#i SUCKED at bard but at least I could look forward to *gestures to the two of them*

[ysara-and-friends]

Ngl

I already like the Stormblood whm quests better

And I'm not even done with the first quest

#like e-sumi-yan is far from my list of favorites #but at the very least I'd choose him over kan-e-senna's younger siblings or eschiva without hesitation any day #but also I highly doubt this quest line is going to make it to my list of favorite job quests #like I'm so biased with the ninja quests because of Karasu #but i also love the machinist quests #and guydelot and sanson from the bard quests are charming #and i didn't hate any of the dancer quest people #.. charming may not be the right word but i mean- #i love their dynamic #i SUCKED at bard but at least I could look forward to *gestures to the two of them* #i don't think i suck that bad at white mage but the fact that my brain is programmed for dpsing sometimes shows

[witchersgoldenbard]

My sweet darling @mayastormborn asked for some nonverbal Geralt:

Some non-verbal Geralt during winter, and they all allow him to just *be*? No one asks him anything, they just bring him some of his safe-foods and a drink and top it up through the day. Any conversation is through gestures though as little as possible

Well, sweetness, I hope this little thing brings you some comfort and is somewhere near what you had in mind 💕👉👈 (tho it’s not and I will try again)

1.8k words, no warnings except the obvious

No Words Required

When Geralt wakes up with the first light, the weak rays of the winter sun slowly but stubbornly bringing a new day to Kaer Morhen, he knows it is one of those days that will have to remain silent on his part. Usually, he would turn to Jaskier beside him and press a kiss to his brow to wish him a good morning, but the very thought of talking is almost enough to quicken his heartbeat and make his hands shake. No talking, then.

He closes his eyes again and tries to fall back to sleep, maybe he just needs to start this day over. He doesn’t dare to hope, but it might be worth a try.

Despite giving it another chance, his tongue still feels too heavy in his mouth when he opens his eyes again, the world around him still blurry and sharp-edged at the same time. So Geralt has no option but to accept his fate. At least for today. Only for today, he hopes.

“Good morning, my love,” comes Jaskier’s tired voice from beside him, and Geralt thanks the Gods he doesn’t believe in that he can still find happiness in this familiar tone. Grateful that not all his senses are set to overwhelm him today.

He turns to smile at Jaskier, who waits a moment, gives him a chance to say the words he doesn’t have the strength to utter today. Wants to force himself to say, but his heart, his hands, his head, they all deny him. Warn him.

And Jaskier only softens his smile and asks, as quietly as he can, “Silence day?”

Bless him. Bless this man, this wonderful man, for understanding. For knowing him well enough, for seeing, for asking.

Geralt nods, but reaches out to hold Jaskier’s hand with only a slight tremble in his fingers, afraid to find that touch will be denied, too. But the warmth of Jaskier’s skin feels good, the softness under his fingers bringing its usual comfort, and Geralt smiles at the bard’s hands.

“Touch and noise still fine, darling?” Jaskier asks anyway, despite seeing the smile he is wearing. Always asking, always reassuring. Always loving and caring. Always there.

Geralt nods and taps Jaskier’s hand twice, too.

“Would you like me to tell the others?”

Geralt hesitates, quickly calculating if he has enough strength to grunt and hum his way through the day, make enough noise for them to let it pass. But it feels wrong, and he knows they don’t judge. They all have these days, even Jaskier, and it’s always better if everyone knows.

So he nods and is rewarded with a gentle smile.

“Wonderful. And this is going to be the last complex question of the day, I know they’re hard, but technically it’s still yes-or-no? Really, it will depend on your response, uhm—“

Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand and regards him with an amused smile. He loves this man so much, how could he not smile even when the world is heavy around him?

“Right, sorry,” Jaskier mumbles and sits up, scratching the back of his head and looking at Geralt. “Is there anything you need? Except to not talk, and possibly the usual, you know. Anything you need, right now?”

The hand still wrapped around Jaskier’s wrist gives Geralt perfect leverage to just pull and have Jaskier land on top of him with an undignified squawk. The bard chuckles as he lies on top of Geralt, their warm chests pressed together like they were made for just this.

Jaskier hums the moment Geralt’s arms wrap around his middle, keeping the warm and comforting weight on top of him. Let the world be heavy, he thinks. I am safe right here.

“I’ve got you, love,” Jaskier promises. “And you’ve got this.”

***

The first time Geralt goes nonverbal around him, it’s a few weeks after Posada. They are returning from a contract, off to find the alderman to receive their well-deserved coin. Jaskier is prattling on about heroics and monsters and witchers, only interrupting his enthusiastic monologues to hum a tune, trying for a melody and always discarding it immediately.

He has grown used to silence beside him, looming and annoyed and stoic. Hums, at most, though they are always more like grunts, noncommittal and monotonous.

But then, suddenly, the hums stop and the Witcher’s ever-focused eyes have lost some of their shine. Jaskier notices these things — of course he does, he’s an artist after all! And Geralt has pretty eyes. But that’s beside the point.

“Geralt?” he asks, stopping in his tracks and watching the Witcher beside him. The same Witcher who doesn’t even notice that he stopped walking, eyes on the road before him, seemingly lost in thought.

“Geralt!” Jaskier calls again. Still no reply, but the Witcher finally stops. Stands. Looks at him over his shoulder. His eyes still not entirely right, and Jaskier doubts it comes from the various potions he has had last night.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, and Geralt glances around after a second, hand moving to his sword. Good, Jaskier thinks, he’s not completely out of it. “No,” he says and takes a step forward, noticing the sudden tension between Geralt’s shoulders. He stops. “No, I mean… With you. Are you alright?”

Geralt frowns. Well, at least there’s a constant for you.

“Are you okay, Geralt?” he asks again, gentler but really starting to worry.

Another frown, but this time followed by a nod. Which is not very reassuring. Jaskier might not know him well, but he knows right then that he’s lying. He lets it go, though, and they make their way to the town, easily finding the alderman.

A wretched man who only wants to give them half their payment, but Geralt doesn’t seem inclined to argue. Jaskier frowns and gives the alderman a piece of his mind, making a whole scene for everyone around to hear. “And if the Witchers on the whole Continent might hear from the White Wolf’s bard that you betray them, that your hand doesn’t fulfill what your tongue promises, maybe you shall surrender to the monsters then. Leshen and whatever so pleases shall feast on you, maybe that will be the day you wish you had paid the White Wolf what he was promised and more!”

Needless to say, they leave with more coin than expected, and Jaskier can’t wipe the smug grin off his face.

Geralt smiles at him for the first time, then, over their small campfire, and Jaskier smiles back.

“Is speaking hard for you today?” he finally dares to ask.

Geralt stares at him. Nods.

Jaskier nods back. Grins.

“Well, good thing you have me then, isn’t it? A bard to yell at stupid people for you. We’ll make a great team, you’ll see.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything to that, obviously. But even the next day, when the first thing he does is insult Jaskier’s fashion sense, he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t deny it. And Jaskier is sure he didn’t imagine that small smile that could have meant Maybe you are right.

Either way, he was.

***

Jaskier leaves the bed before Geralt, promising to bring him breakfast.

“You still have three other meals you can try to leave bed for, let’s have breakfast here,” Jaskier argues with a grin and a fine that brooks no room for discussion even if Geralt were up for it.

And so, they have breakfast in bed. It’s warm and comfortable and Jaskier chatters away, not expecting a response in any way. Perfect background noise, taking away the sharp edges of his surroundings, making everything a little less overwhelming and oppressive. Jaskier knows his place in the network of Geralt’s nonverbal days as he talks, keeping his voice down and calm and so, so warm. Familiar.

It almost makes him feel normal. It definitely makes him feel safe.

When he finally has enough strength to leave bed, they make their ways downstairs to sit by the hearth. Geralt has found that the warmth helps, brings him physical comfort when there is nothing else to ground him.

“Good to see you, pup,” Vesemir says and claps a broad hand on Geralt’s shoulder after looking at Jaskier for a second. Geralt smiles.

Pup. Vesemir only calls them that on the heavy days, and it’s a constant that always helps them through the worst of it.

Life still happens around him, everyone has their own tasks, and where he’s sitting in the middle of it all, he feels like he still gets to be a part of it.

There are warm foods throughout the day and a jug of something hot and spiced always appears by his side. Geralt is not completely sure how the time passes, but it doesn’t matter.

What matters is that Lambert is sat beside him, silent, offering his company. If Geralt leans into him and Lambert leans back, well, then that’s between them.

What matters is Eskel who lies down on the fur beside the hearth and gently pulls Geralt to lie on top of him, head on his broad chest, careful hand running through his silver hair. He talks, though all Geralt feels is the rumbling of his chest.

It’s all that matters.

***

The first time it happens around Eskel, they’re both still pups. Barely grown into Witchers yet.

“There are worse things than not talking, Geralt,” Eskel tells him, Geralt’s head resting on his shoulders. “I know it’s scary. It feels like there’s nothing worse. But it doesn’t make you any less of a Witcher. Or any less Geralt. You’re still the White Wolf, even if you can’t howl. I’ll howl for you, Wolf,” he promises with a kiss to his cheek. “And when the day comes, you’ll do the same for me. Because it happens. And it fucking sucks, but you’ve got this, okay? And I’ve got you.”

Geralt nods into Eskel’s shoulder and tries not to feel pathetic that the only sounds the world gets to hear from him that day are his sobs.

***

But Eskel was right then and is still right now. They’ve got each other and they take care of each other. Howl and fight and protect each other.

They do the same for Lambert on his heavy days.

And for Jaskier, years and years and years later.

For Ciri and Yennefer and everyone who needs it.

That’s what family does. Nothing has to change on the days you can’t talk, on the days that words fail you. There are always people to yell at the world for you, to wrap you in a hug and tell you everything you need to hear. Even Witchers can have that.

And Geralt has a whole family now to tell him: “You’ve got this. And we’ve got you.”

It’s really all that matters.

#Geraskier #geskel #geralt of rivia #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #nonverbal Geralt #boggy woggy friends #Maya I love you a lot and maybe I’ll write you more nonverbal Geralt because we need more nonverbal rep #but also I just love you period. #💕 #Nat writes

[king-finnigan]

5 times Jaskier got sick and 1 time Geralt did

As part of my 500 followers celebration! Masterlist!

CW: being sick, vomiting

***

I.

He sneezes, and Geralt looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you getting sick?”

Jaskier scoffs, shakes his head, and continues prodding at the fire. “No.” He sneezes again. “Okay, maybe.”

“Hmm.”

He frowns. “Ooh, now that’s a ‘hmm’ I haven’t heard before. What does it mean?”

Geralt rolls his eyes and looks away, as Jaskier sneezes again. “It means I’m not going to take care of you if you get sick.”

Jaskier sneezes again. “Yeah, I figured that much.” He rubs at his eyes, which are slightly swollen from all the sneezing. “I’ll just firmly tell my body not to get sick, then. That always works.”

“Hmm.” He recognizes that one as a slightly amused ‘hmm’, and he smiles in triumph. Over the past few years, it has become a bit of a personal challenge to make Geralt laugh or smile as much as possible, and, while low on the tier list of ‘how amused is Geralt of Rivia?’, an amused ‘hmm’ is better than nothing. At least it’s better than an unamused ‘hmm’.

Like the one he gets, now, when he suddenly dissolves into a bout of coughing. “It’s fine,” he chokes out when he finally regains his breath. “Not getting sick.”

“We’re stopping at the next inn. You’ll stay there until you get better, and I’ll get some contracts.”

He wants to whine, tell Geralt he’s fine and he’s coming along with these contracts, but when he starts coughing again, he can’t help but admit that the Witcher is right. Though, when Geralt leaves him behind at the inn the next day, he finds himself wishing Geralt would stay.

 II.

He’s performing ‘Toss a Coin’ when he sneezes. The audience laughs, and he plays it off as a joke, making fun of himself, so the audience won’t, before he continues with his song. After he’s done, he graciously accepts his payment and a pint of ale, before he saunters over to the corner of the tavern, sitting down opposite Geralt.

“You sneezed,” is the first thing the Witcher says to him.

“Hello, Jaskier, what a lovely performance, Jaskier, thank you for paying for our dinner tonight, Jaskier,” he says in a mock-gruff voice. He sighs, rolls his eyes. “Really, Geralt, we talked about your conversational skills.”

“You sneezed.”

He dramatically lifts his hands. “So what? People sneeze all the time! It’s dusty in here, Witcher.”

“Your voice is rough.”

“Yes, that’s what you get for performing for three hours straight. You’re welcome, by the way.” He plonks his full coin pouch on the table, gesturing at it, eyebrows in his hairline.

“You’re snotty.”

“Well, now you’re just being downright insulting, Geralt. After all these years of me traveling by your side, and you have the audacity-“

“Jaskier. I can tell you’re getting sick.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s fine.”

Geralt looks at him, blinking slowly, almost lazily. His expression is almost bored, but Jaskier can tell from the little muscle that’s pulling at his lips, that the Witcher is getting annoyed. “Hmm.” Now that’s an ‘I don’t believe you for shit but I’m tired of arguing’-hmm, he can tell.

“Alright, maybe it’s not fine.” He points at Geralt. “But don’t you dare leave me at an inn again, like last time.”

“Why not?”

Cause it hurt my feelings, and I would love for you to take care of me when I’m sick. “I don’t want to miss out on any contracts and potential inspiration.”

“Hmm.” An ‘I can tell you’re lying’-hmm.

He simply changes the subject, for now, and hopes he doesn’t get sick in the next couple of days. He thanks all his lucky stars when he doesn’t.

 III.

He tries to keep quiet as he leans one hand against the tree, the other on his stomach as he retches, emptying the contents of his stomach in the leaves. He must’ve eaten something bad, or caught a stomach bug. He decides it doesn’t really matter, though, as another wave of nausea rolls over him. He gags again, trying to not make any sound.

Of course, it doesn’t work, and he soon hears Geralt’s voice behind him. “Jaskier.”

He closes his eyes, trying to keep down the bile that rises in his throat. “I’m fine.” The clipped and strained sound of his voice begs to differ.

“Hmm.” A ‘not even Roach would believe that’-hmm. Then: “Are you done?”

He holds up a finger, chokes down one last gag, before he stands up straight, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. “I’m fine, let’s go.”

He turns around to find Geralt frowning at him, confused. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“No. We’re not going anywhere but back to camp.”

He sighs. “I’m fine! We can go to the next town, don’t worry about it.”

“Hmm.” He narrows his eyes. Once again a ‘hmm’ he can’t identify. Strange. “Come on, Jaskier.”

He sighs, but follows Geralt back to camp, laying down on his bedroll when the Witcher motions at it. He does have to admit, laying down makes him feel a lot better, and pretty soon he finds himself dozing off to the rhythmic sound of Geralt sharpening his blades.

When he wakes in the morning, the Witcher gives him a piece of… some sort of root. “Ginger,” the Witcher explains roughly. “Helps.”

Jaskier shrugs and eats it. It doesn’t taste entirely pleasant, but it does make him feel better, and by midday, he’s ready to set out on the road again.

 IV.

“You’re limping.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “No, I’m not.”

“Hmm.” Another ‘I don’t believe you’-hmm. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

Jaskier stops walking when he no longer hears Roach’s hooves on the dusty path behind him, and he turns around. “Nothing! It’s really fine, there’s nothing going on. I appreciate you worrying, though, it’s very endearing.”

“Jaskier.”

He sighs, then shrugs. “Okay, maybe I got a cut on my leg last week that healed badly. So what? I assure you I’m perfectly fine, Witcher.” He starts stammering when Geralt dismounts Roach, stalking towards him. “A- and there is absolutely no reason for you to walk towards me, in- in a vaguely threatening manner- Geralt!”

He lets out an angry huff when the Witcher bends down, yanking the leg of his breeches up. “Hmm.” An ‘I’m very angry right now, but not at you’-hmm. “It’s infected.”

He shrugs again, pointedly looking everywhere but the reddened skin that surrounds the cut. “It’s fine. Nothing to worry about, r-really, and-“

He scrunches his face in confusion when Geralt lays a hand against his forehead. “You’ve got a fever. Get on Roach.”

“Geralt, as much as I have longed for you to say those three words for the past ten years, I assure you I’m perfectly fine.”

“Get. On. Roach.”

He holds his hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright! Melitele’s tits, Geralt, if I’d known you’d kick up such a fuss over a simple flesh wound, I would’ve been more careful.”

“Hmm. You should be.”

He sighs, rolls his eyes, as he climbs on Roach. Geralt climbs on the horse behind him, and Jaskier tries to fight the furious blush that starts spreading across his cheeks at the feeling of Geralt’s chest against his back. They set out to the nearest town, where the Witcher gets a room at the inn and drags him to the herbalist for something against the infection.

The ointment the old lady gives them works wonders, and within two days, the infection has cleared.

 V.

It’s hard to breathe. Harder to move. Opening his eyes for more than two seconds isn’t even an option, anymore, and every time he does manage to pry his eyelids apart, the world is swimming around him, making bile rise in his throat. He’s hot. No- he’s cold. But now he’s hot again, and he’s sweating, but he’s also shivering, and good gods, what did he do to deserve this?

He sighs when he feels something cold and wet and rough against his forehead, seeping away some of the heat. He doesn’t know whether the droplet that slides down the side of his head is sweat or water, but he decides it doesn’t matter when a bout of coughing wracks through his body.

He’s tired, he’s so bloody tired, but he can’t fall asleep when the temperature keeps changing from hot to cold to hot again, when his lungs keep constricting in his chest pathetically, making him cough and wheeze, desperate for any gulp of air he manages to suck in. The shivering becomes uncontrollable, unbearable, even though he’s sweating, still. He finally manages to pry open his eyes, finding the room around him blurry and dark. He looks around, desperate for anything recognizable, anything that doesn’t give him the feeling that he’s floating in a vast ocean of his own goddamn sweat. Finally, he finds something silver, to his right.

“Geralt,” he manages to croak out, desperately gasping for breath soon afterwards.

“I’m here.” He could cry at that familiar voice, and he might actually be, when he feels another droplet slide down the side of his head.

“I feel like shit.”

“Hmm.” And amused ‘hmm’. But slightly worried as well. “Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

“It hurts.” It does. Everything hurts. His muscles hurt, his lungs hurt, his head hurts, his eyes hurt. It fucking hurts.

Someone wipes his sweaty hair away from his forehead, knuckles trailing down his cheek lightly, and he figures someone else must be in the room because Geralt would never be this gentle with him. It’s already a bloody miracle he’s still here, really. “I know, Jaskier. I know. Try to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“Will you be there? When I wake up?”

“Hmm.” That’s a ‘yes’-hmm.

He sighs, his lungs aching. “Good. Cause I don’t want to wake up at all if you’re not there.” His eyes drift closed again, and he finds himself slipping into unconsciousness.

---

When he wakes up, he finds Geralt next to the bed, stuffed into an entirely too small chair, asleep. No way the position he’s in is comfortable – his neck craned at an awkward angle, his back barely supported by the hard wood. But he’s there, just as he had promised to Jaskier.

The bard smiles, and reaches out, pushing at Geralt’s knee. The Witcher wakes, amber eyes widening when he sees Jaskier. He immediately bends forward, laying his hand against Jaskier’s forehead, eyes studying his face. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit better.” He smiles. “You’re here.”

“I told you I would be.”

He laughs softly, eyes drifting closed again, sleep pulling at him limbs. “That, you did.” He shivers, the heat of the fever no longer keeping him warm. “Geralt, I’m cold.”

“There are no more blankets.”

He pouts, reaches out, eyes still closed. “You’re warm.”

He hears a long-suffering sigh, then the creaking of the chair. Footsteps across the room. He feels the dip of the bed behind him, feels strong arms closing around him, and he sighs in content, before frowning. “Won’t you get sick?”

“Witchers don’t get sick.”

“Okay,” he whispers, before falling asleep in Geralt’s arms.

---

By the time they finally leave the inn, several days later, neither of them has mentioned what happened, and Jaskier doubts either of them will.

 + I

He doesn’t think much of it when Geralt coughs a few times. He does find it strange when it happens more and more in the next few days. He grows suspicious when a fine sheen of sweat appears on the Witcher’s forehead, even if he says he’s fine and tells Jaskier to stop fussing over him like that, he’s just hot, is all. He’s had enough when red spots start to litter Geralt’s skin.

He forces the Witcher to go to an inn, and he’s glad he did, by the time they reach it. Geralt’s hunched over Roach’s neck, sweat dripping from his brow, his skin so spotted with red he almost looks sunburnt. Jaskier barely manages to get him up the stairs, and immediately drops him on the bed, where Geralt lays very still, staring up at the wooden ceiling, breathing heavily.

Jaskier helps him out of his armour, uncovering more and more red spots as he works his way down to Geralt’s boots.

“I’m fine,” Geralt rasps to him. He doesn’t believe it for shit.

“Yeah, no you’re not, Witcher. Looks like you’ve got yourself some measles.”

Geralt scoffs, though it sounds more like two pieces of sandpaper rubbed together. “Witchers don’t get measles.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, taking a washcloth, wetting it with some water from his waterskin. “Well, you did, so I suggest you change your views on that, Geralt.” He sits down on the side of the bed, gently laying the washcloth over Geralt’s brow, softly pressing it down. “You’re burning up,” he whispers.

“It’s fine.”

He smiles. “Go to sleep, Geralt. Get some rest.”

The Witcher sighs. “Hmm.” A ‘fine, alright, I’ll listen’-hmm. “I’m cold.”

Jaskier laughs softly, climbing over Geralt, laying down on his other side, hugging him to his chest. “Better?”

Geralt shakes his head frantically, weakly pushing at him – the fever’s clearly already taking a toll on him. “You’ll get sick,” he rasps.

“I had the measles as a kid. I’ll be fine, Witcher.”

“Hmm.” A content ‘hmm’. Then, suddenly: “Thank you, Jaskier. I love you.”

Geralt’s breathing evens out, as Jaskier pushes himself up on one elbow, looking down on his Witcher. Geralt is fast asleep, breathing deep and steady, face relaxed from its eternal frown. Jaskier smiles, laying down again, pulling his Witcher closer. “I love you too,” he whispers. Of course, Geralt doesn’t hear him, but he’ll say it again when he wakes up.

He’ll say it a million times if he has to – and he would mean it every time.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #drabble #500 followers celebration #5 + 1 things

[floral-and-fine]

Linger Part 2

Beorn x female reader

Part 1

Summary: Beorn worries about the reader’s safety shortly after meeting her and the company.

A/n: Thinking about writing a third part. Sorry, this took so long. Thank you @luna-xial​ for helping me stay motivated!

The woods had been abnormally quiet lately, the air was still and all the woodland creatures appeared to be in hiding, there was no rustling in the trees and all the birds had stopped singing. 

Beorn hadn’t encountered any orcs either nor seen any sign of them for the last several nights now. However, he continued his patrols, making his rounds, keeping an eye out for any clue that would hint at what the orcs were planning. Their absence was an eerie one, a sign that something terrible was going to happen. 

Beorn wasn’t a fool, he knew their disappearance coinciding with the dwarves retaking their home was anything but a coincidence. 

He knew their little venture was a risky one, especially with Azog's interest in Thorin. No telling how far the orc would go to end the Durin line. 

He growled, wrinkling his snout as he prowled through the forest on all fours, the idea of you getting caught in the crossfire between Azog and the dwarves, angered him. He feared the worst would happen to you as a result of it. 

Beorn had, on occasion since your departure, imagined what it would’ve been like if you had stayed. What it would be like to have your company in the evening, your presence nearby as he worked, to be able to listen to you talk and laugh. 

He had been without companionship for so long, after the pain of losing his people, he avoided anyone other than his animals. Who would've guessed had become so lonely? That deep down he longed to be close to someone again?

As Beorn traveled to higher ground, he froze when he realized that in the distance a massive army of Orcs was marching towards the lonely mountain. With an army of that size, there would surely be a massacre. 

His choice seemed clear at this point, he would need to travel quickly to the Lonely Mountain if he was going to be of any help. 

…

Beorn staggered forward, his body shifting from bear to man. He fell to the ground, barely able to hold himself upon his hands, groaning as every bone in his body changed shape and readjusted position. 

The battle had been chaos, Beorn and the eagles arrived just moments after the orcs struck. Without hesitation he had joined the fight, biting and clawing his way through, while keeping a hopeful eye out for you. However, there had been no sign of you with the dwarves. 

Once the fighting had finally ended, and the remaining orcs had fled, Beorn resumed his search, even fiercer than before. 

Getting back on his feet, he grabbed a discarded banner and wrapped it around his hips, and held it up with his left hand.  Men and elves gawked over his size, watching as he stumbled towards the camps. 

His bones and muscles ached from transforming in such quick succession, his energy drained from fighting, but he was desperate to find you. 

Beorn pressed on, limping forward, passing by nameless faces belonging to men, elves, and dwarves. His eyes searching for any sign of you. Many thoughts crossed his mind, should he remain hopeful that he’d find you alive and well or brace himself for the worst should he find you dead or not at all?

“Y/n,” he called from the center of the camp, his eyes darting back and forth. 

Tilda, Bard’s youngest, spotted the giant man calling for you. Too intimidated to approach him herself, she decided to find you for him instead.

She quickly made her way around the tents and rumble of the old city, finally finding you speaking with her father. 

“Y/n,” she said, tugging on your sleeve drawing your attention away from Bard. 

“Yes?” You chirped. 

“Someone’s looking for you.”

You furrowed your brow, “Who is?”

She shrugged, “no idea, never seen anyone like him.”

Filled with curiosity, you followed Tilda. You had no clue as to who would come looking for you, you had already seen the company. 

You stopped dead in your tracks upon seeing a very bewildered and naked Beorn calling out for you. 

Beorn?” You shouted, still utterly surprised to see the skin-changer here of all places.

He spun around and the moment he saw you alive and well, he collapsed to his knees. Without thinking, you rushed to his side and knelt down beside him. 

“Are you alright?” He asked immediately, his large hand cupping your cheek.

“I’m fine,” you shook your head with a small smile. “it’s you who needs tending to.” You looked behind you towards your tent, then back to Beorn, “Are you able to walk?”

He nodded, wincing as he rose to his feet. You guided him forward towards your tent and helped him settle down on the blankets. 

“You weren’t you with the dwarves...” he started, groaning as he laid down. 

“It’s a long story,” you sighed, preparing to tend to Beorn’s various cuts and bruises.

“I’ve got time,” he encouraged. 

You laughed. “I suppose you're right… well, after our encounter with the elves, we met Bard, who was kind enough to smuggle us into Lake-Town,” you began, wrapping his hand with a bandage. 

“Thorin offered the townsfolk a share of the mountain's riches for their help. I stayed behind when they departed... Kili had fallen ill, I offered to stay and help care for him.”

Beorn listened intently to your story. His eyes observing you carefully as you effortlessly talked and worked at the same time. 

You explained how Bard and his son slayed Smaug, and how you rejoined the rest of the dwarves, but by then Thorin had succumbed to the Dragon Sickness.

“He had become so cruel,” you continued, cleaning a long scratch on Beorn’s forearm. “the rest of the company was concerned for him as well.”

You sighed, setting the rag down and retrieving a salve.  “I believe what Bilbo did was justified, so when Thorin called Bilbo a traitor, I left too and joined the others,” you shrugged. 

During most of the battle, you were with Bard’s children, trying your best to protect them, despite not being much of a fighter. 

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Beorn said softly, looking up at you. 

“What about you?” You asked, lifting your brow. “I can't imagine that you were anxious to help the dwarves out again.”

He looked away for a moment, before quietly answering. “I’m here for you,” he said with a serious look. 

“For me?” You stuttered, wide-eyed.

He nodded, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. 

“I’m happy you’re here,” You smiled, lightly pushing back his hair from his face and stroking his cheek tenderly, as you admired the rather gentle skin-changer.

 “Now, sweet man, get some rest,” you urged, before pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

Beorn fell asleep easily enough, in fact, the sound of his snoring could be heard from all corners of the camp. 

He had traveled quite a distance in such a short amount of time, then immediately fought his way through an army of orcs just for you. The thought alone made you feel as though you were floating. 

Quietly, you tiptoed out of the tent in search of fabric. You doubted any of the spare clothing here would fit him, he was far taller and larger than most of the men at the camp. 

It was dark out when you returned, Beorn was still sleeping soundly in your tent. You found the sound of his snores oddly comforting. The nights here and on your travels had been far too quiet for your liking, making you feel rather lonely at night. 

Sitting in the corner by a lit candle,  you worked on using spare fabric to make Beorn some pants. You couldn’t imagine what people had thought seeing him wandering around practically naked. 

Your face heated up as you pictured him standing there with nothing but a raggedy scrap of cloth to cover himself with. He was an attractive man in a wild sort of way, muscular with untamed hair. 

Lost in your thoughts, you accidentally stabbed your finger with the needle, hissing you sucked on your fingertip to help with the pain. 

Beorn stirred at the sound, “are you alright?”

“You heard that?” You perked up. 

“Mmhmm,” he answered, still partially asleep. “I can hear the mice outside the tent scurrying about, and even the horses braying in the distance.”

“That’s quite amazing,” you noted. 

He laughed lowly, “I suppose it is… what are you doing up so late Busy Bee?” 

“Just need to finish something first.”

He closed his eyes again, “you should be sleeping.”

“I will shortly,” you smiled, running the needle through the fabric again as you worked on finishing the seam. 

…

Beorn stared at you with an unreadable expression, his eyes focused on the pants you were currently holding out towards him. 

“It’s not my best work,” you started, fidgeting slightly. “But I figured it had to be better than nothing. I guessed your measurements, and I think they’ll fit at least well enough for you to walk around the camp, and if they’re too loose, I can take them in a bit. That wouldn’t take too long, I suppose.”

You continued to ramble as Beorn sat there somehow quieter than usual. This gift presented an odd dilemma with it. 

You made something for him, you had considered his needs and worked almost all night on it. According to skin-changer traditions, this could be considered a marriage proposal, a symbol of you willing to provide for him. 

Of course, he was aware that you were unfamiliar with skin-changer practices, but that still didn’t make this any easier on him. As the last of his kind, he was the last to maintain their customs and traditions.

“I’m afraid I cannot accept,” Beorn finally admitted.

Your shoulders slumped, your hands lowering, “why? I made them for you.”

Beorn sighed, “For skin-changers giving gifts is a romantic gesture to put it lightly.”

“Oh, I see,” you nodded, feeling rather embarrassed. 

The truth was you wouldn’t mind becoming romantically involved with Beorn, it wasn’t something you had given much thought to. But you couldn’t deny the attraction that was there. 

Not sure what else to do, you went about your day as he continued to rest. 

It didn’t take long for Beorn to heal, by the second day he looked as good as new. 

He sighed, sitting in your tent alone with his thoughts. He had no excuse to stay any longer, the animals at home needed him to return. He accomplished what he had set out to do, he fought orcs, found you safe and sound. It was time for him to leave. 

But that didn’t mean he wanted to leave, and he was completely aware of why he didn’t want to leave you. 

"Beorn?" You said lightly shuffling inside the tent, and successfully drawing him from his thoughts.

His intense gaze falling upon you. “Yes, little bee?”

You inhaled deeply and held out the pants to him again.

His brow furrowed, “y/n-“

“I know,” you interrupted him. “But please hear me out, my feelings for you are rather new, but I’ve traveled a long way to get here, and of all the amazing and terrifying places I had seen, the only one I wanted to return to was your home.” 

Your heart was racing, your face was flush, and you didn’t dare meet his gaze, instead, you stared at the ground praying he’d say something.

Suddenly you felt his fingers lightly brush against yours as he accepted your gift. 

Your head snapped up, as you looked at him with big eyes. A content smile formed on his lips as he leaned down and his forehead touched yours gently nuzzling against it while his large hands softly caressed your arms. 

“We’ll depart in the morning,” he whispered. 

#beorn the hobbit #beorn x reader #beorn fanfiction #beorn fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit #Female reader #reader insert #Beorn skin-changer #the lord of the rings fanfic

[waiting4inspiration]

The Bard and the Vampire (Jaskier x Vampire!Reader)

Summary: You’ve been with Jaskier for a while, happy that he treats you like a normal person and not like the monster you’ve been called before. But when an old friend shows up, you start to doubt whether or not you deserve to be with someone like your bard

Warnings: short, fluff, mentions of blood, vampire!reader, mythical creatures, some angst, strong language, mentions of blood-feeding, first time writing for Jaskier

Word Count: 1,144

7k Mythical Creatures Masterlist II The Witcher Masterlist

There’s a certain beauty in Jaskier’s songs that makes you feel human. Every time he sings a ballad, a smile grows on your face as you think about what it would be like to not be a blood sucking monster, as people have called you after finding out what you really are. 

Jaskier has given you more than you could ever hope for, especially since you’ve told him that you’re a vampire. He’s given you a place to stay, a place to call home, makes sure you don’t starve to death - from either food or blood. But most importantly, he’s loved you ever since he met you. 

His stories of the Witcher slightly unsettle you, but you can only hope that you never get the chance to meet your lover’s friend. Everyone knows that your kind and Witchers don’t get along. 

You don’t sleep at night. But for Jaskier, you’ve learned how to rest slightly - almost as if you’re sleeping - so you can be by his side when he sleeps and protect him should something happen. It’s the least you can do for him after everything he’s done for you. 

A noise from outside breaks you from peace, making your head snap over your shoulder and your hearing to strain so you can figure out if it’s just an animal passing by or an intruder. Spotting that it’s nearly dawn outside a window, you sigh and slowly push yourself out of bed to see where the noise is coming from. 

Softly walking towards the door of the house you and Jaskier stay in, you glance over your shoulder to make sure he’s still asleep before pushing the door open. 

It’s still brisk outside, the sun just peeking out over the horizon and mist still settling in the air. You glance around, keeping your sharp eyes open to look for whatever it is you heard. “And I thought the rumors of you living with a human were just a joke.”

You know that voice and it makes your freeze in your tracks. “Idris. I thought you had died,” you sneer as you turn around to face the member of your old coven. 

“And yet, here we both are,” Idris chuckles, holding his arms out at his sides as she steps closer to you. If you weren’t a vampire and knew him from decades ago, you would have mistaken him for an old traveler. “And it is true that you have a human pet.”

“He is not my pet,” you hiss, instinctively going into a protective stance at the thought that Jaskier is in danger now that Idris is here. 

He laughs loudly, ignores your stance and takes another step closer to you. “Does he know what you are?” 

“I’m done keeping secrets-”

“I mean, does he know what you did before you changed into...whatever this is?” he cuts you off, gesturing to all of you and you let the stance fall. “Does he know the amount of people you killed on full moon celebrations?”

You glare at him, step away from him and shake your head. “I’m not that kind of person anymore, Idris. I barely even feed on blood anymore,” you mention, biting the inside of your cheek when he gives you a look that tells you he knows you’re lying. 

He tilts his head to the side as a smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. Then, he shakes his head and laughs when you both hear movement in the house behind you. “So, if I look at his neck, I won’t find any scars of a bite mark?”

Before he can move towards the door, you move forward and wrap your hand around his throat in the blink of an eye. Glaring down at his face, fangs bared and red threatening eyes staring into his, you hiss a threat at him. “You will not lay a finger on his head, Idris. I am not stupid. I know what your intentions are and I will not fall for your tricks again.”

Idris laughs, his eyes flickering over your shoulder when the door opens and when he sees the human male he’s heard about standing in the doorway, he pushes himself away from you and straightens his shirt. “Humans die, (Y/n). The sooner you realize that, the easier it will be to leave and come back to your life,” he whispers, narrowing his eyes when you hiss at him again as he steps away from you. 

He walks away from you, allowing you to turn around to face Jaskier who stands in the doorway. “An old friend?” he questions, and you know it’s to lighten the mood, but it only upsets you, makes you scoff and push past him to get into the house. “What? You normally don’t mind those kinds of jokes,” he mentions, turning to follow you into the house.

You sigh, drop your head between your shoulders and shake your head. “Jaskier, there are things that I haven’t told you about what I’ve done,” you say, slowly turning around to face him again. 

“You know I don’t care that you’re a vampire, or that you drink blood every now and then,” he whispers, smiling sweetly at you as he continues to walk towards you. 

You shake your head. “Or that I’ve killed hundreds of people in one night, once a month a few years ago?” you question. That makes him stop in his tracks, and you take it the wrong way. 

Laughing to yourself, you turn your back to him and walk across the room. “I am a monster, Jaskier. The kind that your Witcher friend gets paid to kill-”

“No, you’re not,” he cuts you off, making your head snap over your shoulder to look at him when he starts to walk towards you again. “You have never harmed me, and I have yet to see you hurt anyone else. You’ve changed from what you say you were,” he adds, reaching out to cup your cheek. 

You sigh and lean into his touch as your eyes flutter shut. “Jaskier, you don’t want to be around if I lose control,” you whisper, but he only shakes his head and strokes your cheek with his thumb. 

“And I will be there to stop you and bring you back down,” he states, your eyes opening to look at him. “Now, why don’t I sing you something I thought of when I woke up this morning?”

You smile because he knows exactly what to do to make you happy, to make you smile. Giggling at his words, you nod your head and pull his hand away from your face. You know he won’t ask you about your past, he’ll wait for you to come to him and tell him when you’re ready to tell him. 

And you’re so thankful for that.

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#jaskier x reader #Jaskier #jaskier imagine #the bard #the witcher jaskier #netflix's the witcher #the witcher imagines #the witcher x reader #vampire!reader #7k followers #7k celebration #7k mythical creature

[lookingforblessedsilence]

A spicy sequel to my little Buffskier ficlet, where Geralt cannot get the thought of Jaskier picking him up out of his head. Read here on ao3.

--------

Geralt hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. How easily Jaskier had been able to lift him, the hidden strength in those arms wrapped so securely around his torso. He was used to tussling with his brothers over the winters in Kaer Morhen, but he was unaccustomed to being, for a lack of a better word, manhandled. Thinking about it made something hot twist in Geralt’s chest and the distraction was becoming unbearable. 

“-but of course, I declined because what kind of maniac would accept something like that? Am I right Geralt?” Oh right. Fuck. Jaskier had been talking. Geralt hummed noncommittally in the hope that Jaskier wouldn't notice he hadn’t been paying attention. Jaskier sighs dramatically, flattening his hand against his chest. “Darling, you always know exactly what to say!” He grins up at Geralt. The teasing glint in his eyes says he absolutely knew Geralt hadn’t listenined to a single word that came out of his mouth. Nothing new there at least, Geralt often found himself tuning out Jaskier’s rambling in favour of doing most anything else.

“We’re nearly there.” Geralt says, swiftly changing the subject as his ears pick up the sounds of a village in the distance. Jaskier perks up at that, fingers tapping excitedly against his lute.

“Thank Melitele! A real bed, maybe an audience to sing for, and if the gods be willing a bath. How does that sound old girl?” He addresses the last part to Roach, patting her flank fondly. She turns her head towards him slightly, snorting agreeably. Geralt’s mouth twitches, and he absently pats her neck.

“Sounds good.” Jaskier returns to his lute, experimenting with the lines of his latest composition for the remainder of their walk.

****

The inn had a single room left available, and by some miracle it had a tub they could use later to bathe in. Geralt stabled Roach while Jaskier negotiated their dinners in exchange for Jaskier to perform. He was thrilled to be able to play for a full tavern, and Geralt was silently relieved that none of the village folk seemed outwardly hostile towards him, though he could sense the discomfort of a few.

“I’ll ask for them to bring the water up now.” Jaskier says after they reach their room, unloading most of their belongings for the evening. “You can just heat it up when we’re ready, after dinner and my performance.” He winks at Geralt, grinning unrepentantly. Geralt thinks that perhaps he should be concerned about inappropriate uses for Igni, but instead he just gestures to the door.

“Dinner now then?” he asks. Jaskier grabs his lute and nods.

“And a show!” he quips, spinning with a flourish as he exits the room and prances down the stairs towards the full tavern. Geralt tries not to let his gaze linger for too long on the span of his shoulders.

****

Jaskier begins his set with a few simple crowd-pleasing songs, popular enough that most of the folks in the tavern will know them and sing along. The crowd tonight is easy; singing or tapping along as Jaskier flits about the room, twirling and flirting with any patron that makes eye contact. Three songs in he rolls up his sleeves. 

Geralt swallows hard, the room suddenly feeling a lot warmer. Perhaps he should’ve removed his armor when he had the chance. The more Jaskier dances around, the harder it is for Geralt to keep himself from staring. His gaze lingers on the firm line of the bard’s shoulders as he dips and spins, on the way his sleeves tighten around his arms when he waves and gestures, the shape of his forearms as he plucks at the lute strings. Geralt shifts in his seat, skin prickling with uncomfortable heat. It was going to be a long evening.

Halfway through Jaskier takes a break to eat, plopping down next to Geralt to devour his dinner. His eyes are shining, cheeks pink with exertion, sweat curling his hair against the nape of his neck. Geralt’s mouth goes dry at the sight, hit with a sudden urge to lick the bead of sweat he sees rolling down the bard’s neck. He forces his gaze back to Jaskier’s face.

“So, how am I doing?” Jaskier chirps, taking a few gulps of his water. Geralt takes a small sip of his own ale, previously sitting untouched, just to give himself more time to get his mouth in working order again.

“Good.” He finally manages to grunt and Jaskier glows, flushing with pride at the rare praise from the Witcher.

“And I’m only warming up, just you wait!” he grins and hops back up, bowing grandly to the cheers he is greeted with.

As the evening progresses the songs become bawdier and the patrons rowdier. At one point, Geralt fears the inn may collapse around them, the building nearly shaking from the crowd’s enthusiastic stomping along to Jaskier’s particularly salacious performance of Fishmonger’s Daughter.

Jaskier is in his element, grinning recklessly as he performs, sending increasingly flirtatious winks in Geralt’s direction as often as he can. Geralt is mentally reciting potion recipes in an effort to resist the way his eyes are drawn to the obscene way Jaskier is biting his lip. It doesn’t work.

****

Finally, finally, the night winds down as the villagers stumble drunkenly back to their homes and the guests back to their rooms.

Jaskier finishes his final song with a bow. His gaze seeks out Geralt’s, jerking his head towards the stairs when their eyes meet. Geralt nods once and stands. As he trails after Jaskier he notices how the bard’s doublet is clinging to his shoulders, damp with sweat. He wonders if he can get away with dunking himself in the cold bathwater before heating it without Jaskier noticing. Geralt steps into their room, barely closing the door behind him when Jaskier starts cursing.

“Melitele’s fucking tits Geralt,” he swears, “You’re trying to kill me.” He whirls to face Geralt, eyes wild and chewing distractedly on his lip. Geralt stands frozen at the door, blinking at him. Jaskier sets his lute aside and crowds Geralt against the door, hands tightly gripping the leather straps on the front of Geralt’s armor. “Sitting in that damn corner,” he hisses, inches from Geralt’s face, “Giving me fucking bedroom eyes all night.” Geralt inhales sharply at that, suddenly overwhelmed by the dizzying scent of Jaskier’s arousal.

“What?” He finally manages to rasp. Jaskier curses again.

“Melitele save me from idiot Witchers.” And then he’s yanking Geralt down, desperately slanting their mouths together. Geralt freezes up for all of two seconds before he’s melting into the kiss, eyes sliding closed, hands fitting around Jaskier’s hips to pull him closer. His lips part easily to Jaskier’s insistent tongue, swallowing a moan as the bard licks into his mouth. It’s hot and wet and perfect, and Geralt is drowning in it. Liquid heat pools in his belly, the slick noises of their mouths meeting only intensifies the feeling. Jaskier breaks the kiss to nip at Geralt’s lips, and on his next breath Geralt’s head is swimming with the heady scent of their arousal thick in the air. He growls lowly and Jaskier bites harder, sinking his teeth into Geralt’s lower lip. Geralt sucks in another breath, his hands sliding up to grip Jaskier’s upper arms. He can’t stop the groan that escapes when his fingers dig into the solid muscle he finds there. But Jaskier is clever, so, so clever.

“Oh,” he breathes, eyes widening in realization as he looks up at Geralt. “That’s what this is about.” Something hot in Geralt’s chest tightens at the look on Jaskier’s face, dark and hungry, his dilated pupils surrounded only by a thin ring of blue. Jaskier dips forward, dragging his hands down the back of Geralt’s thighs and lifts him easily, pushing him none too gently against the door.

Geralt whines, unable to stop the noise from clawing its way out of his throat.

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier groans, slotting their hips together. Geralt bucks involuntarily, chasing the delicious friction. Jaskier gasps at that, grinding his hardness against Geralt’s in a rhythm that sends bolts of pleasure racing up his spine. Geralt tangles his hands in Jaskier’s hair and drags him back into a messy kiss. Jaskier moans into the kiss with every thrust, gasping ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘Geralt’ into his mouth.

The sweet, blinding pressure builds, and Geralt’s toes curl in pleasure. He tears away from the kiss when it peaks, groaning out a hoarse “Jaskier” as he spills, sensation cresting in a rush of hot, shivery bliss. Geralt shudders and groans while Jaskier continues to rock against him, babbling nonsense as he nears his own tipping point.

“Gods yes, so gorgeous Geralt-” he gasps, “Fuck, yes darling, yes o-oh… oh-” Jaskier gasps his name a final time before stilling, pressing hard against Geralt as he shakes through his release.

After a few moments Jaskier gingerly sets Geralt back on his feet and winds faintly trembling arms around his middle, panting into Geralt’s neck. Geralt untangles one hand from the bard’s hair, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him close. They stay like that for a short while, breaths slowing.

After a brief stretch of peace, Jaskier giggles. Geralt hums questioningly.

“We’re still wearing all of our clothes,” he buries his face in Geralt’s shoulder, “You’re still wearing your armor.” He giggles again.

“I suppose we really need that bath now.” Geralt rumbles with amusement. Jaskier only giggles harder.

“Oh, we definitely do.” He grins up at Geralt and pulls him down for a soft kiss. Geralt sinks into it, one hand cupping the bard’s jaw, thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone. He pulls back, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s.

“Bath.” he admonishes mildly.

“Okay, okay.” The bard relents, taking a step back to remove his clothes.

****

Undressing takes longer than it strictly should, wandering hands smoothing over newly exposed skin, kisses stolen between pieces of removed armor. Finally, they stand naked next to the tub, exchanging lazy, open-mouthed kisses. Jaskier’s arms are draped over the Witcher’s shoulders, and Geralt’s hands are curled around the bard’s hips. Geralt removes one hand to heat the water and dips his fingers in to test it. He nudges Jaskier towards the tub.

“Get in.” He mumbles against the bard’s mouth. Jaskier peels himself away, stepping into the tub and sighing loudly as he sinks into the decadently hot water. Geralt follows, relaxing into the heat next to him. Jaskier tilts his head and smiles indulgently at him.

“Pass me the soap darling, and I’ll wash your back.” Geralt reaches over the edge of tub for the soap, unobtrusively lavender scented, and hands it to Jaskier. He turns to allow the bard to scrub his back and tilts his head back to let Jaskier wash his hair, careful hands combing gently through damp silver hair. Geralt returns the favour afterwards, guiding Jaskier back to lay against his chest once he’s finished. Jaskier hums contentedly, tipping his chin up, eyes closed, asking for a kiss. Geralt obliges, kissing him softly, one finger tucked under his chin. Jaskier breaks the kiss and settles back down, head lolling on Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt eases back against the edge of the tub, idly tracing unknown patterns across Jaskier’s belly. They remain in the bath for a little while, dozing in the slowly cooling water.

“Jaskier.” Geralt murmurs eventually. Jaskier gives a sleepy hum. “We cannot sleep in the bath.” Jaskier pouts.

“Why not.” He mumbles.

“Because I will not listen to you complaining of pruney skin.” Jaskier grumbles peevishly at that. “Jaskier, get up and come to bed with me.” He groans pitifully into Geralt’s neck.

“Gods I’ve waited ages to hear you say that.” He says, words muffled against Geralt’s skin. Geralt huffs a laugh into his hair.

“Then get up and do it.” He teases, nudging Jaskier gently. They climb out of the bath, briefly toweling off before collapsing into the bed. Jaskier lays mostly on top of Geralt, entangling their legs, throwing an arm across his chest, and tucking his head under Geralt’s chin. He heaves a sigh, all remaining tension leaving his body and he sinks into the sheets.

“G’night Geralt.” He mumbles against the Witcher’s chest, already falling asleep. Geralt wraps an arm around him, thumb stroking absently where it rests. He’s blissfully warm, and Geralt buries his nose in the bard’s hair. He smells like clean skin, satisfaction, and Geralt. He nearly purrs in satisfaction.

“Goodnight Jaskier.” He murmurs lowly and drifts off to the sound of Jaskier’s steady breathing.

#all aboard the fucking tenderness train #CHOO CHOO #geraskier #my writing #the witcher #saucy #honestly this is a lot sappier than i intended #sorry not sorry

[crowleyellestair]

Could you write a Geralt x healer!reader where she is tagging along with Geralt & Jaskier. Over the time she has spent tending to his wounds and on occasion, saving him, Geralt begins to develop feelings for her but he doesn’t understand them (obvs) so he pushes it aside. But on one particularly awful part of their trek, she falls through some ice and plot twist! He has to save her now. The terror he feels when seeing her so close to death makes him realise what she means to him🥺

AN// Had fun writing this!! Let me know if you want a part 2!

Masterlist

 Jaskier was the one to convince Geralt that she would be a great asset to their team. The Witcher could hear the bard’s voice ringing in his head as he sat there in silence. His chin was laying on his clasped hands that were propped on his knees. Geralt hadn’t left that spot in roughly a day and he was willing to stay for as long as he needed to. He scolded himself, hating that his mind replayed the bards voice on loop.

“The Dynamic Duo turned Terrific Trio,” was said with as much gusto as Jaskier could muster. Geralt had rolled his eyes at the comment, but didn’t disagree. Jaskier was known to leave him for periods of time to focus on monopolizing the music community in any given area. Geralt had just assumed at the time that the same would be said for Y/n. He knows now that that was a fatal mistake.

He had been convinced she wouldn’t be a burden as their first encounter had involved her saving him. It was a ‘wrong-place-worst-time’ scenario that she had quite literally walked into. Y/n had left the apothecary through the back door and into a skirmish that was forced onto the man. Some radical townsfolk had thought it wise to try and pick a fight with the ‘abomination’ known as Geralt, and normally he would have been fine. But it was seven against one in hand to hand combat. Geralt couldn’t use a weapon to dispatch them, as that would fuel the rest of the town to take arms against him as well. He had taken out five, but the sixth member was really sucking his attention.

The woman had walked into their fight, the ruffian pushing her out of the way and onto the ground. Geralt gave a look, showing that using force against her had pushed a moral line of his. He laid a hit directly on the man’s nose, and he stumbled back far enough for Geralt to turn to finish off the last man. Y/n had regained her bearings, and noticed the sixth wasn’t completely taken care of. He quietly stalked up behind the Witcher, pulling out a small shive. Geralt had taken care of the last man, but she knew he wouldn’t turn fast enough to catch the aggressor. She jutted her leg out in front of the radical, effectively tripping him. He let out a loud gasp and he threw the knife rom his hand to safely catch himself. Geralt had finished him off before giving a silent look towards her.

They had stayed there in silence for a moment, Geralt breathing heavy and looking down at his surprise savior. She rolled her eyes before pushing herself off the ground.

“No, thank you for needing help.” Her hands went down to pat the dust and dirt off her pants. She let out a soft curse as she swung her satchel forward, taking inventory and praying none of the vials had gotten broken. Geralt just watched with a quirked brow before releasing a mechanical and awkward,

“No, thank you?” Her gaze snapped to him, giving a genuine, humor filled smile.

“You’re welcome. Safe travels.” She gave a halfhearted, friendly salute before walking away. Jaskier had pushed himself from his hiding spot, clearly and loudly criticizing the warrior.

“Geralt, that was plain rude. Even a cute girl can’t get you to show gratitude. You truly are lost sometimes.” Geralt had given a displeased, guttural noise in response.

 They had met again when he was given the task to liberate a small camp from a horde of wraiths. It was a few towns over, about a month from when they first met. He had been outnumbered tenfold, and when it seemed that he was exhausted and losing, a loud crash could be heard. His amber gaze raked the floor, finding four broken vials and a material quickly going airborne. He held his breath, but the odd shimmer was all too familiar. At first, he was impressed, thinking it was the bard who had come to aid, but when he turned to find the woman from before, he was taken aback.

His surprised gaze was met with an expecting one, and when he didn’t move, he finally heard the melodic voice that he couldn’t let go since the first encounter.

“Are you going to finish them off, or did I throw those in vain?” He had shifted immediately into action, swinging his sword and delivering fatal blows. He had sheathed his weapon as she approached with two empty vials in hand. She crouched down, gathering wraith dust in them, before straightening and meeting his gaze again.

“Why are you here?” He was confused at her innocent gaze and gesture to the vials. She had shown knowledge of dispersing dark creatures, and yet, she stood before him with purity in her eyes. She shrugged as her nonverbal reply didn’t receive a continuation of conversation.

“I didn’t think there would be twenty, I thought there would be like two. I was planning on using the bombs, pierce them with my sword, then collect the remains. I need it to help relieve a boy who caught yellow fever. I’m a healer, you see.” He gave a hum of acknowledgement and he started to walk back into the direction of town. When she followed, he gave only a questioning side glance. “Well, we both need to get back to town, so why not walk together? I didn’t catch your name before.” It was a fib, as she had heard Jaskier that day, but she wanted to hear him say it.

“That’s because I didn’t give it.” He was being honest, but quickly felt a tinge of guilt, as the phrase is usually used in a dismissive and rude context. She scoffed, and he gave her another side glance.

“Okay, that’s a little much. Heroes shouldn’t be shown such an attitude, but I’ll let it slide, Bartholomew.” Geralt fully looked to her, eyes furrowed. She matched his gaze with a playful smile. “Well, I need to call you something. Especially since it seems like you are my personal ‘damsel in destress’.” He looked forward, but after a moment, a quiet “Geralt,” passed his lips.

Her smile grew and gave a curt nod of content. They walked in a comfortable silence back to town, Jaskier waiting for his friend right outside of the tavern for his friend to return. When his gaze fell on Y/n, he looked to Geralt and smirked.

“Well, if it isn’t the lovely lady you failed to fully thank from before.” He grabbed her hand, bringing it up to place a kiss on her knuckles. “Let me give you thanks for him- tenfold because of the delay.” She laughed, but Geralt was surprised to find the usual blush women had to the bard’s tactics was missing from her cheeks. It seemed to him that she genuinely found Jaskier’s attempts funny. She dropped her hand, and smiled.

“Charming, but I’m going to have to pass.” She gave a polite and small bow to the bard. She turned to bid them a farewell, when Jaskier’s voice shrilled out of worry and surprise.

“Geralt, you’re hurt- how’d you get hurt?” Y/n’s gaze shot up to meet the man’s, before looking him over. Her brows drew in confusion, but she then stalked to the other side of him and lifted his arm. Her brows flew and her hands started pressing and prodding, trying to assess the damage. Gently dropping his arm, she gripped his wrist.

“Follow me back to my tent, I can patch you up.” She looked down; her next expression spoken in a hushed tone. “Why didn’t you tell me after I mentioned I was a healer?” Geralt threw a glare at Jaskier who shrugged, but returned a stern look. When Geralt looked back to the woman, who was solely absorbed in his injury, his gaze slightly softened.

She had never marveled or spat at the fact that he was a Witcher. Anyone who dare call themselves a healer knows about Witchers. They were born of magic, science and pharmaceuticals and revolutionary to the world of alchemy. Nothing she said was ever borne of awe or disgust. The only things to fall out of her mouth were friendly jests and inquiries. Even Jaskier wasn’t passive about Geralt’s true nature.

And since they first met, he hadn’t forgotten those facts.

So, when he caught his gaze softening, he was confused. This was the second time they had met, and the man had already lost self-control over his expressions around her? Geralt thought it uncomfortable, to say the least. His gaze hardened again, explaining,

“I don’t need help. I’m a Witcher.” Her gaze shot back to his again with an unconvinced and uncaring look.

“I can see that. The wound is deep- I won’t make you pay if that’s what you’re worried about.” That too confused him more, making him try to dissociate from the situation.

“I heal faster than humans. I’ll be fine.” He watched as she rolled her eyes and dropped his writ. Y/n planted her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest.

“Fine. I am looking to hire a Witcher to escort me back to my tent. As I am a healer, the only payment I can give is tending to wounds.” He squinted his eyes, the only reaction he could muster from the confusing emotions swirling inside.

“I decline. There is no danger here.” She leaned in, matching his squint with one of her own.

“I heard wraiths were running rampant in these parts.”

“Luckily for you, I just took care of the horde. You should be safe getting to your destination.”

“Unlucky for both of us, you didn’t let me finish. I heard men were also quite despicable here, just like every adjacent town. I heard you had a run in a month ago, so you should understand where a simple woman, like me, is coming from.” Geralt was impressed- and so was Jaskier for that matter. He didn’t know how, but this was definitely worming its way into a song or poem.

 Geralt hadn’t known that, when she successfully convinced him, he would be convinced again and again for the following year. After Jaskier’s suggestion on their third run in, Y/n stayed with the boys to travel. Geralt often gave up his bed roll for her or let her come along to hunts without argument only because he just did. He simply let it happen. He didn’t know why or when it started, but he never thought about doing it when he made these decisions. Geralt seemed to stop thinking when she was around, and all he had left were his instincts. It seemed to him that instincts said to bathe her with temporal affection. He hadn’t tried- no, hadn’t wanted to dwell on the meaning behind the instincts. He had reflected on how it never got to the extreme level it was at, ever with Jaskier. And he was sure Jaskier would be jealous if he really knew how much Geralt spoiled Y/n, in his own way, of course. The only other person to make him have this effect was… Yen. But he constantly thought about his feelings with Yennifer, and how if they did stay together, it would be too toxic. It would implode at any second, and Geralt didn’t have the inner strength to go through that.

Time and time again, Y/n saved Geralt in more ways than one. She would help out when he found himself stuck in battle, she would tend to his every wound, and she would keep him company even if all they did was sit in silence. He had just assumed that this was the making of a true friend, and he never dwelled on it passed that line of logic.

The trio had split up earlier in the week, Jaskier staying in Aar Carraigh. Y/n was planning on travelling to Aedd Gynvael, a fort close to Kaer Morhen, so they could continue traveling once winter had passed. The fort wasn’t too far past Kaer Morhen, so Geralt had offered to escort her there safely, especially since the terrain was treacherous. It was only a week into winter, but since they were so far north, ice and snow covered everything the eye could see. The only way to the fort from Aar Carraigh, where they had dropped the bard off, was to pass over Gwenllech River.

It was complete ice, and the crossing bridge was too far out of the way to get to in a timely manner. The two were doing great until something hit the ice from under them.

“What could have possibly done that?” Y/n’s tone was short and tense. Her arms were held out for balance, and her feet splayed. Her eyes were pinned to Geralt, who was trying to decide what it was. Sadly, he couldn’t come to a conclusion.

“It doesn’t matter. We only have a couple feet left.” She nodded and took a step towards the other side. The ice ratted again, and to keep her balance, she had to slide back, out of Geralt’s reach. From this pressure from under, the ice began to crack. Geralt knew he’d be fine on his own, but Y/n would need to carefully pass over the unsafe terrain. While he was confident in her, he wsn’t confident in the surface. He couldn’t pass to help her as one pass could break the ice, and they wouldn’t be able to get back over. Or, if it was structurally sound then, both of their weight passing over it surely would send them into the water. Gwenllech wasn’t known to be a passive body, and there most likely was a fierce current.

It seemed to the Witcher that Y/ had realized she was on her own by the look of terror on her face. She swallowed hard and looked down to the cracks. Geralt reached an arm out in a comforting way while trying to meet her gaze.

“Look to me, and only me. It will be easier that way.” She nodded with her eyes closed and took a deep breath. Her eyes, which the Witcher had grown quite fond of, instantly found his. She didn’t lift her feet off of the surface, slowly and gently making shuffling movements to close the distance.

Geralt hadn’t blinked- he wouldn’t dream of breaking the eye contact, but in a second she was gone. His gaze dropped just a hair too slow to find her body disappearing under the ice. Luckily, she had known to throw her arms up, instead of trying to catch herself. He was there in an instant, his hand piercing the water’s surface, and grasping her outstretched hand. He pulled her out as fast as she went in, but it was enough to have the ill of winter set in her bones. Being closer to Kaer Morhen, he simply brought her there.

Eskel would pop in every hour to check on Geralt in his quarters, but Geralt refused to leave the room. So, they sat and chatted, the brunette trying to get the significance of the girl out of the ashen haired one. Geralt saw Eskel as a brother, but he had yet to figure it out himself, only telling him it was complicated. Lambert had caught that end, pestering him, trying to understand if it was like the Yennifer situation.

Geralt had felt sour discussing the witch with Y/n in the room. The only emotion he could pin it closest to would be guilt. But why would he feel guilty? It wasn’t lost on him that she went out of her way to tend to Geralt’s every need. He was sure that if he were to receive a paper cut, she would still give him full treatments. Y/n had a pure heart, treating everyone to the best of her abilities, but it had never reached the level it had with anyone else. She would help Jaskier with blisters and callouses from playing his lute for too long, but he knew that if Jaskier would receive a paper cut, she would probably jest, and go they’d all about their day. Jaskier knew this too, constantly giving him nudges and suggestive shoulder or brow raises when Y/n would do something that qualified as ‘cute’. And it wasn’t that she hadn’t done something that qualified as that because she did- every damn day, just by being herself.

Friends could think the other is cute, dote on their every movement, and instinctively give them all the other had to offer, right?

Right?

Fuck.

 When Y/n had woken up, the first thing to catch her eyes were the wall to wall decorations. Different skulls and pelts were found littering every space of them. She would most likely find it off putting if her senses weren’t being berated by her favorite scent: Geralt. It was leather, metal and celandine flowers. Most wouldn’t assume that from a Witcher, but he was constantly around them as they were ingredients for a lot of the potion’s Y/n would make for him. They didn’t have an overbearing or really distinct scent; she was only familiar since she worked so closely with it. Y/n wouldn’t have it any other way, being convinced that no other scent would match him best.

When she shifted to her elbows, her eyes continued to inspect the place. She sort-of jumped in place when she spotted the crown of white hair at the base of the bed. Geralt hadn’t been facing her, and had settled on his knees to meditate. She felt bad, assuming this was his room. The only place he ever really considered a permanent home. And she was taking up his bed. Y/n pushed out to find that she wasn’t wearing her clothes. A Geralt-size shirt hung low enough to cover her small clothes. A blush crept up her neck, and she looked to the bed. The only disturbance was where she left from the middle of the bed. There was a mountain of blankets and a fire raged in the corner of the room in a small hearth. The moments before her passing out rushed to her, and it all fell into place.

Walking in front of Geralt, but a few paces out of reach, she called to him. She had learned that touching him or being too close alarmed him, as all he could process was something disturbing him. And while he didn’t have a ‘swing first, ask questions later’ mentality, it would still be jarring.

His amber eyes opened to her, and it immediately raked up and down her form. She thought she made it up when she heard a faint grunt of approval, but he small smile that graced him when their eyes met, told her otherwise.

Y/n felt her stomach drop when his smile wiped from his face. He felt that twinge of guilt again seeing her tense, but it suddenly came across Geralt that somehow, he would have to tell her his feelings.

Fuck.

 Part 2 is up - Called Geralt's Problem

#geralt of rivia #geralt #witcher imagine #witcher x reader #geralt x reader #geralt imagine

[jaskiersvalley]

@jaskiers-right-foot My buddy! It is a magnificent day to level up and to such a milestone at that! In true fandom fashion, now that the veil of NSFW has fallen away from your innocent eyes, please enjoy some good old fashioned hurt/comfort with a smattering of smut. Have a fantastic day. Happy Birthday!

Bruised Bruises

It wasn’t often someone got the drop on Jaskier. But he had been tired from travelling, Geralt was settling Roach before setting up camp and Jaskier was bursting for a piss. So he’d wandered off a little way, humming softly to himself and very much looking forward to sitting by a small fire, leaning against Geralt’s solid shoulder and dozing while their dinner cooked. Of course, like all best laid plans, his way utterly wrecked.

One moment he was fumbling with the lace of his trousers while the woods around him cracked with the sound of creatures. The next moment, he was short of breath, having been struck in the throat, making him wheeze. Rope was being wrapped around his throat and Jaskier was hauled off, unable to yell or even fight his sudden attackers. For a change, Jaskier was dragged towards Geralt rather than away. Obviously, his charming new companions were intent on getting some use out of him. Maybe leverage against Geralt. Idiots.

“Witcher!” The one holding the rope around Jaskier’s throat yelled, yanking harshly and making him gasp. “We have a trade to offer.”

Which really just wouldn’t do. Jaskier was a bit busy trying to take a breath but he still had it in him to wave at Geralt from his predicament. Why idiots had expected him to be a helpless idiot in a kidnapping situation was rather beyond him. The more he thought about it, the more offensive it became. He was fully capable of defending himself. With that in mind, Jaskier dropped his hands from the rope, satisfied his captors weren’t paying him much attention, which made it so much easier to pull his dagger out and twist to stab at the hand holding him.

In that time, Geralt had pulled his own sword and was slowly lumbering closer. The bandits decided it was high time to turn and flee with tails between their legs. All Geralt really wanted was to get a hand on Jaskier and make sure he was okay, the rest was for show, the bard could take care of such annoyances anyway.

“They left a mark on you.” Geralt’s eyes were dark as he looked over the already forming bruises and burns as the rope fell away.

What Jaskier wanted to say was “you want to leave marks of your own?” because some life affirming sex would have been most welcome in that moment. However, all that came out was a wheezy croak as his throat refused to cooperate. A warm, rough hand rested over it and Geralt peered at him, gaze full of concern even if it looked like a simple frown. But Jaskier knew him well enough to be familiar with the small nuances of what Geralt’s emotions looked like.

There was nothing for it, Jaskier was going to have to mime his needs if Geralt refused to develop mind reading abilities and kept escaping his attempts at a kiss. Rolling his eyes, Jaskier brought up his hands and made the crude gesture for sex - two fingers rather than the classic one in the hole because Geralt was thick. For good measure he touched a finger to Geralt’s lips and then to his neck. If that didn’t convey everything he wanted, then his witcher was a lost cause. Though there was one more trick up his sleeve, Jaskier began to strip.

“Incorrigible,” Geralt rumbled but Jaskier was delighted to see he was getting with the program and stripping too. Small mercies.

Thankfully Jaskier didn’t need a voice for what they were doing, Geralt was familiar enough with how they liked things that he didn’t need Jaskier talking him through it. The silence was still strange.

“Not used to you being so quiet.” Geralt rumbled as he spread oil on his fingers while his eyes devoured Jaskier. Playfully, Jaskier reached and poked at Geralt’s throat which earned him a huff. “I’m not filling the silence just because your voice is wrecked.”

Geralt said it with such a flat delivery, if anybody had been listening in, they wouldn’t have realised he was two fingers deep in his bard already. He could see they way Jaskier writhed, mouth open but only a rasp came out.

“I don’t like that they’ve left marks on you,” Geralt rumbled, pumping his fingers as he leaned forward. His lips brushed against the dark line on Jaskier’s throat, teeth grazing against it lightly. “Guess I need to leave my own.”

His lips latched onto the soft skin of Jaskier’s neck just above the rope burn and sucked a deep purple bruise there as he pushed a third finger in, loving how he felt Jaskier’s breath hitch but there was no sound.

“I love you warm and tight you are,” he rumbled. “My silent little song bird.”

Finally, he was spreading oil on himself and adjusting Jaskier’s hips to he could press in. In the silence, he breathy moan could be heard, usually drowned out by Jaskier’s demands and cries.

“Fuck, you feel so good darling. Take me so well.”

Under him, Jaskier’s back bowed, mouth forming words without sound. It left his throat delightfully bare and Geralt made himself at home, leaving a trail of searing kisses, pulling more bruises to the surface.

“Gorgeous. And mine.” The last word was snarled, the possessive nature Geralt rarely indulged in coming to surface in full force. “Only I get to leave my marks on you.”

A croaked ‘yours’ was forced past Jaskier’s lips. He was so proud of being able to to that for Geralt at least. His hands were wrapped around his shoulders, pulling Geralt down while he managed to work his feet under him, gaining leverage to push up into each thrust. If he could, he would have been urging Geralt to go harder, faster. But, as it was, he was utterly at the other’s mercy.

“Sweetheart, you’re gorgeous like this.” All of Geralt’s words were soft, barely audible but now that Jaskier couldn’t make a noise, they were filling the silence. And Jaskier was quaking at the praise, panting, air rushing in a light whine through his sore throat and it drew more kisses across his Adam’s apple.

Geralt’s movements were becoming less controlled, more abrupt and he mouthed praise against Jaskier’s skin, words breaking as he trembled and came. Reaching between them, he wrapped fingers around Jaskier and brought him off with a few sure strokes, marvelling how the bard’s mouth fell open but no noise came out.

Lying curled up next to each other, Geralt stroked lazily down Jaskier’s chest, enjoying the feel of hair under his palm.

“You’ll need a good week before you can sing again.”

Morose, Jaskier nodded, hand going up to run along the bruise which now looked like a choker decorated with a myriad of purple stones where Geralt had left his own marks.The only thing he wished for was a mirror so he could admire it. But that was always something to do the next way. And maybe he could convince Geralt to add a couple more to it for luck.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #top!geralt #bottom!jaskier #hurt/comfort #birthday gift fic #smut

[certifiedskywalker]

The Hunt - Geralt of Rivia

It was a meeting by chance: two hunters that work alone. More like two storm heads clashing in the dark of a nights sky. That night, you both took a risk. Weeks later, you both found it was not a risk at all. It was fate tying you together. 

AN: The Reader is much like Geralt in their demeanor! Also, sorry this sucks...I just had to write it out...

You released the breath held strongly in your chest. It wavered in a small puff of steam against the cool air; a tiny cloud from your lips. Wisps of it began to meld into the branches above and around your head, disappearing into the depths of the forest. To ease the stiffness in your joints, you rolled your shoulders ever so slightly. 

The arrow notched, set in your bow shifted out of place. Another breath, this one louder and angrier than the last, rattled your bones. Fearing a cramp, you relaxed your posture and lowered your weapon. The branch you were balanced on creaked with your movement. In the tree across the way, the fat squirrel you had targeted scurried off down the elm. 

“Shit,” you muttered, leaning back against the trunk of the tree you were perched in. 

That kill would have gotten a meager handful of coins. Not enough for the week but enough to survive until the next. If you were lucky, the day after that too. Now, you’d be hungry until more game crossed your path. 

Much to your disdain, that meant waiting. Waiting, watching time slip through your fingers. Time you didn’t have as the sun began to set. Tucked behind the dark clouds, the sky glowed in dull oranges and reds. Before long, it would be too dark to hunt. 

A heavy sigh seemed to echo in your chest; an empty sound as dread filled your stomach. It would be the only thing in your gut for a while. No game meant no coin and no coin meant no ale or pies. If you didn’t bring in something, you would starve. 

As if thinking of starvation made it all too real, your stomach grumbled angrily. Hints of a hunger that always seemed to plague you.  

“Fuck,” you snapped, your grip tightening on your bow. Just as you settled in against the tree trunk, the snapping of twigs reached your ears. 

Your body tensed at the sound and you carefully craned your neck to sneak a glance at the source. On twig-like legs, a doe crept forwards. Her eyes were wide and dark against her tawny fur, watching the world around her for any sign of danger. As she bent her head down to nose through some dead fauna in search for food, you knew that you had not been found out.

Some part of you ached at the idea of killing such a beautiful creature. 

But muscle memory kicked in and you had notched your arrow once more before you had a chance to dwell on the thought. You pulled back the string and nock. The wood of the bow’s limbs creaked in your ears; a sound that has carved itself in your brain since you first held your weapon of choice. Carefully, you watched the doe step deeper into the woods around you.

You released another breath and let go.

“Twenty coppers, that’s all? For this!?” You gestured to the doe you had lugged through the woods. Now it was splayed on the butcher’s table, a stout man with a balding head and sharp grey eyes. “It’s at least a hundredweight!”

“Aye, but with me services, the skinnin’, the guttin’ and the cuttin’,” the man clucked his tongue. “Could raise it to twenty-five for ya.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line and thought. The grumbling in your stomach had a good argument, one you couldn’t ignore. “Fine.”

The butcher nodded, turning his large form away from the table and wandered over to a secluded, slight obscured corner of his shop. With each step he took, the wood flooring below creaked with distress. Smoke and the metallic scent of blood seemed stuck within the walls. Your nose crinkled when the butcher turned back around, bringing with him a new waft of sour smells. All of your discomfort melted away when he held out his hand, a pouch full of copper coins just for you.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya,” the butcher sighed, already tugging the doe to prepare it. You nodded and turned your back to the counter. Satisfied that he didn’t short you, you shoved the pouch of coins into your coat. 

You were about to stride out of the shop when a thought hit you. Slowly, you spun on your heel and faced the butcher once more. “Is there an inn nearby?” Lifting his grey eyes, the butcher gave you a curious look. “Not from around here, eh?”

“You could say that,” you snapped back. If you had learned anything from your life on the road, you knew better than to answer questions that veered to close to the heart. You had put distance between you and you heart, your wants for so long that you feared going back to it. The butcher wasn’t worth the risk.

“Heh,” the butcher scratched at his dark-bearded chin, “well there’s uh Padrick’s down the way then to tha right. Might have a room for ya if yer lookin’ for a place ta stay the night.”

You dipped your head at the butcher before pushing out the door.

Night had officially fallen over the land. A chill came with it, lurking in the shadows that now called the forest home. As you made your way down the dirt road, a breeze kissed your cheeks. In an attempt to hide from the cold and any eyes on you, you pulled the hood of your cloak up over your head. The last thing you wanted was attention. 

You even quickened you pace, partly eager to escape the cold but mostly to get away from the narrowed gazes trained on you now. Bustling down the way, you ducked right and towards the inn mentioned by the butcher. At least you thought it was the inn. The sign hanging from the front looked worn and weather-beaten, the text barely legible.

Too desperate to care, eager for peace, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. 

Sound, loud and unexpected, assaulted your senses, making you cringe. Only a moment later, when you adjusted to the shocking noise, you realized it was music. High pitched, a bit empty, but it was music. A bard was singing, a lute in hand, a cheery tune that was horribly out of place within the inn. 

The place was dingey, almost dirty if it were not for the blazing fireplace and barkeep that was busing empty tables. Despite being inside, warmed in an almost golden glow, you felt on edge. It was like the hunt never left your veins. Each step you took, you were careful not to step too strongly as if fearful to alert nearby prey. You kept your hood up too, insulating yourself, camouflage of the ‘civilized’ world. However, this environment was foreign to you. 

As you gripped a stool at the bar and pulled it back, it’s feet scraped loudly against the wooden floor. White hot, fear shot through you. The bard stopped playing and you glanced around, out from under your hood. 

“Need something?” You snapped your head back to the bar. The tender behind it, a younger man with fiery red hair, eyed you questioningly. It was clear that he didn’t trust you. Though, owning a bar, you imagined, broke down any sort of faith in humanity. 

“Ale,” you muttered, sliding on top of the stool. “And a room.”

“Can help ya with the drink but we’re fresh outta rooms. Sorry there...what’s your-”

“Is there another inn?” You interrupted him, his question, knowing all too well where it led. “A place nearby, where I can stay?”

The bartender blinked at you, as if you had spoken in Elder Speech. “You won’t find another inn outside of Hagge. You’ve got a better chance findin’ a cave in the Blue Mountains.”

You exhaled deeply through your nose and turned your gaze down. Of course. It was just how your life had always been: one negative turn after another. Sadly, today that meant a night out in the cold. You only looked up when the bartender placed a tankard before you. 

“That’ll be four coppers.”

Begrudgingly, you pressed the coins to the counter top and took a hold of your drink. As the bitter, lukewarm taste flooded over your tongue, you scowled. A stool a but farther down the bar screeched with movement and pulled your from your disgust. You didn’t dare switch your gaze over. Instead, you busied yourself with studying the different bottles displayed behind the bar. In the warm fire light, the colored glass made little rainbows on the wall.

“Ale,” said the new comer to the inn. There was something in the lowness of his voice that felt familiar to you. It was like soft thunder in the night; more soothing than frightening. 

You couldn’t help but turn on your stool. Some part of you yearned to see who could hold such a voice. One glimpse wouldn’t hurt the distance you had shaped around you. If it did or did not, it was a risk you were willing to take. What you saw set you on the edge of your seat.

“Witcher,” the word came out in a quiet breath.

The the silver-haired man’s eyes met yours, though you couldn’t describe the color. They weren’t brown, they were warmer somehow. You took in his strong features: his brow, his jaw, his shoulders. Everything about him was strong. In his presence, you should have felt small. Yet, the tone of his voice still rang in your ear. It still pulled at some part of you with a comfort, a familiarity you hadn’t felt in years. 

All Witcher’s are strong, but this one was different. You could feel it as your hands could feel the tautness of your bow during a hunt. You were attuned to him, this Witcher, in the same way. It was as if you could read through him and him through you in a single glance.

“Yes?” Amber. His eyes were an amber color like tree sap or honey. For a moment, you forgot that he had spoke. Forgotten only until the dull rumble of his gentle voice echoed in your ears. Something in it made you forget the struggle you faced day-to-day.

“Ale’s shit,” you replied, tearing your eyes from his. You brought your mug to your lips and sipped at the liquid in spite of its taste. As you drank, you could feel the Witcher’s eyes on you. Not in a way that made you feel like prey but in way that made you feel seen. Seen in a way that you never had before. 

“Thanks for the warning,” he mused wryly. You looked over to the Witcher just as the bartender placed a pint before him. He gave the older looking man five coppers, verses your four, before picking up the tankard and putting it to his lips. 

You forced your eyes from him, gazing back the array of shining bottles. There was a stillness in them that reminded you of the forest, of the hunt. A shaking breath passed over your lips and you fought the urge to look back over at the Witcher.

Before long, your drink distraction ran dry. Still trying to resist your softer nature, you trained your eyes steady on the edge of the cup in front of you. You thought back to the forest, forced yourself to wonder what other game may lurk in its depths. Idly, your fingertips traced the lips of your empty cup as you thought.

“You’re a hunter.”

You snapped your gaze back to the Witcher, back to his amber eyes which were trained on you. He was looking at your fingers as they danced along the cup. With slight shock, your mouth fell open. 

“How can you tell?” You tried to not to stare at him. You tried not to let on about how you felt so strongly connected to him. 

“The same way you know that I’m a Witcher,” he mused, “your eyes.”

If it had been anyone else, you would have scoffed. Hell, if it had been anyone else, you wouldn’t have even spoken up or asked a single question. Yet you could not deny the presence of this man. It was as if you were meant to find him here. Years of fighting for survival had ebbed away at any idea you had in fate or some higher power but hints of what you lost were, seemingly, found in him. 

“My eyes,” you echoed. The Witcher let out a low hum and, to your shock, the startings of a smile spread along his lips. 

“And the dirt under your fingernails.” You raised a brow at him. Slightly buzzed from your drink, and drunk on the feeling of finding someone who might understand, you sat a bit straighter. Carefully, as if you were hunting, you eyed the Witcher.  

“That could be from anything.”

“Yes, but you smell like elm and blood.”

“You would know,” you fired back, trying to hide your slight surprise. “Witchers are hunters too, after all. Just deadlier game, some believe.”

Finally, you found the strength to tear your eyes from the Witcher. You knocked your empty cup against the countertop and the bartender rushed over to refill it. Before you could throw in your coppers, the Witcher had already paid for your drink.

“You say that as if you’re up for the challenge.”

You looked back at him with sharp eyes, “of what?”

“Deadlier game,” the Witcher pressed. In his voice, the low thunderstorm returned and flooded your being with the feeling of home. A home you hadn’t known for years. 

A home where you could shed the walls you had built around your skin and heart. You could roll yourself up in the deepness of his voice and stay there. Or maybe it was the drink. You had only had one but it could have been enough to loosen your inhibitions. Why not see how far this goes?

You downed your newly filled drink with a solid chug. With the ale mixing with the intensity of Witcher’s eyes, you could feel the skin of your cheeks begin to warm.  

“Perhaps I am,” you drawled, leaning towards the Witcher as you spoke. It had been so long since you had spoken like this to anyone; let your speech take on a flirtatious edge. It was risky when you were out on your own.

Yet, you felt, you knew that you were safe with this Witcher. Kindness was clear in his sharp face just as clearly as you heard thunder rumble in his voice. He was a risk you were willing to take. Whatever that meant to you in your slightly drunken state. 

“Hmm, I think you’re already hunting.” There was an almost purr to the Witchers voice and a knowingness in his amber eyes. “Aren’t you?”

You grinned and stood up from your stool. What coppers you had left jingled together in your pouch. The Witcher’s eyes never left yours as you moved. You had his whole, intense attention.

“Perhaps,” you said with a smile. “Care to join me?”

The Witcher stood, ignoring his still filled tankard. There was something tangible in the air now, as if a cord was tied between you conducting an unseen energy. 

“I have a room.” For the first time since speaking with him, the Witcher seemed almost shy, bashful even. It didn’t last though. 

As soon as you smiled a little wider, the Witcher was leading you through the inn and to his rented room for the evening. 

Your heart was pounding, your breathing as uneven as it was when you first drew back an arrow. This wasn’t like you. In the moment, you enjoyed the feeling of being prey. Of being pinned against the closed door of his room and attacked. It was like surrendering but sweet, something softer. The Witcher was surprising gentle, so gentle that it distracted you from your own thoughts. You were thrust out of your own head the moment his lips met yours. 

His hands were gripping at your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your hands busied themselves in his hair and pulled. The Witcher grumbled something against your lips. Forcing yourself to lean back, you met his hooded gaze.  

“What?” You were panting now. 

“Geralt, my name is Geralt.” He pressed his forehead to yours, noses brushing together. The breath you managed to catch suddenly left you in a rush. He didn’t need to ask the question. It was the same question the bartender had almost asked you. It was the risk you never really took. 

“Y/N,” you whispered. The Witcher, Geralt let out another thoughtful hum before you kissed him again. What a sweet distraction a kiss could be. You would have to be sure to sneak one last one before you left in the morning. But you could think about that later. Geralt had a way of grounding you. Thoughts about the next day or the next hunt, what you would do to try to survive all faded away.

The next morning, before the sun rose, you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Geralt’s lips. Despite everything you had heard about Witchers, there was something in his nature, something you felt or saw last night, that pulled at your heart as you left the inn. Only time would tell if what you felt was true.

“Ale,” you ordered, wiping the spray of blood from your brow. The hunt had not gone as smoothly as planned. None of your recent hunts had. It was as if the forests had turned sour all over the land in the last month. It was as if you lacked the heart, the hunger for it anymore. Almost as if it had been replaced. 

“Rough day?” The innkeeper asked, a dark haired women with amused eyes. You glared at her, taking the nearest stool for yourself. She frowned in silent reply and went to fill a tankard for you. As you sat down, the seat at your side screeched as it was pulled back.

A blur of blue filled your peripheral sight before your eyes were drawn back to the innkeeper. She set a cup in front of you, the smile on her face replaced with a scowl. You reached into your coin pouch but the woman shook her head. 

“On the house.”

Part of you felt bad but the other part, the overtired and hungry part, won over. You took the free drink and took a swig. The bitter taste almost scalded your tongue and you cringed.

“Cheap stuff, huh?”

The blur you had noticed at your side before began to speak. You stayed quiet, not looking over. You weren’t in the mood to take a risk. The last time you did you had felt awful. Nearly as nasty as the taste in your mouth. 

“Quiet one then. Silent type always have a story to tell.”

You fought a scoff and took another drink. The ale was growing on you. It was better company than the talkative man at your side. 

“Sad too. Most always are.  I mean, you could just ask Ger-”

“Jaskier.” The name came out low, a warning, bathed in a tone of voice that felt familiar to you. Felt like the rolling of thunder over a hill. But you still did not turn around.

“What? I’m only-”

“Let’s go, Jaskier.” That voice! Where had you heard it before? Your heart ached for you to remember. Yet, you still did not look. 

“I do believe I found a new story to write into song,” the bard, Jaskier, turn to look at you. When you finally looked at the chatty man, you saw his blue eyes were curious. “And perhaps someone more quiet and brooding than you, Geralt.”

Goose bumps rose up along your arms at the name. Slowly, you turned on your stool and locked eyes with the only Witcher you had ever met.

“Y/N.”

“Geralt.”

“What?” You glanced over at the man at your side. The man, Jaskier, eyed you then Geralt then you once more. “You two…”

He pointed a finger, tracing a line, a thread, between you and Geralt. Suddenly, his soft features twisted up in what looked like disgust.

“Oh no...no…”

Within the same blur of energy you had first noticed him in, Jaskier darted away and past Geralt. Then it was just the two of you, like the first time. You were sharing the same space and that chord between you long ago was no longer stretched across the land.

“What brings you here?” Geralt took a step towards you but did not take a seat. His amber eyes stayed focused on you. 

“Game, same as you I suppose.” Geralt hummed in agreement, the stormy sound soothing you slightly. A heavy silence fell between you but not an uncomfortable one. You wanted to break it though, eager to hear his voice again. “Ale’s shit here too.”

Geralt smiled. “Inn can change but everything else stays the same.” 

You shook your head. “No, I imagine you’ve changed,” you tipped your head over to Jaskier, “added to your party.”

“I took another risk,” Geralt mused and you nodded. Finally, Geralt took the seat beside you. Warmth flooded from his body to yours. “I couldn’t forget you.”

His words caught you off guard. It was a show of emotion that you had kept yourself from for so long. Something that you would not allow yourself to admit. But it had infiltrated every hunt you had embarked on. Geralt was always in your mind, clouding your will to survive. It had been so easy with him and you longed for it again. 

“Geralt,” you murmured, “I-you know you should. Our lives could never meet.”

“But they have,” he pressed gently. He was never harsh, not with you. Even after all this time and the trials you imagined he had endured. “We are hunters.”

“And that is all we share.”

“No,” his hand grabbed yours carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal. “You know it is more than that. You’ve felt it and we’ve met again.”

“It was a surprise, a chance.”

“A risk we both took,” he corrected, “and I’ve learned that...surprises are often more than what you originally bargain for.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me,” you whispered sadly. You did, at least, your heart knew. Geralt smiled softly and leaned in towards you.

“We hunt for the same thing, Y/N. We have traveled through mountains and swamps only to find each other again. We want a home.”

In the depths of his voice, you knew this was true. Whatever magic Geralt was tied to and whatever destiny whatever god had planned for you did not matter. A real hunt could not fill the void of hunger in your heart. Only a home could do that; even if that home was a place or a person. Or people. You had been on the run from your heart for so long you couldn’t even imagine the possibilities.

“Yes,” you whispered. Geralt cocked his head to the side, slightly confused.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” you repeated, “I want to take a risk again.”  Then, you kiss him not caring who sees or who knew: he was home. 

#this sucks #I just needed to get it out of my system #sorry #geralt of rivia #the witcher #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt fanfic #geralt imagine #geralt imagines #geralt fanfiction #the witcher imagine #the witcher imagines #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #jaskier

[melwritesbadly]

With Wings in All Black

After a tragic turn of events,  Kazama Kaori , AKA Hex, has her investigation swept out from under her by the #2 Pro Hero. Reluctantly she joins Hawks in the pursuit of justice. On top of trying to solve the biggest case of her career, Kaori is still a young woman struggling to find her place in the world. Life is turned upside down as her professional and personal lives start to blend.

Rating: T (subject to change)

Content Warnings: slight language, implied violence/death

________________________________________________________

Assistance Requested: Information and surveillance details urgently needed regarding reported missing persons. Suspected Vigilante involvement, or other syndicates. Please respond for additional details.

Status of current investigation: Ongoing

__________ 

A Murder of One                        

Hex adjusted the dial on the receiver on her headgear tuning in to the frequency of the microphone planted in the bar below her. She hoped the ungodly amount of paperwork she traded for the device was worth it.  The other detectives at the station simply shrugged at her evidence- or rather, her lack-thereof.

Still it didn’t change the facts.

Fact 1- Low level criminals are disappearing.

Fact 2- People are disappearing

Fact 3- No one cared- but her.

Fact 4- Takei Kenji, one of the missing, had recently been seen in the area and was seemingly ‘not himself’ as described by the anonymous tip that was forwarded to her.

Takei Kenji, age 27. Minor invulnerability quirk. Last known occupation: ‘Nightwatchman’ for a warehouse commonly used for clandestine meetings for the local riff-raff. Reported missing by his mother 3 weeks ago.

After speaking with Mrs. Takei, she pieced together Kenji’s new schedule. After tailing him a few days he truly seemed like a new man, reformed. 

His dress was proper and pristine, clean shaven and hair combed and presentable. It was a stark contrast to the photo used on the missing person flier taped to her pinboard (along with all the other missing persons). With no discernible pattern, at least not to her, about the next victim(?) or the whereabouts of any of the others, Kenji was her best, and only lead.

Tonight, she could expect him to show at one of his usual haunts.  The bar below her. Not to her personal taste, the clientele of the more stabby nature. 

Earlier that week she managed to convince the bartender to spill a few snippets of the conversations between Kenji and the other patrons.

“The Bard this, The Bard that.” griped the bartender as he dumped the trash into the alley dumpster. “It’s pissing off my regulars and they’re pissy enough as it is.” 

He should have been here an hour ago though. Hex sucked on her lower lip, displeased as she scanned the road leading to and from the bar entrance. She’d give it another half hour then try and regroup on his trail in the morning.

“Cheers to another late night.” she muttered to herself listening in to the chatter and ambiance of the dive bar. 

________

Her 30 minutes go by and she huffs before finally switching the receiver off.  She’d go by tomorrow to get the mic back.  Just as she was about to stand from her perch Hex heard the unmistakable beat of wings above her, large ones, judging by the sound. 

It reminded her of her father. Probably one of the last people she wanted to see right now. Especially since her only lead ditched her for the night.

This night sucks.

 Hex thinks to herself, finally looking up intending to see the dark wings of King Crow finally come to drag her home but instead, she sees red.

This has to be the reason Kenji never showed. The thought bounces around her head angrily as none other than the number 2 Hero in Japan descended from the nightly heavens and landed on her rooftop.

This night really sucks.

“Yo!” Hawks held up a hand in greeting neatly folding his very noticeable wings against his back, shoving the other hand into his pocket.

“Will you get down!” Hex harshly whispers, gesturing him to stoop down and out of sight.

“Jeesh, hi, hello how are you? I’m fine, thanks for asking.” he jokes casually but still squats down feet planted on the ground resting his arms on his knees. Hex shakes her head and resumes her post looking up and down the street despite her previous resignation.

“You’re Hex right?” he starts “I’m-” She cuts him off not taking her eyes off the street.

“Obviously I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. Especially every lowlife in the area who’ve probably fled after seeing your chicken legs flailing in the wind.”

“Ooo, ah, that’s my physical appearance. That hurts you know.” Feigning  being wounded, Hawks placed a hand over his heart but still kept the jovial tone. A smart smirk inching up his cheek continuing. 

“But you’re not after ‘every lowlife’, though right? Just the one. Takei Kenji?'' 

She turned to him and tilted her head, large round eyes finally meeting his sharper, more angled ones. 

“How did you...?” she trailed off, honestly surprised. It wasn’t common knowledge on how her ‘investigation’ was going. Uncommon because, well quite frankly… no one cared. Especially other Heroes. 

“Sorry Chickadee but I got some bad news.” Hawks stood back up and crossed his arms leaning against a nearby cooling unit.

Hex rolled her eyes

“Don’t call me that. What happened?” She looked up at him.

“Well, one of my guys found your guy in… not great shape.” 

Hex cursed running a hand through the back of her head, then sighed.

“How bad?” prepping for his answer.

“Morgue bad”

“Dammit!” cursing again, pinching her brow reeling from the implications.

“Your buddies at the station said you'd might want to know as a professional courtesy” brow pinched once more, Hex felt the annoying start of a headache between them.

“Courtesy? For what...” a thought flashing through her mind and she stood eyes going wide “Don’t you dare close my case!” jabbing a finger in his direction.

 He turned his head to face her more, still calm, still leaning, still observing.

“Close it? Oh no, wouldn’t think of it Chickadee. I’m taking over the investigation.”

Hex gaped. Momentarily at a loss for words. The frustrations starting to come to a point at the back of her neck, feeling an uncomfortable bristle forming.

“What no, you can’t! Do you know how much work” gesturing wildly with her hands “How much time! The favors I had to do, the resources I scrounged for-”

“Which are no longer a problem.” He blocked one ear with a finger and shot her what would have been an award winning smile “No need to shout Hex. Obviously I want to keep you,”  He paused, throwing a wink her way  “Keep you on the investigation that is.”

Hex scoffed,her head bobbing back as she shot him an incredulous look.

“I don’t do agencies, and I’m no one's sidekick.” she threw another annoyed jab of her finger in his direction.

“Ooo touchy. Freelance then. Sound good Chickadee?” Hawks held up his hand to maybe physically shield him from her ire.

“Stop calling me that and maybe I’ll let you help”

He smiled-no smirked again pushing off of the cooling unit he was leaning on stepping towards her shrugging his shoulders.

“That doesn't sound like a mutually beneficial arrangement to me.” Hex rolled her eyes and crossed her arms haughtily with a huff.

“And how does calling me stereotyped nickname benefit you, birdbrain.” 

Hawks chuckled. He didn’t expect it to be so easy to ruffle her feathers.

This was going to be fun.

“Isn’t that how these buddy cop movies play out? One hard-ass with a secret heart of gold and their handsome, comic relief partner put aside their differences to crack the case and learn the meaning of cooperation and friendship. Roll credits”

Hex tilted her head and shot him an unamused expression, opening her mouth to speak.

“I am not a hardass-” she stopped herself holding her palm up to stop the little banter she was getting pulled into. “Can you circle back, Takei Kenji?”

“Can we circle back to this team up? After all this is my case now?” 

Hex scrunched up her nose, not pouting, she told herself, and re-crossed her arms.

“Sounds like something a hardass would say.” she snarked and he grinned again, throwing his arms up bringing them down behind his head.

“You caught me. Hawks, the hardass with a heart of gold. Guess that makes you my handsome, no wait, beautiful partner then. So how's about it Chickadee?”

“Uhg” Hex clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes again. Squaring her shoulders she placed her hands on her hips

“I want a contract. Full access and authority over any and all future developments and details about my case.” Hawks nodded but shot her a finger gun.

“Our case.”

“Whatever!” she sighed looking up at the night sky hands still on her hips. 

“The agency manager can draft up whatever you’d like tomorrow. Let’s go see what Kenji had in his pockets shall we?”

Hex nodded reaching up to her headgear. She flicked the visor portion that was pushing her hair back over her eyes. The experimental mirrored tint softening the city night lights. She switched the setting on her earpiece making sure the seal around the was snug. Hawks floated a foot above the ground looking a little bored as he waited.

 Show off

Hex activated her own quirk, the bundle of jet black feathers at the base of her hair sending a shiver down her spine causing other inky feathers to erupt from her skin. The ebony plumes forming patterned rows along her arms covering them completely. 

Letting them creep upwards to the sides of her neck but stopped them before then could go any further on her body. Just enough for her to achieve flight. She did a small jump maintaining the upward moment with a strong flap of her feather covered arms and started for the station.

Harpy Hero: Hex

Quirk: Harpy- Half human, half bird! She’s able to do most things a bird can do and then some! Most notably, she can grow enough feathers to achieve flight.

______

There is no traffic in the sky and the previously chatty #2 Hero was silent during their flight. Hex was thankful, it gave her some time, however brief, to think.

This new development was...tragic. Someone would have to tell Mrs.Takei in the morning.

It should be me...

It’s just, Kenji was small time.  So why would he turn up dead?

And more importantly...

Hex cast a look in her periphery at the Fierce Wing Hero.

How did this fall into the lap of the number 2 Hero?

______

Hawks landed first. Not bothering to tame his windswept hair but did look up to observe Hex’s descent. She wasn’t quite as fast as him, well, then again, no one was. But she was graceful and skilled as she navigated the air currents. 

Fanning her wings wide Hex slowed her movements getting ready to land. A few more well practiced flutters and she also touched back down. Before she can remove her headgear she dispels her feathers. Casting them off with a quick flick of her arms. She hardened them into slivers then ground them to sand with another flick to minimize the mess and general rudeness of not picking up after your quirk.

She adjusted her headgear and hair and blatantly ignored the cheeky claps and nods of approval from the man besides her. She strode past him and up into the station. The night reception paid her no mind but did double take when they saw Hawks’s crimson wings engulfing their foyer.

Just outside the morgue waited a man with an impressive and well manicured mustache. He wore a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders and the first few buttons open.

“This her boss?” he asked in an accent indicating that he was from Australia. 

“Hex,” she offered “And you are?”

“Duke Amazing. Pleasure.” he greeted offering his hand. She was not expecting such a strong handshake.

“Given the circumstances…” she trailed off.  “You found Takei?”

“Well, what’s left that is…” Duke gestured to the door he was waiting in front of  “They’ve finished up for now. Just waiting on the bossman for the paperwork and whatnot.” He made another gesture in the direction of a door a little ways down the corridor.

“They’ve got his belongings in there”

“Perfect, cross the t’s and dot the i’s for me Duke?” before his sidekick could answer Hawks was already starting down the corridor. Hex followed close behind. 

Duke shook his head crossing his arms.

“June’s gunna pitch a fit again Hawks”

“Op, can’t hear you, the doors closing!” gently shoving Hex in the room and hastily closed the door behind them.

“Uhg paperwork” He bemoaned and leaned against the door

“Paperwork” Hex commiserated but was already looking over the items laid out on the small table.

There wasn’t much but everything was bagged, labeled and detailed on a piece of paper next to the items.

There was a small wallet, no money, a personal ID card. An older model cell phone, unusable. Most likely damaged in whatever altercation Kenji found himself in.

“Probably a burner” Hawks shrugged “Still, I'll get someone to pull the numbers.”  He made no move to examine the items himself but instead watched Hex very carefully as she examined each one. 

She cupped her chin as she looked at the final piece of evidence, brow furrowed.

“I’ve seen this before...” she commented, turning over the small business card over front to back several times examining it. 

While it was the same shape and card stock as a business card it held no information. No address, phone number, or even a business name. All that was printed was an indigo triangle.

“What is it?” He was curious because he had no idea what the shape meant either.

“I…” she started, brows still furrowed. “I have no idea, but I know I've seen this...” 

She placed the bagged card back on the table and leaned over it rubbing her hand to the back of her neck smoothing down her feathers there. The memory of where she’d seen this particular shape eluding her.

“Maybe at his apartment?” she muttered to herself, then sighed

“I’ll have to go back over my notes.” Hex leaned up from the table and unzipped her jacket pulling out her phone and snapped a quick picture on the item.

“How about we meet back up tomorrow then. Let me give you my number.” Hawks held out his palm asking for her phone. She was just about to hand it over but thought better and pulled it back causing him to catch air.

“No social calls, no memes at 3 in the morning, no unsolicited pictures.” her tone stern

“What if they’re tasteful?” he made a grabby motion with his hands and gave his brows a waggle.

“They’re never tasteful.” she quipped back but finally relented and handed over her phone.

Hawks flipped it over in his hands and quickly typed in his information jokingly setting the name for his number “Unsolicited dick pics” with an appropriate emoji next to it. He sent himself a quick text with her phone then clicked hers off and handed it back to her.

He was extremely pleased when she didn’t double check his contact info and simply zipped the phone back into her pocket. His little joke would be a fun surprise for the morning then.

“Send me where you want to meet tomorrow” She pressed her fingers to the back of her neck again “I’m heading out. Looong night” 

Hawks moved away from the door and let her pass, parting for the night.

“Well that led to a whole lotta nothing” He mused to himself finally taking his turn to look over the offending card stock.

“It’s never an easy mess to clean up is it?” He tossed the card back on the table.

_________________________________

#wwiab #hawks #bnha hawks #mha hawks #hawks x oc #keigo takami #takami keigo #original character #hawks bnha #hawks mha #boku no hero academia #my hero acadamia #hawks x reader

[edensbuttercups]

Golden lights - Part ten

Pairing: Jaskier x reader Summary: After a marriage proposal, Jaskier and the reader take it upon themselves to see Geralt and Myris as a couple, seeing the love they share for each other, and decide to bet on the way they’ll announce their love: with a subtle kiss or with an announcement?  Word count: 2.3k A/N: Hello hello hello! I’ve finally finished this chapter! I’ve been living my days trying to be motivated enough to do my homework and projects while also really craving to write, draw, sing, cook, try to learn how to play the piano and play my uke. Anyway, here’s the next chapter, enjoy! Sending you warm hugs and as always, stay safe ♡ Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part six Part seven Part eight Part nine Part Eleven

You walked back hand in hand, a smile plastered to your faces as you sang cheesy love songs to each other. Before you could finish singing the last word you felt Jaskier pulling you to the side, crouching behind a rock. “Look!” he said, pointing excitedly towards your cottage, where Geralt and Myristica were playing with your daughter. Geralt was holding her in his arms, making her fly around as Myris pretended to be some sort of dragon, tickling her little feet as soon as she could. “They’re cute.” You smiled, grabbing Jaskier’s hand and holding it close. “How long do you think it’ll be until they tell us that they’re a couple?” You laughed. “You think they’ll tell us? I think we’ll eventually catch them mid-kiss, and they won’t be able to deny that, will they? And that’s how we’ll find out.” “Want to bet? If they tell us, I win, if we catch them, you win.”

“And what do we win?” “Hmm. If I win, I get to perform that song about you. If you win, you get a kiss.” “What? How is that fair?” you laughed again, sitting up on the rock you were crouching behind. “I’d say that if you win then yes, I guess you’ll get to sing that song… but if I win” you stopped to add a touch of drama “you have to pose for me, so that I can finally paint you, as I’ve been asking you to for months!” “It’s so boring! I’ll do anything, trust me, but sitting in the same spot, not moving, not talking, not singing, for hours? That’s just not possible for me. You know that.” “Well then you choose what I win. Surprise me.” “If you win, sure. I’ll surprise you.” He reached you, placing a hand behind your head and pulling you into a kiss. He offered you a hand and pulled you up, both of you laughing and smiling, as in love as you could be, walking towards Geralt and Myris, you rushing up to Aurora and tickling her feet as Geralt laughed, lifting her up and making her laugh in turn, a big smile on her face as she was held up high, the golden rays kissing her light hair. You spun and ran and chased each other, you whispering “he asked me to be his wife!” to Myristica as you ran passed her, making her stop before cheering, and Geralt joining Jaskier in his chase silently asking “so did you ask her?” before patting the bard on the shoulder and breaking out in a loud laugh. For the next couple of days, you and Jaskier tried your best to win your bet. You spotted Jaskier chatting with either Geralt or Myris, asking them about their love live in a not-very-subtle way, mentioning old tales of lovers and singing them love songs whenever they were together. Myris mostly laughed at his gestures, enjoying the sweet music, while Geralt usually cursed at him, giving him the side eye and trying to get him to leave. You were more subtle, trying to ask them to help you out in the usual daily activities, always “somehow” assigning them to the same one. Yesterday, they helped you harvest what was growing in the garden, you on one side of the garden and them on the other, laughing and joking under your careful eyes. But still no kisses. Today you asked for help in the kitchen, cooking delicious meals while Jaskier played outside with Aurora. You started cooking some lunch while Myristica prepared a sweet pie for that evening, Geralt helping both of you, bouncing from one side of the kitchen to the other. Soon lunch was ready, and the pie was cooking, not much more left to do. You called Jaskier from the window, asking him to come in to eat. As you turned you noticed how Myris had grabbed a small raspberry. You listened as the two got closer, ready to announce your victory over the bard. “Geralt, could you taste this? I was thinking of preparing a drink, but I don’t know if they taste just right yet.” She smiled and leaned closer, feeding him the small raspberry as he smiled and nodded. “Tastes good to me.” Myris smiled at the asker, placing a small kiss on his mouth, so quick that it would’ve passed unnoticed had you not been paying close attention. You felt someone slip behind you, and you smiled. “That was way too small to be considered a kiss!” he whispered, not accepting defeat. “Aww, don’t like losing?” you turned and placed a kiss on his cheek as you picked Aurora from his arms “can’t wait to see my surprise” you uttered as you walked towards the table. “Still. Not fair.” “Ah, suck it up, buttercup. If you’re sad I’ll kiss you better.” “Oh, then yes, I’m incredibly sad.” He snuck up behind you, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into him as he kissed you, his hands roaming from your hair, to your shoulders, to your back as he hummed, making your bodies sway back and forth to the sound of an invented song. “Oh, get a room.” Geralt said as he walked into the room, placing some plates on the table. Jaskier looked up at him, laughing briefly before adding “maybe you should get a room, Geralt.” “I’m sorry?” “We saw you with Myris before. You make a cute couple.” “That was… ah fuck.” You laughed, untangling yourself from Jaskier and walking closer to Geralt, placing a hand on his arm. “We’re happy for you. Truly. And we’re sorry. If you wanted to keep it to yourselves, we should’ve accepted it.” Geralt smiled, shaking his head. “It’s just that I’ve never had this. I don’t know how to act, especially in front of other people. I’m sure it’s nothing serious so I’m just enjoying it while it lasts.” “Do you love her?” Jaskier asked, his face serious as he took a step forward. Geralt looked at him with a warning glance before turning towards the kitchen to check if she had heard anything. “Yes” he finally whispered. “I think. I’ve never felt anything like-“ “Then yes. And if I can tell you one thing, Witcher, is that you should tell her. Life is short -well for us humans at least – and living with regrets is the worst thing. It is for us humans, and we live less than you, so just go for it.” A moment of silence filled the room. Geralt nodded once more and walked to the kitchen, coming back a few moments later with a big grin on his face. “So?” you asked nervously. “She loves me too. And she said I’m an idiot for making a big thing of it.” “Exactly! I always say that you’re an idiot and you never smile like that! Should I take it personally?” Jaskier said, placing his arm around Geralt, ignoring the death glare he was receiving. You smiled at your idiot and your big friend, walking into the kitchen to meet Myris. “I heard he confessed?” “He did. As if I needed words. Big idiot.” She laughed, handing you a bowl of vegetables as she held the main dish. “Yeah, but he’s your big idiot.” “He is.”

Time passed, and even if you had all fallen in a routine, living all together, eating together, spending so much time together, you were relieved when Myris suggested that her and Geralt moved back into her place. “We were thinking of making tonight our last night.” “That sound nice. I’m going to miss you.” “I know. I’ll miss you too. I’m right around the corner though! We’ll see each other often, I promise. Oh, and you can visit my home!” “I can’t wait.” You held her hands, leaning into a big hug. She hugged you tight before pulling back. “I just remembered something! I wanted to show you a great place to harvest berries, it’s close. Let’s tell Geralt and Jaskier and head there. We can stay there a couple of hours and then head back, what do you say?” “Let’s do it.” You spent the day near a small river, picking berries and eating most of them as you talked about your lives. You sat next to each other, your feet in the fresh water as the stack of berries grew smaller and smaller. “How did you start your relationship with Geralt?” “One night, about two weeks after we started sharing the room, a single candle lit the room. He was sitting with his back turned to me, making sure to give me the space I needed. As I was taking my boots of, I knocked something over, and he turned to check if everything was fine. He saw the scar on my leg” she pulled her dress up, showing you the pale scar that ran from her ankle to the bottom of her knee “and he didn’t mention it. I wasn’t ready to share the origin of that scar with him, and I knew he respected that. That was the first thing I fell in love with. Then I noticed the way he looked at me, the way he always shared the best of the things he owned with me, the way he was with Aurora… so one night, before going to bed, I stood in front of him and leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his lips. The rest is history.” You both smiled as she leaned on your shoulder. “What about you and Jaskier? What’s the greatest moment you two have shared, before actually meeting again?” You thought about it, relieving all of the moments you had shared. “We both met when he was young. He rebelled against everything, choosing his passion for music over anything else. Some people spoke badly about him, some insulted him, but he didn’t care. We had started growing close to each other, and I had started falling in love with him, when one night, as he was singing, someone insulted him, spitting horrible words at him. He usually played along, but that night he stopped playing. I was enraged, so I walked up to the man and punched him.” Myris burst out laughing, and you joined in too. “Jaskier jumped from the stage and stopped the man from hitting me back with his lute before dragging me out. We ran into the forest and sat next to each other in silence. He then started playing his lute for me, the darkness of the night humming around us. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, promising me that he’d always be there for me. Two days later he left.” “He always was there though, right?” “I never stopped thinking about him.” “And him of you.” She hugged you tight, standing up and pulling you up with her. “I can see the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you, and I can assure you that he never stopped carrying you along with him on his journeys. Anyway, let’s go, they must be ready by now.” “Ready? For what?” “You’ll see” she winked at me, pulling me towards the path and walking us back to our home. 

You walked up to the cottage and stopped, noticing the golden lights coming from the garden. You turned to Myristica, whom just smiled and placed a hand on your back, gently pushing you in. You walked through the door and into the garden, where Geralt, Jaskier and Aurora waited. “Aurora! Aurora stay still! Geralt, what do I do? She keeps crawling away!” “Look.” Geralt looked up and met your eyes, a warm smile appearing on his face. “How’s looking going to help? I can barely keep her still with my hands, I doubt my eyes are going to do the trick!” he yelled, exasperated. You took a step forward, looking around at the beautiful structure they had built. Three big branches stood tall, uniting in the middle, with a white cloth draped over them, making a small tent. Flowers where placed around it, as well as on the floor. Some candles lit the way up to the family that was waiting for you. Jaskier looked up triumphantly as he caught Aurora and pulled her in his arms, turning towards Geralt before following his gaze to meet you. He walked over to you and placed a kiss on your lips before resting Aurora in Myris’s arms. He took you under his arm and walked towards Geralt. “You two have decided to become husband and wife. I’m here today, along with Myris and your daughter, Aurora, to celebrate your love. Jaskier, I know you wanted to share some words.” “Yes, thank you Geralt.” He bowed his head slightly, before fully facing you. “I met you so long ago, yet every moment spent with you is a gift that can’t last long enough. You’re my stars, my sunshine, my light, you give me the strength to be the best man I can be. The day I left all color left my world along with you, and even if I was stupid enough to leave destiny has somehow made me find my way back to you. Since the day you chose to be my friend you have never left my side, and I promise you that I’ll never leave yours. I’m the luckiest man to be able to share my passions, my love, my songs and my life with you, and now a family. You make me the happiest I could be.” He took your face in his hands, wiping away some stray tears “I promise to always be there for you, no matter how far I am. I promise to always do my best to cheer you up. I promise to shut up when you need me to shut up and I promise to never steal the covers away – unless you’re hogging them and leaving me in the cold – and I promise you to be the best companion you could have in life. I love you, and if I must I’ll dedicate every breathing second to prove it to you.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you as you breathed out “I love you” in between kisses. “You… you may now kiss the bride?” Geralt added, looking at you and then at Myris, smiling before slipping away to grab some good ale and some food. You spent the rest of the night drinking and dancing and singing and kissing, you with Jaskier, Geralt with Myris and occasionally Aurora and random-food-item that she found in between naps. You ended up sleeping all together under the stars, tangled up in a big group hug, few hours before sunrise, with some early birds lulling you to sleep with their song and the sound of the waves rocking you to far away dreamlands.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier imagine #geralt of rivia #geralt x oc #oc #the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfic #fanfic

[bigscaryyanderewriter]

Icy Resolution and Dragon's Flame (Dragonshifter! Shouto x Reader) Pt. 2

Part 1

The Part 2 like only two fuckin people asked for, lmao. Two people can make a difference on what I will and won't write, so uh. Talk to me, it really gets my ass into gear with writing. No pressure, I won't roast anyone… Unless they ask me too and even then, I'm more worthy of a good charring than any of y'all. 

Tw: Yandere themes

1.8k Words

The icy feeling of the metal chains hanging on the various parts of your body glittered in the torch light and the sunlight when you were able to see it, at least. Ever since you had began… cohabitating with Shouto, you haven't really been out as much. The cavern was the place you lived for now, not that you couldn't try to escape. You could only try and it was going to get you out for good, because having to run from an angry dragon shifter for the rest of your life was… Not your favorite possibility. 

Was there a getting out of here? There… had to be. You might be lax, you might be polite, you weren't going to just be an idle captive though. Those were just the facts!

The basket you were currently sifting through seemed to be filled with golden trinkets and it was annoying you. Pretty as they were… They were useless to you in this moment. It was making you angry. Shouto had been gone from the cave for about three days and you still hadn't managed to escape it. You assumed he must just be off hunting and got stuck or was doing something else. Things like this, being out of the loop drove you crazy as you pushed the basket away. The bracelets on your arms jangling as you moved. You could pull them off, technically. You just… never got to wear anything like this before and you feel like you look pretty snazzy in gold. At least… That's your opinion on it.

You heard something though at the entrance. It wasn't the noise of the boulder being moved, no. That was easy to identify. This was… A flute. Someone was playing a lute outside the cave. You went closer and realized, a little stone was loose from the entrance. Pulling on it, sunshine shone through as you could see through to the clearing outside.

It was so lovely to feel the warmth of the sun's rays after being kept in the dark, cool cave with only magical torches. They didn't produce heat even. It sucked.

 It was… So close to you. You peeked at the small field and the trees, seeing a small group. A pink tiefling woman, two humans, an elf, and an earth genasi! One of the humans was playing a lute, calling out loudly, you were in near tears, "Hello?! Can you please help me? Please? I need to get out of this cave." 

The dude with the lute turned with confusion along with the others. There seemed to be a collective… 'Us?' From them as you groaned, exasperated by this rag tag group already. "Yeah, you guys! Who else?!"

The red haired genasi spoke first, "We just… Nobodies ever actually asked for help before. Guys… Uh, do we save her?"

"Oh, we don't even know her, shitty hair!" The ashen blond human sighed, facepalming. "Do you know anything about em? Cause I sure as hell don't."

The tiefling spoke up, "Wait, we gotta find that dragon though! He's supposed to be around here and if we have her around, then we can use her as bait…"

You froze, "..What dragon are you looking for?"

"His name is Shouto and we're supposed to get his help, because he has something we need for our quest!" The more yellow blond human said with a grin before getting smacked in the back of the head by the other who you presumed was their leader.

"Bakugou! You didn't have to do that, I mean-" As he whined a bit, you tuned out as you realized they wouldn't help you they knew you were his captive. Why would they? Especially if they needed him. It wouldn't benefit them. 

You were going to have to trick them… 

"Hey, I know where his cave is. I can lead you there." You said with a frantic sort of gesture. "Just get me out of here, please. No using me as bait either. We just need to leave. Right now."

"How can we be sure you know where his cave is?" The black-haired elf asked suspicion on his features, leaning forward. "We aren't idiots!"

"I don't know how to prove it, ugh. You could just let me out and give me directions if you don't think I know where it is. Cause you guys don't seem to actually know exactly where you are." You admitted, a frown on your face. If they couldn't figure out the prints on the ground in the field were from a dragon… You weren't sure you could really help them further than leading them away from here as quickly as you could.

Well… With how foolish they were, you almost feel good about helping them. Even now as you eat the freshly cooked rabbit they had caught and roasted. Night came and the stars were brighter than you remembered. You had travelled a good way from the cave and were essentially leading them on a wild goose chase into the wilderness, making sure to have them mark the way. Just in case you got "lost", when really… It was just so they could find the cave where you had been… Rather than having to locate it from memory.

You quickly became acquainted and even fond of the quintet of travelers. It was fun to travel with them. Their generosity towards you was sweet. You were sure they just thought you were a princess though. 

Especially how they wouldn't let you do anything… It was annoying how persistent they were about it too. Bakugou must have thought you would screw something up, so he had them actively trying to not let that happen. That was until you woke up early enough to see they had all fallen asleep, no one keeping an eye on you as you made breakfast. They travelled prepared, although you had no idea how. 

None of them seemed to have much forethought when it came to such things.  You were pretty sure Kiri or Mina could have waltzed off any which way with just the clothes on their backs and make it just fine. Sero was easily the most lax person you have ever met and Denki seemed to be trying to win your praise at every turn. Mostly falling on his ass, but it was endearing. Bakugou though? He didn't seem to really… He was… He was an asshole. That was fine though. You can't get along with everyone.

Though, you grew especially fond of Denki with the way he was so earnest. You'd never had someone try to be so genuinely sweet to you, making you blush a little when he would praise you. No way would you fall for a bard though, that was ridiculous. Even as he promised things to you, maybe it was fast though.

No helping you though as you danced with Mina and Kirishima around the fire as Denki would play his lute. Strumming songs that made you forget everything and get lost into the songs he sang.

You hadn't seen anything from Shouto yet, so that made you feel less fear… Confidence coming back with the knowledge that you would be leaving his reach soon enough. Not even a feeling of being lost. The nearest town, a little place called Wythe was where you all rested for a minute and… You came clean.

Now, that was after a meal and proper rest. There was still some outrage as you calmly told them the truth, "I thought you wouldn't help if you knew the truth… Crazier things have happened, but that was the most likely thing." 

Bakugou looked like he was going to blow a gasket as he was already making his way to choke you within an inch of your life before Kirishima pulled him back. "So, you could have just given us the map while we were there or helped us find it, but instead you tricked us into just breaking you out of that lair?" 

"I didn't want to steal…" You shyly said, but in reality… That idea just hadn't popped into your head when you had only been thinking of getting yourself out of there.

Mina sighed as she slumped a little on the bed, "So, are we going to head back or? We did kind of break his front door and steal the maiden he kept captive. I would be pretty pissed off if that happened to me and well… While I'm not a dragon, I don't think seeing us so soon after would have him in a better mood."

Bakugou was gritting his teeth he seemed to be battling not to strangle you still, "Oh, we're going back and… Ugh, we went into Dragon territory to just leave it and now we have to go back. How does a dumbass like you get the interest of a fucking dragon?" His hand hitting the table before realizing he said that very loudly.

"Ahem. Well, you can shut the fuck up and maybe I'll just tell you. I didn't mean to anyways." You groaned, crossing your arms as you leaned into the seat. "I just was lost and did something that was just a fuckin decent act. Apparently that qualified me for the running in The Dragon Bachelor or whatever."

The snort that erupted from Mina was contagious as you looked at her, quirking your eyebrow. You continued though, "I was stuck in the cave for a good while with Shouto before he left on a hunting trip. Then you guys showed up after he was gone for a couple of days. I had you guys mark the trees so you could follow it back to the cave. You'll be fine. Anyways, you can fill your supplies and buff up your defenses. Plus, you'll want to avoid his father… It will be a… Yeah, you wouldn't have to worry about much if you run into him. You'll all be dead in seconds."

In actuality… Endeavor was the least of their concerns for the moment. The soft landing and soon the cry of a young, anguished dragon… It sounded for miles into the forest as he quickly feel temper overcome him for a second. Mistakes happened, he shouldn't have left you alone for so long. Irresponsible. You couldn't have gotten far though. He sniffed around and saw the scratched x along the tree at the edge of the field, blowing a frosty breath and the little marks lit up down through the forests like a pathway. He would save you from whatever poor decisions you had made to take you away from him though. 

Everything would be all right again when you were back in his cave, snuggles up safely with him and wrapped with the plush fur blankets… You couldn't have left willingly… Why would you? He offered you everything and you were so grateful! He would save you, be your hero and you would be happy to be back. Never to leave his side again, you'd be that much closer to loving him like he loved you! But he had to get you back first and foremost. Powerful, white and red wings beat against the air as he lifted off the ground. He had a little one to search for.

#yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #yandere #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere shouto todoroki #yandere shouto x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki #dragon x reader #yandere dragon

[crystalsexarch]

Free Day Four - E

“Don’t let me get close enough to smell you now, Exarch. Then I’ll know for certain what you are.”

-

Explicit. Specific male WoL. Bas'ir Bahani. Continued from Muster. The Warrior of Light confronts the (pre-reveal) Crystal Exarch about what some might call untoward behavior...and said behavior escalates.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2020 FFXIV Writing Challenge

The Scions filtered out of the Ocular, and silence filtered in.The Exarch stood before his portal, waiting for the Warrior of Light to click into place behind him. During the meeting, Bas’ir Bahani had been mulling around the edges of the room with a dark shadow on his brow. He spoke little, which could only mean he was saving his words for whatever was to follow. When the sound of heels ceased, the Tower’s keeper turned around and opened his mouth.

Bas’ir spoke first. “I’ve come to accept your apology,” he said, crossing his arms. Fully covered and clothed, he looked almost wholly symmetrical at the center of the room—legs shoulder length apart, old scarf lined up with his sternum, duster static at his back. It painted bright targets upon what unevenness lingered. He couldn’t keep his left eye all the way open, and even with gloves concealing his fingers, the metal of his left arm had a weight to it. The heaviness hinted at a truth Bas’ir was certain the Exarch could remember with his own eyes—or at least the eyes of the man whose body he borrowed.

“My apology?” the Exarch said. Crystal fingers nipped at his neckline. Bas’ir weighed the gesture’s familiarity and tightened his fists. This, too, could be an act—an attempt to mimic humanness. His humanness in particular. But by then so many years had passed, he could hardly judge whether the act was any good at all.

Besides. How seldom was G’raha Tia nervous and picking at his collar?

Whatever this was, it was personal. A haunting for him and him alone. The question now became whether to believe in ghosts. “Yes,” Bas’ir said, lilting. “Your behavior in my quarters was most untoward. Do not think me so feeble in my light-addled state as to forget what transpired.”

A hum picked up in some distant corner of the Tower. The Exarch remained silent for so long that Bas’ir wondered whether that would be his answer. Alternatively, some blasphemous force of technology could charge and strike him where he stood. Crisp him or wipe his memory, one. Nothing happened until the Keeper, straight-backed and motionless, started to feel like a solemn warning to trespassers, a defiant body brooding in stone.

“I am sorry,” the Exarch said, enunciating each syllable like a leader.The affect faded as he continued. “I shall make no excuses. My conduct was unbecoming.”

“You asked me if I…” Bas’ir shook his head and hand in time, rolling his eyes. “You asked me if I bite.”

The Exarch pulled his lips over his teeth. “I—”

“You.” The Warrior’s heel clicked as he stepped forward once, sneering. “Don’t let me get close enough to smell you now, Exarch. Then I’ll know for certain what you are.”

It was heavy enough to pull the leader’s head down, but even then his silhouette belied the true measure of his mettle. “What if I told you you could never know? Would you believe me?” Spoken like a god would slap his hand away from the monster he prodded. “Would you still bare your fangs?”

The tip of Bas’ir’s tail rose a full fulm from its resting place. His nostrils flared as his silver tongue misfired into silence ten too many times. Where to start? Where to point? What to feel about it? He could scarcely believe this man, this question mark, had won the trust of his fellows. Needed to say something. Needed to drown out his heartbeat. “I...do you...are you challenging me?”

“I must have misspoken.”

“Do you misspeak to my comrades in this way? To your people?” He waved his hands to the side. “What must you think you know of me?”

“I know enough”—the leader’s voice returned—”to know you are capable of saving my world and yours.” He stepped away from the portal and held his staff with both hands now. “But...I would know more.”

“Thus you entertain me with an impromptu…” Dental exam, he wanted to snide but...couldn’t. “You would know more of me. In exchange for what, precisely? You and I both know I’m not here for mirth and merriness.”

“I know.” One hand fell from the staff. Flexed. Closed on itself. “‘’Tis selfish to ask anything more of you. I hope my actions have not made you feel unwelcome...nor your efforts unappreciated. We of the First—and those on the Source alike—are lucky to have a a boundless strength like yours among our numbers.”

“Hmph. I am not so eager to die that I will stand before a strung bow if I’ve time to duck my head.”

The Tower’s humming clicked off. Either Bas’ir had grown used to the ambiance, or this place was quieter than his memory would have had him believe, if indeed the two structures were one in the same. He was ready to perform one last jab, chasing something neither hand could grasp, before the light careened within him.

“Bas’ir!”

The Warrior registered two truths simultaneously: he’d hit the floor on his left, crystal hard against metal, metal hard against his side—and the Exarch had rushed forward, casting his staff aside. Through the pain of spirits roiling inside and about him, his yellow eyes seared with determination. An opportunity. A sin. A deft maneuver—

-

The Warrior’s reaching hand hit G’raha’s nape, fingertips to hidden russet hairline, thumb to glassy cheek. His first instinct was to flinch back, but the hand, though intrusive, was gentle; he knew it would do no more harm than it already had. Besides, there were more important things at stake.

Bas’ir’s chest heaved more heavily than the Exarch thought possible, like a half-man monster fudging the boundaries of what men looked like. Through whatever pain plagued him, the Miqo’te smiled and laughed at every outward breath. “Now I’m…” he said, coughing. “I’m the one...touching you.”

G’raha feigned calm, though he couldn’t stop the hairs on the back of his neck from standing, something that normally wouldn’t be a problem so long as his hood remained unbreached. “Are you all right, my friend?”

“Ha!” He coughed another beat and rolled over onto the Exarch’s lap, letting go. “My friend." Words he spit onto the floor. "I make sure people can only touch me how I want them to.”

G’raha deflated and let the man’s easing figure fill his gaze. Bas’ir faced the ground, his chest to G’raha’s thighs. Despite everything, he missed that weight and wasn’t sure he could stop himself from striking the match of nostalgia. “I would be remiss if I did not indicate I am capable of making the same assurance.”

“Heh.” The Warrior set a hand to the ground and lifted himself before dropping again on the Exarch’s lap. “Yet you haven’t thrown me across the room.”

“I would not.”

“You’d not abandon me, then?”

“Certainly not in your time of need.” But he had. Once. “Never.”

Bas’ir sigh-hummed and rested upon him for a ten-count, twenty-count. The wave was over. “Well, you’re either a liar or...certainly no one I’ve ever met.”

The words echoed loud enough that the Exarch worried his companion would hear them clamoring about between his eyes. He was disgusted with himself. In all possible pasts, he’d have sealed himself in the Tower, but his present was the only one born of such ugly an ugly truth. He hadn’t even stayed long enough to see the bandages removed. To see Bas’ir’s eyes open again. To tell him what he should’ve told him—what he’d never be able to tell him now.

Bas’ir shuffled away and resat himself with his legs crossed, face turned away. “Now I’ll ask for your forgiveness.” His voice was low and ugly. “I’ve taken up far too much of your time. Wasted my own, as well. Each moment is, apparently, precious in my condition.”

The Exarch exchanged glances with imaginary ghosts at his side before coming to terms with the fact that only he himself could pass judgment on his decision to creep forward and press his forehead against Bas’ir’s neck. And judgment came swiftly. You will doom yourself. You will doom your star, his star. But his fate wasn’t sealed until the Warrior leaned into the contact and sighed so musically the Bard of year's past shone through.

“You’ve found one of those moments,” he said. “Right now I don’t really care who you are.”

“Bas’ir…”

“We’re alone and...well, as far as I can tell we’ve each been lonely, too.”

“Tempt me not.”

The Warrior loosened his scarf but paused before taking it off. “Tempt you? Would you ask me to bite and leave air between my teeth?”

He started grinding his own teeth now. “No…”

“Then…” He pulled the scarf off now and slid it across the floor. “Give me something to hold onto.” Shadow-shrouded like the empty gaps of history, he peered over his shoulder. “I’ll show you how I want people to touch me.”

-

This was horrendously stupid. Bas’ir was perfectly capable of touching himself. He must have really been going mad to think the Crystal Exarch would be the shortest distance between two points. Now there was no distance between them. This entanglement came with conditions, some spoken, others implied: Bas’ir would be touched and sometimes touch in return, but the hood would remain. Right there on the floor of the Ocular, Bas’ir invited that hand once more into his mouth and leaned forward onto his arms, inviting the Exarch to show him how hard he was from behind.

The Exarch accepted and gingerly pressed his hips forward, gasping despite the layers separating heat from heat.

Bas’ir smiled around the pair of prodding fingers between his lips. He sucked before using his right arm to guide them out. “Been a while, Exarch?”

He twitched inside his robes. “I...I…”

“I must admit I’m a man with more experience than most, for better or worse. If you will let me, I can ease your loneliness in many ways.”

He cleared his throat. “Let me ease yours.”

Blushing, he pressed the Exarch’s hand to his chest and guided him down and under the hem of his sweater. This one, the hand of flesh, was warm and familiar. The leather bands tickled on his way to practiced pectorals, to one hard nipple then the next. Bas’ir swallowed and tilted his hips back, shivering when he felt the Exarch flex against his ass. “Your other hand, please.”

“My…? You would have my…?”

“You think I give a damn about your arm’s composition? Perhaps someday you’ll be lucky enough to see mine.”

“It’s...it’s a bit clumsy,” the Exarch said.

“So am I when drunk.” He leaned forward on his elbows and arched. “I just...I want you.”

“Ah. Oh…very well.” Crystal stretched around his body and pried first beneath the sweater.

“N-no,” Bas’ir said, making quick work of his own belt. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting the crystal to feel like, but beneath his own guiding hand it felt cool but vital. Capable of warmth. “Here.” The Exarch hesitated before finally dipping into those trousers and instinctively gripping what he found. Bas’ir shook his tail from base to tip, choking a tiny purr, breathing circles with his breath. “I...I think you know what to do next.”

-

G’raha did and didn’t. On one hand, he’d found his own length in a precarious place, making an ambitious attempt to burst through his own robes, the seat of the Warrior’s pants, and into him. But on the other hand—well, both of his hands—he was perhaps capable of performing some tiny, once-impossible favor—or of dooming himself and everyone he had ever loved. Including—?

“Exarch,” Bas’ir said. “I can feel you. I would have you, if...if that is your preference. Just gods don’t leave me waiting.”

His eyes rolled high beneath fluttering lids at the idea of actually inserting himself, but that was simply out of the question. Too many risks, when he was already risking so much. Without words, he pinched the Warrior’s nipple with one hand and ringed around his dick with the other. To his dismay, or pleasure, each time he slipped over that slick head, Bas’ir edged back further. And the obscene sounds he made would surely resonate forever. The world could forget, but the Tower would remember. And so would G’raha, while he was still capable of holding memories. This place was purified with new lust. Corrupted with hidden feelings.

“Faster,” Bas’ir said. “Exarch.” And G’raha wished he was saying G’raha instead, carrying all its curses on lips he wished could close around him, hold his seed and swallow. But this one, this man would remember the taste. For all that had changed, that truth was as static as the endless light of Norvrandt.

He must’ve done something Bas’ir liked, for he cried out and reared back so hard G’raha thought he might pop, but neither man came. Shaking, the cloaked Miqo'te pulled his hand out from Bas’ir’s sweater and shoved it down the back of his pants instead. Another cry and another curl of the Warrior’s bristling tail. It didn’t take him long to find what he sought and float his fingers upon it.

“Do it,” Bas’ir said, hitting his fist on the floor.

He did. For all he had ever known, all he had loved and forgotten, he remembered where to press and how hard to press it. Tongue between his teeth, the Exarch curled his fingers and clawed at Bas'ir's throat until he heard liquid hit the floor of the Ocular. He had done it, then. Some contract was sealed or broken. And now, over the final gasps of the Warrior's climax, a tear slid down G'raha's cheek and hit the corner of a bittersweet smile. Tasting salt, he continued toying with the idea of how much he wanted to be tasted.

#crystal exarch #g'raha tia #ffxivwrite2020 #ff14 fanfic #ffxiv fanfic #mywriting

[pinkafropuff]

This Inquisitor, clearly a hick

Part 2 of this

Mamoru was wrong. Apparently it could get much worse than it already had.

First, the man who said he was Comte Boisvert was absolutely not the Comte. Actually, he was not a noble at all, despite his flaming charisma; Josephine realized as soon as he spoke very calmly and neutrally about the situation that, “You’re the one who intercepted our scouts, aren’t you? Who murdered them and burned all the papers.”

It was here that he was reminded of the information he had that Josephine had been a bard before. He hadn’t believed it before now.

“A sound deliberation,” his tone was calm, the glass slowly lifting to his lips. “The House of Repose sends its regards.”

“You seemed very well informed,” she said, the lines around her eyes tightening. “Was there ever a comte?”

Mamoru sat forward, ready to jump across the table at him, when suddenly the assassin said, “Absolutely. The entire invitation was real...and so was his information, somehow. An end to be tied up later. But I bear no ill will, Lady Montilyet. The House of Repose deeply regrets this contract, but in Orlais, even an assassin’s word is his bond.” He slid a paper over to her, so she could read it.

Funnily enough, this angered Josephine the most. “‘The House of Repose is hereby sworn to eliminate anyone attempting to overturn the Montiliyets’ trading exile in Orlais’.” She gave Mamoru a half-bewildered, half-annoyed expression (which he returned in kind).

“You...seem upset, but not surprised,” that was kind of amusing, actually. “Is there something I don’t know?”

“The Du Paraquettes are no longer noble...but the contract was signed one-hundred-nine years ago. So it stands.”

“The Du Paraquettes were my family’s rivals at one point. They chased us out of Orlais. But they haven’t been considered noble for sixty-nine years, so this contract-”

“Shouldn’t it be null and void?” Mamoru agreed.

Mamoru pressed his lips together. “I knew this meeting was too convenient.”

“This is...unacceptable.” She seemed to be running through the avenues of solution in her head, her eyebrows setting hard and scrunching in the middle. “I am not going to withdraw my family’s right to resume trade.”

“Then you are in danger of the House of Repose, my lady. No matter how…” the glitter of his eyes under the mask slid to Mamoru, “...impressive your allies may be, you will eventually succumb to us. Unless you can find some way to annul the contract, of course. Like I said, it’s just business. We thought it would be...polite, to inform you of such an extraordinary circumstance.”

“So this was...what?” The Inquisitor leaned forward in his chair. “Posturing?”

The assassin gestured a little with his hand, as though he partially agreed. “Something of the sort. It would be unseemly to continue on this contract and not let its victim know what is going on. As I said, this is an extraordinary circumstance, and we are sorry to be involved.”

“That’s fine and dandy for posturin’,” Mamoru found himself saying, scooting up in his chair just a tiny bit, in order to jump in front of Josephine if needed, “but who’s to stop me from killing you right now? You’ve provoked my soldiers and you're threatening one of my adviser’s lives, after all.” It was here that Mamoru stood, fingers dancing at his side.

The “Comte” steeped his hands together. “I would rather there not be bloodshed. May I pass?”

He considered the outlying factors. The courtesy to address the concerns, and the insistence that he come with Josephine in the first place. A part of him wanted to thank him. “Where’s the Comte?” Mamoru tilted his head, blocking his way of exit.

“He is safe. In that cabinet over there, to be sure,” he gestured with his head to the armoire behind them, which Josephine didn’t even bother to look back at. The tension in her shoulders gave her the impression of either a snake ready to spring or a mouse retreating into its hole. He wasn’t sure if she was channelling the former or the latter, so he settled for a Josephine that was opposed to violence but very much wanted to keep her life.

“Besides. Killing me won’t solve your problem- though it is warranted. It is up to you, Lady Montilyet,” he leveled his gaze with Mamoru, “and your Inquisitor.”

He sucked in air through his nose, tossing his head back just slightly as a strand of his slicked-back white hair fell free of its careful styling. It was already clear where Josephine stood, so when he asked, “Well?” the answer was a polite, “Thank you for informing me of my position. We’re rather not have any more bloodshed either.

Mamoru shrugged. “You heard her.”

As soon as the assassin was gone, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well! I thought I knew everything about Orlais, but I don’t! What a lovely gift that I immediately want to return!”

She sighed. “I’m...sorry for involving you in this, Inquisitor. This is..” She shook her head. “I know how to fix it. Please, come with me.”

****

“And that’s all we need to do.”

Mamoru blinked a couple of times. For sure, his eyes had glazed over, and he also knew that the papers in his hand meant nothing to him at this point in time. Instead of saying any of that, he just. Nodded.

The procedure had been overly complicated, though it made sense in hindsight. His brain took a few moments to catch up to the information, especially when she noticed his expression.

“I’ll walk you through it, I promise.” She assured him, and Mamoru shook his head.

“No..that’s not what I’m worried about. The first bit seems easy enough, trading information for information, but the Judge will want something.”

Josephine blinked at him. “You...were not lost at all?”

“It took a minute, but I got all of the important parts,” he remarked, scratching at the stark white hair near the back of his neck with the end of a dry quill. “And it’ll take me a little time to get to these places, even with expedited travelling. Are you sure we can’t do this in a simpler way? Like..I dunno. Settin’ the contract on fire?”

She stared at him for a very long time. “Well-”

“I was just about to raise that very idea.” When Leliana entered, she was in a slightly better mood than she had been at their last meeting- meaning, she didn’t look ready to tease or beat the hell out of the Inquisitor for standing near the Ambassador. “We need to be quick about this.”

“Leliana, I understand your concern,” Josephine was obviously annoyed, “but I believe we must do this the right way. To elevate the Du Paraquettes and have them annul the contract.”

Both Spymaster and Inquisitor stared at Josephine as though she’d grown two heads. “...Josie-”

“I’m putting my foot down.” She snapped. “I want to do this the right way. Even if it takes a bit longer.”

“But Lady Josephine, this is about your life-” Mamoru started, then realized once he was the recipient of a scorching gaze that could’ve put an archdemon to shame that he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Fine. If his lordship believes we should go with Leliana’s way, fine. But I will stick to the correct way, so that there are no further implications.” Stubborn and straitlaced, she dismissed them by quickly going back to her work.

Mamoru sighed a little bit. Truthfully, it would be safer to do this Leliana’s way; the time it would take for the Inquisitor to persuade these people would afford assassins enough time to probably reach them and do Josephine in. Still-

He spared a glance at Leliana, eyebrows going up. She seemed to understand immediately that this was a losing battle, albeit a foolish battle to begin with. “It’s your life, so you pick the way we do this,” his air of reluctance was not lost on either of the other two parties, “so where is our sponsor?”

Foolish. A part of him nagged that it was not worth winning her favor, but another, a louder part, told him that whether he cared for her romantically or not, she was a capable adult who was more than able to make her own decisions. Why would he get in the way of that?

A bit pleased and good at hiding it, Josephine only said, “I’m glad you asked. I’ll make arrangements for you to meet her.”

*****

“Ambassador, I’m going to be honest. I don’t get rich people.”

He said this while sitting on the bench in Josephine’s office, waving the papers they needed around rather carelessly. His other hand propped up his cheek, posture that of a man who was exasperated with running around, despite his willingness to do so.

Josephine studied him for a little while before asking what he meant; the man was both charismatic and fierce enough to command armies but minor politics was where he drew the line? “What’s on your mind, my lord?”

She watched as he carefully set all of the papers onto her desk before sitting back down, wobbling as he went. “I don’t mind talkin’ to’em, despite hating it,” he admitted. “People are people, even when they’re…” His gaze drifted towards the window. “Nobles.”

The Ambassador refrained from saying that she was a noble, as he had a very good point. The Princes in Antiva, for instance, were…..exhausting to say the least.

“What I don’t get is why we have to jump through so many hoops to restore a bit of former glory. Farmers do decent and important work, despite not being overly rich anymore,” he seemed a tiny bit lost in thought. “And while I understand hierarchies and the like, I don’t understand how an Antivan Ambassador can be considered...poor?” He quirked a handsome eyebrow at her then, the sparkle of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“For nobles it’s all about trade and connections,” she admitted. “My family is...alright. But nowhere near the former power we once were. I may have a reputation for myself, Inquisitor,” she pressed her lips together, “but my family no longer has that sort of status.”

The Inquisitor sort of nodded, contemplating it. “Like how I’m Inquisitor, and my clan is still essentially poor and powerless.” There was a barely noticeable edge to his tone, a bitterness he couldn’t quell creeping into his normally careful speech patterns. “That, I understand.”

In that sort of framing, it did sound sort of sad. “But now you have the means to protect them,” she reminded him. It was what she did with her own family, after all. Managing her siblings’ lives and the like.

He laughed. It sort of delighted her, actually, seeing as the Inquisitor always seemed to have a lot of energy. His laugh was a lot like that. “Family?”

“Is that what you do as well?” Amused, he sort of grinned at her. “I can tell you’re eldest. What’s your family like?”

This flustered her. “My family? Well...they’re…” It was hard to put them in a flattering light on the spot; though she loved them all dearly, they certainly tried her patience. Especially Yvette.

“Yes,” she tried not to laugh too, with difficulty. “I love them dearly, but often they are...trying. They don’t go to their appointments or even their fittings on time and managing them is sometimes a greater task than working under you, my lord.”

He seemed thrown by something she’d said, his eyes going wide as he let out a short laugh. “Did you say manage? You manage your siblings?”

Josephine nodded a couple of times. Realizing that even if he had been Antivan, the Dalish might not know about what was required of an heir, she said, “As you well know, I’m the eldest. In Antiva, that means taking over the management of the estate…..including my younger siblings. It’s mostly to show that I can keep everything together and do the job my parents have before me.”

The Inquisitor was covering his mouth, some of his slicked back hair coming loose as redness spread across his fair cheeks and nose. “That...excuse me for sayin’ so, but that sounds damn near an impossible task.”

She let out a half relieved, half exasperated sigh. “You have no idea.”

“I’ve a little. I’ve four baby brothers and a little sister and it’s smackdown time 24/7 in my house. Managing their lives sounds like…” A blank expression passed over his features, the white of his eyelashes fluttering like falling snow. “Like wrestling with five bears in varying sizes.”

The laugh that escaped her startled her so much she covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh- Excuse me-”

“No, it’s terribly funny. One of my brothers is taller than me now, too, so he thinks he can always pick a fight with me!” He gestured wildly. “I’ve even a scar on my arm- Actually if you don’t mind, I could show you sometime. In theory, I mean.”

She knew this was another sign of his “courtly intrigue”; handsome and charming as he might be, he was still the Inquisitor. Nothing wrong with a little flirting now and again to keep things interesting. “Of course,” she smiled. “In theory.”

He seemed suddenly embarrassed about something; raking a hand through his hair so quickly it undid its careful styling almost completely, he asked, “S-So, what’s our next move? I can get started on it now. The faster we do this, the safer you’ll be, after all.”

“Of course,” she watched him carefully. It would be best not to ask.

#hime writes thing #dragon age #oc inquisitor #josephine montilyet #paaaart 2 #fics

[calamity-writes]

EH 27.4 - Endgame

Cast: Haylan ( @siriusdraws ),  Rythlen Theirin ( @picchar )​, Milliara (me!) Theseus Trevelyan (@perditionxroad), Peanut Adaar ( @cupcakelogic ), Fiowyn ( @shyquisitor )

Guest appearance: Karya and Aldes ( @kingsdragonage ), Kenslynn ( @megan-mayhem ), the DuMarcs ( @fangrl-esque )

Milliara - The Winter Palace

There was always a fine line between a pleasant numbness to the evening and being tipsy and risk upsetting the careful balance the Inquisition had managed to achieve in the Orlesian court.Milliara was currently dancing along that line as though it were a balance beam, glass of bubbly wine in hand. The night had been both easier and worse than she'd imagined and she wasn't about to go through the rest of it sober.

Sooner or later she would have to address what had happened, explain to Theseus why Frederic was dead, and figure out where to go from there.

But right now there was waltz playing and she hadn't danced properly in ages and anyone who even thought about stopping her from getting onto the ballroom floor was going to have the empty champagne flute shoved into their face or worse. Speaking of champagne... she finished off the flute and set it down on the passing tray of a human server who was passing by. Celene had found replacements for all the dead elves, somehow. Now food and wine was flowing again, a fact that went a long way to relieving stress in the court.

Spotting the New Guy speaking to one of the Lesser DuMarcs, the bard in Millie stirred, and she breezed over to join them, slipping her hand into the crook of Galaren's elbow.

"Why Mister DuMarc," Milliara said, purposfully forgetting the man's purchased title. It was paltry, anyways. The Patriarch and the main line were carefully avoiding the New Guy, despite the significant resemblance of the man's brows and chin. "Do you mind if I steal your nephew for a dance?" A twisted blade of a phrase. The man speaking to Gal couldn't have been more than ten years his elder, but the titters of onlookers ensured that they'd heard Milliara purposefully call him older, and tie Galaren to the family name.

"Inquisitor," the older man said with a stiff bow. "He is yours." Then a beat later. "please."

"Oh he's not mine," Milliara said with a laugh to end all bitch laughs. "Not yet."

Winking at the older man, she guided Galaren towards the ballroom floor, smirking at the sputtering she left behind.

"Have I mentioned that I like you?" Galaren said, grinning and glancing over his shoulder. "Because I do."

"Everyone likes me until they get to know me," Milliara said easily. That statement was a little too true after tonight. "I hope you know how to dance. Also, they should at least have sent your actual uncle over to try to shame you into leaving, not second-cousin Patrick."

"Someone did their homework," Galaren said, turning to pull her into a dancer's frame as they reached the edge of the floor. It appears he did, in fact, know how to dance. Or enough to not be horrid at it.

Milliara eased into the frame, adjusting her natural position for his height and frame. It was second nature, easier than riding a bike, even after so many years away.

"No," she said. "I used to be a pet of a member of the court, dealing with your family was part of the Game. Well, extended family, I'm assuming. Very extended based on the Ferelden accent, hm?"

He stepped forward and she followed, flowing with him into the slow circuit of dancers. They'd cleaned the floor but she was sure there would still be drops of red somewhere underfoot. That was nothing new, of course.

"My mother's side," Galaren said with a twitch of his shoulder. Milliara felt it through his forearm where her hand rested delicately at the crook of his elbow. "And they'd hesitate to let me use the name but it was on the certificate after I was born."

Illegitimate then, Milliara reasoned.

"The guy you took out, that you were yelling about earlier- that was the guy who used to own- er," Gal started, then stopped, realising what he'd said.

"No, you're right," the bubbly wine said through a lying smile full of teeth. "He owned me. See that's what happens when a ranked Chevalier rescues a street rat and pays for her education, food and housing. Slavery is only technically illegal on Orlais."

They danced without saying much for a few bars, and Milliara thought about her cousin. This was were Fiowyn would say something cute and suggestive and then have a fling to ease off the stress. But everything Milliara could think of just kept swirling back around to work or the murder of her ex. Besides, she didn't even know this man, aside from that he was a DuMarc and had been stiffed by Gaspard.

"I hope it hurt," Galaren said after a moment.

Reflex got the words out of Milliara's lips before her brain had a moment to think about them.

"when I crawled up from the Abyss? Only a bit." Tick, tick, tick, and she realised he hadn't used the terrible pickup line. "Wait- you said you hoped it hurt, not did it hurt." She pursed her lips, frowning slightly. "I think I can't hold as much wine as I used to be able to."

"I could try a pickup line," Galaren offered with a wink but then shook his head. "No, when you killed him. I hope it hurt."

Milliara thought about the ribbons of skin and flesh, covered with pink foam and slicked red.

"It did," she said with a small nod. "Excuse me, I think I need some fresh air actually," she said, stepping back and out from the frame of his arms. "You should go ask that man over there to dance," she said, gesturing over towards Dorian. "He'll be better company, I'm sure."

She bobbed her head as a half apology and slipped through the dancers towards the balcony where she had climbed up only an hour or so before. The night air was cool and fresh, and she sucked it down to try to calm the roiling in her chest. It helped, but more than that, it was the quiet, being away from the Vipers and whispers and eyes.

Curling her fingers over the marble ballistrade, Milliara leaned forward and rested her hips against it, looking out into the garden. Half-heartedly, she debated hopping over and making a run for the hotel, just disappearing and lettng the party run its course without her. But that would send the other Inquisition members into a Panic. Cullen was already grieving, Josie was playing catchup with the Rousseau clan after Fred's death had come to light, and she couldn't abandon them, even if she wanted to.

"I thought I might find you out here." Milliara looked over her shoulder to see Solas standing at the doorway into the ballroom. "Do you wish for company? If not I will let you be alone."

Milliara glanced past him, but it seemed he was alone. Small blessings.

"No," she said quietly, turning to face the garden again. "I actually don't know what I want, to be honest." Whoops. That was the wine again. "I mean-"

When she glanced back, he was smiling, and he rested a gloved hand on her forearm. Kid leather, black and soft, she could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin leather. Milliara tried not to think about how his hands had felt on her back.   "It is a reasonable answer to everything that has happened tonight," Solas said gently. "I did not mean to cause any of-"

"Solas," she interrupted. "You couldnt have known, I- I kissed you. I don't regret it, not really. Sure the timing could have been better. But if it wasn't that, something else would have set him off. Being here, around everything that I used to be, everything he used to be, it would have happened sooner or later." It boiled down to that, really. Deep down, she and Fred had been poison. Now he was gone, and Milliara wondered if she was poison without him. Could she move on now, and be the person she wanted to be? Or would she have to face the fact that she always had been and always would be a bad person?

The thought terrified her.

"You don't regret it?" Solas asked, lifting his eyebrows. "I thought you had made your choice for the Templar."

Milliara shook her head.

"I thought I had too," she admitted. "But now..." After seeing him angry, seeing him act a little too much like Fred, even if it had been valid, scared her almost as much as his use of Lyrium did.

"You should speak with him," Solas said, stepping back from the railing. "However, if the offer is not unwanted, I cannot allow this opportunity to pass me by. Lady Inquisitior, may I have this dance?" He dipped into a courtly bow, looking up at her with a small smile.

Heart hurting, Milliara took his offered hand and stepped away from the railing. Tonight, she would just enjoy this. She could sort out feelings and the mess she'd made tomorrow.

Stepping into Solas's arms, she blinked in surprise, a slow smile spreading on her face as he guided her into a slow waltz on the balcony itself, away from the crowd. The smoothness of his steps and ease of movement surprised her, but she bit back the questions on the tip of her tongue. They could wait.

As the music slowed, song drawing toward an end, Solas cupped her cheek. Lifting up onto her toes, Milliara closed the distance to his lips. This kiss was everything the other was not. Soft and quiet, not impulsive and meant to burn away old memories. His lips were warm, and he tasted like wine and cake and magic. The heady flavours made Milliara cling closer, tucking herself into Solas's arms where she was safe and warm and-

Milliara heard a scuff of shoes on stone behind her and a sharp intake of breath. Breaking the kiss, she turned, and felt her heart twist in her chest at Theseus's face.

"Forgive the interruption," Theseus said coldly. His face was tight, hands balled at his sides. "Excuse me." He turned on his heel and hung there for the barest of hesitations. Milliara knew this was where she was supposed to call out and apologize, explain. Something. But there was just... nothing left of her to put into it.

It seemed as though she was poison after all, entirely independent of Fred's presence.

Theseus marched out of sight, shoulders taut. Millie let him go, biting her lip.

"Solas," she said, looking back up at him. "Would you escort me back to the hotel? I think... I'm done with the ball." The hotel had hot showers and wine and beds, and maybe if she was feeling like enough of a bitch, an apostate who could help scrub away the lingering grime of the night.

"Of course," Solas said. Stepping back, he offered his elbow to her, and she took it, grateful for an anchor in the middle of too many feelings.

#Milliara #Entropic Horizons #Theseus #Galaren #Solas #Making bad decisions continues