his fur. “Stop fighting it, it won’t hurt if you let it happen.” It wasn’t quite a lie, but it was something slightly other than the truth: phasing wasn’t painful, per se, but uncomfortable enough to be experienced that way in the beginning. The feeling was certainly more or less an acquired taste.

“I can’t...” The grunt that sounded in your mind was accompanied by a low growl from the creature.

“Yes, you can, I know you can,” you said as you smoothed a hand over his cheek. Watching a werewolf – or were-anything – phase was a sight somewhere between gruelling and fascinating, but this man somehow made it look powerful and captivating in a way.

His human – or rather, ‘regular’ form, as you were still convinced this man was at least not fully human – was as impressive as his wolf; Approaching – perhaps even exceeding – two metres in height, with broad shoulders and no shortage of muscle. As your curious eyes raked over his form, you couldn’t help but notice other parts of him that were quite sizeable... Immediately, you discarded the thought: All it took was one look at his abdomen and thigh, both of which had sustained quite a bit of damage.

“Don’t move,” you told the man as you placed your hands over the wound on his stomach before you started on your first healing incantation. “I won’t be able to heal you completely, but I should be able to get both of us through the night,” you muttered as you watched the wound carefully, not taking your hands off the man until the bleeding had stopped. At least that put him out of immediate danger...

The wound on his leg, you had already noticed, would require a more finessed approach; it ran rather high on the inside of his thigh – a place that was impossible for you to reach without putting your hands in places that you had better not touch, even as a healer, without it being strictly necessary. Luckily, now that he was no longer continuously fighting his transformation, and with the other wound in a less alarming state, the man seemed to be in considerably less pain.

“Could you, eh... I need to... Please,” you stammered, your cheeks glowing hot as you made vague gestures at his crotch. “Can you move your, eh... Parts... out of the way, please?”

He looked at you and cocked an eyebrow, while a devious smirk spread on his face. “Parts?” he asked, a hint of that same smugness unbecomingly evident in his voice.

You cleared your throat and tried – and failed – to keep your voice steady as you spoke again: “Yes. To put it plainly... Ehm... Move your dick.” The man snorted, lowering his hand tragically slowly and cupping his... package, so you had access to his thigh. Without thinking, you straddled his leg as you put your hands over the wound, quietly marvelling at the sight of his vast, tree-trunk thighs, fighting the urge to moan as the muscles twitched beneath your fingers. “What did this to you?” you asked softly while still concentrating on your spell.

“Don’t know, didn’t see it,” the man grunted. So, he wasn’t one of many words... He let out a sigh of relief as you finished your work and took your hands off his leg. There was no doubt that it was still sore, as you weren’t able to continue your treatment right now – not if you wanted to make it through the cold night with the slightest bit of comfort, at least.

“How does that feel?” you asked the stranger, and he replied with another grunt.

“Much better,” he groaned. Then, he moved his leg in such a way that made you lose your balance, and you tumbled forward, until you were on top of him. Actually, ‘were launched on top of him’ was a far better description. He barely grunted as you landed on him, but when your eyes met, he was looking down at you in utter befuddlement. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were...” He awkwardly pinched his fingers together in a gesture that could have meant absolutely nothing other than ‘small’.

“I’ll have you know I’m exceptionally tall for a halfling, you brute!” you snapped, frowning up at him. Despite your feisty attitude, you didn’t dare move, as you were very aware of the rather unfortunate position on his body you were in. Luckily, he seemed far less plagued by reservations regarding the situation, and before you know it, his large hands grabbed your waist, and he pulled you up towards him. His sly grin never left his face as he set you down on his stomach, just above the wound you had just been working on, which now presented itself as a new scar, the fresh skin pink and shiny and – above all – delicate, making you extra careful not to make any unexpected moves.

“What’s your name?” you asked, feeling it was only appropriate at this point to find out that information about him.

“Geralt,” he said with a low chuckle. You repeated it – it was a rather unusual name – and introduced yourself, still seated on top of his chest. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “Do you have any idea what happened to you?”

“I... Well, you saw the aftermath. I don’t know what attacked me, and... You seem to know a lot more about what I am than I do,” he said slowly. Something in his voice suggested he was lost, confused and perhaps even a bit scared.

“Get some rest,” you said, conjuring up a soft bed of moss beneath the man, “I’ll try to gather some food.”

It was not an easy task, as it was rather dark out and also quite cold, but you managed to forage a batch of mushrooms and berries that, together with the provisions you carried, should make a nice meal for the both of you. Upon your return to the cave, you saw Geralt, slowly scurrying through the cave – still in the nude, as he of course did not have any clothing at this time. He had almost finished building a small circle of stones. Next to it, there was a pile of branches and twigs, and a supply of larger blocks of wood. Since there was no axe present, those blocks had to be a testament to his incredible strength.

“It’s freezing,” he said plainly when he noticed you standing there. Yes, the temperature. You had already noticed it yourself, but now that you were faced with this man, sanding upright, completely naked, you rapidly felt the temperature of your body rise as you involuntarily let your eyes glide over his imposing form.

“It is...” you replied, never taking your eyes off of his generous endowment. It truly was freezing. A chuckle escaped him – of course he had noticed your completely inappropriate staring – as he sat back down on the layer of moss you had conjured for him. “I can light it,” you said quickly, before Geralt could move towards the stone circle. You sank to your knees next to it, and quickly built a fire. Then, you focused on cooking the two of you a meal.

“It’s not a lot,” Geralt complained as you handed him his portion of the food you had prepared.

“I’m so very sorry! Naturally, I foresaw these circumstances, yet neglected to pack enough food to accommodate a giant like yourself,” you snapped at him. What did he expect you to do? “What are you, anyway?”

“My father is a half-orc, and my human mother clearly isn’t quite right in the head,” he scoffed. You struggled to suppress a chuckle. As far as you were concerned, his mother had had exactly the right idea... “Though I suspect you would disagree with that.”

“I beg your pardon?” you said, not even feigning indignation at the implication in his remark – it was perfectly genuine. How dare he make that assumption? He was right, of course, but how dare he?

For whatever reason, he decided not to press the matter, finishing his meal without making another sound.

“Your mother was also a werewolf,” you said after swallowing the last bite of your own supper. “Your father likely wasn’t, which would explain why it took so long for your first shift to occur. I take it you’ve been away from home for a while, too?” As you had already expected, Geralt nodded in reply to your question. That just about explained the entirety of his current predicament. When you looked into his eyes, the hint of fear was back again, and you couldn’t help but feel bad for the man.

“Alright, I can tell you haven’t the slightest clue as to what’s happening to you, so I will do my best to explain it as clearly as possible,” you said – not that your knowledge on shape shifters was so vast, but it had already become painfully obvious that you knew more than this poor sod. “If you want, I will stay with you until your transformation is complete."

You expected him to argue with you, to tell you to waste your time on something else, or that he would be alright without you. Instead, Geralt accepted your offer without so much as a single complaint – he truly must have been terrified. It wasn’t unimaginable; things were happening to him that were not only new to him, but beyond anything he had ever imagined he could possibly be.

“What do I have to look forward to?” he groaned as he stretched out on the patch of moss again, not bothering to cover his body with... Well, there was nothing he could possibly cover himself with... Your cloak surely wouldn’t suffice – it would barely be enough to cover one of his enormous legs. Besides, you’d get cold if you handed it to him. To fashion a blanket out of moss would be possible, but it would leave you without a bed, as you were really starting to get tired, and using more magic was out of the question. To leave him bare through the night, however, especially in his current condition, would certainly prove disastrous for him. With the fire still going, his attire – or lack thereof – wasn’t an immediate concern. His question, on the other hand, was.

“You have made it through the worst part; the full shift is unanimously more difficult and more painful than the half shift,” you explained. “It should follow within a few days. In the meantime, prepare to feel... moody – although I suspect it wouldn’t be the first time people say that about you – and restless, generally uncomfortable... There won’t be a lot I can do but keep you company and help you through the shift, but at least you won’t be alone.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, turning onto his side on the makeshift bed. This time, when you looked closely, he shivered. “You don’t happen to have anything larger than that handkerchief you call a cloak, do you?”

“I do not, but if you’re nice and stop insulting my size, I can make you something. It would leave us with just one bed, though,” you said, your tone about as snippy as you felt was to be expected after a remark like that.

“I don’t see a problem, there’s plenty of space for both of us on here,” he replied, his eyes holding something just shy of an apology.

“Alright then,” you said, walking over to him and fashioning a cover out of moss for him. It was large enough to cover both of you, but you opted for your cloak as you lay down on the soft, green, makeshift mattress next to him. He’d been right; there was plenty of space – largely because you, of course, hardly took up any.

“Will it always feel like this?” he said suddenly, just as you informed him that you were going to sleep. “The tearing inside, the... pressure?”

“Not from what I’ve heard,” you said softly, turning around to face him and placing a hand on his cheek, his face almost comically large underneath your tiny hand. “You learn to live with the wolf. Right now, you’d do well to remember that you’re not fighting him; there’s simply no point to it, he’s never going away. He just wants to...”

“Play?” Geralt scoffed.

“You’re being sarcastic, but you’re hitting the nail on the head, actually,” you said in earnest. He looked at you, his golden eyes glowing enticingly in the light of the fire. “He wants to get to know you.” Your gentle touch, combined with your words, calmed him down, and he inhaled slowly and deeply. “Get some rest.” On a deep sigh, he closed his eyes, and before long you heard low and loud snores – echoing through the cave...

“Good morning,” he grumbled. Morning? Was it morning? As far as you were concerned, morning came after a good night’s sleep, and you didn’t get that, so morning? Your tiny little behind!

“To you, maybe,” you snapped, “I didn’t sleep a wink. Caves have quite the echo, you know. And you...” He cut you off, surprising you by putting an arm around you and pulling you against him, his lips close to your ear.

“I’m not asleep anymore,” he growled, “why don’t you get some sleep now.” With one swift move, he wrapped his blanket around you too. Why didn’t you get some sleep? Beg your pardon? As if there was even so much as a remote possibility of getting any sleep. It was morning. And what that meant for this man – who, beneath that blanket that you were now under as well, was still very much naked – was that it was really morning.

“I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep with that giant...” He cut you off again, this time with a bout of roaring laughter that echoed through the cave loudly enough to give anyone a serious headache. “Alright, that’s quite enough, Geralt.” You got up and paced to the other side of the cave, where you inspected your supplies. There wasn’t a morsel of food left after last night, and your water supply was dwindling swiftly – especially now that you had to share it. “There’s a town, not too far from here. I will stock up on some supplies and find you some clothes. Please tell me you know how to hunt?”

He scoffed – a sound that was positively dripping with disgruntlement at your implication. “Leave me the bow,” he grunted, “not that those... darts will kill anything, but I’ll give it my best.” He reluctantly took the crossbow from you and inspected it. “Do you have a knife?” You could tell he tried not to laugh when you handed him one of your daggers, and he closed his mouth again, swallowing the comment he had been tempted to make. “This will do just fine.” The smile that adorned his brutish features wasn’t quite genuine, but it was close.

As you gathered your things and made your way to the entrance of the cave, he stopped you: “What do you mean ‘a town not too far from here’? You’ll be walking for hours!”

“I was never going to walk, dearest,” you taunted before shifting, leaving Geralt baffled at the sight of a rather unusually large raven before him. By means of a goodbye, you cawed a few times before taking flight.

You returned to the welcome sight of a flickering light coming from the cave, and the smell of roasting meat. It was still light out, leaving you with plenty of time for foraging, and mending the heap of scraps you carried in your pack now would make a fine activity for the evening. The sight you were met with when you entered the cave, however, left a thing or two to be desired.

“Would it be too much to ask that for the few days we call this cave our home, we do not turn it into a pigsty?” you snapped as you stepped around a pile of entrails. “Did it occur to you to take care of these beasts outside?”

“I was going to clean that up,” Geralt growled at you, “you returned sooner than I expected.”

“Does the phrase ‘as the crow flies’ mean anything to you, Geralt?” you retorted.

“You turned into a raven, not a crow,” he replied, his uncalled for stoicism only fuelling your anger.

“I hardly think you are in a position to be a pedantic arse about this!” you exclaimed, balling your hands into fists in an attempt to prevent yourself from saying something you didn’t mean – in the interest of keeping the peace for a few days, of course. After a deep breath, you felt confident you could speak without insulting him: “Thank you very much for providing us with food. Here are some clothes.” You handed him the things you had bought him, which he gratefully accepted.

“I’m almost done cleaning the hides,” he said with a kind smile, “In case you wanted a bed of your own tonight.” By the end of his sentence, his voice dropped, as if the thought of you sleeping anywhere other than next to him brought him sadness. Without another word, he put on the garments you had given him. Luckily, you had gauged his size quite accurately, and they fit him well. “No undergarments?”

You snorted. “I think I happened upon the place where you phased, are these yours?” You tossed the scraps you had gathered at his feet. After a brief inspection, Geralt nodded. “Well, then it seems like you never felt the need to wear undergarments to begin with, Geralt.” He smiled at you – and in this moment you’d have given everything to just be able to say he smiled up at you, but seated on the floor like he was, his face was just about level with yours. There wasn’t a hint of embarrassment to his expression, which irked you – to say the very least.

You ventured out into the forest, looking for something to add to your meal – though you doubted Geralt would have any problem whatsoever with a dinner that consisted solely of meat. During your search, you noticed for the first time how lovely this particular part of the forest truly was. You were lucky enough to find mushrooms, root vegetables and a whole host of berries nearby. From where you stood, you could hear a waterfall, and as you walked towards the sound, you clutched your waterskin and prayed that the water was clean enough to drink. It was! In fact, it was nothing short of absolutely perfect, and the banks of the small creek provided you with even more edible plants and herbs to take with you.

“Darling, I’m home,” you teased as you stepped back into the cave. The pile of guts, you noticed, had been removed – mostly. This night, the two of you prepared your dinner together, while jokes of the domesticity of your current situation became more and more frequent. Outside, a particularly harsh wind had picked up, blowing icy air into the cave.

“Perhaps instead of a second bed, we had better use the hides to shield us from that wind,” you suggested carefully.

“Perhaps instead of making a bed right in front of the entrance of the cave, you could have gone around that corner,” he grumbled, pointing at a part of the cave that would absolutely have been better suited for sleeping, “where we wouldn’t have to worry about freezing.”

“And perhaps,” you snapped, failing to keep your anger out of your voice, “I was utterly exhausted from dragging your gargantuan arse through this forest to keep you from dying!”

“Oh, believe me when I say I appreciate it,” he threw back at you, “but wouldn’t it be such a waste of your precious efforts if we still died...”

“As if that wind would actually kill you!” You rolled your eyes at him while he growled at you, and before you knew it, you found yourself in one of the tensest moments of your life so far.

“It wouldn’t kill you either, but it would be pretty fucking uncomfortable, wouldn’t it?” he sighed impatiently.

The worst part of the argument was that the solution was so mind-numbingly simple that neither of you even dared to pitch the idea of just moving the bed to the other side. Instead, you just kept staring at each other, getting angrier with every passing minute, until – much to your dissatisfaction, you finally couldn’t take it anymore: “Let’s just sleep over there, then!” With a snap of your fingers, the moss disappeared, and with another, it reappeared on the other side. “And lay down and strip, so I can take another look at your injuries.”

“One bed, huh?” Geralt remarked, flashing you that cocky grin you had become far too well acquainted with in the short time you had known the man.

“Shut up,” you replied, “you’re warm. It was quite nice.” Heat rose to your cheeks as you spoke the words, and you were convinced you weren’t wholly able to keep the expression on your face free of the shame you felt.

“I thought so too,” Geralt admitted as he lay down on the bed, nude once more, grinning down at you, seemingly not feeling the same embarrassment that you did regarding the situation.

The wound on his abdomen was as little of a problem as it had been the previous night. This time, the only thing that remained of it was a faint scar that looked far older than it really was. The other injury, however, posed the same problem it had before – only this time you were more than comfortable taking a slightly different approach.

“Do you need me to move my... parts out of the way,” Geralt said mockingly while raising a suggestive eyebrow at you. You sighed deeply. This man was simply impossible!

“Yes, Geralt,” you barked at him, “please move your massive cock, before I do it.” You immediately realized your mistake, as the devious glint in his eyes slowly gained assistance from yet another impossibly smug grin that slowly spread across his face. He did exactly what that look in his eyes foretold: absolutely nothing. “I’m not giving you a happy ending with this healing spell.” You spat your words out at him so harshly that for a moment, his face showed a hint of concern that he had gone too far. “I might castrate you,” you added in a sickly sweet voice that brought the grin back to his face, “but it would be a shame...”

“Finally, something we can agree on,” Geralt chuckled – a sound that was cut short by a grunt when the backs of your fingers brushed past his cock on their way to their destination on his thigh. On the way back, you let your fingertips trail the flesh of his thigh slowly, purposely lengthening the amount of time you spent in contact with his parts. The muscles in his thigh twitched as you ran your fingers over them. This time, you hadn’t made the mistake of straddling his leg, and you cursed yourself for that choice, as in that moment you wanted nothing more than for him to launch you onto his chest again.

“God, you got insanely lucky that whatever bit you even missed the goods, darling,” you muttered before withdrawing your hands, eliciting a deep sigh from Geralt.

“I’m even luckier you found me,” he whispered on a sigh. Without speaking, he held a hand out to you, and you took it. He impatiently tugged at your arm, almost hard enough to make you lose your balance again. Instead, you moved, climbing over him until you were laying to his left, nestled into his side. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “your touch calms me down.”

“Gods, I almost forgot,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief over your apparent indifference. “How are you feeling?”

“Restless, as you predicted,” he replied. “My senses are annoyingly heightened. You smell good. You feel soft.” He turned to face you, wrapping his other arm around you and pulling you against him and laying his forehead against yours, swallowing hard. “I find myself constantly fighting the urge to touch you, taste you...”

“I might be able to help that restlessness, you know?” you said carefully. As clear as it was what other urges he was fighting – judging from the growing pressure against your leg – you found it best to err on the side of caution.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” His voice was only a low growl in your ear.

“That’s disappointing,” you retorted with a challenging tone to your voice. Suddenly, his eyes opened, the look in them fierce – animalistic, even.

“Fine, is that what you want? For me to tear you apart? Don’t think I can’t smell that sweet little cunt of yours,” he snarled before aggressively pressing his lips against yours. The sudden action made you gasp, and Geralt greedily used the opportunity to invade your mouth with his tongue. When he retreated, you eagerly sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, making him moan as you nibbled on it – quite contently, too. Without hesitation, he reached for the collar of your blouse, tearing the fabric away unceremoniously. You allowed him to explore every bit of skin on your neck, moaning with each sloppy, open-mouthed kiss he pressed to the sensitive skin.

From there, he swiftly moved on to your chest, sucking more than only your nipples into his mouth with remarkable ease. His teeth grazed over your skin, luring a sharp gasp from you as you dug your fingernails into his shoulders.

Now that it was the sound of your own pleasure bouncing off the walls of the cavern, the sound bothered you far less than when it had been Geralt’s horrible snoring.

He moved his hand down over your body, the materials of your clothes shredding under his brutish touch. It didn’t matter; you’d mend them later, right now all you wanted was to feel Geralt’s hands on you.

You cursed softly under your breath when he ran one of his fingers through your folds. A low grunt slipped from his lips as you kissed and licked his neck and jaw, then a louder moan when you sank your teeth into his flesh as he pushed a finger into your slick core. When he added a second, he groaned – as did you.

“There’s no way,” he muttered, making you giggle. The fact that he seemed to struggle to push that second finger into your tight pussy made you giddy with excitement, but you also eagerly took the opportunity to finally flash Geralt a smug smile of your own. The fact of the matter was that you weren’t some porcelain doll.

“Come on,” you taunted, “if you can’t even manage a second finger, how are you ever going to put that big, fat cock inside of me? I can take it, I promise.” He laughed when you threw your head back as his finger finally slipped all the way into you. “That’s it, now give me some more, big guy,” you hissed into his ear, earning you a surprised look that held concern as well as a measure of admiration.

Geralt hesitantly positioned a third finger at your entrance and pushed it into you gently, stopping immediately when he saw your face contort into an expression of what he rightfully believed to be pain. “Are you sure?” he whispered, his face displaying clear disbelief as you nodded.

“Go slow,” you moaned, “I’m more than alright, love.” Slowly but surely, his finger inched its way into your tight canal. You took a moment to get used to the slight burn, allowing your body to relax around the intruding digits and accommodate instead of reject them, and then you looked into Geralt’s eyes as you began to move your hips, your dripping core coating his hand with your juices.

He mimicked the rhythm of your hips, pumping his fingers in and out of you, making you moan with every thrust. “Don’t stop,” you moaned, meeting his movements time after time, your words punctuated by increasingly ecstatic cries, “you’re going to make me cum.” You didn’t have to tell him twice, and moments later, your muscles were clamping down on his fingers, spasming erratically while you came undone.

“Gods, you’re beautiful like that,” he murmured to you, stroking your hair and chuckling lightly when his praise made you squirm in his arms. “I wonder if you’re as beautiful when that pretty little mouth of yours is completely stuffed with my cock.” His lewd words were almost enough to drive you all the way up to another peak...

With ample enthusiasm, you made your way down his body, trailing your fingers over his muscles and through the hair on his chest and stomach, until you were seated comfortably between his immense thighs, clenching your own as you let your eyes glide over his parts. He was absolutely massive – so big, in fact, that you hesitantly reached a hand out to touch him. You had confidently talked the talk, but walking the walk would perhaps prove a bit more challenging than you had initially anticipated…

As soon as your fingers came into contact with the soft skin of his cock, your doubts melted away, and were replaced by an almost feral longing to devour him. Slowly, you allowed your fingers to travel the length of his erection, mapping every pulsing vein and every ridge you encountered carefully, committing them to memory, paying attention to the area around the tip that made Geralt moan softly on his exhales. Finally, you wrapped your hand around his member, only managing to cover just over half of his girth with your small hand.

“Gods, you’re tiny,” Geralt whispered, letting out a delighted chuckle and reaching for your head, guiding you gently into a position where your chin rested near the base of his cock. “Oh, fuck me...” he said in disbelief as he stared down at you.

“That’s the idea,” you replied before sticking your tongue out and licking all the way from the base to the top of his cock. It wasn’t hard to guess what he’d been so mesmerized by; you were fairly confident his erection was longer than your head. Slowly, you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, carefully keeping an eye on his reactions, before taking him into your mouth.

It was easy to see that Geralt tried his very best to hide his amusement at your frustration when you could barely manage to wrap your lips around his tip – only his very best wasn’t quite good enough, and he failed miserably as he tried to choke back his laughter.

“Where’s that big mouth of yours now that you need it,” he asked with a positively maddening grin on his face, but worse than that smirk was the fact that just as you attempted to pull back to answer him, you felt his hand pushing at the back of your head, leaving you sputtering around his cock. He found it all quite entertaining, while you glared up at him, not at all convinced of the hilarity of the situation. After a few moments, his tone changed, along with the expression on his face. “Come on, little one, I know you can manage a bit more than this,” he said softly as he gently stroked your hair, tangling his fingers lightly in it.

You wanted to get angry with him for calling you that, but you just couldn’t – not only because it was so incredibly true, but also because he said it so sweetly, his voice so full of endearment as he gently urged you to take more of him, that you felt pride and a willingness to please him glow deep within you. With his guidance, you slowly took more of him into your mouth, saliva dripping down his shaft as you inched your way down until you simply couldn’t cope with his girth anymore – and you had still barely made it past the tip.

“A bit more,” Geralt grunted above you – and something in you became instantly wildly annoyed with the man and his ridiculous demands.

Abruptly, you pulled your mouth off of him and snapped: “I can’t dislocate my jaw, I’m not a snake!”

“You’re a druid, right?” he asked suggestively, ignoring the irritation in your voice.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” you stammered. The notion was so utterly ridiculous that it would be foolish at best to dignify it with a response.

Left without options – other than ‘stopping what you were doing altogether and going to sleep, which was just about the last thing you wanted – you continued your efforts, slipping your lips around the head of Geralt’s cock again. This time, you moved your hands over his length while teasing the tip with your tongue, and you soon revelled in the sound of the moans that escaped him.

He didn’t speak, though occasionally he muttered a soft ‘fuck’ under his breath – the low, gravelly sound of which made you clench your thighs together. They were slick with your own arousal and served as an immediate reminder of the ache between your legs. It was impossible now to stop squirming, searching for the friction that would provide you with relief – something Geralt was quick to notice.

He sat up and plucked you off the floor like you weighed nothing – and to him, you most likely truly didn’t – before laying you down on the moss. He kissed you briefly, and then went on his way, kissing down your body until he reached his destination. Strong hands firmly gripped the back of your thighs, behind your knees, pushing your legs open with demanding force.

He took in your scent, the look in his eyes changing from languid bliss to one of pure animalistic need as he inhaled. The hands left your thighs, only to reappear on your hips, gripping you tightly and pulling you closer as he buried his face in your pussy, eagerly tasting your arousal. In this particular area, his size was clearly an advantage, because his tongue covered so much area that he hit all the right places no matter how he went about it. You squirmed in his arms, begging him not to stop, to keep doing what he was doing until you inevitably came hard on his eager tongue.

“Gods, that was fantastic!” you exclaimed, immediately cursing yourself for your enthusiasm as you heard the arrogant chuckle that he let out as you spoke. Your attempt to move away from him was met with resistance, leaving you powerless in his overwhelmingly strong grasp.

“Stay,” he ordered, “I’m not done with you.”

It was the simplest of truths; as soon as the words had left his lips, he trailed around your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing you for a moment before flattening the muscle against your swollen little pearl. It didn’t take long for one of his hands to leave your hips, and you felt his fingers at your entrance, eager to plunge deep into your waiting core. This time, they slipped into you with ease, much to Geralt’s satisfaction.

Your climax approached swiftly, and you silently thanked Geralt that he didn’t take the opportunity to be a complete arse about that. Instead, he moaned against your skin as he softly kissed your sensitive clit before moving up again until his lips found yours. Somehow, tasting your own arousal on his capable tongue made you even wetter, and you soon squirmed helplessly as he trapped you beneath his enormous body, unable to move away from him so you could beg him to finally take you.

Eventually, he pulled back, breaking your passionate kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he pulled you along as he sat up on his knees.

“I was going to ask about the logistics,” he chuckled, “but this seems fine?” You nodded in reply to the question he so cleverly – yet poorly – attempted to disguise as a statement. After checking whether you were really sure about this, he held you up with only one hand, using the other to line himself up to your core.

The intense feeling of his thick cock slowly entering your body made you screw your eyes shut and knocked the air out of your lungs as your pussy struggled to accommodate his incredible girth.

“Too much?” he asked, his eyes locked on yours, looking for signs of discomfort.

“No,” you breathed, gritting your teeth as you tried to get used to the fullness, “keep going, I told you I can take it.” You searched his eyes for the feral need you had seen in them before, but you found nothing other than concern – until you caught a glimpse of the immense restraint he was showing. It was then that you realized that it took absolutely everything he had not to slam you down onto his cock – it took everything he had not to give you exactly what you wanted. “Come on, big guy,” you growled into his ear – as close as you could get to it, anyway, “put this big, fat dick in me. I want to feel every inch of you inside my tiny little cunt.”

Your crude words were rewarded with a pained low grunt, his quickening breathing, and the pounding of his heart in his chest so ridiculously loud that you could hear it when you put your head on his shoulder. Somehow, it wasn’t enough yet, and you didn’t let up on your pleading until he grabbed the side of your face with his hand. One quick look into his eyes told you you’d finally reached your goal; your relentless begging had eaten away at the resolve to take this slow, and Geralt bowed his head to roughly crushed his lips against yours, as he suddenly dropped you all the way down onto his cock.

“Oh Gods, yes!” you shrieked – the sound swallowed by his mouth firmly locked over yours. He did you the courtesy of giving you a few – brief – moments before lifting you off his cock again.

Compared to the second one, his first thrust had been gentle, and he only got rougher as he plunged into your core again and again, making you scream with every last move. They were mostly cries of utter bliss spilling from your lips – only very few escaped you out of pain. Fact of the matter was that the slight burn you felt as Geralt’s thick cock stretched your walls to their limits – and slightly beyond, perhaps – only added to your pleasure, heightened your arousal, and steadily drove you towards the edge of yet another freefall into rapture.

He had been scared to hurt you before, but seeing you so completely overcome with pleasure seemed to change something. Before you realized what was happening, your back hit the moss, and he hovered above you. One of his hands captured both of yours and pinned them to the ground above your head, while the other managed to manoeuvre your legs onto his chest. Geralt chuckled as he took notice of the fact that your feet barely reached up to his neck.

“So fucking small,” he growled before pulling out and slamming his hips into yours, “so tight.” The angle was amazing – you weren’t the only one who thought so, judging from the sounds that came from the enormous man that hovered over you, who muttered an almost uninterrupted string of profanities as he pumped his cock in and out of your aching cunt. With every new thrust, your tight, clenching walls pulled him closer and closer to his release. “Fuck, I’m going to flood this tiny little pussy,” he growled into your ear in between ragged and uneven breaths before erratically chasing his pleasure with complete, reckless disregard for your comfort – just the way you liked it. When he came inside of you, you clamped down on him, milking his fat cock for all it was worth, until every drop of his seed had spilled into you.

You knew the worst was yet to come; the moment he would pull out, and your sore muscles would clench around nothing, cum dripping from your battered hole… And indeed; when the pressure slowly disappeared, you winced and cried out in pain as you had oftentimes before – only now, you were pulled into a strong embrace, and kissed gently on your parted lips as you gasped for air.

When you woke up, Geralt was behind you, curled up comfortably around your body, and you sighed deeply. You hadn’t felt this way in a very long time; connected, sheltered, wanted. An outcast to your kin, you knew you would never be able to return ‘home’. Refusing the hand of the man your parents had chosen for you might have been excused after the first time, if you had followed that with long weeks of grovelling and begging his family for forgiveness, but since you had run away, you had naturally fallen from grace completely, while bringing grave shame upon your family. Since that day, you had often wondered if the freedom your choices brought you had been worth the price you had to pay for it. Now you knew. It was.

You yawned and stretched – or at least; you attempted to do so, but you were captured in the iron grip of Geralt’s embrace, and the strong arm draped over your waist weighed heavy on your body. It was impossible to move. Absentmindedly your fingers traced the bulging veins in his thick forearm while you remembered how those same arms had lifted you up so effortlessly the night before.

For a while, you basked in the glorious aftermath of your… you’d have called it ‘lovemaking’, perhaps, if you had any indication that he felt for you what you were starting to feel for him. For now, ‘tryst’ would have to suffice. You clearly felt the evidence of his presence in your body – you were sore all over, particularly there where you had so gracefully taken the brutal beating that had seemed such a good idea at the time. Not that you regretted your decision, far from it, even! It was rather the case that you had forgotten how taxing your particular proclivity for sizeable appendages could be. And you were sure you’d gladly forget again, in a few short days.

After some time, you really couldn’t stay put any longer. For one because your stomach was growling, and also because – and this matter was indubitably the more pressing of the two – nature was calling. Next to you, your behemoth prison keeper was fast asleep, somehow snoring considerably less annoyingly than the night before.

“Geralt,” you whispered, to no avail, leaving you with no other option than to raise your voice. “Geralt!” Unsurprisingly, that did not work either. It would simply have been far too easy if it had. It was obvious to you that kicking this man anywhere would hurt you more than it would hurt him. He carried both werewolf and orc genes, for crying out loud! You squirmed in his arms, and when that yielded no result either, you cried out. “Geralt, for the love of the Gods, you don’t even have to wake up, but please let go of me!”

“No,” he muttered, voice thick with his continued slumber, “don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving, you grandiose fool,” you chuckled, “but I do need to… step outside for a moment. I will be back in a minute.”

With a sigh that was indicative of great reluctance, he lifted his arm off you, allowing you to get dressed and set out to do what needed done. Now that you were free of his grasp – though you wouldn’t dream of abandoning him – you scurried through the woods for a moment, in search of something to still the growling of your stomach.

Your quest for food was successful, but as you began to make your way back to the cave, something grabbed your arm pinning you against a tree.

“What do we have here?” the figure – cloaked, of course – spoke in the Elven tongue. It was a dialect you weren’t quite familiar with, but you managed to understand his words just fine as he spoke of his intentions – malevolent, naturally. With your hands pinned in place, you were unable to wield magic, and thus utterly defenceless against the man, leaving you with two options. The first was to suffer his abuse quietly, as you had done countless times before as you travelled the woods by yourself, the other – and preferable – option was to cry out as loud as you could and hope that help would come swiftly.

Under different circumstances, you would have uttered a general cry for help, and though you were certain that that was exactly what you had set out to do, what came out of your mouth was Geralt’s name, loudly, the sound filled with terror and agony.

“Shut up!” the man before you called out, pressing a dagger to your throat. A single tear escaped your eye as a familiar incantation was followed by the growth of vines from the tree, shackling you to it. Now that the man had a hand free, he let go of your hands and trailed your arms until he reached your face. He gently caressed your cheek – a gesture that made you feel sick to your stomach. Then, before his hand could trail further down, another figure appeared behind him. You were fairly confident it was Geralt, but before you could make sure, you were forced to close your eyes as blood splashed in your face.

When you opened them again, you saw the lifeless body of the elf at your feet – a head shorter than he’d been when he’d been threatening to harm you. You stared at the dead man on the ground, letting your hands drop to your sides as the vines disappeared now that their conjurer was no longer among the living.

“G-Geralt… You… You killed him,” you stammered, still attempting to process what had just happened.

“I did,” Geralt growled as he stepped closer. You felt his large hand, heavy on your cheek as he turned your face towards his and kneeled. “Don’t touch what’s…” His voice trailed off, his unfinished sentence heightening the tension between you.

“Say it, Geralt,” you whispered, “please.”

“No one can touch what’s mine,” he snarled softly, staring intently into your eyes. Without thinking, you lunged for him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pressing your lips to his so fiercely that it made him laugh before he made an effort to match your fiery passion. When he broke the kiss, the look in his eyes had changed. “Are you scared of me?” he asked hoarsely, to which you answered by shaking your head decisively.

“At the very most I’m covered in elf blood, and I’d like something done about that,” you said, stepping away from Geralt to inspect the elf. When you bent down to check the body, Geralt asked what you were doing. “Free cloak,” you answered as you took the thing off the man’s shoulder. The violence from before had left it with a pretty large tear in the fabric, but it was nothing you couldn’t fix.

“That’s stealing,” Geralt mused softly.

You shrugged. “Why? He’s got no use for it now.” Beside the cloak, you found some rations and money. Geralt allowed you to grab his hand and pull him along to the stream, near the waterfall, where you quickly discarded your clothes and stepped into the chilly water. “Come here,” you called to Geralt, who hesitantly followed.

“It’s far too cold for this,” he grumbled as he helped you wash the blood off your body first, and your clothes after that. There was a hint of something else to his voice; a kind of confusion, though you could not quite put your finger on what the cause of it was.

“I’m sure we can find a way to warm up,” you said as you stepped out of the water, the cold breeze raising goosebumps all over your body. Geralt graciously offered you his shirt – a floor-length gown on you that would in no way stay on your shoulders, but at least it was warmer than being fully exposed to the cold air.

That day, as well as the next two, was uneventful; hunting and gathering, the pile of animal hides slowly growing in a corner of the space you occupied.

“We could stay, you know,” you spoke softly one night, as your fingers drew patterns through the hair on his chest and your empty pussy ached after yet another round of passionate lovemaking.

“Here?” Geralt asked, looking around the dark space.

“I know it’s not much, but we could make it into something?” you pleaded. “I haven’t had a home in a while, and I think the same applies to you.”

“My home will be wherever you are, my love,” Geralt whispered, as if that was all there was to it.

#henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfiction #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia #geralt x you #fantasy au #werewolf geralt

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kuwdora · 2 months ago

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for all the art i've made and sold and received lovely photos of my art on other people's walls, I have historically had a hard time getting things up on my own wall. but a few weeks ago I managed to do it! so I gotta share and celebrate my win.

This is my gallery wall above my desk. I designed the layout around @andordean 's fiber art heart. I'm so happy with how this space turned out.

left wall

top left: Cumulus Cat by Shaylin Wallice whose work makes me 😍

top right: one of my own acrylic pour paintings

bottom left: empty frame, TBD what goes there

bottom right: @perseruna 's wonderful yennefer/jaskier art

bottom right: unicorn art by autistic mixed media artist and illustrator Vyara Brennan (closeup beneath the readmore).

right wall

first column:

Sleep, Adam by Sunny Jin Smith

Forest Fiber art Heart by @andordean

Yennefer & Geralt art by @llorithaine (Inprnt shop here)

second column:

empty frame, TBD !!

small green 6x6 acrylic pour art that i made in 2022

a sketch of a deer in a field by @aurumcalendula

a photo of several large boulders in the shade, a thoughtful card sent to me by my friend destina

third column:

an illustration of a hummingbird, a thriftstore treasure, artist unknown

a photo of a tree during the autumn, taken by a friend in scotland

a woman in a glittery monarch butterfly-esque skirt. Art by Bella Pilar. This was another card from destina.

fourth column:

empty frame, TBD!! hopefully some @sassaffrassa art

art by local neighborhood child named Ronon

empty frame, TBD!

the Thor Love and Thunder poster is Jane wielding the hammer and part of @elipie's current roster of Marvel posters. I decided to put Ronon's art right next to it because I liked the swirl of red and blue together.

beneath the cut: some closeups of my thriftstore frames and the art I couldn't find online.

The bottom art here in the purple flower frame is Vyara Brennan's unicorn illustration. She's a mixed media artist and illustrator. I met her at an art festival and was captivated by all the texture and colors her work displayed. She and her friend seemed confused and surprised that I had stopped to make small talk. I had asked about her use of felt in the designs and her original characters which were quite varied and I misgendered several of them along the way with my questions but was happily corrected. It was a great conversation. I think a lot of people walked by without stopping to check out her table. She and her friend were extra surprised when I said I had to run to the ATM to get cash and I actually came back. So many her collages were so varied and complex with her original characters and chunky felt and other very tactile things that made my brain go happy. I got a number of art postcards of her various characters. She's loaded up her Etsy shop since I last checked, so you can have a look and see what's available. SHOP LINK. Also I really love this thriftstore frame with it!!

this is art by @aurumcalendula who sends me the most wonderful nature art. I have a ton aurum's colorful birds and other sketches in scrapbooks right now but I pulled this one out after noticing a green and nature theme from my layout design. I found this frame during one of my many excursions to thrift stores in the area. I love thrift store frames so much and was so happy to finally use this one.

art by Bella Pilar whose cards are so beautiful. I placed this specifically on the wall so it would catch the mid/late afternoon light and glitter nicely when I'm sitting at my desk. The words destina wrote me inside I have treasured for years, just like I have been treasuring destina's words since I read her Stargate fic a million years ago.

There was an art festival nearby a few months ago and I was heading over to check it out. I came across Ronon and his mom set up on a corner several blocks away and he had his own art out for sale. He couldn't have been more than 10 or 11. He and his mom were so surprised that I had stopped at all, let alone started asking him questions about what he had been making and being excited about it. In addition to some abstract watercolory pieces, he had this amazing 16x20 canvas featuring characters Among Us. He had such a strong figurative skills, I was really impressed. I didn't really have good wallspace for a canvas that big. I opted for two smaller abstract canvases and gave him a $20. By the look on his face I think I might have been his first ever sale. His mom was also so shocked that I bought something. I gave her my old art instagram to connect with me, I told them I could offer up some of my old art supplies if he ever ran out. I haven't heard back but that's alright. There had been a moderate amount of foot traffic of the neighborhood coming and going to the art festival but I got the impression that they had been ignored by everyone all morning. Which was sad because he was a cool little guy and his art was great.

so that is the art on my wall! I have many feelings about the art and managing to get!! it! UP!

art ❤️❤️❤️

#blogdora #artdora #art #art favorite #textpost

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 2 years ago

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Loves Me Knot

This is a fic I wrote for @witcher-bows-and-arrows... and then totally forgot to post for two weeks. So Happy Belated Valentine's Day, everyone! This is set in the same AU as Knot On My Watch and Sorry Knot Sorry.

Prompt: Mate

Rating: E

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Warnings: omegaverse, explicit sexual content

Word count: 5K

Summary: It’s been half a year since Jaskier last saw Geralt at the fateful banquet in Cintra—after which Jaskier made the mistake of asking Geralt to be his mate and Geralt ran away. So he’s taken off guard when Geralt bursts into his office in Oxenfurt and tells Jaskier that they need to mate right away to help him catch a katakan targeting omegas.

You can read it below or find it on AO3!

***

“This isn’t a bad composition, per say,” Jaskier tells the fidgety young man sitting across the desk from him, trying to keep his voice as gentle as he can. “It’s just very close to the last assignment you did for this class.”

“But you gave me top marks on that one, professor!” Piotr says, overwrought as only a first year getting his first less-than-stellar grade can be.

Jaskier sighs and reaches across the desk to pat the lad reassuringly on the hand. Teaching at Oxenfurt year-round, rather than just for the winter term, seemed like a good idea months ago. He thought it would give him time to rest, as well as providing him and Geralt with a bit of a much-needed break from each other after the disaster in Cintra. But he doesn’t have to deal with tearful first years on Path.

“Yes, I did,” he says. “Because it was a lovely song the first time you submitted it. But this was your final assignment of the term and it just isn’t—”

The door of Jaskier’s office bursts open, ricocheting off the wall. Piotr lets out a shriek of surprise, then shrieks again when Geralt comes striding in. Geralt looks distinctly worse for wear, Jaskier notices, his armor worn and his face pinched in that way it gets when he hasn’t been getting enough rest. He looks like he’s lost weight and Jaskier tamps down on that old urge to protect and provide, because Geralt made it pretty damn clear that wasn’t what he wanted from him.

“Professor!” Piotr squeals, holding up his composition like he thinks it will shield him from a witcher.

“Calm down, Piotr.” Jaskier rises to his feet, opening his mouth to ask Geralt what the fuck he’s doing here after all this time.

Geralt beats him to it. “Jaskier, I need you to mate with me.”

Piotr squeaks. Jaskier wonders if the fish pie he had for lunch was bad and is making him hallucinate. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Excuse me?” he finally asks when he finds his voice.

Geralt’s golden eyes have a slightly wild look to them. “I need you to mate with me,” he says again.

Jaskier stares at him for a long moment, then turns to Piotr. “Piotr, office hours are done for the day. Why don’t we chat tomorrow after class?”

Wide-eyed, Piotr rises to his feet, looking between Geralt and Jaskier. “Er, congratulations?”

“Good day, Piotr,” Jaskier says firmly, already anticipating the wild rumors that are sure to have spread by the end of the day. He watches as Piotr edges by Geralt, then says, “Hello, Geralt.”

Geralt steps inside, letting the door close behind him. “Will you do it?”

“I’m doing well, thank you.” Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest, scowling at his lover. Or his former lover? He’s not sure, to be honest. It’s not like Geralt officially ended their love affair, but he did tell Jaskier that he would never be his mate before leaving him alone in Cintra. “Classes have been going well and I forgot how beautiful Oxenfurt is in the spring. I would ask how you’re doing, but given that you look like shit, I already know the answer to that. When’s the last time you slept?”

“Ten days ago,” Geralt says. “There’s a katakan that’s been killing newly mated omegas. The only way to catch it is to make myself bait.”

Jaskier closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. Of course Geralt doesn’t want to mate with him because he loves him or wants to spend the rest of his life with him. Of course it’s just because of witcher business. “Come on, I’m not having this conversation while you look half dead on your feet, nor where any of my students or colleagues could walk by. Let’s go back to my lodgings.”

***

Geralt can’t stop watching Jaskier as the bard moves around the kitchen of his Oxenfurt townhouse, preparing a tray of crackers, salted meat, and cheese, even though Geralt has told him multiple times that he’s fine. Geralt has wiped himself down with the soap and basin of water Jaskier brought him and changed out of his armor. He should feel relaxed, but the knot of tension hasn’t left his shoulders.

Jaskier looks just like he did when they parted ways in Cintra six months ago. He smells the same, moves the same, talks the same. But there’s a distance there that wasn’t there before. He holds himself a little differently, like he’s bracing himself. Geralt doesn’t like it, even though he knows that there’s no one to blame for the distance but himself.

Walking away from Jaskier in Cintra before the foolish alpha bound himself for life to Geralt out of obligation seemed like the right thing to do at the time. But now here Geralt is, asking Jaskier to bind himself for life anyway, because Geralt will always want more than he should when it comes to Jaskier.

“Here you go.” Jaskier puts the plate down in front of Geralt, as well as a mug of ale. “Eat.”

Geralt doesn’t actually remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t jerky or hardtack, so he takes a piece of cheese with a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

Jaskier watches him eat for a moment, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He smells unhappy and Geralt hates it. “Why are you here, Geralt?”

Geralt finds he can’t look at him. “There’s a katakan in Denesle that’s killed a half dozen omegas, all within days of them being mated. I remember Vesemir telling me about something like this a few years back. If it’s the same katakan he told me about, she’s been popping up every two or three years for decades. She’ll spend a month or so killing every newly mated omega she can find, then she’ll vanish and pop up on the other side of the Continent years later. I need to find her and kill her before she disappears again.”

“And so you want to make yourself bait?”

“Too dangerous to use anyone else as bait.”

“Oh, of course.” Jaskier’s voice is heavy with sarcasm. “Your heat isn’t for months, Geralt.”

“Got a potion in Novigrad to induce heats.”

Jaskier’s lips pinch like he’s tasting something sour. “What happened to ‘witchers don’t take mates? Witchers spend their lives alone?’” He pitches his voice lower, like he always does when he’s imitating Geralt.

Geralt is hit with the sudden, vivid memory of Jaskier standing outside of the Cintran palace, looking up at Geralt with an uncertain smile.

“You don’t have to walk away from this,” Jaskier said at the time. “Look, it’s about time you made an honest alpha out of me. We can mate. We can be a family, us and your child of surprise. Hell, we can settle down in Cintra so she can still see Calanthe, Duny, and Pavetta. They have a university here, even if it’s no Oxenfurt. We can have a house with a garden and a stable for Roach. We can have a life together, Geralt, away from the Path.”

And Geralt told him no and rode away, because he wouldn’t stick Jaskier with his mistakes. Jaskier, who was always so careful not to knot any of his lovers except Geralt and who drank a tea to make himself less likely to father a child. Jaskier, who didn’t want to be a father any more than Geralt did. Jaskier, who had given up his whole life to walk the Path with Geralt. Geralt hadn’t intended to ask more of him, not until the katakan forced his hand.

“I wouldn’t ask this of you,” Geralt says stiffly. “But people are dying and more will die if I don’t stop this thing. Her last victim was killed on his wedding night. His new wife stepped outside to use the outhouse and came back to find her husband dead in their bed.”

He closes his eyes against the memory of the young alpha’s anguished face. He knows she’ll carry the guilt of not having been able to protect her omega for the rest of her life, even if there’s nothing she could have done.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, like he’s picking each word carefully. “Mating is for life.”

“I know. Like I said, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t the only thing I could think of.”

“You found the idea of becoming my mate so repellant six months ago that you left me alone in Cintra. Do you know how angry Calanthe was about the whole Law of Surprise thing? I had to talk my way out of ending up in the stocks. I’m pretty sure the only reason I didn’t was because Pavetta talked her mother out of it.”

“Fuck.” Geralt’s gaze flicks anxiously over Jaskier, but he doesn’t see any signs of injury.

Jaskier smiles tightly. “I’m fine, but I’m under orders to never return to Cintra and to tell you to do the same. I don’t think the Lioness of Cintra will be spreading the word about my triumphant performance at the wedding, I’m afraid to say.”

“I’m sorry.” Geralt knows it’s inadequate, but he doesn’t know what else he can say to make this right. He should never have come to Jaskier about this, he realizes. He has no right to ask his bard for something this big. Abruptly, he stands up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll find someone else.”

“Someone else?” Jaskier stares at him with the same incredulity as when Geralt appeared in his office. “Someone else to mate?”

Geralt nods. It won’t be easy to find an alpha willing to mate a witcher omega, but maybe he can find an alpha in Denesle willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of more omegas’ lives. It’s not like he’ll make the poor fucker endure his company after the mating.

“No.” A growl enters Jaskier’s voice and Geralt goes still, some latent instinct snapping to attention. “You’re not just going to go out and offer your neck to the first knothead that comes along.”

Geralt swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “I told you, I need to mate someone if I’m going to lure the katakan out.”

“Then I’ll fucking do it.”

“But—”

“You say people are dying.” Jaskier sets his jaw stubbornly, in a way that reminds Geralt of the first time that the bard told him that he was coming with him and Geralt could try to leave him behind as many times as he wanted, but Jaskier would always catch up to him. “And if the choices are innocent omegas being slaughtered in their wedding beds, you finding some random alpha to mate you, or me giving you a mating bite, then it’s no choice at all.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt tells him.

Jaskier smiles tightly. “When do we leave for Denesle?”

***

Jaskier knows that Geralt hates being knotted in unfamiliar places. They’ve split his heats between the heat rooms at the Temple of Melitele and the lovely omega spas in Toussaint since that first unexpected heat in the middle of Velen. He can see the tension in his omega as Geralt paces around the room at the inn, already reeking of pre-heat. It’s a perfectly fine room, probably one of the nicer ones where they’ve stayed during their travels, with a comfy mattress, plenty of bedding for a nest, and a sturdy lock on the door.

“I don’t know why you’re fussing,” Jaskier finally tells Geralt, because the pacing is setting his nerves on edge. “The whole point is us not being safe here, right?”

Geralt turns to frown at him, looking a little hurt. “I want you safe. As soon as we’re mated, I’ll go take a walk and hope the katakan smells me.”

“Fucking and running, Geralt?” Jaskier asks with a levity he doesn’t feel. “You cad.”

That only makes Geralt’s frown deepen. “I told you—”

“I know, you wouldn’t be doing this if you had a choice.” Jaskier turns away so he doesn’t have to look at Geralt’s face. “You have made that abundantly clear, my dear. You don’t have to worry about me getting any romantic notions.”

“Why are you doing this then?”

“Because you need my help and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” Jaskier says. “We’ve known each other for over a decade, Geralt. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

Geralt is quiet for a moment before he says, “Of course I know that.” He doesn’t say it like he thinks it’s a good thing.

“Then why do you keep not letting me?” Jaskier whirls on him.

Geralt looks away, jaw tight. “We should get started. This potion works fast. My heat will be over within the hour.”

It says a lot about Jaskier’s emotional state that he didn’t notice the sweet scent of Geralt’s pre-heat growing deeper and muskier, nor the flush to his skin or the sweat starting to dampen his brow. His cock, luckily, has taken notice; it’s already half-hard in his breeches. He supposes for this to work, only his knot has to be in the mood for what comes next.

“Alright,” he says, trying to sound at least a little enthusiastic, and closes the distance between them. Without preamble, he takes Geralt’s face in his hands and kisses him. Geralt stiffens, like he wasn’t expecting to be kissed, before relaxing into the touch. His skin is hot to the touch. This, at least, is familiar. Jaskier tries to focus on the warmth of Geralt’s skin against his, the scent of his growing heat, the taste of his mouth. He tries to let his mind go blank.

And then Geralt pulls back. “Stop.” His voice rings with the note of tension it normally only carries when he’s spotted a danger in the woods.

Jaskier jerks away as if he’s been slapped, blinking in confusion. “What’s wrong?” He looks around, half-expecting to find the katakan lurking in the corner, but there’s nowhere for a giant bat to lurk in the tiny room.

Geralt shakes his head, taking another step back. “I can’t do this to you. I’m sorry. I never should have come to you.”

“Do what to me?”

“I’ll find another way to get the katakan.” Geralt is still moving backwards, like Jaskier is a beast who may lunge. “There has to be a better way.”

Jaskier lets out a laugh that sounds hysterical to his own ears. “Is the idea of being my mate so repulsive that you’d rather let people die?”

Geralt mutters something that Jaskier doesn’t quite catch.

“What was that?” Jaskier advances on him, because he worries that if he’s not standing between Geralt and the door, the witcher will slip off into the night, never to be seen again.

“I can’t sacrifice your well-being,” Geralt grits out. “I won’t. You matter too much.”

Jaskier opens his mouth, a furious reply on the tip of his tongue, before Geralt’s words catch up to him. “What do you mean, my well-being?”

Geralt looks at him like he can’t believe how obtuse Jaskier is being. “In Cintra, you were ready to tie yourself to me for life because I’d made a dumbass mistake. I couldn’t let you give up your life for me.”

Jaskier stares at him. “Geralt, do you think I only asked you to be my mate because of the child of surprise?”

“Didn’t you?”

“No!” Jaskier throws up his hands in exasperation. “I asked you to be my mate because I’ve been in love with you since I was eighteen years old and there’s no one I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.”

“You said you wanted to settle down,” Geralt says. “I know you. You love life on the road. You really want to spend the rest of your life in Cintra?”

“Well, that ship has sailed, as if either of us ever return to Cintra, our lives are forfeit,” Jaskier says. “But yes, if it meant you having a relationship with your child of surprise, I was willing to settle down. But we can be mates without having a cottage somewhere. I’ll be your mate anywhere on the Continent. Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

“Because you never brought it up before Cintra.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d say yes before Cintra.” Jaskier closes his eyes. “I was going to ask anyway. I’d been working up my nerve to ask for the better part of a year. But I was afraid that if I asked, you would panic and run away. I should have listened to my instincts, huh?”

A too-warm hand cups his cheek. “Mating bites are forever, Jask. There’s no spell or potion that can undo that kind of bond.”

“Melitele tits, really? I had no clue.” Jaskier doesn’t have the energy to summon up some proper sarcasm.

“You’ll be stuck with me. Forever.” Geralt sounds pained. “You’re still young. If you ever want a proper omega—”

“Love, you’ve ruined me for all other omegas. I don’t know if I’d know what to do with a proper one.” Thinking of being mated to one of the painfully proper omegas his family has tried to foist on him, Jaskier shudders. He can’t see one of them manhandling him into place to take what they want from him or rolling him over to fuck him as soon as his knot goes down.

Geralt makes a pained noise and Jaskier opens his eyes to look into those honey gold eyes.

“Geralt, I meant every word of what I said in Cintra,” Jaskier says. “I want to be with you. Mated or not, settled down somewhere or on the Path. There’s no one else for me. I don’t think there ever will be. I want us to be a family. And maybe someday, your child of surprise will be part of that family.”

Geralt grimaces and Jaskier surmises that’s a conversation for another time.

“I don’t think of you as something I’m going to be saddled with,” Jaskier continues, lips quirking. “If anything, it’s the other way around. Think of all the songs I’m going to have to write about you if we mate. They will be horrifically sentimental, so I hope you’re prepared for that.”

Finally, the tension in Geralt’s face softens in a smile. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Jaskier leans his forehead against Geralt’s. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

“Hm.” Geralt breathes in deeply. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone in Cintra. I just—”

“Panicked?”

“Hm.”

Jaskier swallows back the thickness in his throat. “I could have picked a better time to bring it up. Emotions were already running high.”

“You are a bard,” Geralt says tiredly.

“You’re right. Can’t help but be dramatic, can I?”

Instead of answering, Geralt pulls him close. “Are you sure you want this?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“Then mate me, Jask.” Geralt’s gaze is piercing, his eyes seeming to bore right into Jaskier’s.

Jaskier smiles at him. “Okay.”

***

This time, when Geralt kisses Jaskier, it’s the easiest thing in the world, as familiar as if the past year never happened. Jaskier smells so godsdamned good, like the subtle, floral cologne he favors, mixed with arousal and the musky scent of alpha that has slick coating Geralt’s thighs and his prick throbbing in his smalls. Geralt pushes him backwards until Jaskier falls back into their nest with a surprised laugh against his lips.

“Darling,” Jaskier says as Geralt crawls on top of him and kisses his way down his neck. “I think I’m supposed to be the one ravishing you. You’re the one in heat.”

Geralt growls and nips at the soft spot under Jaskier’s ear, eliciting a shudder from the alpha. He doesn’t care about who’s supposed to ravish who; he just wants Jaskeir naked and writhing with pleasure under him. He slides his hand under Jaskier’s doublet, fingers trailing over smooth, warm skin.

“Tear it,” Jaskier rasps.

Geralt arches an eyebrow. “You sure?” After the first time he popped a button off one of Jaskier’s doublets during foreplay, he learned to take care with his bard’s clothing.

“This cut is out of fashion anyway.” Jaskier’s eyes are dark with desire. “Tear it.”

Geralt doesn’t need to be told a third time; he crushes the buttery soft silk in his hands and wrenches, tearing the doublet and shirt underneath apart to expose Jaskier’s hairy chest. He takes one nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak, reveling in the way Jaskier’s body arches under him. Just to be a bastard, he grinds his his hips down against the length of Jaskier’s erection.

Jaskier lets out a delicious whimper. “Geralt,” he hisses. “If you want me to make it inside you before I pop a knot—”

Geralt growls at the thought of not getting Jaskier’s knot tonight.

“That’s what I thought.” With a breathless laugh, Jaskier tugs at the waistband of Geralt’s pants. “Off.”

Geralt takes as little care getting his own clothes and Jaskier’s breeches off as he did with the doublet. When they’re both naked, skin pressed against skin, he presses a long, languid kiss to his bard’s mouth. He’d like to take his time here and reacquaint himself with every inch of Jaskier’s body, but there’s only so much time before his witcher mutagens burn through the potion and this false heat ends. So he pulls away from Jaskier’s lips and lines his hips up with Jaskier’s.

Jaskier lets out a noise that’s half-gasp, half-groan as Geralt sinks down on his cock without any effort; it feels like his body has been waiting for this for a year. Jaskier feels perfect inside of him and under him. His hands roam over Geralt’s body like he can’t get enough of him, like he’s as eager to reacquaint himself with Geralt’s body as Geralt is to touch every inch of him. As Geralt begins to roll his hips, Jaskier surges up to capture one of Geralt’s nipples in his mouth, his mouth hot and slick. Geralt throws his head back and rolls his hips harder, driving Jaskier’s cock deeper into him.

“Fuck,” Jaskier whispers against Geralt’s chest. “You feel perfect, Geralt. And oh gods, you smell so good.”

Before Geralt can formulate a response, that perfect mouth sucks his nipple back into his mouth and all attempts at intelligent conversation are lost. When one of Jaskier’s hands wrap around Geralt’s aching cock, jerking him in time to the thrust of their hips, it only takes a few strokes for Geralt to come. Jaskier moans against his chest, the thrust of his hips growing erratic. Geralt feels the slight stretch of Jaskier’s knot starting to fill.

Jaskier’s eyes meet Geralt’s and there’s a question there.

“Do it,” Geralt says hoarsely.

Jaskier doesn’t need to be told twice. His thighs shudder with his orgasm, knot swelling inside Geralt, as he buries his teeth in the scent gland, right in the place where Geralt’s neck meets his shoulder. Pleasure-pain explodes inside Geralt as a second orgasm hits him like a wall. It’s too soon, even for an omega in heat, overwhelming in its intensity. Jaskier peppers the bite mark with kisses, laving his tongue over the crescent of teeth marks.

“Oh, love,” he whispers. “Oh, Geralt.”

Geralt closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the curve of Jaskier’s neck. He can feel the grip of the false heat lessening; the potion’s effects are lessening even quicker than he expected.

“Bite me,” Jaskier says.

Geralt looks up at him. “What?”

He told Jaskier once that it used to be common for alphas, omegas, and even betas to have mating bites. Even his mother, an alpha, had a mating bite on her neck, though the omega who gave it to her was long gone. But that was near a century ago and it’s fallen out of fashion for anyone but omegas to have mating bites. He’s surprised that Jaskier even remembers that conversation; it had to be at least five years ago.

“Bite me.” Jaskier’s eyes are hazy with pleasure and soft with affection. “I want everyone who looks at us to know that I’m yours as much as you’re mine. I want them to know that we belong together. I want—”

Geralt sinks his teeth into the soft, musky-scented place where Jaskier’s neck meets his shoulder. Jaskier lets out a gasping little cry, the knot inside Geralt throbbing. Geralt nuzzles at the bite mark apologetically.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Bit too hard.”

“No.” Jaskier reaches up to touch the bite mark, smiling drowsily. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Geralt wraps his alpha—his mate—up in his arms and holds him close, breathing in the mingled scents of them. Soon, there will be a katakan to kill. He’ll have to leave the warmth of Jaskier’s arms and go to kill a monster. But he’s not going anywhere with Jaskier knotted inside him, so he closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy his lover’s embrace.

***

Jaskier never likes watching Geralt armor up to go fight a dangerous beast—well, he likes the armor part, the dangerous beast part less—but it’s far worse when Geralt left with Jaskier’s mating bite is still healing on his neck and reeking of heat, sex, and Jaskier. Every instinct in Jaskier wants to go find his omega and drag him back to their nest, where he can keep him bundled safely, far away from anything that might hurt him.

Jaskier paces the length of the room, his entire body humming with tension. There’s a long night of waiting ahead of him; Geralt hasn’t even been gone an hour and a katakan hunt isn’t going to be a quick, easy kill. He should try to sleep, or at least maybe get some grading done—he brought a stack of student compositions with him for just this purpose. But he can’t make himself stay still for more than a minute or two.

When the door of their room opens, Jaskier whirls around, hand twitching on instinct towards the knife Geralt left with. But it’s Geralt standing in the doorway of the bedroom, looking as unruffled as if he just stepped out to grab a bite to eat.

“You’re back!” Jaskier launches himself at his witcher.

Geralt catches him around the waist, pressing a kiss to the healing mating bite on his neck. “I was motivated to get back quickly.” He kisses Jaskier’s jaw. “Anyway, she wasn’t expecting me to fight back. She didn’t think much of omegas, witcher or no.”

“Is she dead?”

“Very. Corpse is downstairs with Roach.”

“What did poor Roach ever do to you?”

“She’ll bite anyone who tries to steal the body and claim the reward before I go see the alderman in the morning.”

“She is convenient like that.”

Geralt hums in agreement, nuzzling at the sensitive spot under Jaskier’s ear.

“Are you hurt?” Jaskier murmurs.

“No.”

“Actually not hurt, or do you just not want me to fuss?”

“Actually not hurt.”

“Good.” He’s hardly covered in any viscera, so Jaskier tugs him back towards the nest. Geralt comes willingly, shucking his armor off as he goes. Once he’s divested of his armor, he collapses into the nest next to Jaskier, curling around him. Jaskier snuggles into his arms, tracing his finger over the crescent-shaped bite mark on Geralt’s neck.It’s already healing into a scar; Jaskier might have to mark him again to make it stick. The thought sends a pleasant shiver down his spine.

“I was thinking we could stay here another night or two,” he says softly. “Then we can go back to Oxenfurt so I can finish up the term. I don’t have much to do besides teach a few classes, grade some finals, comfort some crying first years. So there will be plenty of time for us to laze around in bed.”

Geralt hums in an agreeable sort of way.

“And then maybe we could head south to Toussaint?” Jaskier asks. “I think we deserve a proper honeymoon, don’t you?”

“Not sure if you and I know how to do anything the proper way.”

“Then we deserve a deliciously improper honeymoon.” Jaskier leers.

Geralt snorts. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Jaskier melts into his arms, surrounded by the mingled scents of them. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Geralt says, pressing another kiss to the mating bite on Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier is quiet for a moment, letting them both bask in their togetherness. But he’s never been one to bask in silence, so he says, “You know, it’s the latest fashion in Oxenfurt for mated couples to go about in matching outfits.”

“Is it now?”

“It is.”

“Guess we should get you some armor then. Sure I can find a zeugl in the sewers to dirty it up.”

Jaskier gasps in horror. “I think not. I was thinking you’d look dashing in a nice periwinkle blue, or maybe lavender.”

“No.”

“You’re right. Lavender is too cool for your skin tone. You need a warmer shade. Maybe plum.”

“No.”

“But Geralt, we’re mates! How will people know that we’re bonded for life?”

“Mating bites on our neck might give it away.”

Jaskier sighs dramatically. “I suppose I’m consigned to a life of being hopelessly unfashionable. I’ll be the laughing stock of the bardic circuit.”

“What else is new?”

“You!” Jaskier pokes him in the chest. “We’re supposed to be basking in the joy of our union, you—”

Geralt grabs him around the waist and flips him over. Jaskier doesn’t even realize what’s happened before Geralt is kissing him, his lips curved into a smile against Jaskier’s.

Jaskier lets himself be distracted, reaching up to trace a finger over Geralt’s mating bite. After all, he has all the time in the world to talk his mate into matching outfits.

***

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Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #omegaverse #knot on your life verse #ghost's writing #ghost's fic #witcher bows and arrows 2023

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cas-kingdom · 2 years ago

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Luna Wolf

A/N: This has been long in the making, as in written sparingly over a few months, so it is a little choppy, but I missed posting stories about this duo. Please enjoy! (For the purpose of this fic—and our poor emotions—Eskel’s death comes a little differently than how it’s shown in the episode).

The italics indicate flashbacks to separate scenes in the second episode of season 2 (and one not in the show at all). Hopefully they’re easily identifiable!

Find the OC version of this fic here.

Title: Luna Wolf

Summary: Geralt finds you on the bleak path of revenge as you hunt the leshy that killed Eskel.

Words: 3518

“That wasn't our brother. Not by the end of it…

You saw nothing but the path ahead as you wove through the thick woods.

…And bitterness won't help us find what killed him.”

You whacked at a low-hanging branch with the sword gripped in your fist. Your jaw clenched so tight you could feel the bones grating against each other, hear the jarring noise reverberating in your ears along with the quickening thrum of your heart, but you didn’t care.

“Oh, I know what killed him.”

All you cared about was the monster you were following, and the feeling of metal sinking into its rotten flesh.

You rubbed the knuckles of your free hand furiously across your cheeks before the icy wind could freeze your tears. The moon was high in the sky, and you had been pacing after the monster’s invisible tracks for what must have been half an hour, unsure as to where you were going but certain you needed to be anywhere but Kaer Morhen. Your feet had taken you on this path, your mind fixed solely on the leshy that had killed Eskel.

“Come on, then.” Eskel stood back, his eyes lingering on Princess Cirilla of Cintra, as she had so eloquently just introduced herself, for the briefest of moments. He rubbed his hands together and looked expectantly between his brothers. “Where is she? Where is the pup?”

Lambert stuffed a roll in his mouth and spoke around it. “Last I heard, she was taking a shi—” You suddenly appeared with a painful kick to his leg, and he aimed the rest of his roll at your head.

“I was putting my stuff in my room, dickbert.” You picked up the bread, tossed it back at him, then turned to Eskel with the biggest grin you could muster. An understanding passed between you, one that had the witcher mirroring your grin before opening his arms wide. You felt a surge of excitement as you jumped forward and wrapped yourself around him. Your heart jumped at his noticeable hiss of pain, but he expertly covered it with a laugh and your joy caused you to momentarily push any apprehension away.

Eskel pressed kiss after kiss to the side of your head, resolving you to childish laughter he’d missed. “Time away from you has aged me, my Luna Wolf,” he said.

You grasped his hair, caked with mud and blood, and placed your own kiss on his cheek. “Well, you don’t look a day older than the last time I saw you.”

“Now, that’s a lie! Come here, you.”

There had been a moment at Kaer Morhen where you had felt whole. You had been home with Geralt and your family, safe and in a place where you could loosen your muscles without worrying about becoming the next monster’s food. Vesemir had been without serious concern, Lambert had been his usual sarcastic self, and Eskel had calmed every nerve you might have been harbouring with that single hug. The situation Geralt, and inadvertently you, had found himself in with his overdue Child of Surprise had simply not bothered you for a mere few hours as you made yourselves warm for the winter in the Keep.

You stumbled as your boot caught on an uprooted tree stump, and you stuck your arms out to steady yourself. For the first time in twenty absent-minded minutes of following tracks you couldn’t even see, your surroundings and your situation caught up to you. You stopped and the wind roared in your ears, the distant howl of a wolf mingled within it. Your loose hair flew viciously around you, slamming into your face, numb with cold, and scraping against your neck.

Once again, you reached up to wipe at your cheeks, finding that your hands were trembling. With cold or nerves, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that you wished to defeat it. That feeling of weakness. That—that horrid notion that you weren’t strong enough to protect those who had protected you for the entirety of your life.

With an angry snarl, you stepped over the tree and twisted your sword in your grasp, ignoring the wind and the numbness and renewing your desire to put your feet forward, one after the other, and kill something in need of killing.

“Who’s the princess?” Eskel broached the question as soon as he and you made it to the hallway and out of earshot of the others. “I mean, who is she really?”

You took his sword from his faltering hold, and he withheld any protest, rolling his shoulder back once the added weight was gone. You shrugged lightly. “A girl who’s lost a lot, I’ve come to realise,” you said. You and Ciri were no longer at odds with each other, and with your new truce came solidarity. You had accepted Ciri’s position in your relationship with Geralt. “She’s alright,” you added, “not at first. We didn’t get on, if you can believe it.” Eskel rose an eyebrow and his lips drew upwards in a knowing smirk. “Anyway.” At his obvious amusement you moved to walk backwards and in front of him. You eyed his shoulder. “Your arm. I know you’ve hurt it.”

Eskel frowned and slowed a bit. “Hm?” He glanced at the limb in question. “Oh, no, no. I’m fine. This isn’t my blood.”

You stopped suddenly and Eskel almost walked straight into you. Before he could voice his surprise, you reached for his sleeve. “Now, that’s a lie,” you cheekily echoed. Then, serious, “No monster bleeds red like that.”

“Have you become a nagger in the last couple years or is it just Vesemir’s influence—alright. Hey. Let me have a look at you instead.” He didn’t let you touch his skin, pushing your hands away before they could get beneath his shirt. Instead, he grasped your shoulders and plastered a grin on his face, pushing you far enough away so he could look at you properly. “Gods,” he gasped out dramatically, “you’re a woman now, aren’t you? We’ve finally reached the dreaded day, haven’t we?”

You rolled your eyes and shoved his fingers as they went to jab at your stomach, though a smile pulled at your lips all the same. “Master of deflection,” you accused.

Eskel quirked a brow and draped an arm over your shoulders. He turned you so you could continue walking down the hall and leaned his cheek against you head. “I think I’ll have a party tonight, Luna. What do you think?”

The wind continued to batter your face and the sky had since opened to let the first drops of rain spill. You could feel your boots sinking into the damp ground and your heart was beating a mile a minute.

You fell so suddenly you had no time to reach out and break your landing. A winded breath left your lungs and you lay in the mud for a moment before readjusting your grip on your sword and using it to push yourself up. Once you got to your feet, your boot slipped, and you went down once more. Frustrated, dirty and completely overwhelmed, you grit your teeth and let out a scream before falling into exhausted sobs.

“What is that?” You stared at what could only be a leshy. You had never seen one before, had only heard about them during late night stories around the woodfire, but you stored images of all the monsters Geralt had conjured for you in your mind, and the monster in front of you now matched the leshy’s description.

But this leshy, or whatever it was, was oddly, frighteningly human-like. It moved in a familiar way, a weird thing to say for a monster, but this monster didn’t seem entirely that. All instincts in you were muffled for a moment as you watched it shift quickly around the laboratory.

Your grip tightened on your sword. You’d grabbed it before running to where you could hear the throes of a fight.

Geralt stopped attacking the monster in order to whip his head around at your sudden voice. An abrupt panic overcame his face at the sight of you there—you were a good fighter, of course you were, but no matter your age and experience, his panic would always be justified—but he was forced back into battle before he could order you away.

“The door!” Vesemir called. you darted out of the way of the doorway before Geralt could shove you out. He noted your cleverness with a very audible growl but aimed his magic at the opening nevertheless, sending a bolt of magic through to block it from the leshy’s escape. The leshy sent him flying straight after.

You sprung into action, crying out as you sped forward and attacked the scattered wooden limbs with vigour. The monster fought back as Geralt recovered, then focused its attention on all three of its opponents.

You had never fought with Vesemir before, and perhaps in another situation you might have taken notice of such a big thing, such a big accomplishment, but something was strange about this leshy. You weren’t even sure it was a leshy at all.

In a short time, you had the monster pinned.

“Eskel,” Vesemir said, peering up at it. “We need time. We can save you.”

It was then your mouth went dry.

You turned and closed your hand around a clump of soaked mud, pushing yourself up until you could get to your feet. You barely took one step forward before a hand grasped your wrist and you whirled around, the witcher instincts within you causing you to lash out with your sword at whoever had caught you. The clang of metal against metal resounded throughout the forest as your blade met Geralt’s. He had lifted it just in time, his other hand still wrapped around your own.

His face was a mixture of emotions you were too tired to decipher. Concern? Shock? Did the clenching of his jaw mean he was angry? It usually did, but the look in his eyes told you otherwise.

Slowly, Geralt lowered his sword, but he didn’t let go of your hand.

“Y/N…” he said, his words slow and his voice quiet. Deep. Something you could hardly hear above the noise of the growing storm.

You tugged on your hand, but his strength didn’t waver. Your nostrils flared and your vision bleared with tears as your emotions heightened tenfold. In a sudden flutter of frustration that you couldn’t quite place, you lashed out once more, giving Geralt barely enough time to shoot his sword up to block your hit.

“Y/N!” Geralt’s voice was strained as he struggled against the wooden arm pinning him to the wall. “You need to move!”

You panicked. You had been helping in the fight all you could, hitting at a branch when it got too close and stabbing at parts of Esk—the monster where you couldn’t quite hurt it. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you to do more. You could do more, you’d been taught to do more by the very people you should be helping in this room, but there was a bigger part of your mind that could only see Eskel. Because beneath the monster, there he was. He really, achingly, truly was.

“Y/N!” That was Vesemir. Your head snapped to look at him. A branch was holding him by the neck, squeezing the very life out of him. You wanted nothing more than to cut the branch in half, but that was Eskel. It was Eskel. Your Eskel.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N!” Geralt had let go of your arm. He was taking quick steps back, forced to with the power in his child’s flustered hits. There was no fight in his own strikes. He was defending himself and nothing more.

“Hey,” he tried, “it’s me! It’s Geralt!”

“I won’t go back!” you shouted, gasping with the force of your own blows. “I’m finding the leshy and I’m going to kill it!”

Geralt’s brows furrowed and he stopped moving. He took your hits, blocking them from where his feet remained planted to the floor. “Everyone is worried for you,” he said.

“No! They all think I killed Eskel!” Your voice broke as you slammed your sword against his. “And I did!” Another. “I drove my sword through him! I killed him!” And another. “I killed Eskel!” Tears poured down your face and sobs spilled from your lips as Geralt took it all. “He’s dead, and it’s my fucking fault!”

At that, Geralt pushed against your sword with his own, twisting it harshly and so suddenly, in a way that had it falling from your grasp. You paused, exhausted, as it fell to the ground, clattering against the rock. Before you could pick it up, Geralt had grabbed you. He spun you around and held your back to his chest, his arms crossed in front of you, your wrists in his hands. You seemed to accept it quickly, succumbing to your emotion as you bent over his arms and fell into uncontrollable sobs.

Geralt dropped his head to speak into your ear. “We killed the leshy. Together,” he stated simply, loud enough for you to hear. The rain was heavier, tumbling through the leaves of the trees. “There is no blame, Y/N. We did what we had to, to save Vesemir. To save our home and the other witchers. And—” He gently lowered you both to the ground—“to save Eskel.”

“Give me your sword, Y/N!” Geralt had one hand on the leshy as it pinned him to the wall and the other trapped beneath him. He did not have the means nor strength to kill the monster alone, and you knew that. Still, as you went to do as you were told, wrapping your hands tightly around the hilt of your sword, you kne you didn’t have the strength either.

It was when you heard him choke that the strength finally found you. The sound of Geralt’s pain had you fleetingly forgetting Eskel. Instinctively, you lifted your sword so he could glide his free hand across the blade until it glowed. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“We’ll do it together,” Geralt said. He grasped the hilt and waited for you to grab his hand before you both pushed together. The blade pierced the leshy’s wooden hide with a spray of sunset sparks and the leshy screeched, dropping Vesemir.

You met the leshy’s eyes as it writhed and fell to the floor, and realised they were still his.

The rain soaked the two kneeling in the mud. As you fell limply against Geralt, he loosened his hold and turned you in his arms, pulling your head to rest against his shoulder. His other hand went to your back, keeping you against him. Impulsively, you curled your hands in Geralt’s tunic, holding onto the fabric for dear life as you buried your face into his shoulder.

Geralt tipped his face and rested his lips against the top of your head. He shut his eyes and ignored the feeling of water streaking down the back of his shirt. He had been searching for you for an agonising while, calling after you in the forest, following any footprints he could make out. Lambert had regretted his words the moment he’d said them but was too proud to have stopped you before you left the room. He couldn’t have known your first impulse would be to take up your sword and leave the Keep in search for the leshy, anyway. Geralt had, of course, but he knew you best. Knew where your anger could take you. He’d run after you the moment Ciri had told him she’d looked all around but couldn’t find you.

“Lambert didn’t mean what he said,” Geralt promised. “He was angry. We all are.”

You shook your head. “He was right.”

“No.”

“I should have pressed him. He was hurt. I could tell. I should have made him tell me.” Your words were muffled but loud enough for him to hear.

Geralt sighed as he stroked the lengths of your hair down your back. “No, Y/N.”

You seemed as though you might have said something more, but at the last second a pitiful noise escaped your lips instead, and you dropped your head against his chest. You grasped his shoulders and clenched the wet fabric of his shirt even more.

Noiselessly, Geralt reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a medallion. The rain immediately washed the rest of the red off. He ran his thumb across the wolf emblem before he took one of your hands and pressed it into your palm.

“This is yours,” he said quietly. “It was in his pocket. He made another. Vesemir and I found it before we buried him.”

You wore your original medallion, the first Eskel had made for you, around your neck. You hadn’t removed it since he’d put it there on your eleventh birthday. It wasn’t like the witchers’ medallions, of course, but the meaning was there all the same, every nook and carved line of the young wolf pup calming you each time your fingers ran across them.

Blinking to clear the haze, you brought the new medallion, its metal cold against your skin, up to your face. You stared at it for a long time. The wolf had grown. This was a full-fledged adult, its mouth roaring in the centre of the medallion, teeth on full display. A full moon shone behind it.

“He called you Luna Wolf because she is the leader of the pack,” Geralt said, knowing you knew but needing to remind you all the same. “As you have always been ours. He does not blame you.”

You could say nothing more as you closed your hand around the medallion and drew it closer to your chest. You turned your face further into him and hid yourself from the world.

Geralt, meanwhile, stared grim-faced at the path ahead. He had one hand on the back of your head, the other wrapped around you, holding you close to him. The rain was lashing down and he could feel you trembling beneath him, but he knew neither of you would be moving for a while.

He would find the leshy. He had decided on that probably around the time you had. You were connected in that way, a need for vengeance brought upon solely by a broken heart. He feared he’d taught you that. But he’d find it when you were sleeping, with a number of eyes on you to ensure you wouldn’t leave to follow him. He refused to let you. It wouldn’t achieve what you thought it would.

You finally crumpled in Geralt’s hold, your body slacking. You were a wolf pup all over again between the legs of your father, his arms around you, his head over yours, protecting you from more than just the rain.

“He does not blame you,” Geralt whispered again. “I swear to you, little one. He loved you more than life.”

You knew.

“What is it?”

“Shh.” Eskel put a finger to his lips and stretched his leg out to kick the door closed. The witchers were often up hunting at all hours of the night; they couldn’t afford to lose any lie-ins.

You put your own little finger to your lips in acknowledgement and shifted yourself under your covers, sitting cross-legged. Usually, it was you who woke the witchers on the morning of anyone’s birthday, your childish heart desperate to get the day of—typically lacklustre—celebrations started, but this morning, before the sun had even risen above the mountains across the Keep, Eskel had been the one to sneak into your room and wake you with the promise of presents.

“Open it and see.” Eskel brought his legs up and tucked them beneath him. He sat at the corner of the bed, a small grin on his face as he watched you unwrap his gift from the leaf he’d tied around it. He felt like an excited child himself, and he let himself sink in it. He had been waiting some time for you to spend your next birthday at Kaer Morhen, and the day had finally come.

You let loose a small gasp. You picked up the metal circle and even with the lack of light, the witcher could see the pure sparkle in your eyes. Your silence told him all. You ran your little thumb across the surface in awe before launching yourself at him.

Eskel let you push him back on the bed, laughing softly. He squeezed you then, relishing in your little arms around his neck. “Am I to take this as a sign that you like it?”

“My very own medallion!” you said in his ear. “I love it! I love it so much! I’m finally one of you!”

“Oh, little Luna. You’ve always been one of us. You don’t need a medallion to prove it.”

Yes. You knew.

Witcher Masterpost

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