#im i love

:

hmm jaskier winding silk around geralt’s wrists, keeping him bound to a wrought-iron bed frame, arms spread wide, chest and belly exposed, vulnerable,

as jaskier rides him so agonizingly slow, and he’s dripping in golden chains as thin and delicate as spider-webs, shimmering like he’s been blessed by the sun herself, as he rides geralt so fucking slow, kisses over the witcher’s throat, his scarred, damp chest,

and,

“not until i say, darling,” the bard murmurs against geralt’s ear, and geralt groans, the sound like a goddamn earthquake, and he grips the wrought iron of the bed frame that’s become his gentle prison until his knuckles bleach out,

and his thighs strain with the effort it’s taking not to rip through the silken bonds and shove jaskier down, but,

“you’re doing so well,” jaskier says, breathless, deep, and geralt presses his nose to the bard’s cheek, slow heart kicking up into his throat as jaskier winds his arms around geralt’s neck, tangles gentle fingers into his hair,

and keeps riding him,

so agonizingly slow,

so beautifully sweet,