#mywip

the general concept came from thinking about shane kneeling for ilya not for his comfort & self soothing, but for ilya’s. like how in the cottage he crouched down and put his face in ilya’s emotional support crotch, but flip the intention. Ilya’s having a (so far unspecified) bad time in this one, he’s stressed and scared and whatever it is it’s so far out of his control it hurts but! shane is never far out of his control, he can offer a little of piece of that back so he silently kneels by his feet and lets ilya keep him there and doesn’t move until ilya’s regulated again and releases him. it takes the weight out of ilya’s mind and grounds him bc he loves shane, he loves his submission, he loves proof that there is something in life he can handle gently and do right and it makes him feel so so good

it’ll maybe be b&g when it’s done? or if it’s color, a muted blue-green-gray palette like they’re inside during a thunderstorm?

tagged recently by @corporatebanana @tizniz @allisonrw96 @leashybebes <3

more from the medieval au! oh how I wish work would give me a goddamn break so I could work more on this

But just as Evan goes to pull on the gambeson, Chimney's voice calls out from the keep. "Buck! You're supposed to be hearing disputes from the villagers!" "Damn it," Evan mutters, lowering the jacket. "I forgot about that." "That's all right," Tommy says. "Perhaps we'll have a chance to cross swords after you've attended to your business." Evan's face turns scarlet. Eddie grins and slaps Evan on the back. "God willing, you can finally get him to fix that weak grip of his." Tommy allows the corner of his mouth to curl up slightly. "His lordship's grip seems more than adequate to me." The blush on Evan's face deepens. "That's because he's been trying to impress you," Eddie continues, oblivious. "Once he's comfortable enough to be lazy in a sparring match, it's easy to disarm him." "Well," Tommy says, circling his thumb around the pommel of his sword. Evan's eyes track the movement. When he meets Tommy's gaze again, his pupils are black as night. "I'm sure that's something we can work on."

✨WIP✨

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“Geralt?” The soft question would have been lost in the crowd to anyone else, but Geralt quickly swivels and catches sight of him, hovering near a booth at the back, staring at Geralt like he doesn't know what to think. “Jaskier,” he breathes, making quick work of the space between them despite the muffled protests of jostled patrons along the way. They don't matter. He's here. He's safe, though the smell of blood returns to his attention when he gets close. Geralt almost wraps his arms around his bard when he reaches him, so overwhelmed is he by relief. Almost. But he catches himself. There's a fragile look in Jaskier's eyes, like there had been that first night in Dorian. “You're alright,” he says, baffled by the welling emotion in his bard's face. Not his, he reminds himself, taking a step back out of Jaskier's space. “You came,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “How..?”