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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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Okay but what if Fedyor was trying to give Ivan a heart attack and seduce him...just two comrades sitting in a tent 0 feet apart...

*hands you a card that says "not sorry for the enabling"*

You are all the very, very worst and so is Julian Kostov. I hate ALL of you. And yet. Literally nobody is surprised.

Under the cut for smutty reasons.

Ivan is running late, and he's in a worse mood than usual, even for Ivan. He's been put in charge of the latest crop of baby Heartrenders, the ones who have just declared their discipline and are beginning their specialized training (perhaps the feeling is that if they can survive even one day of Ivan, nothing they meet outside the walls of the Little Palace can possibly be that terrible). In Ivan's opinion, however, they're all terrible and the Grisha are doomed to abject failure. Surely he wasn't that bad at sixteen? What are they teaching children these days? Why are children even still a thing, anyway? Hasn't society evolved past the need for children yet?

Consumed in his angry thoughts, Ivan pushes the door of his bedroom open without paying much attention. He is only intending to change into a clean kefta and get back out --

Then stops dead. A faint whirring noise between his ears is the only sign that his brain has abruptly and completely stopped functioning. To be precise, shut directly the fuck down, and it all has to do with his husband, who is standing on the carpet in nothing but a pair of high-waisted black trousers and suspenders and looking obnoxiously proud of himself. "Oh, Vanya," he says airily, as if this is a complete surprise. "Getting ready for your big day of teaching, are you?"

"Fff." Ivan coughs. "Fedya," he croaks. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, sorry." Fedyor saunters closer. "I was just waiting for my husband. Have you seen him? Heartrender, very grumpy, answers to the name -- what was it? Feliks?"

Ivan actually growls at the thought of anyone else, even in jest, laying claim to what is rightfully his. He shoots a hand out and grabs Fedyor by the suspender. "I don't think it was Feliks."

"Oh?" Fedyor tips his head back, dark hair tousled, dimples flashing, and eyes absolutely glittering with sin. "Are you sure?"

In answer, Ivan grabs him by the other suspender, jerks him closer, and crushes his mouth to Fedyor's in a ferocious, hungry, possessive kiss. His hands let go of their purchase on the suspenders and roam on the trim, taut muscles of Fedyor's torso, around ribs and abs and around the back, trying to fit everything into his fingers at once. Fedyor makes little murmuring noises of agreement that drive Ivan practically insane, but as he starts trying to unclip the stupid things from the even more idiotic trousers and push Fedyor back toward their bed, Fedyor catches his hands. "Ah, no. My turn."

"What?" Ivan pants, mind absolutely addled to a pulp with lust. He doesn't even know why -- he's been with Fedyor for almost a decade, he has seen him shirtless on many, many pleasant occasions -- but something about the sheer surprise and his pent-up frustration is really doing it for him right now. "Fedya, if you're going to tease me, I swear to the Saints that I will -- "

"Oh, shut up." Fedyor leans up and steals another kiss. "I don't make promises I can't keep."

With that, he deftly unlaces Ivan's breeches, reaches in, and draws out Ivan's erection, already stiff and hot in his hand. Then he drops to his knees, gives Ivan the wickedest of all imaginable looks, and takes him deep and sweet in his mouth, all at once.

Ivan swears. He clutches at Fedyor's hair, trying not to pull too much, but Fedyor is being particularly hot and relentless, and he is only human. Fedyor grabs the back of Ivan's knees, bracing himself, pulling himself closer as he glides his mouth up and down Ivan's aching cock, licking and sucking like the absolute menace to public health (read: Ivan's health) that he is. Nobody should permit him to walk around like this. It's just not fair. It's obscene.

Ivan comes in a shuddering, wrung-out gasp that almost knocks his legs out from under him, as Fedyor gives him one last, long luxurious suck in extra-sensitive regions that makes him whimper pitifully. Then Fedyor plants a light kiss on the tip and opens his mouth, letting Ivan slide wetly out, and looks up, eyes dark and deep and absolutely, unbearably evil. It's official, this man is the Black Heretic in human form. Ivan keeps wheezing.

"Well?" Fedyor says. "Suspenders, yes or no?"

In answer, Ivan grabs him under the armpits, hoists him to his feet, and pins him roughly against the nearest wall, kissing Fedyor until neither of them can breathe (not that they were doing so well on that front before). Then, much as he absolutely hates it, he pulls back. "I have a job to do," he informs the deeply-pleased-with-himself Fedyor. "But tonight, you are going to pay for this."

(None of the Heartrender recruits dare to ask why Ivan is in such a good mood that day. After all, they definitely don't want to die.)

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #fivan #fivan ff #i truly hate/love us every one #mearcatsreturns #ask

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im-fairly-whitty · 4 years

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The Witcher Wolf: The Road to Kaer Morhen

Geralt and Jaskier have successfully retrieved Ciri just in the nick of time, but now must travel to the safety of Kaer Morhen with her and Mousesack the druid while Nilfgaard is searching for them.

Geralt's ability to turn into a wolf comes in handy, a mysteriously magical death unearths the beginning of a mystery he can't resist chasing, and he realizes that for Ciri's sake he must face the heretofore unaddressed relationship failings of his past.

[Chapter 1: By the Fireside]

Chapter 2: The Bandit

“Here, you look like you can use some coin. Have your little ones eaten anything today? I’ve got some food, take it.”

Geralt slowly drifted back to full consciousness as the sound of a stranger’s voice in the campsite pushed him awake. After his shift watching Ciri for nightmares he’d taken to meditating outside their tent for the rest of the night, his face hidden in his hood.

“In exchange why don’t you tell me where you’ve come from?” The voice continued from across their corner of the refugee camp. “Have you seen any troop movements during your travels? Any particular dangers along your way or tales you’ve heard from others?”

Geralt opened his eyes to peer across the burnt out fire pit. The sun was only just beginning to rise and the camp to stir but he could still see the man with a blond ponytail talking to the parents of Ciri’s playmates from the night before. He seemed to be freely distributing food to the children from a satchel, food that only Geralt could scent as smelling faintly of death.

Geralt’s eyes widened as the man’s familiar scent registered, taking in the man’s blue tunic and the black leather patch strapped over one eye. He hadn’t seen the bastard since the last time he’d been robbed at knifepoint in Novigrad.

Geralt got to his feet silently, crossing the campsite in several quick steps and latching a hand onto the man’s shoulder, unceremoniously pulling him out of camp and into the forest brush before he could react. Geralt was careful to pin the man’s hands behind him before a startled dagger could have the chance to find its way into Geralt’s ribs.

“What are you doing here Feliks?” Geralt rumbled as soon as they were out of earshot from the camp, shoving the man a few steps from him as he released him. “Shouldn’t you be pickpocketing merchants in Novigrad this time of year?”

Feliks’ expression was panicked and cold as Geralt released him, but it flashed to one of delight instead as he turned and got a look at who had scruffed him. He caught his balance against a tree, looking up at the witcher with an excited smile.

“Geralt of Rivia!” Feliks cried. “Goodness, I never thought I’d see you here of all places? Why, I don’t think we’ve seen each other since I kept the boys from robbing you at knifepoint last year in the leatherworking district. How are you? Is Jaskier with you? Where did-”

“My question first.” Geralt interrupted, knowing from experience that the excitable bandit leader could out-babble even Jaskier given the chance. “What are you doing in a refugee caravan this far from the city? I thought you’d given up life on the road in favor of benevolently ruling your patch of gang turf.”

“Well you can’t really expect me to just sit around in the same city all year, can you Geralt?” Feliks said with a smile, hands on his hips. “The boys hold down the fort whenever I feel like going for a jaunt, there’s been so much buzz around the Nilfgaardians I thought it might do me some good to get a bit of fresh air. See the countryside, scout some troop movements, pick some corpses clean.”

He cheerily pulled at the strap of his satchel, hefting its contents. Well that explained the lingering smell of death. “Nothing gets coin moving like war my friend, and information is the hottest commodity around. Why pass the chance to stretch my legs on to a lackey when I’m perfectly capable of hopping refugee camps to collect it myself?”

“Only you would think of a trip to the countryside and looting corpses as equally enjoyable outings.” Geralt said flatly.

“Oh don’t you tease me like that, witcher.” Feliks said with a wink, flipping a coin in the air and catching it. “You’re the one who taught me how to shake down a stiff back when I was just getting started, remember? Could have cut me down in my own oversized stolen boots for getting into your saddlebags uninvited, but instead you showed me how to hold my sword right. Besides, coin does these refugees a lot more good than it’ll ever do the dead whose pockets it came from, even if it has got some blood on it.”

“If I’d known my advice would lead you to becoming Novigraad’s youngest syndicate leader I’d have trussed you up and tossed you in the river instead.” Geralt said dryly, despite his best efforts unable to keep the barest hint of fondness from creeping into his voice.

Even though Geralt didn’t approve of all of Feliks’...methods, he also knew that the poor who lived in the neighborhoods he claimed never seemed to go without for as long as Feliks was in charge. The bandit had come a long way from the starry-eyed young man Geralt had first caught stealing from him years ago.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re wandering into war zones alone.” Geralt said sternly. “Information won’t net you a payday if you’re too dead to sell it.”

“Oh, I’m not alone!” Feliks said brightly, then hesitated with a sheepish smile. “Or at least I wasn’t until yesterday. I’ve been traveling with Wit of Drobiazg again, but she said all the cat witchers are being called back home to the caravan until they can tell which way the war’s going to blow. You know how the cats are with their assassination contracts, want to make sure they’re getting hired by the winning side. Are you heading back to your keep too? I imagine any witcher will be glad to hole up for the next while, probably won’t be many contracts other than necrophages for a long while.”

Geralt jolted as a puzzle piece clicked into place in his memory.

Wit of Drobiazg, who shared the same last name as the late spymaster of Cintra.

Wit of Drobiazg, the cat witcher who was infamous for her unusually strong Igni casting.

Geralt had scooped Wit out of a disastrous contract-gone-wrong decades ago, back when she’d practically still been a kitten, making her one of the rare cat witchers Geralt ever risked hanging around the occasional times their paths had crossed over the years. She might like him for saving her life, but it didn’t change the fact that hanging around a cat always felt a bit like storing a bomb with a lit fuse in your pack.

But Feliks had never seemed to mind in the slightest. The two forces of chaos had taken a liking to each other after Geralt had accidentally introduced them a few years back, during a particularly trying fortnight when the three of them had been trapped in the same town together.

“You two travel together often don’t you? Has Wit ever told you about her family?” Geralt asked, latching onto his epiphany before it had the chance to slip away. “Does she remember anything from before her trials?”

“I...maybe? She’s mentioned them a few times I suppose. Why?” Feliks said, looking thoroughly confused by the abrupt change in topic.

“Did she keep her family name after she was given up or did she just choose it herself?” Geralt asked.

“I think it was her family name?” Feliks said, squinting and scratching his head. “She wasn’t too young when she was taken by the cats I think, she could have remembered it when it came to taking her witcher name. You’d have to ask her to be sure though, she doesn’t like talking about her childhood too much. I mean, you know how it is with witchers. Bit of a sore subject for you lot isn’t it?”

“Hmmm.” Geralt grunted.

He knew he should probably drop it--gods knew he already had enough on his plate to worry about with getting Ciri and the others to safety--but he never had been good at letting mysteries alone once he’d gotten started thinking about them. Doubly so if he found a lead.

“Do you know where the caravan is traveling? Where I can find them?” Geralt asked.

He’d never dare tracking down the cat witchers’ caravan uninvited...but perhaps a message with some carefully phrased questions could be sent instead?

“Of course not.” Feliks said with an easy smile.

Geralt sighed, pulling out his coin purse. “Alright, how much is that information going to cost me?”

“Sorry Geralt, not for sale.” Feliks said with a good-natured shrug. “Friends and family discount means I don’t sell information on family and friends where it’s not wanted.”

“Even if I’m a friend too?” Geralt asked, tipping an amount of money into his hand, letting the coins glint temptingly. “I’m a friend asking a friend about a mutual friend.”

Feliks only chuckled. Geralt poured a few more coins but Feliks just shook his head. Geralt let a truly exorbitant amount of coin spill into his hand, far more than he’d ever dream of actually handing over, just to see what would happen.

But instead of a greedy spark lighting in the bandit’s eye, his smile faded and he frowned, looking up at Geralt.

“Geralt, is something wrong?” Feliks asked. “Why do you need to find the caravan so badly?”

Geralt sighed, tipping the coin back into his purse and tucking it away. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ve just been meaning to ask her something, then I was curious to see if you could be budged. My apologies if it came off as insulting.”

“If you’d asked me anything else I’d gladly have taken your coin, but...” Feliks grimaced. “You don’t make it very far in my line of business if you don’t know what’s worth more than money.”

“Perhaps I can pay you for some other information then.” Geralt said. If Feliks was dealing in information then he would have heard if soldiers were searching for a certain ashen-haired princess. “Jaskier and I are trying to get to the Hertch mountains as quickly as we can, have you heard of anything that could get in our way?”

“Now that I can help you with.” Feliks said, his smile returning. “There’s plenty of-”

“Geralt?”

Geralt tensed, looking up to see Ciri tromping through the brush toward them, rubbing her eyes. He sighed silently. He should have dragged Feliks farther into the woods, he hadn’t wanted the bandit to see her, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

“I woke up and you were gone.” Ciri said, reaching him and sleepily burying her face against Geralt’s side, her hood falling to reveal her snowy blonde hair before he could catch it.

Geralt looked up warily just in time to see Feliks’ eyes widen.

He knew.

Geralt sent him the iciest warning look he could manage.

“This is Fiona.” Geralt said, every syllable carefully measured and loaded with unspoken meaning as he stared Feliks down. “My daughter. We’re traveling to safety away from the war.”

“Your daughter.” Feliks repeated, looking like he was barely managing not to trip over a whirlwind of thoughts inside his head. He blinked, pulling on a smile. “So you and Jaskier adopted then, how lovely! I’m sure you’re all very lucky to have each other.”

Geralt watched Feliks rub nervously at the edge of his eyepatch, biting his lip as he looked at Ciri with concern.

“Are you sure that...?” Feliks started, but his voice trailed off.

He scratched the back of his head, looking like he was fighting back a grimace as he looked up at Geralt. When he spoke again his voice was hushed and strained. “You really shouldn’t be here with her Geralt, not in a camp like this, there’s too many eyes around who will sell you out for their next meal.”

“We’ve been traveling away from roads for days.” Geralt said, fatigue creeping into his voice now. “We needed a chance to get more supplies and to find out what’s going on so we don’t run headlong into a trap or a military camp. This was our first chance.”

“Well you need to get out as quickly as you can.” Feliks said, his gaze deadly serious as he glanced around. “I’m not the only one here harvesting information to resell, and if the emperor knows she’s traveling with a witcher and a bard that’s going to be a wanted poster description so colorful that even the drunkest peasant can remember it. A princess, a witcher and a bard, it sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.”

“And a druid.” Geralt sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“And a druid?” Feliks said, shaking his head with a bemused smile that managed to stick for at least a second before dropping away again. “Well then, here’s the information you asked for. Stay away from roads and towns, if you need to get supplies only send the druid or Jaskier to get them since you and the girl will be the most easily recognized. You’re ahead of the armies for now but only barely, and the longer you travel the more refugees there will be competing for resources, so try to move as fast as you can to stay ahead of them.

“Most large bridges are already locking down and demanding inflated tolls, so avoid those whenever you can and get across the river another way. You’ll also start seeing towns and villages who have preemptively sided with the emperor to avoid being ransacked too and they’ll have notices looking for the princess posted before you’ve even arrived, so beware. Why the emperor wants her so badly is anyone’s guess, but he’s already doing ugly things to try and get her.”

“Thank you Feliks, we’ll do our best to follow your advice.” Geralt said soberly. He looked down to brush hair from Ciri’s face. Her eyes were still closed, by now all too used to adults discussing the danger looming over her. “Fiona, go wake Jaskier and Mousesack, tell them we’re leaving as soon as we’re packed.” he said, careful to keep in the habit of using her false name.

Ciri blinked up at them both for another moment as she hesitated, but then went off back to the camp without a word.

“How...?” Feliks asked, watching her go.

“Safer if you don’t know.” Geralt said, getting an understanding nod from Feliks.

“Are you staying out here for long?” Geralt asked, pulling out a reasonable amount of coin and handing it to Feliks.

“Not without Wit.” Feliks said grimly, pocketing the coin. “Like you said, there’s no payday if you’re dead. No, I think you witchers have the right idea, I’ll probably hang around home until things have a chance to settle. Besides, Nilfgaard barely even leaves scraps behind to scavenge from once they’ve passed through. Just ash.”

“I wish you safe travels then.” Geralt said.

“To you as well.” Feliks paused for a moment. “Geralt, I can’t promise anything, but if I do have the chance to pass a message on to the caravan would you want Wit to know you’re looking for her and will be found at Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt hesitated. Vesimir had expressly forbidden cats from entering the keep as a rule, but he had made a reluctant exception for Lambert’s cat friend Aiden before. There was no guarantee that Wit would even get his message, let alone respond, never mind actually make the trek all the way out to Kaer Morhen. In all reality it would probably be years before he had the chance to find her again, meaning there was no real harm in giving implied permission for her to visit the keep.

“Yes, you can tell her.” Geralt said. “But only if it’s just her, I don’t need the entire caravan knowing. And nothing about...nothing about anything else, right?”

“Family and friends discount.” Feliks said with a crooked smile. “Your secrets are safe with me. Even if they’re the most inadvisable kind.” His smile dropped. “Now get moving, you’ll be lucky to get out of the camp before anyone else sees you or the girl.”

Geralt nodded, turning back to camp without another word and already grimly contemplating the decidedly town-less rest of the journey ahead of them.

----------------

Feliks the bandit belongs to @ibrithir-was-here and is great friends with Wit of Drobiazg the Cat school witcher.

You can see their character designs here: https://im-fairly-whitty.tumblr.com/post/614599362829533184/witcher-friends-d-wit-of-drobiazg-has-many

#witcher wolf #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #feliks #friends ocs #the witcher

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