Each Time You Talk About The Werewolf Fic In The Tags Of A Post Just Know I'm Eating Up Every New Piece

Lambert/Aiden (slightly angsty) reunion snuggles!

Smut under the cut.

For all Geralt was absolute crap at reading the room when it came to his own relationships, he was an expert when it came to those of his family. Something Lambert had never been more thankful for when the White Wolf made some absolute bullshit excuse and left Lambert and Aiden alone at the inn in their shared room after a shared dinner to "Talk or whatever. I'll be back in the morning."

He owed the older Wolf big time. First helping in tracking down Jad and then Aiden after they heard mention in a tiny village of a green eyed Witcher passing through some months ago. They'd worn no medallion and armour seemingly cobbled together from scraps, but Lambert had been adamant it couldn't possibly be anybody else.

He had absolutely no idea how he was even going to begin paying brother back, but that was a worry for when he wasn't sat in the middle of the narrow bed, stark naked and knuckles deep in his lover.

Aiden keened from where he was straddling the others hips as Lambert's need to take this slow warred with just pure need. The new scars criss crossing the Cats body - more sinewy than the last time they'd seen each other but no less appealing - were covered in red and purple love marks, the pupil of his remaining eye blown wide as damp strands of hair clung to his forehead and neck. The other had given as good as he'd got and had left Lambert's nipples deliciously tender from where he'd played with them until they were raw and he was pretty sure his back was absolutely covered in scratches by this point in the proceedings.

"Shit, Lambert please. I'm ready."

"You sure?" He asked, giving a shit eating grin as he twisted his fingers and caused the other to bite out one of the Elder curses Lambert remembered teaching him.

"Yes, I'm fucking sure. It's been almost two years. I'm not waiting a minute longer to have you in me."

Despite his insistence, Aiden's face still pinched in discomfort, followed by a brief bitter-sharp undercurrent of pain to his scent as he was breached.

"Woah, woah. You sure you're ok?" Lambert asked, stopping the others descent with a firm grip on his hips.

"I'm fine. Like I said, it's been almost two years."

Neither of them were sure how much time had passed until Lambert finally bottomed out, Aiden arching his back with a moan and a satisfied smile, "I missed you."

It was then it slammed into him like one of the mountain avalanches: This was Aiden! Aiden whimpering and writhing in his lap, Aiden tight and warm around him and so, so alive. Aiden was alive, and he was here!

"Lam?" A hand cupping his jaw brought him back. Concerned, green eye searching his face, "Where did you go just now?"

"Sorry, I -" Lambert faltered, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"Do you need to stop?"

"No! I mean." He buried his face in Aiden's shoulder, "I don't want to stop but can we....just stay like this for a bit?"

"Oh, Lam. Come here." Aiden said, changing his bruising grip on the other to a gentle hug whilst Lambert pressed his nose hard against Aiden's neck, feeling the other press kisses to the top of his head.

"Pup, you're shaking."

"I'm fine, I'm fine. S'just you being here. Doesn't feel real."

"... Lambert, I need you to listen for a minute. Alright?"

Lambert nodded before he felt Aiden gently guide his head until one ear was pressed over his Witcher slow heart.

"Hear that? I'm real, this is real. I'm here."

Lambert gave a small whimper in response, still trembling with the sudden emotional upheaval as his hands wandered over every part of the other he could reach, the Cat only pausing in his litany of reassurances to give a small gasp when Lambert's fingers brushed over where they were joined, "That's it. You feel that? Me and you together again. Just as it should be, and that's how it's going to stay now."

"You promise?"

Aiden tilted the Wolf's head up, amber eyes full of emotions usually banked deep, deep down as he brushed their noses together.

"I promise."

22 from the prompt list? if you want to, of course.

Thanks for the prompt, anon! <3

22. “They won’t take you away from me ever again.”

Jaytim; established relationship; warning for brief description of eye trauma (not serious)

--

The first thing Jason does is check his pulse.

When he feels fluttering life under his fingertips and marks the shallow rise and fall of his chest, some of the anger collapses into jittery relief.

Some.

Tim's face is bloody and bruised, his cheek swelling purple under his mask. There are electrical burns on his uniform— they must have gotten creative when they couldn't get him fully out of the costume. He's trussed up, his bare hands bound and hanging from a meat hook in the center of the dank, round cell. Seeing it, Jason would like to return to the floor above them and cash in every cent of good will he's earned with the bats.

But the toes of Tim's boots barely brush the floor, and instead of giving in to murderous impulse, the second thing Jason does is hoist an arm around his waist to take the weight off of his shoulders.

When he does, Tim gasps, a wounded sound that nearly sends Jason right over the edge.

"You know," Jason says through gritted teeth as he saws through the ropes, his jovial tone sounding strained even to himself. "This is a pretty needlessly convoluted way to get out of doing dishes. Do we need to rethink the chore wheel?"

The last of the straps around Tim's wrists give way with a snap. Tim's strangled cry is loud in his ear, and Jason grunts as he bears Tim down to the floor.

"Because you can just ask if you want to rethink the chore wheel."

He runs through the checklist— spine: intact; head injury: negative. Unless you count the black eye and the split lip and—

Baby blues peer out at him from narrow slits. His pupils are mismatched; possible concussion but a drug is also likely, and the white of one eye is nearly consumed by bloody red. They're the prettiest thing Jason's seen all night.

"...H'd?"

"Yeah," he says roughly. "I've got you, babybird. I'm here."

"Tal'ns. Mayor's off'ce. Midnight."

God. Even beaten half to death and drugged out of his mind, Tim still has the wherewithal to deliver cryptic warnings. Jason might swoon. And they say romance is dead.

"I hear ya. Don't worry— it's taken care of."

It was the last transmission they received from Red Robin, before he cut out. There had been arguing in his comm for all of five seconds before the roar of Jason's bike drowned it out.

"Mm. 'kay." Tim blinks, and flops a hand to Jason's wrist. Aside from some scratches and chipped nails, his fingers are miraculously intact. He clasps their hands together.

"C'n we go home?"

Jason's chest clenches.

“Yeah. Yeah we can."

He pulls Tim to his feet, then into his arms when he can't stand. He walks them out the way he came.

Ten steps down the corridor, Tim jerks in his hold.

"Talons— the mayor—"

Jason shushes him.

"Hey, hey. You already told me. We've got it."

"But—"

"It's being dealt with. We'll get them. And they won’t take you away from me. Ever again.”

The last part slips out without Jason's permission, tight from his throat. Tim only sighs and turns his face into Jason's neck. Jason takes them home.

It's an empty promise. Not because he won't try to keep it, but because there's no way to guarantee it and they both know it. The Court has its scrawny little claws in every crack and crevice of Gotham, and there's no telling who's behind every mask.

The streets would run red and he'd lose Tim anyway.

drawing Them in this particular scene was actually devastating to my emotional well-being :D

Hey author! I can't choose, it's too difficult! Soo I'm giving you this awesome opportunity to choose! 😁 (Or do everything your call no pressure)

A= aftercare

R= Risk

T= Turn ons

H= Hair

U= Unfair

R D Dirty Secret (please choose this please choose this pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease)

Oh my God, Anon well done!

I hadn't noticed that it formed ARTHUR until I started writing.

A: Arthur never does things by halves. After the intensity, he's infinitely gentle. He lies against you, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your temples, rubbing his nose against yours. He checks that you're breathing well, that you're comfortable, that you've got water, a tender word on the lips. I love you, I'm here. You've been wonderful. Tell him what you want, and he'll do it. And when you fall asleep in his arms, his chest will swell with the quiet pride of having taken care of you like no one else ever will. Because you're his.

R : Risk? He doesn't care, as long as you agree. He could very well drag you to a risky place, kiss you against a wall, hands and lips wandering, dirty words that shouldn't be said in public or outside a bedroom. He flirts with the limit, but only if you agree - because in his world, you come first.

T ; You're what's driving him crazy. Watching you blush, hesitate… then surrender to him. Feeling yourself give in. Your nervous little movements, the moans you barely hold back, his name on your lips. He's obsessed with the sensation of being chosen by you, again,and again. And yes, the idea of filling you, of keeping you, of binding you to him in a way that no one can erase, makes him completely spin.

H ; He loves your hair, gently pushing it away from your face when you're sleeping, wrapping it around his fingers when you're both lying against each other. pushing it over your shoulder to kiss the back of your neck. He usually has his hair under control, but in the act it's a mess and he likes you to run your fingers through it.

U : Arthur doesn't always play fair. He knows exactly where to put his hands, where to press his gaze, what to say to make you yield or plead. He can be devilishly slow, provocative, and perfectly calm while you lose your head.

R D : Arthur has fantasies he'd never express unless prompted. Despite his calm, controlled appearance, he wants to let himself go. To be led. To be undone. Sometimes he imagines you taking control, gently but firmly, while he tries to behave, to be a good boy while you tell him what to do. He loves the idea of being laid bare, in every sense of the word. But it also terrifies him. What if he disappoints you?

hiii! for the ask game, an au where jc gets de-aged post-canon to his freshly traumatized 17 year old self? playing happy family in cloud recesses, wwx is brutally pulled out of his ‘the past is in the past’ bubble when he finds out. for extra knives, maybe wn tells him

1. I think it should be JL, and not WN, who tells WWX. JL is invested in JC (and in JC and WWX’s relationship)! WN is mostly invested in #getwreckedSLJ.

WWX doesn't really understand what JL expects of him - WWX’s heart leaped when he understood the content of JL’s letter, and his belly twisted as though he was going to be sick, but he managed to calm down enough to write a reassuring letter back to JL. (Surely that was what JL expected, right?) WWX had to sit on his own hands to keep from doing something stupid like grabbing a sword and flying off, and then he had to ask to LWJ to distract him, because it keeps buzzing, buzzing under his skin.

There's no new letter from JL. WWX forces himself to think it means everything went back to normal. And makes himself distracted (he loves his husband!) before his mind trips down the path of what if not. (JL wouldn't write then. He'd show up.)

2. There’s no second letter but JL shows up. WWX, who's been thinking that there was no reason for JL to come but if things had gone worst with JC, doesn't know what he looks like when he sees JL and doesn't really register the sound of people sliding their swords out.

“You have to come, why didn't you come! I had to leave jiujiu because you weren't coming, and I'm going to have to return to Jinlintai once I’ve brought you back, so grab your things, shibo. Oh, you don't need to take much, LP will put you up with what you need. What matters is going back so jiujiu can see you.”

JC is alive. JC is alive. Once the news break through the dull rushing sound in WWX’s ears, tension he didn't know had frozen his body seeps away.

The Jin disciple accompanying JL puts his sword away, under the misapprehension that WWX isn't ready to leave right away. LWJ says WWX’s name and presses his arm, and WWX nods fiercely. No time to waste, is there? Now JC wants him there.

3. There’s a disciple of YMJ as a welcoming committee when they fly down, or maybe two; WWX doesn't pay attention, he leaves JL and LWJ to deal with them - “hey, wait!” JL yelps, “do you even know where you’re going?”

WWX’s feet slow, stop. LP is changed. WWX isn't even sure JC left the infirmary where it once was.

JL catches up with an annoyed, worried huff. He sounds just like JC. “Here, this way.”

4. JC looks– JC looks.

WWX’s legs give up from under him.

JC looks at him with an intense frown, features almost twisted in desperation - WWX’s name on his lips. WWX scrambles on the ground, knees banging on the polished wood, fingers feverishly untangled as he reaches for the long-lost shape of WWX’s shidi, crumpled as discarded hopes, slight as a memory.

“You– why are you here?” JC's words fall like stones on WWX’s bones before WWX can reassure himself JC’s real. “They told me you live in Gusu. You don't even look like yourself, why did you come back?”

How like JC! One thousand words to cut through WWX like one thousand blades. WWX ignores him, fists his hands in JC's robes, presses his face against JC’s thighs. He needs to feel the warmth of JC’s body, make sure he’s not a ghost, not a dream.

JC's hand on his shoulder, shaking. WWX is suddenly reminded of JC’s hands pushing him down, this same JC throttling him. It feels like the last time they touched, did JC ever touch him after that, did WWX let him?

5. “I’ll fix it – I promise, JC, I’ll make it right,” WWX breathes, recklessly, helplessly. How easy it is to fall back into these old, dizzying habits!

JC’s eyes are full of shattered distrust and cloudy hopes, like he’s been told WWX lies, like he still believes WWX first.

fic concept: jaskier is restless to get to sleep most nights, so geralt tends to drop off before him. as jaskier watches geralt falling asleep, he notices an odd behavior. geralt touches himself-- not sexually or anything, just things like firmly squeezing a bicep, running his fingers over his collarbone. it seems subconcious, like he maybe doesnt even realize he's doing it, and jaskier cant figure out why he does it. but a few weeks after he starts noticing this behavior, he starts putting things together. he sees geralt flinch back from people's hands, and more importantly sees people flinch away from geralt. geralt's hand brushing an innkeeper's as a room key is passed on gets flexed fingers, a contemplative look. geralt's so touch deprived, his skin hunger is so bad, he unconciously soothes himself to sleep by replicating the feeling of someone else touching him, touching patches of skin that likely havent been touched in years.

☀️