Etherea



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  3. Summary

    Horses, curse them, were even shorter lived than bards.

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Recent bookmarks

  1. Public Bookmark *

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    He opens his eyes to Steve’s wide and surprised ones, looking down on him. His hold on Bucky’s wrists has gone slack, and as quickly as the pleasure had overtaken him, dread takes its place. He scrambles out of Steve’s hold and off the mat, mumbling I’m sorrys as he goes.

    Or: where Bucky doesn’t remember. And they fuck. A lot.

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    22 Feb 2021

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    Bucky wakes up to the sound of the rooster, like he’s done every morning since he arrived in the village. The crow echoes through the yard and makes the horses move in their pens below him, they too waking up to the day.

    Series
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    14 Feb 2021

  3. Public Bookmark 80

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    08 Feb 2021

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Geralt's not human. Why should he have to feel like one?

     

    In which Geralt measures his potions in careful doses—and Jaskier is like taking a drink.

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    03 Feb 2021

  5. Rec 47

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    Geralt has taken potions to suppress his sex drive since he was a child. (In this AU, they require witchers to do this. Just come with me on this.)

    However, one day, he gets the wrong potion and is suddenly, desperately, painfully aroused for the first time. Jaskier can help with that. It also provides a moment under the stars where they can confess their true feelings.

    It is yearning and soft and if I did my job well, achingly tender.

    He thinks I cannot hear him.

    Restless. Rutting. Grunting softly behind the crackling of the dying embers.

    But I hear him. I see him too.

    He is pressed onto his stomach against his woolen bedroll. The firm swell of his ass lifts into a patch of moonlight, his back arching as though he has an ache he cannot reach.

    I blink to clear the campfire from my eyes. My hands shift under my cheek where they pillow my head for sleep.

    He thinks he is hiding.

    He is a brilliant man, my friend. He knows all fifty subspecies of winged reptiles. He knows how to brew potion out of bramble. He knows the movements of the stars and the speed of the wind.

    But he has a chink in his armor.

    It is me.

    Language:
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    29 Jan 2021