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boxofbonesfic · 6 months ago

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Title: Tonality [6]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

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Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, Genre Typical Violence, Mild Descriptions of Violence, Slow Burn, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: thank you so much to everyone who continues to read and support my work. i really hope you all enjoy this next installment, please don’t hesitate to drop me a comment or inbox me. reblogs are always golden ❤️

You are not, and then, all at once you are again. Awareness spreads like contagion down each limb, and you know them again as it does. With it, though, comes the pain in your belly, sharp and biting like—

Like a blade.

It fades as you force your eyes open, your clumsy hands searching yourself for the dagger’s handle. You do not find it, but the relief that floods you at its absence is short-lived. The darkness that greets your wide, panicked stare is so deep and unyielding that for a moment you wonder if you have gone blind—but as you raise your trembling hands before your eyes, you can see them clearly. But beyond, there is only darkness.

No, not darkness—nothing.

“H-hello?” Your voice is muted, muddy even to your own ears, the syllables thick and sticky like they passed through honey on the way. “Please-!” The hungry nothing swallows nearly everything but a sluggish, dull thump that echoes in your ears—it is the only sound in the resolute silence. You stumble forward with your hands out before you, fingers outstretched as you wait to encounter something, anything. You do not, though. There is nothing. No cool stone beneath your feet nor the caress of wind your skin. Even the sound of your footsteps is absent, stolen. All there is is the drum.

It must be a drum, you think, because the sound is so deep it reverberates in your bones. Sluggish. Steady. Panic rises in your chest and you force it down with gritted teeth, your nostrils flaring.

If this is death, I was right to fear it.

Your dry tongue tastes like ash and earth in your mouth as you gulp down thick, gasping breaths. But there is no relief in the action, nor in the thick void that flows in through your lips, filling your throat with ink. There is only that sound, deep and heavy—thump, thump, thump.

A hand flies to your breast, pressing against the cool skin above your collar—but you feel nothing. There is no answering pulse from your own veins, your chest cold and quiet. A terrified gasp rips from your throat and you stumble, hands tangling in the torn fabric of your dress. Your blood should be racing, your ears thundering with the roar of it in your veins—but there is nothing. Nothing but the silence and the sound—

Thump.

Steady like a heartbeat.

Your heartbeat, drumming in the dark, empty nothing. The echo of it is dull in your ears as if through cotton, but it is the only sound, the only thing in the vast absence aside from you. It rumbles in your bones as you stagger blindly forward, your hands outstretched. The void that presses back against your hands is like spiders silk, strands of ephemeral nothing. You fist your hands in it, and for the first time you feel… something. Like ripping apart fragile cloth—only something inside of you tears too.

The sensation of it makes you gasp, choking on the dark as it rushes past your lips and into your mouth like dry water. You pull at the ragged strips of nothing and they stick to you like wet paper. You push through the ragged hole into the white light beyond—and fall to your knees on hard stone coughing and choking. You draw the back of your hand across your trembling mouth and it comes away stained inky black, the texture like wet sand.

For a moment, you heave there on the floor, sticky, pulpy blackness forcing its way up out of your throat. The air you gulp down tastes of something so distinctly alive that it nearly brings you to grateful tears. After a few desperate breaths, you force yourself up to your knees, bracing your hands against the wall as you stagger up to your feet. You feel weak, as though the earths pull might drag you back down to your belly at any moment.

These… these are my chambers.

You had not thought of this place as home before, but you are relieved to see it now. The siting area is a mess of gauze wrappings, half-mixed poultices and dried herbs scattered across every surface. It looks as though Healer Janna has been hard at work here, you note with a small, grim smile. The sound of rasping, labored breath draws your attention toward the bed. Though the dark, heavy fabric is almost entirely drawn, the soft firelight shining in through the gaps illuminates the shape of a figure beneath the covers.

You cross the room with slow steps, trembling as you approach. The drumbeat roars in your ears again as your eye adjusts to the gloom. Your own features swim out of the darkness at you, pained and ashen, your lips pressed into a grim line. The shock of it draws a horrified gasp from your throat, and you stumble back, nearly falling over. The feeling it evokes in you is new, a mixture of terror and disgust as you tear your eyes away from the empty vessel laying before you. That’s it, you think to yourself as you slap a hand to your mouth to hide the violent gag. My body is empty. You retch, your hands fisting in the stiff, dirty cloth of your dress as you fight to remain standing.

“To see oneself without a soul is quite a sight indeed.” The sight of Geralt is nearly enough to send you to your knees as you stagger against the bedpost. “I think perhaps that is why they drew the curtain.” He stands by the fireplace, his hand resting upon the mantle. His molten eyes seem lit with the fire’s eerie glow.

“I am glad to see you, Little Doe.”

“What’s happening to me?” Your voice is just as dull and muddy as it had been in the other place, the dark place. You shudder to think of it again, gripping the bedpost tightly. Even the sensation of that seems far away, as though your grasping hands merely clutch at the idea of it. Your step-brother’s expression turns concerned.

“You’ve left your body, Dreamwalker.” The thought of looking back at the shell on the bed turns your stomach. “A living thing cannot be without a soul, my little witch. The body needs a soul.” The fear that twists in your belly at his words is sharper than the Duke’s dagger. Your eyes widen, your mouth trembling as you cling helplessly to the bedframe as Geralt moves toward you.

“I—I am—I am not—” Your rebuttals fall from your lips unfinished, scurrying over each other in their haste to leave your mouth. You hold out a hand to halt his approach, and he passes through it like smoke. “I am not a witch!” His amused smile is as off-putting as the sensation of his body diffusing yours.

“Not yet,” he agrees. “But you could be.” You think of the witch, her fingers tipped in purple-black ichor like they had been stained with pitch. “There is power in your blood. The same as mine.” The smile that flits across his lips is grim, and does not reach his golden eyes. “We are more alike than you know.” He moves as if to touch you and then stops, seeming to remember that he cannot.

The fear coiling in your chest beats wildly against your ribs. He knows. You wonder if this means word has reached your mother—or worse, the King. There are no elves in the city save the Witch—and you.

“My mother—”

“Knows nothing.” You’ve little idea what has inspired your step-brother to keep your secret, and a pit of iron forms in your belly as you wonder what steep price he will extract from you for the privilege.

“Why? Why would you not…” The words stick in your throat. “You’ve no reason to lie for me.” Geralt scoffs.

“It is an unwise King who would lead his people willingly to civil war.” Geralt looks tired, then, far older than the summers he has weathered. “We are not all so ruled by petty superstition as Duke Emhyr.” There is no lie beneath the words that you can tell, but they ring hollow anyway, like you’re missing parts of them. “It would be quite a waste to see you hung in the square.” You swallow, your lip curling.

“So I am to be your pawn?” The sneer curls your lips and bares your teeth. “Your grateful servant?” He laughs then—a deep, loud peal of laughter that strikes like lightning. You jerk backward, forcing space between you.

“If my aim was your servitude there are more apt ways to ensure it.” He seems content to say no more than that, his golden eyes glittering like coins.

“But there is a price.” You say, and the corners of his lips curl.

“You think too poorly of your brother,” he purrs. In an instant, he is again the Geralt you are coming to know and despise. “I would ask nothing of you that you could not give.” His lips curl into a deceptively charming smile. “Indeed, nothing you would not want to.” Geralt’s eyes seem to focus on something behind your head, and the smile slips.

“We might discuss this later. For now, little Doe, you must return to your body.” You cannot hide the repulsed shudder that passes through you at the thought of looking at yourself on the bed again. “You spent too long in the ether.”

“Ether?” He rolls his eyes, and beneath the mask of his cool charisma, you see true irritation. Strangely, it pleases you.

“The dark place, the between place.” He sighs. “Lay on the bed.” He pulls aside the curtain, and you swallow the violent retch that builds in your throat. You close your eyes and crawl onto the bed. You feel nothing against your palms but perhaps the slightest pressure. There is abnormal warmth emanating from the body beside you, however haggard your appearance. It is welcoming, even, like a soft embrace. You want to lean into it, so you do—though you doubt you could help it even if you did not.

The room shifts, warping and twisting like smoke. You do not want to return to the cold, dark nothing, and you fight against it with all you have. Your will, however, seems as incorporeal as your spirit. As you spin back down into your own subconscious, Geralt’s voice seems to come from every crevice of the chamber—

“And do keep your promise this time, little witch.”

—

When you wake, there is pain.

Perhaps it is more apt to say that you wake beacuse there is pain, deep and biting as you force your eyes to open. Your lids feels heavy, like you’ve not abided the task of lifting them in quite some time. Each breath feels strange, rattling in your chest. Sunlight streams in through the parted canopy curtains, and you wince, blinking away the spots trailing across your vision.

I live.

You feel… weak. Disconnected from your body. It nearly takes more strength than you have to sit up, and you gasp, falling back against the pillows as pain lances through your belly and up your spine. With clumsy fingers, you pull back the covers. You are dressed in one of your loose cotton shifts, and as you tenderly trace the shape of your own body through the fabric, you can feel the thick layers of bandages wrapped tightly around your middle.

Gingerly, you roll up the hem of your nightdress, your jaw set tight. You follow the edge of the wrappings with your finger. It’s fit snug around your waist, padded thickly with gauze to the left of your navel. It still seems somehow like fantasy, that the duke had stabbed you, that you had felt the cold bite of his steel deep in your belly—

That you had lived.

“Witch.”

Trembling, you press your hands to your face. Duke Emhyr’s accusations still sting as they echo from your memories, his hatred burning hot like coals behind his eyes. Is he only the first of many? You wonder, wincing sharply as you reach for the goblet of water on the stand by the bed. It’s almost too heavy for you, but you grip it, and bring the edge to your lips.

The sound of voices begin to echo down the hall, heralding the approach of other people. As quickly as you can, you adjust your dress and draw the covers back up again, waiting for the door to open.

“—asleep, Your Majesties, when I left to fetch a clean pail of water—”

“And left her alone?” Your mother’s incredulous voice grows louder as the doorknob rattles, and then clicks open. She glides in first, her ornate gown trailing behind her, whispering against the stone. Her eyes narrow as she peers around your chamber in distaste.

“Have the servants clean up this mess,” she says, the words cool, authoritative. Your mother has always been one for orders, only now there is a smugness to the command, an expectation that the bearer dare not fall short of. Kassandra hurries in behind her, water sloshing in the wooden pail she holds by the handle. She sees you first, nearly dropping the bucket in surprise as her eyes widen.

“Y-Your Majesty!” She gasps, practically throwing the bucket to the ground as she rushes to your bedside. “Oh thank the Gods!” Your mother gasps at the sight of you, her delicate brows rising.

“Thank the Gods indeed.” Your mother approaches you, perching herself on the edge of your bed before embracing you. “My daughter… I thought I might never see your eyes open again,” she cups your face affectionately, and though you had not felt the urge to weep before, suddenly your eyes fill with exhausted tears. She is, after all, your mother, staring down at you with concern and relief lining her face. You press your face into the crook of her neck, breathing in the honeysuckle scent of her skin as you sob.

It’s so much—the Witch, the duke—your mind feels both full to bursting and disjointed with the knowledge of every moment of it all. Elf-kin. Witch. Princess. My lady. Your Grace. Doe. Who are you? What is your name? You know not when last you heard it. You do not know when you became such a meek little thing, so easy to trap in a box to bring a hammer down upon—

But you hate it.

“You may leave us. I shall call when we need you.”

Your mother hums softly, stroking your hair with gentle passes. She works through the tangled mess as you cry, parting each snare with a motherly diligence that reminds you of summers spent catching fireflies and frogspawn. You cling to her, like a child with a scraped knee. When she has worked her way through every section of your hair, she sighs, massaging your scalp with the tips of her fingers. Finally, when your sobs turn to hiccoughing breaths, your mother sighs, her hand dropping from your head to your bandaged middle.

“That man is paying for what he’s done to you.” You do not know how her voice manages to be so soft, and yet so hard at the same time. “I will not allow this sin to go unpunished.”

You shiver. “What…what do you mean? Where is Emhyr?” You are glad you cannot see her face, because the smile that drips from her words sounds crueler than anything.

“The place he’s going to die.” Your mother sounds almost joyful. After a moment more, she releases you, dabbing at your tear-stained cheeks with the soft, flowing fabric of her sleeve before stroking the pad of her thumb over the curve of it.

“Why did you leave the castle?” Your mother’s face looms before you, her brows knitted together with concern. There’s something else, though, something beneath that. You don’t know how you see it—by rights, she’s given nothing away, and yet you see it still.

Suspicion.

Why would your own mother be suspicious of you? You hang your head.

“I—I just wanted to see the city.” You make the words sound like an admission. “Without a guard.”

“And look what your stupidity has wrought!” She hisses, gesturing at your belly. “You’re lucky Geralt noticed your absence when he did—did that little, the—” Your mother purses her perfect lips in frustration as she attempts to recall your only lady-in-waiting’s name. “Katherine? Did she help you with this idiocy?” As far as you can tell, she has swallowed your lie whole. You hope it does not work its way up out of her throat to bite you later.

“No, no, I… I just snuck out while the guards were changing, Kassandra knew nothing of it.” You are more glad than ever that you had ordered her to stay behind, the thought of what might’ve happened to her had she come along makes you shiver. The duke did not seem to be much in the mood to deal with stray ladies. The mention of Geralt makes you press your teeth against the inside of your cheek. Your mother sighs, shaking her head as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You are too important to lose.” She regards you with serious, dark eyes. “Do you understand me? You are my only daughter—I can have no more children, you know this. Nor could I replace you if I tried, my love.”

“Yes, mother.” You place your hand over hers. “I understand.” You can find no sign in the relieved cast of your mother’s features that betrays any heritage other than the one you know, and your father is too long in the ground to ask yourself. “I’m sorry I scared you.” You had never been particularly good at lying, the words sticking together and jumbling on your tongue as you tried to string them into something coherent. Now, however, you deliver one after another, your hands steady as stone.

I’ve more to lose now than I did stealing biscuits from the kitchens.

“I won’t do anything like that again.” She smiles at you, and it is like sunlight, warmth washing over your skin. You do not know how she does that, make her approval something to crave and bask in, even when you cannot trust her. She makes you want to.

“Thank the Gods.” She presses a kiss to your forehead. “Then all is forgiven.”

—

You have slept for nearly a full week, you find, as Kassandra helps you bathe and dress. Your mother excuses herself to attend to other matters, and you breathe a sigh of relief at her absence. After all, your head still reels with the truths that you’ve had little time to untangle yourself. You revel in the quiet as Kassandra helps you peel off your old nightgown and step into the copper tub. The water smells vaguely of cloves, and you know this is by order of the closest thing to a witch Rivian faith will abide within the castle walls.

Healer Janna’s meager magics have kept your body on this side of the abyss, even as your soul has wandered. What little she is allowed she has done, and you are grateful for it, though you suspect the Witch in the lower city might’ve done a better job.

As Kassandra assists you in unwinding the soiled bandage around your waist, you grimace at the sight of your wound in the mirror. On your side, practically parallel with your belly button if you traced a straight line around. It is not particularly long, but you know by the ache inside that the damage is far deeper than the external cut you see.

“Tis a miracle he missed anything important,” she says, applying ointment to the wound with gentle fingers. “Damnable man.” She winds fresh, clean bandages around you, and you grit your teeth against the pain. You are growing used to it, though. Your mother has laid out another Rivian dress for you, but you do not even consider it, grimacing as you return it, unworn, to the wardrobe. Winter is coming, and you know the light, flowing dresses of your home are ill-suited for the biting chill that already permeates the castle halls, but you reach for one of them anyway.

You reason that the tight corsetry your more local garments might irritate your healing wound, and Kassandra makes no mention of it as she helps drape you in the comfortable and familiar dress you choose. A small part of you, though, knows this act for what it truly is and revels in it—defiance.

“I was so worried,” Kassandra says, sweeping aside your curls to pin a swath of gold colored fabric across your shoulders to create the illusion of sleeves. She has gotten quite good at it, and you wonder if she has been practicing. “When you didn’t come back, and then the prince—” She shakes her head. “I never should have let you go!”

“I shall not have you claim responsibility for my actions,” you reply. “Nor those of the duke.”

“Did you… Did you meed the Witch?” She asks, her eyes wide. For a moment you consider your answer, and then you nod.

“She… She was not what I expected.” Kassandra has proven herself more than trustworthy, she has been loyal—and not just to the crown, but to you. And even so, you hesitate to tell her what it is you know now, the thing that changes everything and nothing all at the same time. Less elf blood in you than I could hold in my hand, but aye, kin we are, still. You have had so little control since you arrived on these shores, so little choice. One stands before you now, a forking path toward ends you cannot see.

“She told me things about myself I had no way of knowing, but that I feel in my marrow to be true.” You swallow. The last person who heard your name and the word elf in conversation drove a dagger into your belly, and the instinct to hide, to coil yourself up like a snake and be unseen, but you forge ahead anyway.

“What? What did she tell you, my Lady?”

“She… she told me I was elf-kind.” You watch Kassandra’s face, waiting for her to run for the guard—but she remains seated, earnest concern still gracing her features. She seems to take it in, her brows scrunching before she nods.

“You are still my Lady, Princess of Rivia. This does not change that.”

You practically sob with relief. Your mother’s coronation had done more than tie you to this strange, new city—it has made you enemies. Scores of them, actually. You suppose you should not feel something akin to joy at the knowledge that Kassandra is not among them, but it blooms in your chest as a grateful smile spreads across your face.

“I know not from whom this lineage comes,” you say. “But the duke…” You grimace. “He knew, though how I can only guess. He said he could see it in my features—he could tell their favor simply by looking at me. Can you?” To your surprise, Kassandra scoffs.

“As winter feeds spring, so does suspicion feed doubt. His theories needed little proof, I’m sure. If I might be blunt, Majesty, I have observed you many times, and never once have I wondered if you might be anything other than human.” She finishes pinning your dress, stepping away to admire her handiwork. It’s almost as good as when Madge did it, but there was a distinct Rivian quality to the neckline she has created with the flowing, loose fabric.

“May I be blunt myself, Lady Kassandra?” You ask, turning to face her. She nods. “I am grateful for your loyalty, do not think I question it’s truth. You have been a true friend to me, even when the very Queen has demanded otherwise of you. Why?”

She thinks for a good few moments, her brows furrowed. She seems to choose her words carefully, ordering them all together before she answers.

“The Queen does not even know my name, Majesty, despite my father sitting upon her very own husband’s council.” She replies. “Your mother knows her allies, and she knows her enemies; and I suppose that leaves little space for those who belong in neither camp. Loyalty is not given, Lady, it is earned. Any that is acquired easier than that should not be trusted.”

The jewelry you are required to decorate yourself with feels especially heavy and overly ornate today, the crown weighing heavily on your brow. You know it would be near scandal to be seen without it, though, and so you remain good and still as Kassandra pins it in place. Now, at last, you may finally leave your chambers, aided in part by Kassandra’s steady arm. Walking is an arduous task, and you find yourself tired and panting by the time you reach the end of the hall. You have no destination in mind, but staying in your chambers feels claustrophobic.

“And here I thought I would find you resting.” Geralt’s voice spreads out over the silence like honey. “I suppose I should have known you would not stay abed longer than it took to open your eyes.” He stands at the curve in the stair, his hand resting on the bannister. His silver-white hair is pulled back away from his face, and the silver wolf pendant at his throat peeks through the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt.

“I am pleased to see you on your feet again.” The insinuation behind his words makes your cheeks warm. You have not forgotten the closeness of him, the safety of being pressed against his chest.

“After a week, I fear I have slept long enough.” You reply with a wry smile. “Thank you.”

“Were you going down?” He ascends the last few steps and offers you his arm, and after a moment of brief consideration you accept. After all, Geralt is much sturdier than Kassandra. Quickly—so quickly you almost do not notice it yourself—he softly sweeps his thumb over your knuckles as he settles you on his arm. It’s an overtly affectionate gesture, one that makes your stomach churn and flutter.

“Thank you.”

Geralt holds you steady, patiently waiting for you to situate yourself on one stair before lowering yourself to the next. Patient was not a quality you associated with the prince, but he demonstrates it now, taking the staircase step by halting step. His hand is warm on the small of your back, and it does not wander. After a moment, you feel the rumble of his voice begin in his chest just before he speaks again, turning back toward Kassandra, just behind you on the stair.

“Ah, I did almost forget, my Lady, your mother did bid you join her at your earliest convenience. I do believe she mentioned a Lord Arasmus?” Kassandra’s pale cheeks instantly go cherry red as she stares down at her clasped hands. The corners of her lips, though, curl upward into a small, but telling smile. You feel a mirroring one growing on your own features as you chuckle.

“Why Lady Kassandra, you did not inform me of your impending engagement.” You tease, and she huffs, her entire face turning scarlet as she glares at you.

“Tis nothing of the sort, Highness. His Lordship is quite a skilled botanist, a-and p-provided my expertise in the gardens—” She stammers out a parchment thin explanation that you fight not to poke holes through as you nod seriously. “I m-might assist with the selection. A-and the planting, maybe.” Her eyes flick up to yours. “Might I be excused, my Lady?”

“Of course.” Kassandra skirts around the two of you, glancing back.

“Thank you, Majesty.” She bows her head politely before she disappears around the curve in the staircase and is gone. Her footsteps fade too, and as the silence settles, you realize you are well and truly alone with the prince. He helps you down another few stairs before breaking the pregnant silence.

“You choose interesting allies, Princess.” He’s so close you can smell his skin pine and sun and earth. “But that one I think you have chosen especially well.”

“Have you only come to complement me?” You ask, hoping fleetingly that you look as unaffected as you sound. He sees too much, you decide stoutly, stomping down the butterflies filling your belly. Even when you don’t think he sees anything at all.

“And if I had?” Your own reply turns to cotton in your dry mouth. For a moment, Geralt’s golden eyes go hot and hungry like they had that night in the corridor. Your skin pebbles with the awareness of him, his size, his proximity. His breath ghosts over the curve of your cheek.

“Then I suppose it is lucky for you that I come with more than one purpose.”

“And that purpose would be?”

“Clarity, Princess,” he helps you down the last few steps to the landing. “Clarity.” The hall is dotted with servants, and stray lords and ladies whose names and exact stations all escape you, but you accept each gracious bow and earnestly delivered platitude with as genuine a smile as you can manage.

“Oh Your Majesty! How good to see you up again, I do trust your mother gave you my condolences.”

“You poor thing! Princess please, you must rest!”

“Highness you look wonderful, I do love Redanian fashion so.”

“That vile, treasonous man! How awful, I trust you have kept well?”

You are grateful when you’ve finished wading through them, their cloying perfumes and grasping hands are almost overwhelming to bear. As you clear the crush of lower nobility crowding the outer hall, Geralt steers you toward the throne room.

“What do you know of the Hunt, Princess?”

The Hunt. You know what everyone knows, you suppose. “The Witcher-Kings of old led them first, to cleanse the land of monstrosities.” You had learned this fact as surely as you had learned your letters. “I know the last one was before I was born.” Geralt scowls at this, his brows furrowing.

“My father has not led a hunt in over sixty years.” You cannot stop your shocked gasp. From what you’d thought, they were led every fifteen years like clockwork. There were always monsters, things born of chaos and flesh, and there always would be, so long as chaos remained tangled in the realms of man—that was what you had been taught, at least. But to hear one had not been lead in over sixty years… You shook your head with disbelief.

“In the days of old, there were many Witchers, Princess.” There is no emotion in his voice nor on his face, but somehow, you can taste the sorrow beneath his words, heavy and cloying.

“And now?”

“There is only one.” Geralt brings his free hand to the wolf pendant. He does not lead you into the throne room proper, instead steering you past the massive carved doors. “My father called a hunt two nights ago, while you still slept.” Your brows furrow. Why now? Why after all this time?

“Why?”

“I aim to find out.”

Geralt casts a swift look down the empty corridor, and pulls aside a heavy woven tapestry, one of many lining the hall. Instead of stone behind it there is a narrow door, one with no knob or handle—only a keyhole. Geralt produces a slim silver key from his pocket, pressing it silently into the lock. You have to step sideways to make it through the doorway, but once you do, you find yourself in a cramped, dark hallway. You start at the feel of Geralt’s hand on your shoulder.

“Forward, Princess.” With one hand dragging along the wall, you take a few cautious steps into the dark.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To learn the answers to both of our questions.” The ground slopes upward beneath your feet, and behind you, Geralt urges you forward. You are reminded uncomfortably of your time in the dark place—the prince had called it the ether—the crushing weight of the silence and the vast emptiness of it all…You shiver. Finally, there is light ahead, and you feel your shoulders sag with relief to see it.

The tiny circular room is perhaps no wider than an arm’s length, light filtering in from the gold mesh that runs around it in a tight band. You realize you are in one of the pillars of the throne room, and you stand on the tips of your toes to peer down through the thin braided metal to observe the scene below. You do not recognize every person in attendance, circled around the stone table behind King Vesemir’s throne, but you can place enough of their faces to understand—the council is gathered here, and they are gathered because of you.

“—is Treason. It cannot be argued.” Lord Jakoby is perhaps the youngest member of the council, aside from Kassandra’s own father. “And it cannot stand.”

“No one argues that Duke Emhyr has committed a grave offense—”

Your mother’s cool voice silences every other in the room. “Conspiring to murder the Princess is more than a grave offense.” You watch her tilt her head, threading her fingers together beneath her chin. “Would you have us send him back to Nilfgaard to gather his armies with a spanking, then?” There is an uncomfortable murmur that passes around the table.

“No, my Queen, I would not.” He holds his hands up placatingly. “I simply suggest there might be other ways to punish him that do not result in civil war.” Lord Thay combs his fingers through his thinning hair. “The Nilfgaardian army is not a light threat, your Highness. They protect our westernmost provinces, which, need I remind you, produce most of the kingdom’s wheat and grain! Duke Emhyr is no backwater lord with a horse a cart and an unwed daughter to his name, he is Regent of Nilfgaard! We cannot simply behead him in the square!”

Vesemir holds up a hand, and you watch your as your mother presses her lips into a displeased line.

“I have heard from Lords Thay and Jakoby, Duke Rhone and mine own Queen. Lord Lightfoot, I would hear your thoughts as well.” Kassandra’s father was not a man of many words—he had barely said hello and goodbye at your own mother’s coronation—and he had thus far proved your impressions correct as he sat at the end of the table, utterly silent. And for another few moments, he remains so.

“Duke Emhyr’s treason cannot be tolerated—but the North must be treated with care.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Her Majesty is right. Duke Emhyr’s treason cannot stand, regardless of his position. There will be strife, Majesty, it cannot be avoided.” He bows his head. “But perhaps it might be mitigated. You must use this hunt as an opportunity to remind the people of your strength. Of the futility of standing against you, my King.” Vesemir is silent, as if weighing the value of each word.

“And should it come to war?”

Lord Lightwood grimaces. “The beetle is a fearsome foe to the ant, Highness. But it may still be crushed beneath a boot.”

to be continued…

Masterlist

next chapter

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill smut #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x y/n #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #au #dark!fic #darkfic #medieval au #boxofbonesfic #tonality fic

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flurrys-creativity · 2 months ago

Text

Ephemeral Part 1

Pairing: Choi San (Ateez) x GN!Reader, other parts will focus on other members; Genre: Fluff, Humour, SMUT, divination au; Rating: nsfw, 18+, MDNI; Warnings: normal divination, smutty divination, teasing, blowjob, slight handjob, spitting, hints of dom/sub dynamic, post coital bliss; Wordcount: 3.460

Summary: San got the chance to experience a once in a life time divination. Starting something all of his friends wanted as well.

Collab: Blow you Mind Collab with @daddyfordaeddy and @potatomountain (writing for Yeosang and Wooyoung), @mingsolo (writing for Yunho and Mingi) and @sanjoongie (writing for Seonghwa and Hongjoong) and Jongho in pt.2

A/N: I'm the start of this collab with more installments to follow. Also this is all a big joke because we as a group were silly and made a collab out of that :D but I did a bunch of research on reading different things for telling ones future, very interesting indeed!!!

San turned around his own axis, taking all the colours, scents and noises of the wandering carnival. Dozens of tents and caravans lined along the green field, families with their kids walked between them and artists working hard to keep everyone’s spirits high.

The scent of freshly made popcorn and sweet cotton candy wafted through the air. Just seeing the bright colours of the large towers of cotton candy made San salivate.

His friends called out for him and San quickly came back to his senses. He turned to the voices of his friend and promptly bumped into a hooded figure. “I’m so sorry.” San bowed hurriedly towards the person and rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Seems like fate brought you here”, you smiled and looked up at him. “Here, have this.”

San automatically held out his hands, perplexed from your ominous statement. His eyes widened and his mouth formed the shape of a circle. San’s eyes wandered down to his open hands, watching how you placed some sort of ticket in his palms with your delicate fingers.

While San turned the ticket around, noticing it was a gift coupon for a divination, you vanished into the crowd. When San looked back up and didn’t find you again, he turned his head from side to side, desperately searching for the hooded figure.

Once more his friends called for him, pulling him out of his train of thoughts. He hastily pushed the coupon into his pants pocket and rushed over to catch up with them.

During the afternoon at the carnival with all its attractions and stalls San nearly forgot about the coupon. Until his friends dragged him to the haunted house.

“We should try it out!”

San grimaced and vehemently shook his head. “Thanks, but no.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, showing an x. “I’m definitely not going in there. You guys have fun, I’ll just wait here or find something else to do.”

He watched his friends go into the haunted house, laughing and hollering over his scaredy cat nature. San waved them off with a tight lipped smile and then stuffed his hands into pockets.

San pulled them back out once he felt the coupon and turned it once again in his fingers. Both sides showed a crystal ball seemingly glowing in front of a purple background. Your name stood inside of the glowing orb.

San looked at the haunted house one last time, contemplating his options. Before his brain actually caught up to his decision, his body already moved through the carnival grounds.

Far at the edge of the field stood a smaller caravan. Fairy lights were strung around it, highlighting the entrance. The door was open and an intriguing scent wafted out from the inside of the caravan.

“Hello?” San stood in front of the few steps, his gaze shifting between the coupon and the open door. He slightly leaned to one side, hoping to get a glance at the inside but a purplish veil obstructed his vision. Uncertainty washed through his system and he rubbed the back of his neck again.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Right as San turned around, ready to leave again, your sweet voice called from the inside of the caravan. San immediately halted in his movements, turning back around on his heels. “Yes! Hello?” San hesitantly climbed the first step, leaning to the side once more as he hoped, seeing at least your movements or something else.

“Come right inside”, you called out. Your smile widened when his head peeked through the curtain. “Don’t be so shy, love.” You waved him inside, offering him a seat on the large pillow pile next to you.

San’s eyes darted around the tiny room, taking everything in that he saw. Towards the back of the room was a large mattress, barely shielded from his gaze by a nearly transparent veil. To one side was a small dresser, littered with candles, cards, stones, a ouija board and lighted incense. The smoke slowly twirled upwards. San noticed how more fairy lights were strung to the ceiling over his head, while the floor was covered with dozens of pillows. Only a low, round table stood out between them.

San finally sat down, his eyes glued to the things on the table. Besides a large crystal ball in the middle, were more cards and stones. Two cups with steaming hot tea stood there as well.

“Past, present or future.” You mused as you placed your elbows on the table and rested your chin on your hands. “What might have brought you here?”

San blinked several times before his eyes widened. He didn't exactly think about the reason he came here. “Future?” San noticed the spark within your eyes upon hearing his answer, making him somewhat nervous.

You smiled gently, still keeping a mysterious aura around you. “Have some tea”, you offered, pointing at the cup in front of him. “But careful of the dried leaves at the bottom. I need those to read your future.” You chuckled softly when he only nodded and started sipping from his cup.

Once San finished his tea, he stared down at the bottom of the cup. The leaves clumped together in different ways but he barely made any shape or form out of them - not even thinking of the meaning they could hold.

You slightly craned your neck, trying to peek into the cup. “And? What do you think your future holds?”

San furrowed his brows in thought, twisting and turning the cup in hopes of getting some sort of clue. “I’m not sure. This could be a triangle? And this might be a plus sign or a multiplication?”

You snickered and scooted over to him, peering into the cup he held. “Oh, that’s an abundance of symbols”, you noticed with surprise. “The closer they are to the edge of the cup the sooner they’ll happen or might have happened even.” You pointed at the tea leaves towards the edge. “I can see a fan here, which means a pleasant encounter with the opposite sex.”

San stared at your profile, heat creeping up his neck and turning his ears red. The closeness and your words let all kinds of thoughts play through his mind.

“And here I see a boat, an angel and a horseshoe. You’ll get a visit from friends and either they will tell you some lucky news or you might share something lucky with them. Oh.” You hummed in thought, looking serious at the inside of the cup.

San’s breath hitched and his heart seemingly thumped even louder than before. “What is it?” He whispered, scared his normal speaking voice would shatter the moment.

“I see a raven and a deer.”

“What do they mean?”

“A dispute, unexpected trouble. You might have a fight or an argument with one of your visitors, but -” you paused for dramatic effect - “I can also see a hammer and what you thought to be a triangle is a pyramid. Both of these symbols tell me you will overcome the problem and have peace in the end.”

San’s mouth shaped into an o as his eyes switched between your profile and the cup. He was fascinated by the things you were able to read in this. “How soon will all of this happen?”

You hummed in thought. “I’d say quite soon. All of it could start within a week.”

“Is there”, San hesitated, his urge to know more, to learn more felt almost overwhelming, “is there more you can tell me?”

“Not from the tea leaves, love. I could offer you tarot cards?” You already reached for your deck without him having answered yet. With swift motions you mixed the cards before fanning them out. “Pick five cards.”

San’s hand hovered over the cards, moving from side to side. He carefully pulled his five cards, placing them face up on the table: 8-Strength, Page of Swords, King of Cups, 18-The Moon and Knight of Pentacles.

“Hmm, I think the moon refers to the dispute with your friend. Aside from that you seem like a real catch, aren’t you?” You laughed softly when San made himself smaller and rubbed the back of his head again, shyly looking away. “You’re a curious one, prying eyes that tell the truth. It might mean you check up on someone without them knowing. You’re also confident, hard-working, patient and in good health.”

San was glued to your lips, soaking in every word you told him.

“And lastly the king of cups tells me you will be a good father and husband, showing empathy and tolerance.”

“I’ll be a father one day?”

You chuckled softly at his wide eyes and hopeful expression. “And a good one, I’m sure of it.”

San grinned at the thought, drifting into a daydream of his future. He traced the outline of the king with his hand, when another thought crossed his mind. “What about palm reading? Can you do that too?” He looked at you, his heartbeat accelerating at the idea to get even more insight to his future.

A smirk played over your lips as you got even closer to his body and grabbed one of his hands, turning it so the palm faced upwards. “Oh, what strong hands.” You let your nails trail over some lines, tapping his skin here and there. Every time you noticed something, you explained the meaning.

San felt a pleasant shiver roll down his back when you trailed your nail from his palm down to his wrist and lower arm. Even with all the details you provided him with, he yearned for more. A nagging feeling in the back of his mind, wanted to get a special reading - a reading only he could get.

You looked up from his hands and into his face, noticing the furrowed brows he had from being deep in his thoughts. “There’s something else on your mind.”

San flinched, his eyes widening and his heartbeat quickening yet again. “I, uh.”

“You can tell me, love.” You placed a hand on his chest, feeling his firm muscles underneath your palm. “I know you want something from me.”

His eyes dropped to your lips and went back up to your eyes. “Well, I, uh, is there a possibility to get a special reading? Something not everyone who enters gets?”

Ever so slowly you stood up, humming and mumbling under your breath as you walked over to the entrance door and closed it. Your hand rested on the door knob for a moment longer. “There is one thing I could offer you. Are you certain you want it though?”

“Yes! Yes, absolutely, I am certain!” San pressed his hands on the table and slightly pushed himself up. For a second it crossed his mind that he appeared a little too eager but it quickly vanished again.

You turned around and leaned against the door, crossing your arms in front of your chest and tilting the head to one side. “It would involve for you getting rid of your pants.”

San already grabbed his waistband before he halted his movements and looked back up at you, uncertainty shimmering in his eyes.

You cooed softly and moved back to him, swinging your hips sensually from side to side with every step. Once you reached him, you let your hand brush from his left shoulder to his right, before you plopped down next to him again. “This is all up to you. It is your choice, love.”

“I want it.”

Despite having said that, San didn’t move. Instead he stared at his hands, noticing a slight tremble to them. This was kind of crazy after all. Still, he appreciated that you patiently waited for him.

Soon enough San found enough courage and unbuckled his belt, opening his pants and pushing them slightly down.

“It truly was fate”, you whispered with a smile, upon seeing the purple stripes of his boxers. “You were supposed to come here today.” You helped him push his pants even further down, quickly followed by his boxers.

San had to force himself to stay still, wanting nothing more than to squirm underneath your gaze. He definitely wasn’t used to someone only looking at his crotch without touching it immediately.

You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, feeling his dick pulsating with desire. While his length was average, the thickness of his cock nearly made you drool. “The gods really blessed you”, you mumbled, forcing yourself to look back up at his face.

San’s dick twitched from hearing those words and the fog of desire clouding his brain momentarily lifted due to the curiosity overwhelming him. “How can you tell?”

Your gaze dropped back down to his crotch as you scoffed in amusement. “I can tell you’ll have a healthy life ahead of you.” Your thumb circled the red tip of his circumcised cock. “I can see fortune in your future as well. It may be in love or in wealth, could even be in both.”

You let go of his dick again, raising your hand with your palm facing upwards. “Spit.”

San barely even hesitated before he spit into your hand, watching how you wrapped your hand back around his shaft and pumped him a few times to spread the liquid.

The anticipation of hearing his future from your reading added to the lust coursing through his veins. San bit down on his lower lip, his eyes nearly closing from the sensations taking over. A choked moan escaped his throat and almost belatedly a thought crossed his mind.

“Wait”, he breathed out, blinking heavily to regain some composure. “You didn’t answer my question.” His voice nearly turned into a whine when the realisation hit him. “I wanna know what made you see all this.”

You chuckled again, amused by his desperation and cuteness. “Don't worry, pretty boy. All in due time.” You placed one hand on his toned chest, getting a feel of the curves of his muscles as you pushed him to lie down. For a second you pictured riding him, ripping his shirt open and letting your hands wander all over his chiselled chest. You shook your head, ridding yourself of these thoughts.

San stared at you with almost pleading eyes, shivering ever so slightly when you moved your hand up and down his thick shaft.

“The girth tells me about your wealth”, you whisper as you lean down and blow some air over the tip of his cock. “Like I said, you will come into great fortune.” You hummed softly, using your thumb to press down on the small slit. “While being circumcised isn’t always a choice of your own, it’s still able to tell me a lot about the bonds you built and will build in your life.”

“What does it say?” San whimpered softly, bucking his hips into your hand.

“Friends come and go in your life but the bond with your family is a strong one. Those, who you consider family, are incredibly close to you.” When you lifted your thumb a string of precum connected it to his dick. Without hesitation you leaned further down, replacing your thumb with your tongue. You pressed the tip into his slit, seeking the sweet taste.

San’s head dropped backwards again, the feeling of your tongue making him delirious.

“Your sweet pre-cum predicts your future love life.” You circled your tongue around the head of his cock, savouring his low moans. “You will find your one true soulmate. You might even have found them already but the realisation hasn’t settled in yet.”

San barely registered your words, becoming completely unable to respond in any way but low whimpers when you descended on his dick. Your lips wrapped around his shaft while your tongue glided over his skin from side to side.

You bobbed your head deliberately in a slow pace, hollowing your cheeks every now and then.

“Please”, San begged in a low voice, his whole body shaking already, “please, don’t stop.” He wanted to thrust up into your wet cave but you quickly pushed his hips down again and removed your lips from his dick with a loud pop.

You teasingly wagged your finger, telling him no. Once you were certain he wouldn’t move his hips again, your hands glided along his sides to tease him further. You rolled out your tongue and flattened it, pressing it against the underside of his cock and trailing it along the prominent vein. As soon as your mouth reached his tip, you quickly enveloped it again, loving the weight of it on your tongue.

San’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull, the pleasure overwhelming him. His lips parted and soft moans and whimpers spilled into the air. Your movements brought him to his release sooner than he anticipated.

You noticed his dick throbbing the closer he got to his release. You pulled your head away, opening your mouth and rolling your tongue out while jerking him off for the last bit.

A few moments later and hot, white cum shot into your awaiting mouth. The thick ropes quickly filled up your hole, some already spilling out at the corner of your lips.

You swallowed his cum, licking your lips clean afterwards. “Healthy”, you whispered with a small chuckle, watching San still splayed across all your pillows.

His chest moved rapidly up and down while he came down from his high. A soft grin adorned his features, highlighting a dimple in his cheek.

“Are you satisfied with your reading?” You leaned over him with a curious look in your eyes. You reciprocated the grin, noticing how dazed he still seemed to be. “I do hope you’ll be able to get home safely.”

San could only nod at your statement, blissed out from his orgasm. He barely realised how his body began moving again, making himself presentable, saying his goodbye and walking out of the caravan and back to his home. San honestly didn’t remember much from his way back home - not even how he opened the door to his shared apartment.

He only came to when four pairs of eyes stared at him with different degrees of worry.

Wooyoung had noticed his spaced out state the second San came home. Both him and Yunho stopped their game mid-play and started questioning their friend but to no avail. Hence why they called for backup.

Hongjoong and Jongho came over soon after they got called, getting comfortable in the living room where the others were.

“Are we having a party I forgot about?” San asked, furrowing his brows in thought as he tried remembering.

“More like a health check. You were totally out of it when you got home”, Wooyoung told him, tilting his head as he observed his roommate. “You didn’t react to us at all.”

San chuckled softly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to worry you guys.” He looked down at the ground, his memories still so fresh. “I just had the best divination of my life.”

A small pout formed on his lips when the others started laughing out loud at first. Though soon enough they realised how serious San was about this and the questions came naturally.

As San retold his afternoon at the travelling carnival and the divination he received, Wooyoung and the others listened with interest.

“You can’t tell me some cards and wet tea leaves are the reason you were so out of it”, Jongho scoffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Quickly the rest of the guys agreed with him, pressuring San to spill everything.

While at first reluctantly, San eventually told them from the special procedure of telling his future.

“So you basically got the best head of your life by a stranger”, Yunho grinned mischievously, amused he learned about San’s kinkiness.

“It’s not that!” San protested immediately. He tried convincing them that your predictions made sense and were true - especially once he remembered the predictions of the tea leaves.

“The fortune teller knew you would visit me today! They told me I’d be the bearer of good news!”

“Oh, hearing you got your dick wet, definitely is some good news”, Hongjoong snickered, elbowing his friend teasingly.

“You think we could get that special fortune telling as well before the carnival leaves town again?” Wooyoung thought out loud, tapping his chin in the process. “I might even wanna bring someone along to the session.” He chuckled darkly, his grin twisting with mischief.

Jongho scoffed again, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t tell me, you actually believe that happened.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland @songsoomin

#pirateeznet #kwritersworldnet #wkcnet #kvanity #ateez #ateez fanfic #choi san #choi san fanfic #ateez san #fanfic #collab #blow your mind collab #dickvination #being hilariously hot

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