Everyone Knows Jayce Is Obsessed With Touching Viktor. People Around Them Have Bets Trying To Guess How

For the kinks prompts, how about some Geraskier for 23. possessiveness?

(possessiveness, 2.7k, explicit, trans jaskier, jaskier has a vagina, semi-public sex, also on ao3)

happy belated birthday @kueble! hope you like it! ❤️

(and then this ended up being kind of a birthday gift to me, too)

sam is this guy, also featured in this wonderful verse and the sam the baker tag. his simeon in particular is the creation of @valdomarx!

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The afterparty in the library is a merry thing, good food and good wine flowing as Oxenfurt’s finest (and their less fine) celebrate the triumphant victor of the annual bardic competition. Jaskier’s pink-cheeked with the thrill of it, basking in the glow of his adoring fans. He’s accepted many a drink and congratulations from eager partygoers, though he’s turned down the barrage of their other offers, to their chagrin.

It’s a very new thing, between Jaskier and the sharp-eyed witcher nursing his drink between bookshelves. Jaskier’s unaccustomed to refusing advances on behalf of an actual possible reason, not merely tormented wanting. He’s still not sure Geralt wants something exclusive, that he’s not himself tempted by the intrigued glances aimed in his direction.

They…haven’t exactly talked about it.

Jaskier does know him well enough, though, to recognize Geralt’s deepening scowl when a burly, kind-eyed baker approaches. Jaskier meets Geralt’s gaze and flashes him a look that he hopes conveys just a little longer, I’ll be right there.

He doesn’t want to rush this exchange, though. Sam’s not like the rest—he’s the very best baker in town, and after commiserating over their shared woes, he’d once kept Jaskier quite warm during one of the winters Geralt had left him for Kaer Morhen.

“—and you were right, of course,” Sam’s saying, smiling warmly at him. “Being direct was the best way. That and the brioche.”

“Gods, your sinful brioche!” Jaskier groans. “Wait—so—you and Simeon at last?”

Sam blushes, his curls bouncing as he nods.

“We’re to be handfasted come the solstice,” he says, and Jaskier’s heart swells with happiness for his friend.

“Oh, Sam!” he exclaims, “I’m so happy for you!”

“And I you, my dear Jaskier. Quite the victory tonight.” Sam claps him on the shoulder, his warm eyes softening. “It’s good to hear you singing happier songs, my friend.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier says, smiling. Sam inclines his head in the direction of the man in the corner.

“That’s him, isn’t it? Watching us like he’d like to throttle me?” He grins knowingly. “Another victory, then?”

It’s Jaskier’s turn to blush.

“I—something like that.”

Sam’s smile broadens.

“Good. Good. You deserve the best, you know.”

“As do you, you darling boy.”

Jaskier sinks into Sam’s embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of cinnamon.

“Go on,” Sam whispers. “I know you want to. I’ll cover for you, it’s all right,” he adds with a wink.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says gratefully. “Can we come by the bakery before we leave town?”

Sam chuckles. “I’ll have honey cakes ready for you both.”

Jaskier squeezes his arm in gratitude, and makes his way through the crowd, shaking off admirers as he goes.

“Hey,” he says, somewhat breathless, as he reaches Geralt’s corner.

Geralt hums, staring daggers at a particularly interested young lord near Jaskier’s shoulder.

“You know,” Jaskier starts, tracing his thumb Geralt’s knuckles where they’re white around his mug. “I’m not going home with any of them. You know that, right?”

Geralt’s brows knit. He’s still not looking at Jaskier.

“You can do what you want.” The words come through gritted teeth, a muscle in his clenched jaw twitching. Jaskier’s heart twists.

“I want you, you must know that by now! I just…didn’t want to assume you wanted me…you know, to yourself. Or in public.”

Geralt’s frown doesn’t loosen, but he looks at Jaskier now. And oh, the blazing gold of that gaze makes heat surge through Jaskier’s whole body.

“What?”

“I don’t know the rules of this!” Jaskier hisses. “It’s all so new! I—I want everyone to know I’m yours, Geralt. Fuck, I’ve wanted it since I was eighteen and all the more now that I know what it means to be yours. I just…don’t want to scare you off.”

“How would it—”

“I want you so badly, Geralt,” Jaskier says, and the heat has spread to his cheeks now, he knows he’s blushing, he can’t stop. “I want to be yours so badly. But if you just want to be casual, if you want me to see other people, or to stay apart while we’re in public, well, that’s…fine. I’ll take whatever you give me.”

For one terrifying moment, Geralt stares at him, unreadable. And then—

It’s a deep crushing sort of kiss, nothing like the tentative, tender ones they’ve shared so far. Geralt’s big hands on him, one heavy as it cradles his head, the other pulling him close at the small of his back. Geralt licks into his mouth and it’s dizzyingly romantic and terribly, magnificently demonstrative, making Jaskier’s knees turn to water.

“Oh,” he says, breathless. He’s grinning like a fool. Geralt’s still holding him tightly, breathing hard as if he’s just come from a hunt. Jaskier hears, vaguely, the young lord behind him heave a disappointed sigh and turn away. Jaskier clears his throat. “Shall we, ah, make our way back to the room, then?”

“Through the rabbit warren of this place?” Geralt groans.

“It’s a fifteen minute walk,” Jaskier laughs, wonderfully light-headed at the thought of Geralt wanting him now.

Geralt leans in. Takes Jaskier’s lower lip between his teeth, and tugs.

“Know anywhere closer?”

*

Jaskier drags Geralt through the outskirts of the crowd, hiding behind his bulk as best as he can as he maneuvers his lover through an unassuming doorway and the narrow corridor behind it. It’s just a few steps until it opens into the wide, windowed archival room, crowded with precious manuscripts, towering shelves, and sturdy tables for individual study. It’s blessedly empty, though the chatter of the party filters through the corridor; this room has no lock, as the only entrance is the one which they just came through.

“Ah, there’s no couches or anything, but we could—mmph!”

Geralt shoves him against the nearest shelf with a groan of relief, heedless of the books that teeter perilously with the force of it. He shoves his thick, muscled thigh between Jaskier’s legs and Jaskier melts against him, grinding helplessly as Geralt spurs him on, those strong hands rolling Jaskier’s hips. The friction is exquisite, and Jaskier blushes as Geralt deepens the kiss. He knows Geralt can smell his slick.

“I don’t want casual,” Geralt growls. “I don’t want you to see other people. I don’t want to stay apart.” He presses his leg higher and Jaskier whimpers. He could almost come just like this, especially if Geralt keeps saying these things. Geralt shakes his head, his fingers bruise-tight on Jaskier’s hips. “I want to make you mine. I want everyone to know. I want it so badly I’m…terrified.”

“What?” Jaskier whispers, smoothing the hair from Geralt’s face where it’s fallen from the braid Jaskier’d set it in. “Why?”

“Are you joking?” Geralt snorts. “Jaskier. I’ve been standing in the corner wishing I’d bitten my claim into you last night so everyone knows you’re mine. You are your own person. The star of this night, of this town. And you should be! Fuck, you’re magnificent.” He shakes his head, nuzzles Jaskier’s jaw. “And I—this is—I don’t want to scare you away. To ask for more than you want to offer.”

Jaskier groans, rocking against him, and pulls him into another searing kiss.

“Doesn’t make me any less of my own person to be yours, Geralt,” he whispers. “I want to be yours! Fuck, are you joking? I’ve wanted it for years, please, please.”

Geralt blinks at him.

“You’re serious. You’re sure?”

“Mark me,” Jaskier pants, tilting his chin in offering, clawing at Geralt’s clothes. “Claim me, fuck me, Geralt! I love you, I want you, I’m yours. All yours. I don’t want anyone else.”

“I love you,” Geralt murmurs, pressing against him. “I don’t want anyone else either.”

They’ve only said it a handful of times. I love you. And never like this, never a promise, a claim.

Jaskier laughs in relief, biting his lip to try and stay quiet. And then Geralt’s fumbling with the bow on the back of his trousers, and he lets out a helpless moan.

“I’m not waiting another fucking minute to get my mouth on you,” Geralt growls.

Everything goes a bit fuzzy, a whirlwind of wonder and desire. Geralt drags Jaskier’s pants and braies to his ankles, spreads his legs as far as they’ll go, and sinks to his knees to bury his face in Jaskier’s cunt.

Jaskier tries to muffle his cry in the heel of his hand, his head falling back against the weathered spines of the books. He’s slippery with slick and Geralt eats him like he’s fucking starving, fingers digging into Jaskier’s ass and bringing him as deep into his mouth as he can. Jaskier’s trousers trap his ankles, and even though at first he longs to fling his legs around Geralt’s shoulders like usual, the angle seems to give Geralt pronounced access to his swollen clit, which Geralt uses to his advantage.

“Oh fuck,” Jaskier whispers, “oh fuck, Geralt.”

It’s Geralt, really, who ends up needing to force himself to be quiet. He whines into Jaskier’s pussy, wriggling his tongue as deep as he can between Jaskier’s folds, lapping at his slick and groaning as if it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs, gazing up at Jaskier through eyes heavy with desire. “And you’re all mine.”

“Yours,” Jaskier breathes, his chest heaving, “yours, yours.”

Jaskier’s come to suspect Geralt loves doing this, and bites back a grin as he senses Geralt trying to focus, for once, instead of lavishing Jaskier with his mouth for ages as he usually does, bringing him to the edge over and over until Jaskier’s a sobbing mess, shaking all over and screaming when Geralt finally lets him peak.

This time, Geralt swirls his tongue around Jaskier’s clit in the precise way he knows gets him off quick. Usually it takes at least a finger inside him to bring him off this fast too, but something about Geralt’s hunger for him, the party next door, you’re all mine—

Jaskier comes with a long, high moan, as quietly as he can. Geralt licks him hard through it, eager and reverent, that perfect, rough tongue drawing out his pleasure. Jaskier trembles, tangling his fingers in Geralt’s hair, grinding into Geralt’s mouth as he peaks a sharper, sweeter second time, Geralt snarling in feverish appreciation as Jaskier overflows.

Jaskier’s still seeing stars when Geralt pulls off him, with one last tantalizing kiss on his sensitive clit.

“You’re gonna fuck me, right?” Jaskier whispers. Geralt kisses him and Jaskier goes weak at the taste of himself, the nudge of Geralt’s perfect tongue making his cunt throb again.

“You’re sure?” Geralt murmurs, thumbing Jaskier’s lower lip. He’s so close, he smells so good, and fuck, Jaskier can feel that big, powerful cock straining through his trousers.

“Yeah,” Jaskier says, his voice breaking on it. “Didn’t you want to…bite your claim into me? So everyone knows I’m yours?”

“Jask,” Geralt says into his jaw, sounding strangled. “We’re going to have to walk past all of them on the way out. You’ve got your congratulatory banquet tomorrow morning, and then we’re going home.” And oh, it makes Jaskier giddy that Geralt wants him to think of Kaer Morhen as home, all the giddier that he already does. “I shouldn’t leave any marks. They’ll see. They’ll all see.”

Jaskier takes Geralt’s face in his hands and looks him in the eye.

“I want them to,” he says. “Don’t you?”

The look on Geralt’s face is something Jaskier will never forget. It’s a blaze of desire, warm love cracking through the last of Geralt’s defenses.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I really fucking do.”

And then Geralt spins him, manhandling his front against the bookshelves. Jaskier barely has time to register what’s happening and brace himself on a shelf as Geralt unbuckles his trousers and slides into his slick cunt, covering Jaskier’s mouth with his palm just in time to muffle Jaskier’s scream of pleasure.

This, this feels like coming home. The way Geralt parts him, opens him, fills him so thoroughly and so fucking good. It feels more right than anything Jaskier’s ever done, every single time.

“Move,” he whispers into Geralt’s hand.

His eyes roll back as Geralt does, fucking him in long, hard strokes, his free hand yanking Jaskier back onto his cock with every thrust. Jaskier almost never comes from penetration alone, but he’s still tingling from his orgasms, and then Geralt sinks his fucking teeth into Jaskier’s throat just beneath his jaw, sucking a hard, obvious bruise there. Something about the sharp ache of it makes everything feel extra wild and wonderful, Geralt’s hunger for him and the way Jaskier had loved him in secret for so long, and now Geralt wants the whole world to know. And another on his shoulder, and another just behind his ear, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin as his cock hits Jaskier’s g-spot at exactly the fucking angle that makes him bright with pleasure, and Jaskier comes harder than he has in his life, writhing in Geralt’s grasp, sobbing into his palm as the ecstasy pulses through him.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, “please.”

Geralt snarls in his ear, pleased, possessive. He pulls out of him and Jaskier whimpers, but it’s only to yank Jaskier’s trousers off of one foot and lay him out on his back on the nearest desk, sinking into him so deep. He works his thumb over Jaskier’s clit and Jaskier arches, muffling his cry in his fist as he comes again, sweating and twitching and alight with it. Geralt fucks him hard as he’s coming down, bending over him, his hips stuttering in a way that tells Jaskier he’s close.

Jaskier wraps his arms around him and holds him, reveling in the stretch and the rhythm of it. Over Geralt’s shoulder, he can see the familiar starry designs etched in the ceiling. He used to spend evenings reading in this very room as a student, but more recently, he used to spend tortured winters here writing sad, angry songs about Geralt. He’d been so defined by his heartache for so long, and now, fuck, now—if he’d known then what he would get to have, oh.

He squeezes Geralt tight, moaning in delight as Geralt wrecks another bit of his throat with his teeth.

“You’re so fucking good, love, fuck,” Jaskier tells him, shivering and grinning helplessly. “You make me feel better than anyone else, no one fucks me like you, no one loves me like you. I love you, I love you, I’m yours.”

Geralt groans, thrusting harder.

“I’m yours,” he murmurs. “Fuck, Jask—I’m—”

It occurs to Jaskier very suddenly that perhaps they’re not entirely equipped for him to walk back to their room with his pussy dripping come.

“Ah—here, love. Let me.”

Geralt pulls out of him with a regretful sound, but it turns rakish when Jaskier slips off the desk and onto his knees, wrapping his lips around Geralt’s throbbing cock.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, in something like awe.

He barely has time to savour the taste of himself before Geralt’s spilling down his throat and the two tastes mingle perfectly, thick with sex and sweet with love. Jaskier’s intoxicated by it, hollowing his cheeks to get every drop.

Geralt sinks onto the floor to join him, gathering Jaskier in his arms. Their breathing slows, the passionate heat of the magic between them easing to a glowing, familiar warmth.

“I love you,” Geralt murmurs. “Fuck.” He nuzzles the bruises on Jaskier’s throat, petting over the marks on his chest in wonder. He makes a low, growling, beautifully possessive sound, and Jaskier grins in his arms.

“I know,” he whispers, and kisses him.

Presently they tug on their clothes, trying to rearrange each other into something only moderately scandalous. There’s no mirror in the library, but Jaskier’s beginning to ache all over in the best way, so he suspects he looks quite wrecked indeed.

“Congratulations again, Jask,” Geralt says, earnest. “You really did well tonight. I—” he grins, somewhat sheepish. “I love your singing.”

They will walk back through the party, and Jaskier will wave a gracious tonight to all his jealous admirers, wearing Geralt’s bite proud on his throat. Tomorrow, he’ll be celebrated again, and then he’ll get to go to Kaer Morhen and have Geralt show him off to his whole family.

It’s not the first time Jaskier’s taken home the grand prize, but it’s the first time he really, truly feels like he’s won.

Cuddle 💜

14 years and 20+

each time you talk about the werewolf fic in the tags of a post just know i'm eating up every new piece of lore

oh gosh i meant to answer this so long ago OTL I'm so glad you eat it up, ME TOO when I actually have the brain for it TuT i've been in a mini-slump for werewolf fic, but yesterday i wrote a new scene that I'd really like to fit into it and it's making me go OwO over that fic again lol

Jason finds him.

It’s not a full moon, so he’s not really sure what to expect. Tim hasn’t done anything to piss him off lately, or he can’t think of anything he’s done that could have pissed off Jason lately, so he doesn’t think Jason came with a bone to pick. Which is good, because Tim can’t— Tim doesn’t want to fight right now. He could, if he had to. But he doesn’t want to because the thought of dancing their usual dance to its usual conclusion makes him even more nauseous than he already is. 

And even if they don’t reach that finale, even if Jason wouldn’t push for it... with the state he’s in, him plus Jason plus fighting would send him skidding down a much deeper spiral. And that would really fucking suck right now. 

He can’t be that weak in front of him.

Sweat clings damp and cold to his upper lip, clammy and horrible. His fingers are buzzing, itchy and hot and slowly losing all delicate feeling; he tries to straighten them out but they tremble and shake no matter how he concentrates on them to stop it stop it stop stopstop— and his heart rate is already fast enough, it doesn’t need the help. So he closes them into fists and shoves them around himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

He knows Jason caught sight of him because he saw the flash of a red helmet pausing on the rooftop across the street, and Tim has the fleeting hope that by the time Jason gets here, he’ll be able to stand without the brick wall supporting him.

He nearly convinces himself that his breathing is under control when he flinches, eyes blinking open instinctively, as a pair of gloved fingers snap in front of his face.

“Hey,” Jason’s rough voice bites. “You finally with me, dumbass?”

putting in my order

I'll want this on my desk by *checks clock* april 31th

Skxnfjsk I'll add it to the WIP pile 😂 I'm working on a secret project rn, and ww fic continues to sit on the backburner 😔 but you got it captain o7 I do intensely crave this for Tim... Maybe au where Jason is the babysitter who takes the job but doesn't expect the young professional dilf who has no idea what he's doing... Who unexpectedly helps heal the damaged relationship between Tim and the rest of his estranged family... Hmm... Possibilities...

✨Together into the embrace of the Arcane✨

@alllthequeenshorses​ yeah no I actually had to draw something with that because it’s too fun a situation to imagine

Kink prompt 8+19 🤗

(edging + eating out, explicit, 1.2k, jaskier has a vagina, also on ao3)

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps, squirming beneath him. “Yes, yes, yes, oh—no!” He arches, trying to return Geralt’s mouth to his dripping cunt. “You bastard,” he whines, his breath hitching.

“You love it.”

Jaskier’s laugh chokes into a moan as Geralt lets his warm breath ghost over Jaskier’s shiny, swollen clit.

“Fuck,” Jaskier hisses, his ankles locked around Geralt’s shoulders. “Fuck, fuck—”

“You’re so wet for me,” Geralt murmurs, a hint of wonder in his voice. “You taste so fucking good.” He touches his tongue to Jaskier’s clenching core, nudging the tip of it inside. Jaskier sobs, trying to bear down on him, but Geralt holds his hips steady. He hums in pleasure as Jaskier parts for him, as Jaskier’s slick floods his senses. It’s better than being drunk, the thick, sweet smell of him, the heady, perfect taste, the way it pools on his tongue.

Geralt opens his eyes and nearly falters in his focus.

Jaskier’s exquisite like this.

Teetering on the knife-edge of pleasure, his entire body taut as a lute-string. His face is a wreck of desperate desire, frustration, and vulnerability.

Geralt loves lavishing him in this way. It’s so much of what he likes most. Teasing Jaskier. Proving how well he knows Jaskier’s body. It’s about trust, really.

That, and licking his cunt until he cries.

Geralt tightens his grip on Jaskier’s hips and drags his tongue up Jaskier’s slit until he latches onto that pretty clit, sucking it gently as Jaskier writhes. He switches to hard, long laps up Jaskier’s labia, curling his tongue just barely inside on every upstroke. Jaskier’s making breathy little bitten-off sounds now, overwhelmed and endearingly musical.

“Please,” he begs, his chest heaving, his knuckles white on the sheets. “Please, please…”

Geralt hums. He settles on Jaskier’s clit again, swirling his tongue around it just so. It’s hot to the touch, quivering. He can sense Jaskier’s cunt clenching desperately on nothing, he can hear Jaskier’s pulse through his thighs. His chin is drenched in slick.

He pulls away.

Jaskier wails.

“I was so close,” he cries, kicking his heels against Geralt’s back.

“I know.” Geralt watches as Jaskier’s denied cunt throbs.

Jaskier makes a punched out noise and reaches down to touch himself, but Geralt seizes his wrist. He looks up at Jaskier, and even through his daze Jaskier must recognize the heat in his expression, because he lets out another moan and Geralt scents another gush of slick.

He drags his tongue through it before he pushes himself up beside Jaskier on the bed. He sets him onto his side, Jaskier’s back pressed to Geralt’s chest, his ass slotted in Geralt’s lap.

“The fuck,” Jaskier says, his voice breaking, and then Geralt’s fingertips are just beside his clit, teasing his labia with a featherlight touch. “Oh, you fucker,” he half-laughs, half-sobs, baring his throat to Geralt’s mouth.

“You know you’re going to come,” Geralt murmurs. “You’re just going to wait until I let you.”

Jaskier twitches. He tries to buck his hips into Geralt’s hand, but Geralt rides the motion, keeping that same too-gentle touch.

“Come on,” Jaskier whispers, wriggling. “Why don’t you fuck me? Don’t you want me to come on your cock, love? You’ll like it, I promise—”

Geralt laughs, burying his nose in Jaskier’s sweaty hair.

“Getting desperate, Jask.”

Jaskier whines, and Geralt decides to let it backfire on him.

“You’d like it. Wouldn’t you,” he mutters. He hikes Jaskier’s thighs apart, spreads his pussy with his fingers, baring his entrance. He lets his fingertip stroke it, circling. “If I pinned you down and spread you open with my cock, right here. Fucked you so good you’d feel it in the morning, filled you up until you overflow with it.” He dips his finger in, a frictionless glide, Jaskier’s body sucking him in. “I’d eat it out of you after too, you know I would, I always love the way you taste but you know I love it especially when you taste like both of us…”

Jaskier’s nearly out of his mind now, his breath coming ragged.

“That’s not fair,” he manages, biting his lip. His eyes are squeezed shut, nearly on the brink of tears with want.

“It’s not fair how much I love you,” Geralt whispers, because he can’t help it. He goes to suck another bruise into Jaskier’s throat, but Jaskier turns instead and captures Geralt’s mouth with his, kissing him with no finesse, just desperate want and love.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, and Geralt would give anything to live in moments like this. Jaskier’s handsome face a wreck and so, so close to his. Jaskier says his name and it’s like Geralt’s hearing it for the first time, like it’s never fit him the way it does when Jaskier says it. Whoever it is that Jaskier’s naming with all that love and trust and want, that’s who Geralt wants to be.

He growls.

Shoves Jaskier onto his back again and knees his way down the bed. He takes Jaskier’s thighs into his hands and Jaskier’s trembling clit into his mouth and licks him.

Jaskier screams when he comes.

He shakes, his body jerking as he rides out wave after wave of pleasure.

Just as he starts to steady, Geralt presses two fingers into him, fucking them roughly into the spot he knows makes Jaskier see stars. This time Jaskier goes silent, his entire body going still, save for his cunt overflowing into Geralt’s mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Jaskier says again, when he can speak, “oh fuck, oh fuck—”

Geralt hums into him. He laps at Jaskier’s oversensitive clit very, very gently as he adds a third finger and curls it.

Jaskier’s hand reaches blindly for Geralt’s free one. When Geralt takes it, Jaskier squeezes hard. He’s quiet again now, save for the rough, needy sounds he makes as he grinds his hips in little circles, fucking himself down onto Geralt’s fingers and his tongue. He sobs when he comes again, his body clenching in decadent waves as Geralt pulls pleasure from him.

Geralt makes him come three more times before he sits up at last.

Jaskier’s a mess. His eyes have gone glassy, he’s pink up to his ears, his pretty cunt fucked sloppy.

Geralt sets about soothing him, just as carefully as he took him apart. A soft kiss on his panting mouth, a cool, damp cloth between his thighs, the blankets tucked up around them both even as Jaskier weakly protests about the wet spot. Geralt pours him water from the pitcher at the bedside and Jaskier drinks deeply before curling into Geralt’s arms.

He nudges his thigh between Geralt’s. Geralt’s still hard, he’s been hard all night.

“Shall I—?” Jaskier starts, but Geralt shakes his head. He cards his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, letting Jaskier settle into him.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he murmurs, planting a kiss to Jaskier’s temple. “I’m very satisfied.”

Geralt can actually feel Jaskier’s cheeks heat, where he’s pressed to Geralt’s chest.

“Oh.”

Geralt chuckles, tightening his embrace.

“Get some rest, Jask.”

“You get some rest,” Jaskier says sleepily. “You’re gonna need it…I’m gonna tease the fuck out of you tomorrow, just you wait…gonna ride you until you’re the one begging…”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s the punishment you think it is,” Geralt murmurs. Jaskier makes an offended sound, but then he’s yawning, nuzzling into Geralt’s arms.

Geralt sleeps, a good, deep sleep, and the following night, Jaskier makes good on his promise.

much better footage of the haka that shut down parliament today

Something that keeps spinning in my head is the idea of Jiang Cheng joining a nighthunt with Jin Ling, the other juniors as well as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji (maybe even Wen Ning). What happens is that Jiang Cheng gets hurt, not fatally but enough that having a healer look at it would be the smart move. But Jiang Cheng hides the injury. No one but Jin Ling clocks that there's something wrong with him. He got hit and fought through the pain, so nobody realized that he was injured. After the hunt, the group stays at the same inn. The juniors want to celebrate and Wei Wuxian isn't going to miss on an opportunity to drink and have fun. Jin Ling comes down to dinner and says that Jiang Cheng won't join. He makes a sort of downtrodden face which everyone interprets as him getting a scolding or something from Jiang Cheng. In truth, Jin Ling is worried about his uncle. Wei Wuxian who was and wasn't looking forward to having dinner with Jiang Cheng attempts to cheer Jin Ling up. Saying things like 'Jiang Cheng probably just wants attention, he's always withdrawn to sulk'. When Jin Ling goes to check on Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian tells him that he should be enjoying himself instead of indulging the childishness of a grown man.(Is that too harsh?) Jin Ling laughs and says he'll be back soon.

The next day, some Jiang disciples arrive among them someone who Wei Wuxian can identify as a healer, the others can't. Before Wei Wuxian can announce this to the group who is speculating about the Jiang group's arrival, Jin Ling asks him for a word. Which is good because Wei Wuxian also wants words.

Scene: "How could you not tell me that Jiang Cheng's been injured?" Wei Wuxian asks loudly. Jin Ling grimaes and slaps a silencing talisman on the door. What the hell?

Jin Ling glares at him. "Shout more loudly, I'm sure Nie Huaisang in Qinghe didn't hear."

"Jin Ling, you act like ...don't you trust your friends?" Wei Wuxian's chest region stings, he thought, well, it doesn't matter what presumptuous thoughts he had. His crimes cannot be recompensated.

Jin Ling rolls his eyes, "Don't be stupid. Of course, I trust you guys...," he pauses, "...but not with jiujiu."

"That makes no sense." Wei Wuxian says.

Jin Ling snorts as if Wei Wuxian is playing dumb. "Come on, none of you like jiujiu. Ouyang Zhizhen is more neutral but Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui, they believe every bad thing, they've ever heard of him. And half the time, you can't shut up about how he's the worst, not to speak of the hiding behind Hangguang-jun whenever you meet, as if you still believe he wants to hurt you." Jin Ling looks quizzically at Wei Wuxian. "I hope, I don't have to point out Hangguang-jun's or the Ghost General's regard for my jiujiu." Wei Wuxian takes a moment to gather his wits. "Hangguang-jun is honorable, he wouldn't let an ally bleed to death." "Jiujiu wasn't in any danger of bleeding to death, don't be dramatic. If it was that serious, I would speak up." Jin Ling says with some exasperation. "It wasn't anything worth owing a favor to another sect." Wei Wuxian sighs. "That's what Jiang Cheng's teaching you? That everything comes down to debts and repayment? No wonder you struggled to make friends as a child." "You're not his friends, though." Jin Ling replies.