#throw him at a wall and watch him splat and slowly slide down like a cartoon character (he's ok he gets better afterwards)

[steakout-05]

imagine Barry Steakfries but he's like. actually small enough to fit inside a phone screen. like he's literally not even an inch tall. just a tiny little guy that you can drag around with your finger like a shimeji. personally i'd put him in a soda can and spin him around

[pizzatowerconfessions]

i want to confess that i want to throw fake peppino at a wall and watch him splat and slowly slide down like slime

.

[gothic-mothic]

THROWS STANLEY AGAINST THE WALL AND WATCHES HIM GO SPLAT

then watches him slide down the wall and lay limp on the floor.

obviously I adore him and ur art HAHA

okay but fr now. UR AWESOMEEE !!!!! I love ur art sm it's so pretty and silly and I love it I love it I love it MWAHHH MWAHHH 🫶🫶🫶

oh also

THROWS NARRATOR INTO THE PIZZA OVEN AND CLOSES THE OVEN DOOR

then slowly skips away in the most silliest way possible with my tongue out like a cartoon character 😋

[j-pankratz]

Stuck in the Middle with You

A gift for the lovely @chubbykatsudon for the Novigrad Gift Exchange 2021!

Geraskefer, minor Lamden. 16507 Words. Can also be read here on ao3! Rated M for an abundance of cursing and deeply suggestive flirting! Tags for a small amount of canon typical violence, & a very big dog (Roach, my love)! Other tags include: Oh My God The Were Neighbors, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Idiots to Lovers, We're Really Running The Gamut Here, Going viral on TikTok, The best lease of all fucking time, apple juice, and ever changing groupchat names.

x

“A year! A full year. Two! THREE!”

“Hmm.” Geralt muttered. In one hand above his head, he dangled the dead-though-still-writhing remains of a drowner. He’d stabbed it in the spine— nerve damage, unfortunate stuff. At his feet, the groveling man who’d gotten him into this mess in the first place. About 75% of the people he had to rescue from monsters, he found, were the rich sticking their noses places they oughtn’t, out of pure arrogance. This one, a landlord, apparently, had decided to wander off drunkenly from a party and go poking about the river.

He whimpered. “I— I’ll throw in maintenance! Please, Witcher, I—”

“Do you allow pets,” he asked dryly, “I need a place for Roach.” He gestured with his head to Roach, who was watching the thrashing drowner body with interest.

“Ah, no, we don’t—” Geralt dug his thumb into a wound in the deceased drowner’s neck, causing it to hiss and send out spittle. The kneeling landlord cried in fear.

“Yes! Yes! Fine, we can accept your dog, please, please Witcher I can’t die, I—”

“Deal,” Geralt said, and thrust his sword through the drowner once more, severing its head from its body. The man yelped as blood and assorted monster bits sprayed out. Geralt dropped the remnants of its head and neck to the ground, landing with a sickening splat, and the man wailed again.

“When’s move in?”

——

Move-in, as it turned out, was a week and a half later, the first of the month. It was a good apartment, better than he’d have ever rented for himself— a quiet street, an elevator, laundry in the basement, and a doorman half the time. Geralt had a view of the city from his bedroom and of the tree-lined street below from his brightly and naturally lit living room, while the second bedroom had a view of the apartment’s courtyard. The kitchen was a good size, though he didn’t cook much, and it had a dishwasher, which was worth its weight in gold. There was a corner shop at the end of the block, and a few restaurants, coffee shops, and bars within walking distance. Eskel and Coën would love visiting, at least, and if he got a decent enough couch and tv, Lambert would too. Not that they’d have much opportunity to visit, but he could have his dreams, few and minor as they were.

It was on the 8th floor, which was high enough to feel safe. There were only four apartments to a floor, which helped. Ultimately, he figured, nobody would really suspect a Witcher to live in a regular apartment building. And if anyone came after him, well, he’d deal with that then. With Ciri away at school, he would have less to stress about. He’d be subtle, wouldn’t tell people in the building he was a Witcher, wouldn’t talk much to anyone, would hope they wouldn’t notice his eyes. He’d wear sunglasses. It would be fine! This apartment was probably the second most favorable payment he’d ever had from a contract—the first of course, being Ciri— he wasn’t about to turn it down, or regret taking it.

Even when he was stuck in the elevator with, quite possibly, the most annoying man on earth.

Geralt was taking the last of his suitcases upstairs, which was really Roach’s suitcase, and a box of his cooking supplies— an embarrassingly small number of pots, pans, bowls, plates, and utensils. Just as the door was closing—

“WAIT! Hold that, hold that, if you’d please, fuck!”

A man with brown hair came barreling toward the elevator, just barely sticking his expensive looking brown leather shoe in the doors before they closed. They slid open with a soft ding, and the man, out of breath, tumbled inside.

He was tall, with a mop of brown hair and egregiously bright teal pants, a slightly lighter blue dress shirt tucked in to match. He heaved against the elevator walls, breathing heavily and eventually sinking down to a crouch to catch his breath.

“Good save,” Geralt said.

“Thank you,” the man said between gasps. “You saved my life.”

“I didn’t do anything."

The man waved his hand at the buttons. “Button. Button. You. Press. You pressed the— you know.”

“No I didn’t.”

The man paused, his breathing slowly going back to normal. “You didn’t—” He looked up at Geralt, his eyes a brilliant, piercing blue. He was frowning. “What do you mean you didn’t? You didn’t press the button?”

“Nope.”

The man came to standing, and Geralt found that the man wasn’t just tall, he was nearly Geralt’s height. “You mean to tell me, you see a man running for the elevator, screaming for you to hold the door, and instead you just— just stand there and watch?”

Geralt lifted his box a bit. “Got my hands full.”

“You have elbows! Two of them, might I add!” the man cut in before Geralt could lift the suitcase tucked into the crook of one arm. Instead, he shrugged.

“More fun to watch you run.”

“More fun to— I cannot believe this,” the man said, looking up at the floor numbers. The elevator continued to rise, and he suddenly groaned. “Ah, fuck, we’ve missed my floor,” he said, fumbling over to the buttons. Geralt frowned.

“We’re only on the fifth floor.” He watched the man press the button for the second floor. “You ran to the elevator… to go to the second floor?”

“I don’t like stairs!” he complained; Geralt could tell he’d had to give this explanation many times before.

“You like running more than stairs?”

“I would run toward convenience any day.”

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed softly.

They stood in silence for a moment. “Sorry, who are you? New neighbor, then?”

“Yep.”

“Do you have a name, or must I call you Mildly Rude Elevator Man? You wouldn’t be the first to earn a title from me. I don’t even know the woman’s name who lives in the Penthouse so now she’s just Penthouse Lady. But surely you have a name?”

Geralt smiled. “8b.”

“Oh, hilarious, 8b, alright, then I’m 2d. Lovely to meet you, 8b,” he said as the doors slid open to the 8th floor. “Do you need some help with those?”

“No,” Geralt said, and maneuvered himself out of the elevator carefully.

“Alright, fine then, if you say so, but I’m very helpful, actually, when I need to be. I have two hands, you know.”

“I’m sure,” Geralt grunted and approached his door. Fishing in his pocket for his keys for a moment, he found himself turned to the man in the elevator— 2d— and watched as his eyes grew wide as they fell on Geralt’s medallion, just as the elevator dinged and the doors began to slide closed. Well. Fuck.

“Wait— is that—” 2d’s eyes grew wide, and then a grin split across his face. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you! Wait!” but the doors had already met, and the elevator began its descent.

Okay, so, subtlety gone, and given how chatty 2d had been, he figured it was only a matter of time before the entire building knew. That was the price for a free 3-year lease in a building far above his price range at the best of times, he supposed.

There was no way this would be worth it.

——

There were three days of peace, before 2d came knocking.

It was mid-afternoon, and in the living room the sunlight streamed through his new windows onto the small amount of furniture he’d arranged so far. Roach’s bed, his orange couch, a small tv, a chair, a barstool, a bookcase. Everything else was either still in boxes or simply not purchased yet— he’d never had need for it. He didn’t even know what to do with an apartment he could enjoy spending time in. The morning had been spent sitting on the couch, letting his coffee go cold as he looked around and tried to figure out what to do with this place he might actually be able to relax in. Until, of course, the knocking began.

He tried to ignore it, but 2d was persistent. After the 5th set of knocks, Geralt groggily rose from his chair, coffee in hand, and opened the door.

“Good morning! Hi, ah, hope you’re alright, settling in well?”

“What do you want.”

“Oh, glad to see you’re in a good mood,” 2d replied easily. His outfit was just as bright today, his pants a vibrant green with a mango pattern on them, his shirt a matching orange, with yellow cuffs, and a… oh, gods above, a guitar case strapped to his back, the leather strap running across his chest, hugging him closely. His clothes fit remarkably well, Geralt noticed, and then tried to promptly un-notice. But it was hard. 2d’s eyes looked especially blue today, which was bullshit. Geralt raised an eyebrow and hoped he wasn’t being obvious about anything, though it wasn’t as if Witchers let their faces be easily readable.

“Listen. You’re a Witcher. Very neat, very cool, I could smell the heroics and heartbreak on you in that elevator, I’m getting whiffs of it even now—”

“That’s sweat. Or coffee.”

“Well, okay, it’s not, but okay. My point here is, you have stories. And I write stories. Well, I write songs. Music. Poetry, art, etcetera. And I’m good, I promise I’m fairly decently good—”

“Was that you on Sunday singing the song about the… rabbit? And the moon?” He didn’t remember it well, but whoever was singing had definitely mentioned worms, as well.

“The… oh! Yes! Ah,” he cleared his throat and began. “But have you heard the story of the rabbit in the moon? Or the cow that hopped the planets while straddling a spoon? Right? Yes, love that one, it’s a fun one to sing at bars. Great warm-up song. Cosmo Sheldrake! Gotta love them, strange bastards. I should record that for TikTok, now that I think of it.”

“Sure.” The man’s singing voice was… light, airy, with something like a faint rasp in there, but he dipped down low into his register another was a whole new layer of sound there as well. It sounded like him, but it was somehow completely different than what Geralt would have expected the man’s singing voice to be like. “Cows don’t do that, though. And the references to beasts in your other songs were just as unrealistic. You shouldn’t be confusing people, monsters are serious business. Someone could get hurt.”

“Perfect!” 2d cried excitedly. “See! You know these things. I would like to learn these things. Think of it as educating the public, and helping out your great new friend Jaskier. Which, hello, I’m Jaskier. You’re Geralt, right? Of Rivia?”

Geralt shifted on his feet. It shouldn’t have surprised him. There were only so many witchers, let alone ones with long white hair and a wolf medallion. Damn internet. “And if I am?”

Jaskier’s wide grin turned sly. “Then I know for a fact you have stories.”

The witcher sighed. Well. He’d bore this man with his bad storytelling, and he’d get bored, and he’d leave. In the meantime, Geralt would get to look at 2d’s well-fitting clothes and shoulders that looked terrifically broad. It could be worse. There was a long pause.

“Fine. This once. But I’m not your friend.”

“Brilliant! Beautiful, fantastic,” Jaskier was saying, and slipped past Geralt and in to the apartment.

And then Roach barreled in.

“OH, HOLY FUCK!” Jaskier screamed in surprise, as the great Dane barked, getting right up to Jaskier before Geralt quieted her with a quick command. She plopped down at Jaskier’s feet obediently, and stared up at him with big, watery brown eyes. Jaskier’s hands were raised high above his head, and when he spoke, it came out as a raspy whisper.

“I did not know you had a dog. Have you always had this dog? Whose dog is this, this is your dog? How have I missed this. What’s his name?”

“Her name is Roach.”

“Her names Roach,” he repeated in the same horse whisper. “Why have you named your dog after an insect.”

“Can’t get rid of her,” Geralt replied, though he knew that made it sound like he didn’t absolutely adore her. The name had been a joke, and it had stuck, simple as that.

“Oh. Lovely. Okay. Will she eat me? She won’t eat me, right? This is a good dog, a good dog with manners?”

“She won’t eat you. Unless I tell her to.”

“Stop that!! Oh, stop that, oh my gods. Okay. Okay. Hello puppy. Nice, non-murdering puppy. Not a puppy. Good… large dog. Good large girl. You’re nice, aren’t you. You won’t kill me at all, not even a little bit.” He slowly let one hand come down to his side, and Roach surged forward to lick it. Jaskier yanked his hand back up and shut his eyes tightly.

“Okay. Maybe I should come back. At another time when I am more prepared for your non-murdering, not at all monstrous 4-foot tall dog.”

“She’s more like 2 1/2 feet tall.” Geralt cocked his head to the side. “Maybe three.”

“Fuck. Gods. Okay. Okay. Another day then! But definitely. I will want to hear these stories. Okay?”

“Sure,” Geralt agreed. This was more entertainment than he had expected today. He held back laughs, smiling while Jaskier’s eyes were still shut tightly. “Another day, then.”

“Okay. I’m backing out now, he said, and slowly began to do so, not turning away from Roach. She came to standing, and he jumped back at the sound of her nails against the tile floor of the kitchen, eyes still squeezed shut. “OKAY, OH, NO, okay doggie, no following me. No following. Thank you. Okay. I will. See you soon. Okay? Okay.”

And then Jaskier was out the door, and running down the stairwell. Geralt closed the door behind him, and turned to see Roach looking at him, her head cocked. He laughed, and bent down to pet her.

——

It took just over 24 hours for 2d— no, no, Jaskier— to come knocking once more. This time, Geralt answered the door more quickly; best to either get this over with, or get some more laughs out of it while he could. Behind the door stood Jaskier, mildly nervous looking, already glancing over Geralt’s shoulder into the apartment.

It was either a blessing or a curse that Jaskier’s outfit was not nearly as tight-fitting today, though the strap of his guitar case still cut close to his figure against his lavender sweater. In his arms, he held a variety of brand-new-looking dog toys; kongs and bones and pull-ropes and even some balls.

“Hi! Ah, this time, I’ve come prepared! With distractions and assurances your Roach will not eat me. If you’d still be available for relaying some stories?”

“…You bought her toys?”

“Ah…. maybe a bit? Well, yes, I certainly don’t have a dog, I just did some searching for what kind of things abnormally large dogs might enjoy and picked some up on a walk this morning. Nothing big.” Geralt looked again at the pile in Jaskier’s arms. He’d… bought toys. For Roach. Who he’d just met the day previously, and had scared him silly.

The more time he spent around Jaskier, the less he understood about the man.

Geralt took a step back and gave a whistle, and soon Roach was trotting in from his bedroom. He could smell the tension off Jaskier, and put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “Try to relax. She’ll know if you’re stressed.”

“Right. No stress, just a dog who could swallow me whole. That’s fine, this is fine.”

“Put your hand out low, so she can sniff.”

After a bit of hesitation, Jaskier took a deep breath and did as he was told. “Friendly, Roach,” Geralt said as she sniffed loudly around Jaskier’s hand. And a moment later, she was licking his hand, sobering all over it. Jaskier laughed nervously, a light and airy sound Geralt found himself enjoying a bit too much. His smile was radiant, the relief in his broad shoulders palpable. He carefully moved his hand to give her a scratch on the cheek, and Roach leaned into it, pressing up against him, her tag wagging a mile a minute.

“Feel better?”

“Hmm? Oh! Yes, yes,” Jaskier said, pulling his attention away from Roach. “I’m really not usually scared of dogs. She’s just… very large, and was unexpected. But you’re a good girl, aren’t you? You’re not nearly as scary as you look! Just like your owner, isn’t that right.”

Geralt frowned. He knew he was frightening, there was no sense in denying it. He had frightened nearly every human he came across, at least in some small way. But even since Jaskier had realized he was a witcher, Geralt hadn’t smelled fear on him. Only just now, when he’d met Roach.

Again, he understood Jaskier less than before.

Geralt stepped back wordlessly and allowed Jaskier to step further into the apartment. He pulled out one of the balls tucked into the pile of toys in his arm and threw it further into the living room, and Roach excitedly ran after it, plopping down to chew on it next to her well-loved gray bed.

Jaskier followed, moving through the room like the breeze, before sitting on the couch, kicking his shoes off, and shoving his feet between the cushions.

“So! Where should we begin! Tales of your early days, your first forays with beasts? Your most recent victories? Epic quests?”

Geralt stared at Jaskier, an eye twitching. “Don’t— what are you doing?”

“Well, I figured we’d be here a while, might as well get comfortable!”

“On a stranger’s couch. A witcher’s couch.”

“On my new, good friend Geralt-The-Witcher’s couch! We’re hardly neighbors, we’re strangers! Wait, no, sorry, hardly strangers, we’re— where are you going?”

Geralt had turned and walked to his bedroom. He quietly shut the door behind him, walked to his bed, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it. He was good at controlling his emotions. He barely had them, after all, that’s what they said about witchers. But this man, this self-proclaimed friend was driving him to madness, and it had only been four days in the building. He briefly considered moving, abandoning the apartment entirely, giving it to someone else. Or perhaps throwing this Jaskier out the window. But none of those were worth the time, or the inevitable paperwork. He could kick Jaskier out, but he’d come back, he knew he would.

It was best to just be boring. Just be boring, refuse to tell the good stories, and tell the boring ones he did have, badly. Jaskier would get tired of it, take what he got, and discover there was nothing interesting or worth telling about witches. Who would want to hear songs about him, anyway? Humans, in large part, still thought witchers were monsters. It had gotten better the past few decades, but… not much.

He took a deep breath and pulled the over-worn pillow away from his face. Time to just get it over with, he supposed. Another deep breath and he returned to the living room, where Jaskier had pulled out a pad of paper, several pens, his guitar, a small bag of what looked to be popcorn, and three notebooks that looked completely filled already. Jaskier whipped around to see him and gave a big, toothy smile.

He was doing this, Geralt thought, just to get the writer out of his hair. No more, no less. It had absolutely nothing to do with anything else.

“Geralt! I am perfectly ready, and if you can’t think of where to start I have dozens of questions for you. Hundreds, really, so don’t worry about it at all! Sit down, sit down.”

“This is my house,” Geralt said, grabbing the only other chair and sitting a ways from Jaskier, “I should be inviting you to take a seat.”

“Well, that might be the case if you were an experienced host, but I get the feeling it’s not really your forte. Alright, ready to begin?”

“Did you notice how I didn’t invite you to take a seat?”

“I did, actually! Again, I can tell you’re not a natural at the hosting thing. Not to worry, I’m plenty comfortable now.” There was a glint in his eye that told Geralt he knew exactly what he was doing.

Geralt sighed, and fought off the thought that Jaskier was very, very lucky he was pretty.

A few hours later, Jaskier had gathered up his things, ready to head out. “Don’t worry, Geralt, you were plenty helpful. And our next session we will absolutely get to some… even more interesting stories, I’m sure we’ve only just barely scratched the surface.”

“What.”

Geralt had been as boring as he could possibly manage, giving only the barest of details. Jaskier had still seemed intrigued, still prodded. His eyes had been full of life and wonder at the smallest details, he’d taken fervent notes, he’d looked like an oil painting when the sun had begun to set and cast him in vibrant golds, showing off the warmth in his cheeks and the well-hidden but sharp lines of his body. This had nearly killed Geralt. And now Jaskier wanted to do it again?!

“Yes, of course, I’ll need to do some writing and then come back to you for more— really, I think I should just accompany you on your next contract, I think I’d get much more out of it— not to say you didn’t do wonderfully, dear, but I can hardly imagine that anything compares to the real thing.”

“No. Too dangerous.”

“I can keep out of the way!” Jaskier said, hefting the guitar case onto his back.

“You can’t, you won’t it wouldn’t matter if you could. No.”

“Oh, I’ll wear you down.” Geralt was deeply afraid that this was correct. “Gods, I should probably eat. What time is it? It’s not Thursday, is it? Is it Tuesday? Oh, I wonder if Posada’s is doing their wings night tonight. You’ve had them, right?” Geralt stared back blankly. “Geralt. Ohhhhh, Geralt, you cannot tell me you haven’t had Posada’s wings yet.” Geralt raised a single eyebrow.

“I’ve been here four days.”

“And what have you eaten!”

“…Food?” The real answer was anything that took less than 15 minutes to prepare, cook, and eat, but he wasn’t about to say that, was he? That’s not a thing you say to people.

“Ohhh, no, Geralt. No no no.” Jaskier shrugged off his Guitar case and whipped out his phone. “No, this is my treat. Oh fuck, it’s Thurs—no, nope, sorry, saw the T and got worried. It is in fact Tuesday, and it’s 7pm so we’re in the clear; we are in fact doing Posada’s wings deal. This is half the reason rent on this place is worth it— not that you have to worry about that. I mean, neither do I but, whatever. Sit down, I’ll order now. Wait, no, you get the plates, I’ll order, okay.”

Geralt stared blankly at Jaskier as he bustled through the apartment, around the unopened boxes and suitcases, the few pieces of furniture, all while on his phone, ordering takeout for the both of them. He seemed to be a natural at almost everything— except talking, somehow, which didn’t give Geralt much hope for his lyricism. But he flowed through the apartment like water, the lilt of his voice carried through the air like honeysuckle on a breeze.

(If you asked Geralt how Jaskier had managed to stay at his apartment from 1 in the afternoon until 10:30 in the evening, Geralt wouldn’t be able to tell you. It involved some toys for Roach, some terrible storytelling, and a wing deal that seemed like it should be financially devastating for Posada’s. And if you asked him at what point Jaskier had started feeling like, well, maybe one of the better things in his life, he would deny it was so early as a mere few days after they met.

He’d be lying, but he likely wouldn’t quite realize that.)

——

Contracts weren’t especially plentiful in the early spring like they had been in years past, but the ones that did crop up were often fairly big. Such was the one Geralt happened to find on a walk with Roach, a week later on a billboard outside the largest park in the city.

A Griffin’s nest. He could probably relocate them, if he had help. He didn’t like killing monsters when he could avoid it— and griffins weren’t horribly dangerous when left well enough alone. It wasn’t their fault society had branched outwards, into their natural habitats. They shouldn’t have to pay for the mistakes of humans.

Besides, he understood monsters more than people, half the time.

So, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the flyer. The chat was used so infrequently that he didn’t even bother to scroll for it, he just typed in the names with one hand, the other busy wrapped Roach’s leash. Slowly, the names appeared. ESKEL, LAMBERT, COËN.

He sends the picture with a short message; ‘Anyone in, or am I doing this myself’ before tucking the phone back in his pocket. Geralt had learned years ago to keep his phone on Do Not Disturb when on walks with Roach; it was his quiet time. If he didn’t have his walks with Roach, he would lose his mind. When he arrived back at the building, he checked the phone in the elevator.

24 Messages from GETTING LIT WITH CITY WITCHERS

Coën – Just now

I don’t think that’s how flamethrowers work??

And before he could even open up the messages, another notification popped up as he stepped out of the elevator;

25 Messages from GETTING LIT WITH CITY WITCHERS

Lambert – Just now

Fine ruin my dreams fuck

He smirked and put it away to let himself and Roach into the apartment. A turn of the key and he let go of the leash, Roach pushing the door open and bolting for the couch, rolling all over the orange cushions. Before Geralt stepped in, he heard the sound of music fluttering up from the second floor; this time, Jaskier was writing a new song, getting stuck on different chords and changing his idea on the words every few seconds. The stop and go nature of it should have bothered him, having to hear someone all the way from the second floor should bother him (why did Jaskier insist on having the windows constantly opened??) but instead, he found it… pleasant.

That could not possibly be good.

——

When the four returned back from the contract, they were bruised, had splinters in truly unspeakable places, and were covered in grime. But, four griffin eggs successfully relocated, a mother griffin tolerant of her new home, and a decent paycheck to split amongst the four of them. Roach, dirtiest of all of them, ran into the apartment first and rolled around on the cool tile of the kitchen. At least it wasn’t on the couch, Geralt supposed, as he led in his fellow witchers. His apartment had been the closest when they’d returned to the city, and he’d agreed to let them all crash.

“Geralt holy fuck,” Lambert said, sounding incredulous as he began to shed his armor. “This is ridiculous! I know you saved the landlord, but shirts, did you show him a good time too?! This is unbelievable.”

“Damn, Geralt. You did good,” Eskel agreed with a pat on his younger brother’s back.

“It’s really nice. You could use some… decoration, though,” Coën added. “Just, you know. Anything on the walls. Pictures, posters, something.”

“I just moved in. Do you guys want coffee?”

The three groaned, and Lambert flopped on the couch, sufficiently de-armored. “I want to sleep for a hundred years, Geralt. No I don’t want fucking coffee.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, and put up a pot.

“It’s 11pm,” Coën said blankly. “Do Wolves not sleep? Is this a thing? I thought it was only Cats who didn’t sleep.”

Lambert shifted carefully onto his side. His next words were said almost in rote, as though he’d heard someone else say them a thousand times before. “Cats sleep pretty soundly, they just don’t do it at night. They have better things to do."

Coën shrugged and headed for the bathroom, but Eskel and Geralt sent each other a look. Eskel’s eyes squinted a bit, and they slowly turned to look at Lambert, motionless on the couch. There was a long moment of silence, as they just stared at the youngest wolf.

“Where’d you learn that one, lil Lamb?” Eskel asked carefully. Geralt caught a whiff of anxiety emanating off his younger brother for a moment.

“What? Oh. Uh, yeah, I met a Cat. So what?” He turned to look at his brothers, and he frowned. “Hey! So what?! You have something to say?! I can make friends!”

“You get this defensive about all your friends?”

“Geralt I will throw your couch out the fucking window, I swear to God.”

“What’s your new pal’s name?” Eskel asked. “This buddy of yours. Your chum.”

“I fucking hate you both!” Lambert shouted, and buried his face in a pillow.

With the coffee done, Geralt poured himself a mug and sat down at the kitchen bar, watching Lambert toss around on the couch. Eskel settled into one of Geralt’s only other chairs, and sat back.

“Are you gonna tell us about him?”

“…I need to be fucked up for that,” Lambert muttered. Geralt gave a gesture with his head to Eskel, who rose and opened a cabinet in the closet to reveal two bottles of White Gull. Eskel barked a laugh.

Lambert groaned and let his head fall back against the cushion once more. “Fucking hate you guys. Give me one of those.”

x

This was not the first time the halls were muddy.

Over the past two and a half weeks, the floor of the lobby had often been tracked with mud. She had tried to ignore this. The annoying musician, (her mortal enemy on the second floor), had been particularly stuck on some new song that was both uninspired and going nowhere. She had tried to ignore this, as well. She’d ignored Jane on the fourth floor’s delivery fiasco, and the fact that Eiman from floor 6’s fire alarm had gone off in the middle of some careful brewing she’d been doing. She had even tried to ignore the barks of a large dog from the new tenant in what was supposed to be a strictly no-dog apartment building.

(It wasn’t that she cared about the rules, she couldn’t give a shit about rules. She just hated them being broken when it inconvenienced her.)

What she could not ignore, however, what had pushed her decidedly past her breaking point, was what sounded like a heard of grown men who had trampled through the lobby, made their way up the stairs, undoubtedly coating it with mud, and were now somewhere several floors below her, all the windows thrown open, one of them lamenting about some man who he was infatuated with.

It wasn’t even good gossip. It had stopped being good gossip an hour ago, when he’d become so drunk he’d just started repeating the same things about this man— Adam, or Adrien, or Aiden, or something like that— over and over and over again.

And they were doing all of this past quiet hours. Did she have insulated, noise cancelling windows, yes. Did she herself enjoy a good night in with friends, or even a party, sometimes past quiet hours? Of course. Had she occasionally made a mess in the lobby? Possibly.

But she’d cleaned up, taken responsibility, and not made it everyone else’s problem at 2am on a Wednesday night when she’d very much like to have the windows open for a fucking breeze.

This, Yennefer thought, was not what she paid rent on a Penthouse for.

She groaned, checked her phone, and turned her bedside light on with a wave of her hand. Hadn’t anyone told these poor bastards about the witch who lived in the Penthouse? She stared at the hour again; it was 2:06am. Did she want to deal with this now? Or did she want to save raining down unholy terror for a reasonable hour, and instead capitalize on time differences.

It wasn’t a difficult decision. She pressed a few buttons, and her video chat call began to ring. A few moments later, a smiling but confused looking Anica lit up her phone, adjusting her tortoiseshell glasses.

“Yennefer! It’s lovely to hear from you but… what time is it there?”

She groaned. “2am. Don’t remind me. New neighbors suck. Tell me something fun you’re working on.”

Anica smiled. “Oh, if you want something fun, you’ve come at exactly the right moment. This week Sabrina’s here, and we’re working on a warding charm against fungi in gardens— I figure we could likely scale it up to fields, but I want to have things worked out just right before we move on….”

Yennefer smiled as her friend went on, and tried not to wince every time she heard a faint wail come from several floors beneath her.

x

“And— he sucks. Like, he’s fucking. Sly, and cocky and shit. Where does he get off being all—” 3 hours after he had begun, the deeply drunken Lambert was still talking, gesturing wildly in front of them. “—You know?! It’s no v’y thoughtful.” He drifted into silence once more, while Coën, Eskel, and Geralt just nodded. Most of what that had gathered was that Lambert’s overwhelming crush on this mysterious Cat Witcher, Aiden, had hit him like a truck a year or so back and he still hadn’t made a move. Which meant he was serious about this one.

Coën opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. There wasn’t much to say— Lambert was a goner. He hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet, so far as Geralt could tell from the rise and fall of his chest, but he was getting there. Eskel slowly began to stand up and collect the empty bottle of White Gull they’d finished. Suddenly, Lambert’s eyes flew open, and he careened forward, arms waving wildly. “AND HIS HAIR?! I fucking hate him! He’s awful. He’s so fucking hot and I hate everything. He sucks. How do I get him to sleep with me?!”

Eskel sat down again with a sigh.

x

“Wait. Geralt, you went on a contract without me?! After I specifically asked to go?! Geralt!” Jaskier huffed, his tub of sesame chicken nearly spilling. The nature documentary in front of them hummed along, though neither payed it much mind. They never did, really.

“Griffin nests are too dangerous,” Geralt said around a bite of noodles. Jaskier’s presence in his life could be described with many negative adjectives, but he had to admit, he was better fed when the musician was around. “Besides, that was two weeks ago now. You’re behind.”

“All the more offensive that I’m just hearing about it now!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You going to come watch me deal with these Wyverns, or not?” He might as well just let Jaskier tag along for something small. Maybe he wouldn’t be a disaster, and then he’d stop pestering Geralt for stories he didn’t want to tell, much less be broadcast to the entire world. Unfortunately, he was beginning to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed Jaskier’s company, but that was all the more reason to cut him out of his life, wasn’t it? He was too big of a liability.

Jaskier had started helping to brighten up Geralt’s apartment, both figuratively and literally. There were now some framed pictures on the wall, as well bright takeout menus (“At least it’s something, Geralt, you need color in your life!”) and even a plant hanging by the window, which was thankfully fake. When Jaskier was around, everything seemed to fit well enough.

When he wasn’t though, the living room was discordant, this wall decor was now big and bold in places and nothing matched, and very few things were things he’d pick out himself. When he saw it in the mornings, he often sighed and shook his head, and tried not to think about it too much, or who had put it there.

He tried really quite hard not to think about Jaskier very much at all, but he was over nearly every day now. It was hard not to.

If Geralt had also finally bought himself a sturdy bedframe, bedside tables, and good sheets for himself, well, that had nothing to do with Jaskier at all. It’s not like Jaskier would ever see it, after all.

“Fine,” Jaskier replied after some internal debate, “But I want to see griffins, someday.”

“Mmm. Look them up, if you’re so keen on seeing one.”

“It’s not the same! Do you think it’s the same?! Ugh.”

“So, you’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming! What sort of question is that? When do we leave? What should I bring? Ooo, what do I wear?!”

Geralt sighed deeply. “Don’t wear anything baggy, or bright, or anything that will make much sound. Don’t bring anything. Your phone, but only for if you get lost. Do NOT get lost. We leave here tomorrow at 5am.”

Jaskier choked on a piece of chicken. “Five a— Geralt, we cannot possibly leave here at 5am. Why! God, the things I do for music. How non-vibrant do my clothes have to be? Does a sort of forest-y green work? Do I have to wear camouflage? Please say no. You’re already severely limiting my wardrobe options, please don’t also make me commit fashion crimes.”

“Jaskier, you’re not going anywhere where you have to… impress people. You’re watching me catch, tag, and release a wyvern outside the city. That’s it.”

“I think the Wyverns deserve a good outfit! Besides, this is my first hunt! Our first big outing! I want to mark the occasion, but you and your rules prevent me. Frankly, I’m hurt.”

“Would you rather get eaten?”

“At least I’d leave a handsome corpse!” Geralt chuckled, and took a swig of beer as Jaskier swallowed thickly and continued. “But, ah, no, I’d really prefer to avoid death and injury as much as possible. Really. Truly. Not a masochist. Which surprises some people, weirdly. Do I give off a vibe? Geralt, do I give off vibes? I don’t give off any vibes, right?”

The biggest benefit of having Jaskier around, Geralt found, was that he could tease to his heart’s content, and Jaskier wouldn’t realize until Geralt had gotten a good laugh out of it.

Geralt nodded. “I can see that. There are definitely vibes.”

Jaskier gaped, and then stuttered in response. “I—you—no! That’s—there is no way—how—and what do—what’s—abs—there—I—you—that is not—!”

If Geralt could fight off his smirk a little longer, he’d get to watch Jaskier fumble for at least another minute… and it would take his mind off of trying not to picture Jaskier on his bed, pale skin and dark chest hair fully revealed, arching his back while Geralt indulged him in some fictional, masochistic tendencies. No, couldn’t think about that. Not realistic, anyway.

And then the image flipped, now with Jaskier above him, gazing down lovingly, raking his nails against Geralt’s exposed chest…

“I—the—Geralt! I thought we were friends!!”

Geralt shook it off. Not realistic.

——

The contract was supposed to be for the removal of a particularly pesky wyvern, who’d made a habit of sleeping on the top of a high rise on the other side of town, occasionally swooping down on unsuspecting residents on their balconies. Recently, it’d nabbed a little girl’s doll, which shouldn’t have tugged on his heartstrings, but after Ciri had come into his life, all bets were off. So, a nasty wyvern, somewhere it shouldn’t, who needed to be returned to a suitable habitat and tagged for tracking purposes. It had happened before, there was nothing suspicious about the contract.

Unfortunately, things were rarely so cut and dry in Geralt’s world.

It was 7 o’clock before Geralt and Jaskier finally dragged themselves back to their building; muddy, grimy and tracking it all through the lobby. Geralt’s chest was somehow still sore from being thwacked by a steel baseball bat. The contract had been a sham, and he and Jaskier had been… detained, Geralt would say, kidnapped being too strong a word, by some idiots who wanted to prove they could best a witcher. He’d hoped they’d mostly left violent displays of superiority back a few decades ago, but humans never failed to live up to the worst of themselves, he thought bitterly.

If they woke up from their concussions, hanging upside down from some pipes in the basement they’d chosen for their assault, Geralt was fairly sure they wouldn’t bother with witchers again.

“So, this was a less dangerous one, mm?” Jaskier asked groggily as they piled into the elevator. “Wanna come to mine? I feel like I’m five minutes from sleep.”

Geralt shrugged. He hadn’t actually seen Jaskier’s apartment. Not that he wanted to, of course. Jaskier mashed his finger into the button for the second floor, swaying on his feet. He slumped against one of the walls and let his eyes fall closed, and Geralt found it hard not to stare. His dark green shirt was ripped, exposing some pale skin and shallow cuts and bruises he’d received. His pants were filthy, and his face was still covered in grime, while bits of his hair stuck out at odd angles. Small prices to pay for making it out alive.

In fact, Jaskier had put up much more of a fight than he’d been expecting. He wasn’t a trained fighter by any means but he’d made himself more than useful. Geralt might not have made it out without his quick thinking—a phone flashlight to the eyes of their assailants, a kick to the back of the knee of another, biting the wrist of a third when it shot past his face, as he had lunged for Geralt. Jaskier had been damn near feral. Adrenaline, Geralt supposed. Hell of a drug.

Witchers felt adrenaline too, though it was different. Similar enough, though, that he was sure his overwhelming fear of seeing Jaskier hurt, how he’d screamed at their captors to let Jaskier go, how he’d been a second away from ending them in retaliation before he’d realized how far he’d gone, yes, he was sure that all of that was nothing more than adrenaline. Even if it had only kicked in when he realized Jaskier was in danger, rather than just himself, rather than when they’d spat obscenities at him. It had been when Jaskier had spat at them, called them bastards, and earned a kick in the stomach for it.

The elevator was silent as the doors slid shut.

“Do people always look at you like that?”

“You mean with a dagger in their hands?”

Jaskier frowned, chin still tipped toward the sky, arms folded close to his chest, eye lazily shut.

“No. I figure you wouldn’t have brought me, if that happened very often. But they were so…” he shook his head. “They were fucking hateful. They were monsters.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “Monsters chasing a monster.”

“No, you’re not. Hey. Geralt. No, you’re not.” Jaskier had opened his eyes and waited Geralt to meet them. The witcher looked away as the doors slid open. “You’re not a fucking monster, I don’t care what they say. I know you by now.”

“Just open the door.”

Jaskier sighed and shuffled over to his door, opening it after a bit of a fumble with the keys.

The layout of his apartment was different, Geralt noticed—the front door let out into the living room, not the kitchen, and his bathroom was on the left, not the right. It seemed like there was only one bedroom, and his main window looked out over the cityscape. But it was, predictably, the décor that stood out the most.

Jaskier had lined his ceiling molding with little lights, and as they entered, they flicked on, drifting smoothly between all colors of the rainbow. The place itself was messy, notebooks strewn about everywhere, cords coming out of various outlets without rhyme or reason, cups and plates scattered about. Geralt spotted what he thought might have been pants in one corner, but he chose not to look so hard. Jaskier flicked on the light switch, and Geralt could see how bright and colorful Jaskier had made his home—it worked somehow, though it seemed as though if a single piece were removed it would look wrong, somehow.

His instruments all looked remarkably well-kept, though. They hung on the wall in specialized mounts; two guitars, a violin, some other string instruments Geralt didn’t recognize. There was a small black case maybe holding a wind instrument sitting next to a rather impressive-looking keyboard, and the table where they sat was the only tidy area in the apartment, so far as he could see. Of course, he hadn’t seen Jaskier’s bedroom. Yet. Not that he would want to, of course. Or ever have cause to.

Jaskier plopped down on a vibrant green velvet chair and waved one hand at the room, the other covering his eyes. “Sorry for the mess. You can sit anywhere. Oh, wait, there’s cider in the fridge, would you mind? Second shelf. And don’t laugh at me for drinking cider.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know it’s too sweet. I get it. But if you drink beer or wine every night it gets boring. And if I ever grew bored of alcohol, I’d be devastated.”

“Won’t disagree with you,” Geralt muttered as he returned to the living room with a 6-pack. He sat down on the couch and opened the bottles, handing one to Jaskier. They drank in silence, and Geralt tried to get comfortable on the overly plush blue couch.

“Sorry you got dragged in—”

“No, no, stop that. I asked to come. Specifically. You had no way of knowing. Besides, I’d rather be with you to deal with that, instead of you… oh, disappearing to your apartment for days and not answering me.”

Mm. He’d done that, once or twice. Maybe three times. “Sorry.”

“Geralt. It’s fine. It’s their fault. You did nothing wrong, you were just trying to help.”

“Mm.”

They drank in silence for a bit. The cider was, in fact, too sweet, but it suited Jaskier. Geralt find he didn’t mind it much as he should have. He tried not to think of kissing it off his lips.

Jaskier gave a snort in the silence. Geralt looked over and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, it’s just—got any other enemies I should know about?”

Geralt smiled and leaned back. “Mm. A few. Lot of humans.”

“Right, just, in general. Alright, so just ‘most humans’, got it. Next?”

“Monsters. Don’t know why, they just don’t like me.”

Jaskier laughed. “How unfair of them! They ought to give you a chance. Anyone else?”

“Mmm… some other witchers. None from my school, though. Definitely some mages.”

“Oh, fuck mages,” Jaskier said.

“Don’t fuck mages,” Geralt teased, “It won’t end well.”

“Ugh. Trust me, I know.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows until Jaskier looked at him and groaned. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve only done it a few times, and I’ve sworn off them.” He finished his cider and reached for another.

“Do you have any enemies I should know about, Jaskier?”

“Valdo fucking Marx,” Jaskier spat immediately, kicking his legs up on the table. “Garbage. Absolute garbage. Stole my work at Oxenfurt. Deeply fucked up man. I want him dead. Not in a, ‘I’d hire someone to kill him’ way, but in a, ‘if he died in an untimely and horrific way tomorrow, I would spend the weekend celebrating’ way. Shouldn’t say untimely. His death will absolutely timely, whenever it comes. Really, maybe untimely because it’ll be late. Hmph.”

Geralt nodded, kicking his feet up as well. “Anyone else?”

“Mmm, no. Oh! Well, Penthouse Lady, or as I like to call her, The Bitch of the 13th Floor. She’s a mage, you know.”

Geralt stared at Jaskier. “Oh, no, no, don’t think like that. That is decidedly not one of the mages I was speaking about. No, Penthouse Lady is just… I mean, gorgeous, but evil. Extremely, wickedly beautiful, which should be a crime. She will take your clothes out of the washing machine, wet, just because you’ve left them there a bit too long. A minute. 35 seconds, minutes, whatever, really. And if you break one of the building rules and catch her in a bad mood, she will eviscerate you. She’s made people move out before, out of pure terror.”

“But not you?”

“No! No, I’m not leaving. She’s can’t make me. We’ve been mortal enemies for years now, that’s a commitment.”

Geralt laughed. “How do you afford to live here, anyway? You haven’t got a job.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, lowering his cider with a smile, “How dare you. You have no idea. I could be employed. I could have several jobs, you don’t know.”

“Jaskier, I met you at 3pm on a Monday. You come over at all hours of the day. You are rarely doing anything one could describe as ‘work’.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. It’s a… parents thing. And grandparents. Whole family, really. Ever been to Lettenhove?” Geralt thought a bit, and then nodded—it had been awhile. “Yep. That’s us. Earls and whatnot. Technically, I’m a viscount, but I prefer the title ‘Family Disappointment’. More accurate.”

Geralt pushed Jaskier’s foot with his own. “Stop that.”

“No, it’s not—it’s not a bad thing, to disappoint those people. You know? If I’m disappointing them, I’m doing something right. Besides, they keep throwing money at me in hopes that it’ll change something. Which, you know. I’ll take it.” They sat quietly for a moment. “I have been published, to be fair. And I do go out to sing at bars on Thursdays and Saturdays. I have some followers on Spotify, TikTok and what have you. I’m not nothing. It’s just not up to their standards. ‘S why I have a pen name in the first place.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, and his friend nodded. “It’s a good name.”

“Why thank you.” There was quiet for a moment. “You know what they named me? Julian Alfred Pankratz. What a name. That’s the thing, with them, and their traditions—I’ve got two other people’s names, and none of my own. ‘S why I picked one for myself.”

“Mm,” Geralt said softly. Jaskier hadn’t ever said much about himself, now that he thought of it. Might as well take the plunge. “Don’t know what my surname was. Just have Geralt. Witchers are left to their schools and made to pick their own names. Picked Rivia out of a hat, essentially.”

Jaskier looked at him oddly, before raising his bottle. “To families that don’t know what they’re missing,” he said softly, and Geralt clinked their bottles together, the sound short and sweet.

——

A few hours and ciders later, Jaskier had slipped asleep, chest rising and falling gently. It hadn’t been a hard call for Geralt to make; he’d slipped Jaskier’s shoes off and carried him to his bedroom, laying him down on the bed, maneuvering him under the sheets. The bedroom was subtler than his living room—a cream color, beautiful loose paintings and sketches on the walls of flowers, hung up with tape, and dozens of pictures; some framed, some loose polaroids hanging on strings, all of friends and places he must have travelled. His oval mirror had sticky notes around the edges—what looked like scraps of songs, chord progressions, passwords, dates to remember, and a small note of encouragement to himself— ‘Keep Going!!’

Geralt smiled, found an unused sticky note, and grabbed a pen. When he was done, he smiled to himself, and put it just below the ‘Keep Going’ note.

After leaving a glass of water on his bedside table, Geralt slipped out of Jaskier’s apartment taking the elevator up. When the doors slid closed, he took out his phone.

4 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE (ES….)

Lambert – 48 minutes ago

God, this shit should NOT be so hard.

To: CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE (ESKEL, LAMBERT, COËN)

Message: yeah, I feel you

He slipped it away, and hoped nobody would question it in the morning.

x

Yennefer stretched, sun hitting her eyes, and sucked in a lungful of the breeze coming through the window. It was… nice. Pleasant.

Boring.

She took out her phone.

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: Who wants to go clubbing this weekend. I’m bored. Also Sabrina I know you’re 200 miles away w Anica don’t be snarky

She rose and began to stretch, sparing only a glance when her phone dinged.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Sabrina – Just Now

Sure count me in. I’d love that. Woohoo

She rolled her eyes and smiled, ignoring that her friend should absolutely still be asleep, given the time difference.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta– Just Now

I’m down for a barhop at least but only if we’re coordinating outfits I’m begging you I don’t want a repeat of last month!!

Yennefer finished her stretches and flicked her hand to start the coffee pot in the kitchen. She needed a change of pace. Things had gotten too predictable. Maybe she’d take someone home, that would be fun. She checked her phone again.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Fringilla – 7 minutes ago

Why is anyone awake??? Go back to sleep

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: Frin it’s 7am. This is a normal hour.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Fringilla – Just Now

Not on my day off it’s not

She sighed. Okay, maybe they wouldn’t end up clubbing, not given everyone’s moods this week. But at least she’d get out of the apartment, and maybe get someone else into bed.

x

9:37am

Thursday, March 12th

2 Messages from Jaskier

Just now

Oh, and the note, I’m just seeing this now. “Reminder: Don’t Fuck Mages.” Thanks, Geralt, what would I do without you? My witcher in… slightly muddy armor, last I checked. ;)

7 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE

Eskel – 19 minutes ago

“YEAH I FEEL YOU??” GERALT????? (sent with Echo)

NEWS

New Novigrad Times – 2 hours ago

Three men suspected of breaking and entering, larceny, and assault found suspended upside-down in a residential downtown building. This story is will be updated as new information is revealed.

14 more notifications

x

The next afternoon, he heard it while on a walk with Roach, and tried to brush it off. A voice sounding suspiciously like Jaskier’s was emanating from some teenager’s cell phone. “Oh Valley of Plenty, Oh-” the voice sang, before he tuned it out. It was deeply unlikely it was Jaskier. Something in seeing him asleep a few nights before must have poisoned Geralt’s brain.

He heard snatches of it, though, everywhere he went.

Toss a—

They came after me , with masterful—

Brings you to mourn—

That’s my epic tale—

It drove him mad, but he shook it off every time. What was the likelihood of it being Jaskier, anyway?

It’s in the lobby, where he realized. The doorman, Sonny, was swiping through his phone as Geralt checked his mailbox. When he turned back around—

With Geralt of Rivia, along came this song…

Geralt grimaced. “Fuck.”

When he returned to his apartment, he found a sticky note waiting on the door for him.

If you track mud into this building one more

time, I will make you kneel and fix it yourself.

All the best, ~Penthouse.

x

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta – 17 minutes ago

Yen! Isn’t this your ~enemy~??? That guy from the second floor who takes like 3 hours with laundry?? http://vm.tiktok…

——

Jaskier -- 15 minutes ago

So. I may have gone viral,

——

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: How the hell does this have 700 thousand likes already? It was only posted today

——

Jaskier -- 5 minutes ago

This is a good thing though, right??? Is this the wrong time to invite you to see me perform tomorrow night

Ciri -- Just Now

Hey uh??? Dad??? I think someone wrote a song about you???

——

Anica -- Just Now

Yennefer, I am so so sorry, but I already have it stuck in my head. I’ve only watched it twice now I swear

——

8 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT (AND GERALT) DATES

Lambert – 1 minute ago

Literally how the fuck does this happen to you

Jaskier -- Just Now

Hey that rhymed!!

x

Jaskier had told him not to stress about what to wear, that he could just ‘sit in the corner and brood’ and that ‘nobody would recognize him’, but nothing about this felt like a good idea to Geralt. Is this what having friends was? Going to places he didn’t want to be, at times he didn’t want to be there, just to make someone else happy? It was terrible, and frankly, he wanted a refund.

Geralt slipped into the bar a few hours before Jaskier was slated to go on—just to get a booth decently near the stage where nobody would bother him. He didn’t care about seeing Jaskier warm up. He was on stage, tuning his instrument that wasn’t quite a guitar—either a mandolin or a lute, Geralt thought. He was listening for something, adjusting things, getting a feel of the space. His brows were furrowed and he looked to be deep in thought. Not wanting to bother him, Geralt bought whatever was on tap (some earthy beer he would tolerate for the evening) and slipped into a booth near the stage, far enough out of the light so that he wouldn’t be noticed easily by people.

He sat, watching Jaskier, letting his eyes wander down his teal and red ensemble. The pants were a tight fit, but the shirt was airy, unbuttoned a bit more than might be decent, and Geralt found himself mentally unbuttoning more, and more, and more, until his eyes flashed up and made contact with Jaskier’s.

The musician lit up like the sun, a wide beaming smile, and he quickly hopped down from the stage. “Geralt! You made it! And early, too! Oh, I’m so glad. Okay, I’m 3rd up, so you will have to sit through some other people, but not too many. I’ll join you when I’m done! You’ll enjoy it. Well, I don’t think you’ll love it, but you’ll probably tolerate it for your dear dear friend, who is slowly but surely making you famous. Right? Okay!”

“You’ll be fine,” Geralt said. He knew Jaskier’s nervous energy speeches by now.

“What? Oh.” Some tension in Jaskier’s shoulders loosened. “Thank you. I just haven’t been on a stage since suddenly so many people know my face. I did post about this, but I don’t think very many people will come. Maybe I shouldn’t have? I dunno. Still navigating fame! Alright, I should get back. I’ll see you soon!”

x

“I’m making an executive decision,” Fringilla said, turning on her heel. They’d been walking for 45 minutes, trying to decide on a bar. “We’re going here. We are too damn old to be spending half the night walking around.”

“Fine,” Yennefer relented, taking Coral’s arm, “but if it sucks we’re going out again tomorrow and it’s my pick.”

The three entered the bar, a dimly lit place, mostly wooden and already fairly active with people bustling about, a stage in the back looking ready for a musician.

“Oh, I love live music, yes! You get us a table near the stage and I’ll get the drinks,” Coral said; “Dry Martini and a Whiskey Sour?”

“You know us so well,” Fringilla said, and she and Yennefer left to find a table. They ended up at a booth egregiously close to the stage, in Yennefer’s opinion. They got comfortable, settling in for the night, most likely. Until one of them found someone to go home with, at least.

When Yennefer looked up, it was to a tidal wave of people entering.

It wasn’t to say the place wasn’t busy before, but soon she could barely see the bar, as giddy looking patrons took up tables and booths, and eventually, just whatever standing room they could find. Coral managed to cut through the crowd, levitating the three drinks, looking frazzled. “When did all these people get here?!”

“No idea,” Fringilla said, reaching for her Whiskey Sour, “but I’m glad we’ll at least be able to see.”

“Mm,” Yennefer agreed, grabbing her Martini, raking her eyes over the crown. Options, she thought. It was always so good to have options.

“Any idea who’s performing tonight?” Coral asked. “I couldn’t find a poster or anything that said—probably someone good, for all these people to be here”

“No idea,” Yennefer replied absentmindedly. It’s not like it mattered. She couldn’t imagine herself giving much of a shit about who was on stage, anyway.

x

The first performer was fine. Geralt thought they were a little boring, but they weren’t who he was there to see, anyway. Yennefer couldn’t be bothered, staring instead at a handsome young woman in a low-cut satin dress. When she finally made eye contact, though, she gave a friendly, decidedly not flirtatious smile, and Yennefer moved on.

The second performer, a kind of musical comedian, was pretty good. She capitalized off of the energy in the room, which Geralt had to admit was palpable. As soon as people had flooded in, he’d made a point to look intimidating—much as it had prevented people from sitting at his booth, it hadn’t stopped them from buzzing around the bar, and he realized they must be there for Jaskier. It put a pit in his stomach, but also made something in his chest whizz around in joy. Ah, fuck.

And then, up was Jaskier. The announcer welcomed him on stage, and Jaskier bounced on, to the warmest welcome thus far.

“Gooooood evening everyone, lovely to see you all. And I do mean all. How many people are here? There are at least…” he counted for a moment. “At least 12. Possibly more.” He got a laugh, and winked at someone in the middle of the audience as he sat down on a stool in front of the mic.

“I cannot fucking believe this,” Yennefer groaned quietly. Fringilla patted her on the back. “There, there. Maybe he’ll be terrible.”

Jaskier hummed softly, warming up his voice. No, Yennefer though, he wouldn’t be terrible, because unfortunately, he was quite fucking good.

His first song was another one that had also blown up after his sudden viral-ness of the past week, an original he’d told Geralt he’d written in university, and never stopped being proud of. Geralt smiled into his second drink of the night, enjoying watching Jaskier get comfortable on the stage.

His second song finished to applause and cheers, and Jaskier got up to bow, pushing the stool far behind him with his foot. Yennefer put a fist in her hair. Unfortunately, her mortal enemy was fucking magnetic.

“Freak him out, like you said you do,” Coral whispered to her. Yennefer frowned, but nodded soon after. At least she could make this fun for herself.

Jaskier grabbed the mic and moved it off to the side of the stage, throwing some smiles to people who had their phone out, before stopping and speaking into it when the crowd had quieted a bit.

“Hey,” Jaskier said gently, his voice commanding the bar, as he looked out into the crowd. He found Geralt’s face, and beamed at him, before turning back to the sea of people. “Is uh… is anyone here on TikTok?” The crowd cheered and he launched into Toss a Coin, forgoing the stool entirely, choosing to dance around the stage.

To Geralt’s complete mortification, at the top of the first chorus Jaskier suddenly pointed to him. “Toss a coin to your witcher, Oh valley of plenty, oh!”

By the third chorus, Geralt had been sufficiently pummeled with coins, bills, and what looked like a gift card to a café, when Jaskier tipped back his head to the other side of the stage. Yennefer was sitting back, arms folded, a single eyebrow raised, flanked by Fringilla and Coral on either side, looking expectant of the musician, mimicking their friend’s pose. Yennefer thought she was fighting off her smirk, but it was hard to say. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, brief moment his smile faltered, before he let out a cackle, continuing to play. The audience ate out of his hand, and he seemed to grow more and more at ease, preening at the attention.

“It was worth a shot,” Fringilla said with a huff of laughter and a shake of her head, returning to her glass. “He’s really got something, hate to admit.”

When the song finished, he took a deep bow to riotous applause and caught a coin someone threw to him, tucking it in his pocket.

Behind him, a witcher and a mage made eye contact for the first time; gold met violet, and the air between them seemed to electrify.

“I think we’re on our own for tonight, Coral,” Fringilla said with eyebrows raised, watching her friend stare across the room, and Coral giggled in response. Yennefer made a point to use a fraction of her chaos to stir her martini from afar, so this man knew what he might be getting into.

“Thank you, thank you all. I think we have time for one more quick song. And I do hope you’ll give our next artist after the break the same amount of attention, as a personal favor to me,” Jaskier said, getting some laughs, and tuned his instrument for a moment before speaking again. “You’ve been a dream. Really, truly, thank you. I fully expect this kind of turn out every week, though, so cancel all your other Saturday night plans for the next, oh, 7 to 8 years.”

A smattering of laughter again from the audience, and then Jaskier was starting Fishmonger's Daughter, a song Geralt had deemed dirty enough to ignore the lyrics of. He looked away from the woman, clearly a mage, across the stage from him—she was gorgeous, long black hair and bright violet eyes. She was flanked by two other women in similar deep velvet dresses—the first a rosy pink, the third a midnight blue, while the woman’s he’d locked eyes with was pitch black, matching a choker around her neck. She tilted her head to expose more soft tan skin, examining him from afar as she stirred her drink with magic, graceful and languid.

Do not fuck mages. Do not fuck mages. Do not fuck mages.

He sat back in his chair, and suddenly realized that Jaskier’s set had ended; his friend was bowing, and then disappeared off the stage in favor of the announcer. The bar was buzzing, people milling around, and then Jaskier, blue eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed, smile stretched from ear to ear, was sitting in front of him.

“Geralt! Was it good? Give me your thoughts.”

“Not bad,” Geralt said with a smile, and a pat on his friend’s shoulder. Was it too much? He gave it a small squeeze, and something small in Jaskier’s face changed. He looked up and down Geralt’s face, and suddenly the witcher realized how close they were, that Jaskier was licking his lips, that he hadn’t taken his hand off his shoulder, that the world had disappeared around them. His gaze dropped for a moment to Jaskier’s lips. He could smell arousal, and excitement, and happiness, but he was in a bar, there was too much to take in, no way to know for sure it was coming from Jaskier. He held his breath, and met Jaskier’s eyes again.

His phone rang.

They kept staring.

Another ring, and someone tapped on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I should—you get that, Geralt, I’ll be a moment, just ah, have to say hello to the adoring public, I’ll be back!”

Geralt let his witcher-slow heartbeat a few more times, dazed, before looking down at his phone to see Lambert was calling. He answered, putting a finger in his other ear.

“Geralt!” Lambert hissed. Geralt could barely hear him over the noise of the bar. “Geralt! Have you seen the group chat?!”

“No. Speak louder, I can barely hear you.”

“I can’t! He’s in my apartment, Geralt! What the fuck do I do! He brought booze! He looks fucking fancy!”

Geralt frowned. “Are you on a date?”

“Not that I’m fucking aware of!”

Geralt frowned deeper. “It sounds like you’re on a date.”

“We can’t be on a date! He just asked if I wanted to do dinner! That’s not a date!”

“It can be. Clearly is. Just—take him out somewhere.”

“Fucking WHERE, Geralt!”

“Don’t you have a sushi place around the corner? Do that. Or somewhere else. Doesn’t matter, just wear something decent and go.”

“How the fuck—” Lambert was asking when Geralt hung up. He looked at his phone screen—98 unread messages from the clowns. He shook his head and looked up—Jaskier was peacocking around the bar, flirting with everyone who seemed receptive. He was a natural, winding his way through the crowd, making them all feel special. Someone was buying him a drink, and it looked like he was already part of the way through another. He delighted over everyone, taking selfies, accepting compliments, giving them in return to appreciative and giddy smiles.

That was how Jaskier was, Geralt thought. With everyone. Little moments didn’t necessarily mean anything.

He turned back to look at the sorceress across from him. Her companions had left her, disappearing into the crowd for more drinks, perhaps. She was playing with something on her table, and glanced up to see him staring. She smirked, picked up the small object, and began to levitate it over to him.

Geralt watched as through the crowd, over the stage, the object floated over to him.

When it finally arrived at his table, Geralt watched as a small coin was dropped neatly in front of him, giving a small clink.

He smirked. It was a parlor trick, and barely that, for a mage. But it was intriguing. She was intriguing. And Jaskier was busy being fawned over by fans, so it’s not as though Geralt would be missed. He stood and waded his way through the masses, towering over many of the other patrons, before finally making it to his destination. He held up the coin.

The woman smiled up at him, sly, and spoke before he did. “No need to thank me, just doing as the song requested. Are you so often followed around by… loyal bards?”

He laughed. He hadn’t heard someone use ‘bard’ in decades. “Not until recently. To who do I owe the pleasure?”

“Whom, I think,” she quipped, and offered her hand. “Yennefer.”

“Geralt,” he said, and she laughed as he sat down across from her.

“Yes, I’ve heard as much. The White Wolf. Quite the title.”

“I didn’t pick it myself, I assure you.”

“You don’t seem to mind it all that much.”

“… I suppose not. Better than some of the other titles I haven’t picked.”

“Do you have many of those?”

“Plenty. Couldn’t tell you what most of them were, though. Hard to hear when you’re dodging enemies.”

She titled her head slightly and sat back to let her gaze drag over him. “So, none from lovers, then?”

He smiled again. “Cheeky.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Take it however you’d like.”

“You’re not much for flattering yourself, are you, Geralt.”

“That’s what I’ve got my bard for.”

She laughed, a light thing that he knew would be echoing around his chest for days. She leaned back in, looking around conspiratorially. He leaned in a touch as well, their faces only inches from each other now. “Tell me, Geralt. Are you as noble and chivalrous as that song made you out to be?”

“It flatters me. But I do my best for… those in need.”

“And if I were in need, you would do something for me?”

“I might be able to do that.”

“Well then.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I would be entirely grateful, Geralt… if you get me some apple juice.” He leaned back in confusion, while she pressed the coin he still held further into his hand. “This should cover it.”

When he leaned away, she wore an unmistakably coquettish smile, biting back a laugh. He smiled despite himself, brows furrowed as he looked down at the coin, and back at her, before letting out a small laugh himself.

“Alright. One apple juice, fair mage. I will do my best.”

“Take care on your dangerous voyage!” She called after him, as he slipped into the crowd. She whipped out her phone; the break would be lasting another 15 or so minutes, just enough to play a game on her phone. Whether or not Geralt made it back to his table in time for the next set was none of her concern. Besides, he’d somehow befriended her most recent mortal enemy, so anything that happened tonight would have to be a one-time thing. If anything happened, of course, but Yennefer was not in the habit of letting a good time pass her by.

Things were perfectly right in her world, as she waited for her phone to load, until suddenly someone dressed in frankly garish teal and red was standing before her. She didn’t look up from her phone.

“Ahem?”

She continued looking at her phone. The damn thing wouldn’t load.

“You know, it’s very rude to keep your most reviled enemy waiting.”

It still wouldn’t fucking load. She groaned and put it down. “What do you want, Jaskier?” Her neighbor, grinning widely and holding two glasses of punchy looking drinks, sat down across from her. “No one else hesitated to applaud my wonderful performance except… for you. Come on. You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him for a moment. “I don’t buy it.”

He frowned. “No, that’s four. What don’t you buy?”

“The song. You expect me to believe you willingly put yourself within 10 miles of danger? You already complain that the second floor is too dangerous for you.”

“It is dangerous, and I sleep there, so it’s different. Really, it did happen, you could ask Geralt. Actually, gods, no, don’t ask Geralt. Don’t talk to him, actually. You’d hate each other, definitely, best stay away.”

“Oh dear. Someone’s already jealous.”

“I am not—!” he squeaked, before leaning in. “I am not jealous, I just don’t need you and your…” he waved a hand at her, “your face-ness scaring him off!”

“My face?”

“Yes! It’s full of… secrets. And… plots. Evil plots!”

“Right. Do you know what your face is full of?”

“Charm? Charisma? An air of mystery?”

She swiftly grabbed one of his drinks and splashed it in his face, while he gaped. She swiped a finger across his cheek and tasted it. “Mmm, no… something fruity. Strawberry?”

“Raspberry,” he corrected. His face dripped. “I had that coming, a bit.”

“Oh, absolutely.” She waved a hand, and the drink was gone—his face, shirt, the table all now dry. “Don’t take that as a kindness. I just don’t want to pay for your dry cleaning.”

“Of course,” he replied, touching his now dry face. “And I don’t want any more battles with you in the laundry genre, if I can help it.” Despite herself, she laughed.

“Ah, I see there is a brain behind those blue eyes after all.”

“You just like seeing me covered in liquid and at your mercy.”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

He sat back in the booth. “You know, if you weren’t utterly terrifying, I could write songs about you as well. I’m sure you’ve got stories. We could make some together.”

“I am the story.”

“See, that’s good! Have you considered abandoning magic and the position of ‘very sexy, very scary witch’, and instead working towards of ‘very sexy, very charming poet’? At least then we’d be competitors in the same field. Same playing ground! Same weapons, which is to say, absolutely no weapons.”

“Mm. And have you considered abandoning your current title of ‘unfortunately charming, unfortunately talented, deeply annoying musician’ and opting instead for ‘very quiet, mildly charming eye candy’? It would suit you more.”

“The day I stop talking is the day I run out of breath.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Dear Ms. Penthouse, I’m sure you’ll be the one to bring it about.”

“Wouldn’t you love to be so lucky. Besides, haven’t you got a wolf in shining armor to protect you?” Just then, a sound went over the loudspeakers. 5 minutes until the end of the break, then.

“Well, much as I’d love to continue this lovely and for me, a frankly sexually confusing chat, I must grab my drinks before our next musicians are on.”

“Take care, then. I’d hate to see you die without getting to be a part of it,” she said, giving him a pat on the arm, her hand lingering as he looked at her for a moment, licking his lips and then hurrying off.

It was only moments before Geralt returned.

“One apple juice,” he said, setting a tall glass in front of her with a straw. Yennefer smiled and pulled it closer to her, taking a sip. “Is it to your liking, fair mage?”

It was quite good, actually. “Acceptable. Thank you, dear witcher, for your services.”

“Any others you’d like to request of me?”

“Mmm… give me the evening to think of one.”

“I can’t promise I’ll be here forever.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll think of something. You just go… sit in the corner and brood.”

He laughed. “You’re not the first one to say that to me tonight.”

“Mm, so you’re completing quests for others? Should I be worried?” She snuck a glance toward the crowd, and Geralt followed her eyes to land on Jaskier, fliting between people, drinking something that this time looked icy and blue. “Just a friend, I hope?”

Geralt turned to look back at her. His face had too many things subtly happening for her to read it well, and after only a moment Fringilla and Coral had returned, beginning to slip into the booth.

“Will you be joining us?” Fringilla asked, but Geralt shook his head.

“I’ve been told to go brood,” he replied, and made his way back to his booth.

——

Geralt did, in his defense, make an attempt to listen to the other performers. Jaskier spent the evening continuing to flirt around the room, hands lingering on him, his own hands gently caressing shoulders and arms. Geralt could tell already he’d be going home alone that night. Well, not alone. Yennefer and he had been sharing glances as the night progressed, and he was fairly certain he knew where that was heading.

He just wouldn’t be going home with Jaskier, who would himself undoubtedly be going home with some fan or other patron. He had his pick of the room, for the most part. Which was good. Geralt knew he sought the praise, the fame. Besides, Jaskier and he had only planned to spend the late night catching up on their weekly nature documentary.

Another man paid for Jaskier’s next drink, a fizzy concoction, and Geralt felt himself give the tiniest hint of a growl.

Eventually, Yennefer’s companions slipped out, and he returned to her booth.

“Do you have a quest for me, then?”

“Mmm. How about, protect me here, until it’s time to leave, and then walk me back to my apartment?”

Geralt nodded. “That, I can do.”

The night pushed onward. After a few performers more, Geralt looked around in between sets and realized he’d lost track of Jaskier entirely. It would be unlike him to not give a heads-up before going home with somebody. Geralt frowned and checked his phone. A few dozen messages from Eskel and Coën, and; one missed call from Jaskier. Shit. He took a deep breath—he could smell his friend in the air, but not quite which direction it came from, not with so many people. Yennefer gave him a look.

“What’s wrong?”

“Missed a call. Hold on.” He pressed the redial and held it to his ear. It rang three times before it picked up. “Jaskier?”

“Mmm. Ger. Ger���lt. Do you wanna go home? With me.”

“You want me to take you home?” He shot an apologetic look at Yennefer.

“Come home with me.”

“Okay, Jaskier. Where are you?”

“Outside.”

“Alright. Be there soon.” Geralt hung up and began to slide out of the booth. “Sorry. He’s had a big night.”

“I could tag along,” Yennefer offered. “And then you’ll have doubly earned your rewards tonight.”

“I—sure, sure,” and they were off, navigating around the bar and out the door. “He doesn’t live that far away,” Geralt began to explain.

“Oh, I know.” Geralt shot her a questioning look as they exited the front door.

——

Jaskier was right there, leaning against the wall. His head ached—he’d had possibly more to drink in this night than he had for the past two weeks combined. It had all caught up with him, and he’d found himself outside, taking deep breaths of fresh air, clutching his lute bag to his chest.

He’d flirted around all night, but nothing, nobody had been worth his time. How was he supposed to focus on anyone when Geralt was right there? Not that he was interested, of course. But he’d come out, he’d come early, just to see Jaskier perform. Well, to be fair, his hit song, (he had one of those now!) was about Geralt, so that was probably why he came. But he wanted to pretend it was just for him. That Geralt had wanted to see Jaskier perform. He was miles out of Jaskier’s league, but oh, could he could absolutely dream some very, very sexy dreams.

And then his mortal enemy had been there, and wasn’t that a treat. She’d looked gorgeous. It was unfair. His building was full of beautiful people, all who only tolerated him, were abysmally out of his league, or would eat him for breakfast, if they had the chance. At least fighting with her gave him the excuse to look at her, talk to her. She’d splashed a drink in his face and he’d needed to slip away to the bathroom when they’d finished talking, just to calm himself down. That was unfair. Don’t fuck mages, he reminded himself. Not that she ever would. He’d had at least 6 more drinks after that, just to push the thought away.

He’d thought he’d been doing a bit better, the past few minutes. But clearly, he wasn’t, as he must have been hallucinating.

Before him stood Geralt (gorgeous, fascinating, generous, kind, warm-hearted Geralt), looking a bit dazed himself, as well as The Bitch of the 13th Floor (intriguing, deadly, witty, beautiful). So, his sexual fantasy that he had not until that moment realized existed.

“Oh dear. I’m worse than I thought.”

“Jaskier, what’s wrong?”

“Too much to drink. Now I’m hallucinating.”

Geralt frowned. “What do you see?”

Jaskier pointed to the woman in front of him and then shut his eyes tightly. “Unless… unless it’s a magic thing.”

“No—Jaskier, this is Yennefer. Yennefer, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes flew open. “You know this woman? Of course you know this woman. So you do have a name!”

“Of course I have a name.”

“I don’t know, maybe mages don’t all have names.”

“You two know each other?”

Jaskier smiled loosely. “That’s my mortal enemy.”

“This is not Valdo Marx.”

“No! Penthouse Lady. Second one.”

“Oh. The Bitch of the 13th Floor.”

“Glad to know I hold a reputation in your circles, Jaskier,” she said lightly. “Though I’m a touch offended I’m only number 2.”

He frowned, and reached out for her arm, and held it lightly, then did the same with Geralt.

“Oh fuck. You are both here.”

“Right. Let’s get you back home.” Carefully, Geralt lifted Jaskier’s arm over his shoulders, and the three began to walk, Yennefer on his other side. They went to walk before he stopped, pulling Jaskier’s arm off him, and bent down.

“What are you--?”

“Your shoe strap is undone,” Geralt explained, before flashing a grin up at her. “I suppose this isn’t what you meant when you told me to kneel.”

“As I recall, I haven’t asked you to do that yet. I was saving it for the bedroom.”

Geralt finished with her shoe and then rose up, and they began walking. “The sticky note. ‘I will make you kneel and fix it yourself’?”

“…You’re the new tenant?! You’re the muddy bastard?!”

“Wait, you two were going to have sex?!” Jaskier whined.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”

“I thought it was ‘Don’t fuck mages’, not ‘Don’t fuck mages unless they’re really hot, then that’s the exception’!”

“I can’t believe this,” Yennefer said. Her world fell apart and clicked into place all at once as they crossed the street. “Oh my god.”

“Did you not know?”

“Of course I didn’t know! You didn’t say how you knew him!”

“Well, there it is,” Geralt sighed. “And Jaskier, don’t just to conclusions, I wouldn’t presume that of her. All I did was buy her apple juice.”

“Now what kind of metaphor is that!”

“The kind that isn’t a metaphor at all.”

“Jaskier, if you say a single word about my apple juice—”

“I’m not saying anything about apple juice! It’s a noble beverage! But your apple juice leads to some implications!”

“And what if it does!” “Well! Well!” Jaskier flustered. “Well! We were going to watch our nature documentary tonight!”

“No we weren’t,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier looked at him, hurt. “What?”

“We weren’t going to watch the documentary, Jaskier. You were going to find someone to go home with.”

“I did find someone to go home with!” He said, bumping his hip into Geralt.

“I don’t count,” Geralt muttered, as they finally made it into the building.

“Why don’t you count?”

“Because, Jaskier, you weren’t planning to sleep with me.”

“Says who!”

“Let’s just go to mine,” Yennefer said as they stepped in the elevator. “I don’t want to try and navigate his apartment in the dark. I’m sure it’s a wreck.”

“It’s fine, actually,” Jaskier muttered. “Geralt I know we wouldn’t have slept together, you have standards, but—”

“Well, more like because he was planning on sleeping with me, thank you very much.”

“Watch out, Lady of the Penthouse, or I’ll… write a song about you.”

“Who said I was planning or not planning on sleeping with anyone?”

“You did!”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“That’s the point!”

“So, you two… aren’t sleeping together?”

“What’s your point?!” Geralt demanded, oblivious to Yennefer’s question.

“Well, that’s how you know someone doesn’t want to sleep with you! One of the many ways. They don’t say they do! You’ve made it clear we’re just… you know. Pals.”

“I never said that!”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Jaskier, for once in your life, would you say something with some sense?!” “I said, ‘come home with me’! How much more clear do I have to be than ‘I’d rather spend the night with you’?! Actually, frankly, with both of you, this is nice. Loud, but nice. I can’t believe I’m saying this about my sworn nemesis.”

“Now, hold on—”

“Everybody shut up!” Yennefer said, loud enough that the boys shut their mouths. “No more speaking. We will be at my apartment soon. I will be going into my kitchen to get you,” she pointed at Jaskier, “something to ensure you don’t get sick all over the elevator.”

“I’m—I’m feeling a lot better, really,” he said. She made a shushing motion against his lips, and she could feel his hot breath, could sense his heartbeat race faster, watched his cheeks flush. Interesting.

“By the time I’m back, I want you two sorted.” The doors dinged, and they emerged on a landing in front of an intricate white door, which Yennefer opened with a wave of her hand. “I’ll be back in a moment. Just… let me know who Geralt will be kneeling for,” she said, and then walked into the kitchen, heels snapping against the tile.

She looked at her cabinets, opening one and retrieving the bottle she wanted. Well. They’d need more than a few seconds, surely. She placed it carefully on the counter and listened.

“I…” Geralt was saying. “Um.”

“I didn’t… Geralt. I’m sorry. I don’t want to… ruin things.”

“You’re not ruining anything.”

“You’ve hardly shown interest, I know you’re not…”

“I’m bad at these things. Talking. You know that.”

“Okay, then…” Jaskier trailed off, and took a big breath. “Then show me.”

“Show you?”

“What you mean. Or… what you don’t mean. I don’t know. But if there’s… Geralt, if there’s something, anything about me that you want, in that way, I am asking you to show me. It’s fine if not. But… I’m here, I want it, if you do. I mean, I want it either way, really. Have for a bit.”

“…You’re drunk.”

“I won’t be, once Yennefer gets that… thing. And it’ll be the same. I promise.

“I don’t want you regretting anything.”

“How could I regret you? Show me, Geralt. Please.”

“…Show you."

“Yes, yes, please, Geralt. Pl—”

And there was silence. Or, there was the sound of mouths sliding against each other, soft, deep moans reverberating in their chests. She let them have the moment, and then Jaskier gave a soft whine, and she smiled. That was her cue.

She clicked into the foyer, bottle held aloft.

“A gift,” she said, and the two staggered apart, “for my nemesis. Purely because his white wolf brought me apple juice, let it be known. And thank you for the show. Both at the bar and here.” Jaskier stepped toward her and took the bottle.

“I must warn you,” she said, “it tastes like goat piss.” Jaskier popped the cork, and chugged the bottle before making a face.

“How long does it take to— oh, fuck—”

“Pretty instantaneous,” Yennefer said as he grabbed her shoulder to support himself. Geralt came up behind him.

“The room stopped spinning. I didn’t even realize it was spinning,” he frowned. He shook his head for a moment, turned back to Geralt, and grabbed his neck, pulling them to meet in a firm kiss. “See? Meant it.”

“Maybe I need some of that too,” Geralt muttered. “Things are spinning.”

“As much as I enjoy playing cupid,” Yennefer said, taking back the bottle, “it seems as though I’ve been a bit removed from the equation, so you two had best be off, I suppose.”

“Someday, you’ll be won over by my charms,” Jaskier said with a kiss to her knuckles. “But if you two had… plans… I could always wait a night. Unless you’d like both of us in your bed,” he half-joked to her.

“I don’t know how this is happening to me,” Geralt muttered.

“Oh, be careful what you wish for, Jaskier,” she hummed, “you might just get it.”

“Does this mean I’ve won you over?”

“It means I don’t let a good night pass me by.”

“Oh, so you think I’ll be good, you admit that.”

“It means I’m open to you proving me wrong. But I saw you play. You can make good use of those hands. Geralt?”

Geralt was leaning against the wall, staring into the middle distance, looking lost. “I just. A lot has happened. I thought you hated each other?”

“I told you she was gorgeous, I don’t just say things.”

“You do very much just say things.”

“Well, then, someone’s going to have to shut me up.”

Yennefer tilted his head back to face her and pulled him down into a kiss—languid and slow, as one of his arms grabbed her waist and pulled her upwards and to him, just enough that she was standing on tip toe. She ran her hands up his chest, coming to rest around his neck, playing with his hair. He finally pulled away, just to kiss a line down one side of her jaw, sucking a small mark onto her neck.

She looked back at Geralt, still a bit dazed but with a fire behind his eyes. “Well,” she said, detaching herself from Jaskier. “Will you be joining?”

Rather than answer, Geralt took a few steps forward toward her. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her—gentle and almost pleading. They fit together so easily, he thought. He hadn’t ever fit with someone like he had with two people tonight. How had he earned this? How had he made it to this point in his life?

Jaskier was suddenly behind him, kissing his back, running one hand up his chest, the other against Yennefer’s hand, which had reached his shoulder. He couldn’t have all this, could he?

“You think so loudly, Geralt,” Yennefer teased him.

“It’s true,” Jaskier agreed. “Even I hear it, darling.”

“Okay. Then… take me somewhere I don’t have to think.”

Yennefer smiled, took his hand in hers, and Jaskier’s in her other. “I’m glad your place was the bedroom,” Jaskier whispered, “Because honestly, mine would probably be the zoo.”

Yennefer pinched his hand, “Ow! But am I wrong?! You don’t need your brain for the zoo!” and led them on.

x

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

16 Messages from Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta — 9 hours ago

okay, thanks for letting us know, yen!!! have fun!!

Fringilla – 9 hours ago

Wait, I’m sorry, were the two people you just went home with the witcher and the musician? The guy you hate?

Sabrina — 9 hours ago

What on earth is happening

Fringilla – 9 hours ago

She didn’t specify which two guys she went home with, but I’m pretty sure I just saw them all leave together.

Sabrina — 8 hours ago

I can’t believe drama is happening without me

Coral Lytta — 7 hours ago

its not drama drama is frin getting the number of someone with a green hair when she specifically said she’d sworn off of green hair for at least a year

Sabrina — 7 hours ago

omfg

Fringilla – 6 hours ago

Coral!! Where are you, I’m not letting you get away with this! They’re cute! You can’t shame me.

Coral Lytta — 5 hours ago

update everyone we got a car home and frin has been texting green hair (jesu) the whole way home if youre reading this its too late for me it was nice knowing u

Sabrina – 3 hours ago

Loving this. Just blew up half a field with Anica. She says hi

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

Hey yen I am seeing this mystery enemy of yours on tiktok people filmed his set

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

He’s hot good job

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

But why is he playing a fucking lute

Coral Lytta – 1 hour ago

morning all yennefer please send pics of ur hot date(s)

Fringilla – 15 minutes ago

Are we not addressing that Sabrina and Anica blew up a field?!

Sabrina — Just Now

Lol

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

167 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT (AND GERALT) DATES… Showing 16

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Okay I made him laugh and now I’m in the bathroom what the fuck now??

Eskel – 10 hours ago

Pay for the bill, leave a good tip for that waiter for saving your ass, and then ask him if he wants to go back to yours. You’ve done this before, Lamb.

Coën – 10 hours ago

He’s been flirting with you all night, you’ll be fine.

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Fuck Okay If you never hear from me again it’s because I died of embarrassment

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Bye forever

Eskel – 9 hours ago

Drama queen. Hey Geralt how’s it going?

Coën – 9 hours ago

He’s in it too deep. He probably watched that guy play live and just died.

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Sex is so awesome

Eskel – 6 hours ago

Congrats bro. I’m sleeping now.

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Don’t you wanna hear about how great sex is

Eskel – 6 hours ago

I know it’s great, Lambert. I’ve had sex before

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Are we sure are we super sure you had sex cause like I just had GREAT sex possibly the best

Coën – 6 hours ago

It is two in the morning. I am begging you to shut up

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Put us on silent so I can talk about how great sex is

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Ha beat you to this one Geralt bet you didn’t have sex with someone hot tonight. HA

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Okay gotta go round two bye

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

Geralt – 10 hours ago

You coming back to the table?

Geralt – 10 hours ago

If I’m gone when you get back let me know when you get home

Geralt – 10 hours ago

You did really good, Jaskier. I’m proud of you

TikTok – 2 hours ago

You have 25,634 new followers!

TikTok – 1 hour ago

You hit 2.3 million views! Click here to see what people are saying…

Spotify – 15 minutes ago

You have 5,785 new followers and 806,216 new listens on Toss a Coin EP

Maybe: Yennefer – 5 minutes ago

It's Yennefer, send me that selfie of all of us you took, I wanna freak out my group chat

Geralt, Maybe: Yennefer

Maybe: Yennefer – 4 minutes ago

I can’t believe I’m the one doing this, but I guess we need a group chat.

To: Geralt, Maybe: Yennefer

Message: 1 image

Here’s the selfie for you both!! Use it wisely ;)

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Yennefer – 3 minutes ago

Geralt get me apple juice while you’re up

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Yennefer – 2 minutes ago

Jaskier, this chat name, you cannot be serious

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Geralt – Just now

Haha

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Geralt – Just now

:)

[sithmyass]

Bathtub Bliss - Obi Wan Kenobi

This is for the smut war with @sarcastic-bubble my love 😘

WARNINGS: SMUT! 18+! This is literally pwp so please don’t read if you’re underage!

When two people fall in love, empires will fall next. Dedicated as he was, he couldn’t help himself from falling for you. Your H/C hair, your E/C eyes, the way your nose crinkles as you watch him train his very sassy padawan, the looks you steal from across the room when in public, and the way his hands fit perfectly with the curve of your body when in private. All the little things are what make up you, the woman he fell in love with.

“Maker.. aren’t you just the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid eyes on.” He mused as he drew his lower lip between his teeth, his shoulder propped against the doorframe. “Always the charmer..” You tease, eyes closed as you lay comfortably in the bath, head against the edge of the porcelain. “For you? Always.” He gave a half smile to himself before coming over to the side of the bath, running the rose he held in his hand over your nose gently, the aroma flooding your senses.

You open one eye, glancing towards the man at your side. “Obi Wan. Did you come in here and disturb my bath just to give me a rose?” You beamed, your other eye popping open as you sit up, grabbing the rose delicately between your small fingers. You place it below your nose again, inhaling the fragrance, eyes fluttering closed in pure bliss. “That I did, Darling.” Awe transformed his face as he watched you, taking in your every move. “Thank you, love. It’s beautiful.” You giggle, setting it onto the windowsill beside you.

“My pleasure.” He says softly, placing a kiss to your temple before standing up, his hand on his hips. “Kiss me again.” You say after a moment, and chuckle when you watch his lips curl into a smirk. “As you wish, darling.” He responds before coming to the edge of the tub, stepping in with his legs out the outside of yours, water beginning to splash over the sides of the bath. “Obi! You’re going to flood out our quarters!” You squeal as the water splashed all around you. “Mhmmm...” He hums, before leaning forward, and devouring your lips with his as more water spills over the edge of the tub, soaking the tile floor below you two.

Your arms fly around his neck as his hands cup your cheeks gently, pulling you ever so slightly closer to his chest. He bites softly on your lower lip, earning a gasp from your lips and entrance to your mouth. His tongue slides in, fighting with yours momentarily for dominance before you give in to him, earning a pleased groan from his throat. He pulls away momentarily to pull his now soaked tee shirt from his torso, throwing it behind him onto the floor. You chuckle as it lands with a loud splat, before Obi wan reconnects your lips.

You kiss each other passionately, getting lost in each other’s intoxicating touch. You couldn’t help but give yourself to him, and he couldn’t help but take all of you for himself. He begins to slide his hands down your sides, before taking your breasts in both of his hands. You breathe out softly, arching your back into his touch as he leans down to place sloppy kisses to your chest before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. He makes sure not to leave out the other, massaging it with his large hand. You let out a whimper, your head leaning back from the pleasure.

He kisses from your chest back up your neck, sucking dark marks into the soft flesh of your neck, earning a mewl from your throat. He pulls back from your neck, and his eyes lock on yours. Lust burned in his eyes, and he flicks a wink at you before pulling his lounge pants down around his knees, slipping between your legs before running his cock through your slit mischievously. “Obi..” You groan, your hips rolling up to meet his. He tsks at you teasingly. “So eager, let me warm you up, Princess.” He breathes before letting his hand replace his lengths spot between your legs.

He hungrily slips a finger into your heat, watching as your face contorts from the feeling. He doesn’t wait to slip a second and then third finger inside of your heat, knowing your body inside and out, knowing you could take almost anything he presented you with. He pumps his fingers slowly, watching your face as he coaxes small mewls from within you. “Just like that, Princess.” He praises, swallowing your moans as he presses his lips against yours again. “Just a little more..” His fingers set a bruising pace, your growing moans sounding like music to his ears.

“C’mon darling, for me?” He whispers seductively into your ear, pushing you over the edge. Your vision starts to blur, tears streaming down your cheeks as your body convulses around his slow moving fingers. “Such a good girl..” He praises once more before grabbing hold of your hips. He pulls you up just enough to change his position, so that you’re sitting on his lap. “C’mon Princess.. make me proud, yeah?” He coaxes before lifting you up just enough to slip into your slick heat.

You stretch deliciously around him, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades to steady yourself before beginning to grind down against him. His lips form a twisted smile, as he crosses his arms behind his head. You playfully smack his chest and continue pleasuring yourself against his cock. You bounce your hips in time with your racing heartbeat, pulling yourself closer and closer to your second orgasm of the night. When it comes to Obi Wan, there was never just one orgasm for you. You’d be lucky to walk away with two, past that, you wouldn’t be able to walk if he had done his job right.

His hands find their way to your hips, unable to be under your control for very long before having to take over again. He guides you against him at a faster pace than you had set, somehow managing to hit your gspot perfectly. You felt yourself tire out, and lay your head against his shoulder, allowing him to take control again. He smiles to himself before thrusting up into you to finish each of you off. He takes the soft moans in his ear as incentive to keep going, drilling into you as passionately as possible, the water sloshing around your intertwined bodies.

“Obi.. I..” You groan, grabbing hold of him tightly to anchor yourself as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge for the second time tonight. “I’ve got you, baby.. Go ahead..” He mewls, feeling himself getting close as well. He feels your walls tighten around him, triggering his release as well, allowing himself to spill deep inside of you as you ride out your high. He stands up with you in his arms, kicking out of his soaked pants before stepping out of the tub and wrapping you in a towel. Gently he placed you onto the bed as he walks back into the bathroom to clean up the mess.

After a few minutes, your naked husband emerges from the bathroom, drying himself off with a towel. “You, my dear, made a mess in there.” He teases, getting under the duvet next to you. “If my memory serves me right, you’re the one who hopped into my bath fully clothed and overflowed the tub.” You counter, making him turn on his side to admire you, a childlike grin on his lips. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, darling.”

Tags: @pinkmoontribe-blog @sarcastic-bubble

[serararku]

Eyes of Amethyst Finale

The tower groaned and rattled, throwing Thalen onto his stomach. The floor rolled like ripples over a pond before the room began to tilt and turn. He didn’t have time to think when the whole place began to collapse, and he watched helplessly as his prey and the woman slid down the ledge and into freefall! Osric had been watching from the base of the tower, eyes narrowing as he’d heard the gunshot. Already preparing to leap - he froze, the sound of the explosion and the ground shaking breaking his concentration. “Gods damnit, Thalen.” This was why he liked details. He quickly glanced over the structure - trying to figure which way it was likely to fall before his attention was drawn by a woman’s piercing screams.

He didn’t have time to calculate - the Dragoon crouched as low as he could go, planting a fist into the grass as he focused his aether into his legs. The dirt beneath his feet shot up with him when he launched himself high and far into the air, the wind hissing past as he aimed at a nearby tree. As soon as his feet touched the trunk he was airborne again, bouncing off the forest and skybound, heading straight for the falling woman. “URF!” The air was knocked out of her lungs when he managed to wrap an arm around her; in her panic she coiled her arms and legs around his body and squeezed for dear life. With a grunt and a turn Osric planted his feet against the tree he’d been rushing towards and drove his lance in to balance himself, quickly scanning for Thalen. Kiban rushed past with his maniacal laughter, but the Dragoon ignored the Strangler -- the bounty was of no concern to him. “Hold on.” He whispered in her ear, but she was too terrified to respond. The Gunslinger was dropping fast. He used his tail to twist himself upright, and was clinging to a chunk of stone in a desperate attempt to cushion his fall, but at this height…

His eyes darted to a hundred places in under a second, highlighting the path he would take to lead him straight to his partner. “There you are…” Osric adjusted his hold on the woman and pushed off the tree - ignoring the creaking sound it made as he focused on his target. The Dragoon didn’t go up, but forward, lunging head first into the lethal shower of stone, wood, and fire.

Osric’s feet landed on the side of a wall before he jumped again. Four steps down a wooden beam and he was gone. He tucked his legs in as he soared through a hole, his lance swatting away anything that could potentially harm or kill from the woman’s head as he landed on and clung to a spiraling and smoldering boulder. Then he pushed off again, weightless, sailing through the billowing smoke, flipping and twisting in the air like a dancing dragon. It was the first time he could cut loose in over half of a year -- he almost forgot what he was doing. Almost.

He wouldn’t be able to hold Thalen the way he had the woman, but it’d be better than letting the man continue to fall. He grunted as he made contact with Thalen’s falling form - trying to focus on manipulating the aether around them to slow their downward progress as he braced for an...uncomfortable landing. Osric landed in the grass like he was stepping off a six fulm drop, graceful like a strider floating on the surface of still water; he bent his knees and cradled the woman in his grasp, but nothing was broken or injured -- not a scratch. Thalen on the other hand was a different story.

“Fuck! Shit! Godsdamnit!” The Miqo’te landed hard on his feet and rolled down the incline to keep himself from snapping his ankles and shattering his knees. He lost control after his third flip, spiraling out to flop and slide the rest of the way. Yet despite his grunts and curses, he still wasn’t a piece of modern art on the side of a rock thanks to the Dragoon. He stopped on his back at least, so his face was at no risk of grinding against the stones beneath him. He slowly opened his eyes with a grimace just in time to see the rubble blown skyward from the explosion coming down on their heads. “AHK-!” He flinched when a rock the size of a brick buried itself into the ground between his legs, almost permanently removing one of his most precious tools for his most beloved vice.

“What was that about this being an ‘easy’ job, Thalen?” Wielding the lance with one hand wasn’t an easy feat - but the grip in his left was a work in progress, and the woman - who now stood behind him as he knocked away falling debris - was still in shock, unable to do much more than cling to the back of his armor. He shot an annoyed look over his shoulder as the last of the debris settled - before turning and guiding the young woman towards Thalen - waiting for the man in question to right himself so they could leave.

Thalen rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet. He checked his body for any serious scrapes or bruises, but thankfully Osric’s acrobatics saved him from being crippled or worse. “Yeah, yeah… least nobody got hurt, aye? Now where’s that bastard?” As soon as he finished speaking, both Thalen and Osric glanced over across the wreckage to see Kiban laying in the grass, his body twisted and broken, but he was still very much alive; somehow he survived that terrible fall, but it was unlikely he would survive til sundown. “Beautiful… now we just scrape 'em off the ground and-” SPLAT! A crumbling part of the tower slid off another rock and rolled over the Strangler like a boot stepping on a grape.

“You were saying?”

Thalen looked like a priceless vase just slid off a table right in front of him, and he was just out of reach to stop it. He stared at the red stain beneath the rubble, as the Twin Adder guards and the onlookers came rushing in. The Gunslinger was almost trampled over when they swarmed Osric, their deafening chorus of cheers growing louder in a fever-pitch. They clearly had front row seats to his double-rescue.

Osric’s eyes widened at the rush of people, taking a step back and holding his right hand out to give himself - and the woman standing behind him some space. “Easy - if you don’t mind. She’s had a bit of a day and some space would be beneficial.”

"Back up! Back it up!" The Deputy shouted out from behind the crowd. "Clear out! Give them some room!" The crowd continued to swarm the hero of Quarrymill, reaching out to touch his arms and shake his hand. "I SAID GET OOOUUT!!!" Like a knife gliding through a loaf of bread the masses split in half at the bellowing of the Roegadyn officer. A representative of the Conjurer's Guild ducked under Grand Talon's massive tree trunk arms and stepped around the Dragoon to check the woman for any wounds. Meanwhile the Deputy plucked Thalen off the ground like he was a vegetable. He turned to his assistant before grunting, "Search the rubble for any bodies. We need to get that paperwork started now."

"Uugh…" Thalen groaned, remaining limp in his grasp. "All in a day's work…"

"Kiban deserved the noose for his crimes, but if it weren't for the Warden's incompetence those civs would still be alive." Grand Talon nodded at Osric before his grimace returned when he gazed at the Miqo’te. "But what's done is done. Make sure this is the last time I have to deal with you and your recklessness, K'thalen." Without another word he dropped him onto the grass, turned his back on the duo, and began making his way to help his team identify the bodies.

"Never heard him so calm before…" Thalen sighed, rubbing at his shoulder. "Gonna be sore somethin' fierce tomorrow. No payment neither… but at least we saved the girl, aye?" He glanced up at Osric while he strained to stand, cracking his back with a wince and a gasp. "Good jumpin' by the way, Oz. Couldn't a pulled this off without ya. And… thanks for not lettin' me splatter. My next scheme'll be less risky for sure."

“Your next ‘scheme’? The company has plenty of work - couldn’t you take one of those jobs if you’re low on gil?” Osric crossed his arms over his chest as he took a step towards Thalen - giving the individual from the Conjurer’s Guild space to do their work.

He simply shrugged at Osric halfheartedly, like he always did. "Newbies been floodin' in recently, and there ain't enough solo jobs to go 'round. Plus…" Thalen paused as his ears lowered a bit; the telltale signs that a Miqo’te was undecided to reveal something personal. "Bah, 'nother story for 'nother day."

"Who… are you guys?" A timid voice called from behind. The woman they rescued was sitting on a fallen log, revived from her stupor but still clearly trying to process what happened today. She reached up and brushed her pastel blue hair away from her deep purple eyes, and her focused gaze darted between Osric and Thalen inquisitively. "You're not Twin Adder…?"

Osric turned around, giving a small bow in the woman’s direction. “No, we’re not. I’m Osric Slater - this is K’thalen Tia...we’re members of the Ashen Wolves.” She slowly blinked at him, appearing more coherent with each passing moment.

"I'm Coroh… Coroh Veldha." She gave Osric the faintest of smiles. "Thank you… for saving my life. I um… I don’t want to think about what would have happened to me if you two didn't show up when you did… I've never been so scared in my life."

"Gonna get worse with all this madness goin' 'round, darlin'. You outta learn to protect yourself… these'r some real dangerous times we live in." Thalen stepped to Osric’s side so he could get a better look at her. "Good job givin' Kiban that revolver I kicked over, aye? Woulda been messier if you tried to play hero."

The woman began to tremble as she wrapped her arms around herself; the adrenaline must be wearing off. "Are you adventurers? Bounty hunters? … mercenaries?”

Osric gave K’thalen a pointed look as he motioned towards the women. “It looks like giving the young lady your jacket for a moment or two wouldn’t be the worst thing...don’t you think, Thalen?” He turned back towards Coroh with a nod, as Thalen gave him yet another shrug before pulling off his weathered leather jacket. “Adventurers...At times I suppose we’re bounty hunters, and I did work with a mercenary company or two before I signed on with the Wolves.”

“Thank you…” She timidly murmured, almost disappearing under his jacket. “I wish I could be as brave as you guys… I might be stuck in this dead-end job for the rest of my life...”

Osric tilted his head. “What job is that?”

“Working here… at this mill.” Coroh gestured to the rundown town surrounding them, and the billowing smoke from the wreckage of that tower. “I just… push lumber through saws all night. I want… I want to be like you guys.” She paused to gaze up into Osric’s eyes. “You know… like heroes.”

Osric blinked, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “‘Heroes’ may be a bit strong.” He tilted his head. “Well - if this job is no longer meeting your needs, what stops you from finding another one?”

The woman opened her mouth to answer, but the words never came. Her gaze dropped to the ground and she fell silent for a long time, seemingly struggling to find a reason why she couldn't just leave. Thalen decided to clear his throat to break the awkward silence they were all trapped in. "Ain't nothin' gonna change unless you take charge, lass. Me n'Oz here… we didn't wake up one day n'just become adventurers. 'Slotta work… sometimes dangerous, sometimes scary. People die in this profession too… good friends and wicked foes alike. But there ain't no courage without fear. And if'n you don't chase your dreams, then…" Thalen gave Coroh a gentle and sympathetic smile. "You'll regret it for the rest a your life."

She seemed to light up a bit and sit up straight, but she was still slightly trembling; she would need some serious time off to work through this traumatic experience. "Thank you both again… I'll never forget your kindness!" Coroh lifted Thalen’s jacket off her shoulders and handed it back; turns out she wasn't cold after all.

"A pleasure." The Gunslinger turned to Osric to pat him on the shoulder. "Let's get outta here 'fore the Deputy decides to give us some trouble. First drink's on me."

Osric hummed thoughtfully, gaze shifting to Coroh for a moment. “Would you like us to walk you home before we depart?” His eyes narrowed as he felt the hand on his shoulder and turned to look at the Miqo’te man once again. “Are you sure you didn’t mean to say ‘drinks are on me’? After all - you’re not currently a stain on the ground - seems like that fact alone might be worth more than one drink.”

“I know a place nearby.” The woman chimed in, shooting to her feet. “Buscarron’s Druthers is only down the road!”

“Fixin’ to be a ramen and tap water kinda night…” Thalen could feel the last gil he had left burning a hole in his pocket, but the temptation to throw it away for drinks was too great to resist. “Bah… alright, alright. We kick it for a few bells, then I gotta head back. Deal?”

“Deal!” Coroh sang, looking to Osric for confirmation.

He nodded, waiting for the woman to turn and lead the way to the Druthers before pulling a small pouch of gil from his pocket and handing it to Thalen. “For drinks this evening....” He whispered in a low voice. “And try to save some of it for food. It should last you until the next decent job comes in.” Thalen blinked at the Dragoon, as his smile slowly returned.

“You know what, Oz? I don’t care what people say about you. You’re alright!”

---

Collaberino: @osric-slater-ffxiv​

[vdwlkr]

happy as a sand boy

fill for @missscatter​‘s Miraith prompt list :) 

Summary: There are a lot of weird ways to spend early morning on New Dawn. Mirage just never thought catching Wraith baking will be among them. 

–

“What are you doing?”

She jumped, and Mirage winced at a loud metal clatter followed by a splat ringing across the empty kitchen. Wraith stood in front of the counter frozen, staring at whatever horror became of his interruption.

Part of him wanted to apologize immediately because what the heck? Did that just happen? Did he just surprise Wraith-could-avoid-sniper-bullets-from-three-hundred-meters-away? The other part of him wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation because, well, maybe he’s still asleep? It is 4 in the morning after all, and that seemed to be the best explanation of what just happened—

Until he spotted a ladle flying towards him, instinctively making him duck and bump his head directly into the island table in front of him.

“Ow!”

“You deserved that.”

“No, I didn’t. Thought you heard me, I said your name twice coming in.”

The glare she’s giving him turned deadly at his answer, but she’d look more terrifying if she wasn’t…you know, red from her cheeks to the tip of her ears, dark sweater covered in flour and batter and smelling distinctively cocoa.

He rubbed his palm against his forehead, taking a quick survey across the assortment of used pots, pans, and trays before it clicks.

“You’re baking.”

The disbelief made her lips curl into a grimace. “What of it?”

“I—wh—uh—you’re actually baking?”

“No, Mirage, I’m mixing eggs and flour and hoping it suddenly turns edible.” She crossed her arms, stance guarded but there is apprehension in her eyes.

“Do you have a cooked batch? Can I have some?”

“No.”

“No you don’t have any, or no I can’t?”

“Look,” Exasperated she began, “I know you think you’re funny and I admit it has its moments, but I have to get this done perfectly in about—” her eyes darted at the wall clock above the kitchen door heading to the Mess Hall, “—an hour or so.”

Mirage shrugged, “So let me help.”

“What?” Her brows furrowed, apprehension giving away to suspicion. “Why?”

“This seems important.“ He dropped his palms on the table and nodded, “So I wanna help.”

She’s considering it. He can see the gears in her mind twist and turn, eyes shooting between the spilled batter on the counter and the mess she’s made on the table.

“Alright.”

Still he blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes.” She turned her head away, picking up and handing him a piece of paper from the other end of the island table. “Here.”

The paper had Lifeline’s unruly handwriting all over it, mixed with what must be Wattson’s from several French words crossed over and replaced with common. It’s a list of ingredients and instructions, the margins doodled over by design.

“Mirage?”

“Yeah?” He answered automatically, looking back up and finding her holding a clean mixing bowl and a measuring cup. “Right. You need flour. A cup and three-quarters.”

–

It’s amusing to watch Wraith focus on something other than lining up her shot. Her eyes still narrow, jaw still clenching, but this time, it’s over trying to perfect adding sifted ingredients on a mixture of butter, eggs, and sugar. Cocoa follows shortly after, and he inhaled the wafting scent as she began mixing the batter with a spatula.

"Stop staring.”

“Can’t help it. I didn’t know you had hands.”

He grinned toothily at the exasperation on her face, tapping her spatula against the tip of the bowl before mixing it again. He turned back to his share of work, stirring the pot of several melting chunks of butter over low heat.

“You’re walking around thinking I had no hands?”

“How was I supposed to know whether or not you had robotic ones?” He muttered with a shrug.

Wraith raised an eyebrow, lips quirking into a smirk, “Is that you finally admitting I have a better aim?”

“Ha, no.” He turned on his heels, pointing his spatula towards her direction. “Definitely not. Did you even see the leaderboards Wraith? I had the highest damage last Game.”

“And I was the kill leader.”

“Only because you’re great at stealing kills.”

“I was securing them. Maybe we should have a spar later just to see which one is th—stop eating the chocolates!”

Wraith lunged at the bowl he raised above his head, “I only took one!”

“One plus two others.” She hopped, actually just hopped to reach the bowl he’s now standing on the tip of his toe for, and his mind went what the fuck. He let her have it because that was fucking cute, watching her pour all of it and leave the container on the table. “Don’t let it burn.”

“Aye, aye.” He does, mixing the fudge thoroughly.

“So, did you have a bad dream again?”

The suddenness of the question sent a jolt through his stomach.

“W-what? Of course nn—of course—"

Mirage sighed, his shoulders dropping.

If there is one curious thing about their relationship, it’s exactly this: she has always been good at stripping away who Mirage is. Mirage would never walk into a kitchen and offer to help anything. Mirage would quip something borderline insulting, have her rolling her eyes or telling him to leave. But as cliché as it sounded, he…never really felt the need to pretend when it’s around her. He could act as silly or as fucking stupid as he wanted, and she still looked at him the same.

“Yeah.”

She nodded, “What was it about?”

He stared at her incredulously, “You’re seriously interested?”

“Only if you want to talk about it.”

“Well, I mean, it’s not that bad of a dream.” He rubbed a finger against his cheeks, observing Wraith pour the cake batter into a square pan and slide the container into the oven. “Just an uncomf—uncomfie one.”

“Was it about being unable to find your comb?”

He shrugged a shoulder, “Couldn’t find my styling cream actually. Dreamt I had to go into the ring with my hair like a bird nest.”

She snorted. “The horror.”

“You’re saying that now but you got shot in my dream cause of laughing too hard.”

Wraith does chuckle at that, “Is that your diabolical plan on taking the Apex Predator title?”

“Maybe.” Mirage grinned back. He added milk, brown sugar, and vanilla essence to the pot as Lifeline and Wattson’s instructions dictated, transferring it into a bowl and popping it into the refrigerator. “Wraith?”

“Hm?”

“Something happened to you. In my dream.” Leaning an arm against the counter, he half turned to her, “I dreamt we were back in King’s Canyon when the Repulsor broke. Everyone had to work together to get to the Airbase. It was insane, honestly. Bangalore and Lifeline had this rivalry thing going on, Bloodhound held six prowlers with no bullets just an axe, and Caustic helped defend the drop ship.”

“Caustic helped?”

“Yeah, I know. Should’ve been a warning sign I was dreaming. But before we could leave the island….“ He exhaled evenly, "I didn’t see you but—but I heard about it. From Gibraltar and Lifeline. They said your heart stopped.”

"Oh, so I died.”

“Wow.” He drew his head back, apalled at her nonchalance. “That’s it? That’s all the fucks I get from you?”

Wraith set down the paper sack of flour, keeping her hands behind as she walked towards him. “People die all the time Mirage, it’s not a big deal.”

“Well, it’s a big deal to me.” He couldn’t help the sudden surge of irritation. “Everything felt and looked real. I thought you would underst—”

She threw a handful of flour at him.

Mirage blinked in surprise, lips slowly falling open. It took him another second before he could comprehend that yeah, Wraith just did that. A glance at the silverware to his side showed half of his face covered in white, most importantly—

“My hair!”

Wraith snickered, “Really? That’s the first thing you think about?”

He narrowed her eyes at her and she quickly grabbed the ammunition off the table, holding the sack at her side even spilling some of it off her sweater and pants. “I don’t think so.”

But Mirage has always been a resourceful man.

Instead, he reached for the sink and pulled the wash hose off its place, pointing it at her with a hand on the switch. A cheshire grin broke slowly across his face at Wraith’s look of realization.

“Don’t you dare!”

“No, no, you see this?” He gestured to the powder covering his hair. “This is a declara—dec—delcra—war. This means war.”

“Hah. I don’t know, grey hair looks good on you,” She grinned, “old man.”

“W-what did you just call—oh game on.” He sprayed on her with a jerk on the knob, but she’s expecting it, diving quickly off view.

He grabbed an empty pot and left the faucet open, just as Wraith peeked from the other side of the table throwing another handful. He dodges barely, snatching the cocoa powder from the corner of her eye.

“We can still drink that.” She called from the other side of the table.

He turned off the faucet and placed the bowl on the middle, discreetly returning the cocoa because yeah he does want some hot chocolate later. “Should’ve thought of that before ruining my hair, sweetheart.”

“Will saying sorry make everything better?”

“Let me think,” He hummed theatrically, “Nah.”

With a flick of his fingers he toppled the bowl over, water quickly spilling to the other side—

“Hey!” Wraith yelped, jumping away.

It’s the perfect opportunity to make a break for the flour, when all of a sudden Wraith slipped. He automatically reached out to help her and he would have laughed about it, had she not used his momentum against him and brought him with her to the floor.

They landed with a grunt from Wraith, bearing the brunt of the force.

“Shit, are you okay?”

Her lids cracked open, bright ocean eyes peeking mischievously. She suddenly ran her hands on his cheeks, hair, grinning wolfishly when his eyes widened in realization.

“You sneaky little—”

Instead of bothering to push her away, he reached for the sack she had dropped, dipping both his hands and smearing the same streak across her face, neck, hair and—and she was laughing, bright and warm and carefree, the sound of it making home in his chest. It made him stop to listen because holy shit he caused that. He’s the reason for that.

Wraith caught his wrist and pinned it to his other side, locking a leg around her own and pushed him off with her core strength until she’s the one on top, watching him mutter a soft, “Unf.”

Another chuckle escaped her lip, “Sorry.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

He chuckled at her answer, then at her appearance, dark sweater now completely smudged, “I see grey hair looks good on you too, grandma.”

Wraith slid off him and rolled her eyes half heartedly, taking the half undone bun off, letting her hair cascade down her back on soft waves.

Mirage can only stare.

She’s beautiful—he’s always known that—and while he thought she’s just as breath taking with her hair neatly pinned as it is curling wildly around her powdered face, there’s just something so intimate about her allowing him this.

He wanted to kiss her

And though he knows she returns the feelings to an extent, he has no idea if quite they’re there yet, so he mustered the urge and let it go.

“You’re staring again.” She said.

The only thing he could say in reply is, “I can’t help it.”

–

prompts finish here, but there’s a couple of more words right here :)

[siempre-pedro]

My Love Take Your Time

Michael Langdon x Reader 

Summary: Michael reassures you everything will be fine before he passes away.   

CHARACTER DEATH WITH A HAPPY ENDING... I PROMISE!

A/N: It was only a matter of time before I did a Hamilton inspired Michael fic. 

She stood in the middle of the floor stunned, surrounded by her angered sisters, the smell of gunfire and blood plagued their noses. This was never the plan, this was not how it was supposed to happen…  not how you wanted to tell the coven you married the Anti-Christ years ago. Cordelia was speaking to the man, who stood there confidently licking the blood off his lips like it was candy, mocking her.

Could it have been simple enough to just get rid of his powers? Of course, it wasn’t, Cordelia wanted him gone, erased from the world he created in the image of his father. You held it together, stone-faced yet clenching your fists that were covered by the long sleeves of your pantsuit. When was the right time to be by his side? She hated being in the middle of this, the witches didn’t understand him and Michael was well, Michael. He was misunderstood, misguided Y/N saw him for who he was but also wanted to kill him herself when he didn’t take the help he needed.

Ms. Meade or what was left of her was on the ground, which made Michael pissed “I’ll slaughter you,” he hisses, raising his tense hand. Madison runs and grabs the gun from off the ground Y/N’s eyes rise in fear as she knew exactly what her intentions were with it. Pointing it at Michael with deadly aim, Y/N’s heart rate rose fearing her heart would beat right out of her chest.

The gun goes off several times, the sound muffles the hearing of the witches. The scene of horror plays out like it was slow motion, Michael’s body stumbles backward and lands against the blood splatted wall. His blue eyes stare at his wife and only her, the love of his life, the girl that knew him the best.  She stands there motionless as Cordelia calmly walks to Madison, the after-effects of the gun makes it so she can’t hear.

Once the other witches beside Madison hurry away to Mallory Y/N’s tears stream down her face “You stupid bitch,” she seethes, using her powers to throw her high against the wall, watching her fall with a loud thud. Y/N runs to Michael’s side, falling to her knees next to him, sobbing as her shaking hands touch him trying desperately trying to get him to talk to her.

“Michael,” she sobs hopelessly, tugging on his collar making her hands become covered in his crimson blood “Please.” Nothing, his dead weight doesn’t budge as she cries for him. She leans on his shoulder and grips the fabric of his jacket, the same fabric he would drape over her to protect her from the chilly nights  “I’m not strong enough to bring you back to me,” she weeps. She may have been very talented but she was never able to resurrect the dead no matter how many times she tried.

She looks to the other side of the man, a sharp piece of the robot lay there, shining from the lights in the room. She quickly reaches over and grips it, rising on her knees as she looks at Michael, she shakily brings the sharp piece to her throat. She was helpless, desperate, the only way she wanted to live was with Michael near her. Her vision gets blurry from the tears with a heartbreaking sob coming from her lips.

A hand suddenly but weakly places itself over hers, pulling it down to her lap. Michael looks at her with a soft expression “A plan is in motion.”

“What?” she whispers, shaking her head in confusion.

Michael simply smiles at her, blood trickling from his lips “My Love, take your time,” he tells her weakly. She drops the object and holds his hands in hers, pressing their bodies together. “I will see you on the other side,” he speaks to her one last time. What other side? Before she was able to ask he was gone.

She hears his last shallow breath, she starts to shake as she lets out a painful scream of despair “No!” The room was still as she begged for him to come back, her pleas began to subside and her vision blurs. The last thing she sees is a flash of white before everything does dark.

“Ms. Y/N,” a voice soothes, lightly echoing. Y/N’s eyes flutter open, in confusion she looks at her surroundings noticing she’s back at the academy. What the hell? Was the only thought she had, she sits up from her bed and her eyes glance down at the same outfit she had from the outpost minus the blood. “Ms. Y/N?” the same voice questions looking at her with an expression that matched her own; utterly confused.

Mallory, her student, the next supreme...the girl was apart of the plan to kill Michael.  The poor girl looks at her timidly, this wasn’t the same girl from the outpost “Yes?” she answers with a question. Or was it because she knew exactly what she did and was afraid of you and the repercussions?

“Your bag is downstairs,” Mallory tells her.

“Bag?”

“You’re going to California to meet the new student? Remember…they’re nervous and wanted to meet one of the teachers?”

Y/N doesn’t remember, what the hell is going on? Does she know? Y/N rises from the bed and slides on the heels that were next to her bed “Where’s Michael?” Y/N asks, trying not to sound desperate.

“I-I don’t know?” So she did know!

Y/N pushes past her swiftly, making her way down the wood stairs to be greeted by a cool cond collected Cordelia with her marble printed suitcase by her side. “Cordelia,” Y/N greets.

“I hope you have a safe trip,” the supreme smiles, clasping her hands together by her waist.

Y/N shake her head and rubs her forehead with one of her hands “Cordelia what happened?” she asks.

Cordelia sighs softly “Mallory... fixed things,” she says simply, opening the door.

“He was my husband.”

“We won’t discuss this Y/N, please just bring back our new student,” Cordelia states growing annoyed with the witch. With a grumble, Y/N takes the suitcase and rolls it to the awaiting limo. Y/N takes a final look at the academy seeing the supreme and her successor standing there with warming smiles “Bitches,” she whispers bitterly.

A few days later, mostly postponed due to the fact she needed to get her shit together, trying to figure out how she was here, in a world were the apocalypse never happened and her sisters were safe. She pulls into a large mansion “Family’s made of money?” Y/N asks astonished as she looks out her window.

“Loaded,” the older man chuckles “They own some tech empire, the neighborhood threw a tantrum because the son is going to drop out of Harvard, almost graduated.”

“Shame,” she says in wonder. The car comes to a stop, the nice driver hurries and opens the door for the witch, she smiles and walks up the posh steps to the large white door. A nice old woman with firey red hair opens the door, clutching her feather duster in her hand.

“Hello Dear how can I help you?” she asks.

“I’m from Miss Robichaux’s Academy? I-I never got a name of who I’d be meeting.” The old woman laughs and opens the door wider, ushering her to come in. Y/N smiles and follows her to the library, admiring all the nice things the family owned.

She opened the French doors and when she looked in she saw a tall man with short blonde hair, his back turned to her. He’s looking down at some dusty old book, foot tapping against the probably expensive carpet “Sir, the representative from the school is here,” she maid announces. The man turns around a cheerful smile graces his face.

Her blood runs cold when her Y/E/C meets his blue ones “Michael?” she breathes like the wind has been knocked out of her. His expression drops, staring at the witch in shock. The maid’s eyes shifts between them awkwardly deciding to leave the room when Michael drops the book on the floor.

They slowly walk to each other, unsure if the other was real. His fingers reach up and grace her cheek when they get close enough “My Y/N?” he questions. The same fingers that touched her when she was sad, the ones that wrapped around her throat when they fucked, the ones when he begged her not to go after finding out he was the spawn of Satan himself, more importantly they were the ones she held when they married, one of which she put a ring on.

He pulls from his white dress shirt a cold chain with a gold wedding band attached to it. She starts to cry tears of joy, her fingers touching his cheek “My Michael,” she says firmly. He throws his arms around her and holds her tightly. She places her arms around his waist and touches the fabric, making sure he was real.

“How long has it been?”

“Only a few days for me.”

“I’ve waited all these years for you to return to me.”

“H- how is this possible?” she sobs.

He pulls back and cups her face, his thumbs lightly stroke her jawline “I told you there was a plan, when Mallory ran me over m-my cycle ended. I’m not the Anti-Christ, just a warlock.”

“How?”

I don’t know,” he laughs nervously but he smiles when he gets to tell her the good news “I have really nice parents.”

Y/N smiles widely, knowing that’s all he’s ever wanted “I would love to meet them sometime.”

They embrace once again, this was the other side, why Cordelia and Mallory wouldn’t answer her questions. This was a universe where they got their happy ending. Home, love, and a family who loved the poor boy who once caused the apocalypse.

[imagination-of-a-melted-bitch]

Taking It All {Kim Minseok} ~Naughty November~

Prompt: #2 With Xuimin 

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warning: oral -male receiving-

Requests Open || Smut Game 1 || Smut Game 2 || Smut Game 3 || Smut Game 4 || Smut Game 5 || BTS Masterlist || GOT7 Masterlist || Monsta X Masterlist

"You've been so stressed out as of late, Minseok." You run your hands down his arms, leaning down so your lips were next to his ear. "So tense," Your voice drops an octave, and you stand up straight again, walking around the couch, Minseok's eyes following your every move. You slowly sit next to him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders, placing your other hand on his knee. "I love seeing you do what you love but you're working so hard, you're pooped." You move your hand from his knee to gently grip his chin. You frown and let go of him, laying your head on his shoulder. "How could I help you relax....daddy." Minseok gasps at the use of the word 'daddy', his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Daddy, eh?"

"Trying it on for wear, plus it wouldn't be like I don't call you daddy on a regular basis..." You giggle a little, "Just not to your face." Minseok pouts his lips, turning his head innocently to the side.

"I like it." He nods after awhile, wrapping one arm around your waist, moving his hand to roughly grip your ass. "I like it a lot."

"So, Daddy, what can I do to help you relax?" Minseok leans his head against yours, eyes shifting down to look at your face.

"I don't know baby, what'd you have in mind?" You mindlessly run your tongue over your bottom lip, eyes flickering down toward his crotch. "I saw that princess," You look up at him, squeezing your legs together. "Trying it out for wear...you like it when I call you  princess?" You eagerly nod your head, him using the nickname again making your core tingle. He usually called you babe or sweetheart but princess, princess was new. "Okay, princess, I saw you looking at daddy's cock-" He pauses and moves your hair to the other side of your neck, "and I think I know what you have in mind-" He chuckles, giving you a warm smile. "you want to be the good little girl you are and suck daddy's cock, don't you?" His fingers softly move across your cheek.

"Yes, daddy." You whisper gently, staring into his eyes as they darkened by the second.

"Say it, princess, tell daddy how much you want to suck his cock." His voice was soft, as if he was cooing a shy dog out of its doghouse.

"I want to suck your cock so bad daddy, I've been thinking about how you taste all day. I got so wet thinking about your heavy cock on my tongue while you were at practice...no underwear during a dance practice, huh? The fans are going to go ballistic." Minseok gives a short chuckle, looking down at his gray sweats,

"Maybe." He simply shrugs, "Now, princess would you be a dear and take care of your daddy?" You slide off the couch, Minseok spreading his legs. You move between them, looking up at him through your lashes. "Don't tease me, princess, I don't like teases all that much." He tilts his head to the side, watching you with hooded eyes.

"I'm sorry daddy," You tap his thigh twice, signaling for him to lift his hips. He does, ever so slightly, just enough for you to pull his sweats down about mid-thigh. Your eyes watch his cock spring up, his tip leaking with pre-cum. "You're hard as a rock, daddy!" You squeal, reaching out and grabbing his cock, slowly wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft despite your excitement. Minseok shudders at the feeling, goosebumps raising to cover every inch of his skin. You lean forward and lap once at his slit, his pre-cum evading your taste-buds. Minseok lets out a soft moan, his cock twitching in your grasp. You stick your tongue out further and sloppily circle it around the tip of his cock, your walls tightening around nothing as he lets out the prettiest whimper.

"Fuck! That feels good princess." His hands ball into fists at his sides.

"You have such a potty mouth daddy." You tease but lean forward wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. You begin to suck, slowly moving your hand up and down the rest of his shaft.

"I'm sorry princess, you'll have to excuse my potty mouth. I get a little excited when I'm watching you, on your knees, sucking my cock." You chuckle around him, flicking your tongue against the slit of his cock, beginning to suck him like a lollipop. You move your hand away from his shaft moving both your hands to press them against his thighs, You inch your mouth lower on him circling your tongue around his thick shaft even as you pushed further down. “That’s it." Minseok praised, moving his hand to the back of your head, "Take it all, take all of daddy’s cock.” His voice is deeper, and he throws his head back against the couch, eyes focusing on the ceiling. He pushes you further down his cock until you're choking around him. Your throat contracting around his cock, makes his balls tighten. "Oh fuck P-p-princess, fuck!" Minseok's head snaps down toward you, his eyes falling on yours. Your eyes filled with tears, your breathing ragged as you struggled to breathe through your nose. "One more, o-one more second princess." You feel the tip of his cock twitch at the back of your throat, "Daddy's going to cum for you-" He pulls you off of him and you open your mouth sticking out your tongue waiting for your reward. Minseok grabs his spit covered shaft and begins to quickly stroke it, slick noises filling the room. "Ready?"

"Yes, daddy, I'm ready for you. Cum all over my tongue, daddy, please." Minseok's hips jerk, fist tightening around his cock. The first spurt comes quickly and unexpectedly, landing on your tongue with a soft splat. Minseok moans your name, then the second comes, hitting you on the back of your tongue. He strokes himself until he's dry, smiling at the sight of your cum painted tongue.

"Swallow for me princess, swallow every last drop." You sit back on your haunches and do just that, swallowing every last drop of his cum with a quiet whimper and content smile. "Good girl," Minseok pulled his sweats back up, patting his lap. You have a seat, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Thank you, princess. Daddy really appreciates all the hard work." He kisses your temple and rests his head against the crown of your head when you snuggle into him. With a loud sigh he picks up the remote and turns the t.v on, "So...what do you want to watch?"

[still-toking-with]

Running on empty

THE TOKING DEAD

Chapter Five

Tobi began to stir as the sound of the shower radiated through the sleeping quarters. “Damn, I gotta take a piss.” he mumbled, slowly climbing out of bed letting out a loud yawn and a full body stretch. Still high as fuck from last night he made his way to the bathroom and began emptying his bladder, oblivious that Piper was in the shower. “Ummmm, excuse me Tobi.” Piper’s voice came from behind him. “What are you doing?” Tobi spins around to see Piper standing there in all her glory, his eyes wide and jaw hitting the floor. “Sorry Piper, I didn’t hear you in here.” She just smiles, “You may wanna put that thing away before you hurt yourself!” “It’s been over a week since this all started, my head just isn’t where it should be.” “Understandable, but if you wouldn’t mind could you at least hand me my towel?” She asks, reaching her arm out. Tobi tosses her a towel, still frozen in place, watching as she dries herself off and gets dressed. “You should pick your jaw up.” she says chuckling. “It’s just that you’re so beautiful.” “Well thank you.” tossing the towel at him, “here, wipe off your chin, or would you rather have a drool cup?” Tobi  chuckles, feeling a bit embarrassed. Returning to the sleeping area, Tobi grabs Red “You wanna hit this with me?” “Sure, sounds good.” After a couple of rips Tobi says “Hey Duke! You gonna get up and join us or what?” Turning towards Dukes bed, realizing Duke isn’t there. “Piper, have you seen Duke?”  “No, not since I got up to shower.” “Oh well, fuck em then.” Tobi snickers hitting the bong. Duke suddenly appears in the doorway. “Today is the day!” he exclaims, plopping down on his bed. “The day for what exactly?” Tobi asks. “The day we get the hell out of here and see what’s really going on out there. The gas cloud has been gone for a few days now so we should be ok.” “But what about the zombies?” Piper asks, brushing her still wet hair. “They shouldn’t be a problem, we’re faster and smarter.” he says laughing. “So what’s your plan?” Piper asks curiously. “The way I see it, your car is still sitting outside the loading dock doors, so that’s where we’re headed. Let’s grab some food and anything we might need and get a move on.” They gathered up some things and headed for the loading dock. When they reach the door to the parking area Duke turns and looks at them. “Are you two ready?” “ Yup”  “I think so” says Piper adds. “Ok, once we open the door head straight for Pipers car. You have the keys right?” “No, I was so shaken I left them in the car, they should still be there.” “Here we go.” Duke says, opening the door to the outside. Instantly, the three where blinded by the sun’s rays, Tobi blocking the sun with his hand looks around. “Looks to be all clear, let’s go.” They quickly scamper towards the car; Duke Jumps in the driver’s seat, Piper takes shotgun with Tobi in the back. “Keys please.” Duke says with an outstretched hand. “Ummmm, shithead, they’re in the ignition.” chuckles Piper. Duke turns the key and EErrrrrrrrr, nothing. “What the fuck! Come on baby.” Duke exclaims, turning the key again. VVVrrroommm, “ahhh, ya, we are outa here!” “Just in time I’d say.” shrieks Tobi , “Those things are headed this way.” Duke throws the car in drive and speeds down the parking lot towards the road. “Watch out!” Piper screams, seeing a mass of zombies in front them. “I see them” Duke says, pushing the accelerator to the floor. Thud, Thud, Thud The sound echoed through the car as Duke runs over zombie after zombie. “HaHaHa, it’s like playing pinball.” Duke says, a devilish grin on his face. Blood and guts now cover most of the windshield making it very hard to see. Rounding the dispensary, tires squealing, the car slides sideways on to the main drag. Duke see’s another small mass of zombies in front of them. “Outta my fucking way!” “We got this now.” Tobi says with a hint of excitement in his voice. Suddenly, the car spits and sputters, then stalls out; slowly rolling to a stop. “NO NO NO NO! What the fuck! Hollers Tobi. “Start the fucking car Duke!” added Piper. Duke, franticly trying to restart the car, wirr, wirr, wirr ”Come on you piece of shit, start.” “Any day now Duke, those things are heading straight for us.” “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, it won’t fucking start!” Tobi, looking over Dukes shoulder at the dashboard, “With the needle on E I don’t think it’s gonna start.” “Oh ya, I knew I forgot to do something on my way in that day, oopppssss”  “OOOOPPPSSS? Are you fucking kidding me? You could have mentioned that a little sooner.” Scowls Duke. “They’re getting closer!” cries Tobi. “Looks like we’ll have to fight our way back to the dispensary.” Piper says opening the glove box and grabbing her 38. “Now let’s go before they get here.” Duke pops the trunk, jumps from the car, and races towards the back. He grabs the tire iron and spins around ready for the small group that’s approaching. Tobi, jumping from the rear seat, grabs ole red and the weed. Piper hollers “Watch out!” pumping off three quick shots. BOOM BOOM BOOM, three of the oncoming zombies instantly drop, blood and brains splattered on the nearby wall. Damn, she’s beautiful and a badass Tobi thinks. They start heading towards the dispensary with haste. “Stay to the right side of them along the fence, at least our backs will be covered” directs Tobi. “Fuck you, you ugly mother fucker!” shouts Duke, smashing one in the head, popping it like a grape, and dropping it like a stone. They were able to fight their way past the small crowd and back into the parking lot. “We’re almost there, hurry up!” Tobi whips the loading dock door open as Duke rushes in. “Piper, where’s Piper?” Tobi asks looking all around. “She was right beside me.” “Get the fuck off of me you cocksucker!” Piper yells still out in the parking lot fighting with one of the zombies. Without hesitation, Tobi grabs the tire iron from Dukes hand and rushes to piper. She’s about 10’ from the door holding a zombie at bay. “Hold on Piper I’m coming!” Splat as he thrusts the tire iron into the side of the zombies head so hard he couldn’t pull it out, blood spurting all over them. “Come on Piper, we gotta go.” Tobi cried out grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the door. “My gun! Where’s my gun?” “I don’t know but we don’t have time to look for it, there are more of those fuckers coming from the back of the warehouse. “Move your fucking asses!” hollered Duke. Tobi, just about dragging Piper, is in a full sprint for the door. They dash inside as Duke slams the door shut and locks it. “Jesus Christ! That was a close one.” Tobi sputtered trying to catch his breath. Safe inside loading dock they hear moans and scratching at the door. “I still can’t believe you didn’t have any gas in your fucking car Piper, seriously, you could have mentioned that before we left.” Duke says. “Sorry, I forgot” she says, hanging her head. “But what the fuck are we gonna do now?” “Well, first I’m gonna change my boxers cause I’m pretty sure that scared the shit outa me. Then I’m gonna grab ole red and get blazed” Tobi says. “Really Tobi, Is that what I smell?” chuckles Duke. “Oh, and you were mister calm.” “Umm guys? That’s kinda fucked up. Question, how many exits are there out of here?” asked Piper. “Three total, four if you count the roof. Why?” “Because I’m guessing we’re down to one, unless of course you guys want to jump from the roof.” Duke walks over to the crates of edibles they had packed for Weed-B-Gone and opens a box. “Well, a few of these should help take the edge off.” he snickers, downing three edibles. “I’m gonna get so high that if one of those fuckers bites me it will be stoned for weeks.” “That’s about the smartest thing I’ve heard all day.” added Piper, joining Duke in having a few treats. The three sat in the loading dock, deep in conversation, having their fill of edibles, drinks and rips from Red to the point of passing out. Stay Tuned,More to come…

[raakxhyr]

GaLty||Blackmail and Black Cats

For the Anonerd who wanted some salty fluff of Smarty being the (dumb) hero and GaLm being the worrisome boyfriend. Enjoy <3

---

The sunlight came shining calmly down over the street as a cool gust danced among the leaves of trees that hovered above. It was quiet on the street – well, as quiet as it could be at three in the afternoon in a small suburb just north of New York’s city life – and birds were chirping their music through the air just as a man’s laugh joined in with barking giddiness.

John’s fingers squeezed Anthony’s as they walked together along the sidewalk, John’s laughs the cause of Anthony nearly running right into a tree because his attention had stayed one second too long on the other.

If they hadn’t been holding hands, John would have completely missed the chance to yank his boyfriend aside, though at the same time, perhaps the after effect of the situation would have left him with tears on the ground.

Either way, he now had something to hold against Anthony as light blackmail for technically saving his arse.

As they continued down the sidewalk, the couple spotted an ice cream store nearby to stop at and have a quick snack. When they’d grabbed their treat – a quick salted caramel ice cream – the owner had actually came out to place some flyers right by the entrance. Apparently her cat had gone missing and she’d been looking now for a few days and hoped that any passerby’s would be able to help.

John took one of the flyers as he stepped outside the shop with Anthony and read over the sheet, going over the details of the lost feline. It was a black cat, kind of big, with bright gold eyes and a short tail that you could spot from a distance.

 John looked at Anthony with pouting lips, hoping that he’d help search for the cat since they were near the area. Anthony stared at him for a few seconds, looking over the cute, round cheeks and the overlap of his lower lip in begging fashion, John’s eyes staring through the sunglasses on his face wide and round.

Sighing in defeat, Anthony agreed to help John spot for the cat while they continued down the road together.

 They started up north of the store front before coming back and heading the other directions, though they returned with little luck. About an hour had passed then, and the two decided that they’d continue on back home.

Disappointed, John leaned on Anthony’s shoulder while they waited for a light to change so they could walk, and he stared at the ground with a frown.

Anthony rubbed his shoulder and started walking him along the crossway when their signal had finally flashed on.

 That’s the moment John’s ears perked and he turned his head to see a black cat sitting in the middle of the road with a limp to one of its paws, some of the fur having been bitten away. His eyes widened and he stood straight up, pointing towards it with surprise.

Anthony followed the direction of his finger and his grip had become loose when John bolted towards the middle of the street, dropping the cone of ice cream with a splat. His eyes grew large with fear as he tried to step out of the lines when a car came out of nowhere in the direction of John, and he threw his hand out to try and reach him, horns blaring in his ears. He screamed out John’s name, listening to something fall and crack on the ground when the car had blurred past, tires screeching across the asphalt and disappearing.

 His heart beat his ears deaf as he watched, eyes filling with tears while what little traffic around him came to a stop. The walking meter had already ended and the lights of the streets had already flipped from green to red.

While the cars around him honked, he finally forced his shaking legs to start moving him out onto the street to reach John, spotting him bent over on the ground. He shook his head and shut his eyes, tears spilling when he fell to his knees and reached a gentle hand out to John’s body, feeling it twitch beneath his finger.

 He screamed and fell back when John sat up, holding the cat in his arms, and started wiping at his eyes in shock. He tensed entirely and stared at his boyfriend, not sure if he was dreaming or dead.

John’s hand grabbed at his arm and dragged him off the street back to the sidewalk they had come from to return the cat to the owner.

Anthony stood outside the ice cream shop, grabbing John by the collar when he had exited and throwing him back against one of the walls.

 “What the fuck is wrong with you,” Anthony screamed.

“Anthony, I-“

“Why did you go off and run like that?”

“Anth-“

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to grab the cat – which is the dumbest thing ever!”

“I’m-“

“Why are you such a fucking dumbass? Stop being a Smarty! I can’t bel- I c-can’t…believe…” Anthony trailed off and his fingers started to slide off of John’s collar, opening up loosely to slide down his chest and pull him into a tight hug. Tears were cascading his cheeks while he shook against his boyfriend’s body, gripping him tight like he were a balloon and not ready to let go.

“Jesus, Anthony, I’m fine. Look, see? Not a scratch.” John looked down at his arms where the cat had freaked and clawed a little. “Well, a few scratches. But I’m fine! Chill…”

“Chill?” Anthony growled, pulling his head back while he glared tearfully at John. “You want me to chill after that dumbass act you pulled back there? Excuse me?”

 John’s eyes widened. He could feel Anthony breathing hard against him with eyes red and puffy, his lips trembling as much as his body was. He hadn’t seen Anthony this freaked out ever in his life – or this angry, either.

 “Okay,” he started. “Okay…you’re right. It was…it was a really, really dumb idea. But I got the cat?”

“God, you’re such a fucking imbecile sometimes…”

“But I’m your imbecile.”

“I know and I absolutely hate it.” Anthony glared down at the ground and John giggled, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“I love you, too…come on, let’s just get back home before I do anything else.”

“That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say my entire life.”

 John scoffed, pretending to be offended by the statement. Anthony simply smiled and allowed him to wipe his tears away before feeling the same hands cup his face and bring him slowly into a kiss.

Anthony inhaled slowly and squeezed his arms around John’s waist, holding him close while their lips danced gently together. He could still taste the salty sweet flavor of the ice cream they’d dropped to the ground.

When they pulled apart, Anthony stared into John’s eyes with a soft glare and shook his head slightly. “And now, I don’t owe you anything. If anything you owe me more.”

 “Uh, okay, hold on. You didn’t pull me away.”

“But you’re alive now aren’t you?”

 John stared back at Anthony and decided not to press forward with the joking argument, simply pressing their lips back together tight, his fingers squeezing the top of Anthony’s fuzz.

 “Fine, you don’t owe me anymore.”

“Good, because I have something planned later for what you owe me, now.”

“God, you’re unbelievable.”

“Am I?”

 Anthony smiled and grabbed John’s hand to make sure he didn’t let go of him again while they continued back on their path home. And this time, hopefully, they wouldn’t run into any more lost animals.