Hi babe! Get ready, here come the Lambden prompts 💗
“Tell me who did this to you.”
🥺🥺.
oh Stina... you’re the best.
tw: PTSD, nonverbal Lambert (at the beginning), protective Aiden, anti-Witcher sentiments, angsty-ish with a happy ending
---
“Lamb?” Aiden asks, padding silently across the pitch-black room. He avoids every obstacle easily, much like that cats his school is named for, and stops to kneel beside his travel companion. He doesn’t touch, he knows better than to touch, but he whispers gently, hands hovering: “Lambert, are you okay?”
The Wolf Witcher is curled into a ball in the darkest corner of the room, his golden eyes dilated strangely and his breathing catchy and uneven. Aiden waves his hands in front of Lambert’s eyes and sighs when there’s no reaction at all; Lambert doesn’t get like this very often, but when he does it can be a long time before he feels safe enough to even speak aloud.
That’s okay. Aiden can wait.
And he does wait, patiently, a few inches away from Lambert but close enough for the Wolf to feel his residual body heat. He waits with his eyes alert and focused on his friend, his arms waiting to embrace even as he keeps his distance. He lets the silent minutes pass and then, maybe twenty or so minutes after he entered the room, Lambert blinks slowly back to consciousness.
“Aiden?” he rasps. “How long have you been sitting here?”
“Only a little while,” the Cat replies, smiling in abject relief. “How are you?”
“A bit... better?”
Aiden frowns at the fear in Lambert’s voice. He glowers fiercely and grabs one of Lambert’s clammy hands in both of his, holding it tightly against the very center of his chest. He makes sure the Wolf can feel his heart, beating an erratic but loving tattoo. “Oh, my love, tell me who did this to you.”
“My love!?” Lambert nearly chokes on his own tongue. “My- What!?”
“I thought it was obvious,” Aiden blushes. “Anyway, that’s not the issue at hand. Who hurt you, Lamb?”
“Just some idiot villagers,” the Wolf shrugs. Aiden wraps his slender arms around his Red Wolf’s broad shoulders and buries his nose in the slightly younger man’s neck. “Being mean.”
“They do that,” Aiden comforts the best he can. He squeezes his arms and feels Lambert relax into the embrace, snuggling back into Aiden’s warmth. “Now, let’s get into bed. I’m tired and sore from that hunt.”
Lambert nods and stands, offering Aiden a hand up. The Cat accepts, and lets his little Wolf lead him to bed and tuck them safely in.
Tomorrow... Tomorrow he’ll stab whoever made his Lambert sad. Tonight he has some feelings to explain.
For a prompt, what about geraksier in whatever setting, they’re JUST FRIENDS OK, until one of them starts to get jealous and then realises OH. Oh no. And then some sort of confession and they get together?
ILY 😘💕🦐
This!
This...
This cannot be happening.
Geralt is a Witcher! He’s a strong, emotionally unavailable, incredibly stoic monster-slayer with an empty black void where his heart should be; or at least that’s what he’d thought before this gorgeous blue-eyed idiot came traipsing into his life all full of love and sunshine and happiness and shit.
Forcing Geralt to confront his toxic traits and overcome them.
Telling Geralt how sweet and kind and caring he is, reminding the grumpy Witcher how often he tends to get involved in things and how to work through those things more carefully, treating Geralt like an actual person and not just a machine made for killing...
It’s absolutely gods-damned infuriating!
And now, watching the bard flirt rather badly with a handsome stable hand from across the tavern, Geralt feels his not-so-calloused heart seize and burn and throb. His palms begin to sweat as his fists clench and his face heats; he’s jealous. He’s jealous of this nameless backwater village boy who will probably not make it past fifty years of age.
Geralt is jealous of him because Jaskier is twirling a lock of his ruddy auburn hair around one lute-calloused finger and smiling at him. A smile that Geralt covets. A smile that Geralt desires.
He growls and hides his face in his mug of beer. He won’t let it show. Won’t let the world see that Witchers can be broken down and cracked open and hurt.
Not Geralt of Rivia.
But then Jaskier shoots him that look. The one with the wide, curious eyes and the little pink tongue that darks out to wet his plush lips and...
Geralt is suddenly standing. Suddenly striding across the hay-strewn wooden floor to Jaskier’s side.
Oh fuck.
That thing, the thing that Geralt knew could not be happening?
How bout... Jask’s parents are away for the weekend and the boys have a sleepover. And like... not a party, but a cute like... I dunno, they read comics together and watch cartoons and canoodle, or something.
Dunno. Thoughts. I just love them 🤣🤣 If this makes you think of something else go with that! 😘
Thx ILY
Oh yes, Stina. This is what I needed. Comin’ through for me yet again. I also may have borrowed your fort building idea, please forgive me.
also tagging @racheld93 and @221bsunsettowers who love the 80′s shenanigans
---
Geralt slid through the open window and landed almost soundlessly in Jaskier’s bedroom. “You could, like, come through the front door next time, if you want.”
“Fuck, you’re right,” the quarterback chuckled, shaking his white hair out of his face. “I forgot your parents weren’t home.”
“And also that the sun is still out?”
“What? It’s not like the neighborhood isn’t already aware of our window-climbing escapades.”
Jaskier rolled his eyes and hopped off his bed to give his boyfriend a smooch on the cheek. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“Very,” the older boy smirked, grabbing his boyfriend by the waist and pulling him in for a long, slow kiss on the lips. Not making out, not Frenching, just kissing a lot and all at once. “And even luckier to manage to get with someone like you.”
“I already did,” the quarterback preened. “Now, where are the extra blankets? We’re going to turn your living room into a snuggly wonderland!”
Jaskier clapped with excitement and ushered him down the short upstairs hallway to the linen closet. He loaded the senior’s strong arms with sheets and comforters and even one downy old blanket that smelled like his long-dead grandmother’s cheap perfume.
“Is that all?” Geralt teased. Jaskier pouted up at him and it was adorable.
“Yes, thank you.”
---
Jaskier had been exhausted, apparently. They’d loaded their rented copy of Alien into the VCR and not half an hour later the junior had fallen asleep with his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Geralt had gathered him into his arms and laid him down on the thickest blanket he could find. He wrapped Jaskier up like a burrito with a thin comforter and gently ran his hand through his boyfriend’s thick brown hair over and over, lulling himself into a state of drowsiness through repetition alone.
“Come snuggle,” Jaskier demanded quietly, making grabby hands at Geralt. The quarterback acquiesced, sliding himself down next to Jaskier and letting the movie continue on mute. He tucked the junior’s slim body against his taller, broader one and let Jaskier get comfortable. “Better.”
“I love you, Jaskier. Sweet dreams, babydoll.”
“Sweet dreams, hot stuff,” Jaskier replied, his hand already tangled in the front of Geralt’s shirt as if he was a teddy bear or safety blanket. “See you for breakfast. I’m making waffles.”
What about Jaskier gets hurt in the Captain Geralt AU? For whump/hurt/comfort.
😘😘.
I will defend you to my dying breath, lovely Stina.
---
“Geralt!”
The Captain whipped his head around and froze when his eyes fell on Jaskier. Starkey and Lambert were desperately trying to pull him out from beneath a piece of the enemy ship’s fallen mizzenmast. It had the half-siren pinned to the deck and neither of his crewmates seemed to be able to budge the hefty slab of cured oak.
“Captain, come quick,” Starkey cried. “He can’t breathe!”
“Eskel, you know what to do.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Geralt flew across the deck and dropped to his knees beside Lambert. He lodged the back of his shoulder against the mast and heaved with all his might, dislodging it just enough for Starkey to pull Jaskier to safety. He collapsed back with a shaky, relieved grunt. “How is he!?”
“Unconscious. It also feels like he’s got a few broken ribs, Captain, but he seems to be breathing again.”
The fight had been brief but violent; Geralt’s crew managed to subdue the merchant vessel’s just in the nick of time. “Starkey, take him back to our cabin and fetch Jukes. I want him bandaged however necessary. Eskel and I will secure the prize and organize any new crewmembers.”
“Aye, Captain,” Starkey nodded, cradling Jaskier in his arms as tenderly as if it was his own beloved. “We’ll get him sorted.”
“I trust you.”
They were heavy words from any Captain, but from Geralt they were extra meaningful. Starkey tried not to let too much emotion show on his face until he was well and truly clear of his friend’s line of vision.
---
“Huh?” Jaskier croaked, trying to sit up. A gentle hand at his shoulder kept him pinned against his pillow. “Geralt?”
“Oh, Jaskier, thank Neptune.”
“What happened?”
“A piece of their damaged mizzenmast fell on top of you during the fight. Starkey, Lambert and I got you free. Jukes bandaged you up; you’ll be bed ridden for at least three weeks until those cracked ribs finish healing.”
“Cracked ribs!?” Jaskier gasped, which made him wince. “Fuck, you’re right.”
“No singing or galivanting or prancing, okay? Just let us take care of you.”
“I do not prance,” Jaskier huffed. Geralt rolled his eyes and pressed a soft kiss to the center of his wife’s forehead. Jaskier smirked and let his Voice come rolling out, “Kiss me again, husband. Kiss me on the lips.”
Geralt could not disobey. Nor did he really want to.
