#goodies.fics

[goodieghostyarchive]

Anyway uhhhh, just updated my rare pair fic for Murder Mark and Yandereplier

There is gore, non-consensual drug use, soon to be smut, stalking, death, blood-they're a stalker and a murderer. There's gonna be all of that. Fair warning.

[id-never-letyoudown]

Wars end,? Kisssss?

The war was, for the time being, over. Well, Geralt wouldn't exactly say 'over', more like put on hold. Until further notice. Good. He had a whole lot more on his plate to worry about. Like Ciri.

He wasn't good with children. What did they even like? He had noticed her gloves were far too big on her. Suppose he start with that.

"Geralt?" That was a familiar voice.

He looked up from the stand just in time to spot the blur of black before it attached itself to him. "Oh it's you! It's really you!" Jaskier wept into his leather, clinging to the Witcher for whom he had just been mourning not moments ago.

Geralt's arms hung suspended at his sides, hovering mere inches over the bard's waist. Until he finally allowed himself to bring him in. After how he left things, the thought of Jaskier left rocks in his gut. "Jaskier-"

He felt the kiss before he saw it coming. Felt the tears streaming down Jaskier's cheeks. And the relieved sobs he swallowed behind those soft lips. But most of all he felt the desperation. The urgency. Like Jaskier was kissing him like he'd never get to see the next opportunity to do so.

Geralt stood shocked, frozen on the spot. Until Jaskier suddenly pulled away.

"I'm sorry I-" he wrung his hands together. "I thought I lost you. There was all this talk-people say they saw you dead in the back of some man's cart. I didn't know what to think. Oh but I should have known you were still kicking-" Jaskier's words were all but drowned out as the realization of what just transpired struck Geralt.

The Witcher touched a finger to his lips, pupils wide. "Jaskier."

"-nothing can kill the white wolf. Don't know why I was so worried-"

Geralt saw puffy eyes ringed with dark circles. Black fabric. Mourning clothes. Jaskier really had thought he was dead.

"I'm sorry-could I just-" the bard's hands came to Geralt's cheeks, as though all he wanted was to feel his skin beneath his fingertips. "I've missed you, dear friend."

The Witcher felt his lips begin to tingle, "Yeah... think I've missed you too."

[goodieghostyarchive]

Potential

Logan had been a scholar when they met. A studious man. A little serious, but kind hearted. He meant well. He spent hours each day in his study, creating meticulous notes and drawing diagrams. When he ran out of room or places to store his findings, he'd bind them in a book.

And Logan had many of these books. Books in general, really. And scrolls. No bookcase could ever hold the amount he had.

He wanted to share his findings with his peers, but none would heed him. He wasn't of noble blood like the rest of them, and as such his word meant little. Which was rather unfortunate, for he had much to say.

He'd often ramble to himself as the sun settled on the horizon. He'd talk as though he weren't alone, as if he were having a chat with a friend. It helped him think, get the gears going. Made issues easier to spot.

And during one of these times, unbeknownst to himself, he'd gave the audience he so desperately craved.

Patton wasn't normally inclined to set foot in a mortal's home without their knowledge. But this was different. And, as he sat in the window, one could argue that he had yet to step into the dark haired man's study.

He had seen Logan around while he did his usual work. Saw how he was so blatantly ignored. And that didn't sit right with him. This man was clearly passionate about his studies. He had every right to speak and be heard.

And Patton would listen to him, each night for the past... oh he didn't even know how long. He figured it was time he made himself known.

"You make a lot of points." He spoke up from behind him, a deep laugh echoing through Logan's home when the spooked scholar jumped. "Ah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

Logan is staring right at this... this-no, no this was no man. Not with that ethereal glow about him.

"May I come in?" Ah, yes. He was sitting in his window, one leg bent with his elbow resting on it, and his other hovering just an inch above the floor. He had one arm keeping himself steady and braced-but after Logan gave a nod(because what else was he meant to do?)all he could focus on was the fluid movement of the god's robes when he stepped inside.

Logan finds his voice, "What... what can I do for you?" He asks the god, watching him move about his study with quiet interest. But his words seem to surprise him.

"What can you do for me? I've been around for thousands of years and you're the first to ask me that." He smiles, and Logan finds himself melting at the dimples.

This god was quite handsome. And the face was familiar-Patton. This was Patton. But-what did a fertility god want with him? He dealt with judgment as well-but surely Logan hadn't done anything to call for divine intervention. He's thinking all of this, but he's also thinking about how none of the depictions of Patton have gotten the freckles right.

"I have a feeling, tell me if I'm right." Patton moves closer, walking slowly around Logan. "I believe... you wish to improve the lives of those around you. To make things more..." he feels as though he's being appraised. "Efficient. Is that right?"

He nods, leaning against his desk. If only to keep himself steady.

Patton's lips twitch, "Use your words, you were given a voice for a reason." He chuckles.

"I-yes, but..."

"But the people won't hear you. I noticed. Must admit I've been watching you for while. Unfortunately, I can't do much in way of making them listen... but, I have a proposal."

Logan knew all too well that mortal dealings with gods could go many ways-and they weren't always good. "And that would be..."

"Take my hand, and become a god. You could do so much more with time and eternity at your fingertips."

Logan stood, slack jawed. "I... a mortal cannot just-godhood is for-for legends! Heroes! Those who have faced countless trials and I-I am but a scholar. I've done nothing special. "

"You are so much more. I see great potential in you, Logan. Heroes become gods because of the good they've done, but you? You can become a god to do the good."

This was a lot for Logan to wrap his head around. "I... may I think it over?" What if this was a dream? Yes. He's asleep at his desk again.

Patton smiles, "Of course. It's a big decision after all." He stands before him, "But I don't believe in parting without leaving a gift, so..." he thinks for a moment, fingers tapping along his chin. "Ah, I know." He snaps his fingers, and a basket of fresh fruit has appeared on Logan's desk. "I'm a little limited on what I can create," he tells him, taking a grape from the basket. "But I've been told my fruits are quite exceptional."

Logan should not be staring at the god's soft, sweet lips as he raises the grape to it.

"Ah, where are my manners?" Patton's laughter will not be leaving Logan's mind anytime soon. The god offers Logan the grape, the same one that had just brushed his own lips but moments before. The scholar would have normally been repulsed, but he finds himself accepting this treat. It's... exceptionally sweet. But he can't quite focus on the taste when Patton's fingers ghost his bottom lip.

"I do hope you accept my offer, Logan." Patton smiles, gone by the next blink.

Logan stands in his office, hand to his mouth. Did... did he just have an indirect kiss with the god of fertility?

His thoughts are interrupted by a gentle breeze, reminding him that his window is open. And with the wind he can still hear the god's voice. "Sleep well, Logan."

[goodieghostyarchive]

Writing: in the mood for museum shenanigans. Not just Orpheus stuff. Show us the gods marveling at this stuff that they possibly held themselves and look how old and withered it is.

The museum had been a brilliant idea. At least it kept the gods preoccupied for a good few hours. A welcomed break from all the recent ongoings and shenanigans. And Thomas was glad he could share this with them.

Janus strayed far from the group, more interested in a display of pottery and other such things. An old, cracked and weathered, teapot caught his eye. It used to be a lovely yellow hue, years ago. And it was now missing its lid, as well as part of the handle. Which once resembled a snake, only now a good chunk of the once proud snake was nowhere to be seen

It felt... odd, knowing that he used to pour his visitors a drink from this pot. Of course, this teapot had a trick or two. Naturally. He used it to spike drinks with the venom from his prized snakes. Not a lethal thing, no. It just loosened their tongue. Made them speak the truth.

He became aware that one of the others had joined him. It was Remus. He half expected him to make some snide remark or crude joke about the pieces on display. But he did not. He was... quiet.

Which worried Janus.

His gaze followed Remus' line of sight to a vase. The paint was old and chipped. But the depiction was clear. Some famed hero of legend running his spear through the eye of...

"Clover." Remus mumbled, hands in his pockets. He knew Janus had questions. He could feel it. "He was such a sweetheart. Didn't deserve to go out the way he did." None of his children who fell to so-called "heroes" did.

Ah, yes. Remus had peculiar tastes. He's fathered many monsters of myth. One wouldn't think he'd keep tabs on them. But he did. He always made sure they were well taken care of. Sadly, only few remained in this modern age.

He didn't want to bring anymore into a world that would only see them as feral beasts.

"I heard about Clover. All good things, rest assured. I hadn't known he was yours." Janus admitted, "Wish I could have met him."

Remus grunts, staring straight through the display, and far beyond. Looking off into nothingless, presumably.

Janus shifted, "I do have to ask... is there a reason for your... tastes? I get the appeal, but unless I'm mistaken you haven't taken any mortal lovers. Or divine, well, other than the odd fling."

Remus snorts, turning to give Janus a positively foul grin. "Are you offering?" When all he got was a roll of the eyes, he continued. "Mortals are booooring-and I could bag a god whenever I wanted. Bunch of horny bastards. I like a challenge! If I'm not breaking a sweat during foreplay it's not worth it."

He shrugged, "And besides, human demigods are soooo entitled and cocky."

Janus couldn't even be offended by that. A good bit of them were.

Remus draped an arm across his shoulders, "Now, you wanna tease Patton about those fertility statues he's pretending don't exist?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course."

[goodieghostyarchive]

Stayed up until 4 am writing more for the murder mark x yandereplier fic and I have many regrets but if you wanna read it: here ye go

Plz, plz head the tags

[goodieghostyarchive]

Henlo yes I just reread my omegaverse jeraskier fic and wow

I did that

[id-never-letyoudown]

65 with Curtwen, hurt us

65. “Are you happy now? Huh? DOES THIS MAKE YOU HAPPY?!”

They hadn't always been such a great team. They got off on the wrong foot. Then the right. Then off again. Constantly clashing. Feelings and signals mixed and misfired. Always trying to outdo the other in some way. Didn't help their agencies were constantly pitting them against each other.

They were both hardworking spies in their own right. Both highly skilled. Probably why they kept getting paired together now a days. Regardless, Curt admits to becoming... distracted as of late.

Of course it was Owen's fault.

And now? Well, it was time for the yearly obstacle course. Which Curt had always excelled at. No one could beat his time.

Until Owen. Owen fucking Carvour. Beat. His time.

His colleagues weren't letting him live it down either. It's what he deserves after being so cocky. He puts on a grin and simply tells them that next year Owen would be eating his dust. He's good. At putting on a show.

He should be glad to have some solid competition, shouldn't he? He should be thrilled. But he isn't.

Because pride runs thick in his veins.

When he started out in this agency he was just a weak little scamp getting into alley scraps. He wasn't born into this. He wasn't out for revenge. He chose this life. His peers didn't take kindly to him. But he learned that he could shut them up quick if he proved himself.

So he did just that. Over and over and over again. Until he couldn't stand. Until he was bruised and aching. Until he wore blisters on his heels.

And now it felt like something was cracking beneath the surface.

And what was he doing now? He was long gone from the scene. Down. To the gym level. There was only so many days in a year and Curt was going to use every damn one of them.

It'd been a week since he started. He'd been merciless. When he wasn't on a mission he was down in the gym, training. His colleagues had begun to talk. Let them.

It was another late night, Curt was the only one around. He was tired but restless. He needed to keep on. He'd rest when his muscles gave out.

"You're going to burn out if you keep this up you know."

"Carvour." Curt grunted, staring straight ahead. Not even bothering to look at the agent who stood beside him.

"Back to last names then? Alright." He sounded exasperated, Curt only huffed. "Oh come on, don't tell me this is all over some silly time-"

"Shut up."

How long had Curt been going on this treadmill? Too long. His legs felt like jelly. And yet he only upped the speed.

"Oh my god-Curt it was just three seconds! Let it go, so what if I'm a bit faster than you?"

"You don't understand."

"Then help me understand-" Curt made the mistake of turning his head. The second he did so he lost his footing.

And falling off a treadmill. Going as fast as Curt was. Hurts. A lot.

Curt was fuming all the way to the infirmary, only letting Owen help him because he couldn't very well make it there on his own, now could he? He sat on the cot, glaring at the wall ahead of him.

Owen was sick and tired of it. "Goddammit, Curt. You're a fucking stubborn one."

"This is your fault."

"My fa-I'm not the one who went and tripped!"

"My leg might be fractured, Owen. I could be on rest for months. Which is just great for you. Cynthia will have no choice but to choose you to take on the big missions. Bet that makes you so happy. Hm?" Curt's anger is misguided, he isn't mad at Owen. He knows he isn't. He's pissed. Pissed that he's let some stupid numbers mean so much to him. What happened to the boy who couldn't give two shits about some slip of paper? "Are you happy now? Huh? Does this make you happy?!”

He's shaking. His hands are clutching the sheets. Knuckles bone white. And he's tearing up.

Owen has never seen Curt cry before. "Curt..." What the hell is he supposed to do? He can't just leave, can he? No, not when his... well, he liked to call him friend, was so strung up. "You idiot..." He sighs, seating himself on the cot and pulling the stubborn man into a hug.

Curt stiffens almost immediately. He wants to pull away, push Owen back. Yell at him. Scream and shout. But he can only shake. And the tears begin to fall freely.

"Owen..." He buries himself in him, grasping at Owen's coat like a lifeline. "I'm sorry..."

[id-never-letyoudown]

I always imagine Geralt (especially in modern au) hating crowds and interacting with others and so Jaskier finally gets to help is boyfriend out for once instead of always being the one needing taken care of. (Geralt with anxiety in any for is my kryptonite) It also helps make Jaskier feel important and useful

(oooooo f c k, alright modern au but there are still v much monsters and beasts and mages ye? Ye)

They-and by they he meant Geralt, mainly, he was but a tagalong-had been tracking this troublesome doppelganger for weeks now. And it wasn't quite easy. Especially in such a large city. Much less in a crowd as packed as this one.

Geralt was at his wit's end. He never liked crowds. They made getting around hard. And keeping an eye on a target even harder. And when said target was a threat, well, suffice to say Geralt's nerves were all over the place.

The only thing keeping him grounded was Jaskier's hand clutching the back of his jacket. A hand which moved to take the Witcher's hand. "Don't worry, we'll find the bastard soon enough."

"If it hasn't already changed face." He growled, turning left. Then right. Right again. Trying to keep track of the scent. But with so many different smells and perfumes around him it was near impossible. Crowds were the worst. Too many people. Too many different stimuli. Sounds. Touch. And Geralt has bared witness to just how easily a crowd could turn on you.

"You're getting nervous." And only someone who knew Geralt would have guessed it. But that didn't mean he had to respond to what was so blatantly obvious to Jaskier. "And something tells me it's not just the doppler that has you worried."

The only response he got was a grunt. Which, granted, he expected.

And he knew talking wouldn't help things. Geralt wasn't really the type. Jaskier could adapt. He always did.

He fit his fingers between the Witcher's, giving him a firm squeeze. Just to let him know he was there. Geralt didn't hesitate in returning it

And he always would be.

[id-never-letyoudown]

For the writing thing! Could you do Jaskier and Geralt with number 20?

(exhausted parents kiss)

"Ciri had another terror." Jaskier rubbed his eyes, sitting down on the log beside the roaring fire. "Took me forever to calm her down." He ended up having to sing her back to sleep by the end of it. After exhausting every other option. "Poor girl...." He looked back at her tent, frown pulling at his lips.

"Thank you, Jaskier." Geralt didn't know what else to say. "I'm not... good with kids."

"I've noticed.... You have your work cut out for you though, she likes you. She just tolerates me." He snorted, nudging the Witcher with his foot. "You should talk with her sometime. You know, stop treating her like she has the plague." He teased.

Geralt grunted, "What would I even say?"

"You're Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. Witcher! She'll eat up anything you tell her, trust me. Children love tales of adventure."

He supposed that was true. But it was easier said than done. Geralt wasn't much of a conversationalist.

"Now." Jaskier stood, dusting his clothes off. "I'm hitting the hay. You're more than welcome to come join me, but the next time she wakes it's your turn." He paused just long enough for a yawn, stretching his arms high above his head until his back popped with a groan. Jaskier leaned over, pressing a tired kiss to Geralt's temple. "Talk to her. At least try."

He hummed, turning his head just enough to brush their noses together. "I will. Get some rest."

[id-never-letyoudown]

Part 4

@mystic-majestic @youcanteverknowenough @vanillamaa @randomwriter90 @freezing-blue @liawinchester67 @randomwriter90 @bevaause @occulta-lacrimarum13 @capsicle-the-fabulous @juhavs @idk-but-i-exist

Jaskier had taken up a rather curious habit as of late. A habit which involved carding his fingers through the Witcher��s hair. Grooming him. Picking out leaves and the like. It wasn’t just something he did with him either. Roach too. And the horse loved it. Whenever they stopped Jaskier would hug his arms around the mount’s neck and plant a kiss just between it’s eyes before brushing that mane. There was one time where Jaskier seemingly forgot and Roach just about nudged him off his feet.

Which got a laugh out of Geralt. “You’ve spoiled her.” He tells him, feeling around in one of his saddle bags.

“She deserves it.” Jaskier scoffs, giving Roach a peck. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous now.” He teased, running his fingers through the horse’s coarse mane-much to her delight. “You’re next.”

Geralt recalled still finding petals from the last time he let Jaskier play with his hair. But it had been mighty worth it. If only so he could watch Jaskier’s face as he did so. He’s never seen someone look so pensive about a single flower’s placement before. And the fingers through his hair after a long day had been more than welcomed.

“Why’ve we stopped?” Jaskier asks, looking to the pub they stood before. “Fancy a drink, do you?” “Gotta drop off a package.” He answers, “Client’s in there.”

“Oh? Since when are you a courier?” Jaskier gives Roach a scratch behind the ear, scrunching up his face when she huffed hot air right at him. “I’m only teasing, silly girl.”

“Something tells me they’re not gonna like what’s inside.” Geralt grimaced, holding the parcel aloft. It wasn’t clear what it held, but the Witcher could smell death through the parchment.

Jaskier too wrinkled his nose. “Oh yuck-and here I thought one of us stepped in something foul.” He hadn’t noticed the stench at first, but as the days went on. “Almost makes me lose my appetite…. Almost. I’m famished.”

“Jaskier-”

“Geralt, I’ll be fine. I’ve been kicking it on my own for ages now, if things get hairy I’ll slip right on out. Besides, I really don’t think you want to get in between me and a meal right now.” The hunger gnawed at him to no end, and he could smell the food from inside the pub. Mouthwatering.

Geralt cocked a brow, suddenly recalling the incident with the squirrel. “… Point taken.”

The pub was quiet, being broad day. It wasn’t as busy as it would have been if it were night. And for that Geralt was thankful. It made keeping an eye on Jaskier all the easier. And right now the bard was seated at the bar, chatting it up with the barmaid as he filled his belly.

A familiar face caught the Witcher’s eye.

“Seems like we’re getting a colorful bunch of guests lately.” The woman commented, “First those bandits, then the mage. Now you two. A Witcher and his bard.”

Jaskier didn’t know what to ask about first. “Bandits? They come here often?”

There was a pause, but Jaskier scarcely noticed it. Busy bringing the bowl of stew to his lips. If he weren’t so hungry he would have noticed the brief flash of something akin to panic crossing her face. “Only… once a month to cause a ruckus, but then the mage came. They ran with their tails between their legs. Wouldn’t worry about them. I think she’s still here.” Something about that didn’t sit right with Jaskier. He had this sneaking suspicion.

He finished off his food, wiping his mouth. “I’ll be back for seconds, do you have somewhere I can wash up?” He felt uneasy. The hair at the back of his neck stood straight up. Something felt amiss about this whole thing. The food didn’t even taste right. And the people here, they looked… off. Their clothes were so old fashioned, out of date. And something about them made his stomach churn.

Jaskier felt silly. He was just being paranoid.

But once he rounded that corner he discovered that it might as well have been justified. “Oh of course!” His face dropped into a scowl, hands coming to rest on his hips. “I should have known.”

“Hello Jaskier, I was wondering where you were.” Yennefer greeted, leaning back from the witcher who stood across from her. “Lap dogs never do stray too far from their masters now, do they?” His scowl only deepened, “Oh lighten up, keep making that face and those wrinkles will never go away.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, “Can’t you two get along for one second?”

Jaskier came to stand at Geralt’s side, sending a glare the mage’s way. “No. Geralt I think we need to leave.”

“I haven’t even met with my client yet, Jaskier. I still have a job to do.”

“Something-just-something doesn’t feel right.” And it wasn’t just Yennefer’s presence putting him off.

Yennefer looked the bard over, saw his uneasiness. Saw him worrying his lip. She touched Geralt’s arm to gain his attention, “I think you should listen to him. There is something off to this place.”

Geralt hummed, and the thoughtful look that crossed him only served to rile Jaskier. If he said something it was brushed off, but if she said the same he took it to heart? How was that fair? Compared to Jaskier they hardly knew each other. So why-

Jaskier could feel that little green monster clawing at him again. “Geralt you can leave your bloody package with the damned barmaid, I’ll be outside. Waiting with Roach.”

“Someone’s in a foul mood.” He heard Yennefer say, but he was already leaving. Didn’t even stick around long enough to hear Geralt object, which he did.

Yennefer crossed her arms. She hadn’t expected to run into either of them, not today. Not after that whole mess. She was looking for someone. A lead. She was told they frequented this pub, but that turned out to be a fat lie. She clicked her tongue, watching the bard leave.

These two just reeked of each other. And when she said reeked, she meant it. Who was she to judge? She cares not for who the witcher took into his bed. It was curious however. How the bard seemed to be glowing despite the sour look about him. How Geralt tensed when he left his sights. As though he wanted to chase after him.

Suffice to say she had some suspicions.

“He doesn’t-”

“Like me?” She mused, “If things were reversed I don’t think I’d like him either.” At the look Geralt gave her she chuckled, “I don’t hate him, it’s just good fun getting under his skin. He’s quite adorable.”

That at least made Geralt feel relieved.

His attention turned down the hall, to the sound of footsteps approaching them. Must have been another pub goer. Or that’s what he thought, until the door opened and in walked Jaskier.

“I thought you were leaving.”

The bard blinked, staring up at the two of them, then out the door he just walked through. “I was-and I am!” He turned, opening the door wide with the most perplexed of faces.

Yennefer grew uneasy.

Jaskier walked right back out that door. And that seemed to be that. Until the pair heard the entrance to the pub slam shut, followed by a shout of, “What the hell?”

They walked out of the hall to find Jaskier, once again, staring at another door like it just told him to ‘fuck off’. And to an effect, it did. The bard gave an exasperated shout, “How am I supposed to storm off like this?” He swung the door wide open, marching out once more. He didn’t make it three feet before something unseen forced him back. The door slammed shut.

“Fuck.” Thank you, Geralt.

Yennefer went to stop the bard from trying a third time, only for him to yank himself away from her. “No, no-you, do not touch me.” He hissed.

“Three times is a death wish, bard. Whatever’s keeping us in here obviously doesn’t want us to leave.”

Jaskier locked eyes with her, glowering at the mage. Stubborn as ever he ignored the mage’s warning. The second his hand touched the handle he was thrown back, straight off his feet. And right into Yennefer.

The two of them groaned, Yennefer cursing the bard and his idiocy. She didn’t miss how Geralt went to his side. Didn’t miss the concern in his voice when he asked him if he was alright.

She did, thankfully, miss the bard’s lunch as he hurled. Right on the pub floor. “Oh how delightful.” She spat, grabbing one of his arms despite his protest, “Come on, let’s get you up. You damn…” She drew a breath, pausing. In her sentence, in her movements. She had his arm over her shoulders, and one arm wrapped around his waist. But her hand, her hand was on his stomach. And she could feel him freezing up.

Geralt had his other side, standing up straight with the bard leaning against him, slipping out of Yennefer’s hold. Yennefer who, still shocked, now stared at her palm.

It was a long few moments, moments Geralt was too busy checking on Jaskier during.

“Are you alright?” He asked again, and Jaskier cleared his throat.

“I’m fine, just winded.” His eyes went to Yennefer, who was staring right at him. Worry pinched at his gut.

“You… oh, wow.” She laughed, looking between them with her lips pursed. “Incredible, Geralt. You know, I never pegged you as a hypocrite.”

“Now isn’t the time.”

Jaskier pulled away from Geralt with a groan, “Ugh, if you two are going to argue leave me out of it.” He massaged his temples, “Let’s save it for later, alright? How about we figure out what the hell is going on?”

Yennefer’s eyes softened, wind pulled out of her sails. She sighed, reluctantly. “Fine. Once this is all said and done we can all sit around a campfire sharing our tales.” The sarcasm was incredibly heavy on this day.

The barmaid caught their attention. She was grinning from ear to ear. But if one bothered to look past her smile they’d be able to tell it wasn’t genuine. It hadn’t been for a while. She took a cloth to the counter top, shaking her head, “No one leaves this place.” She sighed. “Not once they’re caught.”

Geralt narrowed his gaze, drawing near to the bar. “What do you mean?”

“I think it’s obvious.” Yennefer scowled, “This place is a trap. Look around, Geralt. Don’t you think it’s odd?”

Jaskier looked at the man sat at the bar, who hadn’t moved since they came in. He waved a hand in front of his face, no response. Not even a flicker. “Sir?” He touched his shoulder. Cold. Ice cold. And Jaskier was only now noticing just how damn pale he was.

“This place. It has ways of luring people in. All kinds of ways.” The woman looked up, and Geralt was stunned by the lack of color to her eyes. Not even a pupil. They looked like glass. “Do you even remember who gave you that package, sir Witcher?”

Geralt opened his mouth. As if to speak. Only for the words to die on his tongue. No. No, he didn’t. He couldn’t recall a face. Nor where he had taken up the job. Was it Posada? He couldn’t remember.

“There was never a job, never a lead.” Her eyes fell on Yennefer, “I am sorry.”

The man Jaskier was trying to rouse lolled to the side, slumping in his seat. Until he collapsed to the floor in a terrible heap. This made the bard flee right to Geralt’s side, “I swear I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve seen this place take many over the years. They never suspect it.” The barmaid went to clean a glass. “I assume it’s painless. They never scream.”

“And what about you?” Yennefer demanded, “Why hasn’t it claimed you?”

“Because, I made it.” The woman’s smile was almost proud, and then it was bitter once more. “All I wanted was a safe haven. Where there were no lies. So I put sigils, symbols, all over the place. No one could utter a single white lie under this roof-”

“The sky is red.” Jaskier interrupted, still eyeing the corpse on the ground.

The barmaid continued, “Until, a man came along and broke it. Compulsive liar. Actually believed the shit he was spewing. See, so long as you think it’s true it’ll accept it. But he kept on, every day. Contradicting himself. It couldn’t take it. And now,” she waved a hand. “It lures in those tangled in webs of their own making, and feeds on them.”

She sighed, “I really wish I could help, but the only way I can even think that might help is if you three laid everything bare.”

“And so the truth will set you free.” Yennefer mumbled, “Well that’s just great. We’re never getting out of here-”

“I don’t think you’d be a terrible mother.” Geralt said, “I just never expected you to be the type. It was shocking.”

That sent her reeling, hand on her chest as she looked at the Witcher with wide eyes. “Are we doing this? Are we really-alright then.” Yennefer clapped her hands together. “I am still very much so on the rocks about you with that whole djin ordeal. Don’t get me wrong. I want to punch you in the face.” A grunt. “Jaskier.”

“Oh, no. My turn? Well for starters, and since you already clearly know something is up with your mage bullshit… I’m an omega. And I’m pregnant. I also want to punch Geralt in the face.” He crossed his arms frowning at the meer thought of having to share anything with the damn mage in the room. “Geralt.”

“… Your singing doesn’t sound like a pie without filling.” And that made him gasp so loud.

The three of them went on like that. Jaskier spilling very small, miniscule secrets he didn’t think mattered. Always skirting around what he felt was obvious. Until it came right down to it.

“… Sweet Kiss is about us.” He’s always lied and spun some tale whenever it came up. It’d been eating at him for a while now.“

Yennefer slammed her drink down, "No!” She gasped, maybe a teensy bit drunk. She watched him bury his face in his hands. “Oh you poor soul… Geralt, comfort your mate.”

“We’re not even mates, Yennefer.”

That seemed to throw Yennefer for a loop, and she was thrown through an even bigger loop when Geralt looked up and caught the both of them off guard. “No. But maybe I’d like to try.”

“… Try?” Jaskier could feel his pulse thudding in his ears.

“Relationships aren’t exactly a strong suit-” when Yennefer snorted he shot her a look. “But, I’m open to trying.”

His mouth was suddenly dry, “Oh, oh w o w…. I’m assuming it’d be an open thing? If we were to try, I mean.”

“Naturally. Can’t tie Jaskier down, what would all those noblewomen do?”

Jaskier laughed, “You know, they’d probably be awfully sore…. If we ever manage to get out of here.”

“We should try the door.” Yennefer suggested, rising up from the table. She started for the door, able to successfully swing it open. She cheered quietly to herself, walking out into the night. “Well, I did it at least. Your turn.” She rose her pint up, back to her lips.

Geralt got up.

Leaving Jaskier still inside the pub. The bard stood, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s just-one more thing. Yennefer.” He cleared his throat, catching her eye from across the threshold. “I never hated you. I know that’s what you thought. I… may have been a little jealous. Worried even.” He looked down, slipping one toe over the line and holding his breath. “Worried you might screw everything over for me, selfish, I know. But I am very, very selfish. That’s not new.” He paused, halfway out the door.

“Did you really have to get all sappy on me?” Yennefer groaned, slinging an arm around the bard and mussing up his hair. “Don’t suppose this means we’re friends now?”

“Let’s just start over, how about that?” But his voice was cracking.

“… Jaskier.” Geralt cocked his head, eyes narrowing.

He groaned, frozen partway through the doorway. Seemed the pub wasn’t satisfied. “My name is Julian. Julian Alfred Pankratz.” His cheeks flushed, mumbling under his breath. “Do call me Jaskier.” And yet he still couldn’t leave, “Dammit! This isn’t fair!” Was nothing sacred. “Listen, I’m a man of many secrets. I will admit that. And I was planning on sharing, when the time was right.” He looked huffy, sure. But Geralt could smell the fear oozing off of him.

“I know I should have told you, of all people, sooner. Considering your profession and whatnot. But if you want to get technical here, you’re not all that bright, Geralt-” Yennefer laughed, “-I mean, we’ve known each other for what, ten, twenty years? And I still look like I did on the day we met.”

“Jaskier would you get to the point?”

“… just do remember that I’m with child and Yennefer still wants to punch you in the face.” A last try at getting a laugh in before he had to gather up all his courage. “Geralt, Yennefer… I’m not exactly human.”

And with that he was finally able to tumble through, fidgeting with his clothes. “Half human, more like. Technically speaking. It’s actually an interesting story, my birth…” He mumbled, weaving his fingers together and avoiding both of their eyes. “… please say something.”

“What are you, if not human.”

“That’s… exactly what I was hoping you wouldn’t ask. Let’s find some place to camp first, don’t know if you’ve noticed, but time passed differently out here.” And that was true, it was now pitch black. And Roach looked antsy. “… Yennefer will you be traveling with us?” He sounded hopeful, silently pleading with her. She hadn’t made a comment about his non-human status as of yet, and although he knew Jaskier wouldn’t harm him, he at least wished for someone to talk to.

“Don’t suppose why not, I’ve got nothing more to do.” And she wasn’t leaving the bard in the state he was in now, stressed and worried. It wasn’t safe. And she would only worry herself sick seeing him off now. – Finding a place to settle for the night had been far more stressful than anticipated. The air was thick with tension. Jaskier wouldn’t meet Geralt’s gaze, and just about hovered around Yennefer. She kept his mind off things.

By the time they got a fire going he was hoping Geralt had forgotten. But the steady gaze he felt on him said otherwise.

“… so, I’m part leshen-”

The choking that sounded beside him caused him to pause, turning to the mage with a quiet inquiry. She cursed between breaths, calming herself from the shock, “Your mother laid with a fucking leshen?”

“No!” He groaned, “It was a ritual-there was this whole thing-” but the two kept on, back and forth. Yennefer bringing up something about splinters, to which Jaskier wanted nothing more than to shove his head in the dirt and call it a night.

And then there was Geralt.

He remained silent throughout it all, until their conversation died down. “… This would explain the squirrel.” And Jaskier was both shocked and relieved at the response.

If Geralt had discovered this sooner, he would have been apprehensive. And hesitant to be alone with the bard. But let’s face it, if Jaskier wanted to do him or anyone else harm he would have already done so. And during all these years he’s never laid a finger on another person. Aside from the bar fight here and there. But that was aside the point.

Geralt prided himself on being a good judge of character. Jaskier was no exception. “You will have to show me what all you can do though.”

Jaskier chuckled, “Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeves.”

“I bet you do, tree boy.” Yennefer snorted, “Let’s hope that goes well. Hey, knock on wood.”

“Ugh, Yennefer.” Jaskier rolled his eyes

[id-never-letyoudown]

Part 1

@mystic-majestic @youcanteverknowenough @vanillamaa @randomwriter90 @freezing-blue @liawinchester67 @randomwriter90 @bevaause @occulta-lacrimarum13 @capsicle-the-fabulous

part one of that omegaverse fic y’all are vibing for

Jaskier didn’t envision spending the early hours of the morning hunched over a rancid barrel, heaving his guts out. Yet again. For the third day in a row. He must be ill. Something he ate, likely. Some bad meat. That’d explain it all well enough.

And it wasn’t simply the morning that churned his stomach. It was the smells.

Used to be he could take a stroll through the market square without a care. Now he couldn’t even pass by the shoemaker without upsetting his stomach. Which was a damned travesty. As the shop that sold spare lute strings was sat right beside it.

It wasn’t until he caught wind of a conversation that he began to suspect this wasn’t an illness. Head still hanging over the barrel, he heard the pair’s exchange. “Oh poor thing.” Yes, yes. Poor Jaskier. “I couldn’t stand the scent of shoe polish when I was carrying either.” And his expression must have turned something sour, because her friend immediately hushed her.

His hands gripped the lip of the barrel. Blood frozen just as much as he. Until it began to rush. To his cheeks. To his ears. To the nape of his neck. Painting him red.

He stood up straight, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. It was only gossip. Nothing more. Jaskier only ate something rotten. That was all. What did those women know? He was only feeling ill is all. This would come to pass. But as he hurried through the square, errands long forgotten, That night came to mind. And it wouldn’t leave him.

That night. When he and Geralt-

The thought of the Witcher left a taste more bitter than his own bile. After that damn quest with the dragon-after Geralt snapped at him-things hadn’t been the same. Geralt hadn’t been around the inn for weeks. And Jaskier hadn’t even bothered talking to him the last he was. He ignored him completely, turning up his nose and away from the Witcher. If he wasn’t there to apologize he didn’t want to hear it. Even went as far as to parody his own song. Toss a Coin to Your Bitcher, O’ Fucker O’ Plenty. That got a good kick out of the drunkards.

Geralt made it plenty clear he didn’t want anything to do with him anyhow.

What did Jaskier think was going to happen when he asked Geralt to help him out when his next heat arrived? Did he think nothing was going to come out of Geralt and his knot? He just had to know what it was like, spending a night with the Witcher. hadn’t he? He wisdh to spend at least one night with his-well, his former friend he supposed. Greatest muse. With whom he had been so love struck. With whom he still was. Unfortunately.

It was all that damned cut purse’s fault.

– It was only supposed to be a brief supply run. They were headed a little ways north and the wind was already beginning to bite. They needed the supplies. Jaskier kept a list and he planned to keep to it. He prided himself on being at least a smidge useful, though he was certain Geralt would have handled it all well enough on his own. The point he was making was that he didn’t have to. Not as long as Jaskier was around.

“We still need to grab some food for the road.” he mused, scratching off another item from his list. “Preferably something not as hard as a rock, thank you. So best leave that to me. Geralt.” his eyes flicked up just enough to give the man in question a brief glare. Geralt only gave him a glance in return, busy packing Roach’s saddlebags.

Jaskier should get himself a horse. Frankly he was tired of walking everywhere. On the plus side his legs have never looked better. Not that anyone who mattered knew. And the only one who mattered would prefer to shove his head up some foul mage’s skirt-Jaskier refused to think about her. That woman. He wanted to be in a good mood today. Though he couldn’t say the same about his traveling companion.

“We’re going to be traveling for a good while. Here, you look for winter clothes. I’m going to haggle with the butcher.” He tucked the list away, giving Geralt-and Roach-a pat on the side. Only one of them truly appreciated it. That would be the one he was going to sneak sugar cubes to later. He made his jaunty way across the street, lute strung across his back as always. He should grab some food for Roach as well while he was at it. Who knew if it was going to be snowing by the time they got there.

Just more things to add to the list.

It was one busy day in the marketplace. Jaskier loved to witness the hustle and bustle. People milling about to and fro. Fathers hunting for bargains. Small children playing in the streets. All the scent and sounds.

It was too much for a witcher like Geralt. Jaskier could tell crowds weren’t his all time favorite. He didn’t need heightened senses to tell that. This was precisely why he told him to do the clothes shopping instead of sending him down the street. The nearest shop to Geralt was but a few paces.

Someone knocked into his side, damn near throwing him off his feet. “Well, someone’s in a hurry!” he scoffed, fixing himself just so. Years of experience and cautious tales told him to take inventory. Not every bump was just a bump. Cold hands went to his waist, freezing. He looked down, gawking at the cut string hanging limp from his belt. “Wh-hey! Stop! Thief-” he didn’t know whether to be relieved that they stole the wrong pouch, or worried. His coin purse was well and fine. It was his pouch of herbs they had swiped. He wouldn’t have been so concerned normally, but he had only brought so much with him on his trip. And his heat would be on him any day now. And what’s worse? There wasn’t a shop in sight that sold them here.

Oh, yes. His heat. Jaskier the Bard was not the simple beta he claimed himself to be. He was a fully fleshed omega. Believe him, since the day he presented he wanted nothing more for it to not be true. His family had went on and on about him being a late bloomer. About how he was going to shock them all. Of course, he did end up shocking them regardless. Male omegas weren’t unheard of. They were… to the earl at least, an embarrassment. Which was why he was driven out with nothing more than his lute and the clothes on his back. And a pouch of coin his mother snuck him. He still wrote to her.

Jaskier didn’t want to be driven off once more. No one could know he had those herbs.

He gave chase. Heart somehow pounding in his chest despite its current residence in his throat.

“Stop that thief!” he belted out.

Jaskier kept the thief in his sights, ducking around townsfolk and avoiding street clutter. He could catch them. They weren’t that far ahead of him. Maybe just a few paces. Those herbs wouldn’t even catch a good amount of coin! Most didn’t even know what they were meant for. Those who did, well, he didn’t want them to know he had them.

The commotion caught Geralt’s attention. How could it not? He could even see the bard giving chase from where he was standing. “Can’t go one day without getting into trouble, can he?” he grumbled, collecting his purchase. No time to pack anything away. Jaskier could be in trouble, and if he was he’d never hear the end of it. He had to lay the parcels across Roach’s back in a hurry. He trusted the horse to not let anyone steer too close.

He had a bard to catch. “Jaskier!”

The call of his name took his attention away for only a moment, but a moment was all it took for the bastard to lose him. “Dammit!” he cursed, slowing to a stop. Jaskier clenched his fists and doubled over, as if that would help him catch his breath. Walking was one thing. Running? He never wanted to run again. Ever since that encounter with the djin his lungs just never felt the same.

“Jaskier-”

“Dammit, Geralt!” how could someone so big move so fast? “I almost had the spineless little-hey!” he shot up straight, cupping his hands around his mouth. “You hear me?! If I ever see your face I’ll-I’ll skin it!” He huffed, dragging a hand through his hair with the biggest scowl. He couldn’t see it with his back turned to him, but Geralt’s lips were twitching at the corners. Someone could dare to say he was smiling. “Can you believe some people, Geralt?”

“I could track them, get your coin back.”

“Kind of you to offer, but they didn’t make off with my coin.” he pat the coin purse hanging from his side. And that’s where he screwed himself. Knowing exactly the question that would be on Geralt’s tongue he back pedaled, “It’s not important. All in the past. Uh-yep.” he dusted off his clothes, clearing his throat. “Dust in the wind now.”

“Funny. It seemed pretty important, from how hard you were running.” he couldn’t quite place it, but something smelled… different about Jaskier. He wouldn’t say ‘off’, because the bard has always smelled 'off’, but now…

“Psh, no. Heaven’s no. Just my ah,” his boot kicked up a sizable pebble, eyes shining. “rock collection!” Rock collection.

Geralt took a pause, “Rock collection?”

“Rock collection.” he swung his hands by his sides, lips mushed together. He’d dig this trench a little deeper. “I’ll just have to start a new one, ah well. Darn.” Jaskier didn’t look too down about it, he knew that, so he put on a pout. “Good thing we’re traveling! I can pick up all the pretty pebbles I want.” he avoided the witcher’s gaze, making his way off. Back to Roach.

He could feel Geralt’s eyes on him the entire way. And he hoped no more questions would be asked.

It felt like there was a damn boulder in the pit of his stomach.

And wouldn’t you damn well know it. His heat struck him three days into their trip. Hard. Not even the freezing wind whipping about outside the abandoned barn they found themselves in could calm the surge of heat radiating off him. He sat, trembling on the other side of their fire. Jaskier’s thick coat should have been keeping him plenty warm. But he wasn’t shivering from the cold.

And Geralt knew from the second he smelled him-despite all the cologne he doused himself in. And yet he didn’t bring it up. It wasn’t his place to. Why should he care that his companion was an omega? So long as Jaskier could carry his weight he didn’t much care. It hadn’t interfered with any quest up until now, and Geralt wasn’t going to penalize him for something out of his control. They were going to need to wait out the storm anyhow.

It wasn’t until Jaskier started to move towards him that Geralt acknowledged what was obvious to them both. “Jaskier.” he warned. He’s had more than a handful of omegas try and have a go with him, he knew the tells.

It was like scolding a cat. Jaskier just looked up at him, eyes glassy, pupils wide, and his cheeks a rosy pink. The look lasted a beat before he moved again, bringing himself even closer. Slow and cautious. Geralt stiffened, giving him one more warning. But Jaskier was already sitting beside him.

And for the moment that looked to be all he wanted. Geralt almost relaxed.

Until he started to whine, “Geralt-”

“No, Jaskier.” he never, never, wanted to hear his name on Jaskier’s lips when he was like this. If only it was for the effect it had on himself. Geralt was only thankful the bard wasn’t trying to touch him. He wouldn’t like to restrain the bard. Gag? Absolutely. That mouth was grating.

“Stop your whining. I can do this all night.”

“What else can you do all night?” Jaskier purred, in a way Geralt had witnessed him do when hoping to charm someone’s skirts off. He didn’t know how he felt about it being used on himself.

He grunted, “Ignore you.”

Jaskier might be fed up with him for now, but he’d be thankful when his heat let up. Until then Geralt would keep the “poor damned thing” fed and comfortable. And if that meant he had to put up with the damned man plastering himself to his side and sniffing him-which wouldn’t help him with his heat, he reminded-then so be it.

He ignored the pleading and the begging. Batted away the needy hands trying to guide his own to where Jaskier wanted them. At one point Geralt had to pin him down just so he could hold a cool cloth to the bard’s forehead when he was burning up. He never thought he’d have to scrub the image of a desperate Jaskier whining under him out of his head.

A day or so into this, it finally got to the point of dying down. Where the most of what Jaskier begged for was to hold the witcher’s hand. And he let him.

Sometimes it really did feel like he was dealing with an insufferable cat.

Jaskier was, indeed, very thankful. Of course, neither of them brought up that trip until many weeks later. “So we’re not going to talk about it then?” the bard prompted over a drink. It was well after dark, they were in Jaskier’s room at the inn. He had offered it to Geralt for the meantime, until the innkeeper finished up getting the witcher’s ready.

Geralt didn’t glance up from his boot laces. “Talk about what?”

“You know exactly what.”

Geralt stood up with a grunt, “Nothing to talk about.”

Jaskier gawked, “Nothing to-there’s plenty to talk about! I’m an omega! You’re an alpha! I-heaven’s I embarrassed myself. How did you put up with me?”

He could roll his eyes harder, but he might chance losing them. “It was a chore.” He’s fought beasts a'plenty but having to wrangle this needy omega almost made him want to turn in the towel. “Being an omega doesn’t change who you are, doesn’t change how I see you-”

“Ah, ah, ah!” he interrupted, jutting a finger at him. “Except it does! I’ve seen the way you’ve taken to acting around me now, you can’t deny it.” That was true. Geralt had been sticking awfully close to the bard as of later. Throwing death glares at alphas steering too clear, despite Jaskier being back to chewing on his herbs. “Face it, now that you know you think I’m weak and need your big strong alpha arms to protect me.”

“No.” Geralt looked at him with a scoff and a nearly playful smirk. “I thought you were weak before.”

Jaskier guffawed, hand on his chest. Then on his hips. “Do not mock me, witcher.”

“The only one mocking you here is yourself, you think I should treat you differently now that I know? Is that what you’d like?”

“Anyone else would have-”

“But I’m not anyone else. You seem to be forgetting that.” Geralt walked over to his things. Had to take inventory of everything before the next job.

Jaskier paused, that was… true. Just how differently would that trip have gone if Geralt was like anyone else? Or like anyone he had in mind. “You’re right… I should thank you. For not, well…” taking advantage of the situation. Or leaving him in the cold. Abandoning him.

Another grunt, “Shouldn’t thank someone for being decent, bard. Only the wicked would see someone in such a state as an opportunity. And I would like to think 'wicked’ isn’t something that’d come up in one of your songs about me.”

He laughed, “Still, it’s nice to know there’s still some decent folk around.” And comforting, so comforting. The witcher had ways of making him feel safe, even without brandishing a sword, “You know… Geralt, if my heat should make its rounds while you’re�� nearby.” He clears his throat, “I wouldn’t mind sharing it with you.”

And Geralt is, well, shocked. But it doesn’t show. His hands only pause, “You’d let me?” that sounded too hopeful, especially for him.

“I’d let you take me right now if you so wished it. But that’s aside the point.”

That almost got a laugh out of him, but Geralt was skeptical. He didn’t like the idea of getting close to someone he saw on a nearly daily basis. But if Jaskier was offering, “…. No marking. No scenting. Just a matter of release?”

“Exactly.” his heart begins to pick up in his chest, pulse racing. "Just a casual, no strings, fling. Don’t even have to make me breakfast in the morning.” Yes or no, that was all he wanted to know. If he didn’t ask the question now it’d only eat at him later.

And Geralt looks at Jaskier, really looks at him. It feels like forever before he nods. And the bard smiles, but he tries not to make it too obvious.

– That damned thief-no. No, Jaskier had to hold himself accountable. He wanted, and asked, Geralt to take him. And he had no excuse for it either. He was clear headed at the time. No ale to blame, no hormones. No beasts. It was all Jaskier and his doing. He wanted it.

He wanted Geralt.

And for a moment. A beautiful, blissful moment. He had him. And when he did he swore he could have lost everything else, save for Geralt, and he would have been just as satisfied. So long as he had his witcher.

And now he didn’t. As far as he could tell he’d be stuck penning second hand tales in dingy taverns for the rest of his life. No more adventures. Not for Jaskier. He didn’t want to go on any quest or journey if it wasn’t for or with his witcher. The White Wolf. And certainly not now. When he was pregnant with his bastard child.

As if Geralt wanted children. Hah. He couldn’t even imagine. What was he going to do? Change a nappy with one hand and slay a beast with another? He didn’t think so. The man wasn’t even going to retire. He didn’t plan on it.

Jaskier didn’t know what he was going to do. About anything. He couldn’t very well out himself now, as an unwed, unmarked omega. And not only as a male one, but as a pregnant one at that. Not in this damn town. He’s seen folks get pummeled near death for less.

Only one thing was for certain: He had a lot of thinking to do.

[id-never-letyoudown]

Can you write 76 featuring Agent Curt Mega, with curtwen.

76. “It feels like everyone just forgot I exist.”

It was a bad day. No, a bad week. Month. What have you. Curt hasn't stepped foot outside of his safehouse for some time now. Second safehouse. Because let's face it, he didn't want to worry his mother by becoming a shut-in right in front of her.

He rolls over onto his side, almost expecting to be met with a head of dark hair and a sleepy smile. But he isn't. And that fact punches a hole in his stomach.

The days dragged on with nothing to do. So he slept. And slept. And slept some more. He didn't dream often, when he did it left him feeling bittersweet.

Curt's eyes feel on his right hand, and on the simple band that adorned his finger. He shouldn't wear it anymore. But without it he felt naked. And cold.

When was the last time he's had any human contact? Or any contact, at all. If he couldn't remember then it must have been a long while. No one's tried writing. Or called. Or anything. It was all silent.

It made him ache.

"It feels like everyone just forgot I exist." He sighs to no one, thumbing the ring. He remembered desperately tapping it in that night, hoping for a response back. Something, anything. But he got nothing. Not even a single note. "Have you forgotten too?" He hugs a pillow tight to his chest, sliding the ring around on his finger.

"Oh, Owen..." Curt closes his eyes, ready for his third nap of the day.

Until the ring begins to buzz.

[id-never-letyoudown]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Roach (The Witcher) Additional Tags: Omegaverse, ABO, ABO dynamics, no smut just suggestive talk, No Smut, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy, Discussion of Abortion, roach is best horse, where's Roachs sugarcubes jaskier Summary:

Jaskier has been keeping his omega status under wraps for a good part of his life. But when his new muse discovers the truth he has some incredibly conflicting feelings on the matter. No smut.

-I can't find my taglist because I thought I had it saved and apparently not :(

[id-never-letyoudown]

“I don’t know how we keep ending up in each other’s beds” with curtwen cause I don’t like angst

"Looks like we don't have a choice." Curt announced, hands poised on his hips. His gaze was set on the bed. The only bed. In their entire hotel room. "We gotta sh-"

The sound of Owen's voice caught him off guard, "Couch pulls out." He whipped his head around, spotting the Brit's discovery for himself. And with a faintly veiled scowl.

"Oh... lucky us, then!" What hotel had pull out beds? Who designed this?

Owen could spot the distaste clear on his face. "How about I just forget I found that, huh?" That at least turned Curt's mood around. The way his face lit up made Owen chuckle.

--

"Is it cold in here?" Owen asked, "Or is it just me."

"Well, it is snowing outside. Maybe the heater's faulty." Curt shrugged, bundled up in not one, but two blankets. No way was he going to reveal the thermostat he had tampered with and then promptly his behind one of those tacky hotel paintings.

"Glad to see you're good and toasty, blanket hog." He scoffed, "I'm freezing."

"Well you're welcome to come try and pry these blankets from my grasp then." Curt slipped a hand out of the comfy confines of the blanket burrito, patting the space beside him.

--

Another mission. Another hotel.

And two beds.

Owen started unpacking, already claiming one of the beds for his own. "Well, Mega. How are you going to do it?"

"Hm?" Curt plopped his duffel on the mattress, beginning to take stock of his supplies. "Do what?"

"Don't play coy with me. How are you going to get us to share a bed this time?"

Curt had the audacity to act surprised, "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know how we keep ending up in each other's beds!"

Owen rolled his eyes, "Of course you don't."

It was quiet. For one, two beats.

"I thought maybe I'd... I don't know, ask this time." Curt admitted, cheeks flushed.

[id-never-letyoudown]

Told u I'd write self indulgent shit(lmao readmores don't work on mobile rip)

Henry Hidgens x Wilbur Cross. Because I don't have nearly enough rarepairs and we can also all blame @youregoingtobe-thedeathofme

--

It was quiet in the professor's home. Far too quiet. Yet somehow it was comfortable. Because Henry knew he wasn't alone. He could feel that pair of eyes on him, and he thought he knew exactly who they belonged to.

"If you insist on sneaking around you can at least hand me my drink." He chuckled, wiping his hands on his apron. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and brandy, and nice, tart green apples. Apples he was still snacking on, mind you. It felt warm. Cozy. It wasn't often Henry baked. But when he did it was a nice treat.

He could hear his drink being picked up, the ice clinking against the glass. "Feel free to pour one for yourself. I have plenty." You know, because he'd certainly need it for whenever the world turned to shit. "Ah, but not the red. I'm saving that."

"You better like apple pie, after-" the twitch was minute, barely noticable. That head of hair absolutely did Not belong to who he thought he was speaking to. He made himself relax, clearing his throat. "After all the trouble I had to go through."

John set the glass down, right beside the pie that was still cooling. And a second still in the oven. To say John didn't notice him tensing up would have been a mistake on his part.

"'Fraid I don't have time to have a sit down and chat." That was never good. "I gotta ask you some questions, Hen."

Henry's interest was piqued, brow cocked at his long time friend and former partner. "Oh no, what'd I do now?" He spat sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Is this about my search history? I knew something felt buggy. PEIP's been rooting through my things again, haven't they? Keep at it. It'll only make my security stronger." He waved a serving knife in his direction, tsking.

"Nothing like that." John chuckled. Henry really hadn't changed. Well, let's let him believe that. "I'm talking about last week's storm."

"You mean the one that came out of nowhere and damn near tore Hatchetfield apart? Heard on the news there was a mudslide and everything." He took up his drink, "I had a hell of a time cleaning up my garden." A flat out lie. Henry's home had been virtually untouched by that night's wicked storm. There was good reason for that.

One he wasn't about to let John in on.

"Our specialist says this spot was right in the eye of the storm. Now, this may just be a coincidence. But with this being Hatchetfield, and with it showing so suddenly and causing so much damage..."

Henry couldn't help but laugh, "Do you think I had anything to do with it? I'm not a wizard, John." Oh but he did. He had everything to do with it. With some help of course. They had so much to do with that night. And so much fun doing it.

"Course not. I just wanted to make sure everything was good on your end. Thought-"

"Thought it had something to do with the Black and White? John, you know if I was worried about that I would have called you. Nothing's gone amiss, of course not yet. But if it does I'll certainly let you know."

John looked at him. Really, really looked at him. He could tell something wasn't right. Something was up. Since when did Henry set out two sets of plates and glasses when he didn't know he was coming over? But he could just be reaching there. Or hell, maybe his good friend had a hot date coming for a hot slice. Of pie.

"Right. I need to be going." John pat Henry on the shoulder. "Xander wants you to call him sometime. Don't forget."

He nodded, grabbing a slice of green apple to munch on as he waved him off, only waiting until he was certain John was gone to relax. "Does no one call ahead anymore?" He mumbled, turning back to face the counter.

He found his lips met with something soft, and the surprised gasp that left him took any shocked proclamation right out of his mouth. Along with his treat. Which the apple fiend was now snacking on after pulling away from the kiss, rather smugly too.

"Wil!" Henry's cheeks flushed, wanting to scold the man but for what? He rather liked this spontaneity. And Wilbur knew it.

"Miss me already?" Cross chuckled, licking his lips. "It's only been what? A few hours?"

"Far too long and you know it." Henry abandoned his drink in favor of wrapping his arms around the man before him. "I take it everything's set then?" He says, squeezing him just about as tight as he could comfortably manage.

"Poor little dove." Cross ran his fingers through silver hair, bending down to plant his face right atop Henry's head. He hummed, "You know it. Decoy's been picked. Plan's all set. They'll be so focused on the prophet that by the time our old friends at PEIP realize something's up, we'll have already won."

Henry turned his head up to look at him, met with another kiss. He smiled, "You know, you've been awfully affectionate since I agreed to bring Him into this world."

"You deserve it, babe. Can't thank you enough. We've worked so hard for this. And now? We're so close."

He pulled back, taking to holding Cross' hand instead. "It does make me wonder... if it were anyone else, would you still-"

"Fuck no."

That was certainly abrupt.

"Henry, He brought you to me for a reason. You remember? When you first stepped into the Black and White? I knew," he took his face into his hands, "I knew from the moment I saw you. Fuck, dove. You're like-like the greatest gift I could have gotten. And you don't even need to be all wrapped up in a pretty lil bow.... that would be nice though." He smirked when Henry chuckled.

"Oh I can't wait to unleash all manner of hell onto this plane when He's born..." There was a slight pause, another him leaving the professor. It almost made Cross start to worry, until. "How can we be so sure it took though?"

"Did you see that storm? Think it's safe to assume you're good and knocked up." And the way he said that came out as some mix of proud and smug.

"Well, no harm in making sure of things, you know. Could always go for a few more goes between the sheets, see if we can conjure up another storm for the hell of it." Now that got Cross' attention. "Just one thing, I'm not naming our child 'Wiggly', that's heinous."

"I-Henry you can't rename our savior."

"Oh hush, why don't we discuss this over some pie? Hm? It's fresh and hot."

".... You made this to butter me up, didn't you?"

"Nooooooooo..."

[id-never-letyoudown]

So I have a theory on Inevitable. Emma has just been through extreme trauma and most likely has PTSD, so it would make sense that the ending is either a nightmare or perhaps seeing Paul again triggered something in her brain to panic and have a flashback/ not see what is actually happening. A now imagine both fluffy and angsty Paul and Emma helping each other through panic attacks and the like.

(oooo fck)

"Emma, Emma-"

"Paul?"

"Emma-you're okay! You're in Clivesdale-we're in Clivesdale." He smoothed a hand through her hair, stuck to her skin by a cold sweat. "It was just ink-I'm so sorry." He held her close, fingers still stained from the busted pen. No matter how hard he scrubbed. His hands were almost raw.

"Oh god-Paul!" Emma shook, fingers digging desperately into his arms. "I'm sorry-I-I thought-"

"I know. Don't worry." He pulled her close, practically squeezing her. "And just so you know, the plate missed. By a mile." He should probably clean that up. Before either of them stepped in it. But Emma needed him right now.

"Holy shit, Paul I'm sorry." She looked him over, knowing damn well Paul tended to play down whatever was going on with him. His hands still had a faint blue to them. But there wasn't a scratch on him. Emma touched his cheek, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I am. More worried about you." He shrugged his shoulders. "Is... there room for two in the tub?" That's where he found her. This time. Last time it was under the bed. And the time before that, the closet.

"As long as you take your shoes off first. This is my bed, you know."

Paul snorted, crawling into the tub, legs dangling over the side. "I don't think that's going to be an issue." He said, closing his eyes when Emma sidled up beside him. ".... Five days, new record."

"Five days since the last time either of us lost our shit, you mean?" She looked to him, elbowing his side until he opened his eyes. "I'm talkin' here."

"Sorry." Paul rubbed his eyes, circles settled dark and deep. "Just tired." He stared at her hands, finally focusing on her signing. "Looks like we have to add 'blue ink' to the list." He commented. "At least we know now."

Emma nodded, laying her head on his chest. All was quiet.

For all of three seconds. "I need some fucking pot."