#i wish i could be a roach and live in the corner of some girls bathroom forever

[grimmshood]

i hate fake bitches *ten seconds* me and the bestie image but its "i hate the idea of marriage and it kind of scares the shit out of me!!!!!" *ten seconds later* these characters are my wives and marriwd to me

[reinvent-and-believe]

48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

--

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

-

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

-

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They’re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss—though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

[babylooneytoonz]

bear.

pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

summary: you were mistakenly cursed by your best friend, Yennefer, when the two of you were young. Since then, at the strike of midnight, you turn into a hideous bear and run off into the woods to stay the night. No matter how powerful, Yennefer isn't able to undo your curse. One day, she meets Geralt, and so do you. However, what wasn't in the books was the fact that you found yourself falling for him. ♡

requested by: @dashingcavill

warnings: curses & folklores, Geralt being both a douche and a babe.

*Please reblog if you like it, do not repost or claim my work as yours.

[Masterlist link]

Yennefer had guests, as you were informed by one of the girls that lived with you, and it didn't come as a surprise, for Yennefer had guests visiting her almost everyday. What fascinated you was that you were always too curious to see who the visitor was, so you would sneak up on them, and spy on them until the night ended in either of the two— Yennefer falling into the man's arms and coiling herself around him like a snake, or Yennefer using her powers on him to make sure he wasn't found again.

You wondered what it was going to be tonight, as you brought your candle closer to your face; letting the faint orange glow illuminate your features and stepped out of your room, your dress flowing behind you like a trail of white poppies until you finally reached the hall, where an orgy was on full display, and you scrunched up your nose in disgust.

You were about to turn away, walk back into the warmth of the chambers that you had so eagerly left, just to see exactly who Yennefer's guests were, when you finally saw them. At first, you just saw a bard, at least he looked like one, ignoring the massive tumour like lump that hung from his throat. You could see that he was gasping for air, but it wasn't him that captured your attention— it was rather the white haired man, tall as an oak tree, hair white like snow, eyes yellow, like a lion's. There was something intimidating about him, something that told you that he wasn't a man to be messed with, yet there was something else; like an aura, an invisible one, that made you keep staring at him.

You kept watching, listening to him introduce himself as Geralt of Rivia, a Witcher and you couldn't help but wonder about the monsters that he had encountered all of his life? Did they include animals... like you?

As if on cue, it suddenly struck you that soon, it would be midnight, and this meant that you were supposed to stay away. You ran through the hallways, your heart beating wildly inside your chest, fluttering out of control. It was a race against time. Your insides had begun boiling, immense pain shooting through your body like a million needles being inserted into your flesh. You grabbed the door handle at the right time, kicking it open and stepping inside, bashing the door shut again.

If anyone was to enter your bedroom, they would find you gone already. Your window thrown ajar, your discarded clothes strewn all over the carpeted floor. They would find thick brown coloured hair like that of a bear's and they would wonder if you were attacked by a bear. But this would be someone who wasn't Yennefer, for this secret of yours was only known to her, for she had been the one to have cursed you once, when you two were just little girls. And from that night onwards, there wasn't a single night when you didn't turn into a massive brown bear, when the it struck midnight.

Geralt wasn't just a regular in Yennefer's life though; a good fuck and a bye bye. He stayed, for longer you had expected him to. Although he never seemed to notice you during the days, you sure noticed him. There were days you didn't see him altogether, and you assumed that he had gone, left for good but then after a few days you would see him again— or hear him— in Yennefer's chambers; their skins slapping together, their moans filling the air, and his grunts.

The first time Geralt of Rivia actually noticed you was a few months into his acquaintance with Yennefer. You were outside by the well, drawing out water, when you heard a whinny of a horse followed by a steady galloping. It was bright and sunny, and the sunlight falling right into your eyes forced you to use your palm to shield your eyes and squint at the unexpected visitor, only to see Geralt's mare, Roach, come to a halt a few meters away from you, and Geralt leaping off it.

Geralt was on his way back to Yennefer, after having fought a bruxa that was tormenting the villagers of a nearby village and all he wanted to do was be in her arms again. It was Yennefer that managed to break through the brooding Witcher's hard outer exterior and see him for the kind, gentle man he was from the inside. She loved him for him and that is what he loved about her. It was surprising for him when he saw a woman by the well that early in the morning outside Yennefer's home. It was still the wee hours of the morning, pale sunlight fell all over like ivory, and there weren't many people around, but she was there. Geralt frowned at this weird, foreign feeling that was suddenly growing in the pit of his something; that feeling being curiousity and the wish to just find out more about her.

As he leapt off Roach, turning to give her one pat against her side, he turned his back towards you and you couldn't help but fix your gaze on him. The fabric of his shirt was slightly ripped and you could see traces of his scars scattered all over. The Witcher turned towards you just then and immediately, you began looking away, not wanting to be caught staring at your friend's lover. A giddy feeling swept over you when you saw from the corner of your eye that he was walking towards you.

"Can I have some water?" He said to you, looking down at you, and your bucket of water and you flushed, immediately bringing the bucket towards him.

"Oh, I am sorry, definitely," you nodded, and the Witcher slowly lowered himself from the waist, as though bowing in front of you, and cupped his palms. You lifted the bucket carefully and began pouring water into the cup of his hands, letting him drink his stomach's fill.

When he stood up again, you could see the corners of his mouth were glistening wet, as he eyed you carefully, examining you through his golden orbs and you couldn't help but feel flustered. It made you begin feeling self conscious and unknowingly, your palm flew to the side of your face, clumsily struggling to push your loose strands of hair behind your ear.

"Who are you?" You were pulled off guard, for you hadn't expected this. All this while, you had sheltered at Yennefer's place, you had always kept to yourself, and not many bothered to be interested in knowing about you; at least none of her lovers. Biting on the insides of your cheeks, you seriously hoped that he wouldn't catch on the growing reddish hue that was taking over your face. But you had no idea that the Witcher can listen to your heart right now, that it was racing, beyond control, and if Geralt was to concentrate on it, he would totally think that your heart will leap out of your body and land across his feet.

"Me? I'm..[Y/N].. Yennefer's friend.."

Geralt kept watching you for a few seconds before he nodded in your direction, choosing not to reply before he slowly turned your back towards you and began making his way inside. You just kept standing there, watching him like an idiot, a small wave of a smile displayed against your lips.

It didn't happen with the blink of an eye, but rather, your journey of losing yourself to the Witcher's charms was a journey of months. From that day that you gave the Witcher some water to drink, you ran into him a countless number of times. Some of them were innocent, when you would just run into him at Yennefer's mansion, while leaving your chambers, or recklessly running down the halls. Lucky for you, Geralt never managed to step out of Yennefer's chambers around midnight, so he never found out the secret that you had hidden from the world.

Some of the run ins, were however, not so innocent, especially when you almost ran into him when he was relaxing in the bath, his naked body glistening under the flickering torch, his arms spread out around him, resting against the edge. He regarded you from the corner of his eye, his eyes ablaze but you couldn't decipher what was running through his mind.

"Where's Yen?" He asked, his back facing you, his fingers moving aimlessly over the surface of water.

"She's.. I saw her in her chambers. She was speaking to one of the mages," you mumbled awkwardly, struggling to keep your eyes trained to the ground, but it wasn't very easy. And it was definitely not easy when Geralt suddenly stood up, naked, his body glistening and droplets of water falling down his perfectly shaped butt before he slid out of the bath, and began striding towards where his clothes lay.

You couldn't keep your eyes off his perfectly toned, muscular back and the way his tight butt moved as he walked off. Even when you knew that he knew you were watching him, you couldn't help yourself be captivated by him. Geralt didn't admit it but he was secretly enjoying it, and for the same reason, his movements were incredibly slow, when he reached for his leather slacks and slid it on, slowly, yet teasingly. He still gave you the view.

In that moment, you were thankful for the distraction— of Yennefer walking in. But what you missed to see was the look of malice the way her dark eyes narrowed at you, glancing from you to Geralt's naked form.

"You're done already, love? Couldn't wait for me?" She purred, as she glanced at you in an obvious way, as though silently asking you why were you here. She regarded you top to bottom, licking over her lower lip as she began stripping, right in front of your eyes.

She loosened the buttons around her chest, popping them one by one before she lowered the neck of it, revealing her glistening skin. You looked away, as she slid the dress lower and lower, until it fell gracefully against her ankles and she stepped out of it, naked.

Geralt growled at the sight of her, and you, embarassed beyond your wits, fled as fast as you could, before their moaning filled your ears and you couldnt remove those sounds from your ears.

"Well, fuck," Geralt cursed under his breath, his shoulder slightly hanging now as he tried to reposition himself after the blow he had taken from the striga in the woods.

It was as if the creature was laughing at him, it's teeth bared out towards him; inviting him. Geralt spat under his breath,just when the striga charged at him once again, screeching in a high pitched tone, the heavy body of the cursed monster almost making the earth beneath it shake. Geralt's sword was ready to strike, but the creature played a move. Right when the striga was close enough, it leapt in the air and took a leap, taking the Witcher by surprise.

It's massive claw struck him and he flew back, flying through the air until he was lying flat against the ground.

The cursed monster hissed and snarled, and Geralt could feel it making its way towards him, but the shooting pain in his body had temporarily had him frozen and a little slower.

He didn't understand what happened after that, but whatever did happen, it bought him the time to get back to his senses and regain his lost strength. When he stood up again, he saw that the striga was engaged in a fight with a massive bear. It was just a normal bear for him, claws sharp as it tried to scratch the striga but even the bear seemed to be of no match to the cursed monster. The bear had scratches over its front legs, and it's chest.

What Geralt didn't understand was that the bear looked at Geralt, and blinked, and Geralt couldn't help but feel something incredibly familiar about those eyes, as if he knew the person lurking behind those eyes.

The moment didn't last long though, for the bear was clawed at by the striga, and tossed away. The poor animal whined in pain, but slumped to the ground, blood pouring out of the wounds on its furry body.

Geralt snarled, taking advantage of the distracted striga, who was already making its way towards that injured bear; he leapt to the ground, rolling on his back and got a hold of the sword he had dropped. Blinking, he took a deep breath, and aimed the sword right towards the striga and let it swoosh through the air. The aim was perfect, the blade of the sword struck the striga right at the base of its neck, piercing into the rotting flesh as the cursed monster stumped to the ground, dead.

You whimpered slightly as you struggled to lift your heavy animal form up, but the cuts on you were scorching in pain, causing you to groan and whine with every little movement you made. You stiffened entirely when you saw the dark eyed Witcher stand tall above your head, only to kneel down next to you, and grunt, "Who are you? You are not a bear."

You growled at him, your sharp teeth bared out at him, but he didn't waver. He just kept looking at you; dead into your eyes.

"Geralt,may the lord's have mercy on my poor soul- where exactly are you?"

Jaskier stepped on a tree branch, crushing it unknowingly, the sound of it following his voice. Geralt muttered a low curse under his breath and he stood up, his hands on either of his hip as he glared at the bard, "I told you to wait by Roach, Jaskier." Jaskier parted his lips, ready to reply but his eyes suddenly caught the sight of you and they widened in fear, watching you slowly struggle to stand up.

"Geralt, why is there a bear behind you? Geralt— "

"that's not a bear," Geralt deadpanned, turned away from you.

"Are you blind? Would you look at that? That is a bear— " He suddenly turned towards you and hissed, "— And it's running away now."

Geralt cursed much louder now, his head turning sharply back. He suddenly began running after you, but you, even in an injured form, were fast and were making a distance already.

"Geralt, why are you running after that bear?" Jaskier shouted, but did not follow him.

Geralt simply shook his head, and muttered, under his breath, more to himself, than to the bard, "that is not a fucking bear."

It felt like a million daggers had been ripped through your flesh. It felt like you didn't have the energy to even open your eyes. Finally, after a lot of effort, your humanly form opened your eyes. The first thing your eyes fell on was the hearth that was warming you up.

And then they moved to your bare feet, that had scratches all over it. Someone had applied a green, now dried up herbal paste to it.

Suddenly, it hit you like ice cold water, and you suddenly remembered it all. How you had tried to fight the striga, and how it had almost killed Geralt.

Geralt.

Your eyes travelled to the shirt that you were wearing, the only fabric that was covering your body. And it didn't take you long to register who it belonged to; owing to the fact that it was too big for your much tinier frame as compared to him.

You buried your hands into your face, embarassment and guilt filling you up. He must have seen you transform, from that bear to this form, which is why you had his clothes on.

"You're awake."

Your eyes lifted, slowly meeting his yellow orbs. He had just entered into the cave, and was holding two logs of freshly cut wood. He knelt down in front of the fire he had made to keep you warm and began placing the logs.

You bit the insides of your cheeks and tried to adjust yourself more comfortably, but the wounds on your chest ached, making you wince. Geralt looked up.

"Don't move. I patched you up."

You blinked, squinting your eyes slightly until you were balling the fabric of his shirt, looking at him.

"You saw everything? Didn't you?"

He stood up, and grunted under his breath, before he made his way to you, and knelt down next to you. His fingers grabbed at the fabric of your shirt, which was clinging to your wound, pulling it away, his eyes fixed against yours, "Who did this to you?"

"No one," you shook your head, and tried to look away, but Geralt's voice snapped you back towards him.

"Yennefer?"

"She didn't mean to. It was an accident," You blurted out.

"I knew," he muttered under his breath, and looked like he was in a thinking.

"I want to go home, Geralt. I'm tired." You began to put the weight on your legs as you tried to get up but pain shot through your body and it made you hiss and fall back again.

"You're hurt, [Y/N]," he rasped, and before you could protest, he was already sliding his thick, veiny hand underneath your thigh, and in one sweep, he had you in his arms.

When Geralt stepped out of the cave, you realized that it was already shining bright outside, and almost half a day was already over. You slid your arm delicately around his neck to hold on to him as he casually, and effortlessly carried you down the rocky terrain. The first few minutes were quiet, and you could feel the Witcher's questions but he didn't ask you.

Finally after a few minutes of silence, you heard him, "How can I lift this curse?" He briefly looked down at you, and you swore you saw a look of gentleness in his eyes as you looked at you.

"We tried everything. There's no way. I'm cursed for life."

His eyebrows twitched, and his nostrils almost flared, in anger. He looked away, forcefully, so that he could concentrate on anywhere but you. Finally, after a minute of giving you a squared jaw, he lowered you on a rock, and turned away from you. Fixing his hands on either of his hips, he turned his back to you, and you could see the scars on his naked back, full displayed to you. You couldn't help but feel drawn to his scars, wanting nothing more than to draw your index finger over each one of it, "Well fuck, I don't buy it. Someone can do something," he barked.

"Well feel free to try, because I've tried and it didn't work!" You yelled back at him.

Suddenly, much to your surprise, the Witcher lowered himself to squat in front of you, his palms fixed on your bare knees, as you only had his shirt on. Before you could understand what was happening, the Witcher grabbed you by the back of your head and pulled you into him, his lips slamming against yours. The kiss was passionate, his lips as though in a battle with your lips, struggling, wrestling for control.

At first, you were shocked, but in minute or so, your body relaxed, the knots slowly loosening, as you began melting into the kiss— until Yennefer's face popped into your mind.

You broke the kiss in the midst, and pushed him away, glaring at him, throwing daggers at him with your eyes, "What the fuck, Geralt?"

He just gave you a serious look, as he lifted himself up again and began trying to lift you but you smacked him hard in the chest and he jumped back. You grabbed him by his arm and pulled him to you, "Why did you kiss me?"

He blinked, giving you a look, before he grabbed your arm, and pulled you closer, so you were chest to chest with him, "I wanted to."

"I'm a monster," you whispered back, but you were so close to him, you could feel your heart race, and so could he.

"You saved me." He said, huskily. Slowly, he reached for a loose strand of hair dangling by your side, pushing him behind your ear. After a short, momentary pause, he whispered, against your ear, "be mine."

You could feel tears pool in your eyes, and you didn't dare blink, afraid he will see them. You shook your head at him, trying to act defiant, but inwardly, you were weakening, "You don't want me. I'm cursed, and I'm gonna be cursed all my life."

"And I'm a Witcher, you think this isn't a curse?"

His words threw you off guard; you werent expecting it. Yes, you were aware how people his kind were treated, but atleast he wasnt cursed.

"They still need you, even if they hate you," you whispered, looking down.

"And I don't need you?" Geralt fixed his index finger over your chin and lifted your face up so you were meeting his yellow orbs that had fire lurking through them, "Don't care if you turn into a bear every fucking single night."

He suddenly bent and picked you up once again, bridal style, but this time you didn't protest. Instead, you had a humongous smile drawn to your face. Your whole body hurt, but you didn't care.

Geralt's words rang through your mind, again and again.

be mine.

"One step at a time, Geralt of Rivia," you said to him, and he just smiled to himself, his lips only crinkling lightly but you knew he was smiling even though his eyes didn't match yours this time.

[all-hail-the-witcher]

say yes to the plus one

the sequel to say yes to the drinks. which you should read first. i am so tired. just have it. 

__

ship: geraskier

warnings: none

editing: ish

words: over 3k but under 4k

genre: floof

__

After getting drinks with Geralt, Jaskier could not stop thinking about him. He found himself taking more time with his appearance each morning - something that he hadn't even thought would be possible - hoping that Geralt would come into the store.

But Geralt still hadn’t come into Kleinfelds since the day of his trunk show. Jaskier tried not to be disappointed. He knew that he was very busy and it had been a one off that he had even met him in the first place.

Still, he couldn’t help but think that the two of them had something. There must have been some sort of chemistry between the two of them. Why else had Geralt asked him to get drinks after he had made that awful slip up with the magic fingers? Surely, he must feel something for him.

He had been texting Jaskier though, so Jaskier knew that he was at least still interested. Every message that he got wishing him a good morning or about some funny wedding dress design or of a picture of Geralt’s Pomeranian, Roach, made his heart flutter. There just had to be a future for them, right?

So, Jaskier went through yet another day of busy appointments at Kleinfelds, hoping that he would run into Geralt.

Late May into early June was always a busy time for them. Jaskier didn't personally understand the appeal of getting married in a zillion degree heat, but to each their own. This was by far his least favorite part of the year though. He spent every hour at work on his feet, hardly getting a break as he rushed from appointment to appointment: checking on alterations, making sure that every bride was getting their dream dress, and providing tweaks to designs when necessary to prevent bridal meltdowns.

It was nothing short of exhausting.

“Jaskier!” Camille, one of the consultants, called to him at around mid afternoon.

He had just spent the last hour trying to get a very adamant, very conservative mom and a very eccentric bride on the same page. He needed a daiquiri. Or three. Still, he turned around and put on his brightest smile.

“Yes, darling?”

“You’re needed down in alterations,” she said with a sweet smile.

Jaskier nodded and turned back through the salon to walk down to alterations. He hated going to alterations. If he was needed there, it usually meant that shit had hit the fan in some sense. He braced himself for a long afternoon.

He walked up to the manager, about to ask her where he was needed, when a shout from behind him made him jump.

“Jaskier!”

And a swell of desire rose up in Jaskier’s stomach because he knew that gravelly voice. Quickly, he straightened his tie, thankful he had worn his good pink one today, before taking a deep breath and turning around.

“Geralt!” he said, trying furiously to keep his cheeks from flushing. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Surprise?” Geralt’s brows furrowed together as he walked up to Jaskier, his wolfs head cane clicking across the floor. He was wearing a light blue button down today with the sleeves cuffed to his forearms that made his golden eyes pop and Jaskier had to struggle to keep his eyes on his face. “I texted you this morning.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened as he reached into his blazer pocket for his phone. Sure enough, there were two messages from Geralt. The first was a picture of Roach, lying in a patch of sun in his apartment. The second was a message that read:

Hey, I’m going to be at Kleinfelds today doing a custom fitting. Can you help with the appointment?

And Jaskier had never even seen it. Much less responded.

“Oh Geralt, I am so terribly sorry,” Jaskier said quickly. “This is our busiest time of year and I have hardly had a moment to think today.”

“You don’t have to help,” Geralt said sincerely, concern clouding his eyes. “I don’t want to push you too hard with the rest of your appointments, but I just figured that since I was here, I would ask.”

“No, no darling!” Jaskier said, rushing to reassure him. “Of course I will help! Helping you is much better than dealing with emotional brides and entourages that aren’t on the same page.”

“It’s alright Jaskier,” Geralt said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I know you just want to see my magic hands at work again.”

This time, Jaskier did flush bright red. “ You! ” he said outrageously, gaping at Geralt’s audacity to bring up his slip up from last time. “You need a nap!”

But Geralt just laughed, a glorious sound that sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine. “I think you’re the one who needs the nap, Jaskier.”

Jaskier shot him an incredulous look. How dare he make such assumptions, and how dare he be right?

“Anyway, the fitting is for my brother’s fiancee,” Geralt explained. “I made her a custom dress and she’s coming in for her fitting today. There was a shipping delay, so we only have time for one fitting before their wedding next week. I was hoping you could help.”

Jaskier could see the tension that had creeped its way into Geralt’s broad shoulders and the worry that was clouding his pretty face.

Jaskier placed a reassuring hand on Geralt’s arm. “Of course I’ll help, darling. Helping resolve wedding dress disasters is my specialty. Er- not that your dress is a disaster,” he said quickly, amused by the way that Geralt’s eyebrows had shot up. “Nothing that you design could ever be a disaster, the way that you work lace and beads is just divine, not a disaster. Not in any way a disaster. What I meant was the fact that she only has one fitting, that’s the disaster. Not your dress.”

“My magic fingers are quite incapable of creating a disaster dress, you’re right,” Geralt winked.

Jaskier resisted the urge to smack his shoulder. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope.” Geralt looked far too pleased with himself. “Can you grab the dress for me? It’s on the rack for the day. And can you bring it to room 13?”

“Of course,” Jaskier said. He’d let the magic fingers comment slide for now. Geralt looked far too attractive with his moonlight silver hair in an artful bun, tendrils framing his face, for him to stay mad at him for long. He had never been able to resist a pretty face.

“Thank you.” Geralt moved past Jaskier and began to make his way to the room. Jaskier turned to watch him walk down the hall. His ass looked far too delicious in those gorgeous, fitted navy pinstripe pants. He just had to appreciate it. It would be a crime not to.

Distantly, he wondered if his ass looked just as delicious without the pants on. And was he wearing boxers or briefs? Oh who was he kidding, he had to be wearing at least briefs with pants like those. But what color? Geralt seemed like the type of man to appreciate a fun pair of underwear and-

Jaskier. Get your head out of the gutter.

He made a beeline to the rack and grabbed the dress. He had already left Geralt waiting long enough.

“Here you are,” Jaskier said, hanging the dress in the room.

Geralt fidgeted with his shirt sleeves, eyeing the bag. With a pang, Jaskier realized that he was nervous.

“I’m sure she’s going to love the dress,” Jaskier said, putting as much sincerity as he could into his words. “You are one of the best designers in the industry, Geralt.”

“I know,” Geralt said. “But I’ve never designed for someone that I know before, there’s more risk involved if they don't like it. Cause she’s put all her trust in me and what if she doesn’t like it? This is her only fitting. There isn't time to make anything else."

“Geralt,” Jaskier placed his hand over Geralt’s where he was still fidgeting with his sleeve. “She’s going to love it. Don’t doubt yourself so much, it ruins your pretty face.”

Fuck, did he just really say that out loud?

Geralt’s doubt dissipated as he looked at Jaskier amusedly. “You think my face is pretty?”

“Well who wouldn’t?” Jaskier said, trying and failing to backpedal. “It’s a plenty beautiful face, I mean you’ve got a nose and eyes and everything and…”

“I would hope I have a nose and eyes, yes,” Geralt laughed. Then, he leaned in, as if telling Jaskier a secret. “I’ve also heard that I have lips, too.”

Jaskier was saved the embarrassment of having to respond by a consultant escorting who Jaskier assumed to be Geralt’s brother’s fiancee and her entourage into the alterations area.

“Geralt!” a pretty girl with dark, curly hair said as she stepped up to hug him.

“Hi Triss,” Geralt said, giving her a polite hug and waving to the rest of the entourage. “Are you excited?”

“Of course I’m excited,” she said. “It’s only a week away, Geralt. This better be every bit as perfect as you said it would be.”

“It will be.” Geralt’s smile was easy, as if he hadn’t been freaking out about the appointment moments before.

“And who is this?” Triss asked, turning to Jaskier.

“Oh, everyone, this is Jaskier. He’s a consultant here and my friend,” Geralt said.

“Hello!” Jaskier said, giving everyone a wave.

“Jaskier, this is Triss, the bride to be. She’s marrying my brother.” Geralt gestured to the woman with the dark hair standing in front of them.

“Hello darling,” Jaskier said, shaking her hand. “You look just gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Triss smiled.

“And this is Triss’s friend Yennefer, Yennefer’s daughter Ciri, my other brother Lambert, and Lambert’s husband Aiden,” Geralt said, pointing at the people sitting on the bench.

Jaskier waved to them all and gave them his best customer service smile.

“Tell me about your fiancee, darling,” Jaskier said to Triss.

“I am getting married to Eskel,” she said, her face lighting up immediately. “We’ve known each other forever and he is perfect.”

“Forever is an understatement,” Geralt said. “They went to kindergarten together.”

“Oh, a childhood love story!” Jaskier clapped his hands together. “How romantic! Let’s hope you have a dress to match.” He turned to Geralt.

“Well darling,” Jaskier said, gesturing to the garment bag that Triss’s dress was in. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Geralt stepped up to the garment bag, his shoulder taught with anxiety.

“Take a breath, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, just quiet enough for only Geralt to hear. “She’s going to love it.”

Geralt nodded once before unzipping the bag and pulling out the dress. Jaskier couldn't help but gasp.

“Oh my god, it’s gorgeous,” Triss gasped next to him, taking Jaskier’s words right out of his mouth. “Geralt, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“You haven’t even put it on yet,” Geralt said, stepping away so that the entourage could see it as well.

“I don’t have to to know that it’s everything I wanted and probably more,” she said, giving Geralt another hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Geralt said and Jaskier thought that he saw a light blush tinting his cheeks. Was Geralt embarrassed? Oh that was just adorable…

The dress itself was gorgeous, just as Jaskier suspected it would be. It was a glorious ivory color that seemed to shift under the lights to be a gorgeous pale blush pink. The skirt appeared to be A line and was sleeveless with a high neck. The bodice had an intricate lace and beading design that blended into the skirt. Jaskier knew that the dress was going to be amazing but Triss was right, Geralt had really outdone himself.

“Would you like to put it on, darling?” Jaskier asked.

Triss nodded, still not tearing her eyes from the dress as Geralt stepped out of the dressing room and Jaskier closed the curtains behind him.

He helped Triss into the dress, zipping up the back effortlessly.

“Oh it fits you like a glove darling,” he remarked. “Almost like it was made for you. Oh wait-” he smiled at her. “It was, wasn’t it?”

Triss laughed at his terrible joke - bless her - as she fingered the lace and beads on the front. “I wasn’t expecting it to look this beautiful,” she whispered.

“Well then let's spin you round, darling,” Jaskier said, taking her hand as she turned to face the mirror. “That’ll really shock you.”

“Oh my god.” She clapped her hands over her mouth as she gaped at herself in the mirror, turning from side to side to look at herself better. “Oh my god .”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jaskier smiled at her. “Geralt is far more talented than he gives himself credit for.”

“Tell me about it,” Triss said distractedly as she continued to stare at the dress. “This is absolutely gorgeous. I love it. Eskel’s going to love it. Everyone’s going to love it.”

“Stop feeding pretty boy’s ego and show us then!” someone shouted from the other side of the curtain.

“Fuck off, Lambert!” Triss called back. “I’m having my bridal moment,” she whispered, tears springing up in her eyes as she continued to stare, utterly transfixed by the dress.

“Here, darling,” Jaskier said, pulling his pink pocket square out of his breast pocket. “You don't want to get your mascara on the dress now, do you?”

Triss dabbed at her eyes and took a deep breath before handing the handkerchief back to Jaskier.

“Are you ready to show your entourage?”

“She better be!” Lambert shouted from outside again.

Triss let out a watery laugh. “Yeah, I am.”

Jaskier drew back the curtain as Triss turned around.

“Oh, Triss,” Yennefer said, tears unmistakably clouding her eyes. “You look gorgeous.”

“Holy fuck, Geralt,” Aiden muttered as he stared at the dress, his jaw dropped. “ You designed that ?”

“Hey!” Lambert elbowed him. “I already said that pretty boy doesn’t need his ego inflated any more than it is!”

“Okay but fucking look at the dress, Lambert. It’s fucking gorgeous. And I’m half fucking blind. ”

Lambert shrugged. “Yeah I mean it’s nice. It’s a dress. It’s fabric. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Say she looks beautiful!” Aiden nearly shouted, smacking Lambert’s shoulder. “And that Geralt did a great job because if you don't I swear your ass-”

“Boys.” Triss crossed her arms. “There are children present.”

“I’m nineteen!” Ciri protested, throwing her hands up.

Triss ignored her. “There are children present and this is my fitting. So Lambert, shut up and tell your brother he did a good job.”

“You did a good job not fucking it up, Ger,” Lambert muttered.

“I’ll take it. And Aiden? You can finish that sentence later,” she said with a pointed look.

She turned to Jaskier, who had been watching the entire exchange with raised eyebrows. “Sorry about them, they are always like this.”

Lambert flipped her off. Aiden threw up a peace sign.

“Well,” Jaskier said, trying to contain his laughter. “Clearly they are meant for eachother.” He was just glad that he hadn’t had to diffuse the situation. He was tired of telling entourages to get along.

“It’s a good thing they got married then,” Geralt said, standing slowly and walking over to Triss. “You like the dress then?”

Triss once again read Jaskier’s mind and playfully punched Geralt’s shoulder. “I fucking love it . I was right, it is everything I wanted and more. Thank you.” Her eyes were shining with tears again and this time, it was painfully obvious that Geralt blushed when he looked down at his shoes.

“Of course, it was my pleasure,” Geralt said, squeezing her arm. “I’m glad you and Eskel are finally tying the knot, I couldn't imagine a more perfect match for him than you.”

“Geralt,” Triss sighed, the tears pooling in her eyes spilling over again. “You didn't need to make me cry more! The dress was enough!”

Geralt just laughed. Jaskier silently passed Triss his pocket square again.

“Is there anything big that you want to change or do I just need to adjust the fit?” Geralt asked.

“Just the fit,” Triss said, dabbing at her eyes again.

Geralt nodded and set to work, silently slipping into the zone, pinning and adjusting and occasionally stepping back and squinting at his work. Jaskier knew that Triss and her entourage were talking, but he didn't even pretend to be paying attention. He was much more content to watch Geralt work, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the fabric as he made the already gorgeous gown look somehow even more phenomenal.

“Alright,” Geralt said, stepping back. “I think that that should be good, spin round for me.”

Triss turned to look in the mirror.

“Does it look okay?” Geralt asked and Triss punched his shoulder again. “Ow!”

“Geralt if you don't stop insulting your frankly quite stunning work, I will have to steal your little demon dog,” she said, looking over the dress in the mirror. “But yes, everything looks good.”

“Roach isn’t a demon,” Geralt pouted, and oh fuck wasn’t that adoreable.

“That fucking dog almost bit my hand off!” Lambert shouted from the bench.

Geralt made several rude gestures at him and Jaskier nearly swooned. Fucking hell he was gone for this man. And it was only the second time that he had seen him.

“Jaskier, can you get her out of the dress?” Geralt asked. “Be careful with all the pins.”

Jaskier nodded, very much at a loss for words.

“C’mon darling,” Jaskier said, tugging the curtain closed behind Geralt again.

He undid the zipper on the back of Triss’s dress and helped tug the dress off her shoulders, mindful of the many pins that Geralt had put in it.

“Have you and Geralt known each other long?” Triss asked.

“Oh, no not at all,” Jaskier said, glad that he was standing behind her and couldn't see the flush of his cheeks. “He helped me with an appointment a few months ago and we went out for drinks after and we’ve been texting occasionally, but that’s it.” He didn’t say that he wished it was more.

“You went out for drinks on the day you first met?” Triss asked, letting her voice rise. “That’s interesting, Geralt doesn’t often go out with people that he’s just met.”

There was a shout from the other side of the curtain, but it was muffled almost immediately, the sound of a hand slapping over someone’s mouth unmistakeable.

“Well, it had been a long day and we were both in need of one. Step out for me, darling,” Jaskier said, picking up the dress and hanging it back up.

“I’m sure you were,” Triss said from behind him as he zipped the dress carefully back into the garment bag. Before he had the chance to ask what she meant, she was opening the curtains and walking back outside to her entourage.

Jaskier picked up the garment bag and followed her.

“It was lovely meeting all of you,” he said, waving to the entourage. “Triss, darling, I hope you have a wonderful wedding and Geralt, it was nice seeing you again.” He turned back down the hall to go hang up the dress for Geralt to deal with later. He should get back upstairs, hopefully nothing too dire had happened in the salon during his absence, even if the break had been nice.

He was just turning to go up the stairs when he saw Geralt walking purposefully towards him, his cane clicking quickly against the floor.

“Jaskier!”

“Oh, hi again!” Jaskier said. “I was just going to head back upstairs, we are still very busy.” He gave Geralt an apologetic smile. There was nothing that he would rather do than stand and talk with Geralt.

Geralt winced. “Then I guess you probably shouldn't have helped me with the appointment.”

“No, no!” Jaskier said quickly. “It was my absolute pleasure, Geralt. And honestly? The salon was driving me a bit insane, so it was quite a nice and much needed break.”

“Well thank you for helping,” Geralt smiled. “I think it went well.”

“It definitely did, darling,” Jaskier said. “She loved the dress, just like I told you she would.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and looked down at his feet, placing both hands on top of his cane. “Actually though, I had something to ask you before you get back to work, if that’s okay. I don’t want to keep you.”

“The only thing you’re keeping me from is crying brides and disapproving mothers, and there is only so much of that that my poor soul can take,” Jaskier said. “I’d rather stay here with you and your-” he cut himself off before he made another terrible slip up. He had already learned his lesson from last time.

“With my magic hands? Or my pretty face?” Geralt asked smugly.

Jaskier sighed, ignoring him. “What was it that you wanted to ask me?”

“I have a plus one for Triss’s wedding next week,” Geralt started.

“And you haven’t asked anyone yet?” Jaskier asked. “Geralt, what have you been doing?”

“...Designing dresses?” he said sheepishly.

Jaskier swore his heart melted. He just looked so cute. How on earth was this allowed?

“Well, you better ask someone,” Jaskier said. “You’re running out of time.”

“Yes I know.” Geralt looked at Jaskier and smiled. “Jaskier, what are you doing next Saturday?”

“Saturday?” Well…” Jaskier trailed off, trying to remember what was coming up. “That is technically my day off, but I might still come in because we have just been so busy and we’re getting a new collection in and I’m going to have to….wait….” his eyes widened as he finally processed what Geralt had been asking him. “Are you….are you asking me..?”

“Would you like to be my plus one to Triss’s wedding?” Geralt asked, his golden eyes somehow sparkling in the atrocious fluorescent lighting.

“ Oh ,” Jaskier gasped. “Yes. Yes I would love to.”

“Great,” Geralt said, breathing an audible sigh of relief. “I’ll pick you up at 1pm. It’s formal. Be ready.”

Oh, Jaskier would be ready alright. He walked back to a salon with a huge smile plastered across his face.

__

may be a ch 2. havent decided. 

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@dapandapod

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Pawn: Four

“You okay?” 

You look towards Happy and smile a little. Well. No. You didn’t smile. Not really. But you barred your teeth. “Fine,” you answer, “Can you see if you can lose the tail Barnes has on me? I’d really prefer this not be a public spectacle.”

Happy nodded and switched lanes. “I wondered if you’d noticed,” he snorted. 

You shrug, “Tony asked if I wanted a tail on Bucky… I figured I’m better off not knowing what he’s doing. But that doesn’t mean Tony didn’t set one up anyway.”

The driver, who you’ve known since you were six said nothing. And that was proof enough for you. Happy was loyal. Almost to a fault where Tony was concerned. And, in his way, he was loyal to you. And you knew that he wasn’t happy about this, even if he understood it. 

“Where are we going again?” you ask. 

“Newark,” Happy answered. 

“Ew. He would live there.”

And Happy chuckled. You were definitely your mother’s daughter. 

__________________

You sighed and started across the restaurant. Evidently, your father had decided that the best way to make his case was to bring his new wife and their kids. Badly behaved kids if the ipads at full volume were any indication. 

You were embarrassed and you hadn’t even sat down yet. People were looking. Glaring and muttering. It was distracting. And you wished that Tony would have just told him to fuck off. 

“Thank you,” you mutter to the waiter who’d stood and pulled out your chair, dodging the hug that your dad was trying to go for and setting your bad at your feet.

“How have you been?” you ask, leaning back so your water glass can be filled. 

“How have I been?” he asked incredulously, banging his hand on the table, “How long has it been? You haven’t even met my wife! Or your little brothers!”

You smile. Or at least you show your teeth as your dad tries to pull the kid’s faces out of their tablets, only to be met with blank stares. And his wife, with her bottle blonde hair and horsey teeth was looking at you like something she’d rather not step in on the street. 

“What do you want?” you ask calmly You don’t feel calm. You’d like to take the zippo lighter he’s playing with and light his wife’s hair on fire while her kids film it for tik tok. 

“What do I want?” he puts a hand on his heart. A gesture you suppose is meant to convey hurt. But just looks�� wrong. “Word on the street is that my little girl is getting married. And I’m not even invited?”

“I haven’t talked to you in 10 years,” you say, nonplussed. Your lips feel bloodless. Of course you knew what he wanted. Tony had told you. And your mom had wanted to come in your place and tear things apart. 

“Well I- I thought now would be the perfect time to reconnect,” he said, reaching for your hand. 

“And this has nothing to do with you needing a lawyer? Or going bankrupt?” you ask this pulling your hand back. And You can see his thin facade of parental affection crack. His eyes are doors closing. Going from warm and happy to cold and shark like. You also don’t miss that the constant buzzes and beeps from the tablet headed kids are softer now. They’re listening. 

“No,” he said, sounding stung. And the blonde horsey woman sniffs. 

“What do you know about it?” Her voice is everything you hate about Jersey. Like nails on a chalkboard. 

“I know that you were a waitress in a two-bit roach-infested diner until you flashed your shit at my dad. And I know my dad embezzled money from his old boss to start his own business thinking he could make it… But he forgot that to run a used car lot it’s generally better, to be honest.” You say all this without raising your voice. However much you’d like to. You’d like to scream at him and tell him that he wasn’t your dad. That knocking up your mom when she was 16 and then trying to use you as a weapon until you weren’t little and cute anymore was disgusting. But you don’t. 

You’d rehearsed that speech in your head 1000 times. You imagined reducing him to a quivering mass of pathetic maleness in a cheap suit. But now? Watching him try to hang on to his youth with a comb over and too much cologne, you realize it isn’t worth it. You can say every hurtful thing that’s burning the roof of your mouth. You can spew it out like a firehose of vitriol. 

But what good will it do?

Instead you get to your feet and pick up your purse, “So no. You will not be coming to my wedding. And no. I will not be taking your case.”

You suppose you should have let them defend themselves. Listened to the begging and abuse. But you don’t. You walk out of the room, your head held high and ingot the burning in the back of your throat. You wish you could hate him. You wish that you didn’t have these stupid hopes that one day he’d be a better person. The kind of dad you want in your life. That he could love you like you deserve. But. you can’t. And as Happy holds the door open for you, the irony isn’t lost on you that a literal hardened criminal pretending to be a businessman is a better father than your actual father.

“You okay, kid?” Happy asked, “You hungry?”

“I just- just drive, Happy, please?”

The driver frowned, but nodded. He thought about calling Tony. Or Pepper. But. He figured you wanted to lick your wounds in private. To let things scab over before you had to talk about it. Over. And Over again. And deal with their feelings and expectations about what you should or should not have said. And part of him, when he heard the quiet sniffled from the dark corner you’d slid yourself into wanted to turn the car around and tear the man limb from limb. 

___________

Bucky leaned on the railing outside of your building and lit a cigarette. The driver had, inevitably lost his tail. Bucky had counted on that. But what he wasn’t counting on was getting a call from Newark and one of his low-level guys that his bride-to-be was having a meeting with some two-bit car dealer that had proceeded to start yelling about criminal empires.

Not, as his little sister said, A good look.

When the car pulled up to the curb, Bucky exhaled a cloud of smoke upwards, half remembering some line from a book his nanny had read him. Something about a dragon. And he snorted to himself. 

He had questions. And if you knew what was good for you, you’d give him straight answers.

[contemplativepancakes]

killing me softly with his song

3k post-mountain mutual pining fix it. read on ao3 here!

Geralt isn’t supposed to feel things. At least, that’s what Vesemir had purported after he had finished going through the mutations. Had sat him down and had a whole conversation about it, in fact, but at the moment, Geralt is feeling rather lied to. He’s felt things before, of course he has, he knows that being a Witcher doesn’t truly mean his emotions are gone. Muted, would be a more accurate word. 

But now… 

It all feels so overwhelming. He can’t seem to escape the swirling unsettledness deep in his gut, the despair that threatens to crash over his head every time he sees something that reminds him of Jaskier, twisting the knife even more in his gut. Back on the mountain, Geralt had regretted his words almost as soon as they had left his mouth, but they had tumbled out of him, and he was powerless to stop it. 

Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days it’s always you shovelling it? If life was to give me one blessing, it’d be to take you off my hands!

Jaskier had tried to protest, but Geralt didn’t want to hear it in the heat of the moment, he was more interested in lashing out at anyone who would dare to contest his low opinion of himself. Sure, he might kill monsters, but does that really outweigh everything else? 

He’s shit, through and through. He knows that. He’s glad Jaskier finally realized it, too. 

The only thing that Jaskier being present all those times when Geralt found himself in trouble meant was that he was always there for Geralt. And really, if Geralt thinks back, he always was. 

Geralt’s not sure what he ever did to inspire that kind of loyalty, but he knows he didn’t deserve it. The words he had spat proved that. 

Geralt shakes his head as he thinks about all the ways Jaskier has helped him over the years. Even if Jaskier was practically in the middle of sticking his cock some place it really shouldn’t be, if Geralt needed him, he was there. 

Jaskier washed monster guts out of Geralt’s hair too many times to count, and if it weren’t for Jaskier turning his reputation around, Geralt probably wouldn’t have been able to step foot in an inn any time in the past decade without being cast out. 

And despite all those things, Geralt had still yelled at him, still made one of the only unwavering constants in his life walk away and not look back. What had Jaskier ever gotten in return, anyway? Geralt knows he’s not exactly the best company. 

Geralt curses, and Roach noses at his shoulder from where she’s tethered to the tree he’s leaning against. 

Geralt strokes his fingers over the soft velvet of her nose and huffs when she snorts in his ear. 

“Yes, all right,” he grumbles under his breath, standing up and rustling through her saddlebags to find a sugar cube. 

Jaskier had always given Roach too many sugar cubes for her own good. 

Fuck.

Geralt looks at the saddlebags, fighting with himself and failing when he fishes out the blanket Jaskier always rolled up to use as a pillow. It smells of Jaskier’s scent that Geralt had liked the best, not the sour and unhappy scent he was pouring off when Geralt shouted at him to go.

Geralt unfurls it and holds it to his nose, avoiding looking at Roach. He’s sure she’s judging him.

Geralt is judging himself a little, too. What was he thinking?

He supposes Witchers are meant to walk the Path alone, so it was for the best. Inevitable. Better to get it out of the way now than later, that’s for sure. Jaskier will get married and have children and won’t want to travel with Geralt anymore, so Geralt is glad he won’t have to suffer through that. He’s not sure he could take it to have to watch a courtship of Jaskier’s that actually lasted, that didn’t end with Jaskier coming back to him.

No, Geralt has feelings, all right, and he’s never hated them more than he does right now.

Roach snorts, pawing at the ground, and Geralt reaches up to pat her shoulder. She’s getting irritated, so Geralt should pack it in for the night, but he itches to keep moving, to keep putting more distance between him and what happened. Roach huffs again, nickering a bit. “Fine,” Geralt grumbles. “We’ll stop in the next town. Happy?”

Probably not, because Roach never seems entirely happy with him these days. Well, Roach can join the club. Geralt makes a mental note to buy more sugar cubes. At least one of them should be happy.

By the time they make it to civilization, it’s much later than Geralt had anticipated. He hands Roach off to a stable girl, wagging a finger at Roach and telling her to be good. Then he talks to the innkeeper and secures a room before walking over to the bar. He desperately needs an ale. His mind has been going nonstop ever since Jaskier left, and while it probably won’t do a whole lot for him, it might slow his thoughts down enough to fall asleep. Maybe he should go to the brothel and look for a distraction. If he could find a fight, even better.  

The barmaid plunks a mug in front of him, but Geralt hardly notices after a familiar chord emanates from the corner. Geralt whips his head around to look, but it’s just someone else playing one of Jaskier’s songs. Geralt clenches his teeth. He hates this one. Jaskier had made him out to be entirely too heroic. Geralt’s never been a hero. He’s just in it for the coin.

He’d had this conversation with Jaskier until he was blue in the face, a rare amount of words for him, in his desire to get his point across, but Jaskier had refused to believe him. Just fixed Geralt with a look and said, “Hmm.”

That was Geralt’s line, dammit.

Geralt’s eyes catch on a man sitting at the bar, wearing shoes with hardly a speck of dirt on them. They look like they’d pinch his toes quite a bit, and Geralt can’t help but shake his head at the lack of practicality of it all. His gaze travels up the man, noting his opulent doublet, and Geralt quickly looks away, taking his drink to a corner table.

He thumps the mug down, and several of the other patrons shoot him concerned looks. Geralt clenches his teeth. He has only his own social skills to rely on, now. It’s not a situation he prefers, to say the least. Jaskier was always the best at making people see Geralt as better than he truly was, something they didn’t have to be frightened of, or feel the need to drive out of town.

Geralt heaves a deep sigh. He wishes Jaskier was here.

-

Jaskier has never been one to turn down an opportunity for good song writing material, but for the first time, he doesn’t want it. He’s always been told heartache makes for the best song fodder, but somewhere along the way, things have gotten muddled, and he’d be perfectly happy if his heart was never broken again.

It still seems like a nightmare that he’s going to wake up from any second; Geralt is going to look at him from where he’s dousing the fire and tell him, “Wake up, lazy bones,” and Jaskier will protest and lunge for his notes as a new song idea that doesn’t reek of melancholy overcomes him.

Jaskier has pinched himself too many times to keep holding out for that hope, though.

In line with what his teachers at Oxenfurt told him, these days, Jaskier has plenty of song ideas. The problem is none of them seem particularly noteworthy. He doesn’t want to make anyone else listen to him reminisce about better days—about the gentle curve of Geralt’s rare smile, the fondness he held for Roach, the way he looked when moonbeams caught on his hair and made him seem even more ethereal than normal.

Even when Geralt was at his most frightening-looking, covered in viscera and ichor from his latest monster kill, Jaskier never lost that sense of wonder. Geralt could probably kill Jaskier with his pinky, but he let Jaskier tag along with him anyway, for years.

Geralt might pretend to be jaded and cynical, but Jaskier knows the truth. Jaskier saw the way Geralt couldn’t resist helping others, the way he always gave a subtle wave to the children he passed in the streets who didn’t shrink away from him, and let them pet Roach until their parents noticed and ushered them away. Geralt’s mouth would settle into a hard line and his shoulders would square, but he never commented on it, so neither did Jaskier.

Jaskier strums a chord on his lute thoughtfully, but it doesn’t sound right. Nothing has sounded right for days, and Jaskier is teetering over the precipice of despair.

He needs a distraction.

He makes his way to an inn, figuring whatever he’s met with, be it adoration or angriness at someone he’s scorned, it’ll be able to settle the unease that’s lived beneath his skin since that terrible night.

He had stumbled down the mountainside, veering off trail and crashing through the scratchy underbrush in his haste to get away from Geralt. Away, before Geralt had the satisfaction to see the emotion pulling at his face, the tears pooling in his eyes. Geralt’s cruel words could only have been aimed to deliberately hurt, even after all the time they had spent together. Well, hell, because of it.

Geralt thought he brought nothing but bad luck, and looking at the shambles his life is in, he’s inclined to agree. No wonder Geralt hadn’t wanted to take him up on his offer of getting away for a while. He doesn’t know why he suggested it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The coast? What would someone like Geralt want to go there for, anyway? It certainly wouldn’t be for the pleasure of Jaskier’s company.

Too much, too soon. Jaskier snorts at himself. It wasn’t too soon. Geralt just never wanted to hear it.

No lasting relationships, no steady job, no place to lay his head and call his own? Jaskier could be doing better, that’s for sure.

Jaskier lets out a heavy sigh as he stops with his hand on the door to the inn, distracted by a nickering from the stables. He looks over and sees a mare that looks just like Roach. Jaskier pats his pockets for his sugar cubes until he remembers flinging them all into a lake on his way down the mountain. It wasn’t his finest hour.

He walks over to the bay horse and pets her, running his fingers over her wiry fur. She snorts just like Roach would have, and Jaskier can’t help but be overcome by a wave of dejectedness. He really misses Roach; she always let him tell her about all his problems. Namely, Geralt.

Jaskier sighs. He supposes he should cut his losses and try to move on, snip Geralt neatly from his life, but they’re too bound together for any kind of removal to go smoothly.

Jaskier pets the white nose the horse has, just like Roach, and snorts at the coincidence. There’s no way Geralt made it this far south already, so it can’t actually be Roach. Jaskier has been travelling as fast as he can, because if he stops, he’ll have to think, and he certainly doesn’t want that to happen. The horse nips at his sleeve, drawing Jaskier back to the present.

This is practically the longest he’s spent away from Geralt besides during the winters, and Jaskier’s not a fan, to put it lightly. He combs his fingers through the horse’s coarse mane and adjusts the strap of his lute before he walks inside the inn.

-

Geralt sighs, drumming his fingers on the scratched tabletop before noting the stares he’s receiving and pulling his hand back on his lap. He doesn’t need to draw any unwanted attention to himself. He drains his third mug of ale for the night and is getting ready to head to his room when the inn door creaks open.

Geralt jerks his head in the direction of the noise on instinct, and his stomach drops when he recognizes the familiar face. His pulse immediately speeds, pounding in his ears until that’s all he can hear.

Geralt ducks his head, but not before he sees Jaskier returning his shocked stare. Geralt tips his mug back again, even though it’s empty, just to try and look busy. It’s been a month, so he’s sure Jaskier has already moved on, and Geralt speaking to him would just open up wounds for both of them. On a day when he felt particularly ready to lie to himself, he would say he’s mostly over his best friend getting torn from his life.

It reminds Geralt of when healers would try to stitch up his skin when just a little too much flesh was missing. Tight and pinched, and it stung something awful anytime he jostled it. That’s about how neatly having Jaskier walk away has healed, as well. Geralt is still waiting for the wound to stop itching.

Jaskier, for his part, just blinks when he sees Geralt. It’s like he’s seeing a ghost. Geralt looks like he’s been running from something, too, and for a second, Jaskier allows himself to hope. It’s quickly dashed when Geralt looks away from him like he’s been burned. Jaskier turns to settle into the corner, only to see there’s already a bard at this inn. Well. That’s peachy. The other bard stares wide eyed, his gaze flitting back and forth from Jaskier to Geralt, before a look of understanding dawns across his face and he hastily gets up.

Jaskier raises his eyebrows. He wasn’t aware their reputation had spread quite this far. Nevertheless, he takes the man’s spot, adjusting the strings of his lute just a bit, stalling.

Geralt is still at his table.

Jaskier clears his throat and strums his lute.

The fairer sex, they often call it…

He stares at the side of Geralt’s face, but Geralt doesn’t look back at him. Jaskier notices the way his shoulders tense up, though, and he’s not sure what to make of it.

I'm weak my love, and I am wanting

If this is the path I must trudge

I welcome my sentence

Give to you my penance

Garrotter, jury and judge

At that, Geralt turns his head to look straight at Jaskier, and Jaskier tries to resist the shiver that creeps down his spine. When Jaskier finishes the song, he finds Geralt still staring at him. He slings his lute over his shoulder and draws upon his reserves of bravery. He finds they’re about empty, but he walks over to Geralt anyway.

Jaskier approaches him, and Geralt’s eyes widen. Geralt was under the impression they were going to just ignore each other, like any other sensible people who don’t like talking about their feelings.

Jaskier has always been a wordsmith, though, so maybe Geralt shouldn’t be surprised. And by the sound of his song, it seems like Jaskier already knows what he wants to say, even if Geralt shouldn’t let himself hope that it means what he wants.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood,” Jaskier says weakly.

Geralt bites his lip, and takes a chance. “Care to join me?”

Jaskier’s eyes get round, and a peculiar look crosses his face. He sits.

Geralt smells the unease coming off of Jaskier in droves, and Geralt takes a moment to grimace at the realization that it’s because of him. Even the first day they met, when Jaskier knew nothing about him, Jaskier hadn’t been so unsettled. Geralt supposes that’s just a side effect of his personality. It’s not like he doesn’t know he’s not the easiest person to be around. He’s sure many people would say he’s the person to be around, and it seems like Jaskier is inclined to agree.

But.

Geralt wants to try and make this right.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt repeats, enunciating like Jaskier just didn’t hear him.

They stare at each other for a beat. “Interesting song,” Geralt says, casting Jaskier a sideways glance. “Did you find a new fancy?”

Jaskier smiles sadly. “I think you know.”

Picking up on conversational nuances has never been Geralt’s strong suit, but Jaskier’s song wasn’t exactly subtle, was it?

Geralt stands and Jaskier follows suit. Geralt tilts his head towards the stairs, and he can hear Jaskier’s hard swallows as he trails behind Geralt, to his room. Jaskier pulls the door shut behind him and looks at Geralt expectantly.

“Jask…” Geralt starts, and Jaskier tries very hard not to let himself be won over just by the soft tone Geralt’s taken. The one he reserves for the people he loves. Jaskier is sure Roach is the only one who gets to hear it often. “I missed you.”

Jaskier shuts his eyes briefly. It’d be easy to push Geralt away, tell him this is too little, too late, and it would certainly be less complicated than picking up the tattered ends of their relationship, but. Jaskier is weak, and he is wanting.

“I missed you, too.”

[waiting4inspiration]

Her Eyes VI: Celebration of Dragons

Summary: You get to the last village before your destination. When you don’t want to show people what you really are, you end up shocked to see what it is they are starting to celebrate and how open - and honored - they are to have you there. Things happen between you and Geralt, but it only upsets you when he walks out before it can turn into something else.

Warnings: fluff, small angst, mentions of drinking, slightly drunk reader, strong language, magical elements, festivals/celbrations, maybe some grammatical errors (Grammarly doesn't want to work)

Word Count: 2,253

Her Eyes Masterlist II The Withcer Masterlist

You can see the mountains the traveler was talking about in the distance, the ones kind of shaped like a sleeping dragon. The traveler said that once you see this mountain, you’ll come across a village soon. A village he says is the most festive place he’s ever been to. And it’s a place you can’t wait to see. 

Along the way, you and Geralt keep asking questions when you have privacy, when Jaskier is not bothering either of you. Though, you’ve learned to find the bard’s company somewhat entertaining. 

When you see the gates of the village, you quickly reach back to pull your hood up to cover your face and therefore your eyes. Geralt chuckles to himself at your action. It seems that no matter how close you are to being around people like you, in a village he’s sure sees more of your kind than anywhere else, you still feel the need to cover up that which makes you different. 

As he dismounts Roach by the stables close to the forest you’ll have to take to get to the mountain, his head snaps over his shoulder to look through the trees at the sounds of distant whispering. The whispers he hears before when you were attacked with the knife. It’s faint, but he can hear it. 

He looks over at you to see if you hear the whispers too, and his eyes meet with yours. They glow slightly under your hood but he can tell from the way your shoulders tense - as if there’s a knife in your back - that you’re a bit scared. 

Walking towards you as he gives you a comforting nod, he stops when Jaskier walks into the stable. “I just found out that we arrived on the most important day to these people, which means there will be people dancing, drinking, celebrating everywhere you turn. We are staying, aren’t we?” he excitedly speaks with a bright smile on his face, looking between you and Geralt.

You shrug your shoulders, as you look back out to the forest. You and Geralt both know it’s not wise to travel at night with this voice now making another appearance. The Magick Hunter’s could be anywhere in there. 

“We can stay for the night. It will be safer here than in the forest,” Geralt states and you nod your head in agreement. “I’ll go look for a room at the inn,” he mutters as he turns around and walks out of the stables. 

Leaving you with Jaskier, you turn your head to him and see him smiling at you. “What?” you ask, frowning at him under your hood. 

“I have a feeling you’re not going to need to wear that hood tonight,” he sings, stepping forward and reaching for your cloak. 

You stop him by taking a step back and hold up your hands. Shaking your head, you sigh and drop your gaze to the ground. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jaskier. There’s no knowing what these people might do if they know that I’m part dragon,” you mention, stepping past him and walking out of the stables. 

He chuckles, follows you so he can see your reaction when you figure out what it is these people are celebrating. The moment you turn the corner into the streets of the village, you stop in your tracks when you see people trying to put together a dragon-shaped pyre. 

Your eyes snap over to the next group of people who are trying to get a flag up. On the flag, the image of a mighty dragon on a field of read and orange, probably to represent the flames. 

Turning your gaze back to Jaskier, he nods at you and folds his arms over his chest, a cocky grin on his face. 

Dragons. These people are celebrating dragons. 

Of course. They live closer to the descendants of dragons than any other people do, you think to yourself. Still, you’re a bit hesitant to remove your hood. 

A little girl runs up to you, giggling with a bright smile on her face and a flower you’ve never seen before in her hands. You kneel down to her level, smile under your hood as she comes to stand in front of you. “You have pretty eyes,” she says, seeing them glowing from under your hood. 

You chuckle, nod your head in appreciation and bite your lower lip. No one has ever said that to you before and meant it. One person only said it to win a bet between his friends and ended up breaking your heart. “Thank you,” you whisper, looking back up to her and finding her staring up at you in anticipation. 

Slowly, you reach up to push your hood back, showing your face to the little girl and your eyes to the rest of the people around you. You can hear them gasping and whispering, but for once in your life, they don’t sound like mean whispers. 

The little girl holds out the flower in her hands to you. Taking it gently, you smile at the bright orange color of the petals that have sharp looking ends, and almost seemingly burned leaves. 

“It’s a dragon’s flower. Mama says they only grow close to the dragon mountain,” she sweetly says, pointing in the direction of the mountain that you’ve had your sights on since you saw it. 

You follow her point to the mountain, stare at it for a moment before looking back at the little girl. “It’s good luck to put the flower in your hair, mama says.”

“Well then, maybe you can help me with that,” you encourage, letting her take the flower from you again as you turn your head slightly so she can put it behind your ear. 

You spot Geralt walking out of the inn, stop when he sees you and smirks at the sight of your hood down and you interacting with a kid. Biting your lip to stop a flustered blush from crossing your face, you look back at the little girl when she’s done and smile as she steps back away from you. “Thank you,” you whisper, standing to your feet again when she turns to run away from you. 

Geralt walks towards you when you turn towards him, smiling to yourself when you notice how people around don’t stare at you like they did back home. Farther south. They treat you like a normal person, not like a freak-show. “I see you’re warming up to people,” Geralt mentions when he reaches you. 

You chuckle at his words and pull your gaze away from the sights around you to look up at him. “I knew I was going to like the North,” you state, folding your arms over your chest as you turn to stand beside him as you look out at the people again. 

Geralt never thought he’d see you so happy, so carefree in such a large group of people. So, he can’t help but smile at how you join in on dances, laugh every now and then, and smile. That smile… 

Every time your eyes fall on him, he turns his gaze away and stares at something else. Either the drink in his hands, or something else in the distance. But then he looks back at you not even a second later. And he’s back to smiling at you. 

When the dance ends, everyone claps and cheers. And you join in. 

Geralt never thought he’d see people, normal humans welcome you so warmly into their community. But they do, and they do it with a smile on their face. 

You fall down in a chair beside Geralt, laugh as you run your fingers through your hair. “How can you still be so stiff?” you question with a giggle and reach for a mug of ale on the table. 

He shrugs his shoulders, grunts and takes a sip from his mug. “I don't mingle much,” he grumbles, making you lift your head up at him and raise an eyebrow. 

“Is it a Witcher thing?” you ask, tilting your head to the side and leaning forward with your elbows on the table when he turns his gaze to you. 

The longer he stares at you, the bigger your smile grows before you start laughing again. And he can’t help that tug on the corner of his lips. A little girl runs up to you, grabs your hand and pulls you out of your seat. And you go with a smile on your and Geralt’s eyes trails after you. 

Jaskier takes your seat, sighs as he places his drink on the table and looks up at Geralt. He follows his stare, smirks to see him staring at you before he looks back at the man in front of him. “You like her,” Jaskier sings.

Those words make Geralt’s head snap to him, with a cold glare in his eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think no one’s looking. And I can see that you are starting to like her,” Jaskier fights, pointing a finger at him and then to you. 

Geralt looks back out to you, sees you dancing with the little girl, making her laugh and giggle and he sighs. “So, what if I like her? We’ve been spending a lot of time together-”

“And soon your journey will come to an end and you’ll just let her go and live with people who are like her,” Jaskier cuts him off, making Geralt roll his eyes and push himself to his feet. “Except, you’ll be moody and pouty about it because you’ll wish that you had stopped her from leaving,” he carries on, pushing himself to follow Geralt when he starts to walk away. “And all you’ll ever complain about is how you miss her.”

Sharply turning around to face him, Geralt gives him a stern glare as he curls his hands into fists at his sides. “What else am I supposed to do, Jaskier? I’m supposed to get her to where she wants to be, and then the job is over. She wants to be with people like her, not with someone like me,” he says in a low voice. 

Jaskier smiles. “Are you sure she hasn’t changed her mind about that?” he asks, his question makes Geralt swallow deeply and take a step backwards. 

The Witcher turns his head over his shoulder to look back at you just as you lift your head up to him. Your eyes meet with his, and you smile gently at him. Gods, that smile… 

When you finally decide to call it a night, Geralt has a feeling the morning will soon be on the rise. He leads you to the room he’s paid for at the inn, having no idea what the effects of alcohol have on the offspring of a dragon. He’s seen you have a few drinks tonight, but you seem to be handling it fine. 

He knows that he doesn’t have to lead you to the room, but he wants to because that means he’ll get away from Jaskier. 

You turn around when the door closes, shrug your cloak off your shoulders and place it to the side on a chair as you walk closer to him. “You’re not drunk, are you?” he questions, noticing a slight stumble in your steps.

“I could have beaten you in a drinking contest and still walk in a straight line,” you mention, folding your arms over your chest and giggling as he takes a step forward, a smirk growing on his face.

Humming as he stares down at you, he stops when he stands just one step away from you. “Be careful what you say. I might take you up on that challenge,” he says, his voice low and almost vibrating in his chest and it makes you bite your lower lip. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips for just a second before they shoot back up to your eyes, an action that you notice. It makes your lip pop back out and your mouth to open slightly as you take a small step forward. He then looks to the flower still in your hair, lifts his hand to adjust it, making your heart skip a beat. 

You wait for him to pull his hand away, but he instead cups your cheek and looks back at your face, staring into your eyes. “Geralt-”

He doesn’t hear you whisper his name because he’s already leaning forward to press his lips to yours. Taking in a deep breath as your shoulders tense, your eyes flutter shut and you end up leaning into his touch and lift a hand to touch the side of his face. 

Before you can deepen the kiss, he pulls away and takes a step backward, not even looking at you again. “You should try and get some rest,” he grumbles as he turns around and quickly makes for the door. 

You stare at him in shock and disbelief, only to stare at the door when he harshly closes it behind him when he leaves, fighting the tears that start growing in your eyes. It was too good to be true, thinking that someone would ever never regret kissing you. It’s happened before in the past, and you thought it would never happen again. 

Not after everything that’s happened on this venture. Not after telling Geralt so much about yourself. 

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[youllneverknowrac]

Oscar Diaz-Shut Up Mom!(MBS)

Hey guys! Hope you enjoy this request!

Make sure to show some love if you liked it!

@b3mybunnybaby

~

“Mommy can you help me with a Tik-Tok prank on daddy?” Carlos asks from where you rest on the couch with your swollen feet up, Alexander taking a nap in your arms.

“I wanna watch Tik-Tok.” Angel says as he sits in time out from a tantrum he had minutes prior.

“No talking. You sit there and think about what you did.” You warn him before turning your attention to your third born,”What do I have to do?” You ask him with a smile, you needed some excitement in your life and this was the perfect way to get that. Especially since your little girl was about to be here any day now.

“Okay so all you need to do is...” Carlos begins to explain the instructions, even showing you a few videos as a reference,”Got it?”

“I do, but do you think you can out run your dad? Maybe we should tell Anthony or Junior to do it.” You suggest, already knowing that Oscar doesn’t play when it comes to your kids being disrespectful.

“Junior won’t be back until this weekend.” He says as he thinks his idea over,”Let me go ask Tony.” He decides before taking off up the stairs and into their shared bedroom.

“Mommy? Can I come sit with you now?” Angel asks quietly from the corner,”Pwease?”

“Are you sorry for being mean to Alex? You have to share with him, he’s your little brother. And soon Santana is gonna be here, are you going to be mean to her?”

“No mommy, I’ll be good. I’ll tell Alex sorry when he wakes up.”

“Okay, but if you mess up one more time today I’m telling daddy.”

“No! No daddy! I’m a good boy. Pinky promise.” He says as he runs over and jumps on the couch next to you,”I’m gonna be a good big brother.” He says as he carefully places a kiss to the sleeping boys head before doing the same to your stomach.

“I believe you. Now shhh, don’t wake him up.”

“Shhh.” He repeats with a head nod before laying back against the cushion and grabbing his tablet.

“Okay mom, I’ll do it but if he ends up grabbing me I’m throwing hands.” Anthony says as he comes down with Carlos.

“I’ll have your back.” Carlos says firmly with a clap on his back. Angel chiming in that he will to as he keeps his eyes focused on his game.

“Then you better run fast.” You laugh,”He should be home any minute now, so stretch those legs.”

You guys end up practicing a few times, Alexander awake in his pack n play by the time Oscar’s truck is pulling into the drive way,”He’s here, get ready!” Angel screams as he peeks out the window. Carlos hands you his phone, the app already set up before taking a seat with Angel. Anthony sitting on the steps mentally hyping his self up.

“Best looking Diaz is home!” Oscar shouts out after walking in the house and kicking his work boots off by the door,”Whatcha all doing?” He asks as he joins you all in the living room, undoing the buttons on his dirty uniform.

“Nothing I’m just trying to get these boys to clean up their rooms.” You sigh after pressing record, Oscar leaning over the back of the couch to peck your lips in greeting quickly,”They haven’t been listening to me all day.”

“Why aren’t they clean?” He asks as he looks in between the three older boys,”I’ll go throw away every toy and video game I bought if those rooms aren’t spotless by tonight, when your mom says to do something you do it. Understand me?”

“Yes sir.” All three boys nod simultaneously.

“Well go on then, I’ve been telling you all day. Anthony please clean y’alls bathroom too.”

“Oh my god, shut up mom. Quit nagging so much.” He says as he stands up, Oscar snapping his head over to the older boy so fast and dangerously walking towards him.

“The fuck did you just say?” He asks lowly,”I know damn well you ain’t talking to your mom like that.”

“I did and what?” He retorts, you guys deciding to take it a bit further than the original videos.

“Getcho ass over here!” Oscar shouts as he reaches out for his shirt, Anthony two steps ahead as he takes off in the opposite direction.

“Now Angel!” Carlos screams as they each grab onto Oscar’s legs and hang on for dear life.

“It’s a joke Oscar! Chill out!” You laugh as you scramble to your feet,”Look it’s for a video, I knew he was going to say that.” You add as you stop recording and show him.

“Oh y’all trying to play me for a fool?” Oscar says as he reaches down and picks up Angel by the ankles and holds him upside down,”Where you in on this? Huh?” He asks him with playful anger.

“No! Mommy help!” Angel laughs as he swings his body back and forth.

“Put my baby down.” You scold with a smile as you grab him with a low groan,”You’re so heavy now.” You comment as Oscar snatches Carlos up from the ground and holds him at arms length,”I know this was your idea.”

“Maybe.” He says innocently as he flashes his smile, a few baby teeth missing and being replaced with incoming adult teeth.

“Haha. You all think you’re so funny, I was about to air the whole roof off of this house. Y’all need to ask about me, you just don’t know what dads capable of.” Oscar boast as he lightly shoves the scrawny kid away with a push to his forehead.

“Um can I come back down?” Anthony yells from the top step.

“Yeah come down!” Oscar says, rubbing his nose with his thumb and index finger,”I ain’t gonna hurt you. Don’t be scared now.”

“It was for Tik-Tok.” Anthony says as he slowly descends from the steps,”I wouldn’t talk to mom like that for real.”

“You’re lucky.” Oscar jokes as he throws a few punches in his direction,”Don’t mess with the big dogs hyna.”

“Aye, I’m not that scared.” Your second born laughs as he doges the hits,”You ain’t that athletic anymore dad, old age is getting to you.”

“Hey! We’re practically the same age and another thing I’m your wife. Once upon a time I was your hyna, but you can’t call me that no more.” You scoff playfully as you sit back down with Angel, Alexander growing upset that he hasn’t got any attention yet.

“Yeah, but you look like a teenager, dad not so much.” Anthony laughs

“Aight, ima let that slide for now.” Oscar smirks as he goes over to pick up the baby after blowing a kiss and wink your way in understanding,”When you’re least expecting it though ima be on that ass.” He jokes before turning his attention to Alex,”You wouldn’t play a prank on daddy? No you’d never do that.” He says, placing a kiss to the top of his head after.

“What’s a hyna?” Angel asks looking between the two of you,”Whatever I don’t care, I have fruit snacks. Um mommy can I go get some pwease?”

“Yes, just one bag though. You can all go get a little snack, I’m ordering Chinese for dinner so don’t go overboard.”

“Awesome!” Carlos says before all three boys head into the kitchen.

“Y’all better eat at the table!” Oscar calls out behind them,”I don’t need any roaches in this house!”

“Yes sir!” They all shout back

“Bring me him.” You say and wiggle your fingers in their direction.

“You have a baby in your stomach, hold that.” Oscar says as he takes a step away,”Besides he’s the only one that didn’t play a prank on me so I’m gonna go give him some juice and cuddles.”

“What?!” You laugh as you throw your head back,”If you don’t give me my baby back and go change out of your dirty work clothes I’m gonna...”

“You’ll what? Chase after me?” Oscar teases as he bounces Alex in his arms,”Come on mama, come take him from me.”

“I don’t even have to get up, watch this...Alex, mommy’s baby boy. Come here.” You say and hold your arms out from the couch,”Come to mama.”

“Mama.” Alex says as he reaches out for you with a smile, his legs kicking out,”Mama.” He repeats with grabby hands, not waiting even two seconds before he begins to wail.

“Not fair.” Oscar says with squinted eyes as he hands him off to you,”That’s okay cause my princess is gonna be all about daddy. Then you’ll finally see how it feels to be second favorite.”

“It’s cute that you think your second, you know that’s Cesars spot.” You joke, Alex already calm in your arms as he sucks his thumb.

“What’s this, make Oscar upset day?” He scoffs as he leans over you,”Cause it’s working.” He tells you before pressing his lips to yours lovingly once again.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight.” You mumble against him mouth with a smile,”But you need to go shower first.” You laugh and turn your head away a second later,”Now please.”

“This smell coming off of me is called hard work mami. Hard work and money!” He laughs as he walks backwards towards the master bedroom,”Get on my level!”

“I’m above your level papi. I stay home all day with my baby’s and take your paycheck at the end of the week. You wish you were on my level!”

“You’re a smart ass.” He chuckles as he points at you,”But I love it.”

“Hmh love you.” You say and stick your tongue out at him, Oscar flicking you off before disappearing out of your sight.

“Mommy!” Angel shouts from the dining room,”Come in here with us!”

“Coming, give me a second.” You huff as you set Alex down and opt for holding his hand instead as the two of you head to join the other Diaz boys. A good time to ask them what other prank could be played on their daddy.

[pressedinthepages]

Curiosity

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel & Ciri (Platonic/Familial)

Word Count: 1412

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request [from @sometimesiwrite​ Ciri and Uncle Eskel??? OMG DID THEY LEAVE ESKEL IS CHARGE OF “THE TALK???”] i am LIVING for the awkwardness that is Eskel.

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: discussion of consent, as well as the use of r*pe for definition purposes, language

Eskel really wishes he had gone hunting.

    “Uncle Eskel?” Ciri’s voice chimes across the table, empty save for the aforementioned Witcher. Geralt and Lambert left this morning to rid the surrounding area of a family of draconids that have settled in, and Vesemir has gone to the lake to catch some supper for everyone. “Can I ask you about sex?”

    Eskel’s spoon clatters to the table as he blinks at the girl-no, the young woman. Cirilla is growing into a young woman, and it makes sense that she should ask someone about that part of life. However, Eskel is not sure that he’s the best person for that. “Shouldn’t you ask Geralt?” 

    Ciri scoffs, shoveling another generous portion of jerky into her mouth. “Well, I did. He got all pale and he kept just shaking his head, whispering “Fuck” as he fled the room. And before you can say it, I did ask Lambert too-”

    “Well, there’s a mistake.”

    “But he just doubled over laughing and told me to ask you. Yennefer won’t be back until winter, and I can’t ask Vesemir, that would be weird…”

    “And this isn’t?” Eskel grumbles, trying to figure out where exactly in his life he fucked up so royally to lead to this moment of having to teach someone else’s damn kid about sex. 

    “Not really, you’re the sanest person here,” Ciri says nonchalantly. She is a summer child, having just turned fourteen around the solstice. Eskel finds himself thinking that, if they were here under different circumstances, she would be undergoing the first of the Trials soon. 

    He shakes that line of thought away, focusing back on Ciri. He sighs, resigned to a very long afternoon. “Can we go sit in the library?”

    Ciri nods, finishing up her lunch at a relaxed pace. She still has some tendencies of being raised in a royal family, such as eating as slowly as she pleases, thank you very much. Eskel stands, depositing his empty bowl and spoon into the washbasin for later. He trudges towards the library as if he were headed to the gallows, his steps echoing through the empty halls. 

    The scent of old books and abandoned alchemical experiments greets Eskel as he shoulders open the great wooden door to the library. He sits in a comfy chair by the fireplace, casting Igni to help warm the room. Autumn is approaching, leaving some of the larger areas in the decrepit castle a bit drafty. Eskel finds a copy of Half a Century of Poetry, or as Geralt calls it, A Load of Horse Shit. Eskel opens it up to a random page, reading through the tales of his brother as he waits for the Princess. 

    He doesn’t have to wait long, for she soon tips open the door in and peeks inside. When Ciri finds Eskel just as he said he would be she sags with palpable relief, stepping fully into the room and sitting in a seat directly across from him. 

    “Right,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I have a few questions.”

    Eskel hums, closing the book and setting it on the ground next to him. Should’ve grabbed the copy of the Beastiary that’s hollowed out with a flask of wine…

    “So, I know about a woman’s cycles,” Eskel flushes, remembering that debacle of a few years prior. How they all missed that Ciri had hit that part of womanhood was beyond him, and he had vowed to do better by her. I guess this is where I do that, huh?

    “But I just want to understand the mechanics of it all, I just don’t see what the big deal of it is.” Eskel watches as Ciri messes with a stray thread on the hem of her shirt, apparently a habit picked up from himself. He smiles to himself, pondering how to start what will be the beginning of a bit of an uncomfortable conversation.

    “Well,” Eskel clears his throat, attempting to soften his voice. It doesn’t work, it never does. “When a man and a woman...enjoy each other’s company…well, it doesn’t have to be that way, it can be two men, or two women too, or just people together, oh Melitele…” He runs his hand down the scarred side of his face, attempting to get his thoughts together. Ciri only looks at him, waiting for him to go on. 

    “You know how Lambert goes all rigid whenever something touches him by accident?” Ciri’s brows scrunch up in confusion with the sudden change of direction, but she nods along anyways. “Well, that’s because he’s very sensitive to touch. Ever since he went through the Trials, and probably even before that. People touched Lambert without his permission, and they hurt him. I’m sure you’ve heard how his father treated him?”

    “Of course, I still can’t understand how a parent could do such cruel things to their own child, or any child for that matter.”

    Eskel shakes his head, knowing just how far some people’s ruthlessness can go. “Well, sometimes that happens to adults too, with sex. If someone isn’t interested in someone else, or they do something that they don’t like, or anything to make them uncomfortable, it’s not okay. It’s rape.”

    Ciri’s eyes widen at the word, having heard it before in discussions eavesdropped upon in court. She never understood the connotation, but she knew the pain that it could cause for those affected. “So, if someone wants to have sex with me, and I say no, but they do it anyway, that’s rape?”

    Eskel nods before adding, “Even if you don’t exactly say “no,” but definitely not “yes,” it’s still rape. And you can change your mind, too. You can be right in the middle of something with a person and decide that you don’t want that anymore. Just say the word, and they should leave you alone. And if they don’t, you fight like hell. No one should take that choice away from you, ever.”

    Ciri sits quietly for a few moments, clearly thinking about what was said. “Okay, and what about when they do want to have sex, what then?”

    Eskel’s mouth gapes like a fish out of water, unsure of exactly where to start. He mentally curses every single gods-forsaken person that is supposed to be in the keep before launching into a very awkward discussion about different kinds of sex, how it can fit into relationships, always reiterating on the importance of consent. Ciri interjects with questions and further discussion from time to time, and if Eskel didn’t know any better, he would think that she was just trying to prolong his torture. But he does know better, that Ciri is really just trying to understand this part of life. 

    “Hey Uncle Eskel,” Ciri says, standing with a confidence gained from years at court and a sureity gained from her training in Kaer Morhen, “thanks for this. I appreciate it.”

    Eskel only grunts as she takes her leave, peering out the window to watch the sun begin to dip below the horizon. He heaves himself out of the chair and walks to the courtyard, finding the three missing Witchers all arriving through the gates. Vesemir tosses him a bag of fish, which Eskel promptly sets to the side. He puts his hands on his hips in his best impression of the older Witcher as he watches Geralt dismount Roach. 

    “You have a nice day?” Geralt asks, raising an eyebrow at Eskel’s stance.

    “Fucking marvelous, thanks.” Eskel’s voice is a low growl, his lips pursed in annoyance. “Apparently, Ciri’s father has been ignoring her questions about sex, and left her to ask me instead.”

    Geralt’s eyes widen comically, and Eskel can’t help the way his lips turn up at the corners. “And what did you tell her?”

    “The truth, you moron. Nothing salacious, but she needs to learn about this stuff Geralt. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

    Geralt sighs, running his hand through his silver hair. “You’re right. She already so grown up. I don’t want her to grow up…”

    Eskel moves to stand before Geralt, pulling his brother into an embrace. He pointedly ignores Lambert’s faux gagging before patting Geralt on the back a few times as he steps back. “You owe me so much alcohol.”

    Geralt chuckles, nodding as they all walk off towards the keep, ready to tuck into a night of rest and relaxation, or at least as much as a bunch of Witchers can get. 

[ffangirlingsince2001]

The Witcher and the Princess: Magma

*not my gif*

Geralt x Reader

Geralt of Rivia is not a babysitter, he is not a bodyguard, and he has no interest in transporting princesses across the continent. Until gold is offered and for the next 90 days he’s saddled with a chirpy, bubbly, princess, who is betrothed to the prince of Narok and has a desire to see everything before she’s trapped behind another set of walls.

Warnings: violence, language, angst, fluff, smutish (not quite there yet ;) )

Over the next couple of days, it seemed that nothing had changed. She still smiled at him. Which was more than he deserved after what had happened in the darkness of their room. He still dreamt about it, and now that he knew what she felt like it made it even more difficult to keep his distance. In an effort to protect them both he had allowed Adam to take her away, to show her the world in which he lived. The nights were still a struggle but when both pretended to be asleep there was no risk.

The morning of their departure was a tearful one for the princess. She wrapped her arms around her silversmith as tightly as she could manage, but to Geralt’s surprise, ducked beneath Adam’s lips before quickly joining Geralt atop Roach. The silence in which they rode was full of tension. Geralt was more focused on ignoring the feeling of her legs wrapped around him than where they were going and so it was no surprise they eventually ended up lost in a thicket of woods.

“Where are we?” she whispered from behind him, sliding off the horse as she spoke. Around them trees rustled while no wind blew. She was inching away from the horse and closer to the underbrush. “Can you hear that?”

“Get back on the horse,” he growled but she paid him no mind.

“It’s coming through here.”

“Y/N, get back on the horse.”

“It sounds like a child.”

“Please, come back,” he begged.

“What if they’re hurt? What if we can help them?”

“Y/N,” he persisted but she continued. From that moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion. With a shaking hand she reached through the brush and a long claw wrapped around her waist, yanking her forward. Geralt leapt from his horse, drawing the silver blade and plunging after her. Thorns tried to pull him back, warning him of the danger that awaited him, but the sounds of her screams made everything else painless.

She was crying out for him, and though it was agony listening to her fear, anything was better than silence.

Silence met she was dead.

Ahead of him the brushes still rustled from the monster he was trailing. The trail of trampled underbrush led him to a clearing where his princess had torn herself away and was brandishing a stray stick she had found. As she fended off the head, the tail was creeping around, reading to pierce its prey. He charged forward, sword raised high and the monster roared with indignation. She slammed the branch against its skull with minimum damage, only managing to annoy the beast. It swiped her to the side with a snarl and turned its attention the silver that was glinting in the evening light. It screeched, brandishing its tail. He charged it, slicing every inch of flesh he could reach. The tail caught him in the side and he let out a grunt, his sword flying from his hand.

“No!” he yelled as Y/N darted for it, she froze and the monster caught sight of her. The moment her hand closed around the handle it darted forward and she screamed, swinging wildly. It hissed and screeched, swiping at her with uninjured maw. It was backing her into a corner, preparing to feast on the foolish girl that had dared to challenge it. Geralt pulled himself from the ground and leapt onto the monsters back. It screamed, twisting as it tried to remove the Witcher from its back. Its tail struck the princess, throwing her against a boulder and she slumped to the ground. The talon on its tail pulled him off and tossed him towards the princess. The world spun around him and he was vaguely aware of Y/N struggling to stand. Using the sword as a cane she pulled herself up to her full height and stepped between him and the snarling beast. It roared and she screamed drawing up the sword, swinging it just as the teeth were sure to close around her. Blood spattered across the both of him and the monster collapsed to the ground, only a weak breath remaining. She stepped forward and plunged the hilt into its eye before dropping to the ground.

“Geralt,” she gasped, pulling herself to his side, soft hands resting against him. He tried to rise but fiery agony swept through him. There was no poison in this particular monster, but that didn’t make its claws any less sharp. “You’re injured.” She was panicking now, hands shaking, tears streaming down her face, her breaths short and sharp. She scrambled against his clothes, aiming to free the wound but only managing to make him wince.

“Y/N,” he growled, grabbing her hands if only to still them. She met his eyes and he offered a weak smile. “I need you to stitch the gash. Go find Roach and lead him back here.” She nodded and limped away, stumbling over the thicket. He could hear her screaming for his horse, the shake in her voice evident. He cursed himself, for allowing her to get hurt. She should never have to see something so terrible, and now she had killed something. And it was his fault. He was supposed to protect her, and now she was protecting him, placing herself between things that wished to devour her in effort to protect the man who was supposed to be keeping her safe.

She returned to his side, his pack in her hands, fishing for the needle and string he told her were inside. She helped him pull his shirt from his body and she gasped when the injury came into a view. Blood seeped from the long gash in his torso and he thanked the gods that it wasn’t any deeper. She stared at it, dread washing over her. She glanced over her shoulder at the dead monster and back to him, growing paler with each moment.

“I can’t,” she finally managed to say, and as the words left her shaking lips, a waterfall of tears and denial left her. “I can’t do, I can’t,” she cried, pushing herself away but he caught her by the wrists and pulled her close.

“Y/N, look at me,” he demanded, and she obeyed, “I’ll walk you through it, but I need you to stay calm, okay?” She nodded and he released her. “There’s a skin of ale tied to Roach; you’ll need to clean the wound before you close it up.” Catatonically, she followed his instructions, choking out sobs as he grunted in pain. When the wound was cleaned, she threaded the needle, slick fingers almost losing it amongst the underbrush. She tied a knot and hovered over his skin with timid hands. She straddled his waist, but there was no lust between them as she shook in fear, unable to draw any closer. “Hey, its okay, I’ve handled worse.” She nodded, more to herself than to him, and plunged the tiny needle into his skin. He growled, grabbing her abruptly. She froze, his fingers pressing bruises into her shoulders. “Keep going,” he encouraged her through gritted teeth and she proceeded, clumsy hands pulling flesh back together with flimsy string.

It took longer than it should have. She wouldn’t push it in right and the skin would tear, leaving her with corrections and more pain. When she pulled the last stitch tight, she released a the breath she had been holding throughout and allowed her tears to flow more freely. He sat up against the boulder he had been thrown against and pulled her close, cupping her face in his hands.

“Hey, you did so good,” he whispered, and she shook her head, pushing him away.

“It’s all my fault,” she screamed, pacing around the clearing, running fingers through her hair. He pulled himself up and reached out to take her hand again, but she pulled away. “I had to kill it. I fucking killed it,” she wailed and this time as she passed, he successfully caught her, pulling her close.

“Y/N, it was a monster, it had to be killed. It would have killed us the moment you gave it a chance.”

“It didn’t choose to be a monster.”

“It doesn’t matter, they have to be killed.” She broke into tears once more and he pulled her close.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she muttered into his chest and he brushed his fingers through her hair.

“It’s okay, we got through it, I won’t let anything hurt you. And, hey, if this princess thing doesn’t work out you might make a damn good hunter, that beast had nothing on you.” She snorted and pulled away, wiping her tears.

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe not, but if it calls for it you can definitely take one out,” he said ushering to the corpse that lay beside them. She stared at it, fists clenching as she did so. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m going to go get some food and then we’ll camp out here for the night, get rested and then we can get back on the road tomorrow.” She nodded, still not looking away from the monster. He released her slowly and she crept towards it.

When he returned, a couple rabbits in his hands he found her kneeling beside the creature, whispering prayers over its lifeless body. Leaves circled the head like a funeral crown and it was tucked into itself as if it was only sleeping.

“Some would consider that blasphemous, princess.”

“And some are ignorant,” she retorted without turning from the body. Leaving her to her prayers he built a fire and began to cook the rabbit, his stomach rumbling at even the mere thought of being filled. Eventually she sat across from him, arms wrapped around herself.

“You think I’m being silly.”

“It certainly is uncommon to care about the very thing trying to kill you, but not silly. Refreshing if anything.” She seemed surprised as it his response, and offered him a small smile over the fire. “However, I would like to know where you developed such compassion.”

“One day you will, but not now,” she replied sadly, dropping her gaze. Silence encircled their camp as they ate. He couldn’t figure out why the secrecy, and she had made it very clear she would not tell him, so he could find nothing to talk about. The body of the monster still seemed to catch her eye, a glint of something he could not understand twinkling in her eye.

When the sun had finally set, and only the fire light surrounded them he began to unfold their makeshift beds. He laid down on stiff matt and waited for her to do the same. When he glanced to her hunched figure he found her staring at him deep in thought.

“Y/N,” he whispered and she glided towards him, floating over the uneven ground before throwing a leg over his lap and straddling him. He shot up, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through him, but before he could protest she pressed her lips to his.

There was no ferocity in this kiss, only tenderness. A hand rested on his shoulder and the other against his cheek He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her closer. She moaned softly against his lips and he was sure he could have melted in that very instant.

Her hands crept into his hair, wrapping themselves in the white tendrils. He pulled away and instantly attached his lips to her neck, moaning against the soft skin when lightly tugged at his roots. She pulled herself closer and he could feel the slopes of her breasts pressing against him. Her thighs tightened against his waist and she moaned into the moonlight. Her hands wandered to her corset and she began to untie it but he withdrew.

“We cannot,” he grunted, his whole self cursing the reminder that she was not his, “You have a husband.”

“And I can assure you he will not mind.”

“It’s not right.”

“This is not about right or wrong, this is about wanting. Do not tell me that you are not filled with wanting because I will know you are lying. I have seen the way you stare, and the way you tense whenever I am seated near you. And let us not forget the way you so lustfully held me beneath my skirt, or the way you did not hesitate to wrap my legs around you as the jealousy began to eat you alive.”

“You are not mine.”

“And yet you wish I was.” He was caught, he had believed it was so well hidden, and yet she had known for as long as he had felt it. It wasn’t solely lust either, she had become more important than just gold, and now as she engulfed him it was taking every bit of strength not to place her beneath him and thrust until she was a mewling mess.

But not here.

Not where death had almost grasped her.

Not where the monster she had unwillingly killed lay beside them.

Not when he had an overwhelming sense that she was trying to heal something deep within her.

And so he pulled her tight against him and laid against the ground. “Just lay with me,” he whispered and she stiffened, almost shocked. “Y/N, I want nothing more than to fuck you, but we’re both covered in blood and exhausted, so just lay with me.” As he spoke, she melted against him and sighed, resting her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes, resting in his victory.

@mallorydoesstuff​ @facelessfiction​ @aphadriel-fanfic​ @raspberrydreamclouds​ @thegreattodd​ @saint-hardy​ @ravenclawsstolemybunies​ @queenofmankind​ @britty443​ @lonewolf471​ @utterlyhopeful​ @persephonehemingway​

[brasskier]

Here, have an angsty, tiny little fic about Jaskier finding an abandoned shack on the way down the mountain and living as a hermit for a couple months until winter. Inspired by the absolutely hysterical mopey bard pics we got from Witchmas. I’ll eventually put it on AO3, but for now just read it here, below the cut.

When Jaskier stumbles upon the little shack three-quarters of the way down the mountain, he only intends to stay there just for one night. Take a load off, keep safe from any stray monsters that might be lurking about, and ensure he won't accidentally run into a certain witcher. But the shack is actually pretty cozy, and there's some furniture left inside that with a little TLC could easily be salvaged. He's close enough to Caingorn to drop by if he needed something or wanted to workshop a new ballad. So just for the night becomes maybe for a week or two to get my head back on straight and then is further extended to I don't have anywhere to be until winter so why not fuck off and live in an abandoned shack? 

He fixes it up nicely, nails the bed up good and tosses his bedroll over the frame so he's no longer sleeping on the ground, tinkers around with the stove until he can properly cook a meal on it, dusts and cleans until he's not sneezing incessantly from the dust any longer. Hunting becomes not only a necessity but a hobby of sorts, and even more than small game he finds himself relishing the tranquility of fishing in the river. He's still not the greatest cook on the continent, but he's managed to avoid giving himself food poisoning. He'll set back on the road for Oxenfurt closer to winter, but in the meantime this is his home. He revels in his newfound self-sufficiency and finds he has little desire or need to drop by town anymore, so he doesn't, and settles into a routine as a temporary hermit.

Geralt is sure he's dead. Every now and again a too-chatty bartender or innkeeper will ask him, "are you that bard's witcher?" He always says no, and they always keep prattling on anyway. "He was a sweet enough fellow, used to drop by 'round these parts time to time, always had that witcher with him." Geralt would grunt and nod along, struggling to be better at controlling his temper with his child surprise now sharing his company. "No one's seen 'em in a while. Reckon he's dead, the poor sod. What a shame." What a shame indeed. Geralt didn't dwell on it, pushed the thought of Jaskier's death (and his guilt) far out of mind. It was the damned bard's own fault if he got himself killed.

After the second or third identical interaction, Ciri (always too bright for her own good) seemed to catch on, summoned all her courage, and asked Geralt about it. "You had a bard, didn't you?" He did have a bard, she'd slowly learn. His name was Jaskier, he was a royal pain in the ass, and he was probably dead, most likely from his own stupidity. She knew better than to trust that Geralt would let someone he held only contempt for tag along with him for decades, but she was reaching his limit on interrogation. She didn't push any further; maybe when she finally got to meet Yennefer she'd know more.

A roving band of Nilfgaardian foot soldiers pressed them out of the way and further west. Geralt and Ciri were finally on the last leg of their journey up to Kaer Morhen; they just needed to head east and every so slightly north, and then they'd be safe. At least it wasn't terribly cold; the threat of capture meant they were wintering far earlier than usual, the trees still cast in orange and gold. But they were exhausted and never really out of harm's way. Which is why, when Geralt caught sight of an unoccupied little shack, he decides they're going to stop a little early, spend the night within the relative security of four walls. He tethers Roach to a nearby post, explains the plan to Ciri, and heads towards the door. 

The shed is cleaner than Geralt had expected; far cleaner, he'd almost go as far as to say immaculate. It looks lived-in, a half-finished cup of tea still simmering on the table. Clearly, he'd misestimated the vacancy of the shack. No matter, perhaps the resident might take pity and agree to house them for the evening. He turns back towards the exit - looking like a trespasser will not help his case - but he's too late, and a voice stops him while his hand hovers over the doorknob. The voice, it calls his name. Uncanny realization settles in his gut; he'd recognize that voice anywhere.

It was a pleasant evening, sunset painting his room in pink and orange through the window, and Jaskier was enjoying his evening tea when he heard movement. Eyes wide, he catches his breath in his throat to keep from crying out, and shuffles as silently as possible back to the bed to retrieve his dagger. Moments like these were where he'd silently wish Geralt was still there, and then immediately resent himself for even having the thought. He was a grown man; he could take care of himself. Blade in hand, he clapped his free hand over his mouth when he heard the door creak open, footsteps clomp through his kitchen, a little girl's voice. He dragged closer to the source, weapon drawn, legs trembling. And then he sees a shock of silver hair, the glint of steel. He'd recognize this intruder anywhere.

"Geralt?" He called, inflection somewhere between questioning and accusatory. The witcher turns slowly to face him, dirt caked against his cheek, and for a moment Jaskier feels like he might just pass out. 

"Jaskier." He grips onto the table to ground himself, thoughts spinning. And then he catches sight of her, blond curls tucked under the hood of a sooty cloak - the child surprise.

"You're…" he breathes, crossing the space between them in a few easy strides and kneeling before her. "The child surprise." He smiles fondly - looks like Geralt has finally stepped up to take responsibility. The girl cast an uncertain gaze up at Geralt. "Right. I'm Jaskier. Geralt and I, we were… well, we, uh, used to travel together." We used to be friends, or at least he used to think they were.

"I'm Ciri," the girl replied, still obviously skittish, brow knitted with confusion and uncertainty. "Geralt said you were dead." Jaskier snorted, falling back on his heels with laughter and startling Ciri.

"Dead? Brilliant, Geralt!" He waved a hand in front of himself. "I know that's what you wanted, but - gods! - did you run around telling the whole Continent that? Or did you just feel the need to feed your child surprise this lie?"

"The whole Continent told me you were dead," Geralt huffed, arms folded across his chest. "Everywhere I went, 'you that bard's witcher?' Everyone assumed you were dead - 'no one's seen the poor bastard around in months'. What was I supposed to think?" Jaskier straightened up, opened his mouth as if to speak, but Geralt kept going. "I don't-- I never said--" He raked a hand through his hair. "I never wished you were dead." Geralt wasn't sure what he expected - an exaggerated rebuttal, an exasperated shake of the head and a finger pointed towards the door, anything - but instead, Jaskier simply slunk back to the kitchen, slipped into the chair, and dropped his head in his hands. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, and Ciri tugged at Geralt's arm. "I'm just-- I just-- it's just a lot, you know? Gods, it's just a lot." Geralt eyed the setting sun through the window - if he wasn't going to let them stay, they needed to get a move on. Jaskier seemed to sense his antsiness. "You can stay the night. Ciri can have my bed." 

"Thank you, I…" 

"Don't." Jaskier waved him off, rising from the table again. "Just don't leave the place a mess, and I want you gone first thing in the morning." Geralt nodded, and Jaskier lead Ciri to his bed. "It's not much. Sorry."

"It's plenty," she replied, settling in. "Thank you." 

"Where will you sleep?" Geralt asked, tone as nonchalant as possible. Jaskier shrugged.

"I'm not tired just yet." He gently lifted his lute up by the strap from the corner. "Think I might play for a bit, just to settle me my mind."  Usually, Geralt would've rolled his eyes, told him to shut up - you play that damned thing all day, just go to bed - but this was Jaskier's home, and he did little more than nod. "I'll be off for Oxenfurt in a week or two. If you find yourselves needing shelter again, it'll be unoccupied." 

"Thank you." Jaskier disappeared outside, and soon the soft strum of lute strings floated in. Geralt laid out his bedroll next to Ciri and settled down for the night, trying not to eavesdrop on lyrics he realized might be about him. Eventually, the songs slowed, and then dropped off entirely, and Geralt fought the urge to get up and carry the sleeping bard inside like he’d done on a handful more occasions than he’d care to admit. Instead, he fell into an uneasy sleep, and knew that come morning light when Jaskier awoke, they’d, as promised, be gone again.

[itsyou-itsme-itsus]

Gambled Away

Dark Avengers AU!

Summary: Your boyfriend Scott has a gambling issue that finally catches up with him when he plays the wrong people.

All Avengers are dark.

I don’t own any of the characters just writing for fun.

Warnings: Its a little violent and no smut yet but small hints of dubcon. Do Not read if this is not your thing!

The restaurant was the literal definition of a hole in the wall. Somewhere in the dead center of New York your boyfriend Scott brought you here. He swore up and down this was the best Italian food in all of New York. You had your suspicions. The walls were a faded red paint looked rusty, likely meant to be deep maroon at some point. Spots near the ceiling were chipped and peeling away. Risking the chance of dropping paint chips into the food or drinks. The floor tiles were covered in a greasy brownish grime. Black soot sat wedged within the cracks.

You cringed feeling lucky to have not seen any cock roaches scurry around. The night was young so you didn’t fully let your guard down yet. The cleanliness of the restaurant was questionable and there was no way a health inspector allowed this. You wondered what could have been keeping them a float. Bribes? Maybe a secret laundering service in the back.

“Oh Mr. Lang. Welcome back. Will you be having the house special?” A tall man with dirty blonde hair and glasses came out.

He sounded smart, his enunciation almost sounded robotic or artificial. He shot you a sympathetic side ways glance. He seemed so out of place to be working in a dump like this.

“We’ll be right back.” Scott said pushing the employee towards the kitchen.

“Scott wai-“ they disappeared before another word could reach your boyfriend’s ears. It was hard to hold back the audible huff of annoyance that crept up from the pit of your stomach.

Like a rancid taste in your mouth that wouldn’t go away, there was a tugging in your chest. Something felt off and it wasn’t just the sketchy nature of the restaurant. More details started to become more apparent. There seemed to be only one employee in the back and no other staff since you walked in. Feeling the need to plan an escape route you doubled checked the space between you and the door behind you. It was glass looking out into the busy streets of New York a Seven Eleven sat on the corner across from the restaurant.

Tony’s was painted across the top of the glass in white stenciled paint. Parts of it were fading a little. No one had even come out to ask you for your drink order. The urge to run out the door and home was strong. You wanted to give Scott the benefit of the doubt because he was so sweet! You would just have to put your foot down towards these kinds of situations.

“Who is all here tonight Vis?” Scott asked following Vis to the basement door.

Vis didn’t need to answer when he opened the door it had told Scott his answer. Sitting at the table was Bucky, Steve and Natasha. He had prayed that it was Tony and Sam. They often had higher payouts and were surprisingly more merciful when Scott lost or had to take a couple weeks to get the money back. It was more of fun competition among the wealthy. While the poker games with these three were often high stakes and more ruthless. They would be more likely to break your leg if you didn’t have the money to give them the next day.

“You know what. I should probably just get back upstairs.” Scott tried to hurry and escape before he buried himself.

“No, we need a fourth.” Steve spoke tapping a deck of crisp cards on the table.

“Shit.” Scott muttered to himself before smiling and agreeing. He sat down and watched as Bucky slid him over a stack of chips.

“Buy in is $300.” Natasha said pinching out a few 20s and setting them in the middle of the table. Bucky followed suit and waited for Scott and Steve.

Scott looked into his pockets. He only had about 2k on him. The pot was steep. But he swallowed hard and asked that luck be on hid side tonight. He peeled out $300 from the stack in his pocket and put it with Bucky and Natasha’s. Steve was the last to put his down.

Scott always won due to his calm demeanor and straight poker faces. It always worked in bluffs with Tony and Sam. Not with these three sharks. They were mercenaries and ex-assassins. They knew how to read through someones facade.

As Scott waited for Steve to finish shuffling the cards he let his eyes wonder. In the far corner of the room near the door was a large TV screen. On the screen was the video live streaming from upstairs. Scott could see you in the chair at the table looking around nervously. He was starting to wish he had just taken you to a real restaurant. This might cause you to break up with him.

“I’ll see your $100 and raise you $200.” Bucky said to Nat. She smirked at him fanning her cards up at eye level.

“Bet.” Scott said nervously.

“Bet.” Steve stared down Scott. They knew all about how Scott had been cleaning poker games out in different parts of New York. He had gotten infamous for taking home 500,000 to a million a game.

Steve normally wouldn’t of cared until he heard that his friends Sam and Tony had lost 2.5 million dollars to Scott last week. Steve wanted to get Scott out of the gambling world, to teach him a lesson. To Steve People like Scott were pests. An invasive little ant marching around like it owned everything in someone else’s kitchen. He figured just like an ant he’d rough Scott up and send a message to all the other ants out there. Slowly poison the nests within the area.

Scott kept playing his hand quietly and safely. For the first time in his life he had folded in one round. This pissed Steve off, fueling his fists for when they took Scott into the back Alleyway behind the dumpsters.

The air felt thick and ominous. Scott was beginning to perspire. His leg bounced uncontrollably and he kept looking up at the camera feed. Natasha caught on to this and nodded to Bucky and Steve they looked up to see a beautiful younger woman sitting in the upstairs restaurant area.

She looked nervous as she looked at the kitchen door and then back at the front entrance. Steve couldn’t help but think of how innocent and sweet she looked. Not like the usual girls who came through here. It was easy right away to tell that she had no idea what kind of place she was in.

“Vision.” Steve yelled standing.

“One moment.”

Steve met Vis at the door. They began to whisper and a vis’s face fell. He nodded, complying and left with the door shutting behind him.

“Hello, can I get you anything to drink?” You jumped startled at the sound popping up behind you.

“Sorry, I did not mean to frighten you.”

“That’s alright.”

Vis smiled and waited patiently for your order.

“Oh right. I’ll have ice water please.” Vis internally sighed the only other options would of been strong liquors, beer or wine.

“I’ll be right back with that.” Vis smiled and walked back towards the kitchen.

He had been instructed to make sure you didn’t leave. He worried what was to happen. He wanted to tell you to leave but if they caught you on camera and Bucky got to chase you, it would be far worse than if he just did his job. Vis scrambled through the fridge and realized that there was no food in the entire place. Thinking fast he decided to call the pizzeria down the block and instructed they come to the back door of the kitchen.

He came out with a smile and set down a bottle of water. You eyed it, raising an eyebrow before twisting open the cap and taking a sip.

“Thank you.” You trailed off feeling awkward. Vis smiled and excused himself to the kitchen again.

Scott had to hold back celebrating his first win. Bucky grunted pushing the pile towards Scott. Nat shot him death glares and Steve, seemed to be somewhere else. Just as they expected Scott raised the pot. He got his confidence back and had planned to rake it all in tonight and leave to take you to the kind of restaurant you deserved to eat at.

The second and third time Scott won he was all out. Smiling leaning in to pull the cash to him. He laughed and gloated while the others watched him. The more confident Scott got the sloppier his tactics were. He became more reckless with his hands.

“I need a drink.” Bucky growled. He stood and brought back three glasses to the table. Giving Nat, Steve and Scott each a glass. Bucky poured whiskey in each glass and leaned back to take a swig straight from the bottle.

“Well this has been great guys. But I’m all in!” Scott said reloading the middle of the table with the last pot.

“All in.”

“All in.”

“All in.”

Once all in everyone watched and loosely played their hands. They wanted Scott to win. Scott was the only one who was unaware of this.

“Royal fluuuuush baby!” Scott yelled flopping the cards onto the table. The others leaned back poorly feigning disappointment but Scott wouldn’t notice in his moment of glory!

Scott was so happy! He kept dropping cash as he tried to gather it all. He used his jacket as a sash to help him carry the load. He quickly shot you a text saying pick a new place to eat at, anywhere you wanted to go. While he was scooping up his earnings he hadn’t noticed that Bucky perched himself near the door, the only exit out of the basement. Steve sat on a worn leather brown couch in the back of the room, Nat sat leaning against the wall. Just behind the poker table.

Steve texted Vis to bring you downstairs using the ruse that Scott wanted her brought down. Steve relaxed his new plan would be so much better than Just breaking all of Scott’s bones.

“Thank you and goodnight guys!” Scott yelled waltzing towards the door.

Bucky stuck his metal arm out and ushered Scott to back up. Scott’s face dropped and the color drained from his face. He swallowed hard looking behind him to Steve.

“Wouldn’t want leave your girlfriend behind.” Steve’s tone was calm with something sinister hiding beneath it.

Scott’s blood ran cold. He dropped the money and looked up at the camera. You were gone from your seat. The door now had the open sign shut off. It said closed and the lights were off. He tried to reach for the handle but Bucky drove his fist into Scott’s stomach. He doubled over in pain. Gasping as he hit the ground instantly curling into the fetal position.

“Um, why are we going this way?” You clutched your hoodie to your chest as you followed Vis through the now desolate kitchen. You hadn’t noticed that Vis shut the lights off after the two of you entered the kitchen.

“Scott is leaving out the back, he asked for you to meet him down here.” Vis said his face devoid of emotion and his voice still in monotone.

It neither comforted you nor did it make you feel worse. It was the dark basement stairs that made you feel frightened. The hallway lit up as the door opened you stepped in and saw Scott slightly slouched over on a couch with a tall muscular blonde with a thick dark beard. A beautiful redheaded woman stood behind a table full of cards and poker chips. She stood with her arms crossed.

“Hello?” You said softly looking at her and she smiled warmly.

“Hi I’m Nat.” She said not moving from her spot.

“I’m Y/N.” You returned the gesture.

“That’s a beautiful name Y/N, I’m Steve.” He was stretched out with his arm along the back of the couch.

Even though you felt like something was very wrong you couldn’t stop yourself from being polite. You were never one to judge people off their appearance.

“Thank you.” You couldn’t help but blush a little. It made a carnal feeling twist inside of Steve, he subtly palmed the hem of his pants as it to adjust himself for comfort.

“Scott lets go.” You said turning to your boyfriend. That’s when you noticed. His eyes looked red and his face was pale white. He had blood on the corner of his mouth. You looked up searching for the door and Vis. Your body jolted a bit once you noticed the tall muscular man with long brown hair staring back at you from the shut door. His flesh hand held a bottle full of whiskey. His other hand was metal, it rested on his leg. 

“Whats the rush doll?” He asked addressing you for the first time. He had been so silent that you wondered if he had been there the whole time.

“I’m so, so sorry Y/N. Please I didn’t kn-“ Scott cried out to you, you could tell he genuinely shaken up. His frame shook and you tried to make sense of the situation.

“What is this?” You asked looking to everyone in the room for an answer. A deafening silence seeped into the room like a gloomy fog on a cold morning.

“Scott here is 4 million dollars in debt.” Natasha spoke. Her smile slid away but it stayed in her eyes. To her and Bucky this was like a cat playing with a mouse after it was cornered. This mouse would think it had a chance but the cat sealed its fate when it caught the mouse.

So many thing swept over you. Trying to process the severity of the situation left your mind grasping at scenarios. Part of you wanted to hug Scott and tell him it was all going to be ok.  While the other half of you wanted to scream and slap him for being so stupid! The emotions twisted within your gut like a tornado. You felt nauseous. 

“F-f four million??” Was all that you could muster to come out.

“That’s right.” Steve said pulling your attention back to the couch.

Scott couldn’t make eye contact with you, he just looked down at the floor in shame. His heart was breaking from knowing he had drawn you into something dangerous, over his addiction for gambling.

“Give me one week, i-I’ll pay it back and you’ll never see us again!” You glared at Scott warning him to follow your lead. You weren’t even sure how you would get that kind of money.

“Y-yes you’ll never see me again.” He promised looking at Steve. Steve wasn’t looking at Scott. He was staring at you.

“That doesn’t work for us.” Steve said leaning back on the couch.

“Here’s the choice. One. We beat the shit out of Scott until he’s unconscious in the hospital or you stay and be his payment.” Natasha and Bucky smirked loving how Steve had turned the tables. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at Steve in disgust.

“I’m calling the cops!” You yelled, with tears in your eyes. Your trembling hand dipped into your pocket gripping your phone with clammy hands. It felt slippery and you struggled to get it out of your pocket. Bucky, Nat and Steve watched you intently.

They allowed you to pull the phone out and open the screen. 9-1-1. Your thumb hovered over the call button. Steve jumped up scaring you and the phone fell to the floor. Steve wrapped his arms around you holding you tightly to his chest. He was so much taller and wider when he stood. You felt small and fragile in his grip.

“Sh sh sh... its ok.” He whispered in your ear, his lips grazed the outer shell of your ear and it made you shiver. You tried to pull away and shrink into yourself all at the same time.

“Please!” You cried out struggling to get nowhere. Steve just held you close to him. His cheek pressed against yours. His beard scraped against your skin. He was warm, it made you feel claustrophobic. He inhaled smelling the lavender shampoo in your hair.

“STOP! This doesn’t involve her! Just hurt me!” Scott cried out standing up. Steve nodded to Bucky who came up behind Scott and socked him right in the ribs with his flesh hand.

Scott wheezed and choked as he doubled over clutching his sides. His face flushed a bright red. Bucky likely broke his ribs. He tried to crawl to you. One hand holding his sides while his legs curled towards his chest. He drug himself on one arm. Nat walked up casually and smiled at you before swinging her leg violently and her foot connected with his ribs again.

Scott gasped for air as his body flopped over onto his back, he looked up at the ceiling feeling disoriented. For a moment he was in shock from the pain. A small amount of blood pooled at the corner of his mouth.

You hadn’t realized it but you were crying and shaking uncontrollably. Steve was holding you up, pulling you closer to his chest. He was trying to sooth you. As if he and his friends hadn’t been the ones hurting you and Scott. In the moment of terror you had gripped onto his strong arm to steady yourself.

“I’ll stay!! Please stop hurting him!” Once the words flew out of your mouth the air in the room seemed to thin out. Nat backed away to the table leaning on it with her fingers curled over the edges. Bucky helped Scott up who howled in pain when he went from prone to standing. He clutched onto Bucky as if his life depended on it.

Bucky hobbled Scott’s crippled body to the door. He banged on it with his metal fist. A few seconds went by before Vis opened the door looking mortified.

“Take him to the hospital.” Bucky said nodding his head to Scott who was going in and out of consciousness. 

“Wait.” Steve said causing everyone including you to look at him in confusion.

Steve shifted you slightly in his arms, you were now against his chest facing him. You had to look up at him. There was a shimmer in his eyes that made you feel sick.

“Kiss me. Like a handshake for our deal.” Steve lowered his head his lips were only a few inches away from yours. His other hand left your waist to raise your chin with one finger.

Your heart hammered in your chest, you felt dizzy. You didn’t want to kiss this awful man! Tears filled the brim of your eyes, a heavy invisible stone started to crush your chest.

Bucky lifted Scott’s head making him watch as Steve pressed his lips to yours. You didn’t fight him, you wanted to get it over with so that they’d take Scott to the hospital. Steve parted his lips when yours didn’t he slid his tongue along the seam of your lips, Prodding for entry. Reluctantly you let him. He sighed into your lips as his tongue met yours. Bile felt like it was rising up into your throat. You just wanted this to end. You kissed Steve back timidly but it seemed to appease him.

He pulled back smiling at you before peppering your soft swollen lips with a few gentle kisses. In shock you allowed Steve to set you on the couch. He turned and nodded to Vis who helped Bucky get Scott up the stairs. Nat and Steve talked in the corner for awhile.

“Alright see you tomorrow. It was nice to meet you Y/N.” Nat smiled before grabbing her jacket.

“Yeah.” Was all you could say as she walked out the door leaving alone with Steve.

Steve walked over to you, he held out his hand. You looked up at him through the tears in your eyes.

“You must be tired. Let’s go home.” He said as if you and he had been dating for years. You looked to the door weighing your options of escape. Steve followed your glance and smiled.

“You can try it if you need to.” He offered crossing his arms over his broad chest. The blue button up shirt was stretch tautly against his broad chest.

You put your head down shaking it. Tears quietly streamed from your eyes. Staining your cheeks. Scott was gone and now your were stuck with this man who terrified you. Steve offered his hand to you again and this time you accepted it. You placed your hand in his and let him pull you up.

“I can be good to you or I can be harsh. It’s really up to you.” Steve leaned over kissing you on the head as he lead you out of the restaurant. You just nodded your head letting him guide you with his hand on the small of your lower back.

Your fate had been sealed. Your boyfriend had gambled you off like a trophy piece. Now you had to go home with this man and do whatever he wanted you to. May be it would be smart to just pay off the debts and leave town forever. He would eventually get bored with you. At least you prayed he would sooner than later.

[echo-three-one]

Chapter 24

I should really put effort on summaries, right? Anyways... Enjoy! ❤️

Table of Contents

Going Dark - Part 3

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow, Scotland

Roach never would have guessed that MacTavish was a big time. Their 'old' house was already a mansion, complete with guest rooms, extravagant furniture and even an outdoor pool. Roach could stay here forever.

He was laying on a queen sized bed relaxing after a tiring chase earlier when Ghost knocked on his door and let himself in.

"What's wrong mate?" he asked, lifting only his head. Ghost leaned by the door and crossed his arms.

"You know how I got into a little argument with France back in Brazil right? Well, I still regret it ever happening…" he frowned, as shown by the way the fabric of his mask twitched.

"You regret which part? The fighting or the telling her what you feel?" Gary asked, cornering the ever vague Simon. He always does that when it comes to asking for advice.

Ghost ran a hand across his face and groaned.

"Bloody Hell, mate. Why do you have to ask those kinds of things?" he complained.

"So I could be clear as to which one I should recommend you to do." He replied quickly. He was very willing to help, but if Simon refuses to cooperate, then maybe he could handle it on his own.

"There's still one thing… I've been meeting with Alexandra not just for intel… " the tone of his voice was hesitant but he took a sharp inhale and continued.

"... we've also been sleeping together. No strings attached. For her it eases her tension from all the work while I try to forget about my feelings for Francine."

Gary didn't know what to say. Simon wasn't the kind of person to give up easily, and he fully understood the reasons for his latest actions.

"Well, it looks like Francine already made her choice, right?" Gary asked, trying to confirm from Simon that he already lost the battle.

"I'm not quite sure. Everytime I see her, she's physically distancing herself from Soap but later that night, they actually slept beside each other. She's making me confused and it still makes my heart beat for her…" Ghost admitted. As tough as he is on the battlefield, so was his admiration toward Francine. Gary pondered on how to help out his friend in this love triangle situation he caught himself in, but every direction he thought of would result in Ghost actually ending up sad.

The discussion was interrupted when a plane was heard from the distance, as it approached the nearby open area. It looked like the girls made it home.

"Looks like they're here." Roach sounded excited while Ghost looked worried.

~

It was impressive how they managed to bring most of their stuff from Brazil here in Scotland. It wasn't that much but the idea of packing things for six people in a hurry made Roach impressed.

"How did you bring most of this stuff?" Roach curiously asked Maxine as he helped her carry her stuff.

"Well, Samantha asked for help from his Dad and they immediately flew to Brazil." Maxine replied cheerfully, Roach loved how she managed to see the bright side of everything amidst the panic.

"So will Samantha-"

"No. They had a long talk with his Dad and she felt much safer back here with us. Her Dad wanted to offer help now that the New York Attack was over, but Samantha insisted, especially now that they're out hiding."

"Doesn't he have the power to like, pardon us for being wanted? That would make life much more easier for us."

"I thought of that too… but they're seeing Shepherd differently now. He's gone mad. And they want to corner him. Any action involving him may result in a global cripple. And I just heard all this on the plane ride here." Maxine frowned.

"Then that makes our job of locating him all worth it." Roach smiled giving hope to Maxine.

Maxine just nodded, her face was full of fear and doubt. She just wished all of this was over.

With Soap probably asleep, Roach had the liberty of touring the girls around the house, it was huge and spacious that each of them could occupy a room with about two more rooms to spare.

"Man, I could stay here forever." Roach mused as they walked the halls of the second floor. These four rooms are already occupied, most of the empty rooms are over there…" Gary pointed to the other end of the hall. Maxine looked at France and nodded as they both agreed to stay in one room.

"What about you, Miss Samantha?" Gary asked with sophistication, imitating a butler. Samantha giggled and blushed.

"I'll actually be sleeping with Alex, thanks Mr. Sanderson." she replied, playing along with Roach's role play. For a short moment, Roach felt relaxed. He hasn't felt like this for a while and it was too overwhelming. But while the enemies hid in the shadows, he was sure the team would be up for a tough fight anytime soon.

Despite being tired, Roach couldn't sleep. He felt that there was something or someone else he needed to consult. So, he decided to get up and get himself a glass of water down the kitchen. While he could hear himself gulping down a glass of water, he could also hear faint thumping from the basement. With high alert, he began descending down the stairs to investigate the source of the sound.

It was Simon. He was still up and doing sparring rounds with a red punching bag, each of his punches sent the bag swinging violently.

"You okay?" Gary finally asked, alerting Simon of his presence.

"Can't sleep." he said nonchalantly, giving the punching bag another mighty punch. Roach took a minute to admire the huge gym Soap had, each piece of equipment probably spent a fortune. He slowly paced to the small area filled with equipment and grabbed himself some boxing mitts and a protective helmet.

"So, why don't we resume our little talk?" Gary called as he presented himself to Simon on full boxing coach gear. Simon immediately positioned himself and Gary did the same as they began training with the intention of talking it out.

Simon's punches were heavy, Roach could feel a little emotion on each hit he made and it was starting to make him unstable.

"So, anything you'd want to discuss?" Roach initiated, his hands carefully met his punches as they circled around the area.

"I've been trying to ignore her, Gary. You see me try right? But the more I don't think of her, the more excited I get when I accidentally see her. It's frustrating." He explained in between his punches. There it was, the thing bothering him the most.

"What did she say back in Brazil? She probably said something that kept you from moving on. I can't think of anything else that might cause you to feel this way, unless you're lying." Roach tilted his head so he could see Simon's reaction. His punches stopped coming and he just stood there, his hands dropped to his sides.

"She… she didn't say anything… but she distances herself to John while I'm around."

"John MacTavish or John Price?" Gary interrupted, in an attempt to brighten up the mood, but instead all he got was Simon's 'are-you-kidding-me-right-now?' look.

"But when I'm not around, she finds time to see him…" Simon continued. Gary took off his gloves and tapped his shoulder.

"She… she was being considerate." Simon concluded. It looked like Gary did his job. He could feel Simon's shoulders relax upon realizing what was actually going on.

"Despite all that… she sacrificed a little just to not hurt you." Gary added, he had no intention of making Simon guilty but now that he realized it, he was making an impact toward the relationship that was blooming between Soap and France.

"Thanks, Gary. For being a great friend…" Ghost took off his gloves and walked out of the gym.

"... and the worst therapist." He joked with a grin as he walked up the stairs and left Gary in the gym.

"I hope you find your peace, Simon." Gary muttered.

The following morning, the team was already busy walking around the house. Soap was on the phone with a long list of things the girls ordered for their restock. It was planned that for the time being, the team was to stay in the MacTavish residence while Nero and Shepherd were off the grid.

Price and Jack started their own little command center inside Soap's father's office just by the living room. They began creating connections to their closest contacts to track activity from their enemies. Ghost seemed to be not around at the moment and Gary guessed he's still asleep.

Soap nodded a greeting to Roach as he walked by him on his way to the kitchen. Maxine and France were out opening drawers and anything in the pantry to clear up space for supplies. From the kitchen window, Gary spotted Samantha, Alex and Nikolai in front of a truck. Gary overheard that Nikolai wanted to go back home and he guessed today was the day he'd do so.

"I didn't know what kind of sugar you needed so I kinda ordered a bunch of em." Soap announced to the sisters and they laughed.

"The clerk kept asking me of brown, white, confectioners and some other and honestly I don't know which." he shrugged and scratched his head.

"Hey man, I was just wondering… why did you choose the risky life? When you had everything you ever needed here?" Gary asked the question that has been bothering him since he got here.

"I dunno Roach. It's just that I knew it was calling out to me… You also sound like my Mum when I told her I'm joining the force." he chuckled. Gary just nodded but still didn't understand his logic. But he dismissed the thought as soon as Maxine and France asked for his help reaching something by the cabinets.

The rest of the day was busy. Once supplies arrived, everyone else was preoccupied. Lifting boxes, arranging items, looking for intel. It was like they made their own 141 base inside the house.

By the time they're almost free, Roach and Maxine were already in the kitchen preparing for dinner.

"So, any new dreams lately?" Roach initiated as he sliced through the vegetables they're cooking.

"Piece by piece. Last night I remembered having gum stuck on my hair on picture day. I cried a lot." she giggled. Roach smiled, he was glad she's getting her memories back which made him remember of Samantha's case.

"Ow!" Gary winced as he accidentally cut a short scrape on his thumb. He was so busy staring at Maxine that he forgot he was chopping.

"Don't worry. It's just a small wound." Gary assured as Maxine pulled his thumb close to her mouth and blew air through it, just like when you're a kid and you do that to ease the pain.

Gary couldn't help but smile at her immediate action. She also looked concerned and worried about his welfare.

"Hey Max." he whispered, making the girl turn to him, her face was so beautiful in Gary's eyes.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing… It's just that…"

"What is it? You're making me worried"

"I really really like you, Maxine Winters."

Maxine looked at him in the eye, the eye contact they were doing was starting to make the world fade behind them.

"Guys! I have bad news." Soap interrupted, causing everyone to form a small circle by the living room.

"Ghost left. With a note saying he'll try to gather more information on Shadow Company with Alexandra's help. He says thanks and that he'll see us all soon." Soap summarized the note. The room fell silent.

Next Chapter : Off the Grid

Notification Squad my Beloved

@samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @smokeywhalee @whimsywispsblog @beemybee @ricinbach

[elliethesuperfruitlover]

*sings* the family REUNION

A/N: A nice Klaus x Topazi. I’m projecting, and this is also comfort for me right now xx. I’m sick of this country, I want to get the fuck out, but I can’t, so this is what’s happened. I’ve thought about writing this one before, but I think what we all need right now is some tenderness and warmth, so what better way to do it than through fanfiction. This is the first time I’ve written for an OC, and I like it so far. This was initially for a black reader, then I thought, literally today “oh topazi” so here we are.

Warnings: food (and lots of it), mild drink, knowing myself small mentions of racism, mention of sex

Cheeky Tag List: @misskittysmagicportal, @super-unpredictable98, @badsext, @sean-falco, @the-freckled-luba, @iamsexytrash, @crabstick, @robertsheehanownsmyass, @frogs--are--bitches, @seancekitsch

“KLAUS, COME ON, I CAN’T BE LATE” Topazi yelled through the house, checking herself in the mirror one last time before springing to where Klaus was.

 He was sitting on the kitchen island, nibbling on some chips. His feet tapped against the counter every other second.

“I told you, don’t eat yet, you won’t want to eat before we get there and that’s forbidden fruit sir.” she sternly stated, fauxly crossing her arms at him.

“Fine, by the way, your pasta salad is amazing.” he said, making a small chef’s kiss motion with his hands.

  Topazi facepalmed as Klaus kissed her cheek, and he walked to the door and put his sandles on. Jesus sandles, actually. To spent hours making two tins of pasta salad, and he ate almost a full corner of it. He must’ve eaten some of it while she was in the bathroom, or when she was lightly scolding the cats for disturbing the resident mice. She rolled her eyes and packed into the car, but not before saying goodbye to the houseplants.

“How long is the drive supposed to be?” Klaus asked, long limbs extending in the car.

“Just about an hour. It won’t be long, trust me. You’ll wish the drive was even shorter when you get there too.” she said, smiling and Klaus grinned back at her, and he kissed her once more before shuffling over more to his side of the car.

  About 45 minutes of time passed, and during that time, Klaus had opened a plethora of tangents, including pegging, ketchup being a smoothie (to him), why he doesn’t personally trust roaches(they just look weird, and they live forever), as well as why it took so long for him to cut that god-awful beard. All the while T was swerving in lanes, and glancing every now and then at the clock in the car. Klaus sat guzzling water while talking, and she knew the question was going to come up at some point, so she slapped her big girl panties on and took it.

“Are we there yet?” Klaus asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His stomach was poking out, but just barely, and Topazi sighed heavily.

“Klaus, come on. We’ve got a little less than 20 minutes left, it’s not my fault you drank all that water.”  she said, half stern, half jokingly.

“But I have to gooo. Can’t you pull over or something?” he whines, puppy dog eyes showing.

‘We’re on a highway, Klaus.” she muttered, gritting her teeth before pulling into a lane. That caused him to cross his legs, and close his eyes, groaning.

“Please, I really have to go. I’ll try to repay the favor when I can, I promise.” he begs, hands covering his crotch. T thought about it for a moment, and she’d been meaning to have Klaus eat her out again, so why not. She reached in the back and pulled out an empty bottle, and he picked it from her hands.

“I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.” he says, turning away from her and she gagged lightly, but at least he didn’t wet his pants....this time.

Topazi continued to drive for the promised 20 minutes, and she arrived at her parent’s house, cars already piling onto the lawn. Klaus quickly headed to the trash can outside, and threw the bottle away, getting sanitizer from the car. She grabbed a tin of the pasta salad, as well as Klaus, and he followed her to the front of the house.

“Are they even going to like me?” Klaus mumbled, eyebrows scrunching. They’d  had discussions about it before, and his worry was extremely valid. She didn’t want Klaus to feel left out, or bad about anything. He was still a really good lover. He’d voiced his concerns multiple times, and time and time again, she reassured him.

“You’ll be fine. If they say one thing you’re uncomfortable with, I won’t hesitate to leave this place and drive all the way back. You know that.” T replied, using a hand to softly rub his cheek. He leaned into her touch, and the door opened, right as she was reaching for the doorbell for a second ring.

“Hi! Come on it! And you bought a guest, who is this?” Alena asked, ushering her daughter and guest into the house.

“Mom, this is my partner Klaus. Also, pasta salad, which is getting warm as we speak, so let me set it down.” Topazi rushed into the kitchen, shuffling quickly into the house, Klaus bumbling after her, looking around. She opened the fridge and shoved her dish in, gently patting it before stretching mildly, an aftereffect of staying in one spot.

  T walked back over to Klaus and he smiled at her mom, who was walking him outside to meet the rest of the family. She followed closely behind, and she noticed him getting more and more comfortable. He went around meeting everyone and shaking their hands, or hugging them. T met up with her siblings, hugging them, and letting her nieces and nephews up on her hips. She played with them and chatted for a while, and Klaus came back to her, almost skipping.

“Did you know that your dad served in the Army?” Klaus asked her, a small sparkle in his eye.

“Klaus....he’s my dad. Why wouldn’t I know?” she replied, tilting her head to the side. She giggled at his look, and her siblings noticed him, and gave him a collective small rundown. She did argue with her siblings a fuck ton, but they always tended to come to her aid if needed.

  Klaus went around and introduced himself to T’s aunt that just came in, and she giggled as he was almost crushed by the force of her hug. She patted his back and looked him up and down.

“Goodness, you need somethin’ to eat, one more gust of wind, we won’t see you ‘til Christmas!” she stated, shaking her head jokingly.

  He giggled at the effort, and prodded about needing to go to a chiropractor. She cackled, and he went back to T, placing a tiny kiss to her cheek.

“This is going surprisingly well, what the fuuuck?!” he whispered, and she wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him. He placed his chin on top of her head and sighed in her touch. The moment, however, was short lived, as one of Topazi’s nieces came between them and giggled around their ankles, and Klaus picked one of them up, asking their name.

  She was pleasantly shocked at his reaction with the kids, and soon enough, the two of them were running in the yard, playing tag. She was currently in the lead, and her siblings were bounding towards her, waiting for there to be a chance to tackle her. Klaus came up from behind her and tackled her, causing the both of them to crash to the ground.

“Oh come on, that’s nowhere near fair!” she yelled, trying to wiggle away from him. He looked into her eyes, and pecked her lips. They sighed against each other and the sun baked their skin. Klaus eventually rolled off of T, and just as they were getting hungry, dinner was called.

  She ran to the backyard, dress billowing behind her, Klaus in tow, and she washed her hands before getting in line. Her mouth simply watered at the selection of southern food placed in front of her. Klaus was somewhat surprised at everything, but welcomed it happily when confronted with....wait a minute....sweet potatoes with cherries?? Topazi laughed at him, and promised to explain it to him once they sat down. Your family, and you could practically hear their thoughts “Shouldn’t he get more?”. It half sickened her to think of that though, so she found a lawn chair to sit in, carefully placing it to avoid the ant beds and tree roots.

“Okay so, what the fuck is with the sweet potatoes?” Klaus asked, shoving a spoonful of potato salad in his mouth.

“They’re called candied yams. The cherries help them become sweeter. And don’t take the fucking breadcrumbs off the mac and cheese. I’ll slaughter you, that’s the best part.” T whispered, slowly becoming more and more full.

  She went back for another serving (or two) and stopped at dessert, which was provided graciously. Many cakes and pies laid in front of her, as well as tarts, and, wait, who the fuck brought Krispy Kreme?

“Who got lazy?” she mumbled, walking back to Klaus with her plate full of sweets, and she immediately took a bite from the glazed donut, eyes closing. “Still warm though.”

“I mean, Honey only taught me to make a couple things, and donuts weren’t one of them.” he stated, sipping his tea.

  The sun began to set, and the drinks started pouring. The stories began to filter out, and Topazi saw Klaus start to nod off, and she announced their leaving. He sleepily said his goodbyes and when they got into the car, Klaus knocked out almost immediately. The drive home was very quiet. Music played quietly on the radio, and T hummed along quietly. Klaus shuffled every now and then in his sleep, and his breathing fogged the window on his side of the car. When they arrived home, Topazi gently woke Klaus, and he slowly made his way into the house, practically sleepwalking. As they were undressing and getting into bed, Klaus quietly whispered a couple words. Topazi barely heard him, and he repeated himself.

“Thank you for letting me meet your family. I enjoyed it. I’m happy I got to know the people who raised you. They did a damn good job too.” he whispered back, gently kissing Topazi’s head. She got a bit flustered from the compliment and gently thanked him as well, and the two of them fell asleep to the sound of their respective partner’s heartbeats.

Masterlist

[clintbartonswife]

you don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Jaskier, Yennefer x Triss Summary: Yennefer talks to the bard, and Geralt talks to Roach, then gets told off and apologies (kind of) to Jaskier. Notes: mentions of injury, recovery, self-doubt, ptsd  masterlist  ||  part one  ||  part two  ||  part three  ||  part five

“I think he’d like to talk to you”

Geralt was dragged out of his thoughts by Ciri, the girl standing in the doorway, a small frown on her face. The weak smell of salt hung around her, the scent betraying the recently shed tears.

“Why were you crying?” he asked instead, not wanting to talk about Jaskier just yet.

Ciri huffed a laugh, “Nothing bad. Jaskier and I were just talking and it reminded me of home”

Geralt hummed, awkwardly opening his arms, silently offering comfort. A smile grew on the princess’ face, the girl accepting the hug happily. As she stepped into his arms he could smell Jaskier’s subtle scent amongst hers. The Witcher repressed a smile, the thought of Jaskier comforting his child surprise creating a warm feeling in his chest.

“I can tell he’s scared” she eventually mumbled, cheek resting against his shoulder, “I think he would feel better knowing you’re here to protect us”

“I’m not so sure he wants to see me after...”

He trailed off, throat tightening at the thought of the mountain.

“He didn't tell them anything” Ciri said, pulling back from the hug, eyes blazing with confidence, “If he hated you he wouldn’t have resisted and lived through all of that torture to protect you - to protect us”

Geralt nodded wordlessly, a small spark of hope flaring deep in his gut.

“I better get to Yen, but please go and talk to him”

“I will, just … later”

Ciri nodded, a soft look on her face, and left the room, leaving Geralt to his thoughts once again.

Sighing, the Witcher stood up, making his way outside and to the stables, greeting Roach with a tired smile.

“Hey there girl,” he said, hand resting gently on her nose, “sorry I didn't come to check on you last night. Everything was still up in the air about Jaskier”

Roach snorted, bumping her muzzle against his chest lightly, pushing a small laugh out of the man.

“Yes, yes, he’s fine now. He needs to rest for a few more days and then we’ll be able to move”

Another snort, this time accompanied with a heavier hit.

“Yes, I need to ask him. I will... just not right now”

The bard hummed absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

He still hadn't left the bed, almost scared of feeling the weakness in his body as he tried to stay standing. Not to mention the mirror he could see in the corner of the room.

Maybe it was narcissistic of him, but Jaskier was terrified to take the first look in the mirror. He knew that his body was tarnished; he could see the residual bruises on his chest and stomach and the whipping scars on his back ached every time he moved. He didn't want to think about what his face looked like.

‘Little birdy, so pretty. Without your looks, what are you?’

His shaking hands never reached his face, too scared to check the damage. Without his good looks, his career as a bard was almost certainly finished. 

He shivered as thoughts of returning to Lettenhove crossed his mind, his father’s disapproving glare breaking him down to the bare bones of his being, reverting him back to the ghost that once roamed the manor’s halls.

“Well you look positively ghastly”

Jaskier startled, hissing in pain at the agony that rippled up his back, wincing as he manoeuvred himself into a sitting position.

“Ah, hello witch. I had a feeling I could feel your bad vibes permeating these walls”

Yennefer moved towards him, looking as intimidating as ever.

“I see you haven't lost your spirit” she commented, looking at him with thinly veiled pity in her violet eyes, “I’m surprised you haven't tried to escape yet”

The bard scoffed, gesturing vaguely at his body, “I couldn't even if I tried”

She hummed thoughtfully, eyes wandering around the room, letting the silence stew uncomfortably. 

Jaskier sighed, breaking it as she wanted him to, “I guess I owe you my thanks, I doubt the Witcher could’ve found another sorceress that would help him without your assistance”

“So he’s the Witcher now, is he?”

“Well he certainly isn't mine, and last I was told he wanted nothing to do with me. I assume that includes losing first name privilege” Jaskier frowned, finally finding the courage to meet her eyes, “I thought you’d be happy - me not following you two around like a … what was it you called me? Oh, right, a lost puppy”

Now it was time for Yennefer to frown, stepping closer to the bard, “We traded barbs, yes, but that never meant that I wanted you gone”

Jaskier huffed in disbelief, “Be careful there, dear witch. You almost sound like you care about my wellbeing”

Yen’s silence was damning.

“If it’s any consolation” Jaskier offered, breaking another bout of unsteady silence, “I never hated you. In fact -” he broke of, a weak laugh escaping his lips, “I rather admired you”

Yennefer’s lips tipped into a small smile, the expression softer than anything he had ever seen aimed at him. He knew what it was, an acceptance of the unspoken apology, and even a mutual respect.

As she turned to leave, she glanced at the mirror, “You’re going to have to look at some point” she stated, the straightforwardness oddly comforting, “but no matter what you see, you have four people who are here to support you. This is not the end, bard”

She left before he could reply, his throat closed as unwanted tears rushed to his eyes.

“For Melitele’s sake, talk to the bard”

Geralt tensed, hand continuing his stroking of Roach’s nose as he purposefully avoided Yen’s gaze, “He doesn't want to see me”

The sorceress let out an aggravated sigh, stepping into the stable, “He thinks that you hate him”

Geralt’s hand faltered, “What?”

“His head is messy, and none of it is positive right now Geralt”

Geralt whirled around to face her, exasperation clear in his features, “Yen - what have I said about reading minds -”

“I know! But I was in the room for a solid five minutes without him noticing, and he was just staring at the ceiling, looking like he was giving up. I had to check that he wasn't thinking of doing anything stupid”

The implication sent a chill deep into Geralt’s chest, the Witcher taking a menacing step towards her, “Jaskier would never do that”

She scoffed angrily, “Oh please Geralt, don't try that posturing bullshit with me. He’s just been tortured. It’s a perfectly reasonable mindset to be in - not that he is. Jaskier... he’s struggling and he needs a friend”

A growl built in Geralt’s chest, the man beginning to pace, “Why do you want to help him all of a sudden. I remember you trying to get me to leave him behind on more than one occasion”

Yen’s frown deepened, the witch crossing her arms defiantly, “I don't wish death on him. If I did, why would I have helped you save him? Why would I have healed him?”

Geralt stood silently, his eyes averted to the ground.

“Get your shit together” she spat, leaving the stables in a flash of black velvet.

He stood there for what seemed like hours, unmoving until Roach shoved him towards the doors of the stable.

“Okay, okay, I get it” 

Jaskier stayed staring at the door for a long time, the scent of lilac and gooseberries feeling oddly calming. Before he could tail dive about the implications of that, a flash of white in his peripheral vision caused his body to tense.

“May I come in?”

The familiar cadence of Geralt’s voice sent almost imperceptible shivers down Jaskier’s spine, the bard nodding his silent assent.

At his signal, Geralt stepped into the room, his imposing figure seemingly looming over him even from the other side of the room.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me”

Jaskier huffed a laugh, finally moving his head to face the man, “I think you’ve got that the wrong way around, Witcher. If I remember rightly it was you that wished to never see me again”

Jaskier watched with barely repressed shock as a slight flinch flashed across the Witcher’s face at the harshness of his words, “What I said on the mountain...”

He trailed off, at a loss for words, eyes looking lost.

Refusing to take pity on his old friend, Jaskier moved so he was sat up straighter, clearing his throat purposefully.

“Which part? The bit where you blamed all of your recent life choices on me, or the part where you wished for life to take me off of your hands? Or perhaps do you mean when you called me a shit shoveller?” The bard’s voice stayed level, the words eerily devoid of emotion.

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, before looking directly into Geralt’ eyes, “I tried my hardest to be a friend to you. I gave you the best years of my life - twenty two years travelling by your side - and what do I get in return? Tossed aside like I was nothing more than a stone stuck in the heel of your shoe”

“Jaskier-”

“No. I am talking now, Witcher. I tried taking myself off of your hands. I stayed away from you, travelled in the opposite direction whenever I heard news of your whereabouts. And when they caught me -” his voice cracks then, the emotion finally breaking through the façade, “I stayed loyal to you. I would’ve happily died, I thought I had in all honesty, and granted your wish because the thought of hurting you is worse than death”

Geralt stepped forward, chest clenching with the unspoken confession lying between the bard’s words. He halted as Jaskier lifted a hand, a clear sign that he wanted space.

“You may have never called me a friend, Geralt of Rivia, but you were my everything” He took another steadying breath, “When I am healed enough I will take my leave, I know when I’m not wanted and I would hate to get between you and your witch once again”

The thought of Jaskier leaving sent a sharp spike of fear through Geralt’s body, his throat clenching as words of protest bubbled.

In the end, it was the look of utter defeat on Jaskier’s face that set the words in motion, the walls that Geralt kept up coming crumbling down at his feet as he began to attempt to fix what was broken.

“Jaskier, you’re not my friend -”

“Oh thank you so much for that, really that’s lovely to hear -”

Geralt shook his head desperately, moving to kneel at the side of the bed, looking into his eyes pleadingly, “No - you’re not my friend. You were always so much more to me than that and I -”

He cut himself off, a frustrated noise escaping him as he searched for the right words, his hands stressing through his hair, tangling a section into a big knot.

“I - You - It was always just me and Roach, but then you came along and it was different. You looked at me and didn't smell of fear - you trusted me - and I -”

A light touch to his left hand had Geralt looking back up, the bard watching him with tears in his eyes. He stayed silent as he gently guided Geralt’s hands away from his hair, tutting at the tangled mess he made.

“You never were good with words, were you, Wolf”

The sound of the nickname leaving Jaskier’s lips was like a switch, his body relaxing, eyes finally locking with his.

An understanding passed between the two men, hands lightly entwined.

“I didn't need words with you” Geralt confessed quietly, hoping Jaskier would understand what he was trying to say.

Jaskier smiled, a small hesitant smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Yes, I suppose you didn't”

They sat there like that for a few minutes, letting the familiar touch soothe old wounds. The silence was nice, comfortable in a way that Geralt had only ever felt with Jaskier.

“I hope you know I haven't fully forgiven you yet” the bard eventually said, “I’m expecting a full apology one of these days”

Geralt nodded solemnly, bringing their entwined hands against his chest, “You deserve nothing less”

The tentative smile returned, a flash of the old Jaskier returning to his eyes, a depth of mischief returning and pushing out the emptiness that had clouded the once bright blue iris’.

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[mirkysconcubinefiction]

You Know

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader (****), Bucky

Summary: What Steve walked into was a catacomb of missed chances, squandered love, utter betrayal, and regret plastered on the walls. Poster sized prints weren't taped to the walls, oh no, **** glued reprints of him fucking another woman on whatever space she could manage.

Tags: Angst, Cheating, Broken Engagement, Drunk Texting/Video, attempt at Humor

AO3: Mirkys_Concubine

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You didn't need or want a boyfriend... Or girlfriend for that matter.

One minute you were fine and dandy wiping down a table and the next your tray whizzed through the air and smacked a perv in the head.

And again.

And again.

And again.

If someone gropes your ass the logical reaction would be murder. At least that's what your mama had taught you.

Kill them like the roach they were.

Maybe that's when he saw you more than a random part time human he interacted with? He had swooped in, plucked the tray out of your hand, and broke it in half over the guys head.

Of course you politely said thank you before landing a solid kick into the perv. Not the face. If there weren't cameras you'd have stomped on his head.

Twice.

The way your mama had taught you.

That was then.

Before routine.

When he had to stalk you for a date in his goofy bashful self. When his best friend would get a kick of the 'old Steve' that was a mess around girls. When he had... no... there was no sense in getting nalstagic.

While you didn't want a boyfriend you never expected to get married. Steve's friends had been more excited than you, magazines and samples had taken over the small breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen. You lit them on fire on the roof in one of the communal pits and lounged with takeout and wine. It's where you sat and made the decision to leave.

You couldn't stay.

God what would your mother say if she had been alive? She'd be disappointed in you.

The ring was rose gold, shaped like an octagon, and while pretty you had been afraid you'd lose it. Tempting as it was to flush it down the toilet you left it in the freezer atop a bag of sweet corn.

You packed your clothes - the ones you had purchased - into one luggage, another luggage was your shoes and intimates, and your carry on bag was large enough for your toiletries and kindle.

The car you purchased - with cash and registered under an alias - had enough space in the trunk for the luggage. The lovely security guard had helped you - bless him - and then you drove off. You refused to look back and you refused to shed another tear.

Well planned and as thought out as one could get considering their ex was an avenger with questionable access to the interwebs. You waited until the Avengers were on a mission.

A friend of a friend helped with your makeup and prosthetics to make you look like an elderly man, and you had enough cash on you to fund a bank. No paper trails, no cell phones beyond a simple Nokia that had no internet access, and once you made it outside state lines and to a safe house you'll disappear.

Again.

No more chances at romance.

All men were the same.

Even all american test tube super hero's weren't immune to cheating and lying.

✖

Home.

It used to be warm, smelled of dessert, savory meals, music played in the background, **** off tune voice singing along, there was a garden scattered throughout the condo, fruit always filled a basket, and more importantly **** was there to make him feel human.

Less lonely.

Alive.

Loved.

Cherished.

That was home. One he worked hard to obtain.

What Steve walked into was a catacomb of missed chances, squandered love, utter betrayal, and regret plastered on the walls. Poster sized prints weren't taped to the walls, oh no, **** glued reprints of him fucking another woman on whatever space she could manage.

The glossy original prints hung from the ceiling right over their bed like a weird still mobile. With that thought Steve remembered the birth control pills and hoped she would never catch on as to how insane he really was over her.

The doorbell rang.

Had it been anyone else, Steve wouldn't have opened the door but instinct fueled his hand and trust didn't make him flinch as a fist hit him in the face and he was down. Dropped on his ass in his own home with an incensed soldier grabbing him by his shirt and tossing him like a rag doll before shutting the door and locking it.

✖

The island held an empty fruit basket and a ring. A frozen mockery of a promise he remembered in great detail from months ago. Bucky had found it as he had been gracious enough to offer a bag of frozen peas only to find a bag of sweet corn and a ring.

Steve wanted to cry.

He wanted to get angry.

He wanted to call Tony for a favor but he could do nothing but sit on a stool his fiancee, future wife, future mother to his children, now 'ex', had picked out.

Only Bucky would probably kill him if he so much as sniffled.

The bag of sweet corn smacked him across the face none too gently and Steve winced. The other stool creaked as the crack and hiss of a Fanta soda being opened. Yet another check against him, **** made a point to stock the fridge with his and Bucky's favorites.

"Hope she was worth it."

"Buck..."

"Blond, green eyes, fake tits, didn't know desperate was your type."

Steve shut both eyes and slouched, "It was a mistake."

Bucky's brows lifted, soda can midway to his lips. "Fucking her for two months is now a mistake?"

"Look... I tried to stop it. Every time we met it just... Happened." It was stupid and in a way so true. He had tried stopping but some how they always end up fucking and every time he promised himself it was the last.

"Bullshit!" The can bent as it was slammed onto the counter. "You don't commit to marriage and then run off to fuck some floozie from legal!"

"I'm sorry!" Steve snapped, "I know I fucked up! It's on all the fucking walls!" Which was true. Even the fridge door had a blown picture of his face between slender legs and the freezer door a blown up shot of his cock being sucked. "I need to find her, apologise, and fix this." Bucky snorted, "I can fix this."

"**** has more respect for herself than you do of her."

"I love her." He did. Steve loved **** more than he'd love Peggy.

"You don't love a woman like **** and then fuck a bitch behind her back."

"It was a mistake." Steve grit out, irritated.

"Two months isn't a mistake. That's a fucking affair. Litteraly. You fucked like rabbits."

Steve stared, a frown tugging at his lips. "How do you know?"

Bucky stood and went for another soda only to stare at the woman splayed out for the world to see, "She is hot. Better looking than ****. It would've hurt more if you'd downgraded."

"**** is perfect!" Steve spat, throwing the bag of mushy corn where it burst as it hit a well.

"Look at her though." Bucky tapped on the breasts, "Nipples are spaced perfectly, more than a handfull, kudos to her surgeon."

"Kudos? When do you say kudos?"

"Must be on a low carb keto diet or those green smoothies, and even her belly button is worth cumming over."

Steve stared. Horrified. What was going on?

"And look at her skill!" A metal knuckle tapped at where the womana nose pressed against Steve's pubes. "Porn quality. The type of girl you want to teach you some shit."

"You know where she is." It wasn't a question. Bucky didn't talk like that. The man was a storm of swears, stares, and threats. Not... this. "Where is she?"

"Wish I knew so I could tell you to fuck off."

"She couldn't have gone far if she met with you, I might have time..."

"I haven't spoken to **** and i don't expect to hear from her again actually." Bucky ignored his friend's glare as he rummaged through the fridge for another soda and snagged a bag of cookies because only **** would hoard cookies in a refrigerator. "She left her phone in my apartment and instructions to watch her video."

"What?"

Bucky pulled out **** phone tucked on the inside of his jacket and tossed it to the other man. He returned to his seat, opened his soda, and munched on his cookies.

The phone wasn't password activated and a quick search proved most of the personal stuff like pictures and apps were deleted except for a single video.

Hey Tiny.

**** personal nickname for Bucky who had lost a bet but secretly was amused by it. The phone shook as **** had nearly dropped it with a swear. She looked as if she had been crying and she was chugging from a bottle of plum wine. Her favorite wine.

Just wanted to say i will miss you and i love you. Like, really, really love you. I'd give you my kidney sorta love.

She giggled and sipped at her bottle, eye's roaming the room. Tears slipped from her eyes and Steve felt his own burn. **** was a mess. She used a sleeve to wipe at her nose and her smile was shaky.

I redecorated, Steve will love it.

The camera flipped and **** showed off the wallpaper of porn. The condo looked trashed and luggage was open on the living room floor half packed and takeout piled on the coffee table.

I figure since he loved to fuck random pussy he'd like this theme. I call it *Whore of Narcissism*

The camera swivels and zooms into a familiar picture of the woman laid out and the hand holding the bottle points at the woman.

Not her. She not a whore Tiny. Ok!

The camera swivels to another portrait of Steve's face.

He's a cunt faced whore.

The camera switches and **** is giggling again.

Shhh. Look what I did. Put it it on the fridge door, that's where I keep the fish sticks.

Bucky snorts and Steve barely refrains from giving the man the finger.

See. Cunt whore faced.

**** giggles

Don't tell him but he can't eat pussy. He can't, he misses the clit. Like how do you miss this?

The phone tilts and Steve swears as she's wearing practically nothing. It wasn't her sexy underwear but the shear laced thong left little to be hidden.

It's right there, see it pokes out a bit too.

**** bumps her pussy with the bottom of edge of the wine bottle.

How can he miss it?

"It gets better." Bucky happily munches on a cookie.

"Fuck you."

Look. Just look.

There's a thunk as the bottle was set down and **** shoves aside her underwear and it was a crooked close up of her manicured pussy.

How is this not buffet worthy? My pussy tastes like sin yet he treats it like a McD's drive through. My pussy is not a Big Mac! It's MSG!

The phone jerks up back to her face and she's angry.

Chinese buffet MSG quality. My pussy is it's own zodiac sign ok!

Bucky's shoulders are shaking and Steve is mortified.

Maybe he likes her sauce though?

The camera points to his head between the girls legs.

He never spends forever with me but with her... I got so many pictures of her and he is just there. I have a buffet he can eat from and he chooses this...

Her hand smacks on a breast.

She's hot Bucky. Look at her. She's fucking perfect and her tits are fucking perfect. You see them? Nipples spaced perfectly, bigger than his hands, kuddos to whoever worked on her, she's a fucking art piece, I wanna know her surgeon, I want tits like hers.

The camera shifts and **** holds the camera up at an angle downward as she unhooks her bra with one hand and slips one arm out while it dangles from the other and she's touching herself.

See one's smaller.

"Did you..." Steve couldn't get it out as he watched his fiance complain about her breasts on camera to his best friend. Brother.

"Fuck her?" Bucky crushes his empty soda can, "I'm not you. If I had that in my bed I wouldn't get complaints about my mouth."

... at least she's hot you know. If he's going to fuck another bitch at least she's beautiful. I'd die if he downgraded you know. He fucked her in the office you know. Her office. She's beautiful and educated and I'm a mess.

The wine bottle was back in her hands and she took a long swallow uncaring that she was half naked.

I'm sorry Tiny. Bucky. I'm... This... I should delete this one but my battery is gonna die so fuck it. I'm leaving. When you see Steve punch him. I can't be there when he gets back. I'll kill him.

She sipped her wine and her brows furrow.

She has to be on some low carb keto diet... I don't think I can drink those green smoothies but I would have. I could look like a porn star! I can look plastic too!

Her eyes go wide before she blinks and frowns.

I can get wigs and wear those waist thingy's and change names... We could have role played. I would have called him daddy or - or - dirty stuff. I could have been his whore you know. I'm not a basic bitch Tiny. If she were my friend she'd teach me to not choke!

**** shakes her head and takes another swig.

I want to hate her but she... Bucky she was crying. He lied to her, for two months he lied to her, and she brought me ice cream Bucky. I couldn't hit her. She got me chocolate.

Her eyes narrowed and the sadness was swept away.

I want to hurt him. Rip his heart out through his ass and shove it down his throat! I planned it too, killing him. Got explosives... was gonna put a trigger thing on it and boom. Take out the whole floor.

**** makes a boom noise before flopping on the couch atop folded clothes, her wine bottle gone from her hands.

Neighbors got a kid downstairs and... Kids... No kids.

She rubs her face, tears leaving tracks and her breadth hitches and she's doing her best to not break down.

I was right. I told you there's no such thing as happily ever after. I told you they're all the same. I'm...

Her breath hitches and she's staring into the lens. Broken.

I'm not perfect Bucky, I'm not her but I loved him. I believed him. You said... Said he was good and I be-believed you cuz I trusted you and I want... Wanted... I deserve to be loved. I am good enough... I'm good... Right? Bucky... Why... Why am I not good enough? what did I do wrong? I... I... I'm sorry.

The phone tumbles and the screen goes dark but Steve can't hold back his own tears as he hears her sob before it cuts off completely.

What had he done?

How did he fix this?

Can he fix this?

End...

Part 2 of 1/2