#Geralt's Ma

[viking-raider]

A Witcher's Soul

Summary: When tragedy strikes, Geralt of Rivia seeks comfort in the arms of one woman.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning: PG - Abandonment Issues, Child Abandonment, Fluff Parental Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Memories, Bathing, Love Confession, Soft!Geralt, Character's Death

Inspiration: This scene from Season Three of the Witcher! 😭

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

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

Geralt rode Roach hard, only deviating from his path to guide the powerful black horse around a tree or rock. He gripped the worn brown reins tightly, feeling them cut into the top of his bare hands as he urged Roach to move faster, foam already starting to gather around his bit. The Witcher's mind raced, desperately trying to push down the power of the news he received from a good friend, while trying to help someone he'd found on the job. He struggled for a few days, trying to push it down, telling himself it didn't hurt.

She had left him almost a century ago, at this point.

Witchers had no emotions, he told himself, as a means to drive them back. It didn't work however, the emotions continued to smash into him.

So, he left in the dead of night, not a word to Anika, Otto, or even Jaskier, of where he was going or why. Though, he was sure Anika would know why. Geralt covered almost a whole league by the end of morning, cutting through the forest outside of Murivel, until he reached a modest clearing and an even more modest, three-room hut constructed in the middle of it, a stone and clay well on the left side, the bucket swaying softly in the breeze.

Roach came to a hard stop, hooves cutting deep grooves in the grassy earth, with Geralt wasting no time in dismounting the stallion and stomping across the yard to the front door. His sore and broken heart rose up with hope that it would swing open and the face of the one he was seeking would appear, to greet him. But, the door didn't open to him, instead he was greeted another way.

“Geralt!” A soft and confused voice called out.

He swung around on his boot heels, his golden eyes zeroing in on you as you stood just passed the tree-line, a basket of herbs and mushrooms balanced on your hip, as you regarded the Witcher. You hadn't seen Geralt in over a year, since he decided he needed to go to Cintra to make sure Ciri was safe from the sea of black and gold he'd seen on the Amell Pass. After the Dragon Hunt. You had heard the thunder of the new Roach's hooves coming up the path to your home, while you were gathering in the forest, and came to see who it was. You were surprised to see Geralt in general, but you were worried by how rushed he seemed.

“Geralt, what's amiss?” You asked, coming to close the gap between you. “Are you well?” You inquired, seeing the unusually deep crease between his brow and across his forehead, and how his complexion was paler, almost matching his hair.

Geralt took a deep breath through his nose, lips pressed together for a moment, working up the strength to speak. “I need you.” He finally rasped, his expression breaking into something soft and vulnerable.

“You rode all the way from wherever, just for time with me?” You smirked, tisking.

“Please.” Geralt replied, reaching out to grasp your free hand and squeezing it, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, his expression breaking even more.

You frowned at him, all jest dying inside of you, seeing his wall fall before you and the pain he was being crushed underneath. “Let's go inside.” You whispered softly, tilting your head towards your door.

Nodding, Geralt reached out for your basket, but shaking your head and swatting it away gently, you pushed the front door open and put your hand on his arm, guiding him inside. You set your basket on a large table and turned towards the just as large fireplace, grabbing wood from the dog grate and tossed it in. Building it back up, sparks flying up the chimney. You moved to Geralt, who stood motionless beside the table, taking his hand and guided him over to the chair at the head of the table, gently coaxing him to sit down, then knelt before him. Grabbing the heel of his boot and his calf, you tugged the muddy, black leather off and set it underneath the table, followed by its twin. There was dust and mud covering his black clothing. You brushed your palm over his knee and thigh, casting some of it off, before standing up again and starting for the next room, only to have Geralt grasp your wrist and pull you into his lap. His arms wrapped around your shoulders as he buried his face into your chest, and breathed deep.

You frowned at him, sympathetically brushing your fingers through his hair and pulling it free of its usual tie, his white strands cascading over his shoulders. You nosed the top of his head, caressing the back of his hair and squeezing his bicep, still confused as to why he was there and what was ailing him so much.

“Geralt.” You whispered into his strands. “Tell me, what's happened?” You asked, your fingertips brushing the back of his neck. “Did you not make it to Ciri in time? Has something happened to her or Jaskier?” You inquired, licking your lips as your heart thundered against his forehead. “I noticed that isn't the Roach you had the last time you were here.” You pointed out, remembering the sweet Chestnut you used to feed and brush, when Geralt stayed with you, but now there was a sturdy black stallion standing in your dooryard.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “No, they're both fine.” He rasped, turning his head to rest his temple against your collarbone. “As for the last Roach, she was killed by a Chernobog, a few months ago.” He added, softly.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” You cooed, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Then, what's the matter with my Wolf?”

He was still and quiet again, for a long time, his fingers restlessly toying with the strings at the back of your bodice, before suddenly standing with you still in his arms, and turning to sit you on the chair in his place. He went out the door, rounding the house to the well and dropped the bucket to the bottom. You watched Geralt come back inside with each bucket, holding it in one hand, like it was the weight of one of his swords. Pausing in the open doorway and giving you a hard stare every time, as if he expected to find you moved off the chair or vanished completely. Only then, did he go to your large cauldron, dumping the full bucket in and returning back outside for another.

“Are you going to tell me, what's the matter, Geralt?” You asked, your concern only mounting with his bizarre behavior and irregular moodiness.

“Nothing.” He grunted harshly, setting the cauldron over the fire to boil.

“That's a lie.” You answered, just as sharply, being one of the few people on the Continent brave enough to talk back to the White Wolf in such a manner; other than Jaskier and Ciri. “You wouldn't have come from the bum fuck of Nilfgaard to see me, if something wasn't bothering you.” You insisted, glaring at his back.

Geralt ignored you, heading towards the back rooms of your home and leaving you more worried and annoyed at his behavior. He came back a few minutes later with no shirt on, and your suspicions on his task were answered. Despite what the people of the great Continent thought of Geralt of Rivia, he did not in fact like smelling of death, blood and horse. When he stopped for the winter at Kaer Morhen or with you, he bathed regularly. He just found it more a nuisance to do so while on the Trail, since the next Contract or sleeping rough would only dirty him up again.

Pulling the roiling cauldron off the fire, Geralt carried it to the large, soaking tub you boosted in your bathroom. He filled it almost to the brim, before adding in Lavender and Sage bath salts to the steaming water. A fragrant haze filled the room as he tugged his pants off and tossed them over a chair in the corner. He strode out of the bathroom, returning to you, still sitting where he'd left you. He took your hand and helped you stand, untying the strings of your bodice and tugging down your dress, so it pooled around your feet, before slipping his arm under your knees and an arm around your shoulders, scooping you up against his chest.

You sighed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, while he carried you to the bathroom. “I missed you.” You whispered into his ear, as he stepped into the tub, lowering you both into it.

“And I, you.” Geralt replied, holding you in his lap and resting back. “Ciri and Jaskier are well, by the way.” He said, his fingertips stroking the skin of your side, beneath the water. “Ciri is being watched over by Yennefer, who's helping her try and control her magic and Jaskier was with Anika, last I left him.”

“Anika?” You frowned, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “Why is Julian with Anika? If he's well.”

Geralt's thick, scarred arms squeezed around you, almost painfully, making you squirm in his lap. “You remember my mother.” He mumbled, barely audible. “Visenna.” He said so quietly, you had to strain to hear it.

“Yes, I recall you telling me of her, a few years after we met.” You murmured, seeing the strained expression on his face. “And that you'd seen her at Sodden Hill. She healed you, after the ghoul bite.”

“I remember bits of my life with my Ma.” He rasped, his grasp on you loosening, but he still held you close to him. “She smelled like embers, from keeping our measly fires alive during the long nights.” He told you, the crease between his golden eyes slowly vanishing as he went back to that time, tapping into that abandoned little boy, he had never grown out of, but skillfully concealed from those he didn't cherish. “We were quite poor, even though she was skilled as a healer. So, she-” He paused, his voice thickening and his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

You looked up at him, seeing the redness in the whites of his eyes and the unshed tears threatening on his lashes. It frightened you to see the Witcher like this. In the fifteen years you'd known him, you'd seen him in many states, but you had never seen Geralt cry. Reaching up, you cupped his scruffy cheek in your hand and thumbed a droplet away, pressing your lips to his jawline.

“She would use her magic to create the most elaborate meals that we couldn't afford.” He continued, tilting his head into your hand. “There was—I would have done anything to make her smile. And yet,” He voice broke again, this time with more than just hurt and abandonment, but with resentment. “The day she left me, she was sick. She needed some water, so I went to get her some, and when I came back to the road...she was gone.” He croaked, pushing his jaw forward and shaking his head, trying to deny the burn of more tears.

His fingertips pressed into the skin of your side and back. “I called for her.” He said weakly, his golden eyes off in the distance. “But she was gone.” He whimpered, the tears finally winning out, dripping off his jaw and into your hair and the bath water.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead to his neck and hugging your arms around his torso. You had known Visenna had abandoned Geralt. He had told you that bluntly not long after you had met. The torture of her leaving him there, to be taken away to Kaer Morhen, where he'd suffered such agony in his transformation into a Witcher, at just five years old, coupled with the pain he never got over with his mother.

You wondered how Geralt had survived at all.

But no, Geralt was strong, even from a young age.

“She's dead.”

You pulled out of your thoughts, shocked. “She's dead?”

“She was giving aid to some villager and was mistaken as an Elf.” Geralt told you, bringing a hand out of the water to wipe it over his face. “They beat her severely and she later died, at the Temple of Mourning, where Anika was. Which is how I found out.”

“I'm so sorry, Geralt.” You cooed, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, connecting the dots to his arrival. “I hope the two of you were able to make some sort of easement between you, when you last met.”

Geralt pressed his lips together and buried his face into your hair, his throat too tight to speak in the moment. He considered how he and Visenna last met, in the forest outside of Sodden Hill, as he laid feverish and hallucinating from a Ghoul bite to the leg. After saving a poor Merchant, who was trying to bury the dead from a camp Nilfgaard had attacked. At first, she had tried to conceal her identity from him, pretending to be Renfri, Yennefer and finally, you, before he managed to discover who it really was. Triggered by her belief that, People linked by Destiny, will always find each other.

He asked her what she thought of his eyes. Demanding to know, if she knew what they did to improve a Witcher's eyes. Telling her that it didn't always work. She had begged him to stop. Calling him by his name, only for Geralt to reject her right to do so, like she had rejected him. He had begged to know if she knew how many boys actually made it through the Trials. Tears filled both of their eyes as they stared at each other in the darkness.

In the end, his Ma had left him, again, fading into the night, trying to convince him she was just a dream and he would never get the answer he wanted.

So, had he made peace with his mother abandoning him, forcing him on the Path of the Witcher?

No. Geralt decided in the end, he had not.

The only thing Geralt did know was he wanted you. You were the first person he had thought of, upon finding out about his mother's death. Wanting to feel you against him and needing the comfort only you were able to provide. You shifted out of Geralt's lap, moving around him, while reaching over the side of the tub, grabbing the small cup that sat on the foot board there. Dipping it into the water and gently pouring it over Geralt's silvery-white strands, you set aside and took up a round, solid bar of honey and chamomile scented soap, using it to work his hair into a rich lather. Geralt moaned, feeling your fingers massage his scalp, resting forward to prop his elbows on his bent knees, eyes falling shut.

“I love you.” He murmured, quietly.

You stopped, resting your hands on his broad shoulders. “You've never said that before.” You said, looking around at him, mouth softly agape.

“No?” Geralt rasped, cocking a brow over his shoulder at you.

“Not once, in all these years.” You assured him, your hand gently massaging the scarred muscle of his neck.

He turned to you, causing the cooling water to slosh over the edge. “Then, I have a great deal of making up to do.” He cooed, reaching out to cup your face in his rough palm. “Because I do. I love you. Out of everyone, besides perhaps Jaskier and Vesemir, you know me better than anyone, and no one has ever taken better care of me than you have.” He told you, his face betraying the emotions a Witcher truly had, but guarded for their most treasured person, and not those of an abandoned child, rather those of a man in love.

“I love you too, Geralt.” You assured him, turning your head to kiss his hand. “And I will always care for you, me bleidd.” You whispered, picking up the cup to continue washing his hair.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #geralt of rivia #the witcher #geralt #witcher #A Witcher's Soul #A Witcher's Soul *fic* #hurt/comfort #Geralt of Rivia x You #Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Geralt of Rivia Fluff #Angst #Fluff #Visenna #Geralt's Ma #Character Death #major character death

[spill-the-t]

uhm sorry like uhm oh ma gawd i mean haaa i can´t help aah

#geralt of rivia ma man #geralt of rivia #the witcher #you´re coming home with me #geralt of rivia has my heart

[serpart-taliia]

Cyrulik abstynent, jedyny prawilny wampir

Moje wyobrażenie tej postaci różni się od wersji growej, natomiast czuje się wystarczająco zdrowo na umyśle, aby nie próbować designować postaci. ZWŁASZCZA, ŻE W KSIĄŻKE PÓŹNIEJ JEST WSPOMNIANE, ŻE GERALT ZAKŁADA JEGO KAPELUSZ WDYM REGIS MA KAPELUSZ, OD KIEDY CZEMU NIKT MI NIE POWIEDZIAŁ lubie kapelusze REGIS Reference, bc it was study at first but well Regis from "Witcher" by Andrzej Sapkowski, tho it's game design from "Witcher 3: Dziki Gon", bc i can't design chracters thank you

#my art #my art 2024 #art #digital art #digital drawing #drawing #fanart #witcher 3 #witcher #emiel regis #witcher regis #witcher fanart #the witcher fanart

[kiritella]

Series: Sehnsucht: Chapter One, Seven Year Debts

Pairings: Geralt x Teen!Reader, Yennefer x Teen!Reader

Warnings: Blood, death, injuries, monsters

Words: 2.8k

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—Seven Years Ago—

The rain puttered around her, and her lungs burned with a violent ache. She ran, blindly and confused, and lacking all direction. Her small legs could not take her very fast, not nearly as much as she would have wanted, for it was already night. The moonlight filtered through the heavy canopy of leaves above her, but it was not nearly enough with the cloudy skies. It was dark. 

Her small feet, even calloused, hurt as she stumbled over thick roots and sharp stones, briars and thorns. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as her back, though, so she hardly paid them any mind. The blood soaking through her torn nightgown was still warm, fresh from the gaping cuts splitting her back open. The burn in her left shoulder was violent and continued even to her bones.

Everything hurts, she thought, and even as she did, she tripped and fell, landing face first into the moist ground. She let out a sharp cry.

“It will be alright…” the voice from earlier said in her thoughts, deep and gravely like stone. 

“No one is here,” she sobbed, clutching her dagger in her hands as a wolf’s howl pierced the air. She shivered in fright. Crawling, she curled up against a tree, her body sinking into it as she begged it to open up and swallow her whole. The bark dug into the long gashes along her spine, and poked into the burn on her shoulder.

Valeska had said to go east, that someone might be here and would take her in when she had strapped the dagger to her waist. Soft, dreadful whispers. The leather band was too large for her, and the blade seemed as though it was half her size. She had the decency to wipe her tears, but not enough to try and stop the barrage of rotten food being tossed at her. Still, she was grateful then…but it seemed for naught.

“No…they aren’t,” the voice said regretfully. “But you will be alright.”

“The wolves—” 

“They will not hurt you,” he assured. “You should rest, little keeper. I know it hurts…” he said, and his voice seemed mournful. “But in time, it will pass. I will guard you tonight, so rest…”

Despite his reassurances, the little girl was unable to sleep much that night. It wasn’t her first night alone, not the first time she had curled against the pain, back drenched in her own blood. Yet, with the mark burned into her back, the smell of rotten food caked in her hair from the people she had once longed for the approval of, the press of her father’s hand shoving her toward her demise…her mother’s silence…everything was different. On this painful and agonizing night, everything changed.

—Currently—

It was the sound of a groan that drew her to him. Her footsteps were light on the forest floor as she followed the sound over a hill, hardly making a sound louder than the rustling of leaves in the wind. Even the snow beneath her frozen feet would not give any announcement of her presence. Hesitant and careful, she approached the peak of a short, sharp drop above a cave. A ghoul’s cave, more accurately. When a light breeze stirred, she retched silently. Snatching the tattered, red scarf from her neck, she wrapped it around her face to guard her senses from the scent of rotting flesh mixed up by the air. She drew closer to the pained groans, carefully descending the rocky face of the mountain. She cursed herself for even trying to look. 

It was more likely a Ghoul than anything else.

Unfortunately, as she peeked around the edge of the high ground she knelt on, she realized it was both. The bodies of several ghouls either laid with their heads detached from their bodies, their throats slit, or their chests looking strangely caved in. A camp of dead men—villagers from the base of the mountain, she realized—sat decomposing and partly consumed about the region. An arm here, a leg there. That would account for the smell.

Another man also laid amongst the dead, only this one, to her surprise, moved. But as she peeked a bit closer, his features began to take shape, and with them, her breath was taken quickly from her lungs. Geralt.

Glancing about the region, she saw no one else, and with a hand on the hilt of the sword on her waist, she scrambled down the rockside and into the small valley in front of the cave. Her eyes scanned the dead bodies as she passed, ready for any of them to even twitch. They didn’t, and not even a mangled groan came from the cave. He must have taken care of all of them. She hurried toward Geralt, but when he perked up suddenly, his golden eyes pierced through her, she slowed. 

“Who are you?” he asked sharply, straining as he sat up further against the tree. Sweat beaded along his hairline, sinking into his white hair as he blinked quickly. His hand clenched the hilt of his sword, and as she noted this, she also found the red, gnarly bite on his wrist. Her heart sank. 

“You look a bit young to be a murderer,” he said, and she furrowed her brow. She held her hands up in surrender as she came closer, but now that she had, she could see it. The dead men laid about had not been bitten and torn. Their necks or chests had been cleanly cut, and they had bled out. Oh…

She shook her head quickly. 

“Not here to finish me off?” he asked with a pained grunt. “You fucking bastards hired me.”

She shook her head once more, and then pointed at his arm—the bite—and began to fumble with the satchel on her hip. Slowly, so he could see her movements, she pulled out a long rag and a vial. Once more, she crept closer. 

He scoffed, weakly waving his hand away. She shook her head, and stubbornly turned, walked over to one of the dead bodies, and lightly kicked it. She looked at him, pointed at the corpse, shook her head, then held up the medical supplies. Perhaps she would ask the dead body for forgiveness later, but from what she could gather, they had attacked Geralt once he had finished his job with the ghouls. For that, she didn’t have much love for the rotting sack of flesh, so forgiveness wasn’t something she was desperately looking for. 

Geralt furrowed his brow as she pushed back the hood of her cloak, revealing her appearance. His horse snorted off behind the tree, stamping her foot. She cocked her head to the side, and perhaps the beast would have been a little more frightening if it wasn’t so protective of its master. As for Geralt, it might have been years since she had last seen him, memories diluted with a child’s admiration, but she knew he was no threat to someone who did not pose a threat to him. 

Slowly, she unsheathed her sword and dagger and tossed them to the side. Again, she crept closer, as if approaching a scorpion and her hands held up. With a short nod and a mistrustful glare from him, she knelt at his side. At the very least, he did not press the edge of his sword to her throat. That was a good sign. Quickly now, she wrapped the bandage around his forearm, a little ways above the ghoul’s bite seeping venom into his bloodstream, and then tightened it as much as she could. She locked it in place with a sturdy stick, limiting the blood flow. She wouldn’t be able to leave it on for long at risk of permanent damage.

“A tourniquet won’t—”

She grabbed the vial she showed him earlier and bit off the cork, pouring the green contents over the bite. The scent of alcohol and mixed herbs overpowered the smell of blood for a moment. Geralt grit his teeth as the medicine seeped over the wound and burned, white foam bubbling within it as it reacted and drew out the venom. He groaned.

When he tried to speak, it came out slurred, and she looked up sharply to find his head lolling to the side. She slapped him.

His eyes shot open, a hard glare set on her as his brow furrowed. “Fuck—my vials.”

Fumbling about him, she found several, a few in his satchel and hanging on his waist. Several were broken, and of the ones that weren’t, she held them up, only for him to shake his head. She held up the broken ones, and when he plucked one from her hands, fumbling with it, he paled. He tossed it away with a frustrated grunt. 

“I need—” he started, saying the same phrase over again as his tongue, she assumed, was becoming heavy. “Vesemir.”

Well, at least she had a name to start with, but given that she didn’t have a single fucking clue who that was, she didn’t see how she could help. Frustrated, she threaded her fingers through her hair, stopping abruptly as they caught on a thick matt. 

She knew the basics of medicine, but a ghoul’s venom was nothing to joke about, and certainly beyond her league. What she had given him was typically used to draw out snake venom, slow the effects, not nearly capable of fighting something as potent as ghoul’s venom. On top of that, he was a Witcher. She didn’t know if normal medicine would work on his mutated body, or even what doses to give him.

Grinding her teeth together, she stood up to her feet and made her way toward the horse. The poor beast was frightened, her black mane damp with sweat, hooves stomping into the dusted snow as she shifted nervously. It took a good minute to be able to calm her down, but at last the girl was able to grab her reins and settle her. She found what she was looking for in one of the saddle bags, and took it back to Geralt, laying the parchment map across his legs. 

When his eyes didn’t open, she pressed her thumb into the gaping bite. He wrenched his arm from her grip, though barely, and cursed.

“Stop doing that!” he snapped.

Stay awake then, she thought, but said nothing. Instead, she gestured to the map. He hesitated, untrusting eyes on her before shifting back to the paper. He was wasting time. She grasped his wrist and shook it in front of his eyes, emphasizing the wound and then released it. His arm fell back into the snow as dead weight, and she knew he was losing feeling in it. If he wanted her to get this Vesemir, he needed to tell her where he was.

It was only after several more contemplative moments Geralt pointed to the map. His finger laid on the outlined Blue Mountains north of Ban Ard by the Lixela River where they were currently. Then, he traced west to the mountain’s base, then up the edge north until he reached the Gwenllech River. Following this river upstream into the mountains once more, he stopped, tapped twice, and grunted.

“You’ll cross here,” he said, “the river will be shallow. Be mindful of the white stones.”

She nodded, and he continued.

“Follow the mountain pass, there’s—damnit—” he cursed, straining as red lines on his forearm flared and a new expulsion of white foam poured from the bite. The medicine was working at least. She sighed in relief.

When he had taken a moment, he continued. “There will be a gap in the granite wall. A gorge, it opens to a ravine, then to a valley. Don’t follow the path, go into the woods. Follow the stream—” he grimaced and groaned, letting his head fall back against the tree. “This is pointless, you’ll never even find the gap.”

She slapped him again and the amount of shock on his face was comical. She smiled, but it appeared more gangly and grim than she intended. The path was difficult, but she had help, so she was certain she would get him there. Again, she pointed to the map.

“It’s Kaer Morhen,” he slurred and she nodded. “A castle. Doesn’t look much like one anymore.”

“Alright,” she said, and he narrowed his eyes. He shook his head with a light chuckle as it lulled to the side.

“I thought you were mute,” he said. Blinking as if she hadn’t thought of that, she smiled crookedly and rolled up the map, tucking it into the belt on her waistline. Picking up his sword, she fumbled in her satchel and pulled out a rag, cleaning off the remnants of blood before helping him sheath it back in its place. He seemed curious, but didn’t say anything about it.

As she gathered up her own weapons again and readied the horse, he spoke again.

“I’ll drift in and out of consciousness, and probably say some things,” he said and she hummed to let him know she was listening as she adjusted the stirrup lengths on the saddle. “A handful of days at best before I’m dead.”

That was impressive. How he intended to survive for five days was something she would try and ask later, maybe…perhaps. Most would be dead much quicker than that, after all. 

She hummed again and led the horse by the reins, taking her beside Geralt. He looked up with weary eyes and sweat beading in his hairline. His brows furrowed as he thought. 

Ah…this was going to be difficult. Geralt huffed as he attempted to get to his feet. He managed pretty far, much more than she had anticipated, but alas, he could get to his knees and lean against the tree on one foot, but from there he was stuck. Fidgeting with her fingers, she shuffled on her feet and crept closer. 

He grunted. “Unless you happen to be a competent teenage sorceress, I don’t think you can help me get on the horse.”

She chuckled, and it swiftly turned into a soft laugh. She knelt beside him and placed her hand into the snow, sinking beneath the ice and into the dirt. Whispering beneath her breath, she laid out an incantation into the earth. The trees swayed with the sound of her soft voice, the soil turning beneath them as if embraced by an old friend. Carefully, the ground Geralt knelt on lifted him up and thick roots stretched out to steady him. 

“Well…shit,” he said, seemingly amused. “Easy, Roach.”

She stood and eased the horse—apparently named Roach, to her amusement— holding the reins as she shifted to allow Geralt, now at the same level as the saddle, to slide on. The roots remained to steady him as the dirt eased back into its rightful place. 

“I don’t suppose you know how to make a portal?” he asked as she hopped into the saddle. It must have been a rather amusing sight, a small teenager in the main seat with Geralt behind her.

She shook her head. Stretching out her hand, a posy of vines grew and wound around Geralt and the saddle, binding his unsteady frame at least in a somewhat stable position. She needed him secure against her back if he was going to fall unconscious randomly throughout their journey. And she wasn’t wrong. 

He was unconscious within the next few minutes, bodying going lax so suddenly she had to pull the horse to a stop and scramble to gather her balance. With more vines wrapping around them, and pulling Geralt’s arms around her and binding them to the saddle’s horn, his weight was now firmly set against her back. And finally settled, she set out quickly.

“Don’t follow the path he showed you,” a long-since familiar voice said in her thoughts. “Go northeast and follow the Lixela up through the mountains. It will be quicker.”

“Are you sure, D’ao?” 

“Do not worry, if Kaer Morhen is where he says it is, I will get you there.”

She swallowed thickly as she adjusted course and Roach’s canter broke into a swift and steady gallop. She had to shake her head as memories began to sink into her thoughts. The Drowner, gangly limbs and pale eyes, sharp teeth by the river. The hiss of a sword and golden eyes, white hair, and a wolf captured in silver. A kind, gentle hand. The village, the fear, the pain—unbearable pain. She shivered. Chaos. 

She breathed in heavily as the trees whizzed by around her, shaking the scent of blood and rotten food from her senses. Determination took its place. She would get Geralt to Kaer Morhen—alive—and if the world hated her for once again helping a Witcher, she would laugh as they set fire to her pyre and burn the monster they created.

The ten year old child she once was owed him that.

-------------------------------------

Tags are Open at Request!

#Sehnsucht #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x teen!reader #geralt x child!reader #dad!geralt #dad!geralt x teen!reader #Geralt x ciri #Geralt x cirilla #father!geralt #father!geralt x daughter!reader #father!geralt x teen!reader #geralt x daughter!reader #geralt x female!reader #geralt x afab!reader #geralt x yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer x ciri #mom!yennefer #mother!yennefer #mom!yennefer x teen!reader #mom!yennefer x ciri #yennefer x teen!reader #yenefer x daughter!reader #yennefer x child!reader #soft!geralt #soft!yennefer #the witcher #Dad!Geralt & Reader

[memories-of-ancients]

I predict that The Witcher on Netflix will finally fail miserably. When it does 20th Century Studios should buy out the rights, hire Henry Cavill, and make a Witcher / Alien crossover series. One that is TV/MA rated and super gory, violent, creepy, and grimdark like the Witcher should be.

Plot will be Geralt takes a contract of a town being terrorized by some kind of monster. When he arrives everyone is dead and he discovers that some kind of infestation originates from a nearby ancient Elven ruin that the townspeople had discovered and were exploring.

[first-edition]

Daughter of Kaer Morhen

Smut-mas day 5

Geralt of rivia x reader

Sum- You spend all your time and days taking care or kaer morhen with your dogs but it’s only when the witchers come home you can finally relax

CW- smut, 18+ language and themes, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral! Fem receiving, pet names.

“Come along.” You call to your 7 dogs as they all run up to the large doors of kaer morhen aka your home. The first and only human to reside there.

You’ve lived at kaer morhen ever sconce you could remeber. Vesimer found you as a baby in the woods cold hungry and dying. He took it upon him self to feed, clothe and house you teaching you the skills of a Witcher yet brought in mages to teach you the skills to be a proper lady.

Over time you became friends with the other witchers and even a lover to one, geralt of rivia or as you and the others call him white wolf, wolf for short.

You stop in your place seeing horses tetherd and smoke roaring from the top of the hold. Running to the door you open it seeing your family. A huge smile covers your face. You place down your basket and run to them. All the men embrace you in a large group hug.

“Move aside come now let me see my daughter!” Vesimer voice travels through the room as everyone steps back.

“Father!” You exclaim and run to him hugging him he picks you up spinning.

Placing you down he pulls back too see your face. “Oh how I’ve missed those lavender eyes, fair skin and strong spirit!” He smiles and kisses your fore head.

“You look well.” He says “yes my dogs have helped me much so with winter hunt. You on the other hand look starved.” You reply and whistle one of your dogs grabs the basket walking over to you.

“Venison, bear, salmon, and mushrooms if they server your liking?” You ask “oh!! You treat me too well.” He says you smile and grab your basket.

“Your rooms are mended and fresh fur is placed….” You say but stop and look around the room counting how many are left.

“Where is wolf? And eskel?” You ask. Everyone looks around “not here m’lady” lambert says “hm.”

“I’m sure he’ll arrive” Coen replies. You nod and continue your way to the kitchen.

———

You sit your dogs around you nose head resting on your lap. A horses whine can be heard.

“That’ll be eskel he has the loudest horse.” Lambert says. You scoff. The doors open revealing the famous, large, white haird Witcher. But he’s brought someone with him a girl around the age of 16.

“Where the fuck have you been!?” Lambert exclaims as geralt places his bag down with a thud.

“We thought you were lost or killed..” coen says

Geralt chuckles “not yet..” he says and laughs as they all hug. He greets vesimer as well. Your dogs get up and run to him and greet him but bark at the sight of the girl.

You stand up “Vulcan heel!” You exclaim he whines and runs to your side “sit.” You say he does. Geralt watches you in awe missing the sight of you. Everything about you perfect to him.

“Wolf..” you say as he walks twirls you.

“You’re late..3 hours to be precise-“ he cuts you off pulling you in and kissing you. You smile into the kiss wrapping your arms around his neck.

Ciri covers her mouth not too show her smile. Geralt spoke of you before but she never invisioned the fearless heartless man to be so mezmerized by you.

You two pull away and you look into his amber eyes. “I’ve missed you.” He states, “and I you.” You reply but your sight goes to the girl.

“And who have you brought with you?” You ask. “Cirilla. This is y/n.”

“Are you a Witcher.?!” “Oh no but I am vesimers daughter, I live here tend to it whilst the witchers are gone.” You reply she smiles “pleasure to meet you!” She says “and you cirilla” “ciri.” She corrects you nod “ciri”

———

Soon eskel arrives and the party begins

The night is filled with music and laughter ciri dances with the rest.

You stand and watch by the door way.

“You’re not enjoying yourself?” Geralt asks from behind you as his large arms weapp around your waist.

“Huh? I am believe me…just parties with women of the night aren’t really my scene. I’d much rather spend it with you.” You reply turning around to face him he presses his lips against yours lightly and squeezes your waist.

You pull away and grab his hand leading him away.

Walking into the room he closes the door and smashes his lips against yours. His hands roaming your waist to your back instead of waiting to in tie your corset he rips it apart. Getting you out as soon as possible.

Opening your legs he rests in between sitting up only to take off his shirt and pants leaving you both nude. His large hard cock presses against your pussy making you gasp “Ah wolf please!” You plead out to him.

“I want to take my time with you, I haven’t seen you all year!” He huffs in your ear as he grinds himself against you. His mouth pulls from your neck. He kisses down your body between your breasts. His large calloused hand takes a breast in hand and squeezes causing you to moan out.

Kissing down your body he finds his way to your thigh kissing it as well. You look up at the ceiling and feel his tounge press against your clit causing you gasp and shift. Geralt grabs your thighs keeping you in a place as he eats you out.

His tounge swirling around you dipping into you causing your back to arch. “F-fuck geralt!” You moan out placing your hand on his head. Trying to pull him off “ngh g-geralt please I-ah I’m gonna cum.” You huff he dosnt listen and only moves up and inserts a finger then another.

Pressing against your g spot as sucking on your clit make it unbearable. Finally snapping as you cum. He dosnt rest over stimulating you.

He finally pulls away and immediately moves up to kisses you letting you taste your sweet self. You grind your hips on his dick. He pulls away hissing through his teeth.

“P-please.” You answer his gasp. “Please what!?” He growls pulling your hairs back.

“Ngh.. p-please fuck me.” You reply he kisses your neck surely leaving hickeys And angles himself up to you. “Good girl.” He huffs and pushes himself in making sure to be carful and not to hurt you. 

you moan out as he enters your pussy. 

he begins to move slowly at first to find a rythim and then rough and fast. 

Your nails drag against his back and arms being sure to leave marks. 

“F-fuck Wolf!” you exclaim you breast bouncing to his hips pounding you. 

he pulls back a bit and pulls you closer to him pulling your leg up over his large shoulder. the angle making your back arch and grabbing the sheets. “ah shit.” he curses groaning out. 

The sound of moans and groans, skin hitting skin rumbels through the room although not loud enough to reach the party loud party downstairs. 

you cletch around geralt dick as you cum. he sees this and fucks you even rougher.  “Ah ah g-geralt i-.” “come on baby” he grumbles in your ear. as he bottoms out hitting you cervix making you cum again this time its enough for him to finish as well. his warm cum pooling inside of you. 

Both if you pant coming down from your highs. he pulls out making you whimper. he chuckles and pecks your lips and moves off of you. 

geralt lays next to you an pulls you close to him. “come with me.” you says you giggle “where.” you reply “out. out of kaer morhen.” he replies. 

“you know i cant do that.” you reply. “y/n..” “wolf-” you cut him off. 

he sighs pulling you closer to him and kissing your head. “Just one year..come with me.” he says you dont reply. “y/n..” he says trailing off seeing youve fallen asleep already. he chuckles and nods kissing your head again

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader smut #geralt of riva x reader smut

[poledancingdinos]

Hostile Territory - Chapter 19

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 2.9K

Warnings: past injuries

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @persephonepraxidikechthonios @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions

Masterlist

Day 203

It was the smell of coffee drifting up from the kitchen that pulled Sy from his light dozing. He jerked upright thinking he’d missed his alarm and overslept but it was not yet five in the morning.

“What the hell?” he muttered, running a hand down his beard. Should he shave it off completely before going to see Leah? She’d never made any comments about it, unlike a few of the older soldiers who had earned the right to bust his balls.

He threw the blanket off, rising from the bed. A shower would be in order but first he needed to investigate who else was up.

Shirtless and wearing only loose shorts, he stumbled down the stairs in search of the black gold he’d missed while he was away. The distinctive sound of bacon hitting a hot pan was followed by the blessed greasy, salty scent and Sy definitely did not groan aloud as he stepped into the kitchen.

“I figured after your mother came to bed announcin’ you would be leavin’ this morning that it would be my only opportunity to cook ya a proper breakfast.”

“I’m sorry I’m not stayin’. I’m sure Ma explained why.”

“Yes, she did. She couldn’t get back to sleep with her excitement.” His father added eggs to another skillet before turning to face him. “Had to tire her out,” he added with a smirk.

Sy rolled his eyes with a smile but didn’t comment. Had he been ten years younger, he might have made a disgusted sound but he’d come to admire the way his parents so clearly loved each other even after all their years together.

“You should head back up and shower then I’ll drive ya to the airport when you’re ready.”

Sy had long since mastered the art of two minute showers so he was back down the stairs within ten minutes with his bag packed and ready to ship out. As he sat at the table, his father delivered two steaming hot plates of food and equally hot coffees. They ate in silence for the first few minutes until Sy worked up the nerve to speak.

“Any advice?” His words were almost a whisper, but his father heard him all the same.

“Whatever ya have to say, make sure ya don’t leave any room for doubt. Sometimes us men ain’t so good at sayin’ what we really mean. Oh! And don’t let them flowery movies your mama likes so much fool ya. Showin’ up at a girls doorstep without an invitation ain’t all it’s cracked up to be—especially not when that girl knows her way around a gun. Make sure you’re not too disappointed if things don’t go as planned.”

Though unconventional, that particular piece of advice was completely justified. Leah more than knew her way around a gun. She knew her way around several types of guns.

“Fair enough.”

It was almost eleven by the time Sy made it to the small two story house in a quiet suburb. His attention immediately went to the crotch rocket sitting in the driveway. He’d always loved taking the old dirt bikes out as a teen and couldn’t help but wonder if it was Leah’s or her brother’s.

His question was answered when Leah walked out of the house holding a full-face helmet and wearing a protective jacket. She froze with the door half closed, staring at Sy. Her mouth opened as if to speak but she seemed to have changed her mind when she shut it again.

“Bad time?” He felt stupid asking but he didn’t know what else to say.

“How did you know where to find me?”

Sy walked up the old concrete path to where Leah still stood. He put his hands in his pockets looking a little sheepish. “I called BJ.”

Leah hummed in understanding. She’d given BJ a few of her sketches before they left and had put them in an envelope from a letter Caleb had sent her.

She wasn’t angry with BJ. He would never breach her privacy without good reason and giving her address to Sy was not a breach as far as she was concerned. However, she sort of wanted to see Sy squirm.

 “What did that intel cost you?”

Stepping closer, Sy trailed his knuckles over her cheek before cupping her cheek.

“It cost me nothing but it was worth everything.”

Leah could have sworn she felt literal butterflies fluttering in her stomach but the moment was interrupted by an alarm going off on her phone. She cursed under her breath and pulled it from her pocket as Sy stepped back.

“I need to be somewhere in twenty minutes and I’ll be gone all afternoon.” She pursed her lips, chewing on her cheek. “You umm… You’re welcome to follow me.”

Sy didn’t hesitate to accept. “Lead the way.”

Leah nodded once, locking the door and heading down the walkway towards her bike.

“Did you drive here?” she asked, looking around for Sy’s truck as she zipped up her jacket.

“Not quite. I caught a flight then rented that sardine box over there.” He gestured towards the tiny hatchback that looked like a clown car next to Sy.

Leah straddled the bike, watching as Sy crossed the rest of the distance to his rental. Realizing she’d been so stunned to see him that she hadn’t even said “hi”, she called out to him.

“Sy wait!”

Leah climbed back off the bike, leaving her helmet on the seat before running over to Sy who’d frozen at the sound of his name. He turned just in time for Leah to pull him down into an eager kiss. His surprise only lasted for a second before he pulled her flush against his chest, holding her there with a hand on the small of her back.

Leah was first to break the kiss, sporting a deep flush on her cheeks as she took a few steps backwards. “Think the sardine box can keep up?” she smirked.

“It’ll manage,” he called back, feeling relief and excitement in equal measure. 

When she’d straddled her bike once more and strapped her helmet into place, Leah waited just long enough for Sy to get in the car then led them through the empty streets and onto the main boulevard. Despite her jokes, she drove safely, following speed limits and constantly checking for surrounding traffic.

Sy guessed their destination as soon as the sign became visible in the distance and his suspicions were confirmed when her blinker turned on. They pulled into the lot in front of the tattoo shop. Leah squeezed into a spot next to a custom Harley and Sy was glad it wasn’t his truck he was forced to back into the last spot at the end of the lot.

For a moment, Sy was a little disappointed that he wouldn’t get to be alone with Leah but that sentiment was outweighed by the curiosity of finally seeing her relaxed and in her element. A bell chimed as he pulled the door open and held it for Leah to walk in ahead of him.

“Look what the fucking cat dragged in!”

A man looking to be a few years older than Sy jumped the counter, not seeming to realize there was a perfectly good opening a few feet away. He pulled Leah into a tight bear hug, keeping her against him long enough for Sy to start getting envious before finally releasing her.

Rationally, he was aware that Leah had known this man a lot longer than she had known Sy and that she was allowed to hug him if that was what she wanted but the alpha-hole part of his brain hated that the guy had his hands on his woman.

“You should have told me you were the one who booked my afternoon, I’d have dressed up or something.” He looked down at his all black outfit consisting of baggy jeans, an old band tee that showed off his fully tattooed arms and running shoes. “It’s not every day we get to welcome home our favorite pain in the ass.”

“Hey,” Leah punched him in the arm, “I gave my name to your receptionist when I called. It’s not my fault you don’t know how to read.”

“I was off yesterday, I didn’t know my other client had canceled until you walked in.” The man finally tore his focus away from Leah long enough to acknowledge Sy’s presence. “I’m Ash by the way.”

“Sy.”

Ash motioned for them to follow him to the back of the shop where metal music was playing through the overhead speakers. Sy had never been in a tattoo shop before but if he’d had to make a guess at what one would look like, it would be exactly like the room in which he was standing.

There were six workstations, three on each side of the room. Each had a different set up of chairs and metal tool boxes. The walls were covered with framed art work and pictures of finished tattoos. On some stations there were racks with hundreds of bottles of ink in different shades whereas others had mostly black ink. A woman with pink hair and a half dozen facial piercings greeted them on her way to the receptionist’s desk.

“Leah doesn’t normally bring anyone to these sessions. She’s more of a ‘suffer-in-private’ kind of person.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Sy realized how cryptic that response had sounded when Ash raised a questioning brow as he dropped onto a rolling stool. It seemed that Sy had lost his ability to communicate like a proper human being after so long away. Thankfully, Leah filled in the blanks.

“Sy and I are deployed together. He’s my CO.”

“No shit? Thank you for your service.”

Sy tipped his chin in acknowledgement, never knowing what to say when he heard those words. Luckily, Leah and Ash immediately got down to business, saving him from having to come up with an answer.

“Iʼm so stoked we are finally getting this piece done. Iʼve had it ready and waiting for months.”

Ash rolled across his work station to the desk. After a bit of shuffling around, he held up a piece of what looked like trace paper cut into some strange shape. In purplish ink was an outline of a fantasy style dragon.

Sy couldn’t quite tell what the final piece was supposed to look like but Leah seemed excited to see the image. They immediately launched into a discussion about some technical term or another which Sy did not understand. He simply watched Leah’s face light up as she and Ash compared the purple outline to an image on Ash’s tablet.

“Okay, strip.” At those words, Sy’s head snapped towards Ash. “I need to see if this still fits or if I need to resize the stencil.”

“What, are you saying I got fat since I last saw you?”

Ash wisely knew better than to answer that sort of rhetorical question but Sy couldn’t contain his scoff, drawing both Leah and Ash’s gazes.

“If anythin’, ya lost weight since your first day on base but your curves are still killer as ever.”

Had he not been watching Leah so closely, he would have missed that cute blush creeping up her cheeks before she looked away. Ash’s brows drew together in suspicion as he looked Sy up and down but he didn’t comment.

When Leah began to remove her pants it was Sy’s turn to blush. Looking back at the stencil, Sy realized the weird shape was meant to fit her hip and thigh.

Before he knew it, Leah was left in nothing but a shirt and a string bikini bottom. Obviously this wasn’t her first rodeo. She used a hair band from her wrist to tie the hem of her shirt then she did some twisty hand movement to make it look almost decorative. Ash busied himself with pulling on black latex gloves and handed Leah a roll of medical tape.

“Use that to hold the fabric so that I can undo the ties when I work on the upper half.”

Leah proceeded to cut strips off to tape the waist of her bikini to her stomach but when she got to her back, she couldn’t get it to line up properly. Seeing Ash was busy setting out little plastic cups of ink, Sy stepped forward instead.

Wordlessly, he took the roll from her hand, cutting a fresh piece. He made a conscious effort not to let his hands linger as he traced the small of her back, securing the fabric in place. He thought he heard Leahʼs breath hitch but the moment was interrupted as Ash began prepping Leah’s skin.

Once everything was ready, Leah curled up on her side as Ash instructed and the pixi-haired receptionist showed up as if out of nowhere with a second chair for Sy. He expected to be ignored for the rest of the afternoon but Ash seemed more than happy to include him in the conversation as he worked.

Once the outline was done, Ash suggested that it was time for a break. Not wanting Leah to have to wrap up the half-finished piece, Sy offered to run to the store across the street to get them both some snacks.

Ash had said to get something that was easy to eat and would keep her blood sugar up so Sy picked up two containers of pre-cut fruit and a few different sports drinks that had spouts so Leah could easily drink while lying down.

After Ash changed his needles for the second time, it seemed the pain was finally getting to Leah. She closed her eyes and didn’t speak except when asked a direct question. Throughout it all, she remained  impossibly still.

“Now I see why ya barely flinched when ya got your head stitched up.” Ash had been running the machine over the same patch of skin for what felt like forever.

A small smile pulled at Leah’s lips but her eyes stayed closed. “What’s a few stitches when you sit through hours of getting stabbed repeatedly by multiple needles?”

That was a very valid point, indeed. 

“How did you get injured?”

“I wanted to experience what it was like to be a victim in a slasher movie.”

Ash looked up from his work, cleaning away the excess ink and blood. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s her way of sayin’ she almost got killed by an ax wieldin’ lunatic.” Ash went pale, his face losing all its humor. He’d no doubt never realized just how risky their job really was.

“But you’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, Sy saved my ass. I walked—well, limped—away with a busted knee and a couple stitches.”

All things considered, that was far from the worst of what their team had seen out there but those were the things no one ever wanted to speak of. It did no good to make close friends or family more worried than they already were when there was nothing they could do about it.

After the sixth hour, Ash put down his machine and declared Leah officially done. She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the bright lights. Rolling off the table, Leah made her way to the mirror.

Using the excuse of the new tattoo, Sy allowed himself to fully study her legs. On her hip was now a black and gray dragon that followed the curve of her body to her mid thigh. On the same leg was the leshen she had mentioned all those months ago. The other hip had flowers leading down to a wolf’s head which was also in black and gray but not quite the same style. It almost looked like a contrast of nature’s good versus evil.

“I finally got to mark you with one of my own designs,” Ash commented as he pulled out a roll of cling film. “Even Niki came in with one of your drawings.”

“Niki?” Leah turned, allowing Ash to wrap her leg. “What do you mean Niki came in with my design? When did he get a tattoo?”

“Guess you didn’t have Insta out there.” He snapped his gloves off and reached for his tablet, pulling up a picture of a familiar cerberus tattoo.

Leah’s hand covered her mouth as she looked over the pictures.

“He said he got it because he liked the idea of something watchin’ over him.”

Tear brimmed eyes locked onto Sy’s. “You knew?” she asked, sounding almost betrayed. Ash seemed to think it was best if he left the two of them alone.

“I saw it in the gym and knew it was yours.”

Leah looked back at the screen, running her fingers over it. When she felt Sy at her back, she leaned against him, relishing his quiet strength. His hand found her hip, holding her as he kissed her temple.

“I’d say it had the desired effect.”

Seeming to realize she still had no pants on, Leah cleared her throat, putting down the tablet in favor of pulling on her jeans.

“Where umm… Where were you staying tonight?”

“Hopefully wherever you are.”

That put a smile on Leah’s face.

“So there’s that southern charm people keep telling me about.”

“Is it workin’?”

“We’ll see.”

Chapter 20

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #cpt syverson #cpt syverson fic #cpt syverson fanfiction #cpt syverson fanfic #cpt syverson x ofc #captain syverson x ofc

[nnightskiess]

everytime you leave, part three

₊° - 𝐲𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴.

everytime you leave, masterlist

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 <3

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞... and fell around her like a curtain, tickling your bare chest as the mage above you admired the view. The corner of her mouth twirled upwards into a challenging grin as the rapid beating of your heart fell in rhythm with hers. But where she welcomed the feeling and longed for more, you froze underneath her in return as you felt her touch against the scarred burn marks, which you had refused to get rid of during your ascension. Without your scars, there would no longer be a reminder of who you were before and the life you had led. Yennefer felt the rough and tattered skin underneath her fingertips and was reminded of the few threads you had let loose about your past through the years. Even if you had never told her what had happened, at least not in detail, she counted it as a victory that you let her see the remains of your past, of everything you had buried deep within yourself. Aretuza had approved of your request to keep some of your scars, only if you would get rid of those that would be in view of the lords and ladies you were going to advise. In their eyes, it wasn’t proper for a mage to look battered and bruised, like the brutes of the Continent. Your scars would only distract and take away the illusion of your elegance and graceful knowledge. You had agreed to the compromise, knowing that no one would ever see the scars from that day forward, except for yourself. And Yennefer, as it seemed.

It was as if the sudden cold breeze that travelled into the room and made you shiver had pulled you back to her. Her warm breath tickled against your neck as she slowly placed a chaste kiss right where she could feel your heartbeat pick up even more. She smirked and nibbled at the flesh against your collarbone when she felt your breathing fasten by your rising chest flushed against her own bare skin. Feeling her breasts against your own, however, did nothing to ease your mind. You wanted this. You had so for years. In all truth, there would never be a living day where you wouldn't want to be Yennefer's whole world, as she had been yours for as long as you could remember. But it gnawed on you that perhaps Yennefer didn't want you as badly as you had yearned and longed for her. She was the most enchantingly beautiful woman you had ever known, although you had thought so even before the change during the ascension, and knew that she could have a different man, or woman, in her bed each day if she wanted. If the renowned and skilled Witcher Geralt of Rivia wasn't able to keep her around, then how could you be more interesting to her? Besides, Yennefer of Vengerberg had never been shy about her body and led her life with a certain sensuality of which she knew the effect it had on the people that met her. What if you were just another night of fun for her, nothing more, nothing less? Then again, if that was all this would ever be, couldn't you just be greedy and take the offer currently presented to you on a golden platter?

"You think too much," She mumbled into your hair as her lips planted a kiss behind your ear, "You'll find you'll enjoy yourself much more if you just give in." She chuckled lazily, and you wondered if she was too drunk for you to let this go on.

But what did she mean? Give in to what? To Yennefer's fingertips softly grazing over your nipples and making their way further down? Or to the magnetic pull you had felt around her for years? One thing was certain; there was no going back, and things would change drastically whether this moment would be regretted or not. You cursed the bottles of brandy and apple cider you had torn through together when you tasted the sweet liquor on Yennefer's tongue as it slipped between your lips, softly massaging with your own.

"I'll take good care of you." She mumbled against your lips, her voice dripping with arousal and lust, but was alarmed when her wrist was clenched tightly by you. She retreated and those big, violet eyes looked down at you in worry. It should have been clear to you then and there, that you too were well past tipsy when you didn't look away under her stare like you normally would. Instead, you looked back into her softened eyes, those eyes that felt like a breeze travelling through a field of lavender on a Spring morning, but the blazing storm clashing against Aretuza's walls as well.

"Do you want me?"

There it was; the quiver in her voice that signalled she felt as small as she had on those first few nights at Aretuza. With a touch as soft as honey, the hand that wasn't locked by your grip found its way to yours, where her thumb grazed a lazy pattern on the back of your hand. Her touch was feathery and it amazed you how gentle your normally so outspoken, headstrong and temperamental friend was. That surprise wasn't fair of you, for you had seen past the layers years ago. You knew it was there, that soft side, but you were too intoxicated by the alcohol in your system and too addicted to her touch and attention to realise she needed your reassurance more than anything in this moment. And perhaps even too distracted to realise that for Yennefer, this was different. This wasn't a passionate night to let loose with someone she had no emotional attachment to. This was you, and she would take her time showing you how much you truly meant to her. But right now, she wanted and needed you to say it out loud. To grant her proof that she hadn't been delusional each time you two had left. Did you feel the same ache in your heart every time she left you? But, admitting it out loud was a leap far too big for you, at least for right now, seeing as you were afraid you'd spill all of your heart's secrets if you started.

Yennefer's lips parted slightly in worry as her eyes quickly wandered around the room to the table of empty cups and glasses. She wasn't too far gone, she knew how to handle her liquor, and perhaps you weren't either, but maybe she could play it off as if she were, as if this was but a mere drunken mistake, just to protect her heart in case she had misread things and you would reject her or look at her differently come morning. There was no one Yennefer would rather have in her arms than you, but she would never open her heart to even entertaining herself with the idea of it, seeing as she was fairly certain that there was no epic love waiting for her in this life or any of the next. Not even a Djin's wish had been able to grant her the dream to finally be of importance to someone. To love and to care and to protect, and to get all of it in return in thousandfold. But if she could just only show you how much you meant to her during this supposed drunken night, then shouldn't she just take the chance?

Her words had already vanished in the air and you felt as if too much time had passed to answer her now. Surely the way you looked at her was an answer of its own, right? Your hands travelled up her thighs that had you trapped in your place beneath her and rested comfortably on the curve of her hips. With a slight squeeze on her skin and a pull of your hands, Yennefer realised what you wanted her to do. Her hips rolled and at even the smallest touch of friction, a gasp escaped her mouth, followed by a low moan. When her lips parted and her raven locks fell in front of her face once more, you didn't close your eyes but looked up at her and felt your heart want to break through your ribcage, needing to remember this forever. You fell into a blissful haze, no longer being led by your inhibitions.

That night, Yennefer's body glued to yours was the only thing on your mind, not the inevitable aftermath or the thought that the same night that was making both your hearts explode, would also be the reason why they would shatter into a million pieces years later.

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The nasty smells of animal carcasses had now been replaced by flesh cooking above an open fire. Night had fallen and after a long day of preparations, everyone could do with a filled stomach and a pint of ale. Yennefer had shut herself out from everything today and had not spoken a word ever since you had grabbed her heart and squeezed long enough until it had splashed and splattered. She had done her best to evade each conversation and shut down small talk with anyone around her, but it seemed that there was no avoiding people anymore if she wanted a plate of food.

She had grabbed the plate that was offered to her by one of the men standing above the pot of boiling beans with potatoes. She withheld a scowl when it made a distasteful sound as it fell against her plate. It had been ages since she'd had a poor man's meal like this, but she couldn't care less now that she felt the way she did. She wasn't even that hungry anyway. She sat to the side on one of the logs where she could silently absorb what was going on around her, but she wasn't granted her peaceful meal when Triss landed on a seat next to her. The redhead's slender fingers pried her piece of meat apart and gave Yennefer the other. Yennefer dipped her head in a silent thank you, but didn't want to give the woman next to her a reason to start a conversation.

However, it seemed that Triss didn't need one, for she opened her mouth before she had even tasted anything off her plate, "Last time I ate this robust was when I was helping a Witcher. We had set up camp somewhere in a valley for the night and when we couldn't-"

Yennefer let out a big sigh and didn't hide how annoyed she was by the intrusion of her peace. Triss stopped, smiled bashfully and somewhat regretfully, and turned to focus on the plate on her lap. They ate in silence without another word being exchanged. Yennefer tried her best to gracefully pry some meat off the bone without making it too messy and quickly found out it would be better to just leave the questionable mixture of beans and potatoes alone.

When they were both as good as finished, Triss nibbled on her lower lip. Was she going to put herself between both her friends? One thing was certain, she would forever regret it if she could have been the one to mend things between you. It was childish and unnecessary to be on such terms before a big battle, but perhaps the same stress and pressure everyone was feeling, had been too much for you both and had caused you to fight and handle things irrationally.

What it had been about, she wasn't too sure, though she could take a wild guess, she could only sense that it involved a lot of emotion and held heavy importance to both of you, going by the atmosphere she had walked in on.

"Y/N, is she-"

"I don't want to talk about her." Yennefer shut her down immediately.

Triss opened her mouth in protest and furrowed her eyebrows. Sure, everyone knew of Yennefer's temper, but she had never lashed out on her like this over something she wasn't even involved in. Though, perhaps that was exactly why she had lashed out.

"Listen, I don't want to come between you two but I really-"

"Then don't." Yennefer's head shot sideways and her lilac eyes sent daggers at Triss, who in return pursed her lips.

"Why would you part ways the way you did? We could be dead tomorrow, Gods, even before the sun rises again!" Triss' empathetic doe-eyes softened and begged Yennefer to listen to her. Yennefer didn't have it in her to crush her friend's kind spirit once more and kept her thoughts to herself, and instead pushed herself up. "Go find Y/N, and this time, listen to what she has to say instead of shutting her out again. Be reasonable for once, Yen. You'll be left all alone if you continue to treat people the way you do. Y/N won't stick around forever."

Yennefer turned around with a sneer on her lip. Triss had hit her right where it hurt the most. Alone... wasn't she already? Hadn't you already distanced yourself from her?

"Having someone around has only ever resulted in disappointment."

"Yennefer!" Triss spluttered but watched the raven-haired mage walk off nonetheless.

Yennefer's quick steps were adamant to get her out of there immediately, but a voice made her stop in her tracks.

"The ale won't disappoint you, that much I can promise." Tissaia held a tankard outreached in front of her to take, an invitation to sit with her as a soft smile tried to coax her to accept the offer.

Not wanting her rectoress to sense the weakness that had occurred mere seconds before, Yennefer straightened her posture and accepted the drink. She sighed defeatedly, "Ah, why not? We should enjoy it while we can. It's the first thing Nilfgaard will destroy." 

"Must you always be so fatalistic?" 

"You'll find that it's my most admired quality," Yennefer all but huffed, earning a snort and a shake of the head from the woman next to her. The two turned to each other with amusement glinting evidently in their eyes.

The moment faded and Tissaia cleared her throat, "We both know there's more to you than meets the eye. You just have a habit of not letting anyone see what truly lies beneath."

It was true, Yennefer hadn't only been bottling her chaos for years, but had managed to master bottling her feelings, emotions and all of her inner turmoil as well.

Yennefer ignored her and took a sip of the ale. She felt the warmth of the alcohol slide down her throat, wrapping around her like a welcoming but prickly woollen blanket in the cold of the night. It burned, but more satisfying than the lump she had tried to swallow down a while back. 

"What's the matter?" Tissaia turned to her, worry and intrigue etched into her features. Not shooting back a witty reply was foreign for Yennefer. Tissaia tried to get through Yennefer's blockade, to hear her thoughts, to see her worries, but the mage had sealed them off expertly.

"Besides possibly coming to our ends soon?" Yennefer turned to the woman beside her with an amused grin on her face, but Tissaia could see the turmoil swarming through her violet pools.

"Are you ready then? To die?"

The question didn't catch Yennefer off guard at all, for she knew her former rectoress always liked a direct approach. She had been on the receiving end of that bluntness for years, after all. And although it had crushed her at first, for all she wanted as an unwanted and unloved child was just some love and recognition, she was happy it had made her tough enough to overcome each obstacle she'd had to face so far.

Without hesitation, Yennefer spoke, "Yes. I've lived two or three lifetimes already."

Tissaia gave her a knowing look, "But you haven't been satisfied in any of them." 

Yennefer felt her throat tighten and her chest ache as she thought of all that had happened in those lifetimes. Of the dreadful years at Court, of the ache of not having the person she longed for most around. She took another sip of the ale and felt some of the weight lift off her shoulders, "I've tried. But I've got no legacy to leave behind. No family, no...Nothing worth staying alive for." Yennefer looked off into the distance and watched the shadows of the people around the fire dance against the walls of the Keep. She hated herself for needing to cast the memory of you aside like that, as if you had no value to her. She knew better though, and she knew she couldn't dwell on the empty feeling she felt, not tonight. "It's time to accept that life has no more to give." 

Tissaia looked down and softly shook her head, swirling the ale in her tankard absentmindedly as her thoughts wandered off. It pained her to hear one of her dearest students seem so unhappy. In fact, it pained her to see both of you this way. Tissaia wasn't stupid. She knew about everything.

She grabbed Yennefer's underarm softly, but tugged at the fabric of her dress to give her words more impact, "You have so much left to give... and there is so much you have yet to receive. If you can just open your eyes."

With those words, she left Yennefer to ponder as she disappeared into the crowd of drunk people trying to drink their worries away and celebrate what could be their last night.

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"What are you sulking about?"

You heard her before you noticed her, but she appeared not long after out of the shadows, a tankard of ale in her hands and the smell of the liquid on her breath as well.

Tissaia's voice held a hint of amusement as she softly bumped your arm and brought the cup of ale to her lips. You were leaning against the cold brick wall, looking out over the people drinking and having fun on what could be one of their last nights- one of your last nights.

You grunted and shrugged, "Life." 

Tissaia let out a dry chuckle, for she could not imagine a better fit than two of her favourite students. You usually weren't as pessimistic as Yennefer was, but it humoured her how you perfectly complimented the other mage and her mood this night. 

"What about it?" She leaned against the wall beside you and followed your line of sight.

"How it's not as I had imagined it to be." 

Tissaia's amusement disappeared when she noticed you weren't being sarcastic or overly dramatic; you were speaking from the heart, from a heart that was shattered. Seeing you were going to vent, she kept her mouth shut.

"-I've had no freedom, no perfect family...not even one grande lover."

"But you had a chance at life. Multiple, to be exact. That's more than the young girl I found between the ashes that morning could have ever imagined."

Silence washed over you and your old mentor. Tissaia made a move to bring the cup back to her lips when she realised you probably needed to loosen up and let go of your turmoil more than she did.

You kindly pushed her hand away, "I shouldn’t. I tend to ruin things when I drink."

"You don't want to drink away your nerves and worries on what could well be our last night? You must really be ready to die then." Tissaia seemed amused by it, but deep down she was anything but. This wasn't you. The usual light in your eyes was nowhere to be found. Instead, your eyes looked around the encampment as if you had already lost. And you had lost, in your eyes at least. You had lost Yennefer.

"I just realise I ran out of time and that it has caught up to me, and I might never be able to right my wrongs. I have a hard time coming to terms with the knowledge that that is how I'll die."

Tissaia inspected your features, picked apart all your little tells that she had picked up on over the years at Aretuza, and therefore knew you weren't done speaking,

"Then again- I've lived many lives, for which I should be grateful... but if they're all going to be the same... and if the alternative is another few decades serving daft and criminal lords at court, living an awfully boring life and not receiving the happiness I so long for, then... if I die... it is what it is. Though I hope it will be worth it, I’d hate to die in vain and have Nilfgaard march over my corpse."

"Being a mage is an awfully lonely life. It is a life of solitude." Tissaia spoke softly, "But that's the price we all paid when we made the promise and decided to serve the Continent."

"I don't think I had any other choice." You noted, thinking of the theoretical dungeon you had been locked away in ever since you had first stepped foot in Aretuza. In more ways than one, your chaos and aptitude for magic had both been your greatest gift and your worst nightmare.

Tissaia fell quiet beside you and she pondered over her words for a while, "Did I make you feel like you hadn't?"

A sigh escaped you, for Tissaia had promised you a safe sanctuary after what had happened in your village. You knew very well that if your ripple in chaos hadn't happened on that damned night, you would have been among the dead by sunrise. Shaking, burned, feverish and full of terror, you felt like the only thing you could do was accept the hand the well-dressed and poised woman in front of you had offered. The rest had been history.

"Within one night, I had lost it all and gained so much back in return."

"But at what cost?" Tissaia finished for you.

You could only repeat her words as you looked out to the group of people, which included some of the friends you had made at Aretuza.

"At what cost."

She felt your restless mind as you could sense hers, and it didn't take long before the prospect of what was to happen caused you to let more bittersweet words flow out of your mouth.

"If I didn't take my chances during all these years, then nothing will change if I live to see another day. It just hurts that I only now start to realise and regret it all..." Your voice died down and Tissaia pushed herself off the wall to take a better look at you.

When you looked back into her eyes, you realised you had never seen them with this much empathy. Although still, you could also see the disappointment in them. Knowing the woman you had looked up to most in your life felt that way towards you at this moment right now, made your stomach fall as it had done so over and over whenever she was giving you a hard time at Aretuza. The sudden feeling that washed over you made you shy away into that corner she had pushed you towards for years, and so you decided to elaborate, hoping she would see reason,

"Everyone I've once cared for died years ago. They died with the old me that night in the village. I'm not leaving anyone behind. So even if I do regret not taking certain chances, there's nothing I can do about it now."

Tissaia tilted her head, seeing right through the lie you were trying to convince yourself of, "Everyone?"

You couldn't help yourself when your eyes wandered over the people sprawled about the ruins, but they never found the woman you were looking for. Without asking, you took the cup out of Tissaia's hand and took a big gulp.

"Everyone."

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Yennefer watched you with all the focus she could muster, her eyes flicking between your concentrated expression and the space in front of your hands, but no matter how hard you tried, no portal appeared.

"Sabrina- show her how it's done, or else we'll be here all week." Tissaia dismissed you without giving you so much as another look and was already making her way to the other side of the room.

"No! She almost got it!" Yennefer protested, having seen a sliver of a glowing and reflecting thin sheet floating between your hands, and hating how Tissaia's dismissal had made you frown in embarrassment and lose all momentum.

"Do you want to be next, piglet? You couldn't even lift a pebble with your mind if your life depended on it."

The girls fell quiet, their eyes nervously flitting across each other's faces. But not you, who took Tissaia's words to Yennefer to heart as well, "I don't think that was very-"

Tissaia finally turned around and stared you down for speaking out of turn, "You only speak when spoken to, pup. Or are you so desperate for me to forbid you from following classes all of next week? A shame. You could do with extra classes or you'd be one of Aretuza's greatest disappointments. Both of you." She said with a tone of finality.

You cowered slightly and dropped your head in shame, making Yennefer's face harden and her fists ball in rage.

"Good. You're more tolerable when you're quiet." Tissaia walked towards Sabrina and continued the lesson.

But from right beside you, Yennefer's little finger slowly hooked around your own, a silent reassurance that you two would always have each other's back. Even if you would forever be known as Aretuza's greatest failure.

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The multiple firepits that were lit all around the courtyard of the Keep flickered, warming everyone who rested around, fast asleep. A few people stood guard on the castle walls. Their shadows danced around the ruins each time they switched places. Tissaia had ordered every mage to try and get some rest, to preserve their energy, to fuel their chaos. It made her feel like a hypocrite, seeing as she was wide awake. She looked across the grounds, her eyes falling on the many sleeping people and among them, her group of mages. Who was to say how many of the women she had raised throughout all her lifetimes would survive this battle? She would be the woman who had built them and who would be the reason for their destruction as well. It pained her, but to serve the Continent and keep its inhabitants safe, this was what needed to be done. Although they were all there, Yennefer was nowhere in sight. But she knew you were around by the thoughts keeping you up. Your bottle must have been empty, seeing as you paid little mind to shield her away from your thoughts. She could hear your insecurities, your worries, felt the new pain of your heartache and the old of all the lives before, heard Yennefer's name echo, saw the woman's face and smelt the familiar scent of lilac and gooseberries. Your mind was a mess. No wonder it kept you up.

Her eyes tried to search the people, to see if she could figure out where you were exactly. The light of the fires blinded her view, but she finally saw your figure when a harsh wind blew the fire to just a small flame for a split second. She watched as you sat cross-legged and your eyes stared deadly into the fire. A warm blanket was wrapped around your shoulders as a dazed look coated your face. You seemed as calm as ever, others would even pass it off as you just being tired, but Tissaia'd had you under her wing for years. She knew better.

Movement caught your eye and you watched your old rectoress approach, careful not to wake anybody. She sat down on the blanket next to you, her eyes following the flickering of the flames. She didn't say anything, and neither did you, not for a while at least.

Your voice was hoarse as you opened your mouth to talk, 

"I lied." 

The sound got faded away by the wind and the ambience of the night, but Tissaia had heard you nonetheless.

"I know," She spoke in return.

The fire crackled and along with some people snoring and the wind softly travelling through the ruins, it was suddenly eerily quiet. Nilfgaard was out there, somewhere, preparing. People would lose their freedom, their homes, their loved ones, their lives and your biggest selfish concern was if you had already lost Yennefer before the big battle could even begin. 

"You haven't." 

Tissaia's spoke up, letting you know she had read your thoughts. It should have made your cheeks rise in heat that you had failed to close off your thoughts, worried about what else she might have seen or heard, but instead, you accepted the reassurance.

"Yennefer is as stubborn as she is powerful, but what she couldn't do then, she has mastered now; bottling her power, her chaos... bottling her feelings." She emphasised.

You turned to look at her, but she kept her gaze focused on the fire.

"As have you." She then looked up to watch your reaction, "You have bottled your feelings for decades, and now that same bottle has exploded right into your face." Her words were stern, as were her hard eyes, but you knew her words came from a place of love, for she would otherwise never have bothered to talk to you to ease your mind. 

Her answer came before you could even ask her, 

"It is not too late. But first, we defend Sodden, you have spent multiple lifetimes wondering about the what-ifs, prolonging that unknown territory for a few days longer shouldn’t hurt." She softly grabbed your chin, her expression softening, "I need you focused and ready, so you can make me proud again, my dearest girl." 

The tired smile on your face made her retract her hand, knowing you had understood her request of putting the battle of Sodden before your own gains first. You were a mage, after all, and you had to serve the Continent before serving yourself. It gave you a new sense of hope that after all of this, you would finally grant yourself the freedom you wanted. Even if that meant putting your heart on the line.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

It had been a nice sentiment, to want to wait for the inevitable until after Nilfgaard was dealt with, but Triss' words had released something in Yennefer and had made her see reason. She was not going to die before she knew the truth.

You had barely slipped into a troublesome sleep until someone shook you awake. Confused and alerted, your eyes shot open, only to see Yennefer hover above you, nothing similar to the last time she had hovered above you. Her face was stern and you searched her eyes for any sign of the softness you always so loved to see in them, but no matter how long you looked, they were void of it.

"We need to talk."

As if she could read your thoughts, she huffed and stood back up, offering you a hand, "Forgive me for seeing reason and not wanting to die still hating you." She softly rolled her eyes, but you could hear she spoke her harsh words halfheartedly. Still, it hurt to hear her speak of hate when talking of you.

With her help, you stood up and quietly tiptoed behind her as she led you down the hill to a more secluded place, where you could talk without your voice barely reaching above a whisper to not wake anyone up.

Suddenly she stopped, and you had to be careful to not bump into her back. It seemed as if she could no longer stop her thoughts from raising. Whatever was on her mind, she needed to get it off right now. Before you could react or express your surprise, her words surprised you even more,

"You hate me." She stated more than asked as she turned around to look at you with that hard glare in her eyes. It scared you how quickly she had built her walls back up and shut you out.

"No, Yen, not at all! I could never." You grasped forward in an attempt to hold her hand, but she took a step back, distancing herself from you.

"Somehow, somewhere along the line, I have done something incredibly stupid to upset you. I don't know what's more pathetic; me not knowing what it is, or you not telling me."

This time, it was you who took a step back, but Yennefer didn't want to let you walk away from this again and closed the distance. Now it was she who reached out for you, and you let her as your fingers grazed together as they had done days earlier in Aretuza's council room.

With a trembling voice, she spoke, "Y/N please, don't make me beg you." She searched your eyes for the words your voice couldn't utter. She exhaled shakingly, granting you the last chance to speak up before she knew she would be done, "What do I mean to you?" She clenched her jaw shut as soon as the words had left her mouth, ready for impact. But no matter how heartbroken she would be, she needed to know the answer before she could get her peace.

Tissaia's words still rang through her mind;

"Even if you were a beauty, no one would love you."

"No matter how hard you'll try, there's no one who will ever love a piglet like you."

"Do you think anyone would care if you died?"

She heard them even now, years later, and they had fed her insecurity ever since they had left Tissaia's mouth. Her former rectoress had planted the seed of doubt in Yennefer's mind that she wasn't meant to be loved and cared for. Tissaia had shown that much herself during her time at Aretuza. Yennefer didn't want to admit it, didn't want those words to be given so much power, but she had let them take over, even going as far as restricting herself from ever fully opening up to the woman she adored most, for Tissaia's words must be true; no pup would ever love a piglet. She had rather lived in bliss and in her own crafted fairytale than face the harsh truth, but if she were to die soon, then she needed to know.

Yennefer searched your face as much as she could in the dark, but your mouth stayed agape and words didn't follow. Growing frustrated, she raised her voice,

"Do I mean nothing to you?!"

You wanted to scream, to shout all that you had bottled up ever since first meeting this wonderful mage standing in front of you, whose chest rumbled with thunder and whose heart was bigger than she knew herself, but it was as if you had clawed out your own vocal cords. Sure, you had known what Yennefer wanted to talk about, but you had never imagined her to surprise you with it the way she had. You should've known better though, seeing as Yennefer was an unpredictable bomb whenever she felt like was out of control.

"You mean- I... you-"

Yennefer moved her head at your stuttering in a way that would have otherwise been seen as comical, but you were on the brink of tears. This was it. Not even hours ago you had acted all melancholic and tough when speaking to Tissaia, yet now, it seemed as if you couldn't even muster up the courage to just spill the truth.

However, your torturous dilemma was cut short when a searing ball of fire soared through the air and lit your surroundings.

Its final destination? The ruins of Sodden.

𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 <3

#yennefer of vengerberg one shot #yennefer x reader #yennefer of vengerberg x reader #yennefer of vengerberg imagine #yennefer imagine #the witcher imagines #the witcher imagine

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 5

Chapter 4

-----------flashback: King's Landing, Day of the Tourney-------

It was day of the tourney. Nobles and knights had come in from all over the realm to watch or participate in the spectacle. And based on what you heard, the timing couldn't have been more perfect as Queen Aemma had just gone into labor. 

Rhaenyra had asked you to accompany her by her side when the tourney started. You had noticed the princess had been a little on edge, which made sense given the state her mother was in right now. Hopefully this day long event would distract and, gods be willing, her mother would come out of her labors with little to no complications for both her and the newborn child regardless of the sex.

Before joining the princess at her spectators' box with her father, friend, and others from the family and small council, you found yourself at Daemon's tent, hoping to get a sneak peak of the prince before he took part in today's festivities.

"Ooh, look at you," you say as you walk into Daemon's tent. The prince in question just had his armor in place, which included his dragonesque helmet

Daemon heard your voice and turned to face you; he smirked a bit, feeling confident from the look of admiration at your face, "do you like what you see?"

"Oh, I sure do," you nod, approaching him and placing a hand on his shoulder and another on his chest, "I've always had a...certain weakness for men in armor.

"Well then," Daemon leans in, deciding to flirt back, "I may not be able to request your favor during the tourney, Little Lark, but perhaps you may grace me now with a kiss as a gesture of good luck...maybe a little something more to make up for denying me last night after I was so generous with you."

You smirk back and lean in, like you were going to give him a kiss, but instead you stop and whisper, "it was your choice to use your tongue on me, Prince, I never asked you to." Daemon groaned as you pulled away, you unable to hide your smirk at the power you currently had over this man, "besides," you continue, "can't have you distracted before the start of the festivities." "I said I was sorry," Daemon pouts like a child. "You actually didn't," you say, placing a hand on his cheek, "but when you win, I'll give you all the kisses you want. ANYwhere you want. It'll be worth it."

Daemon made a small smile, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, "I shall do my best then to earn those kisses." "Good luck, Prince," you laugh a bit and exit the tent to join Rhaenyra at her box.

------present day: Kaer Morhen-----------

You walk into the dinning hall with Ciri, seeing Geralt still there at the table with Lambert, Eskel, and Coen.

To your surprise, you notice Lambert holding Aemma in his arms.

"She really grows on you, doesn't she?" Eskel says, leaning in to make faces at the baby. "Yeah, when she's not screaming for ma in the middle of the night that is," Coen mutters, taking a bite of some bread, "but she is adorable. If only we knew who the father was."

"Well, we can rule out Geralt," Lambert jokes, "given that being a witcher had made him seedless."

"Very funny," Geralt deadpans, sipping from his mug.

"Seriously though," Eskel states, looking into the baby's face, "I don't think I've ever seen anyone with this type of blonde hair, it's almost silver." "And violet eyes," Coen adds, "unusual, unless the father was part elf."

"You people are really that eager to know who the father is?" you interrupt the conversation, getting the wolves' attention.

"Oh uh, good morning, (y/n)," Lambert greets. "Don't you lot have super senses or something?" you ask, taking a seat at the table, "I thought you would've heard Ciri and I walking from across the hall."

The witchers exchanged looks. "We got distracted," Coen provides for an excuse, "you daughter was distracting us."

"Really?" you snort, "far as I can see, she's been quiet this whole time."

"Uh, Lambert, I can see you and Aemma are having a special bonding moment, but I'd like to spend some time with her now," you reach out and the witcher gives you to her, seemingly reluctantly, "Huh, I never would've expected this from you." "To be fair, none of would expected this," Eskel smirks. "Why is this so surprising?" Lambert asks in disbelief. "I may admittedly be a little rough around the edges but I'm not a fucking monster."

"Hey, watch you language," you scold, giving Aemma a kiss on the cheek.

"Why is your face flushed?" Geralt asked Ciri as she took a seat next to him. Ciri straighten up a bit thinking about an answer to give him, "I uh, I was warming up in my room before we start training." "Oh she was warming up alright," you say with a smug look. Geralt frowned at you and her, not sure what that meant.

"Uh, where's Tris?" Ciri looks around. "We were running low on herbs in the alchemy lab," Geralt tells her, "She went with Vesemir to go gather some more."

"Knowing Vesemir, that'll be an all day task," Lambert snorts, "they have to be the right height, growth, and some other shit like that." 

"Lambert," you scold in a firm tone, "Not in front of Aemma." "How is that swearing?" Lambert exasperates, "I heard you say that over and over again last night!"

"Huh?" "What was that?" you and Geralt perk up.

Eskel, Coen, and Lambert exchange looks, "these walls are kind of thin," Eskel points out.

"Gross," Ciri mutters, taking a bite of food.

You felt your face heat up realizing what that meant. "Uh, Ciri" you ask hesitantly, "did you...?" "Nope," Ciri says quickly getting up, "I thankfully don't have witcher senses." Geralt had a look of confusion on his face. You lean in to ask him, "Geralt, did she ever get some kind of talk from her grandparents before...?" "I did, I don't need to have it again!" Ciri calls out, practically running out of the hall at this point.

The other witchers couldn't help but chuckle at this awkward situation.

Thankfully Aemma started fussing to be fed again, "I better go feed Aemma now," you say, quickly getting up.

"What, you can stay and whip em out for-" Lambert calls out, only to get nudged in the ribs by Geralt and earning a stern look from the white haired witcher.

----------------flashback: Red Keep Post tourney------------

It was late in the night when you roamed the halls, intent on getting some sleep.

It had been a long day.

The tourney, the death of the Queen and her newborn son, the funeral that followed after, it was all a lot to process right now.

You weren't close with the king or queen, but Rhaenyra was clearly grieving from the loss of her mother and newborn brother. When you were called to entertain her, she had you stop in the middle of your first song, which was a mourning song in elven which seemed appropriate for the occasion. With tears in her eyes, the princess had you dismissed early. You couldn't blame her, she needed some time alone to process her grief.

You had thinking about how the queen had died, having heard what the maesters did, cutting the poor woman open in order to save the babe, all without sedatives or herbs to numb the pain. You could only imagine how horrible the procedure it must've been for the poor queen, and how painful her death must've been; if this had been in any of the courts in the Continent, at least a mage would've been there to help ease the pains of labor and have spells on hand to turn the babe or sedate the queen if it came to that.

If you ever found yourself with child, you would pray you would be on the Continent when the time came to give birth.

You also thought about the king, and how he must've felt being in this position. You knew Viserys loved his wife, and to be put in this situation to choose to save his son or risk losing both, and only for both to be lost anyway...

You looked to see the door to Daemon's chambers was slightly cracked open. You didn't know if the man was in there right now, but you had no interest in knowing, especially after what you heard what he said earlier among his men.

Right when you passed though you heard his voice, "where do you think you're going at this hour, Little Lark?"

That moment, the prince came out and approached you. 

Before this, you were having a great time watching this man compete.

Daemon may had asked for Lady Alicent's favor at the tourney earlier today, but you knew his gazed was fixed on you when you stood by Rhaenyra's side.

You were about to turn, but Daemon was quick and pulled you back, "you finished earlier then usual this evening," the prince states. "Let me go," you struggle. "Why would I do that?" Daemon asks with a smirk, "have you forgotten so quickly what you promised me?" "You didn't win," you point out, "I'm not obligated to give you anything." 

Daemon grabbed your chin so you can face him. "Why put yourself through this hell you created?" he questions, "you want me, I know this."

"Why would I want you, especially after what you just said?" you scoff, succeeding in pulling back. "What I said?" "Your sister-in-law is dead, as is your nephew," you bring up, "your brother and niece are grieving from the loss, but instead of grieving with them you run off to the Silk Street and drink and celebrate your status as Heir. From what I heard, you referred to the dead babe as 'Heir for a Day'." "He was," Daemon points out, "even less then that as he only lived for a few hours."

"You truly have no shame," you say in disgust, "all you care about is yourself. You have got to be the most selfish, arrogant, insufferable person I've ever had the misfortune to come across." "Yet, you've never stopped me or pushed me away before, Little Lark," Daemon points out. "Don't call me that!" you exclaim, "I hate it when you call me that! I'm not your pet, I'm a person. And you're not a dragon. You...you..." "I'm what?" Daemon asks, a dark look in his face.

"You're a snake," you spat out, "A spineless, limbless snake." "I'd watch your tongue," Daemon warns, "this is a battle you can't win." "Ha, don't make me laugh," you joylessly laugh, "You come at me like you did Ser Criston, I'm sure I'd be the victor. Especially if you beat your chest and shout to the crowd rather then wait for me to yield like some brainless rock troll!"

Daemon grabbed your hair and pushed you against the wall. You grab onto the hand that was holding your hair and try to yank him off, but he takes his other hand to pin your hand to the wall.

You struggled when to break free while Daemon merely stared at you darkly. You stop when you realized how close his face was to yours.

Next thing you his lips were on yours.

You feel a hand going under your skirts, but this time you slap him away.

"I mean it, Daemon!" you say with a stern tone, "I don't want anything to do with you right now. I would've made an exception after the tourney, but after that display of disregard for the life of your family, I had second thoughts."

"If I wanted lectures about my conduct, I would've gone to my brother," Daemon mutters, making you roll your eyes and turn away, "We all mourn in different ways," he continues, leaning into you, sighing a bit, "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry, (y/n)." "Don't tell me, tell your niece and brother, they're the ones who are hurting right now," you say. "I know. And they're not the only ones right now," Daemon says, voice muffled into your neck, "I kept my word not to stick my prick in other women as promised. Please allow me to keep grieving my way while also upholding my promise. I wish to hear your sweet voice again...please, (y/n)."  

You sigh and turn around, ready to scold him again. But the moment you saw Daemon's face, you could see the tired look in his eyes, like he was bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. You've seen that look before, in the face of another man you once cared for.

The Queen was Daemon's family too, and he had suffered a loss.

You sigh, hands moving to card through his long, soft, hair as you press your lips to his.

He took you to his room and you allowed him to do what he needed, what he wanted, if only to make him forget for a while.

He was fast and rough at first, but as soon as he came inside you, his movements became slower.

When the both of you were spent, you rested your head on Daemon's chest as he pulled you in and gave you a kiss on the head.

"Sing to me, Little Lark," you hear him whisper.

You did as he request, singing the same elven song you sang to the princess earlier today.

Chapter 6

Masterlist

#geralt of rivia #geralt #geralt x reader #lambert #eskel #coen #ciri #vesemir #daemon targeryen x reader #aemma arryn #viserys targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen

[teatitty]

Okay so I'm generously calling this the Dandy Guardian AU until I think of a better name but essentially this is the rundown [had to put this under a cut because it got long WHOOPS]:

In the book version of events, Dandelion isn't present when Geralt is in Cintra and calls the Law of Surprise, but he does know about what happened. I can't recall if we ever see that convo in text or if it's just background knowledge but that's not important right now

When the Fall of Cintra happens, Dandelion already has his ear to the ground, the walls and the crowds to follow Nilfgaard's movements - Oxenfurt's bards are the best bet anyone has for gathering information about the invading armies because they are spread so wide around the continent and have so many connections

Dandelion's first thought is not to send word to Oxenfurt about Cintra's fall. His first thought is Geralt, and his blasted Child Surprise. He starts tracking his way to Cintra, hoping that he might be able to cross paths with Geralt in the surrounding territories to assure himself that his friend didn't get caught in the middle of that Fall

Meanwhile, Ciri knows she has to find a Witcher by the name of Geralt. She knows he is her destiny. She has no fucking idea where to start looking for him, but she's on the run from Nilfgaard, terrified and anxious and stressed, and in her bag, to her surprise, she finds a well worn copy of a hidden book of Dandelion's poems, all of which are to do with Geralt's adventures. Mousesack had given it to her in secret when she was six, and it had been one of her favourites ever since

She quite forgot she had it in her bag

Cirilla has no idea where to find Geralt. But Dandelion might. Dandelion, she thinks, is her best bet to track her own destiny

And of the two of them, Dandelion isn't a very hard man to find. His bright plumage and singing laughter leaves an easy trail of rumours and tracks to follow. Curiously, whenever she asks about where she might find him, people don't tend to question her. They look at her with sympathy - and sometimes pity - and ask if she has anyone else she can rely on

"No," says Ciri, sombre and trembling. "I only have him."

It's not a lie, exactly, and she's gotten quite good at hiding her aristocratic accent. They point her to when they last heard of his presence. They ask if she needs any help. She thanks them for it, because she is still polite, if angry and confused and oh-so-very lost, but she declines any further company

She goes on.

Every night, she opens up that little book of poems, and tries to imagine what the man described in them is like. It's the closest thing she has to knowing Geralt the Person rather than Geralt the Cursed Witcher

Cirilla is three weeks' worth of travel out from Cintra's borders when she finds Dandelion. It's a little more accurate to say she's dragged over to him - apparently, a blonde, freckle faced child asking about such a famous bard is a quick titter of gossip in the grapevine, and she quickly discovers why it is that nobody ever asked her why she wanted him, and always looked with sympathy or pity at her plight:

Dandelion's hair is blonde. Hers is paler than his own, but he is blonde, like her, and his eyes are bright and clear. His face, though worn and tired, is fair and freckled just like hers, and he is just as surprised as she is when she finds herself shoved in front of him and announced to be his "illegitimate daughter"

"Whoever you got unlucky enough to knock up," says the other minstrel who guided her, "the poor lass seems all alone now. From what I heard, you're the only thing she's got left in the world."

Whatever the minstrel says next is lost to her - for a few aching moments, Dandelion looks panicked. And then something shifts. His face softens. "You look dead on your feet, darling," he says. "Come on, lets get you upstairs and clean you up a bit."

Cirilla doesn't trust strangers. Oddly, Dandelion doesn't feel like one. Perhaps because she has spent so many nights reading his work. Or maybe it's because he's a friend of her destiny. Either way, she quietly follows him up to his room, and when the door is closed, he says, "You don't know where Geralt is, do you?"

Ciri does not.

Her lip trembles. Her shoulders shake. When she finally heaves a sob, Dandelion does not crowd her. But his hands are gentle when he moves her cloak from her shoulders. His voice is soft as he brushes her hair and hums a quiet song

Dandelion never met Pavetta in person. But he once saw her in a painting, and he's seen plenty of Calanthe's likeness over the years besides. Ciri looks a spitting image of them both. Privately, he's impressed at how well she could hide her accent. But she is still just a child, and Dandelion has much more experience with putting on such a performance. He's worn many a different mask with many a different voice over the years, and he had heard traces of her native Cintran beneath the roughness of her croak

Cirilla is alone. But she is also alive, and Dandelion knows, with a confidence born of years by Geralt's side, that his Witcher would never let himself die before finding this girl safe

When the morning comes, he begins to take her North

#the witcher books #dandy guardian AU #dandelion #cirilla fiona elen riannon #this is obviously just a drafted sort of outline to give The Overall Vibe Of The Thing #but there you have it! my idea for an AU where ciri finds our errant bard before she finds geralt #and the two of them travel together to find their misplaced witcher #she's already started using the name 'fiona' for herself btw #which is how she's introduced to dandelion #him picking up on her accent is bc we know he's good at this in canon! #he notices rience's accent in the midst of being tortured and if he can make note of something so innocuous during that #then I bet he's simply got an ear for picking up that sort of thing #also please imagine in this AU that ciri picks up dandelion's sweeping gestures and poetic speech patterns #she's imprinting on him to learn how to be a better actor :] surely this will not cause any problems down the line

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: The boy looks at him with a stare so hopeful Jaskier feels like shit at once because there is no way they’ll find his mother there, he knows that. “Thank you,” he sobs, “sir…?” “Oh, please, no sir,” he says, “I’m but a humble bard, no need to call me sir. I’m Jaskier. And you are…?” “Geralt,” he replies. “My ma is Visenna,” he adds, but Jaskier doesn’t think he heard that. Geralt— Oh, fuck. “Geralt,” he says, trying to not fucking hyperventilate, “nice to meet you. So, you want to meet my horse and then we can go to the village?” The kid—Geralt—nods, his eyes going dry for the first time since they met, and then slips his tiny hand inside his. or: in which a mage curses Geralt to relieve his worst memory for an entire month. Jaskier deals.

Author: @janiedean

#official fic poll #haveyoureadthisfic #pollblr #fanfiction #fandom culture #fanfic #internet culture #tumblr polls #fandom poll #the most beautiful thing #the witcher #witcher #twn #geraskier

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Trouble Bonus Scene: Interlude 3

Jaskier toddled between the tables, sampling the dropped crumbs (that were probably from the previous night's dinner), and trying to decide if he should try the yellowed, waxy crumble with fuzzy green stuff on it, or the brown, crispy oblong thing with the two long 'hairs' on one end.

"Hey, what are you trying to eat now--! Lambert began before screaming "Oh MeLiTeLe hE'S gOt a cOCkrOach!" , and the Hall erupted in chaos.

Wolves jumped up from their benches and dove for the baby. Jaskier toddled as fast as his unsteady baby legs could carry him.

It presented a comical scene: a bevy of grown a** Witchers looking like a team of very incompetent linebackers trying to tackle a very small quarterback without actually tackling him.

Witchers were running into each other, tripping over benches, and falling over their own feet as Jaskier scurried away at a bumbling run, brittle prize clutched in one tiny fist.

They didn't know how he was getting away. He always seemed to be where they weren't.

The Witchers ened up in a groaning pile on the floor, lying in the shame of having been out-maneuvered by a tiny human being that could barely walk.

Jaskier plopped down on the floor just out of reach of the Witchers. There was a collective, desperate cry of "NoOoOoOOOOO!" as Jaskier went to stuff the dessicated cockroach into his mouth.

He let out a confused sound as he abruptly ascended, scooped up by Yennefer's hands. He cooed in disappointment as he dropped the crispy oblong, and outright squalled when Yennefer wrested the waxy chunk of yellow and green out of his other hand.

"Don't eat that, you nasty little savage!" Yennefer said.

Jaskier sniffled and babbled "Ma-ma-ma!"

"Don't try to sweet talk me!"

Jaskier's bottom lip trembled, and his blue eyes looked very sad.

"And don't look at me like that either!"

Jaskier: *sad face intensifies*

Yennefer wavered just a tiny bit, but managed to resist the unreasonable urge to give him back the cockroach. Her voice turned soft and sweet.

"I'm sorry, my poor lamb, but you can't have that yucky old bug!"

Jaskier voiced his displeasure with his loudest, angriest howl.

Yennefer offered him some custard, but he refused. She tried offering him his little wooden spoon, but it ended up on the floor. She tried giving him the various toys the Wolves had made for him, but he only screamed and cried louder.

He found himself being bounced slightly, and patted softly and rythmically on his back.

"I know, I know!" Yennefer said sympathetically, "Shhh, shhh, shhh, sweetling!"

Jaskier found himself yawning when he paused to draw breath for another dramatic wail.

"Such a big yawn!" Yennefer murmured to him, swaying slowly from side to side.

Jaskier rubbed at his eyes and continued to cry, determined to let everyone know they had crossed him, and there were going to be consequences for their transgressions!

Let me sing you the song of my people!

His song petered out from a howling storm, to a light drizzle of whining with his next yawn. And seconds later, inspite of his best efforts, Jaskier fell asleep on Yennefer's shoulder.

Jaskier was carried off to Geralt's room and tucked into a makeshift nest of pillows and furs on the side of the bed that was touching the wall. He was dead to the world, looking sweet and angelic, and not at all like he had just been ugly screaming over a dead roach and a moldy crumb of cheese.

Yennefer looked at Geralt, a suggestion in her eyes. It was early. The baby was sleeping...they had time! Geralt nodded, Yennefer quickly extinguished the candle, they dove under the covers...and went the f**k to sleep.

Jaskier woke them up promptly at sunrise. He was very soggy and uncomfortable, so he remedied the issue by tumbling out of his nest and crawling up on top of Yennefer.

He plopped his wet bottom down and waited as the wetness soaked into the furs.

Yennefer woke up with surprised "eEeWwWw!" when the wetness made it through.

Geralt chuckled when Yennefer lifted Jaskier off her, and the baby kicked his legs, the diaper fell off and landed in her lap with a wet splat.

Well, that was better! The awful wet cloth was gone! But now he was cold...

Jaskier fussed and whined "Ma!", then proceeded to p*ss on her. Geralt laughed out loud at the look of utter shock on Yennefer's face, and the way she froze as she managed to ignore her body's reflexive desire to yeet Jaskier.

"The audacity! That was personal!" she said accusingly to the baby, setting him on a dry spot on the furs so she could spell the bed dry.

"Shut up!" she snapped at Geralt, who was now snorting into his hands to try to laugh quietly. She hurled the sodden diaper at him, and frowned when he twisted out of the way. F***ing Witcher reflexes!

Jaskier laid there, squirming around and being as uncooperative as possible while Yennefer struggled to put a fresh diaper on him. He fussed and rolled and tried to crawl away, screaming angrily at the indignity when he was dragged back and turned over.

He screeched and screamed and wailed and fought until Geralt jumped in, and between the two of them, they wrestled him into the diaper and then into his clothes.

"Oh, what a face!" Yennefer laughed softly, cuddling Jaskier and kissing his pudgy cheek as he pouted and sucked his thumb. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and pulled her cloak over him as she walked out into the chilly hallway, "Sorry, my love, but you are not going to free-ball it. I dont think Vesemir would appreciate stepping in your piles and puddles."

Jaskier ate most of a bowl of honey sweetened grits, then gleefully flung the rest of it across the table at Lambert and Eskel, and smeared it around on the table in front of him. Eskel got him a little cup of goat's milk and held it for him so he could taste it.

Jaskier decided he liked it, and sucked at the edge of the cup.

"He likes it!" Eskel exclaimed happily, carefully tipping the cup incrimentally.

"Look at him go!" Aiden said.

"Hmm!"

Jaskier eagerly sucked at the milk and the Witchers started pounding lightly on the table and chanting "Chug! Chug! Chug!" until he'd drained the cup. Eskel 'slammed' the cup down on the table when he'd finished, and Geralt scooped him up and paraded him around the table as his brothers cheered.

Geralt noticed that Jaskier's little hands were cold and he was shivering a bit. The Witcher had hmm'ed thoughtfully. It was a little chilly in the Hall still, even with the fire burning. It would be a few hours more until the fire could chase out the cold.

Geralt and his brothers made a trip down to the hotsprings to get Jaskier warmed up. They lounged in the water, sitting in one of the pools that was shallower and not as hot, taking turns holding the baby.

Jaskier splashed and chirped "Ba-bol!", remembering the big soap bubbles the Wolves had blown for him before.

"You want bubbles? I'll give you bubbles!" Lambert said mischeivously. He leaned to the side and a series of bubbles churned up from under the water.

"That's f***ing nasty!" Aiden said, but ended up laughing anyway because farts were funny.

There was a brief contest to see who could make the best bubbles.

Jaskier made a little growly sound from Eskel's lap, and the Witcher looked down at him, "What's wrong, little--SH*T! He sh*t in the water!" he screamed as the brown chunky cloud quickly expanded. There was a chorus of panicked screams and swears, and the water churned and roiled as the Witchers thrashed, flinging themselves out of the water.

Coen took Jaskier to sit in front of the fireplace in the Hall while his brothers cleaned out the contaminated pool. He swore he'd only looked away for a second to get his ale off the table, and Jaskier had said to himself Let's play a game!

Coen burst into the hotsprings, yelling "Songbird's gone! I looked away for a second, and he was just gone!"

"You lost Baby Bird?!"

"F**k!"

"We're dead! We're dead! The witch is going to kill us!"

"Everyone calm down!" Geralt barked. "We're going to find him. Everyone spread out. You know what to do."

Yennefer was walking out of the kitchen, into the Great Hall, when she saw Geralt and his brothers on their hands and knees, crawling around on the floor in the hallway, sniffing the stones.

As she watched, the Wolves crawled into the Hall, spreading out and continuing to smell the floor. She leaned against the doorframe, took a bite of her sandwich, and just watched the odd sight. They were actually sniffing the d*mn floor like hunting hounds!

They looked so abusurd: Big, hulking men crawling around with their a**es in the air -- not that Yennefer was going to complain about the view -- everywhere she looked, she saw a dummy thicc a** slowly waving in the air.

"Hey! Hey! This way!" Geralt practically barked, and nose to the ground, started crawling quickly, following the scent trail. The other Witchers crawled after him, snuffling along behind him, and followed him as he led them at fast crawl, right up to a familiar pair of boots...

"What the h*ll are you f**kwits doing?"

The Witchers looked up to see Yennefer glaring down at them from the kitchen doorway.

As one man, they cringed back, hunching closer to the ground.

"Er...we, uh, we're looking for...uh..." Lambert began.

"We lost the baby!" Eskel blurted, unable to take the crushing guilt.

"You mean this baby?" Yennefer said cooly, turning so they could see Jaskier snuggled securely against her back in a makeshift sling. As if on cue, he cooed.

"Er, yeah, that's the one!" Lambert said.

"Don't be a smarta**!" she snapped. "I went to the kitchen to get something to eat, and he was sitting under the tables trying to eat rat turds!"

Four Witcher heads turned to look at Coen. The bald Witcher shrank under the scrutiny. "I-I-I...I looked for him!" Coen stammered, "I didn't see him anywhere, I swear! He was gone!"

The Witchers, still kneeling on the floor, drew closer together and made no move to get up in the off chance that a show of subjugation would appease the witch. It was worth a try.

Yennefer sighed. She couldn't really be upset. Even as an adult, Jaskier had a knack for just disappearing and getting into trouble the second you took your eyes off him. But still, she had an image to uphold.

"You lost your Baby Bard Privilege for the rest of the day," she informed them sternly. "You're going to have to earn it back, and you can start by giving the Great Hall a good scrubbing! This place is a pigstye!"

There was a chorus of muttering, and Lambert grumbled "It's not that dirty-!"

"There's a dead rat under that table, crumbs that are so old they are practically petrified, something brown and sticky under the benches, piles of rat sh*t in the corners, and a f***ing army of cockroaches that swarms the floor every night! It sounds like I'm walking over a bed of dead, crunchy leaves everytime I have to walk across this floor on my way to bed!"

The Witchers shifted uncomfortably and started grumbling and muttering.

"Go on, get!" Yennefer commanded sharply. The Wolves cringed and scuttled out.

"So that's how Witcher's track their prey," Yennefer said to Jaskier, taking him out of the sling to sit him on her lap at the kitchen table. "I'll have to write it down for you in your little notebook so you can make a song about it when we get you back to normal!"

Jaskier babbled as if in agreement.

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher netflix #twn #geralt #geralt of rivia #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier #geraskefer #geraskifer #yenskier #yennskier #yennaskier #yenneskier #baby!jaskier #coen #eskel #lambert #aiden #kaer morons #trouble headcanon #interlude headcanon

[toussainttwins]

@fallesto || x "Oh, that very one Geralt of Rivia from The Wolven Storm by Dandelion? The beloved of the raven-haired sorceress! A witcher who can love!" the petite succubus' eyes grew wider and some colour returned to her cheeks.

Oh, to meet the white wolf from the songs. It was scary, indeed, but also very, very adventurous. Of course, she would never seek a meeting with a witcher, even if he was a main protagonist of many a charming, daring ballad that often made her sister weep sweet tears of sympathy...why, they positively trembled when Geralt of Rivia visited Beauclair for the last time, cooked up in the Dreamveil like two frightened lambs before a real wolf... Oh, Nistana would be so jealous she ran into the hero of her favourite songs! She wished her lambkin was here. Then her shiny, tired hoofs would not tremble so. Nistana would devise a plan how to slip away, smooth as a song itself... "Of course Her Grace is kind and understanding! As a matter of fact she is my customer." Natanis stopped in her tracks, heedlessly dragging a witcher to stop too as only her delicate horned sisters with a muscles of iron could. And raised her curly head very high. "I am letting you know, master Geralt, that it was my shop The Dreamveil where our beautious Royal Sangbonbon has been ordering her attire for the Festival of the Vat...for the last several years!" the proud succubus' horns almost scratched Geralt's chin.

"As for my other clients and sangbonbons no one would wish me harm. My costumes are as much beloved as I am," to prove her point she dusted off her gown busily and made a little spin, showing off her smart travelling cape, embroidered with stars and constellations and her voluminous skirt, studded with tiny bells. It hid her tail and hoofs well and she was careful not to flash them before a witcher. Then she gasped and made a little bow. "Ah, I am terribly sorry! I have not introduced myself, the terror has drained all my manner from me! I am Natanis of Beauclair, the seamstress. You have certainly heard of my modest shop," Natanis said with amiable immodesty. She was hoping the cat-like eyes could see all the details of her painstakingly made travelling costume. A compliment was a compliment, wheither it came for a witcher or not. And ah, the fright made her ravenous. "Thusly, you see. There must be some mistake. The Duchess loves me well, but...there was no reason for her to place a contract for a succubus, even if it's a contract to keep me safe, which is very dear indeed! She would rather send for her seamstress."

"Are you positive you found a right damsel, sangbonbon? I am not complaining. I...oh, my very horns are risking to fall off when I think what those ruffians were after..." the silvery voice faltered and the petite succubus stopped abruptly, like an automaton doll whose cogs lost its power. She shuddered again and covered her horned head with her hood with extra care, not seeking an admiring glance that time.

"They...they took my little dryad's embrace satchel." the only reason why they didn't take her chatelain from her waist was that it got caught in her dress. It was probably a mere matter of time...thinking of it made a sour taste, cold and nauseating raise up Natanis' throat. So loathsome the feeling was that she was ready to dash into the white wolf's arms on her own accord that time. "And I am...I am frightened... to go to the cart and get it. Could you possibly bring it to me, mas...Geralt?"

#♥trick is better than truth (rp answers) #fallesto

[kiritella]

Series: Sehnsucht, Chapter Five: Lilacs and Gooseberries

Pairings: Geralt x Teen!Reader, Yennefer x Teen!Reader

Warnings: light blood, moderate injury, magic, low self worth.

Words: 3.1k

————————

“It’s you,” Yennefer said, and something within the child’s chest fell apart, snapped like a taut trope. Her breath caught. “The girl from the woods, that was you.”

She kept her head low as she nodded weakly, but couldn’t resist and looked up when Yennefer laughed softly. There was a gloss over her eyes, but behind the violet, there was recognition. It wasn’t filled with disgust or disdain. Yennefer was looking at her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if her back meant nothing more than a memory.

“You’ve grown,” she said suddenly as her hands ran up the girl’s arms to cup her cheeks. “You look well enough for a forest hermit though,” she said, then added in a teasing whisper, “Even if you do smell worse than Lambert.”

The girl laughed, surprising herself as she nodded.

“Come,” she started and pressed the girl toward the tub. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The girl hissed as she dipped into the hot water—the feeling strange on her cold skin and wounded leg. And yet, in a very odd and unfamiliar way, it was pleasant. It soothed the aches in her muscles, the knots she had gotten from maintaining Geralt’s weight on the horse for so long. Yennefer sat on the chair just behind her, and shortly, a small cloth and a bar of…it was…well it was a solid-ish bar of something and it was handed to her.

“It’s soap,” Yennefer explained when she looked up over her shoulder at the woman. She was already reaching back for a bottle sitting on the table.

“Soap?”

“It helps to take off the dirt and oils.”

“Oh…”

“And this,” Yenn said as she turned back to her, opening the stopper of the round-bottomed flask, “Is to keep away the smell. It works miracles, trust me.”

“If what you say is true, I might need one,” she whispered and Yenn laughed, humming in agreement.

Reaching over the girl’s shoulder, Yenn poured some of the purplish liquid into the bath, and the scent she’d grown so accustomed to around the woman enveloped the room even more. Breathing in heavily, she realized very quickly—these were her things. She swallowed the thick tension crawling up her throat.

“What is that scent?” she asked.

“Lilacs and gooseberries.”

“It’s nice.”

“It’s my favorite.”

Of course it was. She hummed as she bathed, and the weight on her heart slipped further and further away with each swipe of the cloth. The water steadily grew darker, and a new shade of her skin grew apparent. The soap washed away layers of her skin she didn’t even know were dirt, and with a small hooked tool Yennefer gave her, she cleaned out the moss garden beneath her nails. 

Her skin was taut and strangely dry after washing, a bit itchy, but she was clean. So much so that it was almost strange. And she smelled nice. And every drag of Yennefer’s hands as she helped her wash her hair was kind, caring, and delicate.

Yennefer showed her so many new things in that span of a couple hours. From shaving with a thin blade, cream for her winter-cracked hands, to being wrapped in a towel and sitting on a chair so Yennefer could stand behind her. She had to swallow the knot in her throat as Yenn trailed her fingers over the matts in her hair. She had done so well, but god, it was so nice for someone to touch her skin and not flinch. Her body craved it, leaned into it as if she had been starved her whole life.

Curling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around herself to hide the overwhelming sensation—trap it somehow. Yennefer pulled her hair over the back of the chair, and gently, so very softly, she began to thread a wooden comb through the knotted mess. 

“Would you mind if I cut your hair?” Yenn asked, and the girl shook her head. 

“It’s alright,” she whispered. It was a mess, she knew. The amount of times she had to cut out matts with her dagger or chop off annoying strands was too many to count. It was a mop of uneven cuts and brittle ends, knots and clumps. To make any of it better, it would need to be cut clean off her head. She was ready for that much. So when Yennefer picked up what appeared to be a smaller version of sheep shears, she thought it was fitting.

She wasn’t prepared for the soft, careful snips. The gentle parting of her hair along a straight line over the top of her head. The touches and efforts to make the mess into something manageable. By the time Yennefer was finished, she didn’t know what to think, much less when the woman came and knelt in front of her with a small smile. She refused to look up, afraid she would see the redness in her eyes, choosing rather to tighten her arms around her legs, pulling them even closer into her chest.

“I’m going to look at your leg now,” Yennefer said and after a moment, her fingers trailed over the gash reaching from her knee to nearly her ankle. It hadn’t been too deep, but it was certainly no minor cut. While the herbs she had put on haphazardly had done well enough to keep away infection, it was not a wound so easily treated. 

Yennefer assured there was nothing left in the cut, no fragments of plants or dirt, and placed her hands over it. Muttering, a soft light enveloped her hands and the girl peeked out over her knees. The words were familiar. Stinging pain prickled around the injury and she hissed. Following was warmth, a rush of blood down her leg, until the sensations eased and faded away. Only then did Yennefer stop speaking, lifting her hands. Not even a scar remained on her newly-woven skin.

“This brings back memories,” Yennefer said, catching the girl’s reddened eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

The girl nodded.

“Where did you learn your magic? Back in the woods, you already knew the basics. You couldn’t have been very old either.”

“My mother was a mage, trained in…Aret—Aretuza, I think. She used to heal my bruises with the spell. It stuck.”

“Why didn’t you heal your leg?”

“...” she lowered her eyes. “I can fix small wounds…big ones are harder. And Geralts’s—”

“Geralt’s was full of venom,” Yennefer said. “Healing it would have sealed the venom inside and made the healing process much longer. You did the right thing by leaving it.”

The girl nodded, and a small, heavy silence followed. Large scars peeked over the girl’s neck like the reaching hand of a claw, her eyes barely able to meet Yennefer’s own, and god, if she pulled herself any tighter together, she might just vanish entirely.

“...What happened to you?”

Oh, what a question. And damn, what an answer that would be. The girl huffed something like a laugh, and in all its twisted, fractured glory, there was a glimpse of true wretchedness. It was humorless and raw.

“I am what I am,” she said, and the chill of her voice gripped Yennefer’s spine.

Something flashed in her eyes, quick and violent, but then it was gone. “How old are you?” Yenn asked.

“Seventeen,” she whispered, “I think.”

“Your magic—look at me, sweetheart. Your magic does not mean you should be beaten or…or branded like this. No one deserves such a thing, much less a child.”

The girl froze. There was a determination in Yennefer’s voice she could not argue with. One she found she did not want to argue with. It was given with a look that would not waver, and it made anything she wanted to say tie up her tongue. After all, she was what she was, wasn’t she? What did it matter how old she was? 

Instead, she muttered, “The brand wasn’t for being a witch.”

“What?”

She didn’t repeat herself, and so the words hung heavily in the air between them. Yennefer observed her, but with a moment, nodded to the other end of the room.

“Let us get you dressed, yeah?”

And so they did, and then there she stood in front of the mirror, a reflection of someone strange in the glass. It moved when she did, but there was so much doubt that it took several moments before it registered properly. It was her. Her skin was a new shade, cleaned up from all the years of muck and blood. Her hair was trimmed and styled neatly, damp, though drying and a bit frizzy. She could not help the growing smile as she stepped closer to the image, her hand reaching out to touch what she had briefly thought was an illusion.

Her fingers trailed over her cheeks, her lips, threading through the tips of her hair. She laughed suddenly, wet and strange. She brushed her hands over the clothes too, clean and fitted. The blouse was blue, pale like the sky and embroidered with white flowers along the neckline. It was more open along her neck than she was used to, but not unpleasantly, even if the scars poking out from beneath the garment were a little distasteful. The important ones were covered. And it was warm and heavy, enough to break the chill in the air and keep her cozy. 

“You look lovely,” Yennefer said softly, observing the child from the sidelines. 

Only then did she see how the girl’s lip trembled. Only then did she notice how her bones didn’t ache dreadfully. That she was warm from the cap of her head to the tips of her toes. She let out a wavering breath as she nodded again, smiling. So this is what she looked like.

“Thank you…for everything.”

Yennefer smiled, and there was something deep within her gaze as she watched her in the mirror’s reflection. A determination of sorts. A decision. 

“You brought Geralt home, it was the least I could do.”

The girl nearly scoffed, or laughed. Something to make known the absurdity of that statement. It was most certainly not the least. The least would have been a scowl and muttered curses beneath her breath before she sent her on her way in the growing snowstorm. The least would have been a nod and a few words of gratitude, maybe a piece of breath before she was sent away. What they had done was most certainly not, in any way, shape, or form, the least. It was everything.

“Are you ready to show the others?” Yennefer asked, and the girl nodded. 

As Yenn walked her back through the halls of Kaer Morhen, home of the Witchers, there was a gentle curl of a solid embrace dancing up her spine.

“You are safe here,” D’ao said in her thoughts.

“Are you certain?”

“I am. These people have known heartache of their own not so different from your own. And they are much more acquainted with Destiny than even us. For as we have seen the beginnings, they have seen the end.”

“There is an end to Destiny?”

D’ao chuckled, and she perceived the shake of his head. “Not exactly.”

“You aren’t making any sense again.”

“I know, but for now, let it be as simple as this. You are safe here, so do not be frightened, and try to settle your heart. It is racing so strongly I am certain even Yennefer can hear it.”

She drew a deep, stiff breath as they turned the last corner and found themselves back in the gathering hall. “Okay,” she whispered silently more to herself than to her friend. “Okay.”

—

Staying until the storm passed had turned into being asked to stay until the snow wasn’t piled so high. Besides, the paths were likely closed in, and even with magic it would be difficult to cross. From waiting until the snow was a little thinner to being asked to stay because it looked like another storm was going to blow in. It would be a shame to be caught in the rain and get sick. It was so cold, after all. Then from staying past the storm to one more night because Lambert had brought in a boar, and it would be such a shame if she missed it. It was Coen’s turn to cook after all, and she had yet to taste his cooking. From there, to Vesemir finding her caring for Geralt’s horse, and it had already been a few weeks now, why not the rest of winter? It would be warm, and she would have hot food, and Ciri would be excited to have someone to talk to that wasn’t nearly a century old.

And she choked up, and with a wavering voice she blamed on the winter air, she accepted. He had looked so hopeful, after all, and his smile was crooked. It was in this manner that she had now found herself with the Witchers for nearly a full month now. It was how it was now growing late, and instead of gathering firewood and scraping through the woods for a measly dinner, she was sat beside the fire pit in the gathering hall with a full stomach from dinner and a book.

She fumbled over the words as she attempted to read them, the common tongue still strange to read after so long of learning spells in Elder.

“Drowners, muc-k-nix—muc-k-nixers, vod…vodniks, and drowned dead all live in pu-uh-trid, rotting filt-h, and so have…” she paused, her brow furrowing as she analyzed each letter. She chewed her lip. ““dēv–ēl–op–ēd…dēvēlopēd? a high rē-sis-tance— resistance—to po-i-son—”

“Poison…” 

She jerked her head up, surprised at Geralt’s sudden appearance. Damned Witchers and their silent steps. She could never hear anyone but Yennefer approaching. He smiled as he sat down on the floor beside her. 

“The ‘o’ and the ‘i’ together make the /oi/ sound,” he explained softly, peeking over at the book she was reading—attempting to read.

“Oh…” 

Her nose twitched as embarrassment crept up her neck. 

“Where did you find the book?” he asked.

“Ciri let me borrow it,” she said, shifting. “I was asking too many questions about monsters I think.”

He nodded and nudged her shoulder. “Keep going,” he encouraged, nodding to the book. “I’ll help.”

Turning back to the book, she went to continue, but flushed immediately and hesitated. “Uh…”

Geralt peeked over her shoulder. “Though,” he read the first word for her. “The ‘t’ and ‘h’ together make the /th/. It is a diagraph where two letters together make a single sound.”

She hummed. “Sounds complicated.”

“You’ll get the hang of it soon enough. I think Vesemir still has some old scrolls we can get out for you,” he said, then added quickly, “If that is something you would like.”

She smiled and nodded, using her knees to trap the warmth in her chest. “I’d like that.”

He nodded. “I’ll find them,” he said, and nodded toward the book. “Until then, my patchwork tips will have to do.”

Her smile turned crooked into a grin. That didn’t sound so bad. Looking back at the paper, she continued. “Though, hu-man-oid in form, they are prim-i-tive cr-a—crate—”

“Creatures.”

“...Really?”

“M-hm.”

“Huh…They are primitive creatures no more in-tell-i-gent than carp or pike…” she continued through the chapter, pausing as Geralt had to explain several more pronunciations. She had not expected Monstrum: A Preliminary Guide, Volume 3: Necrophage to have so many complicated words. Then again, she had not read very much in her life. Geralt seemed surprised though, when she breezed through the Elder speech, not pausing or glitching even once, but she missed his furrowed brow and curious look. He didn’t interrupt, and so she pressed on. 

“Can I ask you something?” Geralt asked and she nodded. “Why are you interested in drowners?”

“Ah…” she sighed softly, carefully selecting her words. “It was the first monster I had ever seen, and it…in a way it showed me what a monster was. What everyone sees when they call something a monster. They might be a weaker species when you put them up against wyverns and griffins, but…they are a common horror, you know? You probably won’t see a wyvern in your life, but if you live near the water, your chances of seeing a drowner are moderately high. It is the monsters that we can see that horrify us, that change everything.”

“It is an interesting perspective,” Geralt said. 

“What is yours?” she asked, closing the book. 

“The perception of what a ‘monster’ will change the more you interact with them. A drowner looks less and less like a monster when you fight a griffin. A drowner doesn’t have a choice, it is mindless, and in all the essential ways, dead. A griffin makes the choice to do certain acts of violence. Even more so, are humans.”

She flinched, but he continued. 

“Griffins are animals, even if they are more intelligent than a drowner. But humans, elves, dwarves, all of us, their acts of violence they can’t blame on animalistic instinct. There is rape, murder, and savagery. All choices made by the intelligent. So a ‘monster’ is not as simple as a mindless drowner, or so easily defined. A true monster is making the choice between good and evil and choosing evil.”

She paused, her brow furrowed as she tried to settle that thought. It was a very strange perspective. “Being a monster…is a choice?”

“For the intelligent, yes,” he said. “Drowners don’t really have that choice, as they are closer to an animal than anything else. I do agree though, for most people, it is the monsters that we see that change everything. Ideally, a drowner would be the worst that anyone has the misfortune of crossing paths with.”

She could not pay as much attention to Geralt as she would have liked to give him as he continued. His perspective of a choice was intriguing, and she could not fathom its extent. Wasn’t a creature exactly what it was born to be? Wasn’t it what everyone saw it to be? The thought of it being a choice…the mere idea struck heat in her chest. It was searing, nearly as violent as the welted ring on her shoulder. Anger. 

It was anger. If a Witcher, a master of understanding and killing monsters, said that for the intelligent species, being a monster was a choice, then…

After everything. Everything. 

What was the point?

Why?

#sehnsucht #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x yennefer #geralt x yen #geralt x ciri #geralt x child!reader #geralt x teen!reader #dad!geralt #father!geralt #dad!geralt x teen!reader #dad!geralt x daughter!reader #father!geralt x female!reader #father!geralt x afab!reader #geralt x female!reader #geralt x afab!reader #witcher geralt #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt fanfiction #soft!geralt #soft!geralt x reader #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #witcher yennefer #yennefer x reader #mom!yennnefer x reader #mother!yennefer x reader #yennefer x teen!reader #dad!Geralt & reader

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Carnival

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: No kittens this time, unfortunately, but there's some Mikey, and some fluffy awkwardness, and a plushie.

Pairing: barista!Mike (Hellraiser) x reader (you)

Summary: Mike calls to ask if you want to go to the carnival with him...

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Fluff. More swearing. A li'l kissin'. Parents.

@deandoesthingstome @keanureevesisbae @fvckinghenrycavill @ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss @geralts-yenn @ylva-syverson

“Hey, Sweetcheeks, it’s eh.. It’s Mikey,” you hear on the other side of the line. Of course, it’s Mikey; you saw his face pop up on screen. That, and no one else calls you ‘Sweetcheeks’. And with good reason.

“I knew that when I picked up, Mike, what’s up?” you laugh. He’s so adorably self-conscious and shy from time to time – and then he gets his mouth on you and he turns into a horny mess with even less subtlety than what’s normal for him.

“Ehm. Well, you know… Carnival’s in town,” he says hesitantly. You know it’s a little mean, but you never get to be the confident one in these situations. So yeah, you’re exploiting your position a little.

“Yeah… So…?” You’re biting your lip, waiting for an answer – feeling extra bad for Mike when you hear him take a deep, shaky breath.

“Do you wanna go? With me? Tonight?” he says softly, his voice still shaking.

“Mike?” you laugh. “Our last date was really nice, and I would love to go out with you again.”

Your words seem to relax him a little, because the next time he speaks, it sounds far steadier than before: “Alright! Can you swing by the coffee shop? I get off at four, we can have coffee and then bounce?”

You tell him his plan sounds fantastic, and hang up the phone before pacing to your closet and yanking the doors open. What the hell are you going to wear?

After checking the weather forecast three times, and the temperature outside, you settle on a pair of black shorts and a Stitch t-shirt, with low, neon blue converse sneakers. It’s a carnival, not the MET gala. Of course, right after making that decision, you end up hating it completely, and change seven times to things you hate even more, before putting on the thing you had on in the first place and going: ‘I guess.’ By then, it’s time to leave for the coffee shop, anyway. If you want to make it in time, at least.

“Hey, Sweetcheeks! Got you a cappuccino,” Mike greets you when you walk into the shop. You gratefully take it from him, ignoring Walter, who is rolling his eyes at Mike from behind the counter.

“With oat milk?” you tease. Walter stifles a laugh when he hears you say it.

“Probably,” Mike answers with a grin on his face, “Walt made it.”

“Oh, thank God!” you say as you sit down at your favorite table. Mike sits down next to you and puts an arm around you, which startles you. To distract yourself from the unexpected PDA, you turn to Mike. “How will we get to the carnival?”

“I was planning on taking my car,” he said, before offering to drop you off wherever you needed afterwards. It was a nice offer, and one you were certainly not planning on turning down…

You half expected Mike’s car to be an old pile of rust, but it isn’t. He does admit that the car he drove before this one was slightly older, but some jackass had rearended him in a parking lot, which is why you are now standing in front of a brand-new looking Camry that probably cost twice or more what your car did, instead of a rundown heap of junk. He laughs when you point that out.

“Eh,” he shrugs. “Ma’s a vet, you know that. Dad’s a surgeon. They don’t pay for everything, but they very much want me to have my own car.” There’s something about the way he says it and the shit-eating grin on his face that suggests there is more to that argument than simply having him ask for a car all the time…

You’re still in the middle of that thought when Mike gently pushes you aside and reaches for the door handle. Is he really holding this car door open for you?

“Thanks, Mikey,” you say as you get in.

Of course, the first thing Mike does when you get to the carnival is getting himself food – himself, only because you insist you don’t want any; there’s rides to go on and throwing up on Mike’s shoes sounds like just about the most unromantic thing you could possibly do. It surprises you that he doesn’t drag you to the haunted house immediately.

“Can I take your hand?” he mutters quietly after he finishes his snack. For some reason, he doesn’t look at you. Is he avoiding you? No longer interested? Sure, the guy who called you to take you to the carnival and literally just asked if he could hold your hand isn’t interested in you anymore. That’s got to be it. Jesus, someone needs to reboot that brain of yours… “Sweetcheeks?”

Oh, shit! “Eh… Yeah,” you answer, biting your lip as you look at him. He smiles back at you and reaches for your hand. His warm fingers entwine with your freezing ones, and you smile. It feels nice. Innocent and sweet. It brings your mind back to your first date with Mike last week. Not that that was so innocent and… Oh fuck it, yes it was. Probably a little too innocent for him, even. As if he didn’t make it clear enough that he was more than willing to get it on… You’ve spent the entire week feeling like you had ruined your chances, but he kept texting you, so even you figured it couldn’t have been that bad. That said, despite having the upper hand on the shyness-scale this afternoon, you had been beyond ecstatic that he had called. And now he was slowly towing you along to the haunted house. Of course.

You stand still, making Mike stop and turn around, looking at you with a questioning expression. “What’s up, Sweetcheeks?”

“Not a fan of haunted houses,” you admit. You’re definitely one of those people who don’t enjoy being scared. Movies are one thing, but scary clowns jumping out at you in dark rides… That hits different, somehow. In a bad way.

“I’ll protect you.” Mike wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Those rides are never long enough to make out anyway,” you counter. It’s not that you don’t want to kiss him – in fact, you’re absolutely dying to, but maybe not… like that? It seems a little tacky.

“Oh, you’re looking for a place to make out with me?” Mike teases in return. You shake your head while you laugh nervously. He slowly steps closer to you, letting go of your hand and grabbing you by your waist, instead. “Can I get a little kiss?”

He’s all smiles and puppy eyes, it’s impossible to say no to him, so you get up on your toes and plant a quick kiss on his cheek. When you get back down, he looks sad. Maybe a little disappointed, even, but he smirks at you when you tell him that he’s going to have to earn it if he wants more. He thinks things through for a moment, before grabbing your hand again and pulling you along to another stand.

As it turns out, Mike is very good at Skee-Ball, and you’re soon on your way, armed with a brand-new blue and purple reversible octopus plushie that you can’t stop staring at.

“Seriously, thank you, Mikey,” you say for possibly the thousandth time, when he finally puts his hands on your shoulders to stop you.

“Stop it,” he says with a bright smile. “I’m just glad you like it.”

“I love it, Mike.” You wrap your arms – octopus and all – around his neck and kiss him, stopping only when some little kid walks by and screams ‘eeeeeew!’ at you, making you both laugh.

“Do you want me to drop you off at home?” Mike asks as you walk back to his car. You’ve had your fill of people and loud music all around you, and with every step away from the chaos, your brain becomes less foggy.

“Unless you have a better idea,” you say carefully, not wanting your date to end just yet, but still wanting to get out of there. Mike actually suggests going back to his place for a bit, and you happily agree.

When you get there, you notice how he says something about his parents’ cars being gone, which means they’re not home. It doesn’t matter much to you, either way, because you’re fairly sure they wouldn’t mind you coming over, anyway – they sure as hell didn’t care much about it last time.

He drags you up the stairs immediately. There’s a note taped to his bedroom door:

          ‘Turtles have been fed, we’re off to dinner.’

“Alright, looks like we have the house to ourselves for a bit,” Mike says as he pushes the door to his bedroom open a little further. Four kittens immediately start screaming in their pen like they’re being murdered, and six cats look at you from his bed as if you’ve just committed the worst crime possible. To be fair, they probably consider ‘waking them up’ a felony…

You watch Mike’s face closely as he rethinks the situation. When he’s made a decision, he – almost – shuts the door and pushes you towards another one.

“They’re never going to leave us alone if we go in there, Sweetcheeks,” he says determinedly, “and I want you all to myself for a bit.”

He ushers you through a door on the other side of the hallway, leading you into a room that must be… Oh, hell no! His parents’ bedroom! Is this a good idea? Probably not, but Mike reassures you that they never have to find out. Of course, that would be the case if you had better luck…

“Michael!” Fuck. The door slams shut again, and you hear the muffled voice of Mike’s mom from outside. “You have thirty seconds to get out here, young man, or else…”

“Not how I saw that going,” Mike mutters as he scrambles to pluck his shirt off the floor. It’s inside out when he puts it on, but there’s not really a lot of time to do anything about that. He picks your shirt up and throws it at you. In your panicked state, it takes you a while to figure out how to put it on, but you eventually manage. When you’re both decent again, Mike grabs your hand and sighs, gesturing at the door.

“What were you thinking?” Mike’s mom yells when you both walk into the hallway. “Not you, sweetheart, I’m talking to this idiot.” She gestures at Mike and rolls her eyes. Her words are only slightly comforting, because this woman – all 4’9” of her – is a little scary.

“Eh, I wasn’t?”

“Evidently,” his father weighs in. “You can drive her home, after that, consider yourself grounded.”

“Grounded? You can’t ground me! I’m in college!” Mike says in disbelief, but his father just raises a dangerous looking eyebrow.

“I can’t believe I fucking got grounded, what am I? Fourteen?” Mike growls when you’re back in his car and he’s driving you home.

“We sure as fuck were acting like it,” you laugh. It’s not really funny, though. You absolutely haven’t recovered from the embarrassment of his parents walking in on you in their bedroom, and now you won’t get to see Mike for three weeks…

“Yeah, well…” he sighs. “I guess you’ll have to come visit me at work.”

#mike hellraiser #mike hellraiser fic #mike (hellraiser) #hellraiser mike #mike (hellraiser) x reader #hellraiser mike x reader #mikey x reader #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters

[first-edition]

MATERIAL LIST

Smut 🥰

Fluff☁️

Angst ❤️‍🩹

BREAKING SEASONS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2❤️‍🩹

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6☁️

CHAPTER 7🥰

CHAPTER 8❤️‍🩹☁️

CHAPTER 9❤️‍🩹

CHAPTER 10❤️‍🩹

CHAPTER 11☁️❤️‍🩹

CHAPTER 12🥰❤️‍🩹

————-

Fox and the Hound

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5🥰

Chapter6

Chapter 7🥰

Chapter 8☁️

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

—————

2022 Smut-mas 🥰🥰🥰

Day 1 (spencer reid) CAR CLEAN-UP

Day 2 (bucky barnes) Ride or Die

Day 3 (matt Murdock) Jesus “Freak”

Day 4 (bucky barnes) Angel Baby

Day 5 (geralt of rivia) Daughter of Kaer Morhen

Day 6 (eric northman) Hot Water

Day 7 (Duncan vizla) Frost Bitten

Day 8 (aemond Targaryen) Turning Green

Day 9 (matt Murdock) Office Hours

Day 10 (spencer reid) Friction

Day 11(bucky/winter soldier) Malfunction

Day 12(Hellboy) Get Comfy

————-

 2023 Smutmas 🥰

THE LIST

—————-

Men

Sebastian stan

Bar nights☁️

Big hugs☁️

Henry cavil

Cardio🥰

————-

Barbarian

Fire Light🥰

—————-

Hemlock Grove

Roman Godfrey

Beauty☁️🥰

————-

House of the dragon

Aemond

Not Yours❤️‍🩹

Lost Birth❤️‍🩹☁️

King❤️‍🩹

————-

MARVEL

Bucky Barnes

Numbing Feeling ❤️‍🩹

Numbing Feeling pt 2 ❤️‍🩹☁️

Champagne Sheets 🥰

What a time ❤️‍🩹☁️

Dance Steps☁️

I love you’s☁️❤️‍🩹

Sunday🥰

Your time 🥰❤️‍🩹

RUST☁️

Secret santa☁️

Memorize You🥰❤️‍🩹

Pool “party”❤️‍🩹☁️

Black Card☁️

ICE☁️

Lyrics pt1❤️‍🩹

Letter pt2❤️‍🩹

Love pt3🥰

Sunset❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Made For? ❤️‍🩹☁️

Sunday Love pt1 ☁️

Sunday Love pt2☁️🥰

Daredevil

Matt Murdock

Morning madness🥰

Sinner🥰

Moon knight

Steven/Marc

Mirage❤️‍🩹

TOP SHOTS 🥰

—————-

Hick

Eddie kreezer

Shots misfired

————-

Outsiders

Dallas Winston

Better you 🥰☁️

————-

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Spencer x reader Drabble ☁️

Sad Drabble thought ❤️‍🩹

Standing tall☁️

Standing tall pt 2 🥰

Physical pain❤️‍🩹☁️

Hard on Top🥰

“I didn’t have any plans.” ☁️

Home for Chirstmas🥰

You Again🥰☁️

Stop❤️‍🩹

Burnt breakfast ☁️

One Night You🥰☁️

Aaron Hotchner

Wonderful Life☁️🥰

————-

Witcher

 Geralt of rivia

 A Flowers Petal🥰☁️

————-

Stranger Things

Billy Hargrove

Firework Confession ☁️

Attention🥰

Cadillacs🥰

Twilight

Jasper hale

Sleep sounds🥰

Thunder Storms🥰

————-

Hannibal

Hannibal

Idea spout❤️‍🩹

Final breath❤️‍🩹

Important Night🥰

————-

Polar

Duncan vizla

Drabble ☁️❤️‍🩹

Hug☁️