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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 5 months

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Part 17

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 16 🟣 Part 18

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: Ongoing vampire shenanigans, mentions of blood, biting, angst. Girl-gossip shenanigans.

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: I'm very sorry, @deandoesthingstome, but this chapter is exactly what you hate most 😂😂 That said... We need some girl-gossip up in this bitch. Enjoy!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld

“Hey, is that Professor Holmes?”

You followed Katie’s gaze to the side only to find that she was right: Sherlock was indeed in the cafeteria of your building, and he was walking towards the table where you and your friends were sitting. “It is,” you answered plainly.

“God, it’s a shame he’s no longer teaching here… I’d almost switch schools to take one of his classes, and that’s just because of that face.” Rose sighed.

Her remark made you chuckle. “You know he’s a vampire, right?” you noted amusedly. “He can hear you.”

Closer inspection of Sherlock’s face showed no sign that he had indeed heard what Rose had said, but there simply was no other option.

“Who cares, I bet the man knows he’s a whole damn meal,” Jenelle helpfully added.

“Mmm, fine dining,” Rose chuckled. “Aren’t you supposed to be a lesbian, J?”

“I have eyes,” Jenelle deadpanned.

“You guys,” you hissed angrily. The whole conversation was making you incredibly uncomfortable. You lived with Sherlock, for crying out loud. You were… involved with him.

His soft chuckle sounded behind you as a strong arm reached around you to put something on the table — a book. “Mike said you needed this,” he said kindly, “and I had an appointment on campus, anyway.” The fact that he skipped out on your usual ‘darling’ left you a little deflated. Of course, you’d never taken the time to discuss if you would take your slightly unorthodox relationship public…

“Oh, really?” you answered, trying hard to keep your nervousness out of your voice. “What kind of appointment?”

“I’m assisting in another plagiarism case,” he answered. “The school was able to replace me as a professor, but my other talents are significantly harder to come by.” His hand landed on your shoulder for hardly more than a second, and then it was gone again. “I will see you tonight, right? August is making pasta.”

“Yeah,” you said softly.

When Sherlock turned around to walk away, it stung. You wanted to hug him, instead of hiding your relationship — although you hadn’t actually ever defined what that relationship was, exactly. One look around the table at your friends told you they already knew there was something going on.

“Seriously?” Katie snapped when Sherlock had disappeared from the cafeteria. “You are cheating on Mike?”

Shit. Of course, you had considered that explaining your situation would be tough, but you hadn’t counted on Katie going full Queen of Judgement.

“I’m not…”

“Save it, bitch,” she hissed. “How could you? Mike is so cute and…”

“Katie, shut up,” you snapped. “I’m not cheating. Mike knows, he’s… he’s okay with it. And it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how, girl?” Jenelle asked, sounding a lot more calm than Katie.

“Alright,” you sighed, “can this stay between us?” The three nodded. We’re you really doing this? Jenelle worked at the Bank, she’d have no problems with this, but Katie… She grew up about as sheltered as you had, and your best guess was that her family wasn’t exactly more forgiving on the vampire stuff.

“I’m a natural,” you blurted out before you could talk yourself out of coming clean to your friends.

“Luxury vampire food, you mean?” Rose said, her eyes wide. “Girl, you can make a killing off that!”

“How would you know?” Katie asked, disdain very clear in her voice.

“Oh, don’t be a hick about it. My sister is one. She’s making fucking bank at some club downtown. She could probably het you an inter— oh my God!”

“What?” Jenelle asked. You didn’t respond.

“You’ve been paying for lunch, not as worried about your student loans… You are making money!” It was impossible to interject, because Rose and Jenelle started to chatter excitedly while the look of disbelief on Katie’s face only grew stronger.

And then she snapped.

“You’re some filthy fucking blood whore?” Right, there it was. She didn’t even wait for an answer — not that anything you could have told her would have calmed her down, because you were, by any definition of the word, a blood whore. Somehow, it stung a lot more now that Katie said it than it had when August had mentioned it.

“Katie, seriously?” Jenelle scoffed. “You know I feed vamps for a living, too, right?”

As she said it, Katie turned pale. “I didn’t,” she muttered quietly, and she began to gather her stuff. “I have to go.”

When she rushed out of the cafeteria, Rose and Jenelle looked at each other, and then at you.

“I guess her family values don’t quite line up with city life,” Rose said.

“With normal life, you mean?” Jenelle sneered, clearly not upset by what had just happened.

“Hey,” you replied, “take it easy, she’s…”

“A bitch, girl.” Rose rolled her eyes. “I know she’s a lot like you, and I know you bonded over leaving your small-town family behind and everything, but even you have to admit that you did a way better job adjusting than she ever did. She honest to God didn’t even try.”

You knew she was right, but it still felt wrong to talk about someone you’d considered one of your closest friends like this. Especially when she was being accused of being what you were, too: A small-town girl.

Then again, they weren’t wrong in saying you’d come a long way since then. In fact, you were absolutely certain that your parents would die of shock when they found out about your arrangement with your roommates. Actually, you were pretty sure they’d already keel over if they only heard you were living with four guys, regardless of whether or not they were vampires.

They also weren’t wrong in saying that Katie hadn’t exactly made the steps you had. Quite the contrary, if you had to admit it.

You sighed.

“Girl, tell us more,” Jenelle said, putting her hand on your arm and squeezing you lightly. “I take it there’s an arrangement of sorts with these hottie-hot-hot roommates of yours?”

“Up to and including Professor McDreamy?” Rose sighed, the look in her eyes revealing she’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.

You nodded. “Yep. I never thought it would be this intimate, though…”

“We’re ditching this lecture, aren’t we?” Rose asked, looking at Jenelle, who nodded.

“Girl we’re out of here. Come on.”

“Hold on, so you slept with Pornstache? I mean… Augustus, was it?”

“August,” you corrected Jenelle, “and… I mean it’s only happened once so far.”

“And the cop?” Rose butted in.

“Not yet…” Why were you having this conversation again?

“And the pretty professor?” Jenelle asked. You’d been wondering about that, actually. Because the truth, which you also told your friends, was, of course, that you and Sherlock hadn’t had sex, even though you spent the occasional night in his bed.

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to bring it up? He seems like that kind of guy,” Jenelle said when you had finished the story of your first kiss — leaving out the part about Mike running off for now — and the nights you had spent together.

“J, we don’t know him,” Rose laughed.

“No, she’s right. He’s that kind of guy. So sweet, so considerate… Very insistent I take my supplements.” The quizzical looks on your friends’ saves made you laugh. “He can tell when I need vitamins. As in… he can taste it. So he makes sure I take what I need… it’s…”

“God, I want someone to take care of me like that…” Rose sighed. Jenelle agreed with her.

You had to admit; it was nice to have someone look after you. And you had four someones, even.

“But like, Mike was okay with all that?” Jenelle asked, and you knew your hopes of leaving out the part about him running off were shattered.

The story left Jenelle and Rose speechless for a moment, and then Rose laughed. “Christ, he's adorable,” she snickered, “I feel so bad for him. No, really…”

“Oh, the impact that remark would make if you weren't cackling like a crazy witch,” Jenelle said.

“I'm sorry, it's just… On brand for him, somehow? Does that make sense?” It did. It really did.

“August would say that it's because Mike is just a baby,” you blurted out before you were able to really think it through.

“Yeah, wait, how old are these guys?” Of course Jenelle asked the question you'd been dreading.

“Eh… Mike was born in the sixties, if I recall correctly. August and Marshall are four hundred years old, give or take, and Sherlock just under nine hundred years.” Was it just you or was it hot in here all of a sudden?

“Hm…” Yeah. Hmm. That sounded about right — you hadn't really worked out how to deal with that information yet, either.

“How old were they when they were turned?” Rose asked, making you instantly worried about something you had somehow failed to consider at all.

“God… I don't even know,” you muttered.

“You never asked?” Jenelle couldn't wrap her head around that. “How could you not ask?”

“It didn't really matter…”

“It doesn't matter,” Rose said matter-of-factly, “but I still want to know.” Ah. Rose's curiosity was the bane of your existence from time to time — and the reason for some of the better conversations you'd had with her.

“Mike was in his early twenties, I believe. And I'm guessing Sherlock and August are in their late thirties, early forties. Marshall… Mid-thirties, I think? I honestly don't know!” And you cursed yourself for it.

“It doesn't really matter. Their legal documents have their original birthdates on them, anyway,” Jenelle pointed out. “I used to work the desk at the Bank before I decided to give feeding a shot.”

“I know Sherlock doesn't have one. His driver’s license says ‘ADB’,” you remembered. Rose gave you a questioning look.

“Approximate date of birth,” Jenelle explained, although that didn't seem to make it much clearer.

“Legislation changed so many times during his life, and he's had to hide and lie about his age and pretend to be human and whatnot… He genuinely doesn't remember when he was born, exactly,” you clarified.

“Years and days are often just an estimate, even if you only go back about a century,” Jenelle added.

“It sounds horrible to not know when you were born,” Rose said quietly, a worried look on her face.

“I know the guys don't mind much… They're mostly glad they can feed legally,” you muttered.

“They must be really happy they ran into you,” Jenelle said with a wink. “I hear these arrangements are kinda rare, like… people pay top dollar to be a part of one.”

There was a question somewhere in that statement, and it was easy enough to tell what it was, exactly; what's the deal?

“Yeah…” You hesitated. You'd barely come to terms with the agreement yourself. Sharing it was something else entirely.

“You know you can trust us, right?” Rose said. She was at least as curious as Jenelle.

“Yeah, it's just… It's a lot, okay? Basically I don't pay rent and utilities, and I get… let's call it an allowance. Please don't make me tell you how much that is. It's basically a very generous grocery budget, that's all I'm gonna say about that.”

Your cheeks were burning and you couldn't keep your hands from trembling as you waited for your friends' reactions to what you'd just told them.

They were silent for a beat, and then Rose squealed. “Girl, oh my God, that's amazing! I'm so happy for you!”

She meant it — as did Jenelle, who furiously nodded in agreement of what Rose had just said.

“Truth be told,” you said. Now that you were fessing up anyway, there was something you had to get off your chest. “I'd do it for free.”

“No way,” Jenelle said, “I've had shifts where the drip — like, the painkiller chemicals — didn't take well, and I swear I wanted to die after the third or so client.”

“But you're not a natural,” Rose replied. “My sister told me it feels good.”

“Oh, it does,” you blurted out, “it really does. They could feed on me all day and I'd be so perfectly happy! Mike even…” No. That was… It wasn't that you'd never shared any intimate details about your sex life with Rose and J, but this…

“Mike even what?” The girls said in unison, and you wished you could disappear.

“God, alright, eh… He likes to drag it out.” You shrugged. As far as you were concerned, that was plenty of information for them. They disagreed.

“Bitch, I sw-"

“Alright, alright,” you shushed Rose, who seemed to calm down — but looks can be deceiving, especially in very tiny, copper-curled physics students. As far as you'd experienced, at least.

“Mike one hundred percent feeds during sex,” Jenelle said indifferently. You hated how spot-on she was.

“Yup,” you said. “And remember how fond he is of, eh…”

“Boobies,” Jenelle sighed — it was just about the only trait she and Mike had in common. “Wait…” She snapped her head in your direction, her eyes wide. “You mean he… Really?”

Why did this even surprise her?

“Oh, that adorable little freak,” Rose chuckled.

“Never tell him — or anyone else — that I told you this!” you said, mild panic clear in your voice. “Swear on your life!”

“Jeez, chill!” Jenelle snorted. “Like we'd ever do that? Ain't none of my business that he wants to suck on your tits.”

“What does that feel like?” Rose asked. How would you even begin to explain that?

Despite being unsure you'd be able to do it justice, you decided to give it a shot, anyway. You’d made it too far into this conversation to back down now. Besides, it was nice to finally be able to talk about this with your closest friends. Minus Katie — which was probably for the best.

“The feeding itself already feels like a warm bath… I mean, the bite is more sensitive, but other than that, it's pretty much the same. It's his reaction that makes it so good. A few nights ago he got so snuggly — he'd had a rough day and he was very hyper and all over the place, but as soon as he was curled up next to me, he calmed down.” You could tell from the look on her face that Jenelle had a hard time picturing Mike in any kind of way that could be described as calm. “Really! And he has this gift…”

“I can't believe we never asked you about that!” Rose interrupted. “Do they all have one?”

“They do. I'll get to that, okay?” you promised before continuing: “Anyway, Mike has this gift. He senses desires.” Rose's eyes went wide for just a moment, but you happened to catch it. “What?”

“Okay so, hypothetically, if at some point I thought about…” It didn't take a genius to figure out where this was going.

“Yeah. There’s a very good chance he caught that. Marshall is worse, though. He straight-up reads minds.”

Rose stared at you wide-eyed. “Well, it’s good to know I can never show my face at your place again.”

“Eh, you're fine,” you said. “A-ny-way, they warned me that after a while, there was a chance they'd kind of ‘share’ those gifts with me while they were feeding, meaning I get to feel what Mike desires, and… It went beyond wanting. He needed me. It was…” A single tear rolled down your cheek, taking you by surprise. “I love him so much.”

Jenelle wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you close. “Girl, quit playin'. You love all of them, it's so obvious, seriously.”

“I really do,” you sighed. “This whole thing feels like home. It feels like forever.”

“But babe, you're not going to be around forever,” Rose said carefully. The thought had crossed your mind before, and every time it did, it made you feel queasy.

“You know,” you whispered, “I’m not so sure about that.”

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poledancingdinos · 1 year

Text

Hidden Desires

Pairing: August Walker (1st person POV) X OFC

Word Count: 3679 words

Warnings: Stripper OFC, Porn with feelings, D/S dynamics, Knife kink (no actual cutting or injury), Primal kink, Chasing, Choking, Fingering, Vaginal sex, Creampie, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Taglist : @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25

A/N: As usual, something that started as a quick fic turned into the length of all three previous parts combined. Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 here.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

I noticed her eyes lingering the first time I packed for a week-long op in Warsaw. I went through all my normal checks, cleaning my firearms, loading bullets into a few spare magazines and pulling the knife out of its sheath to make sure the blade was well sharpened. That’s when her eyes flickered away from her book.

I didn’t know what exactly had caught her attention but I didn’t have time to ask more questions. I needed to get on the road or I was going to miss my flight. She’d only been living with me for two weeks at that point and had never seen me prepare for or unpack after a mission. If she was afraid of having weapons in the penthouse, we were going to have a big problem.

When I got back, I made a show of lining up my weapons on the table before sitting down to clean them. She sat with me at first, telling me about her week at the club and how she was getting settled into her new home. When I reached for my tactical trench knife, her eyes once again sought out the blade as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Shortly after, she excused herself and spent the next six hours reading in the living room.

My pet and I, we work because she always takes everything I have to give. She indulges my every whim then begs for more. What I realized then was that maybe she’d been keeping her own deepest desires quiet and I knew exactly how to find out what they were.

I bought her a Kindle for her birthday last year. I’m not sure if she knows this but since I pay for her account, I have a history of every book she’s bought or borrowed available in an instant.

It’s not surprising that a woman who enjoys submission and works as a stripper has a taste for kinky books. Frankly, the romantic aspect bothers me more than the abundance of raunchy sex. It’s the one thing I can never give her and part of me hates that at least a small part of her craves it.

Maybe that’s why I downloaded all the books she read while I was away as well as the one she binged immediately after my return. Maybe I felt the need to give her her fantasy to make up for the fact that there is one part of me that I will never be able to give her.

It’s entirely possible that the kinks she enjoys on paper have no appeal when it comes to real life and that that is the reason why she never mentioned them to me. It’s also possible that for some reason, she doesn't want to tell me about them. I try not to think about how much that bothers me.

This time, when I get back into town after my mission, I don’t warn her beforehand. I put away all of my gear as usual, shower, trim my beard and redress with my knife strapped to my hip.

I’ve been tracking her phone all evening waiting for her to turn onto our street. As soon as she does, I dial her number and wait for the line to connect.

She picks up after a few rings, “Hey, I just pulled into the garage so I might have to call you back after I get off the elevator.”

“That won’t be necessary, this will be quick. If it's too much, if I push too far, say ‘red’. Remember this, Kitten, when you say ‘red’, everything stops.”

“I don’t understand…”

She knows what the words mean, she just doesn't know why she is being reminded of them now. At the very beginning of our relationship, we established the basic safewords as a general precaution. Though I enjoy pushing limits and toeing the line, I pride myself on being able to read her and stop without her having to tell me. I've never misjudged a situation so much that she needed to use it.

“I’ll see you soon, Pet,” is all I say before hanging up the phone.

I wait for her out of sight of the front door. It takes about sixty seconds before I hear her key turning in the lock. I wait until she pushes the door closed and I hear the deadbolt flip to make my move. There isn't a single light on and she's at a momentary disadvantage while her eyes adjust. It gives me just enough time to silently move in behind her.

I wrap an arm around her front, pinning her back to my chest. My other hand covers her mouth, muffling her surprised gasp, but other than that she doesn’t make a sound. She struggles a bit but it’s more a question of testing my hold than trying to get free.

“Listen to me very carefully. You have indulged my desires time and time again but it has come to my attention that I have failed to give you the same.”

Her head jerks but I don’t let her move. I’m not sure if she’s shocked by what I just admitted or if she’s afraid of what I might know.

The top of her head only reaches about an inch above my shoulder. She’s strong for her size but absolutely no match for me.

“You may not have trusted me enough to tell me what you wanted, but I hope you will trust me to give it to you now.”

I lift my hand from her mouth, finding hers and guiding it to feel the sheath on my belt. Her breath hitches as she traces the shape with her fingertips, registering the meaning of my words.

“I’m going to count to three. On three, I want you to fight me as hard as you can. The knife doesn’t come out until you submit. I won’t risk hurting you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

At any point until now, she could have told me to go to hell. I’ve felt no tension in her body, only a few shivers of excitement, but the fact that I missed this desire in her for so long has me second guessing myself and I feel the need to be sure.

“Do you have a problem with anything I have said?”

“No, Sir.”

“Good. One.”

She stands taller, getting ready for what’s to come.

“Two.”

I let go of her, moving back two steps. There is a prolonged pause as she turns around and locks eyes with me for the first time since she returned. Her chest is heaving and she licks her lips as she looks me up and down.

“Three.”

She darts towards the living room as fast and as gracefully as a feline, showing me once again that her nickname is well earned. I cut her off as she rounds the couch and the little minx smirks as she leaps over the back of it like it’s nothing.

We both sprint down the hallway and I catch hold of her arm just as she ducks into the bedroom. That’s when the mood shifts from a chase to a fight. She pushes me and slams her fists on my chest but I pin her arms behind her back and lift her over my shoulder.

She fights harder than I expected and almost wiggles right out of my arms but I manage to toss her on the bed and slip a hand into her pants. She continues to struggle, bucking and kicking but she falters when my fingers breach her wet folds.

I keep her pinned under my weight as I work her stupidly tight jeans down her legs. I’m tempted to cut them off but her ass looks phenomenal in them and it would be a terrible waste.

While one hand returns to her weeping cunt, the other grabs hold of her hair, baring her neck to me. As soon as my lips land on the sensitive skin, she stops fighting and focuses on just feeling. I make my way south, nipping at the exposed swell of her breasts. Where I had qualms about slashing her pants, I have none about her top.

“Hold still.”

I pull my knife from its sheath, letting it catch the light coming in through the window before I move it to the hem of her shirt and begin to cut. Once the fabric is in shreds, I move on to her bra allowing the blade to come in contact with her skin for the first time. Her panties survive — for now — but only because I have other plans for her.

“Get on your knees and put your hands on the headboard.”

I move off the bed, freeing her, then I set the knife on the dresser as I strip off my suit. I didn’t tell her to keep her eyes forward but she doesn’t dare look back even when the bed shifts under my weight.

She doesn’t so much as flinch when the cool metal of the blade comes in contact with the burning skin of her thigh. In fact, she sighs like she’s been waiting a lifetime for this moment and is finally getting relief.

She’s been mine for a little over a year now. She always submits for me — though, admittedly, I sometimes I have to break the brat in her first — but seeing her now, calling it beautiful doesn’t fucking begin to describe how she looks.

She is completely lost to her arousal, her eyes closed and mouth agape where soft gasps are escaping but that’s not the part that has me going crazy. The level of trust she is displaying for me has a horrifying four-letter word running through my mind.

I can’t cross that line, I just can’t. But damn if she isn’t making me question everything I stand for at the moment.

She is perfectly still while I run the tip of the blade over her soft skin. I slip it under the band of her underwear, tearing them first on one side then on the other. Her hands tighten around the edge of the headboard as she fights her body’s involuntary responses to her arousal. Goosebumps form under my hand and when I scratch the blade sideways on her nipple, her entire body shivers.

I move closer, pulling gently with the hand splayed over her stomach until she leans her weight against me.

“Fucking beautiful,” I whisper against her neck, earning a small whine. “I bet you were relieved when I cut those panties away. That sweet pussy is so wet, they must have been uncomfortably drenched.” I sink two fingers deep within her tight walls, a satisfied rumble forming in my chest when she clenches around them. “So good, Kitten, you’re dripping for me.”

I watch over her shoulder as I continue to tease her hard, pebbled nipples with my blade. I maintain perfect control, scratching but never nicking her smooth skin. No longer needing to hold herself up alone, her body goes lax against me. Curious to see just how far I can go, I cup her chin, smearing some of her wetness over her lips which her tongue eagerly darts out to taste, then move the blade to her throat.

I’m on high alert, ready to react if she unintentionally moves into the sharp edge but still, she doesn’t budge. There is no tension, no signs of fear, only unconditional trust.

I’ve been ignoring my pulsing dick since she got home, and I had originally intended to get her off a few times before I fucked her, but it seems that my little kitten is not the only one who enjoys playing with knives. The building anticipation is driving me insane and I am now desperate to feel her around me.

The knife makes a loud thud as I let it fall to the floor, grasping her hip instead and grinding my hardness against her luscious ass. The hand on her chin slides to her throat, exercising controlled pressure.

“Are you feeling empty, Kitten? Is that tight little cunt begging to be used like my personal fuck toy?”

Her throat bobs under my palm. “Yes, Sir.”

“Because it is, isn’t it? Every inch of you is mine.” Body and soul, I add in my head.

“Yes, Sir.”

I guide her to lean forward, lining myself up and wasting no time before thrusting home. My forehead drops to her shoulder and we both groan. She is hugging my dick like a vice and her walls pulse around me but I push down my need to come to snap my hips with full-force.

“Oh fuck!”

I can’t make sense of what I’m feeling, neither physically nor emotionally. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I need something to ground me, something to prove to me that this is real so I wrap my arms around her front and hold her close as I pound into her relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, joined by my kitten’s cries of pleasure.

She lets go of the headboard, one hand snaking around the back of my neck and the other interlacing our fingers over her stomach. My thrusts aren’t as deep from this position, but the erotic sounds spilling from her lips let me know I’m hitting right where she needs me, over and over and it spurs me on.

“Don’t you dare come without my permission.”

I’m about two seconds away from exploding myself, but I just need this to last a little longer.

“I c— I can’t.”

“Yes you can, you’re my perfect little kitten and you can do anything I ask, you just choose not to. Don’t start being a brat now.” I punctuate my words by giving her pussy a sharp slap and immediately regret it when her walls flutter around me, nearly pulling me over the edge.

Just a little longer. My hands move over her body, desperate to memorize how every inch of her feels in my arms.

“Three,” I say when the pleasure fluttering in my stomach and rushing up my spine grows past the point of no return.

“Two.” My fingers find her clit and I pinch hard.

“One.”

Her face turns back and she locks her lips with mine. Her thighs quiver under my touch as our rapture takes over and I have to plant a hand on the wall to keep me from collapsing forward onto her.

My nape burns where her fingernails bite into my skin, holding me in place against her lips. The kiss is as feverish as the rest of our joining and I refuse to be the first to break it even if my body is threatening to give out and send us both crashing to the mattress.

It seems she has the same idea because she ushers me to sit with my back against the headboard and sits astride my hips. I don’t know how long we stay that way but when we eventually pull away, my lungs are burning from lack of breath.

“Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye?”

Her question catches me so off-guard that I have no idea how to respond. Truth be told, now that she’s said it, I know what she means. There’s this sense of finality in the air.

She must take my silence as an admission because she hurries off me. “It’s okay, I understand,” she whispers as she covers herself in a robe and exits the room, leaving me stunned and speechless.

I don’t want her to go or for this to be the end, but I can’t listen to my emotions, I have to listen to reason. Logic tells me that I’m getting too attached and that I should end this before things go south. I’ve left a trail of bodies behind me as I advanced my career but there are still plenty more who are alive and kicking and hellbent on vengeance. Those kinds of people would have absolutely no issue with hurting one more innocent person if it meant gaining power over me.

Every agent out there thinks they are different, that they are better than those who came before them and will be able to protect their families. That kind of thinking only leads to a rude awakening.

I push myself off the mattress, finding a pair of sweatpants to put on before collecting my knife from the floor and slipping it back into the sheath.

From the moment we met, I’ve had this undeniable feeling of possession over her. I mark her every chance I get and we've been seen together in public before. She would already be at risk if someone wanted to get to me through her. To the outside eye, anyone would think she’s my girlfriend even if I’ve never dared use that term before.

I don't know how to love someone. I've never loved anyone and had them love me back. I've been alone since as long as I can remember, never getting attached, never being with the same person more than a few stray nights. Except for her.

I'm definitely not one for marriage, settling down or having children. Well, maybe the marriage idea isn't all bad. I'd like her to wear a mark of ownership for every other man to see but the whole perfect wedding day? Who would even attend?

A choked sob catches my attention and I suddenly feel like even more of an asshole. I exit the room, stopping in the kitchen to grab a bottle of the chocolate milk she loves so much before following the sound to the back room. I told her this was her space to do with as she pleased but she hasn't decided what to make of it yet. For now, it's storage for all the boxes she has yet to unpack and the few pieces of furniture she didn't want to part with.

She's curled up on her loveseat and seems to have found a throw blanket in one of the boxes to keep warm. Tears stain her cheeks and I immediately fall back into my dominant role, sitting beside her on the couch and pulling her over my lap. She protests weakly but her arms are trapped in her blanket and keep her from putting up a real fight.

“Drink,” I order, pulling the soft, velvety fabric back to reveal her arm.

“What's the point? You don't need to play the dom anymore, just leave me to deal with my stupid little emotions alone.”

Well, at least my little brat is still somewhere in there.

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't need to.”

I sigh, setting the bottle on the floor and taking her hand in mine.

“Your question was unexpected, my hesitation has no meaning other than me giving it the consideration it deserved.”

“Well?” she asks, her tone practically daring me to answer.

I look down at her delicate hand in my much larger one. My thumb brushes nonsensical patterns over her knuckles and I linger over her ring finger.

“I can't give you normal. I can’t give you the safety of a house in the suburbs, two point five kids, a dog and a white picket fence.” I grind my teeth, considering how best to phrase what I want to say next. “If that is what you want, what would make you happy, then I will agree to let you go.”

She shifts on my lap, looking down when she feels the bulge in my pocket.

“How did you know I liked your knife?”

She ignores my question, which is fair since I ignored hers.

“I looked at your kindle.”

Her face flushes red and she shakes her blond curls out to hide her face. It’s strange to see her anything but her confident, assertive self.

“Which one did you—”

“Ones. Everything you read the last time I was out of town. And that saucy little number you read after I got back.”

“Then why would you think that what I want is to be normal? Weren’t all the guys in those books dangerous criminals who literally commit murder for the women they love?” She moves to straddle my lap cupping my face with both hands. “Would you do the same for me?”

This woman never ceases to amaze me. She’s phrased her question in a way that gives her the answers she wants without me having to say the words.

I stroke a hand along her cheek, tangling my fingers in her hair and tugging her forward into a kiss. “I would,” I say honestly, making a smile return to her face.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and reaches for the knife, turning it over in her hands. “I love you too,” she whispers, pushing the blanket and the robe off her shoulders and exposing herself to me. “And I want you to mark me.”

“I won’t scar you,” I state, lowering the knife. “The healing is too unpredictable,” I add when she gives me a disappointed look. I should know, I’ve had enough wounds stitched shut in a perfectly straight line only for them to heal oddly because of how the skin twists and shifts in everyday life.

I lean forward, tracing her clavicle with open-mouthed kisses. “We’ll commission a design, something befitting of your beauty, and I will mark you myself once the time is right.”

I don’t have a single ounce of artistic ability in my body — I’m better at destroying beauty than I am at creating it. But it will be a cold day in hell when I let another man mark her on my behalf so I guess I will have to learn how to use a tattoo machine.

“I know who you are, August. I know the dangers.” She leans her forehead against mine. “You once told me that being with me wasn’t settling. Now it’s my turn to tell you the same.”

#august walker #august walker smut #august walker fanfiction #august walker fanfic #august walker fic #august walker x ofc #dom!august walker #henry cavill

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youaremysunshine-court · 10 months

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OMG WITCHER THOUGHTS

Putting all this under the cut bc its incomprehensible at eh best of times

Yenn writing Geralt letters!!! kdfjdsjfhjdghs i love them so much i love that sh eknows shes done wrong and is trying her best to right it

Jaqskier’s forst scene being him getting thrown out for sleeping aorund. she broke his lute :((((( also wtf is he bi he got sweet talked by a pansy prince...

Geralt being. good. dad. amazing showstopping i love him i want to bite his biceps

yenn-geralt-jask all travelling together and teasing jask my poor little fandom heart! this is the plot of so many fics i have bookmarked lmao

Ciri wanting to do good for the woirld shes such a little muffin i need to protect her

- inserting quick rant here because this thought srtuck me during the split up scene - Geralt isn’t going to be the White Wolf who unites teh nations, as so many fics have suggested. Ciri is (and fair warning all book canon I know is from fics and fandom meta, so i have no idea what the plot actually does, but I have a Feeling about this.) obvy ger’s gonna be there for her and do a lot of the heavy lifitng but shes going to be the reason peace comes to [continent name]

WARRIOR PRINCESS CIRI OMG MY! HEART!

dara... dara! omg its dara what is he doing

Watching Ciri fight and immediately after seeing Geralt decimate them really puts into perspective what a witcher can do, like yes shes strong shes skilled but geralt is just engineered to fight hes on a whole other level when it comes to fighting (also HE USED HIS SIGNS LETS GO))

Geraskier geraskier geraskier send help im melting (Joey batey plays a bi man so well btw, he does the same flick-my-eyes-away-becuase-youre-being-too-sincere-and-im-in-love-with-you thing that I do, also GEralt thanking him made me scream out loud)

PLEASE SAY JASK GOES WITH GERALT TO FIND RIENCE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

During the fight scene, I was like oh this seasons soundtrack is going to Fuck and it IS

Geralt being a good dad is really something everyone needs tbh

The interpersonal relationships this season are so so so good, I feel bad for bashing on the last season’s ending, but I’m still withholding judgement until I’ve finished this season, but still yenn-geralt, yenn-ciri, geralt-ciri, geralt-jask, yenn-jask all seem more real this season and more like conversations people would have rather than plot-furthering conversations, I feel like they’ve actually put effort into this season’s emotional value, rather than just plot value yk

it’s fuckign heartbreaking how hes still carrying his broken lute around, idk if its meant to be a metaphor for his emotional wellbeing but im getting that sense from him

Also what the fuck jaskier why would you make decisions for ciri without consulting her or her dad/ You are sending her there to be married off to some fuckface isnt thaty what you ran away from in the first place what the fuck jask,

Wait so are Geralt and Jaskir not travelling together? He said Jaskier was waiting for him in [unspellable city name] but then it looks like he’s saddling up roach alone?

1) is that Cintra? 2) who is that? 3) Doesn’t he know it’s rude to burn someone else’s baby pictures? 4) if they bring in a brother fighting ciri for hte throne plotline I will NOT be happy

#witcher #witcher s3 #witcher spoilers #witcher s3 spoilers #s3 e1 #jay watches witcher

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ihyperfixatedtoohard · 2 years

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I was just thinking about something the other day, so here's this-

Have we ever seen, in the show, anyone ve genuinely kind and considerate to Jaskier to his face? Have we ever seen him be complimented? Because the only time I can remember that he had a genuinely good interaction with someone where they seemed kind to him was the little head tilt and smile from Geralt at the banquet (which is nothing but a little smile. Like... that's it) and his whole convo with Yenn in season 2. Which was GREAT, by the way, but that's the only time anyone is DIRECTLY kind to him, and even then she never has any sort of real interaction with him later that proves they will continue to be friends. They hug once, but that's quick, and it's mostly just Jaskier trying to comfort her. It has more to do with her than him.

Anyway, this is all just to say that Jaskier has never been complimented by anyone in the show, not truly...

Until he started helping the elves. We see Dara thank him for all he's doing. And Jaskier seems taken aback! Like he didn't expect it!

It makes me mad. People need to be nice to him, and I will continue to say so until they finally fucking are.

#this is really ranty #so sorry if it doesn't make sense #sometimes i just think about the way jaskier is treated in the show and i get angry all over again #the writers need to figure this shit out #jaskier #the witcher #julian alfred pankratz #geralt #Yennefer

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asweetprologue · 3 years

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Nili’s Benchmark Geraskier Fic Rec List

hey yall! I officially hit 750 followers (a few days ago, I blew past the benchmark without even realizing!), which is... insane. I truly can’t believe that so many people over the last year have enjoyed my presence in this fandom enough to continue to follow my work. you guys are so great and I love you all so much, so I decided to put together a gift for you!

this is a list of my favorite geraskier fics from the fandom, which I have been putting together over the last year or so. a few of these are big in the fandom, but a lot of them are smaller pieces that I feel deserve more attention! I have provided ao3 and tumblr links where I could find them, as well as ratings and summaries. Most of these are canon!verse because I’m not personally a big fan of modern au’s, but there will be a few of those scattered throughout as well. I’ve divided the fics into two sections: oneshots and multichapter. See the list below the cut!

Being in this fandom truly has gotten me through the pandemic in a big way and I have made so many good friends while here. thank you all for validating my weird obsession with these characters and enabling me in these trying times <3

Oneshots

all that was good, all that was fair (all that was me is gone) | M | 7517 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions Of Violence | @xdandelionxbloomx

Somewhere, deep in a forest, a man drags himself from his grave by sheer power of will. He lies gasping on the forest floor and does not know who or what he is. The world is wide and wonderful, though, and there is so much to see.

Or, Jaskier is so stubborn that he literally comes back from the dead.

Another fascinating addition to the mythology of the Witcher. Jaskier’s slow rediscovery of himself is so well done here. One I’ve come back to again and again.

As Fast As Love Can Go | T | 9628 | @bygodstillam

There are Faeries in the Wood.

That's what everyone said, at least, not that there was any solid proof. Jaskier had tried, more than once, to find some. Just a hint somewhere, of a real story, of real magic. But all anyone seemed to have was stories.

Jaskier was determined to find proof. He wasn't expecting to find a witcher in the process.

Fascinating fic with some really interesting worldbuilding, and a fresh new take on True Love’s Kiss. Also with some great art by @hehearse!

beautiful, he stirs up still things | T | 2575 | @alittlebitmaybe

“You’re not asking me to dance,” says Geralt.

Jaskier turns his palm up on his knee, offering it. “I think you’ll find I am.”

Just them dancing. This is a lovely sort of pre-relationship dynamic. So soft.

Dialogue Prompt | NR | 2932 | @reinvent-and-believe

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

Geralt gets Jaskier a gift, which prompts some confessions.

Even a small love | E | 22,272 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con

“Well,” Jaskier replies distractedly. “Lots of things want to strangle you.”

“You don’t.”

It isn’t a particularly troublesome accusation, or even necessarily an accusation at all.

This is one I read early on in the fandom, and it really stuck with me. The dynamic between Jaskier and Geralt is perfect, and the misunderstandings between them feel so realistic. The non-con is not extreme, but do mind the warnings.

For the Space of a Heartbeat | T | 2021 | @drowningbydegrees

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Just sweet, morning after discussions. I love to see them talking for once.

Greensleeves | T | 10,414 | @rebrandedbard

When Geralt crosses paths with Jaskier in the spring, the world is dressed in green. Quite literally. Everyone everywhere is wearing green, and it all comes down to a song Jaskier has written that, to his mortification, has become popular throughout the Continent. It's torment, being forced to preform the song over and over again and have his heart broken anew. But who is this Lady Greensleeves the people say Jaskier is so maddeningly, heartbrokenly in love with? At the baron's wedding party, Geralt is determined to find out.

This is one of my personal faves - there’s just something about Jaskier’s feelings being put on blast while Geralt remains totally oblivious that I think is so very them. And the resolution at the end is delightful.

I Don’t Wanna Fall (If It’s Not In Love) | E | 13,902 | @writinglizards

The first time it's out of desperation. Things get rapidly out of hand from there.

OR the building of a relationship through mutual wank sessions.

I love everything Ashley writes, but this one was the first fic I read by her and it still has a warm place in my heart. I also highly recommend It’s Been A While (makes me cry every time) and Tell Me Honestly

Like a Storm, Like a Flood | T | 1065 | @valdomarx

Jaskier is leaving for the winter, and Geralt can't bear the thought of not seeing him for months.

It was soooo hard to pick only one fic by George, but this one is so soft and sweet and yearning I just had to go with it. This is really just about Geralt finally hitting a breaking point and saying enough is enough.

one flesh | E | 10,763 | WARNING: MCD

“Well, then. I’m a ghost.” Jaskier spread his arms grandly. Geralt held his gaze for a moment, then dropped his head and laughed. Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “Do fill me in on what’s so funny.” It wasn’t funny. It was just so - ridiculous, the things Geralt’s fucked up brain would invent. This had to be the last nail in the sanity coffin, it just had to be.

Or: Jaskier is a ghost, and Geralt is a mess.

Jaskier dies and comes back as a ghost to haunt Geralt into taking care of himself. Geralt does not handle this gracefully. This fic is so sad and heartbreaking, but the ending is so sweet.

to render it transparent | E | 23,901

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

Sigh. This fic. This is a time travel fic - Geralt ends up in the future living with Jaskier on the coast, just after the mountain. It’s slow and beautiful and extremely bittersweet, all about how we choose to love people despite how much it can hurt us.

With All the Continent A Stage | M | 4745 | @greyduckgreygoose

Later, Geralt learned that the play was four hours long. Four hours long. It didn’t feel like it. Most of it passed by in a fever dream of ominous music, dance-fighting and dryads in gossamer leaves, swinging from hoops attached to the ceiling. Yennefer made an appearance, played by Priscilla in a glittering negligee. She sang a song to Geralt about putting him “Under Her Spell”, and they had a sensual dance number which was made a little strange by a sickened Jaskier (played by Jaskier) coughing loudly in the background.

(Jaskier invites Geralt to a musical production inspired by his own life.)

Jaskier basically writes Geralt a love letter in the form of a four hour long play. Geralt is an idiot about it.

Multi-Chapter Fics

A Lover’s Lament | M | 25,364 | @somedrunkpirate

So,” Jaskier begins, as casually as he can, “you are telling me, that in theory, if I were to be in love with someone — anyone — that person could well be in terrible danger?”

Of all terrible and ridiculous things that have threatened Geralt’s safety, Jaskier’d never thought that loving him might be what will get him killed.

I honestly can’t count the number of times I’ve read this fic. The monster is so interesting, and the mythos of it fits seamlessly into the world of the Witcher in my mind. Jaskier being so afraid that his feelings are going to put Geralt at risk, clearly unable to see that Geralt is going through the exact same thing. I think about the scene with them looking at each other almost daily.

A Pair of Gloves, the Scent of Roses | M | 24,134 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence

In the bustling days before the Midsummer festival, Geralt is sent into the countryside to deal with a monster - with Jaskier once again by his side. But the bard has not forgiven him, and while he's not hiding his contempt for the Witcher, he is recalcitrant about revealing his true motives for joining him. As the hunt turns into a desperate mission to save an innocent man and the monster is not what is seems to be, Geralt learns a few new things about his old friend and decides to finally attempt to mend the rift between them...

This is one of my favorite’s in the fandom - it feels so believable, the world is so rich and the oc’s are convincing and charming. Geralt and Jaskier feel so honest here, stumbling around each other but still drawn together. Beautiful beautiful beautiful

Bearing the will of the flower | NR | 11,449

The way Jaskier sees it, his hobby of following a witcher around was always pretty likely to get him killed.

The fact that it's happening now because the witcher in question doesn't love him, he thinks as he coughs up crumpled flowers, hardly makes a difference.

My favorite hanahaki fic in the fandom. I’m such a sucker for these, and these two idiots being so incapable of talking about their feelings really makes them prime candidates.

Food of Love | T | 22,488 | @wallatile-qvibbler

I brought a dead princess back to life through the power of song is the kind of thing that would have got an eyebrow raise even from the stone-faced Geralt of Rivia, so it's a good thing he and Geralt will probably never see each other again.

(or: the one where Jaskier channels magic through his songs, and it almost never goes as expected.)

This is a Jaskier and Renfri centric fic, which wasn’t something I knew I wanted until I read this. Jaskier is a bard which in this AU comes with magical powers, but it feels so well integrated into the universe that I wish it was just... how the Witcher is. Renfri is so good here, and even though Jaskier and Geralt barely even interact you can feel the tension and love between them. Cannot recommend highly enough.

friends and allies of the witcher | T | 10,312 | @theamazingbard

Yennefer crawls over to her newest cellmate. They’re curled up on their side. Breathing, but only just. She’s not sure what she’s hoping for when she turns them over. Still isn’t when she sees that it is indeed Jaskier.

“Shit."

Yennefer and Jaskier each suffer in more ways than one at the hands of Nilfgaard.

Yennefer and Jaskier get capture by Nilfgaard and tossed into a cell together. Exactly what I want out of season 2 honestly. Their interactions are gold.

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope | E | 45,188 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con | @lesdemonium

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier's mother with Jaskier's obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the "gift" became more of a curse.

You know I’m not gonna make a rec list without listing Zoe’s Ella Enchanted au. Need I say more?

Silver and Copper | M | 56,139 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence | @kaer-cuan

Geralt is just supposed to pass through the quiet Lettenhove area. He's not anticipating being begged by its people to help save their viscount from a curse that keeps him from daylight. Lord Jaskier, they call him, and he's likely dying.

As Geralt struggles to untangle the ugly web of history that has lead to the increasingly complicated curse, he finds himself spending more and more time with the strange young viscount and wondering just what he might have been before the curse, and who he might be after. But things are not always as they seem, and as the curse tightens its grip on Jaskier, Geralt is forced to face the fear of failing yet another person whose choices were stolen from them.

Or-

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

This is a fic that haunts me. It’s very scary in parts, and mind the tags - there are some very heavy themes here. But it’s beautiful and touching, and Jaskier feels very true to himself even though his origin is so different.

we could be married (and then we'd be happy) | E | 50,222 | @a-kind-of-merry-war

Jaskier reached into his pocket, fingers grasping around the little box. He pulled it out with what he hoped was a romantic flourish, flipping it open to reveal the simple gold band inside. “Geralt,” he said, confidently, cooly, like this wasn’t terrifying, “Will you marry me?”

Geralt and Jaskier fake marriage proposals to get free deserts and shit but it goes tits up when Vesemir catches them in the act. Not knowing how to fess up, they go along with it for a while, which is hell because they’re both pining like mad. As I said, I don’t love modern au’s, but it’s merry so of course this one had to end up on my list.

And that’s it! 20 fics for you, and hopefully you can all find one or two you haven’t read before. There are a lot of people and fics that I didn’t include in this list only because I was trying to not put a million down (which I could). I highly recommend anything by @wherethewordsare, @julek, @contemplativepancakes, @witcher-and-his-bard, and @inber, as well as those linked to fics above, and I’m sure there are others I forgot to mention. Yall have truly made being in this fandom worthwhile <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic recs #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #witcher #fic recs #fic rec #I'm certain i missed a lot of good ones I've read over the years but I didn't want to risk making this super fucking long anyways #if you didn't see your name listed it isn't bc I don't adore you and your fics it's because i'm stupid <333

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kushielsmercy · 3 years

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1940s film noir AU where recently widowed Jaskier has hired private eye Geralt to investigate the murder of his late husband, Valdo Marx. Marx was found dead under not-so mysterious circumstances, tied up and gagged in their bed with deep bruising around his neck. Jaskier’s presence at the scene was...apparent. Jaskier has of course been mourning deeply, clothed in luxuriously black velvets funded by the many accounts recently signed over to his name. His record sales have skyrocketed thanks to the renewed media attention (it is of course a tragedy for one such as himself to have been widowed so young) but he can’t possibly be expected to care about such frivolous things at a time like this.

He’s also the prime suspect in the LAPD’s murder investigation and Geralt is the best PI this side of the Mississippi. He has a knack for tracking down threads of evidence so subtle that it baffles the mind how any human could notice them at all.

Geralt stays away from murder investigations. They’re always more trouble than they’re worth. The police get in your way and if your client does turn out to be guilty, good luck getting paid. So when Jaskier’s agent calls he simply rattles off his stock apology and gives them a referral to Strygga Investigatory Solutions, LLC.

Jaskier blames this on himself, really. Anything worth doing is worth doing yourself. He throws on his most becoming mourning ensemble and tells his driver the address.

Well, truth be told he may do a bit more than simply throw on his outfit. Perfection takes time. But he has in on good authority that Mr. Rivia works long hours and besides, golden hour light always softens his features beautifully. Appearances are important and he needs this to work. Geralt simply must do something to correct this grievous misunderstanding - prison does horrible things to one’s complexion.

Geralt sighs when the singer walks through his door. He recognizes him - his image has been on the front page cover of every gossip rag throughout the country. He should have known this wouldn’t go away that easily, rich men are very used to getting what they want. Most of him wants to kick the man out of his office on principle...but he’s already here and the silk jumpsuit under his fur coat is opened almost all the way to his navel and he shakes Geralt’s hand with a surprisingly firm grip and…well he’s already here.

Jaskier’s alibi is not great.

Correction, Jaskier’s alibi is utter shit.

Of course he had been the one to tie Valdo up but he’d left the man trusting that he could behave (Geralt studiously ignores his cock) while Jaskier made himself a cocktail. A proper cocktail of course, not some childish concoction with two ingredients. One that took time, you understand. Someone must have climbed through the window, oh - did he not mention he’d had the windows open? It had been such a lovely day until. Ah well yes. Anyway. The windows had been open and someone must have climbed through and murdered his poor beloved while he was otherwise occupied. By the drinks. Drink. And he’d been having a cocktail a day from then on as a memorial for his dearly deceased.

But surely he heard noises when Valdo began to struggle?

He’d had the radio on, of course.

Did he know why the intruder may have wanted his husband dead? It seems like a targeted killing if they went after Valdo but left Jaskier.

He can’t possibly be expected to understand the motives of pure evil.

If he’s innocent, does he have any idea who the killer may be?

None at all! His Valdo was a saint.

What about the rumors that he and Marx had been seen publicly fighting?

At that, something dark and pained flashed across Jaskier’s face. It was gone just as quick, but Geralt wasn’t the best for no reason. He knew that look. Jaskier may not be innocent, but any man who has been hurt deserves to have someone to at least consider his side. Fuck, he was going to take this case, wasn’t he?

Geralt hates murder cases.

After a truly horrendous amount of paperwork (and begging a favor from Yenn) he’s given unsupervised access to the crime scene. He opens the door to Jaskier’s bedroom and blinks.

That’s a very large bed.

The other contents of the room paint a pretty clear picture of the couple’s proclivities. Soft ropes, silk sheets, hard paddles. Geralt’s mind jumps back to the strength in Jaskier’s grip and he tries very hard not to be jealous of a dead man (he fails).

He finds the trail the cops missed, of course. It’s subtle - but obvious enough to eyes like his. It’s almost...too obvious? The murderer is very clearly the serial killer the cops locked just up a few days past, once one knew where to look. Normally Geralt may think a little bit longer about the too-perfect trail and the fact that Marx didn’t match the killer’s usual profile - but. Jaskier also has paperwork under a false name at the local hospital and a recently used first-aid kit and preferred to perform in heavy makeup.

He also had very nice hands.

Geralt maybe wasn’t in the mood to try very hard to pick apart the pieces he’d assembled.

Jaskier’s parents weren’t good for much but they did teach him manners. So after the cops turn their attention to the real killer he slides on his favorite little number and goes to thank Geralt properly. It’s a bit chilly for lace but one does what they can.

Geralt’s going to have to thank Yenn for making him buy a couch for his clients. Jaskier is very, very, good with his hands.

….He’s going to owe Yenn two favors. Fuck.

Also on A03!

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #witcher au #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #witcher geralt #witcher jaskier #fanfic #my writing #film noir #tw murder #tw domestic abuse #feral jaskier #d/s #please tell me if you want other tags I never know what to put!#shielwrites

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viking-raider · 2 years

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I posted 6,769 times in 2021

1095 posts created (16%)

5674 posts reblogged (84%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 5.2 posts.

I added 1,603 tags in 2021

#henry cavill - 561 posts

#henrycavill - 304 posts

#viking-raider fics - 198 posts

#the witcher - 88 posts

#geralt - 86 posts

#geralt of rivia - 84 posts

#huntersville - 80 posts

#witcher - 76 posts

#huntersville *fic* - 69 posts

#superman - 57 posts

Longest Tag: 88 characters

#no wonder yenn jaskier ciri and everyone else on the continent gives you shit horse shit

My Top Posts in 2021

RING LOVE - Cotton Candy Fluff

Summary: Every morning Henry leaves you something, before going off to work.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 610

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Fluff, Lovey!Henry, Mention of Love Making, Teeny Angst, Kal

Inspiration: I saw this VIDEO on Instagram and thought it was so cute! So, I made this for Henry. 😋

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

See the full post

317 notes • Posted 2021-11-20 11:17:39 GMT

Peas in a Pod *Cotton Candy Goodness*

Summary: You and Henry celebrate Father's Day with your daughter, in one of Henry's favorite places in the world, and it's eventful!

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 2,665

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Fluff, Language, Light Angst, Dad!Henry

Inspiration: Father's Day, two real events that happened to me, my sister and nephew.

Author's Note: Much love to @wondersofdreaming! Divider by @firefly-graphics

If you would like to be added to my Tag List, follow my tag list blog, @viking-raider-taglist and turn on the notifications!

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379 notes • Posted 2021-06-20 09:08:34 GMT

Dear Cavillry.

I want to say this. This is a Positive-Natalie blog, even though I won’t really, if at all, be discussing her and her life, with Hen or other wise. If you come to my blog hating on her, I’ll delete it, and likely block you.

There is a lot toxic, immature, sad, mean and vile people making a terrible amount of noise in the Henry Cavill Fandom. But, please, from every corner and inch of my heart, remember, that there are those of that are not like that.

Don’t let them darken us and define us, or this amazing fandom.

I enjoy my drama-free, fan-fic/RPF writing, tea drinking, bubble Blog and try to give my followers and friends that same peaceful place to enjoy the handsome and talented Henry Cavill and each other.

Love, Skye.

383 notes • Posted 2021-04-11 12:25:23 GMT

Sweeter Things (Cotton Candy Goodness)

Summary: The sweetest affection for your deepest love.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 652

Rating: G - COTTON CANDY GOODNESS, Fluff, Light Angst

Inspiration: This post I saw on Instagram (x) and my deepest desire to cuddle with Henry Cavill.

Author’s Note: I just want to cuddle the Puppy.

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550 notes • Posted 2021-02-04 11:36:09 GMT

Hung the Galaxy *Cotton Candy Goodness*

Summary: You and Henry love to snuggle.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count:

Rating: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Light Angst

Inspiration: Cuddles are the bomb!

Author Note: Just a little spit of a one-shot.

See the full post

617 notes • Posted 2021-02-03 11:22:28 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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lovelyrita1967 · 4 years

Text

That smile.

Geralt couldn’t stop looking at that smile.

It was late into his shift and his shoulders and neck were aching. The bar was more crowded than usual for a Thursday night, packed with dickhead tourists and giggling swarms of young women flexing their newly acquired drinking muscles. If he had to put whipped cream on one more fucking Blow Job shot…

But then Geralt noticed him.

A man with intensely blue eyes was sitting by himself at the other end of the bar. He chatted easily with Yenn, who was working that end, and seemed to have a few friendly words for the odd drunk who flopped onto the stool next to him to order another bad decision.

Every time the man smiled, Geralt could see the flash of white teeth. He had soft, wavy brown hair that fell forward onto his forehead when he looked down. Geralt watched him absentmindedly push it back, the pink tip of his tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

“Hello! Hey man. Can I get two more?” A guy was shouting over the usual background roar of a crowded bar, waving an empty beer bottle in Geralt’s face.

Geralt snapped out of his trance.

Fuck.

He grabbed two bottles from the cooler and popped the caps off, plunking them down in front of the muscle shirt and board shorts in front of him.

“Sixteen dollars.”

Geralt watched the guy count out sixteen dollars exactly and toss it onto the bar. He grabbed the bottles and took off without a word.

“You’re welcome,” Geralt said to the empty space, and he stuffed the bills into the till. His eyes immediately slid back over to the other end of the bar.

The man with blue eyes was sipping a fresh beer, watching the older man next to him. He had thick black hair, broad shoulders, and was leaning over the bar seemingly trying to get Yennefer’s attention. She was headed over to Geralt, lips pressed together.

“Geralt, can you get rid of that asshole for me? The guy there with black hair? Name’s Caleb.”

Geralt nodded crisply and headed over.

Yenn was drop-dead gorgeous with raven coloured hair and violet eyes, and she attracted a lot of attention. She usually managed it just fine on her own, but sometimes the real douchebags didn’t quite get the message and required further convincing. Caleb was such a douchebag.

Geralt couldn’t help but sneak another glance at the blue eyed man on his way, and he jolted when he found the blue eyes looking right back at him. It only lasted a second as Geralt turned his attention to Caleb.

“Hey man, time to move on,” he said, dropping the pitch of his voice just a little.

He put both hands on the bar and leaned into the other man’s space. Geralt knew his tight black t-shirt showed off his substantial muscles well, and that fact came in very handy in this job for several reasons.

Caleb squinted at him, and Geralt could see he had had too much to drink.

“I was just talking to her,” he said defensively.

“When someone says they’re not interested, they’re not interested. Do you need a cab?”

Caleb laughed. “You think you’re hot shit, don’t you. Why is your hair grey? You look like my fucking grandpa.”

Geralt leaned closer and growled into his ear.

“Go outside and get in a cab. Do it now before I have to put you in one.”

Caleb leaned back and took another good look at Geralt, flipped him the bird with a scowl, and left.

Geralt shook his head. He felt those blue eyes watching him and he couldn’t help but turn to see. The man was smiling at him. Geralt’s heart skittered.

“That guy was a creep. You handled that really well.”

Geralt shrugged. “Happens more often than I’d like. They usually leave though.”

“Yes, I would most certainly leave as well if you were glaring at me like that,” he said playfully, his blue eyes sparkling.

Geralt felt himself wanting to smile but instead he nodded and turned to swap spots back with Yenn. She was watching with a wry smile and shook her head at him. He frowned but she had already turned to help the next person waiting.

Geralt blinked a moment, not sure what she was up to, but it made no difference to him, really.

He took the next order and was kept busy supplying the masses with a steady stream of liquid inhibition.

A beautiful redhead ordered a tray full of Slippery Nipples for her and her friends, and she tried her damnedest to get Geralt to do one with them. She begged and cajoled, but he wouldn’t budge. He shot a look at the other man, who was trying to hide a smile behind his beer bottle.

The redhead saw Geralt’s eyes dart over and she turned her attention to the blue eyes.

“Hi there,” she purred at him, sliding an arm around his shoulders. “What’s your name?”

“Jaskier,” he replied with a grin, clearly eager to see where this was headed.

“Jaskier. Don’t you think this man here,” she nodded her head at Geralt, “should do a shot with us?” Her pack of friends giggled, enjoying the show.

“Well,” Jaskier replied, “I’m sure that this man...” he paused and looked at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt stared at him dumbly for a moment before he realized what he was waiting for.

“Geralt,” he blurted.

Jaskier nodded. “I’m sure that Geralt would love to have a shot with you, but we must remember he’s working. I mean, look at him. He is undoubtedly offered drinks all night long. Can you imagine what would happen if he said yes to them all?”

Geralt’s stomach swooped. ‘Look at him.’ Was he…

The redhead pouted at Jaskier. “Well, you’ll do one then, right? You’re not working!”

Jaskier looked at Geralt again and gave him a wink.

Geralt’s stomach dropped right into his shoes.

“Oh, alright. You’ve convinced me. I’ll do one.” Jaskier threw his hands up.

The gang of women cheered, and the redheaded busied herself passing out the glasses. There was one left, and she looked back at Geralt one last time, eyes wide, lower lip out.

He saw Jaskier watching him. Fuck it. He sighed deeply and reached for the shot glass. The women whooped again, and they did a round of messy cheersing before tossing the shots back.

Geralt paused with the shot glass on his lips and watched Jaskier.

He admired the long neck as he threw his head back, watched his throat move as he swallowed it down. He saw his tongue dart out again to lick his lips, and a finger wiped up a spare drop that escaped. He sucked it off his finger.

Geralt’s heart hammered, and he was very aware that he was staring. He tipped his shot back.

He licked a stray drop on the corner of his mouth and saw Jaskier watching him with a grin.

Geralt shrugged and his lips twitched in a small smile.

The redhead and her friends moved on with giggles and waves, and Geralt collected the glasses and gave the counter a wipe.

He helped the next person, and the next, but he kept an eye on Jaskier, and noticed right away when he finished that beer, too.

“Can I get you another?” Geralt asked, the instant Jaskier set the empty bottle down.

One corner of Jaskier’s mouth turned down and he glanced at the time on his phone. “Yes, I suppose there’s no harm in having another. Thank you.”

He tipped Geralt generously despite his protests and took a sip of the new drink.

Geralt tried not to watch too closely when a younger, attractive man with short blonde hair dropped into the seat next to Jaskier and offered to buy him a beer. He politely declined and explained that he was waiting for someone.

Geralt felt a stab of disappointment in his gut and wasn’t sure why.

But time kept passing by, and still the stool next to him remained empty. Geralt noticed him checking his phone every few minutes.

Finally Geralt couldn’t help himself. “Everything okay?” Jaskier had been there alone for a couple hours now.

Jaskier sighed. “Yes, everything is fine. It’s just that… It would appear that I’ve been stood up.”

“What?” Geralt couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice.

Jaskier shrugged. “I suppose it happens.” He fiddled with the bottle in his hands.

“How could someone stand you up? She’s crazy,” Geralt said without even thinking about it.

“He,” Jaskier corrected.

“He. He’s crazy.”

Jaskier looked down, shaking his head, but a beautiful smile spread across his face.

Geralt wanted to push his hair back off his forehead for him.

“Geralt. You are too kind. But I’ve bothered you long enough. I think it’s time I called it a night.” Jaskier drained the last of his beer and set the bottle down gently. His eyes met Geralt’s.

“Thank you for your company. It was the best part of my night.”

Geralt stared at him, a thousand words rushing through his head - Wait. Stop. Don’t. Please - but none came out.

Jaskier waited a moment, then gave him one more shy smile. He turned, and quickly disappeared into the crowd of bodies.

Geralt was frozen in place.

“Go after him, you asshole.” Yennefer appeared at his side and gave him a shove. “Are you stupid? Gods, Geralt.”

“I-”

“Go. I’ll grab Triss from the back to help out. Your shift is almost over anyway. Go.”

Geralt wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans and nodded. He bolted out from behind the bar and used his bulk to shoulder quickly through the crowd.

He burst out the front door and frantically looked up and down the street. A wave of relief hit him when he saw Jaskier’s brown hair, and he took off after him.

“Jaskier!” he called as he approached.

Jaskier stopped and turned around, blue eyes widening when he saw Geralt. Then his mouth stretched wide, teeth flashing white, face as warm at the sun.

That smile.

* * * *

I stumbled upon that GIF and fell a little bit in love with it, so I wrote this. Thank you so much to @sleepybittercoffee who made it and let me use it.

If you liked this you might like my other Geraskier romcoms on AO3.

@geraskierficrecs @oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co @carmillacarmine @ro-the-bard-writer @ikeptupwiththejoneses @gilbert-von-kneecap @valdomarx

#geraskier #ficlet #meet cute #romcom #jaskier #jaskier's smile is magic #seriously I've watched that gif 1000 times #geralt of rivia #the witcher #lovelyrita geraskier romcom #flirting #also Geralt's shirt though #fluff #geraskier fluff #romantic comedy #modern au #fan fic #geraskier fic

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restmyheadatnightcontent · 3 years

Text

guess who couldn’t sleep last night and is now projecting it onto the bard not me haha

___________

He hates nights like this.

Nights where his brain just won’t stop.

There are thoughts constantly entering his head, staying for a while, and then leaving again before he can get any real handle on them. He shouldn’t be finding it this hard to go to sleep. They had travelled much further than they had on any other day, meaning Jaskier had walked further than he normally would.

They have 3 horses between the 4 of them, and with Yennefer still exhausted from using her chaos fighting against the Nilfgaardians that had stumbled across them and all 3 adults agreeing that Ciri shouldn’t have to walk, it means that he and Geralt are sharing turns on Roach. Which means walking. They are hoping to have enough coin to get another one in order for their trip to Kaer Morhen, but it’s difficult for Geralt to take contracts or for Jaskier to perform in a busy tavern whilst they try and hide the former princess of Cintra. Its tough, but they’re managing. And nights like tonight, where they manage to get a room in an inn are a rare delight. They had all welcomed the warm meal and the chance to sleep in an actual bed.

Which is why Jaskier is all the more annoyed with himself that he cannot sleep. There are a million things keeping him awake: half-formed melodies circle round his head along with snatches of lyrics that don’t quite fit; the blanket is scratching him every time he tries to move into a different position; the slight thirst he had before bed now making his mouth feel a though it is filled with dust; the feeling of Geralts breath against his neck; the tickle of Yenns hair against his face - it’s all just too much. Normally, he would never mind being sandwiched between his lovers, in fact most of the time he demands it, but right now he feels trapped. He can’t even get up to go and write in his songbook in order to try and use this time productively without disturbing them and the last thing he wants to do is disturb either of their sleep. They’ve both been working so hard to protect Ciri and make sure she doesn’t get discovered, so the last thing they need now is their first chance of actual rest in god knows how long being disturbed just because Jaskier is finding it a little hard to sleep.

He knows that he is important, in his own way, but sometimes the importance of singing a lullaby or pretending to fall over in order to coax a smile out of the girl seems insignificant compared to trying to be a replacement parent to someone who has lost everyone and everything she has ever known or trying to understand and teach a frightened child about the uncontrollable chaos that she posseses.

He shifts again slightly and takes a deep breath before he can start spiralling and questioning his usefulness in their merry group and tries to focus on his breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

But before he knows it, the annoying melody that has been ringing in his head all day is back and any progress that has been made is gone, his mind pulled sharply away from the precipice of sleep.

He moves onto his side, careful not to disturb the arm that Geralt has slung across his waist, and settles again, his nose brushing Yens forehead. He sighs, and wriggles trying to get himself comfortable.

“Stop.” He opens his eyes at the voice, but looking she still seems to be asleep. He was about to dismiss it as his imagination, but before he can the sleepy voice is speaking once again. “If you don’t stop wriggling, bard, I’ll kick you out of this bed myself.”

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No.”

She hums, blinking to reveal her violet eyes, still clouded with sleep, “Want me to” she mumbles lifting her hand and waving it slightly.

“No, no, don’t worry about it” he replies with a small smile. She’s still depleted from Sodden, and what little she had gained was used in the fight today. There was no point asking her to waste what little she had on him.

She stares at him for just a moment before shifting forwards and murmuring “Come here then” as she tucks herself into his chest and places her head under his chin. Her hands find their way to his arm and soon the only thing he can focus on is her hand brushing slowly up and down, the motion seeming to calm his mind. He feels Geralts arm tighten around his waist and pull him back against his chest and a small kiss placed on the back of his neck. Suddenly, the closeness that he had found too much earlier is now perfect and his mind seems to quiet, and all he can focus on is the two people around him.

Just as he is slipping into sleep, he feels more than hears the quiet “Sleep, Jaskier” that Yen whispers into his chest.

___________

my lockdown has been extended and i’m not going back to work for a while so feel free to send me prompts if you want as i’m gonna have a lot of time on my hands lol

#the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskefer #geralt x yennefer x jaskier #my fic #my writing #geralt #jaskier #yennefer #geraskefer fic

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senashenta · 3 years

Text

"A Little Snip" - Loki+ Geraskier AU

*shuffles in and places shortfic on the table* My first real offering to the fandom. Please enjoy. It's actually a MUCH abbreviated version of a full-length fic that I may or may not ever get around to writing. But this much was fun to write at least. Please let me know what you think. <3 *bows*

My Ko-fi.

AO3 link here.

EDIT: For those of you unfamiliar with Loki+, I promise I did not kill them. >>;

A LITTLE SNIP By Senashenta

All of this because of a song.

Sure, he’d liked the way it’d turned out but if Jaskier had realized what would come from writing it, he never would have scribbled it out to begin with! How was he supposed to know that he was never supposed to have written it? That it would branch out his timeline supposedly dangerously? That it would create a Nexus Event and end up with him running for his life around the labyrinth-like corridors of the fucking Time Variance Authority Headquarters?

At least he wasn’t wearing the collar anymore. They’d put it on him when he was first brought in, a choking metal and leather thing that let them control everywhere and everywhen he went. Yenn had taken it off of his neck when they’d been on the Continent with Geralt, after she had used her magic to return Geralt’s memories and before she had used her TimePad to open a Timedoor, shoving Jaskier through when the TVA minutemen were bearing down on them.

The last thing he’d seen as he fell through the door was Yenn being Pruned, vanishing in a hiss of red ash, like a cigarette being stubbed out in the dirt.

Jaskier didn’t know what had happened to Geralt—he wasn’t his Geralt, he knew that. They were from different timelines. But he was still important, and there was no way Jaskier could pretend he didn’t care about the other man’s fate.

Had they Pruned him, too, at the same time as they had Yenn? Was he still alive? Had he managed to escape? These were just some of the thoughts that plagued him as he scurried room-to-room around the TVA, trying to keep out of sight and at the same time figure out what the hell to do next.

Finally, he ended up in a room full of monitors, at the center of which was a table with a couple of chairs. Exhausted, Jaskier’s first instinct was to collapse into one of the chairs—instead he ducked under the table where he hoped to be hidden if anyone came looking in the room. Crouched there, he allowed himself to breathe a little and take stock.

Unbelievably, he missed Yenn. In his timeline they weren’t on the best of terms, but he had never wished her dead, and even though she hadn’t been his Yenn, it had been nice to at least see a familiar face when he’d first arrived at the TVA. And she had turned out to be… sympathetic. A good friend, surprisingly. She had saved his life. And changed Geralt’s, assuming he was still around.

Fuck, what was he going to do? He didn’t have anyone, now, didn’t even have a TimePad to get around. (Not that he even knew how to use one, but he liked to think he could have figured it out.) He was trapped at the TVA Headquarters. Why had Yenn sent him back here? …no. That was a stupid question, he knew why: his presence in any timeline would immediately have been detected by the TVA agents. Here, at least, they couldn’t track him and he had a hope in hell of surviving.

But surviving for how long? With no food or water and no clue where to find them? And even if he could find those things, he would also have to find somewhere to hide. Somewhere permanent, not just under a table in the middle of a random, currently-vacant room. Somewhere that he could turn into a proper hidey-hole and hunker down in, make his own.

For Melitele’s sake, he couldn’t live like that! Like a rat, scuttling around in the shadows for the rest of his life—possibly for the rest of eternity, he didn’t know how time even worked at the TVA! Panic was beginning to set in, and Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, fingers grabbing hard at the strands and twisting almost painfully. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to work at the coffee shop, and taking jigs on the weekends, living life with his Geralt and arguing with his Yenn and maybe never writing another song in his bloody life…

He was so wound up inside his own head he almost didn’t hear the door open, or the footsteps that came into the room, the voice that hesitantly called out, “—Jaskier?”

Jaskier jerked so sharply that he cracked his head on the underside of the table. Barely biting back a curse, he crawled out from under it with one hand up and rubbing the spot he’d just hit. He popped his head over the edge to look toward the door and whispered, “Geralt?”

He already knew who it was. No one at the TVA called him ‘Jaskier’—to everyone there he was ‘Time Variant Julian Alfred Pankratz.’ The only ones who did call him by his chosen moniker were Yenn, who was gone now, and Geralt, who was… standing by the door looking too much like home for Jaskier’s own good, really. Still, a huge smile split across his face and he scrambled to his feet. “You’re alive! I thought for sure they’d’ve Pruned you, too! After Yenn…”

Something like guilt and regret flashed across Geralt’s face, but before he could say anything Jaskier was hurrying over and all but throwing himself into his arms. Geralt caught him on reflex alone, and then Jaskier’s arms were winding around himas well, the smaller man’s face coming down to bury in the crook of his neck.

“Jaskier…”

“You smell like him. Like my Geralt.” Even the TVA issue body armor was familiar, reminding him of the Kevlar his Geralt wore to work as a matter of course, strapping it on every morning over his uniform before stepping out the door for the day. Jaskier had a love-hate relationship with the Kevlar, because it kept Geralt safe but also meant he was going to be in danger. Now he just missed it more than he’d ever thought possible.

“Hmm.” Geralt’s breath stirred his hair and slowly the tension began to bleed out of his shoulders. “I know the feeling. You’re just like him, too. My… you.” Then; “except he would never wear something like that.”

“And I would?” Jaskier had to laugh at that, just a short little chuckle, bordering on hysterical. The TVA jumpsuit was a joke. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Mine for writing that stupid song.”

“Song?”

“Never mind.”

Huffing softly, Jaskier shifted back, lifting his head to look at Geralt properly and sliding his arms around to hook his hands in the edges of the other man’s armor instead. It was uncanny, really. Sure, the hair was a little different, undercut and pulled back in a ponytail where his Geralt wore it down except for a bit pulled back at his temples and off of his forehead, and this Geralt sported a scar across his left eye, but otherwise this man was a dead ringer for the one waiting for him back home. If he was waiting for him back home. If he even remembered Jaskier at all, after the TVA had “fixed” his timeline.

Suddenly Jaskier was swallowing down sadness that welled up in his chest, and the abrupt urge to lean in and kiss this Geralt was seemingly unavoidable—he was so much like home, after all, and what could it hurt? So he did, using his grip on Geralt’s armor to pull him in and pressing their lips together warmly, ignoring the little, wheedling voice in the back of his mind that said it wasn’t right.

Geralt himself was harder to ignore. He broke the kiss quickly. “I’m not him.” It was said with no little sympathy.

“I know, I know, just…” Jaskier let his head fall forward, his forehead thunking against Geralt’s shoulder heavily. “Just let me have this, okay? Please?”

“It won’t make things better.”

“I know that.”

There was a brief pause, followed by a soft sigh. Then the hand at Jaskier’s left hip slid upward until fingers could nudge at his jaw, tilting his head back up again, and Geralt’s hand moved back to thread into his hair, even as he leaned in and slotted their mouths together, kissing him properly this time. Jaskier gave a sigh of relief and pushed into the kiss, parting his lips and sliding his tongue forward to ease against Geralt’s, slow, deep and hot and so familiar it made Jaskier want to cry.

Geralt pulled away before things could go too far, swallowing absently and then leaning his forehead against Jaskier’s, fingers still tangled in the brunet’s hair. “I’m sorry this happened to you. We’ll find a way to fix it. I promise.”

“How?” Jaskier’s voice came out a touch hoarse. He had to close his eyes to hide the tears that were biting there. “I’m a Variant. No matter where I go, the TVA can track me.” Then a pause before he asked tentatively, “and what about you? Surely you want to go home, too…”

“I do. I want nothing more than to return to my world, my Dandelion.” There was something hard as steel in Geralt’s voice when he continued; “but before that, I want to continue what Yennefer started. I want to see the TVA burn.”

“That might be the only way either of us can go home. If the TVA is nothing but ashes.”

“Hmm. We’ll figure something out. For now we need to find somewhere safe for you. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

Jaskier had to laugh at that. This Geralt was so much more open with his feelings than his Geralt was. Not that it was a problem, back home, it could just be a little frustrating at times. Jaskier privately vowed to work on getting his Geralt to open up more when he got home. …if he got home. Fuck.

Geralt seemed to sense the way his thoughts were running and tipped his head up to press a kiss against Jaskier’s forehead, gentle and reassuring.

“How sweet.”

The voice that spoke from over by the door was terribly familiar. Geralt jerked away from Jaskier, whirling around and pulling his baton out with one hand while using the other to shove Jaskier firmly behind himself. The brunet gave a startled noise when he looked over Geralt’s shoulder to see Judge Tissaia—he would recognize her anywhere, after his joke of a trial—flanked by no less than a dozen minutemen. He hadn’t even heard them coming in the room, he’d been so wrapped up in other things—Geralt chief among them.

“Thank you for finding the rogue Variant, G-76,” Judge Tissaia stood with her arms crossed and an unreadable expression on her face, though her eyes flashed sharply. “Turn him over to me now, and then you are to report for reconditioning. Yennefer really did a number on your mind, didn’t she? Not your fault, of course, but they must be addressed; all the delusions.”

“Delusions?” Geralt grunted, still making no move to step away from Jaskier, “the hell are you on about?”

Judge Tissaia laughed. “Surely you didn’t think what you’re remembering was real, did you? You know as well as anyone you were created by the Time-Keepers to work for the TVA, just like everyone else here.” She paused then, her eyes flickering to Jaskier, “well. Almost everyone.”

A hesitation, and Geralt glanced back at Jaskier as well, just the briefest of motions, before whipping his head around to face forward again. His programming was warring with his newly returned memories, but one thing that he knew for sure, deep down in his very core, was that despite everything, despite the fact he wasn’t really his, he loved the man behind him with every fibre of his being. Turning him over simply wasn’t an option.

Judge Tissaia, though, seemed to take his hesitancy for acquiescence, because when he didn’t say anything immediately she nodded for her minutemen to move forward. Geralt bit back a snarl, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, and the second one of the agents was within reach he struck—lashed out with his baton, slamming it into the side of the man’s head and making him stumble sideways. Then Geralt twisted his baton to activate it and jabbed it into the minuteman’s side, Pruning him without a second thought before taking two steps back closer to Jaskier again.

“Geralt…!”

“Stay behind me.”

Clearly none of this impressed Judge Tissaia, who watched impassively before simply ordering, “fine then. Prune them both.”

On that, the rest of the minutemen swarmed forward. Eyes wide, Jaskier watched them approach—then gave a yelp when Geralt grabbed him and shoved him as far back as he could. Jaskier tripped and stumbled but managed not to fall on his face, whirling around to watch the TVA agents converge on Geralt with his heart in his throat.

The first to meet Geralt head-on was met with a baton to the gut and fell in ashes within seconds, but others were crowding in on either side. Swiftly, Geralt’s baton was forced out of his hand, and he automatically fell to hand-to-hand, throwing an elbow back and crushing the nose of one agent, leaving him stumbling around half-blind with blood gushing down his face.

He managed to snatch a baton from another minuteman after a short pause, but soon afterward his arms were pinned, held on either side by agents who struggled and strained to hold him. That baton fell from his grip eventually, too, though he continued to fight against the minutemen who were holding him down, throwing a desperate look over his shoulder toward Jaskier when he realized there was nothing he could do. When the remaining minutemen skirted around him and headed for the brunet instead.

“I said Prune them.” There was irritation in Judge Tissaia’s voice, as if she was tired of the entire situation.

One of the minutemen near Geralt twisted her baton on—and unceremoniously jabbed it into his side.

Geralt went up in a plume of ash and coal, leaving nothing behind but a whisper of what he used to be and Jaskier screamed, a hoarse, sobbed sound born of grief and loss and a million other emotions he didn’t have the time to feel as the minutemen grabbed him and wrestled him around, struggling the entire time, to face Judge Tissaia.

“His judgement has already been passed.” The words were said impassively.

He didn’t even have the chance to protest before a baton was jammed into his sternum and white-hot pain flared all across his being, his vision blacking out as he was Pruned the same as Geralt. The same as Yenn.

And all of this because of a fucking song.

#shut up sena #sena writes #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #loki+ geraskier au #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #loki+ witcher au #jaskier #geralt of rivia

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 4 months

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Part 18

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 17 🟣 Part 19

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Warnings: Ongoing vampire shenanigans, mentions of blood, biting, angst...

Word count: 3k

A/N: Alright, I keep finding myself in a position where I need to apologize for what's happening. And apparently we're back to my usual habit of cockblocking my boys. So a special "I'm so very sorry" to @ellethespaceunicorn right now, because I know this is not what they wanted to happen 😂😂 Enjoy!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld

“It's open.” As soon as you heard the gentle voice on the other side of the door, you sighed and reached for the door handle. “Hello, love, what has you up so late?” He asked out of politeness, of course; he knew exactly what was on your mind.

“I'm cold,” you said, despite knowing there was no way to hide why you were truly here. “And I can't sleep.” At least that wasn't a lie.

The look in Marshall's eyes asked you another question: What were you doing here?

“Mike's pulling an all-nighter for his extra credit assignment, August and Sherlock are at work, and…” Shit. You hadn't intended to make it sound like Walter was a last resort, or something. Part of your reason for showing up at his door was — indeed — that you didn't want to be alone, but you couldn't possibly describe how happy it made you that the current circumstances forced you into this uncharted territory. It would have been easier to curl up next to Sherlock, Mike or August, just because you'd done it before, when the simple truth was that you wanted to be with Marshall right now. You'd almost go as far as saying that some invisible force had pulled you from your bed and towards his room — even after you'd spent the better part of an hour trying to convince yourself that being by yourself in your own bed was just fine.

But it hadn't been ‘just fine’. And neither was standing around outside Walter's room, too scared to walk up to him and curl up on his bed.

Nervous fingers fidgeted with the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing as you stared at your feet, too scared to ask for what you wanted. The one time you wanted him to read your thoughts and he just wouldn't?

“Why don't you come in?” he finally asked, after what seemed like an eternity, while he pulled the covers back. Even accepting the invitation was difficult, although you couldn't pinpoint why that was, exactly.

You got into bed with him, and — for reasons unbeknownst to you — curled up as far away from him as the space would allow.

“I'd say I don't bite, but…” he chuckled softly as he reached for your arm, gently brushing your skin with his fingertips.

“Walter,” you whispered, “I'm so sorry.” What were you even apologizing for?

“Good grief, come here, love!” He pulled you into his arms, and although there was a part of you that wanted to protest, you didn't. Couldn't. Perhaps a little sliver of your brain knew you shouldn't. “You have nothing to apologize for. I, on the other hand, do.”

Your confused expression prompted him to continue: “I took your advice and got over myself. I never meant to create any tension between us, and I apologize for the way I acted when I ran into you in the hallway last week. I promise you I don't have a problem being the last one —”

“You're not,” you interrupted. “Sherlock…”

“Talk to him,” Marshall said softly, clearly not intent on letting you in on whatever it was that he knew and you didn't. “All I'm trying to say is that I'm glad you didn't rush this. You're here because you're ready for whatever it is that we are, and I can't tell you how happy that makes me.” He pressed his lips to your temple, and a shiver rippled through your entire body. You felt it in your toes, and a soft moan escaped before you could stop it.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, “please.”

Marshall happily obliged, pressing his lips to yours — softly at first, but that didn't last long. He grabbed your thigh and pulled your leg up to his hip, crushing your body against his, while he deepened the kiss.

He was everything you dreamed he would be — a pleasant combination of rough and demanding, yet gentle and pliable. His scent invaded your senses like never before; a smoky, warm scent, that suited him perfectly. You moaned softly as his tongue danced with yours, and before you knew it, he turned the both of you around, trapping you underneath his body, pinning you to the mattress. His mouth left yours, and you mewled in short-lived disappointment as his lips moved to your neck, instead.

Then, he was gone.

“Get out.” His voice was dark and gravelly, almost a growl, and he was standing on the far side of the room. “Go to Mike’s room, lock the door, do not leave until Sherlock comes to get you.”

What the hell was going on here? “Darling, I’m not kidding. Go.”

You were paralyzed by fear as you watched what was so clearly a predator dig his nails into the wall of his room — and actually making dents with his fingertips. For the first time since you’d moved into the house — even counting the last time Marshall had had this intense a reaction to you — you felt like prey.

“Come on, Sweetcheeks, does he look like he’s joking?” Mike pulled you off the bed and a second later you were in his bedroom. “Fuck.”

“Mike, what the hell is going on?” you asked — several times, even, but no answer came. Mike simply tucked you into his bed, kissed your forehead and told you to go to sleep — which you were only able to do, eventually, because of the rhythmic clicking of Mike’s keyboard.

“Princess, we have come to the collective conclusion that Mike has done something incredibly dumb.”

“Well, now, there’s a surprise,” you chuckled, and Mike burst into laughter.

“It’s not funny, Mike,” Sherlock said calmly, an icy edge to his usually polite voice. “You nearly started a war between us.”

“I mean, he’s the one who—” Before he could finish his sneer at Marshall, August’s hand hit the back of Mike’s head. “Right. I’m sorry, what I did was wrong and irresponsible, and I need to think things through more often.”

“And then probably still ask a grown-up if it’s a good idea,” August muttered just loud enough for you to hear.

“Boys,” you warned them — alright, mostly August, “what is this about?”

“He marked you,” Sherlock said, his voice grim and his brow furrowed as he gestured at the side of your neck, where Mike’s bite had left two small, round scars. “We hoped it wouldn’t matter — our optimism was foolish, of course. I’ve hated those scars for weeks, and I can’t imagine August is much of a fan, either.” He sighed deeply and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands as he let out a frustrated groan.

“We should have done something immediately,” August muttered.

“Well, yes,” Sherlock agreed, “but we didn’t. We’re lucky no one got hurt.” He was looking at you. He was talking about you. Who else would get hurt?

“What do we do now?” you asked carefully. It was easy to read the room; the guys were tense, Mike looked incredibly guilty, and Marshall was still actively avoiding looking at you.

“First, princess, we give you another vampire-lesson,” August snarled, “that Mike will be forced to sit through as a refresher-course on why we don’t do this, even though he knows exactly why that is. Then, the three of us” — he gestured at himself, Sherlock and Walter — “sit back and enjoy the show while you tear him” — he pointed at Mikey — “a new one. Then you decide what you want to do, although we do have a… proposal of sorts.” You almost missed the devious glint in his eyes.

“Mike, why?” you whispered about ten minutes later, when Sherlock had finished his explanation.

“I love you, I didn’t want to lose you to them… Didn’t work anywhere near as well as I’d hoped, I have to admit, but—” You rolled your eyes and raised a hand to shut him up.

“Mike, do you have any idea how incredibly violated I feel?” What had he been thinking? That the inescapable explanation of how marking was the vampire equivalent of pretty much marriage would have resulted in a simple shrug from you as you went on with your life, happily tied to your vampire hubby for eternity? He wasn’t that stupid, right? Was he?

“Ow, fuck!” Apparently, you were incredibly stupid. Hitting a vampire? Really? “August, break his face for me, would you?”

“My pleasure, princess,” August chuckled, “but I’m afraid we’re here to avoid bloodshed.”

“He basically married me without my consent! How can you even do that? Someone tell me if the wooden stake thing is real!”

“You can try stabbing him with a chopstick later,” August said, “right now, we need to fix this.”

How in the world would you even begin to try to fix this?

“The first option would be to undo this,” Sherlock said calmly, “but one of us will have to match the previous bite, which will hurt, and it will damage your relationship with Mike, for the time being.”

“And the second option?” As much as you thought he was an asshat and a total clown for doing this to you, you didn’t want your relationship to suffer…

“That would bring us to the proposal August talked about before,” Marshall said. As it turns out, the word ‘proposal’ was far more accurate than you had expected.

“Vampires don’t have the habit of getting down on one knee, princess,” August said with a smile, which turned back to a grim expression as he continued to speak: “But we do tend to discuss this with our potential partners beforehand, Mike.”

“I know, August!” Mike suddenly snapped. “I made a mistake!”

“Yet another,” August mumbled so low you could barely hear him.

“August, lay off him!” you yelled, surprising yourself as you did it. “He’s right. He made a mistake, and a pretty damn stupid one, but you guys don’t have half the right that I do to get mad at this jerk right now.” Mike pouted at you, clearly a little disappointed with what you’d just said.

“Fine,” August sighed. “What I was trying to say is… we would all like to have what Mike has.”

“Yet again,” Mike muttered.

“Mike, not helping,” you hissed over your shoulder before turning to the guys. “I couldn’t be happier, guys.” Of course you wanted to be with them forever!

“We do want you to understand that, although not legally binding, these marks are a symbol of a significant emotional commitment," Sherlock explained. “You shouldn’t think lightly of this.”

“We understand if you have questions or reservations,” Walter added. “And we feel that some introductions should be made before we proceed with any of this, anyway.”

Introductions? To whom? Was there another part of their coven you hadn’t met yet?

“There are some other members of our family you haven’t met,” August added. Ah, right. Sometimes, you hated being right.

The guys looked up when Mike cleared his throat. “Maybe a good first step would be to, eh… undo the damage I’ve done.” His lip was trembling and he had trouble looking August in the eye.

“What? No!” you protested. Hadn’t he heard Sherlock say it would damage your relationship? Was he willing to risk that?

“Sweetcheeks,” Mike said as he put his hands on your hips and pulled you close, “if you love me half as much as I know you do, you’ll come back to me.”

“Back?” you stammered. Were you going to lose him completely? Because if that were the case, then your answer to this was no, no, no and a thousand times no.

“Not completely,” Marshall said softly, “but things will probably change. That said, I do believe he’s right. And I mostly don’t think we can ask you to jump into something with the three of us just because of a little fuck-up.”

“Major fuck-up,” August unhelpfully added.

"August, enough!” Sherlock snapped. It was always impressive to see how the guys reacted when he lost his temper a little, and it made you a little proud to be with him.

“He’s the patriarch of the household,” Marshall explained, reading into your thoughts, “it comes with the perk that he can order us around and it’s extremely difficult for us to ignore him.”

“I don’t enjoy exercising that power,” Sherlock said, “and I hardly consider it a perk.”

“She thinks it’s sexy, though,” August said, winking at you.

“Shut up, August,” you snapped, and — to your surprise — he shut his mouth, although it didn’t look like he did so of his own volition. A result of the lingering effects of your status as household smoothie, perhaps?

“Maybe,” Marshall answered your unasked question. “Although I believe it’s not uncommon for Naturals to slip into a vacant reigning position.” He raised a questioning eyebrow at Sherlock, who confirmed his statement.

“Don’t overdramatize it,” August huffed, “it’s just because she’s the only, and therefore eldest, woman in the coven.”

“Hm, nice and heteronormative,” you noted. The others laughed.

“It’s much more flexible than you might think from this short introduction,” Sherlock explained. “I’ve been around enough covens to have witnessed all kinds of configurations in coven hierarchy. Up to and including a very charismatic non-binary individual who miraculously eliminated any need for a second leader. Highly uncommon, but absolutely fascinating, we—”

“Sherlock,” August interjected, “the point?”

“The point, dear August,” you said with a coy smile, “is that this may not be because I’m the only woman in the house.”

“Ignore August,” Marshall said, and the guys laughed again when you pointed out that you usually did ignore him, “he’s just bitter that he loses his status the second Sherlock sets foot in the door.”

“At least when it’s Charles, there’s a bit of a struggle to it,” August admitted.

“Charles, your father?” you asked, only to be met with four sharp hisses.

“Don’t,” Sherlock said with a sweet chuckle to his voice, “please. I beg you, don’t complicate coven dynamics with human ideas of family relations.”

“Oh, I’ve heard this speech before,” you said before he could continue. “But he was born, not created. What else am I supposed to think?”

“I think describing Charles as my father is reasonable,” August said to your — and Sherlock’s — surprise. “It’s what I typically call him — although not to his face. But I also think it’s rather important to not read into it too much. Succubi are incapable of love, and Charles was little more than a glorified sperm donor, but I am his biological offspring, and by human definition that would mean he is my father.”

“But we’re not reading into that, huh?” you asked sarcastically. What was the big deal, anyway? How complicated could the comparison with family make things to begin with?

“Darling,” Marshall said with a smile so kind it immediately became obvious to you that he was about to say something rather disturbing. “Sherlock turned me, and I turned Mike. Now, how would you like hanging on to that comparison if it meant you kissed your boyfriend’s grandfather and were well on your way to fucking his dad?”

Judging from the way they started laughing, you must have looked well and truly mortified. They were right — of course they were! After all, they’d had centuries of experience with this. It had been completely foolish of you to assume you were somehow right about this while they weren’t.

“Yeah, I get it now,” you muttered, although your mind wouldn’t let go of the comparison just yet, which meant you felt really weird about your relationship with the guys now, for the first time in a while.

“Maybe this will make it easier to let go of the thought,” August said when he sensed your distress. “Suppose one of us were to turn you,” — you knew it was foolish to hope he wouldn’t sense how happy that thought made you, but you hoped for it anyway — “would you ever consider him a parent?”

No. The simple and honest answer to that question was a resounding negative. In fact, you were sure nothing would change about the way you saw these guys. Unconsciously, you moved closer to Mike on the couch, and he wrapped an arm around you. It was safe there, knowing he knew what you wanted. The look the others shared let you know that they knew it too, but no one seemed prepared to bring it up at this point in time.

“To get back to the matter at hand,” August finally said, “because some of us have things to do… Mike, are you sure this is what you want?”

Mike looked at him for a moment and sighed in frustration. “It’s the last thing I want! But it needs to happen. What I did was wrong, and I took away her choice, and if we’re going to do this, I want us to do it right.”

“Mike, I don’t want to lose you.” You wrapped your arms around him as you spoke.

“You won’t.” He sounded so sure of it that you found yourself agreeing to his proposal without even realizing it, taking it as a good sign that the others didn’t try to stop you. It couldn’t be a horrible idea if Sherlock was on board with it, right? “August, would you…”

August nodded and got up, appearing next to you on the couch a fraction of a moment later. “Right now?”

“I think it would be best to rip this Band-Aid off as quickly as possible,” Sherlock said. Were you imagining things, or did he sound a little bit anxious about the whole thing after all?

“This is going to hurt, princess,” August warned you. “And there is nothing I can do about that.” He quietly moved his lips to the side of your throat, where Mike had marked you, and you prepared for the bite — which was difficult, as you had no real idea of what to expect.

Whatever you had expected, however, wasn’t the excruciating pain you felt when August’s fangs pierced the scarred skin, and you couldn’t help but cry out in agony. Even when his teeth withdrew again, the feeling of being stabbed with a red-hot poker remained, only very minimally soothed by the feeling of August’s tongue against your neck.

You slumped back into the couch and looked to your side, where Mike was sitting, and as soon as you locked eyes with him, it was as if something between the two of you snapped.

#mike hellraiser fic #mike hellraiser #mike (hellraiser)#hellraiser mike #mike hellraiser fanfiction #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #walter marshall #hc sherlock #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #august walker #august walker fanfiction #natural fic #naturalfic

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batgurl1989 · 3 years

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Running With The Wolf Chapter 3

Summary: You and Geralt get into Novigrad, and go to visit your friends.

Word Count: 2500

Warning: Spoilers for Witcher 3 video game

A/N: It’s a little longer than what I normally write, I hope it doesn’t bore you. If you want to be added or removed from my taglist, let me know :)

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five

Taglist: @rmtndew @princesssterek @djinny-djin-djin @cynic-spirit @henrynerdfan

Chapter Three

When you arrived at the Glory Gate the next morning it was still early. The markets hadn’t opened yet, but there was still a line up to get inside the city. Soldiers were slowly letting people through, searching them before they were granted entrance into Novigrad. You crossed your arms, hugging yourself tight. Geralt had suggested you leave the horses outside the city, and had paid someone to look after them, but right now you wished you could distract yourself with Marabelle’s mane or the reins.

“Calm down. If you keep looking like that, the guards will definitely get suspicious.” Luck was not on your side, and Geralt noticed. He nudged you with his elbow, trying to get you to loosen up before the soldiers looked your way. “The letter will get us in. You will be fine.”

“They have Dimeritium handcuffs sitting right there on the table. They are clearly expecting to find some people who know magic.” You kept your voice low, but you knew the panic you felt could be heard. “I can’t do much once those handcuffs are on me.”

“They won’t be.” Geralt’s voice dripped with promise. Your eyes snapped up to look at him, when you noticed the letter sticking out his crossed arms. He wiggled it enough for you to see the seal on it. The Eternal Fire.

“How did you convince Hierarch Hemmelfart to give you that?” You fought to keep your voice down, enough people were looking your way because of the Witcher you stood beside. You didn’t need to draw more attention.

“Does it matter?” Geralt challenged. Looking down at you, he raised his eyebrow. After mulling it over in your head, you shrugged and let it go.

As you stepped up to the table, the guards gave Geralt a once over, lingering on his white hair and golden eyes. Your heartbeat jack-hammered in your ribs, but on the outside, you looked to remain calm. The two running the table shared a look, their hands going to their swords on their hips. Before they could draw them, however, Geralt handed them the sealed letter without a word. The gold filigree around the seal caught their attention, and they relaxed their sword hands.

“Go on through.” The one soldier said gruffly as his eyes skimmed the letter. Geralt held out his hand to take the letter back, causing the guard to laugh and toss it over the bridge into the river surrounding Novigrad. “I don’t think so. You may have been allowed into Novigrad this time, but I want to make sure there isn’t a next time. Your kind spread diseases, dissension, and desertion.”

You felt a flash of anger rip through you, the heat of it reddening your cheeks. You were about to throw caution to the wind and step forward to defend Geralt and put this guard in his place, but Geralt gently grabbed your wrist, keeping you at his side. Huffing out your rage, you bit your tongue and remained quiet as you and the Witcher crossed the bridge.

“I can’t believe how ignorant these people can be!” You burst out once you were safely out of hearing range. The streets were still fairly empty, just a few beggars out early to catch the people on their way to the market. “’Spread diseases’! UGH!”

“There isn’t much thought put into the insults anymore, and there are none left I haven’t heard.” Geralt shrugged, seeming to not be phased by the insult. He gestured down the street leading to the Chameleon, and you headed in that direction, your anger boiling down to a simmer.

The tavern was open, as always, but it was mostly just drunks from the night before sleeping it off on the tables. Zoltan was behind the bar, humming while wiping down dishes. He didn’t seem to hear you come in, but when Geralt made for the stairs to go look for Dandelion, a dagger flew across the room and embedded itself in the wall in front of Geralt’s face.

“You think to sneak by without so much as a hello?” Zoltan grumbled as he wandered over to you. He frowned at Geralt as he pulled the dagger from the wall. “Dandelion is not going to be happy about the hole.”

“Then you shouldn’t have put it there.” Geralt raised his eyebrow. He wasn’t about to go down for something he didn’t do. Witchers were said to not feel anything, but they didn’t enjoy getting tangled in the lies of others.

“Hi Zoltan.” You stepped up the Dwarf, placing a kiss on his cheek. That seemed to break the ice, and the frown left his face. The hole was a thing of the past, and looking around, you noticed that it wasn’t the only hole in the wall anyway.

“Ah, sweet Younin, it’s always a pleasure to be graced with your presence.” Zoltan smiled warmly at you, his eyes travelling over you. “You look to be in one piece even though you are traveling with this one.”

“She has been more of a troublemaker than me this time.” Geralt grinned, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. That piqued Zoltan’s interest, and the Dwarf turned to you with new interest lighting his face.

“Hardly.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. That didn’t seem to satisfy Zoltan, who raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Both he and Geralt knew what you could be like, and that unlike Triss and Yenn, your powers were more adrenaline based. Chaos drove you a little harder than it did other members of the Lodge. “I may have suggested we take out a group of bandits last night. It was not a big deal. They barely put up a fight.”

Geralt’s eyes gleamed with what was left unsaid. That the fight had depleted your magic stores, and that had you been alone, you wouldn’t have survived. You had to look away from him, otherwise the worry that you had fought off last night would creep in again, and that was the last thing you needed before heading out into the wilds with the Witcher. You spent the short ride to Novigrad testing your magic, and you could barely create a spark at this point.

“Is Dandelion here?” You changed the subject, concentrating on Zoltan.

“I wish I had better news.” Zoltan said the words you and Geralt were dreading to hear. Geralt stood up straight, all relaxation leaving his body. You took a deep breath, torn between fear for your friend and frustration that he kept getting into these situations. “He went and got himself into some trouble with the King of Beggars.”

“How did he manage that?” You were shocked. From your time in the city, you always knew Francis Bedlam to be generally fair in all his dealings. He had offered the mages in Novigrad a place to hide when the witch hunters were on the prowl, and his vast network of spies had come in handy for a fair price.

“The way Dandelion explains it, it was a case of mistaken identity.” Zoltan rolled his eyes. After years of playing songs about the Witcher, those who were close to the bard knew he had a tendency to twist tales to be in his favour. “He was defending Priscilla’s honour, and the bloke he was defending it to wound up dead in the alley behind the tavern where the altercation took place. Now Bedlam has him locked up in the Putrid Grove until the “real” murderer can be found. The way I understand it, the bloke was one of Bedlam’s top spies.”

“Looks like, once again, I show up at the right time. We need to head to the Grove.” Geralt sighed, heading for the door. He paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at you. “Unless you want to stay here with Zoltan and be regaled with stories of Gwent matches.”

“I should probably come with you. I’ve had plenty of dealings with Bedlam, and he likes me.” You patted Zoltan’s shoulder, pausing before passing him. “But when I return, I would love to play a few rounds of Gwent with you. I’ve really built up my deck since we last played.”

“Aye, lass, I will hold you to that!” Zoltan seemed in mildly better spirits when you left the Chameleon.

“He likes you?” Geralt questioned as you stepped out onto the street to join him. He had his arms crossed, and when you looked closer, his nostrils were flared. It took you a moment to realize he was talking about Francis Bedlam and not Zoltan.

“Geralt, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you were jealous.” You smirked, taking the lead on the way to the Putrid Grove in the Lacehalls district. It wasn’t far, but it was easy to miss if you didn’t know what you were looking for, and harder to get into if you didn’t know the password. You hoped that they would just recognize your face and let you in, otherwise you would be hunting for a beggar to get the password. Not the easiest of tasks, as most of the time they just took the money and claimed ignorance about the Grove.

“Didn’t you hear? Witchers don’t have feelings.” Geralt joked as he followed you.

He stayed a several paces behind you the whole way to the wooden door leading to the Putrid Grove, but always kept you in sight. It would be better if a Witcher and a Sorceress weren’t seen together trying to find the King of Beggars’ den. You shook your hair out of the tight bun it had been in for travelling, trying to look more like what you did when you lived in Novigrad. Geralt growled low, eyeing you, before he knocked hard with his fist on the door.

The slot opened, and two eyes stared out at both of you. You watched the eyes flick over you and Geralt as recognition set in. The slot slid closed, and the door flew opened.

“Younin! Welcome back!” A mountain of a man scooped you up in a bear hug as soon as you stepped through the door. You patted his shoulder affectionately, a gesture not lost on Geralt who was suddenly on high alert.

“Thank you, Roger. It’s always good to see you.” You said when the man finally lowered you. You reached back to touch Geralt’s arm, hoping to silently reassure him, without giving away that you two were on friendlier terms than what was previously thought. “I’m sure you remember Geralt of Rivia.”

“Aye. It’s hard to forget a Witcher. Especially one as famous as you are.” Roger turned to Geralt, a friendly smile on his face. He offered Geralt his hand, and the Witcher shook it after a brief hesitation. “We’ve also been expecting you since we have your friend locked up.”

“Would it be possible to get an audience with Francis this morning? I know it’s early, but gossip flies at all hours of the day, so he must be awake.” You plastered on the friendliest look you could. “Also, I am sure the King would love to know who actually killed his man.”

“You got that right.” The King of Beggars stepped around the corner. You looked at him in surprise, not thinking he would meet you at the gate. Usually, you had to go to him, not the other way around. “I heard Roger’s excitement clear across the Grove and figured I should investigate.”

“Francis.” Your voice came out a little warmer than you intended given the man you were travelling with. You felt Geralt shift closer, a certain possessiveness rolling off him. “It’s always good to see you, unfortunate the reason though.”

“Indeed.” The King of Beggars looked between you and the Witcher thoughtfully before his eyes landed fully on Geralt. “But we do have a few leads if you want to follow up with them. I can have Roger write them down for you.”

“What about—” You started to ask, your worry for Dandelion overpowering your need to be polite.

“Your friend is being well taken care of I assure you.” Francis turned to you, a flirtatious smile on his face. You felt a blush paint your cheek bones suddenly. You had forgotten what it was like to have his sights set on you, and the charm he could suddenly turn on. “However, if the lady wishes to see for herself, I cannot deny her.”

“I think we will.” Geralt interjected. You hide your smile behind a hand, pretending to yawn. It was amusing to see him so worked up over a few looks. Francis Bedlam didn’t seem phased by Geralt’s reaction, and turned to lead you to where the Dandelion was being kept.

“Geralt!” Dandelion called out around a mouth full of bread. The breakfast sitting in front of him was better than most, and the room he was kept in was clean and warm. “And you brought Younin!”

“Hello Dandelion. I see you got yourself into some trouble again.” You sat across from, picking up a slice of apple from his plate.

“I wouldn’t be a proper Bard if I didn’t find myself in some sort of trouble every now and then.” Dandelion wiped his hands on his tunic before reaching across the table to grasp both of yours dramatically. “But you must believe me! I would never murder anyone. Ask Geralt, I don’t have it in me to do such a thing.”

“The sight of blood does make you nervous.” Geralt took a seat beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. Dandelion noticed how close you two were sitting, leaning back in his chair with a smug look. “I knew all that talk about following the Path and needing no one was false. You scoundrel. You better treat her right.”

“Unlike you, I actually would kill for her.” Geralt lowered his voice so that Bedlam’s men stationed outside the door wouldn’t hear. Your stomach flipped at his admission, having never heard him speak so confidently about his feelings for you before.

“I would gladly cross swords with any who threaten my Priscilla.” Dandelion stood up grandly sweeping out his arms. Luckily Geralt had the sense to reach across the table and yank back into his seat. “But I swear this was barely an insult, and all we did was cross words. I did not kill him.”

“Listen, I don’t care what happened. I care where it happened.” Geralt cut Dandelion off before the Bard could continue. “I need to examine the alley, and the longer it takes to get there, the more the evidence is contaminated.”

Dandelion told you as much as he knew, and the rest you got from Roger and the King of Beggars. Geralt seemed to breath a sigh relief once you were out of the Putrid Grove and away from Francis and his smiles. You watched as he shifted into Witcher mode, heading out to find clues about the murder, hoping there was still enough there to go on.

#Geralt of Rivia fanfic #Geralt x reader #Geralt Fanfic #witcher fanfiction #Henry Cavill Fanfic #Henry Cavill Fanfiction

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bomberqueen17 · 3 years

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You’ve mentioned that you might make Eskel aro, so here’s how I think it will play out in the story: Geralt/Yenn/Jaskier & Lambert/Kiera/Aiden: Gee Eskle, why aren’t you dating two hot people? Eskel: I saw the drama and thought “it’s easier to just kiss my succubus friend and have no further commitments” Obvs it may not play out like this & I’m excited to see how it goes for real

HA there IS a succubus! and it’s... somewhat more complicated, but not super far off! Though I just got plotweaseled (THANKS @akilah12902 you are so mean to me) with another great idea so I have to rewrite the whole thing, but I was already going to have to rewrite it based on uhhh bringing Aiden back which i hadn’t initially planned to do either so. It’s all rewrites all the way down and I’m not entirely sure how it’s going to go. It’s kind of a ways out, at this point, but it’s in the works.

Here’s a preview of the beginning of the story, before I’ve done any rewriting, which does show you that you’re roughly on the right track, here. I think I’ve posted part of this before, sorry, but the rest is not terribly polished and anyway it’s all getting redone:

But it had looked like Lambert’s poor bruised little heart was settling down with that sorceress. And generally Eskel disapproved of sorceresses, but-- well, he and Triss had been fine, and it had been fun for a while, but Eskel wasn’t the kind to give a woman what she needed over any kind of long haul, and Triss had figured that out well enough. She wanted what Geralt was for Yennefer, and that just wasn’t Eskel. He was too sensible for it but he also suspected his heart just didn’t work that way.

But it had ended well, really; no throwing of things, not really any bitterness. She’d hit him up a time or two since, just for a good time, and he’d been very clear about it and there hadn’t really been drama.

He didn’t do drama. This wasn’t a principled stance; he just couldn’t actually manage it. Which he’d always figured was good, since his-- well, whatever Geralt was; his Geralt was the best way of describing him-- was all drama. There wouldn’t be room for any, if Eskel produced any. Maybe that was it, maybe he’d just developed like this out of sheer self-defense.

Whatever.

He was fucking lonely, was the upshot, and it was a bad upshot. He hadn’t managed to line up anywhere to go for the winter despite his best efforts, which honestly hadn’t been very good, and he really wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it.

and then Plot Ensues-- but you are, by and large, correct. [Spoiler: there is going to be an Accidental Child Acquisition and some Found Family-ing, but Eskel is not going to be called upon to fulfill anybody’s romantic needs, no sir. Family, yes; sex yes, romance no.]

[I am not saying aromantic people should be paired exclusively with monsters, btw, I am saying aros belong in families and loving relationships and also Eskel is the most canonical monsterfucker among the Witchers in W3 so it’s cromulent to have him continue to do that. Also I too like women with horns.]

I think I shared some of that above snippet before so here’s another bit, which I know I didn’t, to make up for it; this whole bit might get tossed but I liked this tiny description.

At some point when he was drunk he must’ve told his brothers about that one succubus hunt. He’d told himself not to do that, but obviously it had come out at some point. He blamed alcohol. But in his defense, succubi were the kind of “monsters” that were people, and if you knew what you were getting into, were just as dangerous or not as anyone. He’d been perfectly within the bounds of rational behavior to have sex with one. He felt like that was the sort of thing any monster hunter should try at least once, and on the whole it had been among his more successful interactions. Maybe it was because succubi didn’t expect things of you that your heart maybe wasn’t built for. Maybe that was it.

#the witcher #witcher eskel #aro eskel #my writing #fic snippet #wafflelovingbatgirl

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soymimikyu · 3 years

Text

Finished Baptism of Fire -- I think I liked it more than Time of Contempt. They were both really good, but the characters in the former were more fun? More real (see: Milva). The whole book was more fun?

There was the entire side discussion about economics of sword crafting and metallurgy -- delightful.

The entire discussion of genetics (which I won't recommend trying to understand sleep deprived like I did -- it got messy and confusing and I should probably draw this out family tree) was also great. It makes sense -- but again I was half asleep from fatigue. The history bits!

Ultra important Parrot and Cat -- they have names. Critical to the plot. Waiting for them to be the Chekov's gun that saves the day (*Merlin and Field Marshall Windbag take down the Wild Hunt* -- would read).

I continue to be happy with how Sapkowski does foreshadowing. It is subtle but clear. Just a sentence or two. While this is how it has to work -- it is more about where he puts it. The positioning is just right.

As a point of comparison to the short stories, the whole discussion of Regis's backstory nicely parallels the very fairy tale esque nature of several of the short stories. It gives the feeling that the humans have very organically concocted all sorts of myths and legends to explain what they don't understand -- much like reality (i think). Then you have a being basically explain the myth making and how it is wrong in comparison to reality. Same with the Dwarves explaining social groups and tribe mentality.

I am so happy that the name Marilka was used in this book. It made me smile :3.

What is a "turd in an ice hole". Does it make a spiraling motion. This is a weirdly translated line maybe, but the section is when the boat is in the river. I assume it is when you poop in a hole cut into a frozen lake? Moving on...

Throughout this book I was definitely more interested in what happened to Geralt and gang. Ciri's story was important and fine. Yenn's was interesting too, but really wanting to know what happened to the main 5 kept me going.

AHHHH THE VERY VERY END END! The tongue and cheek of the matter! (I really want to see how Milva develops in the next boot -- she is [I am not in the best position to say this] really well written).

I probably won't plunge immediately into Tower of Swallows (I wonder why it has that name -- Gulls are more intense birds). I have library books to read (a biography of Franz Liszt -- so many ladies in his life....and not all went well....). Maybe I will just read it slower -- in the background....that will work out great --- maybe.

#soy reads a book #the witcher #witcher #baptism of fire #so far my favorite #but all have been pretty good except blood of elves #that was a translation issue --- not really a structure issue #should finish all books by season 2 #maybe

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10moonymhrivertam · 3 years

Text

Hello! A post by @west-moor got me thinking, and it resulted in this! This is a little left to the point of the post, but it just grabbed hold of my brain for a solid three days. It’s currently full of author’s notes, but I feel the Need to Share. (Please let me know if you’d like to see any of the struck-through bits revisited!)

Warnings: Renfri’s backstory mentioned throughout (rape tw); Jack Harkness-style immortality (death tw, not permanent)

Concept: With a little bit of timeline nudging, Jaskier could be Renfri’s son

“Dandelion, come here before I go.” Renfri held out her arms, and Julian dashed forward, snuggling into her. She squeezed him. “I want you to make me a promise, okay?” Her voice was soft but raw. Julian frowned - this must be serious.

“What kind?” He asked, refusing to let go of her. She rested her chin on the top of his head. ((she’s grateful she doesn’t have to look him in the eye))

Renfri sighed, tracing patterns on his back. “The [hard/important/??] kind. What I’m about to do...it might get me in trouble. I -“ Renfri hugged him tighter. “I might not be able to get back home.”

“What?” Julian’s voice went up, and Renfri shushed him gently, kissing the top of his head.

“I want to. I’m going to try to. But this is dangerous, Dandelion. Even so, I have to take this chance. I’m so sorry.” Renfri took a breath. “But I need you to promise me, Julian, that if I don’t come home...you won’t do anything about it.” She squeezed him, so he didn’t shout like he wanted to. “No matter what you hear. No matter what Stregobor might do. That bastard cannot have you, do you understand?” Julian squirmed, and Renfri loosened up her hug with an apology, finally pulling back to look at him. “I don’t trust him not to use any excuse he can to hurt you, too. So we’re not going to give him an inch. Not a thing he can twist about you the way he did me. Alright?” She cupped his face, looking into his eyes. “So that’s the promise. No revenge. I don’t care what else you do, love - swordplay or poetry, or -“ She grasped for a third option, shook her head when she couldn’t seem to find one. “Anything but revenge. Promise?”

“Promise, Mummy.” Julian saw her eyes go misty. ST ? It was probably because he’d called her Mummy instead of Renfri. That’s what everyone else called her, and she was fine with him doing it, too. [Also draws less attention than Mummy] But sometimes, when he was scared or when something was important, Mummy meant so much more ? ST

*****

Fuck, but it had been hard without Renfri. It seemed like it would be fine, at first. Renfri had left him with her friend Gina; Gina lived in Oxenfurt; and he kept living with Gina; so it was easy to badger the Academy into accepting him when his interests turned to poetry. (He ignored the pang he felt at the memory of his last promise to his mother.)

Since then...well, he was just glad Gina was an innkeeper and had seen every trick in the book for getting food, some less underhanded than others. He stuffed the bread into his pants - he wasn’t likely to be able to eat here in peace, not with everyone...

Jaskier’s eyes caught on the corner and narrowed. Not everyone. He’d thrown neither bread nor coin. Strange - even people nominally without opinions usually got caught up in the energy of a room. He hopped to his feet, grabbed an ale, and crossed the room. He’d expected it to be a little harder to wheedle a review from the stranger, considering he claimed he was there to drink alone, but he came right out with his opinion once Jaskier sat down across from him. Now Jaskier got a good look at the whole of him, though, besides that stand-out hair. His eyes were golden.

“White hair....big, old loner. Two very -“ Jaskier’s words caught in his throat. The hilt that peeked just barely out of the [bag (technical term?)]. He couldn’t look away from it. “Very,” he managed to find his voice before it could be suspicious. “Scary-looking swords. I know who you are.”

Geralt stood. [second instinct>] STDismay filled Jaskier. That was his mother’s brooch. Seeing it made his heart ache, and he wanted a piece of her - any piece of her - back. He tried to stop him by drawing attention, but it only landed Geralt a job. Well. A job would keep him in Posada long enough to talk, wouldn’t it? So he followed, letting his mouth run wherever it would. He surprised himself a little with the optimism in “death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak”.ST

[first instinct>] Jaskier nearly saw red. The Witcher didn’t get to just walk away with his murdered mother’s brooch. Drawing attention to Geralt didn’t work quite as well as he’d hoped, instead landing him a job. Jaskier hurried after him, not wanting to give him any chance of escape. He let his mouth run as it would, taking a kernel of malicious glee in pointing out the onion scent. Geralt either had a very good poker face or quite thick skin, or both. He surprised himself with the optimistic tone in “death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak”. After all, Geralt had already brought him two of those things directly.

“Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the - the Butcher of Blaviken.” He relished the taste of the title in his mouth. The way it hung in the air was viscerally satisfying. He shouldn’t have gotten caught up in it. It made the fist seem like it came out of nowhere.

He couldn’t catch his breath back. He’d had the wind knocked out of him once before, falling out of a tree. It had seemed like it had taken hours for Renfri to come to him and hold his hand. It was probably barely minutes, if that. The panic stretched time. Long enough for him to remember his promise to Renfri and break his own heart. He’d nearly broken his promise. Over a piece of jewelry - a sentimental improvised weapon, but far from as useful as the daggers he hid on his person.

When he could breathe again, he straightened to find Geralt hadn’t moved far. He seemed to be checking the horse’s reigns, but coincidentally finished just as Jaskier straightened up. Well. That was almost cute. Jaskier dug claws right into a tender title, and Geralt waited to make sure he hadn’t done permanent damage. He suppressed a smile.

“You really do pack a wallop!” He crowed. He regretted it a little, his stomach still aching. “What’s this going to take, two minutes?”

Geralt ignored him, mounting Roach. Jaskier hurried to keep up, still talking.

*****

As he talked, Jaskier realized his mother would’ve disapproved. Home wrecking wasn’t puppy-murder, but it was still something Stregobor might use should he ever find out Julian de Lettenhove was connected to the Black Sun. But there was nothing to be done about it, now. It didn’t technically break his promise, and it did too many wondrous things for his mental health to simply go without.

Jaskier was tired of this semantic argument, and they’d only had it twice before. The first time Jaskier had called Geralt a friend, and the first time he’d called him his best friend. He was all too happy to turn the conversation back to the night’s contract, and years of living at an inn had him snatching away Geralt’s ale with barely a thought. There was work to be done, and drink made everyone slow, even Witchers.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jaskier dismissed, setting the ale gently on the dresser. “You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time.” You got involved in Stegobor’s petty squabble. You killed my mother. But that would bring the mood down and might give Geralt the wrong idea. Real friendship had taken two years for Jaskier to admit to himself, and sometimes hurt still festered, but hate? It had all but vanished at Dol Blathana, listening to Geralt bargain for his life. Listening to him reason with the elves, Jaskier suspected he got a peek into his mother’s last few days. He had to stop thinking about it. He pulled a joke out of his ass and let the conversation carry itself.

He had proven, via scorned lovers past, that he had a resistance to magic. It didn’t skirt away from him, not completely. But it was often less severe. However, a shockwave was a shockwave was a shockwave.

***

A djinn was not a shockwave. And he thanked his mother, and Melitele - even Lillit for that. Because he could feel the djinn on the edge of his senses. Drowned, trapped, shaken, fought over: tired and hellishly angry. He should’ve dropped dead, his throat burst open. But no. There was the taste of copper in his mouth and he could hardly force air in and out, but he was alive. Barely. Because the djinn had underestimated the force it would need. As his head began to spin and he clutched desperately at Geralt, his mind took a few funny turns. Renfri would be disappointed in the wish about Valdo. Not against the letter of the promise, but the spirit - Stregobor could definitely use murder-by-djinn against him. Would Renfri think it was funny if he died in Geralt’s arms, when she had met her end at his hands? And make no mistake, he was dying despite the djinn’s miscalculation: that was Roach’s back. Even after a decade, he still didn’t get to ride Roach unless he broke a leg miles outside town.

[Yenn POV of Jaskier definitely dying and coming back to life; deciding to make it her little secret???]

It was a spring snow, and Jaskier wasn’t dressed for it. He was pleasantly surprised when the puppy eyes he gave Geralt got a non-frowning eye roll. That was about as good as an exasperated laugh from Gina. Shortly afterward, Geralt had found a safe-ish cave, and Jaskier helped him to set up the campfire. Usually Geralt didn’t resort to an Igni to start a fire unless they were both running low on coin for supplies - better to have all his energy at his disposal if something came across them in the night. But the kindling was damp, and Jaskier was shivering. After the fire, Geralt rummaged around on Roach for a moment before producing a blanket to drape around Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier smiled at him.

For a while, there was only the sound of the whetstone as Jaskier warmed up. Once he felt a little better, though, out came Filavandrel’s lute. It had become something of a game over the years, to try to make Geralt’s sword-sharpening his metronome. He plucked mindlessly in time to the sound, his eyes only half-focused. Renfri’s brooch caught the light as Geralt worked. Jaskier didn’t even realize what he was playing until Geralt stopped, looking downright alarmed. Well, for him.

“Are you hurt?” Geralt demanded. Jaskier frowned at him. The change in his face meant he felt the tear tracks. Then, he realized what he’d been playing. He clamped his fingers down on the fret board, strangling the notes.

“Fuck. No.” Jaskier wiped roughly at his face. “I...didn’t think I still knew that.” He focused on his instrument.

“Do you...not want to talk about it?” He supposed it made sense for Geralt to be unsettled - he did usually tell Geralt about all his woes. He’d just kept him away from the serious ones, the old ones, so far.

Jaskier swallowed. He unfolded his hand and slowly began to play again. “Little Viscount Dandelion,” he sang. “It’s time to rest your head. Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to eat your bread.” He hummed a little. “Little lord, oh little lord.” More humming. “Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to comb your hair. Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to cut through air.” It was five lines, at best. How was he crying again? Why couldn’t he go on? Renfri had stretched it out as he grew up. The first couplet had been easy. But as she’d wanted him to do more than go to sleep or to eat his dinner without a fuss, rhymes had gotten harder. He’d helped her rhyme them, and she would sing it while he laid down to sleep, or while she combed his hair. Sometimes she would teach him to fight to it. “‘S just a silly kids’ song.” Jaskier said thickly.

“Nothing silly about something that makes you think.” Geralt looked down at his sword, his thumb skimming across the edge of Renfri’s brooch. Jaskier couldn’t stop staring at it now. Geralt must have caught his line of sight. “Even you’ll think less of me if I tell you where this came from.”

“No, I won’t.” He didn’t mean for his voice to be so low, so mournful. And the sincerity had to be confusing.

“I killed the woman it belonged to.”

“In Blaviken?” He was relieved it sounded like a guess. Geralt grunted in grave affirmation.

“It’s from Creyden, I gathered,” Geralt continued.

“Princess Renfri’s.” Please, just let his voice not sound funny to Geralt.

“Not a Princess after what Stregobor[‘s meddling got her stepmother (to do)]did to her.”

“I imagine not,” Jaskier murmured. His hands clenched around his lute. Sometimes he wished his mother hadn’t told him about the man who sired him. But she had never, not even once, held it against him.

“You should sleep, Jaskier. It’s not going to clear up before tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he agreed in a whisper. He rolled out his bedroll and curled up as close to the fire as he dared. If he hummed Renfri’s song and cried himself to sleep, only Geralt and Roach could say so.

***

[mountain? Or just...skip the mountain, cuz it’s overdone and I don’t imagine much changes]

***

ST Jaskier stopped suddenly. Ciri noticed first and tugged Geralt to a stop. Jaskier turned on his heel and retraced several of his steps, stopping in front of a pair of [idle gossipers(?)].

“I’m sorry, couldn’t help but overhear.” He flashed them a quick grin so patently false that be even saw Geralt wince out of the corner of his eyes. “You said Gina of Oxenfurt’s in town?”

“Apparently she knew Jaskier before Toss A Coin. She keeps tryin-a find him, she said.”

“Right, right. Who did you say she’s with?”

“Ffffffrida,” the other one said slowly, far too drunk for so early in the afternoon. “Of Let-something.”

“Lettenhove?”

“Hey, yeah!” They frowned then. “Did you need to talk to them?”

“Would help, yeah.”

“Right. They’re at the market,” the first one declared. The other frowned.

“No. The [otjer place]”

Jaskier’s heart roared in his ears as they fought, and he charged out to go looking himself. Gina wouldn’t let just anyone use Lettenhove - she knew what it had meant to Renfri, the pretend city she’d given him because she could. Jaskier snarled as a hand landed on his shoulder, and he prepared for a fight.

“Which one were you checking?”

“[place]

[Renfri back, bitches. I might prefer this pre-mountain tho idk. Best for Julian’s blood pressure if he finds her first instead s of Geralt finding her.] ST

*****

“Julian.” Jaskier froze. Then he nearly cursed himself out - there would be no denying after-the-fact that the name had anything to do with him. He stood there and clung to the strap of his lute, trying not to lose himself in swirling negativity. He turned, surprisingly controlled. He frowned at seeing it was Borsch.

“I prefer Jaskier.” Well, at least his voice stayed even. He tried to settle himself, putting his arms at his sides.

“Come with me, my boy. Didn’t you tell our companion you’d be getting the rest of the story?” His tone was complicated. He’d obviously noticed Jaskier had no intention of doing anything but going straight down the mountain, but there was a painful gentleness to his request. Jaskier followed just to shed the itch of vulnerability. He could hardly believe what he saw there [in the cave]. At least until he turned to speak to Borsch and fell flat on his arse with an undignified Yelp. Alright, then. Gold dragons. Rarest. That’s how he’d smiled like he knew better than a Witcher.

ST“I sought out the Witcher for a number of reasons. The first being that I have, on occasion, insights into the course of destiny. The second being the way your songs painted him. Destiny showed me a number of paths. And I may have guessed at the wrong one, given the knowledge of what occurred in Blaviken. But I heard your songs, and destiny told me of you. I am relieved I let faith dictate my choice.”

[dialogue I don’t wanna deal with hammering out at work]

[Borsch revealing the Jack Harkness thing “there are some creatures on this Earth who are not slated to meet their makers even should they fall to tooth, claw, or blade.” Etc; mentioning Deidre as an “aunt”, maybe suggesting Eskel assumes she’s dead as well and maybe he should fix that; intro of idea that Renfri would call other girls of the black sun his aunts]ST

STBorch didn’t speak, letting Jaskier stare, his mouth flapping soundlessly.

“You hired Geralt,” he eventually managed.

“Yes.”

“For - protection?” He guessed, face screwing up in a sort of frustrated confusion. ST

“Fuck!” It felt good to swear. It made the loss, the anger, the confusion, and the heartbreak feel less intense.

“The baby does have some understanding of the world, if you don’t mind.” Borch’s voice was terribly mild. Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut - he never was good at keeping it that way for long, though, not that Renfri or her men had ever minded. Gods, that was so long ago, now.

“No one’s called me Julian in thirty years.”

ST“Will you keep your promise to your mother, even now?” Borch asked, softer than Jaskier would’ve believed possible. Jaskier sighed, curling in on himself and covering his face.

“He would deserve it if I broke it.” His voice was dark and angry. A moment later, he curled deeper in on himself. “No, he doesn’t. That bastard.”ST

“With all that’s happened today, I think it is safest if you know something in advance, Viscount Pankratz.” Jaskier looked up furtively, trying to make sure no one heard. When nothing stirred, he fixed his gaze on Borch.

“There are some individuals in this world who are destined not to meet their makers until a god is satisfied with their work here. Wounds that should end them will not stick; substances that shouldn’t be inside them will be expelled one way or another; some days they will wake up and find that wrinkles they had the day before have retreated.” Borch looked at him. Jaskier frowned, a crease forming in his brow. “Many of Lilit’s chosen fall into that category.” The words settled slowly into his mind, his frown deepening.

“Not all of them?”

“Not all. But - some. Including your mother.” Jaskier’s breath hitched. Borch fell silent. It felt like Jaskier’s mind was racing, but he couldn’t have articulated one single thought on his mind. He scrambled to his feet.

“I have to -“ Where before he’d felt lost, his tether of twenty years cut, now he had new purpose. “Thank you. Sorry.”

“You’re very welcome. Take care, Jaskier.”

Jaskier babbled another goodbye as he raced to start back down the mountain.

***

[thing from receipt in work jacket pocket about Valdo discovering Gina isn’t Jaskier’s mother.]

“It’s what bards did at the Academy, make fun of each other,” Marx claimed. “It’s all in good fun, picking at your opponent’s mother. Nobody means what they say.” Geralt stated dubiously at Valdo Marx. Were students really that stupid? “We were at the inn - fairly traditional setting. Everyone knew it was where Jaskier was from, too. The regulars all knew him; Gina roped him into chores on the weekend. I was up first. I’d cultivated my set carefully. Nothing that might actually hurt Gina’s feelings.”

“But you were wrong,” Geralt rumbled. Otherwise, there’d be no story to tell - he’d learned that much from Jaskier.

“Found out when he put a dagger to my throat, and I was the one Gina kicked out over it. Gave me a lifetime ban, but... did me the courtesy of explaining, a few years back. It hadn’t been all that long, in the grand scheme. His mother had gone traveling and never made it back. It was a mistake,” Valdo insisted. “One anyone could make. Glad, in hindsight, that it was me, even if he still holds it against me.”

****

[Deidre and Jaskier meeting]

***

Vesemir was tucked into a shadow on the battlements. He was glad he’d been in the courtyard; inside, the stone might’ve blocked their voices. But he’d been hearing them for a while now, giggly and serious in turns.

“Whose idea was this? All this trouble and they’re not even likely to be home.” The man’s voice had turned from giggles to complaints the closer they drew.

“Mm. Yes. Terrible idea.” The woman sounded terribly amused.

“Fuck you.” His voice was light.

“Language!”

“Oh, fuck off!” He laughed.

“I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. It’s my right as an ‘aunt’.” Laughter, a pause. “How often were you mistaken for siblings?”

“Usually as soon as I opened my mouth and called her by her name instead of, y’know, Mum.”

“Figures.”

“Oh!” The man said after a beat of silence. “Oh, towers! Oh, thank fuck, this mountain is too damn tall.”

[more break in]

They were rather a motley pair as they stood before Vesemir. [Deidre] and the brightly-dressed man who was probably a bard, to be carrying his lute this far.

“Well, you see - sir,” the bard amended. Then he stopped. Frowned. “Where do I even start?”

“Your mother?”

“Bad decision.” He shook his head at her. “Too much, too fast.” He paused again. “Well.... A dragon told me to find my Mum because she didn’t stay dead. But it’s been thirty years and I didn’t know where to look. Ran into Deidre first. Mum always talked about other Black Sun princesses as sisters. I was interested. She heard me out. Have to say, the ‘Witcher’s child surprise’ thing gave me a headache. But when she told me it was a Wolf, well - I knew generally where Kaer Morhen is, and we thought it would be funny if we. Um. Dropped in. Especially since it’s Summer so the consequences are minimal.”

This bard knew too damn much. “Are you Jaskier, then?”

“Ah. I hoped it wasn’t quite so obvious.” Suddenly, tentative hope bloomed behind his eyes. “You’ve heard of me?”

[All Geralt talks about. Other princesses? ~~ Ah yes well no easy way to say this mine is one too. It’s Renfri. No, Geralt doesn’t know. About any of this. And please don’t tell him! well, you’re actually supposed to tell them all Deidre and her nephew came by, to make Eskel sweat, but - hand wring - don’t connect Jaskier and Julian in their heads, if you can avoid it?]

*****

Jaskier had a hand pressed to Roach’s neck as they walked. It was both easier and harder going this way than breaking in. He liked the directness of it, but he hated the cold. Ciri shifted on Roach and leaned down a little to fuss with the cloak Geralt had made him wear.

[Vesemir has found Renfri; reunions, identity confessions, etc...]

***

[hm. To mention all the ammo Stregobor could potentially have against him and then not having a Stregobor plot is about as distracting as an unused rifle on the wall.]

#fanfic #writing #the witcher #the witcher netflix #i have no book knowledge only fic osmosis #messy #but please take pity on me and read it anyway #i'd appreciate it #jaskier #renfri

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