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fan_flashworks2021-03-20 06:04 pm
peaked) wrote in fan_flashworks2021-03-20 06:04 pm
Entry tags:
The Witcher: Fanfic: words in first
Title: words in first.
Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix).
Characters: Yennefer/Geralt.
Prompt: Hold.
Rating: PG-13. Language.
Length: ~800.
Content warnings: Set/gestures vaguely somewhere in the show pre-1x06.
Author’s notes: Title is from Gabriella Cilmi’s "Sweet About Me."
Summary: Yennefer determines Geralt is more of a hummer than a conversationalist.
Yennefer smiles as she tucks his hands against her collarbone, locking them in place with her claws. Where she’s tried to dig her nails into the likes of other men and women, she keeps her touch gentle against the back of his hands as they lie in bed—or as gentle as she likes to be with him, which perhaps isn’t much of a difference to how she treats others.
Geralt makes a sound behind her as she digs her nails into the backs of his hands, head nestling into the back of her neck.
She smiles, sucking in her stomach when his fingers brush against her collarbone like he’s trying to tickle her. With him, she’s more sensitive, like he’s capable of touching the stupid, broken girl she had thought she had buried deep within the depths of herself. The movement of his fingers is too layered with sleep to really achieve anything worthwhile, but it’s enough to lull her.
Shifting slightly against him now that he’s finally awake, she asks quietly, "Are you comfortable?"
"Hm." He barely moves behind her.
Lips pinching, Yennefer smiles openly, knowing he can’t see it. "Did you sleep?"
"Hm."
Narrowing her eyes, she slides her foot to slip between his muscled legs, hooking around his calf to keep him bay in case he thinks to leave while her eyes are wide open. With the way he tucks into her back, she doubts he wants to go anywhere. She wonders if he’s capable. His arms feel like lead around her.
Clearing her throat quietly, she says, "Your hair’s tickling me."
"Hmm."
"Are you cold?"
"Mhm," he hums, the sound a deep negative. He remains still behind her as she intentionally fidgets, pushing her hips back into his. All she feels behind her is warm skin and solid bulk.
Letting out a quiet laugh, she huffs impatiently. "Do you know any other words?"
He chuckles against her neck, his nose nuzzling the back of her head. "Hm."
"Did I fuck you so well you can no longer form a singular syllable of an actual word?"
"Mhm," he hums on a chuckle. She can feel him nod against her hair.
She makes an amused noise, shaking her head. "You’re incorrigible, Geralt." His arms wrap around her tightly, tucking her to him to the point where she isn’t quite sure where she ends and he begins. It’s overly contrived to think it, but it’s true in the way his skin warms her like the fire of the friendliest dragon who happens to be a poor conversationalist.
"But if you’re not going to be a conversationalist," she says, tilting her head upward haughtily, "then I’ll simply make the conversation."
"Hm." This time, the sounds low and heavy. It’s agreeable.
Without trying to move too much, she attempts to peer at him from over her shoulder. Rather matter-of-factly, she suggests, "I think Jaskier should be given his own horse."
His brows furrow and his fingers flex against her skin. "Hm?"
"And I think he should be allowed to sing as loudly as he likes."
"Mhm," he hums low and quick, an easy disagreement. He shakes his head gently against her hair, still burrowed into the back of her neck.
"But he is a singer, Geralt. And considering he has you to make conversation with—"
He chuckles, breath warm against the back of her head. He kisses her hair. "You really don’t play fair."
Yennefer smiles, resting back on her pillow, feeling victorious in her inevitable win.
His hands flatten against her collarbone, keeping her in place. His fingers are warm and calloused, a story in itself. Yennefer has never been much of a reader, but she’s enjoyed learning all the stories in his tomes. All the scars, blemishes, even the hidden beauty spots and supposedly ugly marks.
When he speaks, she can hear every word exist on a warm smile. "I would’ve spoken if you had simply threatened you’d never speak to me again."
"Hm," she hums, trying her best not to laugh.
"Oh," he says on a light chuckle. "Is that the game we’re playing? Have you suddenly lost your ability to—what was it again?—form a singular syllable of an actual word?"
Yennefer nods. "Mhm."
She keeps her head tucked against the pillow as he shifts against her back, broad chest warming her upper back and shoulder. He leans over her, chin on her shoulder as he eyes her. "Who’s the incorrigible one now, Yen?"
She laughs, then forces out a "Mhm" that follows the syllables of his name.
She lets out a laugh when he roughly tugs her onto her back and climbs on top of her. Smiling up at him, she pushes her palms against his chest, knowing that she can shove him easily if she so wished.
She gives him a once-over, eyes lingering on the sharp line of his chin. She cheekily hums, "Hmm."
Geralt lowers his head, the tip of his nose almost brushing the tip of her own. "Hm."
Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix).
Characters: Yennefer/Geralt.
Prompt: Hold.
Rating: PG-13. Language.
Length: ~800.
Content warnings: Set/gestures vaguely somewhere in the show pre-1x06.
Author’s notes: Title is from Gabriella Cilmi’s "Sweet About Me."
Summary: Yennefer determines Geralt is more of a hummer than a conversationalist.
Yennefer smiles as she tucks his hands against her collarbone, locking them in place with her claws. Where she’s tried to dig her nails into the likes of other men and women, she keeps her touch gentle against the back of his hands as they lie in bed—or as gentle as she likes to be with him, which perhaps isn’t much of a difference to how she treats others.
Geralt makes a sound behind her as she digs her nails into the backs of his hands, head nestling into the back of her neck.
She smiles, sucking in her stomach when his fingers brush against her collarbone like he’s trying to tickle her. With him, she’s more sensitive, like he’s capable of touching the stupid, broken girl she had thought she had buried deep within the depths of herself. The movement of his fingers is too layered with sleep to really achieve anything worthwhile, but it’s enough to lull her.
Shifting slightly against him now that he’s finally awake, she asks quietly, "Are you comfortable?"
"Hm." He barely moves behind her.
Lips pinching, Yennefer smiles openly, knowing he can’t see it. "Did you sleep?"
"Hm."
Narrowing her eyes, she slides her foot to slip between his muscled legs, hooking around his calf to keep him bay in case he thinks to leave while her eyes are wide open. With the way he tucks into her back, she doubts he wants to go anywhere. She wonders if he’s capable. His arms feel like lead around her.
Clearing her throat quietly, she says, "Your hair’s tickling me."
"Hmm."
"Are you cold?"
"Mhm," he hums, the sound a deep negative. He remains still behind her as she intentionally fidgets, pushing her hips back into his. All she feels behind her is warm skin and solid bulk.
Letting out a quiet laugh, she huffs impatiently. "Do you know any other words?"
He chuckles against her neck, his nose nuzzling the back of her head. "Hm."
"Did I fuck you so well you can no longer form a singular syllable of an actual word?"
"Mhm," he hums on a chuckle. She can feel him nod against her hair.
She makes an amused noise, shaking her head. "You’re incorrigible, Geralt." His arms wrap around her tightly, tucking her to him to the point where she isn’t quite sure where she ends and he begins. It’s overly contrived to think it, but it’s true in the way his skin warms her like the fire of the friendliest dragon who happens to be a poor conversationalist.
"But if you’re not going to be a conversationalist," she says, tilting her head upward haughtily, "then I’ll simply make the conversation."
"Hm." This time, the sounds low and heavy. It’s agreeable.
Without trying to move too much, she attempts to peer at him from over her shoulder. Rather matter-of-factly, she suggests, "I think Jaskier should be given his own horse."
His brows furrow and his fingers flex against her skin. "Hm?"
"And I think he should be allowed to sing as loudly as he likes."
"Mhm," he hums low and quick, an easy disagreement. He shakes his head gently against her hair, still burrowed into the back of her neck.
"But he is a singer, Geralt. And considering he has you to make conversation with—"
He chuckles, breath warm against the back of her head. He kisses her hair. "You really don’t play fair."
Yennefer smiles, resting back on her pillow, feeling victorious in her inevitable win.
His hands flatten against her collarbone, keeping her in place. His fingers are warm and calloused, a story in itself. Yennefer has never been much of a reader, but she’s enjoyed learning all the stories in his tomes. All the scars, blemishes, even the hidden beauty spots and supposedly ugly marks.
When he speaks, she can hear every word exist on a warm smile. "I would’ve spoken if you had simply threatened you’d never speak to me again."
"Hm," she hums, trying her best not to laugh.
"Oh," he says on a light chuckle. "Is that the game we’re playing? Have you suddenly lost your ability to—what was it again?—form a singular syllable of an actual word?"
Yennefer nods. "Mhm."
She keeps her head tucked against the pillow as he shifts against her back, broad chest warming her upper back and shoulder. He leans over her, chin on her shoulder as he eyes her. "Who’s the incorrigible one now, Yen?"
She laughs, then forces out a "Mhm" that follows the syllables of his name.
She lets out a laugh when he roughly tugs her onto her back and climbs on top of her. Smiling up at him, she pushes her palms against his chest, knowing that she can shove him easily if she so wished.
She gives him a once-over, eyes lingering on the sharp line of his chin. She cheekily hums, "Hmm."
Geralt lowers his head, the tip of his nose almost brushing the tip of her own. "Hm."