#idk like i glare inside my scrunched eyes and grimace and slam my head into the pillow a couple times

[owlmond]

i’ll take words that rhyme with boring and make me want to kill myself for 800 please alex

[gguktarts]

decathect | jk (3)

1. to withdraw one’s feelings of attachment from (a person, idea, or object), as in anticipation of a future loss

summary: if one thing was clear to you when you first met Jeon Jungkook, it was that he would never love you. at least, not the way you wanted him to.

pairing: jjk x reader genre: unrequited love au || angst || a bit of fluff || drabble series word count: 3.5k parts: « previous | 3 / ? | next » cw: none this chap, i think. maybe it’s a bit less angsty than the ones before. note: this chap (is rlly crap i APOLOGIZE) was meant to include another scene,, but idk how to write!!! properly!!! and the first scene got outta hand so :(( here it is. the next part i rotated for it to be on the next update. im so sorry it took long,, id rather not get into the personal specifics about it but i got bad writers block at certain points and just. didnt get to finish it for my own deadline 🥺 & im still developing my writing so please!! if anyone feels like something is off/like it dragged on for too long (which is what i felt), etc, etc please let me know. also i haven’t checked for mistakes so sfhdk there’s that aha

The last few days were hectic, with finals approaching and your mind on absolute overdrive. Your Intro to Thermal Physics course was biting you in the ass, which you had felt oddly thankful for. With no time to think about Jungkook or the girl in his painting, the hours blurred themselves into a continuous loop of exhaustion and academic focus: wake up, go to class, study, sleep, rinse and repeat. You’ve even gone as far as seeking out Hoseok, your astronomy lab partner and the busiest bastard you’ve ever met, to have extended study sessions within the Atrium’s library. The mixed efforts of passing the course with flying colors, and avoiding all trace to your fuckboy crush, had so far been a success—in some ways more than others.

Time spent around any hall (either within the dorms or elsewhere in the university) was minimally reduced to avoid any lingering shadows in the corners of your eyes, while each study session left you feeling more confident. Effective, convenient. Two birds, one worm. Yes, worm.

Two mouths, shared crumbs though. Your extreme devotion to the books had, after all, demanded social sacrifice. 

You haven’t seen Tae nor Joon—nor any of the other boys in days, and while you aren’t ignoring them per se, they likely know why you were behaving the way you did up until yesterday. 

That night, after dinner and after dark, Taehyung had found you with your face buried in his favorite pillow, with droopy eyes and a soft pout etched onto your lips. You didn’t need to tell him about your crush, nor did you have to speak. All he needed was a look at you, a single glance, for him to decide you needed his comfort but also some space.

But apparently enough was enough, and your presence was pointedly demanded the very minute after you handed in your last exam. The day of the week —Thursday— was thus dubbed “Movie-Theather-Night” effective immediately, so he said.

That’s why currently you find yourself staring at Jimin’s front door, phone held tight between your fingers. Tae told you he was already, conveniently, near the ticket stand so he would “obviously” buy the tickets in advance. That left you with the other side quest he couldn’t complete, which you blindly agreed to do. 

Your job is simple: grab Jimin —yes, the little one with a penchant for lateness— and meet up with Tae before 7. 

Swallowing a groan, you pointedly stared up at the imaginary heavens beyond the building’s ceiling. Praying it be on your side for a few hours longer at least, you tuck away your phone (Tae’s mild threat about stealing Jimin’s rings if the latter didn’t hurry getting dressed completely unnoticed by you), knock on the door by mere habit, and go in.

You don’t expect the loud moans, you really don’t.

Jimin’s name gets stuck halfway past your throat as the high-pitched whines continue pouring over the living room, stiffening your shoulders and rooting your legs to the floor just a step inside the flat—just enough for the door to close itself shut. It isn’t even loud enough to cover the sounds either. Your ears turn red in a heartbeat, embarrassment tugging your lips into a frown, when you note the timbre of low, soft grunts you know belong to one guy. They hide behind and below the higher pitched ones, but you somehow pick them up nonetheless. 

They don’t last long. Or maybe time goes by alarmingly fast when you zone out, because not two, three minutes later, one of the muffled voices scoffs out in discontent, dulcet tones all gone.

“What? Now?” you hear, feeling the disbelief permeating the air along with underlying disappointment. “But I thought—”

The sudden thud of a door slamming open makes you jump, startling you into partial motion before the girl rushing out the hallway catches you like a deer in headlights. 

You hate how quickly you notice that she’s not the girl from Jungkook’s painting. And it’s hard not to feel guilty when your heart quickens its pace at the idea that maybe both of them are nothing more than victims of his ways. Actually, you hope for it, because you can’t help but feel it’s equally jarring to see one of his choices so soon, and so up close, right after he’s done with her. Her disheveled hair and bruised neck, the traces he’s left, almost distract you from the heated glare she sends your way for blocking the door. Almost. 

You move out of her way when she tries pushing past you, leaving with a huff and as quickly as she appeared.

Suddenly, this movie-theater-night sidequest thing seems like a really bad idea. A very bad idea. You hate it here. 

“J-jiminie?” you move near the hall, voice shaky in all ways you don’t want it to be. “I’m here, let’s go.”

“Just a second! There’s finally some goddamn silence—”

His muffled voice carries over from your left, closer than the door of his room. You briefly debate waiting for him there, the aspect of continuing your naturally cryptic tendencies very seductive. On the other hand, you could raid his pantry for any and all m&ms, which sounds far more soothing to your rumbling stomach. 

Decided entirely on candy—Taehyung would definitely enjoy mixing it with the bucket of popcorn he never fails to buy—and maybe some food, you turn around only to collide with something, hard. 

The start of what sounds like a “boo!” trails to a low grunt upon impact. It drowns out your sharp gasp, and if it weren’t for the hands grabbing you by the elbows you’d have likely lost your footing entirely. 

“Oh—shit”

Jungkook’s wide eyes and o-shaped lips greet you full force, his cheeks a soft pink hue you’ve been missing lately. They don’t exactly match the deeper flush painting you from ear to ear, your reactions to him far less graceful when so near in proximity. You can’t even speak, too enthralled by the warmth of his hands, by how his eyes shift over your body in evident worry. The way his lips tremble into a frown makes you want to smooth them into out just to see his face light up like you’re more used to, but a look to his neck is more than enough to remind you what happened just minutes ago. Right. 

“Hey, sorry, didn’t think you’d turn around so quickly, are you alright?” he asks, hands moving lower on your arms and eyes searching, as if he’s testing if you’re steady enough. Taking the chance, you quickly pull back and rip them altogether from his hold. His lips form a pout you don’t catch. 

“Yea, I’m, uh…”

Your mouth runs dry when you let your eyes travel lower, along exposed ink, sun-kissed skin and hardened muscle you had never seen before. A faint stripe of hairs peeks out from behind his gray sweats, the sight enough to make your mind wonder how he looks lower underneath. Would he be as pretty as you imagine him to be?

Fuck. Typical. Just your luck.

Pushing the thought away, you will yourself to grimace and take a step back, away from his heat and onto clearer ground. It helps that the sudden scent lingering on him isn’t the most pleasant one.

“I’m fine, thanks. Wasn’t it laundry day yesterday?” you ask, a weak attempt to defy the heat spreading up your neck once you fully process his touch, and to hopefully derail whatever thoughts he likely just formed of you. 

“What?” Jungkook looks down at himself with mild amusement, a smirk growing on his lips before his eyes bore into yours again. “Do you want me to wear a shirt? Do you not like what you see?”

Again. You hate it here.

You ignore the way your stomach tightens, hating that what he’s implying is right. A part of you does, undeniably, like seeing his skin, you can’t deny that to yourself. But for all of that, an even bigger part of you exists that simply does not. Not when your head swims with the overwhelming idea of getting rid of the dot on his collarbone, be it by hiding it through makeup or painting it a deeper hue of violet all on your own. And much less when the smell of sex gets more distinct each passing second, making you scrunch your nose in distaste. 

“No,” you grumble, crossing your arms and making your way past him and towards the kitchen. 

“No you don’t want me to wear a shirt?” he counters, tilting his head to the side, round eyes faking innocence a few steps behind you.

You whip your head around without thinking, cheeks pink and eyebrows knitted together in annoyance as an unthought retort makes its way to your throat. Before you can say anything in return, though, he’s already grinning at your flustered state. 

“I’m kidding,“ he laughs, “You’re just easy to tease, Y/N, sorry. I was going to go shower but apparently hyung’s still in there, and I haven’t seen you in a while, so." 

That last bit goes completely over your head. ’Still’ is definitely worrying, but you’d rather not know how long he’s been there in total.

"Do you think he’ll be there for more than 10?” you ask, briefly looking at the clock and doing some math. If it’s 6:27 he has exactly 10 minutes to finish. Since the ride to the theater takes around 15 minutes, let’s say 5 is spent on parking, then you’d have exactly 3 minutes to find Tae before the clock strikes 7:00.

“Hopefully not, but who knows.”

“Very reassuring,” you deadpan. It comes out halfheartedly, your focus now on finding the candy stash they keep in the corner cabinet of their kitchen.

Jungkook trains his gaze on your shorter frame when you set your attention on the upper shelf, noticing your confusion at the sight of all the snacks up there. Grabbing a mini bottle of milk from the fridge, he watches on with amusement as you get on your tippy toes, hand trying and failing to grasp the giant yellow bag of m&m’s you’re determined to steal. Before today he’d wondered why Jimin keeps on buying two bags when the shorter strictly eats the peanut-less ones, and when Yoongi doesn’t even eat sweets, but now it makes more sense to him. He vaguely remembers you eating his bag without knowing it was his. Not that he ever corrected you.

Clearly, your struggles are new to you. The peanut m&ms were always on the bottom shelf, always. You had no clue the others decided just last week to stash the dorm’s snacks somewhere more unreachable, mostly so it’s partially forgotten and not inhaled in a single day as compared to how it’s been until then.

Exasperation reveals itself on your clenched jaw and dramatic pout, but just when you’re about to climb the counter, a pair of warm hands anchor themselves to your waist and joist you upwards. 

“W-whoa, hey— w,what are you doing?” Your breath hitches and squeaks as you tense, unused to the touch but trying to work on automatic as warning signals immediately start to blare red. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Some of his warmth spreads through the thin fabric of the shirt you’re wearing, giving you goosebumps and speeding up your pulse. “I should be the one with questions, you shorty. Like, is there a reason you’re stealing our m&m’s?” Jungkook asks, tone light and in total contrast to the hot breath you feel against your back. It ignites a shiver to run down your spine, no permission given. Honestly, you’re surprised you hear him over the pulse continuously pounding in your ears.

“Is there a reason you’re helping me steal your m&m’s?” You counter with a mumble, voice small despite your tries to seem unbothered.  Holding onto the wooden cabinets for some stability, you snatch up the bag.

Below you Jungkook drags out a hum as if he’s thinking it through, but with his chest millimeters from your back you can feel the subtle vibrations. You want to scream. Shovel it, Y/N. Shovel it.

“Eh, I don’t mind sharing food in times of need.”

“How do you—is it my dark circles? Do they look that bad?” After Tae’s message you had gone straight for a shower and a fresh change of clothes. Makeup had never been a source of comfort, and today was no different. 

“Um…”

Peering down with the full intent of adding that he can bring you down now, you catch a glimpse of the fading marks on his knuckles seconds before his grip tightens around your waist. If Jungkook manages to hear your weak whimper he says nothing. He simply lowers you gently and without command, muscles flexing but no complaints of your weight present. 

“Thanks,” you add, turning to face him but rooting yourself to the spot instead of following his touch like you want to do. There’s only so much you can take before all that’s left is to crumble, and you deny to let yourself seem that weak. It’s not like you’ve changed your mind regarding your crush, after all. The quicker you forget about it, the better. The more you suppress it, the easier it will be to forget. Right? “For the lift, I mean, and for allowing my petty crime.”

The fact that you find Jungkook halfway towards the island counter, mere seconds after he lets go, stays in the front of your mind. The distance between you two grows back to the one you’re used to faster than you expect. 

“Y'welcome,” he says, words slurred together as his accent shows and that toothy, bunny smile of his gets shot your way. It’s blatantly infuriating how easily he manages to make your erratic heart thud, thud, thud. But you swallow the truth, suppress how you’ve long to see every little thing he keeps on doing. “And nah, you should’ve seen Yoongi hyung this morning. Still look exhausted though. When do you finish?”

“Today—”

Jungkook blinks. “Already?”

“—Mhm. Which is why Taetae wants to hang out, and why I need these,” you motion for the bag cradled in your arms as if it were your very own child—as if you’d ever want any. The small space on the counter becomes your new seat, feet swaying anxiously with each second Jimin doesn’t come out.

“Let me guess. Movies?” he asks, eyes starry as he slurps the remaining liquid from his bottle and extends an arm your way. You get the gist of what he wants when he makes grabby hands. He looks adorable, but the way his bare torso keeps on making your stomach flip and sink at any given glimpse tells you he’s actually at his most dangerous. 

You simply nod, letting him grab some m&ms from your bag before you can come to regret it.

“Which one?”

“I… dunno yet,” you confess, head tilting. “It’s his turn to choose.” Truthfully, the question hadn’t come up. Movie sessions at the dorms always consist of rotating turns: one week him, one week Jimin, one week you. Considering Tae hadn’t even mentioned the name, you take it he’s claiming his turn. It’s been ages since you’ve been to the theater, as well, so no new or specific titles of your choice come to mind.

Sometimes it baffles Jungkook that he doesn’t really know how much time you spend with his friends. Tough maybe less when he met you first, lately whenever you’re available he’s busy trying to finish his latest piece, or getting x or y homework done with, or waiting for inspiration to strike, or de-stressing through a good fuck or some exercise. Or at least he thinks so. Whether you’re busy with astrophysics or something else he doesn’t ask, he only knows you’re often not there. So whenever he hears about you from his hyungs, he wonders just how close you’ve gotten to the most important people in his life, while completely skipping over his radar. 

“Oh? ” he hums, mildly interested but unable to say or do much else besides munch.

An idea begins to play in your head as you pop a blue in your mouth, the recurring invite repeating itself like a broken record stuck in repeat, waiting to be talked about. Would he even want to go with you guys? Part of you figures he doesn’t, that he’s likely preoccupied with matters unknown to you so there’s no point in asking. The other half tells you to try anyway, that maybe officializing a… deeper friendship —if you had one in the first place— might be just what you need. To take him off the pedestal your heart built for him, to know a more real side of him, if he ever allows it.

“Hey, Jungkook? Would—”

“Incoming”

Your tongue gets tied to your throat the second Widowmaker’s voice travels around the kitchen, resounding loudly from whereyou guess is his pocket.

Jungkook gives you a sheepish look as he takes his phone out, a sorry halfway past his lips when his eyes catch the screen. He’s so entranced by whatever is catching his attention that his voice loses all volume. By the way his head suddenly cocks to the side, you know he’s either feeling challenged or having his ego massively stroked, but you can’t quite place the flush faintly covering his cheekbones.

Another apology tries leaving him when he notices your waiting stare, his fingers hurriedly tapping at his screen. But it’s a useless effort, since he’s cut off again, this time by ringtone. 

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to answer, a slight smirk of his in place. You can’t help but squirm and look away.

“Gimme a sec babe—no I’m not, just give me—”

Oh. 

The way his tone changes, the way his eyes glaze in less than a heartbeat, him. You drown it all out, drown him out. You don’t need this right now, or so soon, or at all.

As if knowing you need a saviour and a distraction, your forgotten phone begins to play Tae’s chosen ringtone. The clock reads 6:36 pm. 

“Oh, fuck.” Scrambling, you pocket the bag of chocolates and stand up in a hurry. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook calls from his seat. You see his phone pressed to his chest, as to muffle your conversation from being heard, or to ignore the loud voice still finding a way to be heard over his own. “What did you want to ask me?”

But it’s then that Jimin barrels out of the bathroom, loud and striking as if a new form of thunder. And like thunder, you hear his voice before his body.

“I’M DONE, Y/NNNNNN LET’S GOOoooo!" 

His voice dies out the closer he gets to you, a confused sound replacing his words at the sight of his roommate. It’s clear he didn’t expect to find you and Jungkook in the same room, presumably… interacting. 

Turning to the youngest, you offer a halfhearted shrug and an easy lie. "I kinda forgot already, sorry." 

If he replies, you don’t know. You don’t register Jimin’s confused "huh? forgot what?” either. Tae’s call had gone to voicemail amidst all the noise, so you have to do damage control. 

As expected, he picks up after the first ring. “Y/n?"

"Is that Tae?” Jimin suddenly asks, head whipping your way. His tiny hands reach for your phone without your confirmation, making you twist away to evade his wiggling fingers. t’s as if he somehow knows it’s his friend despite not being able to hear his voice, nor you giving any indication. “Kim Taehyung! Why aren’t you picking up my—”

“Hyung, can you lower your voice?” Jungkook calls from somewhere in the background, a bit exasperated at the commotion. 

Your head hurts. Why couldn’t they both shut up? 

“Hey, Jimin’s with me already, we’ll be on our way.”

“Ya, Jungkook, are you really asking me that? Just go talk somewhere else! And what are you doing without a shirt on? I told you not to harass Y/N.”

You can hear Taehyung whining from the other end of the line. Honestly, you missed it, missed him. “You haven’t left? Is that Jungkook? Why are you still in the dorms?”

“What? I didn’t do anything! If you didn’t take so long in the bathroom—wait—” a timbre shift. He’s not talking to Jimin anymore. “Did you really just disobey me?" 

“Disgusting…” Jimin huffs from besides you, annoyed and equally embarrassed by his roommate’s lack of shame. It’s exactly what he needs to move into action, bidding the boy farewell with a simple “just behave while I’m gone.”

You can only roll your eyes at the background exchange, ignoring, ignoring, ignoring. "No, yes, and I’ve no idea why but we’re leaving now,” you answer. Jimin’s smaller hand grabs yours before you finish speaking, pulling you along until you fall into steps behind him.  “Plus I bring m&ms so that’s a win.”

You don’t catch Jungkook’s warm see you later!, too caught up with Tae’s praise over your choice of chocolate and the rush to go once and for all. 

And that’s okay. You wouldn’t have been able to answer, anyway. Not with the growing uncertainty in your chest. 

Would a friendship with him be worth the impending heartache? Could you put yourself through that before you push your own feelings away?

Maybe you aren’t ready just yet.

[id-never-letyoudown]

Part 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jaskier-”

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

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

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

A familiar face caught the Witcher’s eye.

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

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

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

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

Jaskier felt silly. He was just being paranoid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suffice to say she had some suspicions.

“He doesn’t-”

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

That at least made Geralt feel relieved.

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

“I thought you were leaving.”

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

Yennefer grew uneasy.

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

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

“Fuck.” Thank you, Geralt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now isn’t the time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re not even mates, Yennefer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt got up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jaskier would you get to the point?”

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

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

“What are you, if not human.”

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

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

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

“… so, I’m part leshen-”

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

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

And then there was Geralt.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ugh, Yennefer.” Jaskier rolled his eyes