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soranihimawari · 7 months

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Shaken not Stirred

7. We always used to have sleepovers as children, why would it be weird now?"

Pairing: teen->adulthood friendships||nanami x yn

Warning: 🔞nsfw! bc sexual awakenings and teasing may affect those who’s first choice was hawk girl or j.depp (specifically Cry Baby era)// nanami & reader realize their friendship was built on lustful attraction versus friendly ones as they grew up. 👀 also, implied that reader’s family has yakuza or mafia ties…

Rating: adult!relationship with nanami kento [adult as in a good fucking means someone tried to test reader’s patience and they are not one to stand by and let nanami be insulted…]

You are writhing beneath him; a man twice your size is above you, giving into his earthly desires. His voice is gruff and demanding as he pulls another pitiful moan out of you. He mocks you, lustfully licking a stripe from your neck to where your ear connects—it’s hot. The heat in the autumnal day is now cooling, but the bed creaks. Something ancient is awake and angry, his broken growl of your name hangs in the air. He fucks you to his rhythm as you cry out you can take one more fleeting orgasm. And the jackal of a man laughs muttering how brave you must be.

Rewind yourself to 72-hours ago when you arrived back on your home neighborhood in Sendai. You’re reuniting with some old friends after you found out your last remaining uncle had passed. Being in your mid to late twenties and working for a moderately ran start-up company for blue light lenses, you thankfully had merciful bosses who believed in putting family first. Though rare, they did make you file a leave of absence as you finalize your travel arrangements in the office before the end of the week.

You fly out on cold February morning, kind of overrated but if you’re able to get to Sendai Ciry by dinner tomorrow, your folks would have said it was worth the red eye fees. Honestly, once you traverse through bay check and the security points, you’re at your gate, eyes heavy as sleep is something you lacked.

Fourteen hours. Fourteen hours (and if you count the other twenty four you were up for, you’re sure you’d put your body through some sort of cardiac issued stress), however you were able to picked up by an old neighbor—Nanami Kento. Sure, the two of you grew up and apart, but considering the other options of your contacts, you went with the most reliable one. He bows as he greets you, his driver acknowledges you and you introduce yourself to the man and apologize for the delay.

“Snow this time of year is brutal,” the driver chuckles.

You nod as Nanami opens the passenger door for you. You give him your thanks as you sit down and strap on the seatbelt.

Looking back as both the driver and Nanami get in after you close your door, you fidget on your seat and nervously crack your knuckles, chuckling here and there as you listen to their banter until you speak up at an upcoming red light.

“Umm… I’m sorry, but I forgot to ask if I could spend the first few nights with you, Nanami-kun? If not, I know you’re busy with work, but if it truly is a problem, I could find a hotel to stay in…”

You’re stifling a yawn and he notices the slight wrinkles at the sides of your eyes. Surely you’re not still suffering from insomnia before trips, he thinks. Then, after he ponders for a light or two, he agrees.

“Bless you, my parents just texted me that my room was part of their remodeling phase and it’s getting a fresh coat of paint right now. I don’t mind taking the train from Tokyo back,” you explain with a soft smile.

You don’t remember much after the turn to his apartment high rise. You figured you knocked out and the driver, Mr Iji, had taken your things up for Nanami because well, for lack of better words, Nanami would have been carrying you. At the thought, your cheeks flush and you swat away all the raunchy things that could have happened, but it didn’t.

Nearly six in the morning and you are awakened again this time by an alarm and a half dressed adult blonde best friend. There’s several bandages on his arm and ribs from what you used to consider an awful part time job. He worked in an office from 9-5, but he did clock in some hours since he went back to being an adjunct teacher. Apparently even in this relic of a neighborhood, something keeps killing his colleagues. He told you all this before when you were nineteen and he had just turned twenty a season prior:

“You ought to be careful next time,” you hum as you help him place gauze over his cut brow. “I won’t be here to patch you like Shoko-chan can.”

“You can stay,” he hums, sort of pleading to you when the alcohol seeps and stings between the stitches there. “Mm…was that necessary?!”

Shows him the message from Shoko.

“Doc said so,” you mirthfully laugh as you see him frown. You put away the first aid kit and sigh. “I worry about you. This job, can’t you quit it before you die?”

“What? Why would I?!”

You realize he hasn’t loosened his grip on your hand; the alcohol must still be stinging a bit you reason.

“Because I can’t lose my best friend right after we had just gotten back on better terms,” you’re gentle tone makes him look you in the eyes and it dawns on him just how right you must be. “Besides, who’s gonna come bother me in the U.S. when I get my doctorate degree in medicine over there? Don’t send Gojo, I’d kill him with whatever fad he’s on now…”

Nanami chuckles.

“My girl is a clever one,” he says.

“If I really was yours, you wouldn’t be talking,” you tease. “Remember what happened when you told me you loved Hawk Girl and I still loved that crybaby movie?”

“‘Get wings or I think you’re a square?’ Oh get over yourself, we were seven and eight.”

You laugh and slip your hand out his… “I know! Isn’t that wild? Anyways, I better get home now.”

You grab your bag and wave over your shoulder, “See you at the airport. Thanks for offering to take me!”

The conversation plays in a loop in your mind and he’s in the middle of greeting you when you walk up to him and study his face, then his body…he has so many knicks and scars and even bruises. Some deeply rich in color you think he has internal bleeding. Then coffee maker begins whirring for both of you and you force his face to glance at you. You hold his chin firmly and move his face to see the same scar from the conversation still prominent with his bangs swept back.

“You told me you quit,” you half smile.

Nanami turns, wincing as he holds his bandages on his ribs to hand you a mug, but your hand presses against his side first and his breathing stutters. It isn’t the close proximity that causes him to do so? It’s just…he hadn’t seen how bright your eyes are in the dawn.

“What’s wrong? How did you…?”

You’re adjusting the gauze and your breath ignites his skin in the most subtle of ways and you adjust the pressure on his side. You gauge how he reacts and you know how he gets when you fret over him and you’re afraid you might have angered your host.

“Not important,” Nanami stubbornly stated, but he saw how the wrinkle in between your brows becomes prominent before walking away.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you whisper and straighten up to walk away from the kitchen.

Silence ruled over you both as you fall into line with helping him make some rolled eggs and rice. He glances over every once in while, keeping his hard pressed lips together, he focuses on how delicate you’re chopping the chives. Your hands, he’s noticed, are calloused over from your trade in the medical field.

“I’ll leave tomorrow,” you say to him. “I found a hotel near the memorial services building.”

You take your plate once your dish is finished and sit on the table waiting for him. You eat together, he didn’t try to make much small talk, but you say some hurtful words.

“I never backed away, so why?”

Your voice cracked a bit when the plates were placed in the sink.

“Because you don’t deserve to use your talents on people like me,” he stands behind you, wrapping an injured arm around your waist, you’re pulled into his chest. “Can’t lose you too.”

Your hearts hammer like a forger beats the metal into a fine shield. You can feel his pulse practically race through this veins in his forearm around your waist. He whispers he’ll be back no later than six-thirty.

You think nothing of it as the day progresses even going so far as to cancel the hotel reservations. The services are day after next, so you don’t have much time left with Nanami before your life would be filled with aunts and would be retired uncles from your father’s side who’s ask awkward questions. Your cousins though? They’re immature and annoying, but the worse part? Everyone would ask you if you’re married yet, expecting, or trying to out you as many believe you’re not as you define yourself. Surely, family can be invasive, but yours is a whole other level. Hence why you being Nanami to these functions growing up or at least steal away to ditch the gatherings and hang out with him at his dorm room halfway across the prefecture.

Even now, as you don your ceremonial robes for the hybrid family traditions, he leans against the door way connecting his room to yours. The bathroom light backlights your frame as he hums in approving. Communicating with Nanami has improved, but you are reminded by him to move one stone at a time before moving a whole beam. He said that old saying of your grandmother to you when you introduced him to her in her flower shop. Nanami offered to help with the chores one afternoon and you, you decided it would be a good trial run before introducing your new friend from the middle school you started would be worked into your everyday life. Things did go well, or at least you thought they did until graduation day. His parents were a no-show, and your parents thought it was a bit awkward having him stand next to you for photos until the family matriarch decided to show up and pose for photos with him claiming how much she loved her future grandchild-in-law. The embarrassing situation was swept under the rug for the later half of the next fifteen years: in that time, you two grew up and apart especially with your residency being in the United States and he would continue his studies here in Japan. Only now, after a death in the family has returned you to your home soil do you stand before the boy you liked-maybe even dared to love-and he adjusts his spectacles to see you clearly.

"Think this is too much?" you tilt your head this way and that as he notices the bronze glitters of your neutral makeup.

"You look beautiful, even for a mourner," Nanami tells you as he takes your hand in his as he is to escort you per the request of the elders.

"Must you come with me?"

"Mr Iji is bringing the car around the corner," Nanami checks his phone. "And yes, if I don't, then your family might have its curse clinging to you."

Last night, after his shift on your second night with him, he walks into the kitchen to see you reading a few debriefings. Some were inscribed with the year of your second year and you meet his eyes when you finish reading about the Haibara-case.

"You're crying," Nanami states this easily as he dries your cheeks with a kerchief.

"Why didn't you tell me? Is this what you didn't want me to see?" You hold his wrist. "Min, please answer me."

He sighs, nodding with a head bowed in some form of shame. You move to the bedroom where he chooses to open up to you and tell you what you need to know.

"Just the facts?" you try to plead, but even your pout is enough to make anyone cave, but he doesn't budge although he did think about how your line of work in the medical examiner's office at the morgue could use some of the details to be familiarized.

Both of you stay up all night, crying together, laughing at Gojo's antics and how it had affected Nanami's ways as a sorcerer, but you stay true. You're not afraid of him nor his talents. To the outside world, he is Nanami Kento, director of sales from 9am-5pm, but only after six on the weekends, does he dabble in sorcery.

"Your family is experiencing tremendous amounts of grief," Nanami is pragmatic for sticking close to you. "Curses feed on raw negative human emotions. I'm going with you to the service tomorrow night."

Currently, Mr Iji's car is seen around the curb as you step in like before. Your family has no idea you were going to bring Nanami with you, yet when you are dropped off by him at the memorial service hall, he extends his arm to you. You greet your elders together and you bow to your godmother who's freshly widowed. As you console her, Nanami waves a hand in the air with such finesse you think he was a tea servant trainer in another life. Regardless, you chalk it up to his spectacles that help with seeing the other wordly parasites.

"...and you brought Nanami?" your godmother asks.

You nod. "He wanted to come. Mentioned he stopped by uncle's tie shop before the incident with the break in."

You motion for Nanami to come over and your godmother hugs him after he gives her a slight bow and condolence greeting.

"You were the only person who loved that pattern," she states, chuckling. "My husband fought very hard to keep that least selling item in stock because of you, and for that, I thank you."

She bows to him and cups your face.

“You remind me of us: a worrier and a warrior, praying for the the other to be kept safe.”

“Auntie, it’s—”

Nanami kisses your hairline and your words escape you.

“Exactly as you say, ma’am. C’mon, your mom’s looking over here…”

It’s unbelievably effortless as she hugs you and him. Her brother’s photo is on the offering table, lookin at you three. Your father is outside smoking with a few work friends from his gallery.

“How is dad? He was close to uncle Rob, wasn’t he?” You ask.

Nanami stands a little off to the side between you and your mother as he eyes your father’s boys club. Some of them make obscene hand signs admiring your curves as you had filled in while abroad. You’re not paying attention until Nanami snakes his arms around your back to whisper a, “behave. I’ll be right back.”

“Huh? Oh,” your eyes follow his and see your father and uncle’s shared friend group eying you disrespectfully. “Thank you.”

Nanami walks outside and he has a stern face while your mom nudges your arm.

“He’s a good one, I can tell ever since you told me about him,” she laughs.

“Mother,” you rolls your eyes and she ushers you to the offering table where you pick a plum & leave it at the alter for your uncle.

Meanwhile, Nanami puts the respect back on your name as the fools your father would have allowed to fuck you if you so wish were getting an earful from your friend.

“What makes you think you could ‘ave a go, huh?” Your father’s cigarette hangs low. “Y’know that kid of mine stems from a Yakuza-driven family on both sides.”

“And I hunt devils for a living, curses black an smoky,” Nanami coughs before covering his nostrils with his handkerchief. He smirks, your father can tell before insulting the young man further. You nearly drop your plate of food you were going to being over to Nanami as you heard your father call him a derogatory nickname for a half-blood person.

“Nanami, call Mr Iji. We’re leaving," you reach out to hold his hand. Your father chuckles as he hurls one more insulting dig in your direction and you pause your steps.

Marching up to your father, you rudely withdraw the cigarette from his lips, and put it out on his eye. He yells at you bellowing a hit order and banning summons, standing tall, you are so close to punching him in the jaw, but you did get his henchmen in the nose.

"Do not dare insult him again," you are filled with iron and vinegar. "Lest you forget who is the true seat holder to your puppet king. Nanami, let's go. We're done here."

In the heat of the moment, Nanami kisses you with finality, murming a, "Yes ma'am."

So here you were, hours later, three orgasms deep with the blonde man. You're breathing unevenly, panting, praises in feeling full and satisfied. Nanami's hips matches yours, you feel him tensing as he shyly hides in the crook of your neck and he tells you the story of his latest injuries.

"It's ok," you whisper, hotly into his mouth. "You're with me now, we're here...balls deep in this cavernous pussy which was always going to be here...ngh!~that's the spot, baby."

Nanami glistens in the sunlight peeking through his blinds. It's dawn and he cums with a little more encouragement; he slumps forward, clutching you to his chest. You too are a dewy mess, your ear turns to his bare chest and you listen to his heartbeat.

Hours later, you yawn before climbing into his bed again with the new sheets spread out, Nanami finishes his pre-sleep routine. He took the initiative to change the soiled sheets while you were in the shower, washing yourself clean from the rousing bedroom activities. You were joined a few minutes later with a bare Nanami. He remains a silent protector, a man of few words, but he is gentle and caring like you were made of fine porcelain- his hands were lightly scrubbing you, kneeling down to wash your front clean, both with his tongue and loofa. He made you believe heaven can be found within the tiles with him worshipping you like a slave moth to its sacred fire. Impossible to even try to focus to return the favor, he forgives you because you did the most basic of things to warrant this type of love: "You gave your father an order and made an example of his asshole crew."

Nanami Kento emerges from the shower room, steam rising from his nude body. Your eyes rake his body low to high, head to toe, as he dresses himself in his pajamas post dragging the boxer briefs over his thighs higher to his waist.

"I can hear you undressing me again," he muses when he pulls an undershirt over his body.

"You caught me," you chuckle back.

"Are we going to talk about this?"

The blonde lays in a relaxed position before you leaned into him, starting the ministrations of tracing his scars with your fingertips lightly. Nanami hums prompting you to answer.

"We always used to have sleepovers as children, why would it be weird now?"

"Because," Nanami tilts your head up to look at him. "You've had my heart packed in your suitcase since you left almost a decade ago. "

"You finally caught up to me, huh?"

You smile when Nanami leans forward to kiss you-it's simple and passionate. The curtains block this part of the universe where a humble doctor and a sorcerer melt into each other creating another realm of possibilities as their relationship blooms fresh.

Months later, you arrive to your new flat a few minutes away from the hospital that hired you. You sit down with a new case file handed in to you by a colleague. Nanami has yet to come home from a surveillance mission with one of Gojo’s students, yet you spoke too soon into the air when Nanami knocks on your door. You open it as he slumps forward saying his days might be numbered because of a patch-faced curse.

“Mahito’s alive?”

You escort him to your couch right away to administer first aid as necessary. A stitch or three were needed when you peeled his bloodied shirt off him.

“You knew him?” Nanami winces when he breathes between your hands sewing him shut. Again for the second time in four days.

“Mahito was one of the old hit men my great grandparents hired. They didn’t know he was a curse at all, maybe a misguided youth, but yeah…he’s clearly had work done and had become stronger.”

You nod saying you’re done with the stitching as Nanami holds your hand delicately in his.

“You should have told me,” he half smiles, weak from the day’s battle.

“I have a case file that you might be interested in reading with me. This body was exhumed around the turn of the century. Look familiar?”

The corpse on the slab from back then looked eerily similar to Mahito’s playfully long nose and long silvery hair.

“He died with a smile on his face after razing his town to the ground…” Nanami reads the report. “He was sealed and then unsealed?”

Nodding you out the first aid kit aside and sit on Nanami’s lap for a few moments, putting the sealing cream on a gauze strip and taping over the stitches.

“He was, yes. But this is why,” you pause to cup his face when you were done. “I tell you to be careful.”

Nanami kisses your inner palms.

“I’ll come home to you a little shaken.”

“Not stirred?”

“You’re so quick witted…,” he nips your jaw playfully flirtatious.

“I’m the sitting leader of a branch of the mafia thanks to my uncle passing who, by the way, left me in charge because I knew a sorcerer…”

My uncle’s will is next to his photo. Right next to it? There is a small vase of forget-me-nots that Nanami gifted me with. We stay on the couch for a little longer, talking about the future, the present, and a little about the past: we feel invincible when we’re this close to each other. What we do not know is how long we have left especially when there are plenty of curses who have their eyes on us around this part of the city.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours

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herbalinz-of-yesteryear · 1 year

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If it isn’t me finally getting a master post together:D

I came to Hellsite after the great purge for the Witcher fandom, stayed for wholesome and awesome birbs. Currently in Star Wars hyperfixation. Gamer. I try not to shitpost too much but no guarantee 👾 When I remember, I post fic updates and deposit sketches and illustrations. I have a calico roommate (so there be cat sometimes). You can commission me for small doodles if you like my stuff, scroll down for rates.

Witcher

Fanfics still being updated:

Half Moon, Full Circle. A one-shot of Regis. Angst and unresolved feelings, with a bit of Sapkowski-esque smut.

Seeking Resonance. Modern AU within-universe. University AU. Reader fic. Professor Regis. Bittersweet. Fluff. Fix-it-ish. I love how it made people feel good feelings :3

Blood of Emerald. Maybe-biting-off-more-than-I-could-chew fic. Epic fantasy with a dash of death and romance. Lara Dorren legends brainrot. Cerro's pov. WIP/>>>

Twelve Quarters: to the Westward Winds. A collection of shorts. Pov Lara Dorren. WIP/>

诺维格瑞的雨燕. Translation of dear @jawanaka 's Empress Ciri fic.

Star Wars

Await the Dawn. OC fic! Angst with an HE. Mature themes. Lots of fighting, injuries. Toxic relationship. Slow burn. 18+. Multiple povs. WIP/>>>>

Fic cover slash fanart in comic book style (ish) here.

Art commission "Longing" by the crazy talented artist Na ily (x).

the stars are not here. Kilindi x Maul (&), before the Gora and the aftermath. Teens being teens as much as their circumstances allowed. First Crush. Light Angst. Light Fluff.

My attempt at Kilindi portrait (x).

Project Maultifaceted - Voice. My notes on Maul from his canon and non-canon novels.

Happy (questionably) Maul. Notes from novels.

Project Maultifaceted - Relationships. Notes from novels and comics.

Cyberpunk 2077

The Path of Aloneness. Takemura one-shot. Angst. (you might have noticed a theme here...)

I do have a Ko-fi :D Got it a long long time ago and now I'm slowly putting fandom-ish stuff up there. You can get me a wee cup of coffee (do I run on caffeine? 69% of the time cue 'is fine' dog with burning house). You can also support me by commission me something.

#master post #personal #ko fi support #artists on tumblr #writers on tumblr #readers on tumblr #fanfiction #fanart #cyberpunk 2077 #star wars #the witcher saga #signal boost #is appreciated #digital drawing

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cas-kingdom · 2 years

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The Bard and the Barber

A/N: Based on Jaskier’s hair in the season 2 trailer. That’s it. Enjoy.

I obviously haven’t a clue what the timeline for season 2 will be like, but let’s assume for the sake of this story that there’s at least one day where Geralt, Jaskier and Ciri are on the road together (with the addition of reader). EDIT: Having now watched season 2, this fic seems a little out of place haha, but interpret it as you like! :)

Find the OC version of this fic here.

Title: The Bard and the Barber

Summary: Though you’re all too happy to see Jaskier again, there’s one thing that must go: his hair.

Words: 3094

“Devil child! You have the devil’s child, I swear it!”

Geralt glanced over his shoulder at Jaskier’s terrified yell. He paused in pulling the fishing net from the river, forgetting for the moment his hope that it would catch something capable of lasting the foreseeable evenings. There were four of you now, after all, and he was responsible, through no one’s decision but his own.

Ciri did her best to help where she could, which came extremely in handy once you’d taken Jaskier from his cell and the man-child had reunited with you, thus prompting a journey that had only been agonising because the two of you made irritating each other your life goal. It seemed to be worse now you were older and he… well, he hadn’t needed to change at all. He simply moved as you did. Bickered when you did. Pushed you in a mud puddle when you failed to do the same to him and consequently had you complaining the rest of the journey. He wondered if this was what it had been like before he and Jaskier had parted ways but could remember only a young girl and her older brother, infuriating at times, yet mainly placid. Now, he constantly felt as though he were in a fever dream.

The only positive aspect of it all was that it had distracted you from your worries concerning Ciri. The princess seemed to enjoy yours and the bard’s antics, Geralt often catching a flicker of a smile or a new kind of glow in her blue eyes as she watched. That was the one thing stopping him from gagging you. Or leaving Jaskier tied to a tree. Though perhaps it was something he could explore once you packed up and started moving again. He didn’t need Jaskier’s help that much, did he?

Though your insults towards Jaskier changed quite occasionally, the one thing you had not let go of was the hair. The hair which, certainly agreeably, did not do Jaskier any favours. It’d been quite a shock when Geralt had first lay eyes on his, for lack of a better word, mop. It’d grown a fair amount since he’d left him on that mountain, and it was… hm. He’d paused many times to think about it. It wasn’t that it made him look like a girl… just… it was too big for his head. That was what you had said, anyway. Geralt hadn’t agreed out loud, but he had let himself grin.

You had obsessed over his hair since, pulling from it, yanking it when he wasn’t looking, sticking flowers and leaves in when he slept. Honestly, Geralt was impressed at Jaskier’s perseverance and sheer resilience in the face of your attempts.

Either way, he wasn’t totally surprised by Jaskier’s yell. The only part that did begin to concern him was the terror in the man’s voice. Usually, there’d be some playful inclination, or a teasing tone, but Jaskier sounded frightened, and if his words were anything to go by, he was frightened of you.

Once upon a time he would have considered that an impossibility: frightened of his innocent girl. It should be laughable. But you were growing older, and he’d only recently come to the realisation that you were moving further and further away from the purity of childhood with each passing day, edging more towards the reality of adulthood and simply humanity, both of which he’d endeavoured to keep you from.

He grounded himself. His hands paused in their reeling, and he dropped the net, craning his neck enough to see Jaskier racing straight for him. He stood still as he became a living shield, the bard’s hands fiercely grasping his shoulders. Geralt frowned, deciding whether he should kick him away or let him stay, just to see what it was his supposed devil child had done.

Thankfully, he didn’t have long to wait. You came into view almost immediately after Jaskier had jumped behind him. You looked intent on something. That wasn’t the problem. What was the problem, was the fact you were clutching a hunting knife.

It was more than likely instinct from his years shielding you that had him immediately straightening and extending his arms out to protect Jaskier. He dipped his head in both curiosity and warning.

“Y/N—” His voice lowered�� “What are you doing?”

You scrunched your nose up, obviously frustrated Jaskier had managed to feel out some sort of safety, and dropped your hand. For the moment.

“What does it look like?” you asked almost sardonically.

Geralt rose his eyebrows. Did you really want him to answer that question? “It looks like you’re about to stab Jaskier,” he said, impassive. Two could play at that game.

Your eyes lit up. “You can’t tell me you like his hair.”

“I don’t.”

“Excuse me—”

“Quiet, Jaskier.” He could see Ciri from the corner of his eye, sat with her legs crossed in the shade of a tree, and he wondered briefly how long she had been there. Since he’d been alone and reeling in the fishing net, or since you and Jaskier had entered the previously serene picture? He wasn’t allowed much time to ponder on this, of course, considering the matter at hand.

You caught your tongue between your teeth, the tip of it sticking from your lips. You narrowed your gaze at Geralt, a hint of mischief and slight daring entering your eyes. Geralt recognised it as a challenge, and one of his brows arched higher as you twirled the knife in your hands, testing him.

“I’m cutting it off,” you told him then, quite matter-of-factly.

“No, you bloody well are not!” Jaskier. Obviously. “You’re not getting within five feet of me with that knife, or any knife. Isn’t that right, Geralt? Geralt?”

The witcher stared at you, ignoring the growing fear in Jaskier’s voice. Before this revelation, he had cared, only slightly, about the outcome. Now, the knife in your hand didn’t seem so threatening. If anything, it redirected his earlier thoughts about your diminishing innocence, and he was quite happy to let you have a go at cutting his hair off if it meant you were happy.

So, with an almost amused huff, he turned around and side-stepped the gaping bard. “Just don’t stab him,” he reminded you, picking the netting back up, “no matter how tempting.”

“Oh, you—you—you! This is why I said the rats were better friends! This is exactly why!”

Geralt expertly ignored his protests as he ran off, you hot on his heels, and bent to work more on dinner.

“Can I help?”

He turned to see Ciri. She’d since moved from her perch by the tree and had come to stand a short distance from him. “Anything,” she continued with a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t like sitting around.”

He forced a light smile, an attempt at consoling her apparent nerves. “Do enough of that as a princess?”

His words held the intention of jest, a teasing remark he would confidently shoot at you because he knew you would send one right back. But he forgot that Ciri wasn’t like you. He forgot that while you had experienced your fair share of pain, Ciri’s was fresh, and she was younger, and he doubted very much she wished to talk about her life as a princess right now. Sure enough, when he turned once more at Ciri’s silence, he caught the underlying hint of dismay on her face.

Gritting his teeth in annoyance at nobody but himself—though you and Jaskier’s distant yells may have added to it—he hummed under his breath and stretched one arm holding the net out towards her. “You can help me with this,” he suggested, his tone firmer than he’d anticipated, but Ciri didn’t seem to mind.

She brightened at his proposal. “Catching fish?”

“Yes. There don’t seem to be any here, so we’ll move further down the bank.”

Despite her apprehension, Ciri followed him along the muddy ground, keeping close behind him, stopping when he did to examine a spot of the bank that he thought might give them better luck. She looked up when she noticed two blurs, one after the other, in the trees ahead. A shriek echoed throughout the forest, as well as a laugh that most definitely belonged to Jaskier—a turn of events, then?

“Are they always like this?” she asked before she had a moment to consider her words. Now they were out, she steeled herself and blinked at the back of the witcher.

“No,” Geralt told her immediately. He thought for a second, then turned slightly, fingers working on a knot in the net. “Though Y/N was younger when they were last together. They weren’t so… irritating.”

“And Jaskier had shorter hair.”

He couldn’t bite back the short breath of laughter that produced. “Yes,” he agreed. “He had shorter hair. More like a hedgehog.” He ignored the irony. Too late, now. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice. “Now it’s just…”

“Like the back-end of a horse?”

Geralt’s brows shot up in amusement. He looked at her and noted the glint of veiled mischief in her eyes. For a moment, the girl in front of him, with her hidden ferocity masked by a carefully placed calmness and natural innocence, was you. He couldn’t pinpoint when—there wasn’t even much of an age gap—but you hadn’t always been so daring, especially with people who weren’t him. He’d sheltered you for the majority of your life, mainly because he’d remained sheltered himself, but also because he was aware of the dangers of the world and, accordingly, had kept you away from it.

“I don’t think she really cares much about the hair. Should I take that?” She reached for one end of the net as Geralt worked on tossing it back into the river, and he absently nodded, his eyes training on her.

“What do you mean?”

Ciri shrugged, focusing her attention on the netting. “I know she isn’t particularly fond of me—”

“Ciri—”

“It’s alright. I know we’re better, but we’ll never be… sisters, I guess. I understand.” She offered him a reassuring smile, and though he didn’t entirely accept it, he stayed silent and waited for her to speak. Interestingly enough, he did wish to hear her thoughts. Though he was as much an expert on you as anyone could possibly be, there were still moments when he wished he wasn’t doing it alone. Of course, the other witchers had some involvement in your upbringing, each imparting something valuable upon you which had subsequently moulded you into who you were today, but, for the most part, it’d just been the two of you. And although Ciri in no way had responsibility over you, and you were growing ever closer to a stage in which Geralt’s guardianship over you didn’t matter so much, he was still learning new things, consistently altering his perspective. With anything else, it wouldn’t matter, but with you, there would never be a time it wouldn’t.

There was another echoing laugh, yours this time, as Geralt flung the fishing net back in the water.

“She misses how things used to be.” Ciri’s voice was quiet, nostalgic even. “When… I suppose when she was younger. When Jaskier had shorter hair. A trivial thing to most, but times are changing for her, and though it sounds like she’s teasing… Well.” She shrugged. “It’s just a thought. But I think she’s still worrying, despite our truce. I think she’s just not showing you. She’s very good at that. She doesn’t want you to worry, either.”

Geralt had a moment to let it settle, then, “Clever girl,” he muttered to himself. “How—"

“Oh, is it a fish?” Ciri pointed towards the net. “Did we catch one?”

Geralt pulled the net back up on land, only somewhat thrown off balance after Ciri’s insight. “Three.” He knelt to open the net and pointed down at them. “They’re bass.”

Ciri bent slightly to peer down at them. “I’ve never had bass.”

He reached for the small knife he kept in his boot. As his hand searched for it, the image of you, twirling a weapon in your hands, came to mind, and he hummed around gritted teeth, twisting his mouth in carefully concealed irritation. Before he could yell your name, Ciri held her own knife out for him, the one he’d given her. She looked at him, and he nodded in thanks, accepting the knife to gut the fish.

“How do you know those things, Ciri?”

“What things?”

“What you just told me.”

She straightened and crossed her arms over her chest, turning her head to look through the trees. “Because she’s not the only one who would give anything for everything to go back to normal.”

He had intended on questioning that. He wasn’t sure how, but he had, because he wouldn’t have left it alone if you had said something of the same ilk. Before he could twist to face Ciri, Jaskier sped past him, jumping expertly over the dead fish with an incoherent yell that might have been “for the love of fuck, save me.” He had half a second to process those words, another to comprehend the fact you were barrelling after the bard, and even less than that to drop the knife in his hand, bolt up and grab you around the waist before you could get past him.

“You stole my knife.”

“Bastard! He’s getting away!”

“Give me my knife.” He held you with one arm looped around your struggling body, the other grappling for the weapon in your hand. You stretched it as far away as you could, aiming several missed kicks at his legs behind you, and Ciri stepped back, mindful of being stabbed. “Where’s your knife?”

“Who cares, idiot?”

“Oho, how the tables have turned!” Jaskier seemed to have reinstated his glory, his voice devoid of the previous hint of fear. He pushed his hair back from his face, smoothing it down as though he had somewhere to be. “What do you think about me coming over there and chopping off a lock of your hair now you can’t go anywhere?” He came to stand beside Ciri and nudged her with his elbow. “Should I do it? Eh? Give her a little trim?”

“You can damn well try!” you shouted.

“No, don’t.” Geralt tightened his grip on you and tried once more for the knife, finally grabbing hold of your clenched fist and attempting to pry it open. “You are a menace,” he ground out.

“I’ll bite you,” you threatened childishly, throwing your head back against his chest so you were staring at him upside down. He narrowed his eyes and you mirrored him.

“Are you drunk or something?”

“Drunk on hatred for his hair.”

“My hair is bloody fantastic, and the day you finally realise that, I’ll write you a song! I’ve already got the first lyrics, see: Y/N was jealous of Jaskier’s glorious haiiiir—”

“It’s too big for your tiny heeeaaad!”

“Yeah, well—you know what they say! Tiny head, tiny—” He spluttered for a moment— “Brain.” He deflated, just as you quit battling Geralt in favour of gawking at him. In fact, even Geralt’s brows rose, and Ciri had to hold a fist up to her mouth.

“That did not come out how I intended,” Jaskier grumbled, blinking stupidly.

“I’d hate to hear what you had intended,” Geralt said.

You giggled then, and when you locked eyes with Jaskier, your shoulders shook with laughter. Jaskier rolled his eyes at first, “oh, yes, very funny, very funny,” but, soon enough, he was laughing too, his back turned in an attempt to show you it hadn’t affected him.

Geralt loosened the arm around your waist but didn’t relinquish the one on your extended hand. Above you and Jaskier’s laughter, he caught Ciri’s eyes, and couldn’t help his relief at the obvious amusement in her stance. The way she was standing, the grin on her lips… the plain fact she looked as she should, free from the troubles of the world and the pain she’d already experienced in such a short time.

Just like you. His Y/N. The girl who Ciri seemed to understand better than him at the moment. He wouldn’t allow himself selfish thoughts about that. He knew you were worried, not just about how your lives were changing now Ciri was a part of it, but about how the world was changing. The wars, the shadow of death constantly above you… you knew the simplicity of your life was gone for now. When you reached Kaer Morhen, Ciri wouldn’t be the only trainee. You would need to toughen yourself up for what was to come, even more so than you already had. And it was a worrying thought. So, this, right here, right now, he could no longer find it within himself to keep both you and Ciri from anything which may provide you some happiness until happiness was a distant memory. To hell with his irritancy.

Ignoring the fish he knew wouldn’t be fresh anymore, and the fact you had stolen the only protection he should have had on him at the time without permission, he was reminded yet again that he’d taken your childhood for granted. And he knew this was your way of a distraction. Subconsciously or not, you were inflating the minor dislike you had for Jaskier’s hair to rid yourself of the impending journey towards reality. You adored the wolves who’d raised you, but this wasn’t going to be like your normal meetups. You wouldn’t be sitting around a fire, recapping stories of your childhood as you hid from the winter, and you wouldn’t be amusing each other with shadow puppets against the crumbling walls of the Keep.

With this, and Ciri’s words, in mind, he let you go, watching you slump to the ground, still laughing along with Jaskier like a pair of hyenas.

“Bring that knife back to me once you’re done,” he said, stepping over you, “and don’t cut off too much of his hair. He may not be so intent on coming with us if you do.” He looked over at Ciri. “We need more fish. I wouldn’t mind the help.”

The pleased smile on the princess’s face, accompanied with the renewed complaints coming from Jaskier, were enough to warm his heart for now, and he relished in the miniscule comfort. Who knew how long it would last?

Witcher Masterpost

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thesleepy1 · 3 years

Text

Masterlist

The Witcher

Yennefer x Reader

To Kill A Man With My Love For You-Yennefer Of Vengerberg x Reader

Lambert x Reader

Swords, Rags, And Boats-Lambert x Reader

Fire Breathing Cat-Lambert x Reader

Hellebore-Lambert x Reader

Among The Garden-Dad!Lambert x Mom!Reader

Thank You For Making Him Smile-Lambert x Reader

Your Ass-Lambert x Reader

Hitched And Running-Lambert x Reader

Happy Baby, Happy Papa-Dad!Lambert x Pregnant!Reader

Dinner With Lambchop And A Drunkard-Lambert x Reader

Eskel x Reader

Roasting Rabbit-Eskel x Reader

Death’s Imminent Door-Eskel x Reader

Would Flour Get You Hot And Bothered?-Eskel x Reader

Short And True-Eskel x Reader

Witcher’s Hold-Eskel x Reader

The Fighter And The Bard In Training-Dad!Eskel x Mom!Reader

Uncle Lambert’s Being A Fucking Prick-Eskel x Pregnant!Reader

Monsters and Muslin-Eskel x Reader

Held Tightly, The Fire Burns-Eskel x Reader

Bun(s) In The Oven-Eskel x Reader

Geralt x Reader

Anything For You-Geralt x Reader

It’s Raining Witchers-Geralt x Reader

Geralt x Jaskier

The Bard And His Children-Geralt x Jaskier

Break My Heart, Why Don't You?-Geralt x Jaskier

Eskel x Lambert

I Love You More: A Love Letter-Eskel x Lambert

Elegant Elegant Eskel-Eskel x Lambert

The Picture of Lambert the Witcher-Eskel x Lambert

Eskel x Lambert x Reader

Stay For Breakfast-Eskel x Lambert x Reader

Lambert x Aiden x Reader

Kitten Kisses-Lambert x Aiden x Reader

No Pairing

Flapjacks ‘n Pancakes-Geralt, Ciri, Yennefer, and Triss

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, You Need A Haircut-Geralt, Ciri, Yennefer, and Keira

The Witcher Series

Everyone Loves

Everyone Loves The Bard-Eskel x Reader Part 1

Everyone Loves The Witchers-Eskel x Reader Part 2

Your Witcher Loves You-Eskel x Reader Part 3

Papa Witchers And Their Babies

Papa Witcher And His Witcherling-Dad!Lambert x Pregnant!Reader Part 1

Papa Eskel And His Litter-Dad!Eskel x Pregnant!Reader Part 2

On A Summer’s Morn

Born On A Summer’s Morn-Dad!Eskel x Parent!Reader

Loved On A Summer’s Morn-Dad!Eskel x Parent!Reader

One Djinn

One Djinn Wish-Eskel x Mother!Reader

One Djinn’s Answer-Father!Eskel x Mother!Reader

Original Work/OCs

A Scholar and Her Captain-OC x OC-Raven Kamru x Etrid Gidrol

Santa Hat-OC x OC-Raven Kamru x Etrid Gidrol

Spearmint Tea With A Teaspoon Of Milk And A Dash Of Honey-No Pairing

Supernatural

Jack Kline x Reader

Andromeda-Jack Kline x Reader

Written Before I Knew-Jack Kline x Reader

Ophiuchus-Jack Kline x Reader

Dean Winchester x Castiel

Locked Doors-Castiel x Dean Winchester

Apple Pie And Nurse Cas-Castiel x Dean Winchester

Captain America Movies

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Nine Brushstrokes Of Red Under The Blue Moon-The Winter Solider x Reader

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Yes, Sir-Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Its The Charm-Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

BBC Sherlock

John Watson x Sherlock Holmes

A Morning Finding You-John Watson x Sherlock Holmes

The Game Has Ended-John Watson x Sherlock Holmes

Mycroft Holmes x Reader

Plants For Company-Mycroft Holmes x Reader

Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

You C-Could’ve Just Tole Me Y-You Didn’t Want Me-Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Tigers Die, Men Cry-Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Bundle Of Joy-Past Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Your Lips On The Horizon-Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

The Virgin And The Sniper-Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Did You Miss Me?-Sebastian Moran x Ghost!Jim Moriarty

The Sniffling Tiger-Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty x Mycroft Holmes

Let The Sniper Sleep-Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty x Mycroft Holmes

BBC Sherlock Series

A Series Of Conversations

A Sleeping Sniper At Your Doorstep-Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty x Mycroft Holmes Part 1

A Sniper’s Day Out-Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty x Mycroft Holmes Part 2

A Sniper’s Punishments Part 1-Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty x Mycroft Holmes Part 3

A Sniper’s Punishments Part 2 Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty x Mycroft Holmes Part 3

Friday The 13th

Just A Morning-Jason Voorhees x Reader

Teen Wolf

Stiles’ Werewolf-Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

Swimming Lessons-Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

Major Character Death-Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

Sweet Syrup, Coiling Black Tea, Vanilla, and Something Entirely Stiles-Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

Deer For My Dear-Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

Nesting Dolls-Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

Teen Wolf Series

Promises

Dad’s Pinkie Promise-Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

Papa’s Promise-Derek Hales x Stiles Stilinski

I Missed You. (I’ll Make It Up To You)

Should’ve Bought Him Flowers-Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

I’ve Missed That Too-Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

BBC Merlin

A Servant Resting On His King’s Legs-Merlin x Arthur

My King Shall Have Everything-Merlin x Arthur

All Skin And Bones And Soot-Merlin x Arthur

Comfortable Against The Great Oak-Merlin x Arthur

A Date In The Marketplace-Merlin x Arthur

Morning Kisses-Merlin x Arthur

BBC Merlin Series

Merlin’s Eyes On Me

Rain’s Quite A Lovely Thing-Merlin x Arthur Part 1

All In Endearment, Dear-Merin x Arthur Part 2

The Two Kings Of Camelot-Merlin x Arthur Part 3

Call Of Duty

He’s A Cuddler-Simon “Ghost” Riley x Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Good, Honest Soap-Simon “Ghost” Riley x Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

I'll Wait For The Picket White Fence- Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Harry Potter

Tell Me What The Night Smells Like-Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy

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captain039 · 2 years

Text

Updates

The Witcheress tale will currently be on hold while I find my plot again and finish it.

Currently my ideas have gone to a Avallac’h x reader (ABO)

Though I’m not sure whether to post it.

Going off the tale that king Auberon is owed a child by Cirilla because Lara was taken so on and so fourth. If you don’t know that tale it’ll be hard to understand.

You are Cirilla’s sister she had been missing for a while before you had jumped to the world she was at in your sleep. Avallac’h was the one to find you first leading to your sister. You heard of why she’s trapped and that she owes the Aen Seidhe a child of elder blood for her power and the child’s power they wish to repossess. You offer yourself in her place but your scared of men and touch after a bad experience. after seeing your mother give birth to Ciri the thought horrified you from then on and you didn’t want children or anything to do with them, but you love your sister too much for her to suffer through it. But the king doesn’t hold up his side, Eredin grows restless and Avallac’h begins questioning everything.

I haven’t read the books yet but I’ve started so some of this information may be incorrect, names, places and so on, I did the google though to get a brief overview and just made up my own story to go on.

Warnings in this story though.

Slow burn

Swearing

Past trauma events: sexual harassment

Harassment from Eredin to reader in one of the chapters, cuts readers shirt open after hitting her to the ground to prove a point.

Stereotypes

Talks about birth, children, parenting. For myself it’s a touchy subject I don’t want children they stress me out so much and I wouldn’t handle being able to have one myself.

Forcing to bare a child, though it’s only spoken.

Ciri is in her teens so she’s underage for our times, however I assume back then when a woman first bleeds she’s ready for a family and to be married off.

Here’s a preview. Still deciding whether to post it or not. There isn’t much Avallac’h x reader so I must fill my needs xD

You were in panic mode, wherever your sister had jumped too she hadn’t come back, you tried to follow her, tried to jump through portal to portal, time and space just like her. She couldn’t control it well enough though, but you knew she was stuck.

You searched for days, a way to find her, you couldn’t find Yennefer or the Witcher, nor could you find the bard. You were alone and panicking about the situation. It was midnight now, you hadn’t slept at all since Ciri left, your horse, Arrow, nickered and stomped his hoof whenever you didn’t pay him any attention, he knew something was wrong, he always nudged you or disobeyed when trying to go anywhere, he wanted you to rest. Your eyes didn’t listen, they were heavy, your body was heavy, you could feel sleep tugging heavily.

You awoke to a snort and shot up; you were met with Arrow in your face making you push him out the way. He huffed and snorted though as you finally looked around and froze. The place was beautiful, luscious green grass and colourful flowers, the water was crystal clear and sparkling. You jumped when you heard a stomp of a hoof, you glanced to Arrow seeing him rearing at something. You stared in awe at the two unicorns by the lake sipping on the water, one looked your way as you stood to calm Arrow.

“Easy boy” you whispered gently stroking his neck, he nickered but relaxed at your gentle hushing. The pair ran off, probably back to their herd before you heard approaching hoof steps.

You turned sword ready as you spotted a man on a white horse. You frowned, it wasn’t man, it was elf, tall and elegant features pointy cheek bones, tipped ears. You recognised him though, the elf with Ciri one time.

“Where is she!?” You demanded not in the mood for any games as the elf dismounted and approached. You glared as he approached, your blade tip touching his throat.

“She’s safe” he said simply, and you glared harder.

#updates #x reader #aob #Witcher #Witcher 3 #Geralt #avallac’h

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 5)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 4.1

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Cirilla and Geralt has gotten into a big fight. Thus, leading to you learning more about witchers and having a soft spot for his child of surprise.

Warnings: Angsty? Kinda? Cirilla's having an emotional breakdown. Geralt being one stern dad and kinda mean? Jaskier being talkative in the wrong times. You being confused at everything. Boner references? HAHAHAHAH.

Words: 5,600+

A/N: You're going to kind of hate Geralt on the next chapter. I can tell. Hehehe? Or maybe noooot? Next chapter will be interesting for me! I think? Heehee! There’s going to be plot hints as well on the next chapter! THANK YOUUUUUU!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Seeing the satisfaction of people smiling and humming to the food you cook was a great feeling for a person who loved cooking. Gratification would be an understatement for the feeling you were having as you've watched Ciri and Jaskier munch down on the viands you've poured your heart with.

As per usual, Geralt was only humming in satisfaction after all of his and Jaskier's attempt on making edible food. Sometimes it isn't, sometimes it is. But, most of the time; it was inedible to be eaten.

Ciri was moaning out her extreme satisfaction. Vigorously devouring the Fried Chicken like she had beeb famished for at least a year. Crumbs of the breading scattered all over her mouth and face as she scratched her forehead with the back of her soiled hand.

"How's the chicken, Ciri?"

Dishes clanging and food were being munched in the background. You swallowed your food first before asking the princess.

"Better than ever," she incoherently mumbled. Mouth filled with food as she slightly coughed from not chewing it well as she swallowed.

The bard seemed to have accepted the fact that Kolby was sitting on the far end of the kitchen, eyes twinkling for food to be thrown to him. Though, he was still being ignored by Jaskier as if he weren't in the room; probably just stingy and disturbed for his presence, "This soup is delightful!"

Jaskier waved the bone of his chicken in the air like a flag. Turning his head to look at Geralt who was silently eating his food with an apathetic expression of his that was normal for the man. "Geralt," the bard called out for the latter. "Hmm," the witcher tiredly hummed in response, "We need some ale! Please tell me you've bought one when we've last visited the marketplace,"

You've bit the tendons of your chicken. Kolby has caught your attention as he was staring out of hunger. Again. You've reached out for the grapes that sat in front of you and grabbed onto half the stem before snapping it. Throwing the fruit towards the Hirikka as it caught it with his adorable paws.

"Moop!" Kolby answered as a thank you. A very weird, high pitch sound that disturbed you at first when you heard his voice but slowly and surely getting the hang of hearing it when he was happy, sad, guilty or anything he feels.

"I've finished it all," Geralt mumbled after a second of swallowing his food.

"Oh, you drunkard!"

You've snapped your head at the bard, lower lip jutting out as you were deep in your thoughts. Your head turning as you studied your unfinished chicken.

"I can make one," you blurted out loud to Jaskier's interest, "I've studied culinary enough to make my own wine and beer or ale in this old time,"

His lips formed in an 'O' shape, entirely elated at the skills you've opted. A grin as wide as the Cheshire cat when he'd shook his head out of stupefaction.

"I am certainly wrong in calling you a rat," he gave you a boyish smile before looking at the ceilings; acting like he was talking to God, "You are one of the gods sent from above, Y/N!"

The witcher stopped chewing halfway to give you his attention before he carry on with his devouring and eyed the bard who was mischievously grinning at the bear of a man.

"Geralt here has his ears clapping because you know how to make ale," he gestured to Geralt with a newly taken chicken in the middle of the wooden table, "---now, we can seldomly visit the inns for our brotherly whereabouts or the brothels for your midnight pleasure with your whores---" the devious bard was cut off when Geralt breathed in deep and scolded him with a monotonous pitch. "Jaskier,"

Jaskier winked back at him, now moitioning for what was hidden below his pants; a hasty ridicule sent, "Don't want me stating the stiff of a bird howling out of its nest or your twig-n-berries because Y/N here has mentioned that she knows how to make ale!"

Jaskier was unaware of his hands that was flat on the table. With his fingers widely flattened and having spaces in between. He was utterly frightened when Geralt has brutally stabbed in between the spaces of it with a bread knife he never used; leaving Jaskier stammering like he'd been castrated.

"Ge--Geralt!"

You've gave them a double-take, blinking from Geralt's hostlity and his patience snapping out of a sudden. He was glaring at the bard but Jaskier was already swallowing his saliva and disgustingly coughing out bits of chicken and soup; leaving bits to spill on the sides of his mouth as he shockingly stared at the knife close to his fingers.

"Are they always slitting each other's throats?" you thought out loud, continuing your indulgement. The question sent to the Ashen princess.

"I'm afraid so," Cirilla shrugged as a matter of fact; ignoring Geralt's patience suddenly snapping; like it was their normal.

Cirilla has studied your clothes as you sat and ate silently. The both of you ignoring Jaskier's complaints about how Geralt was close to stabbing his fingers that give people; out of this world epics. It was the fingers that holds a lute which can change the witcher's name and the world. The bard continued raving out as Geralt resumed eating silently with Jaskier bombarding his peace.

"Y/N?" The pretty child called out of curiosity, "---You need clothes!" she continued with a point to your clothing. Her nose scrunching in distaste, "---Proper clothes and not ginormous clothes from Geralt,"

From the mention of his name, the man himself glanced at your direction and scooped the last drop of his soup; eyeing you both in wonder.

"We need to visit Babeth again! I want to buy Y/N a dress," Cirilla gave her best pleading eyes. The meaning of her words have another meaning as well. She probably also wanted to play with some teens she could meet out in the marketplace or if she could play with her best friend named 'Ethelia' whenever they had their weekly visit.

You responded rather hurriedly, shaking your head as you've finished your last piece of chicken; chewing the skin as you left it for your last bite to thoroughly satiate the taste, "Oh, you don't have to because I don't like dresses---"

The princess pouted before you, currently dismayed by your response, "But, you can't leave the house with just Geralt's under-Tunic! People will be looking at you strangely! Very out of the ordinary compared to the women wearing thick, warm dresses," she explained with that puppy eyes she'd been an expert in.

Cirilla was drinking her soup from the rim of the bowl in haste before dropping it with a thud. She leaned her elbows on the table, her eyes twinkling with hope as she gave Geralt the look that gets him to always say yes; all the darn time.

He didn't hate it with Cirilla. The Witcher hated it whenever it was you because he didn't think he would ever get to not say no to another person like a child with puppy eyes. What was even worse was that you weren't even a child and you were having your way that he'd even agreed on having a Hirikka in his home just like a pet.

Perhaps, he was actually short of a marble.

"Can we go to the marketplace and visit Babeth please, Geralt? You've earned enough coins to build this small house! I wanna buy Y/N clothes to wear and make her feel comfortable," she exclaimed eagerly like a child wanting for a field trip.

Geralt gave her a languid blink before studying you who sat beside Cirilla. You've given him a smile when your eyes connected; feeling all tingly on the inside. That overwhelming warmth that makes your face feel mellow with tingly insides.

The Witcher only hummed with an impassive appearance. Last time, they've gotten the chance to visit the marketplace; Jaskier was drunk and had to bed a seller in exchange for a tunic he wanted or maybe he'd just wanted her after letting a man who he had his eyes on and is as youthful as him; run away with a knight who had been drinking back in the tavern. He was probably frustrated and glum after what has happened.

Albreda was beautiful and as sexy as a fox. So, it was also a win-win situation for the bard despite of how he lost to a knight from the castle of Kaedwan. In comparison, what can his lute even do to a sword?

The young princess notice Geralt's neutral response. Never knowing if it was a yes or a big no. She puffed out a breath; slipping her fingers under her thighs as she sat on her chair when she'd hollered for the bard's attention, making him snap out of his prattles, "Jaskier, please tell Geralt that Y/N needs a set of normal clothes for her to wear!"

You smiled; completely unnerving as you wanted to repeal from the offer at hand. Jaskier gave out a hum and a quick nod was simultaneously sent when he did as he dropped the empty bone on his plate with a loud cling. "Alright, alright. I'll give a quarter of coins for Y/N,"

"See! Jaskier approves!"

The quiet witcher bluntly spoke with a rasp after he drank his water; glowering as he drank from his cup, "He doesn't even have the coins to buy his own tunic,"

Jaskier looked at him; faking the offence. Geralt gave him a shrug of his shoulders and a cocky slant of his head from the reaction.

The bard ignored the reiteration; which was a first time for everything and leaned forward on his chair, folding his arms as it rested on the table. Remembering an offer brought to him by one of the villagers back in Durriken's Tavern, "---I've heard the villagers asking for a witcher's help again,"

Jaskier clicked his tongue as he pondered, the crease of his forehead growing deeper in thought, "---Preferrably the butcher of Blaviken," pause. "The first hunt that they wanted was a Bloedzuiger, this was offered by Babeth herself because her husband has seen one in the swamps," he gestured with his index finger pointing on the ceiling like an 'you know' gesture.

Thus, the bard gestured with an 'a-okay' sign with his fingers like he was pertaining to coins as he explained further, "---Second is an Echinops with a lot more coins involved, considering the stories; it is said that its difficult to slay because it can only be seen in places where crimes have been committed or the graves of the dead. But, this was offered near Vizima. Thoroughly far. We have yet to travel,"

You had no idea what they were saying. Your narrowed eyes says so as you stared at them both. A what? you thought inside your head. A bulldozer? Itchynuts? What is it that Geralt does in his everyday life? Does he really slaughter beasts as a job like it was normal in their world?

You were completely an embodiment of curiosity and bafflement. There was a lot of knowledge that has entered your brain since that night but it seems like it wasn't enough. You needed more idea as to what was running in their world. Sad to say, the monsters were even running freely for Geralt who seemed to be needed for a kill.

Cirilla had a frown twisting her face. She'd exhaled; loud enough for the three of you to look at her as she called out for the man who sat across from her. "Geralt," and the witcher only gave a hum as a response. He knew what she was going to say and Jaskier's timing was the worst thing in the world that could happen.

"You're going? Again? I thought you were going to leave the beasts alone when you've realized that people are more evil instead?"

The latter couldn't help but give Jaskier the nastiest scowl he could offer. If anything, he wanted to throw Jaskier in a lake full of bathing Hirikkas to scare the shit out of him.

Geralt sat back on his chair as it creaked, his golden eyes complimenting his chalky white hair that fell on his shoulders in a dazzling way ever. He shook his head to her disdain, "I can't let people be killed by these beasts," his jaw clenched as a frown was etching to grow on his face, "They need my help,"

The blue eyed child was sending daggers to the witcher and you watched them both share scowls at each other from the sudden plan that uncoiled from the moment Jaskier opened his damn mouth.

"I thought you didn't want anyone needing you?" Cirilla simmered as a matter of fact as she crossed her arms.

Geralt could hear the parsimonous tone she'd kept up, making him seeth and his teeth grit as he sent another one of his tight scowls, "Then, why are you here?"

Cirilla loudly huffed to herself, snapping her gaze away from the latter. He sighed a big one, shaking his head again from the argument that is happening. "You're just worried, Princess." he nonchalantly uttered as he blinked and looked away, sounding so tired from everything.

"Of course, I am!" Cirilla suddenly fumed, voice turning a pitch higher than she intended to.

Jaskier raised his hand up after a minute of pure silence. Except for the loud sighs that both parties have been emitting. The bard cleared his throat for emphasis and both snapped their heads to look at him.

"Besides, he'd never stopped, Princess Cirilla," The man who has started the fight, declared like it would help the situation. But, no. It definitely just worsened and it made Geralt send him laser through his eyes.

A continuous set of rapid blinking happened to you at the words spoken by Jaskier himself. An inquisitive look needing quick answers given to the child sat beside you. "Y-You're a princess? Like a real princess? It's not just an endearment or something?"

"Cirilla is the princess of Cintra," the bard commented, answering your question in haste. You swallowed a lump in your throat, fingers scratching your temple when you wondered how it was possible. It is, in their kingdom and according to their time line, their era would be filled with royal empires or a hierarchy of the royal kingdom, "You mean, a kingdom? A huge kingdom? Like the daughter of a president?"

Nobody answered you at that. With Cirilla still glaring at Geralt and Jaskier looking at you weirdly by what you were blabbering about; trying so deeply to understand you.

Thus, it was as if all clouds started form; a sight of the princess breaking as it could be seen through the windows of her soul. You've took a glimpse of her and that tiny quiver of her lips and cheeks signified a little girl who was terrified of a future that was meant for her, "Why must you lie to me, Geralt?" she whispered, voice breaking as she swallowed and fought back the tears.

Your heart fell for the girl who seemed to be in an emotional battle with herself. It was like you see yourself in her. The fear that consumes her as if she had been all alone, scared and with nobody to ask for help.

She was a broken child. Emotionally.

At the sight of her tear-threatening face. Geralt gritted his teeth, whisper cusses to himself as he saw how he'd upsetted her again and so, his voice tried to soften; be a little more considerate from where she was coming from, "I had to, Princess. You wouldn't have let me go day by day if you knew where I was going," he paused, crossing his sturdy arms as he reasoned, "---besides, where was I getting food every day for us when I don't get to slaughter beasts?"

Cirilla's expression died down a little bit, her heart thumping out of her chest as she tried to dig in to her memories. There was riches under her bed back in Cintra, she remembered. "Grandmother has left gold under my bed, located in a big, brown, treasure box---"

Geralt immediately cut her off, gruffly but calmly spilling the beans for the tenth time for his whole life, "Nilfgaard has already looted the whole castle," his voice sounded stern as he uttered with no remorse; constantly reminding the princess of the truth and letting her understand, "---When I told you there was no going back, I wasn't lying."

You've tried to hold her hand that was tightly fisted across the table, yet you were too slow as she instantaneously stood on her chair with a tight-fitting frown on her face, "We leave tomorrow morning," Geralt declared as he watched her storm out the kitchen slash dining. The door being shut closed; loud enough for the trees to shake as the witcher seemed unfazed by her tantrums and sadness, "I'll give the princess what she wants, in repayment for my mistakes,"

After the accidental argument that Jaskier has made, it was already night time when both parties didn't seem to want nor have the plan to talk to each other like what they always do.

Geralt was out and nowhere to be found, with his horse as you've checked. A sudden want to ask him what happened and what it was about for you to be less of an idiot around the house and Jaskier finally regretting his mouth that ran with no thinking. The princess stayed in her chambers for seven hours already. There was no clock, but you've guessed by the evening twilight. Still, no response from the princess after an hour of convincing her it was time to eat dinner with a dessert of steamed chocolate cake you've managed to make through scrapes that you've specially created for her.

Both you and Jaskier were in front of her door, knocking repeatedly as the bard tried to woo her out of her bed. "Princess Cirilla?" he professed with a tone close enough to be considered as singing.

Seconds later, you've heard a faint yell from beneath the covers, "Leave me alone, Bard!"

The both of you sighed from her stubborness. They were both pretty obstinate; Geralt and Cirilla. You massaged your temples, eyeing the bard who had his ears flat against the door, trying to listen what was happening behind it. "Why is she mad?" it was a soft whisper that could only get Jaskier to hear. The bard shrugged, blinking back at you.

"Because," his sentence was vague, igniting a tight-lipped lour from you; totally unsatisfied by the information that was said.

He'd look at you with a faultless glint of his eyes, wondering what you were waiting for as he said his explainations as to why Cirilla was mad at the witcher. The bard sighed when you've continued to look at him lackadaisically and so he decided it was best to give a proper answer, "Geralt's been the...only one protecting her," he dubiously and quietly whispered, not giving away all the information yet.

Your frown grew tighter, cocking your head as you pondered, "---From what?"

"The people who want her as dead as a door nail," Jaskier stepped away from the door, his voice turning lower if that was even possible for Cirilla not to hear.

Shock was evident in your features. The details sounding like a bellicose. It was difficult to comprehend that somebody wanted to kill a kid who doesn't cause any harm. Or that was what you thought from what you've observed since the day you were with them. She seemed normal and harmless.

"I don't understand?" you trailed off and shake your head in a perplexed manner, "---Isn't she his child? It's obvious that he would protect her with all his life. Besides, where's the...mom?"

The mother. You were sure Cirilla was Geralt's child based on how protective he was with her. He acts like a father towards the princess. Was his wife the queen? you thought and tried to think of how the family tree works.

The bard narrowed his eyes at you; crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder on Cirilla's door with that smirk appearing on his face, "She isn't his child. She's his child of surprise,"

Your face warped into pure confusion, feeling the back of your head twitch because of how muddlesome it sounded, "Nani?! (What?!)"

From how weirder their facts get, the more you didn't even know that your words become incoherent. Jaskier eyed you like you've evolved into a Hirikka and gave you a shrug, asking you 'what?' with that weirdest expression he could create.

Your lips twitched into a small smile before it fell; realizing what he meant, "So, an illegitimate child? Where's the mom?"

The idea of continuously asking where her mother is; gave another meaning for the bard and even to yourself as well. You wanted to cringe so hard as your mouth couldn't stop itself from the utterance of your interest and the cat would be killed if Jaskier would've told you that there was actually a mom and they were a happy family.

You didn't know why your heart was feeling that way. Very intrigued by the witcher's life and not just from his marriage status but by how he or they lived in an era like this.

An era full of singularities compared to your dimension. The question is, how will you live if you couldn't get home as soon as possible? With dragons, beasts, vampires, mages or sorceress freely walking around their dimension would be your end.

Jaskier groaned to himself, his eyes rolling from your naivety and being blind over the fact that the child already has no progenitrix. "THERE'S NO MOTHER!" he whisper-yelled with another groan as he held his forehead because of how he was trying his hardest not to spit any more details that could get you in danger, "---I'm starting to think that you just want to know if Geralt has a missus or not!"

You opened your mouth and eventually dropped it like a gold fish. The grin on Jaskier's face tells he was happy to have seen you taken a bit of karma from the commotion you've brought since the tamed Hirikka came. As you've seen the perversity in his eyes, you were sure you wanted to defend yourself from being misunderstood. That is, if you really didn't meant that.

"I'm--I'm not!" a simple stumble over your own words was enough for Jaskier's grin to grow bigger. The bard loudly chuckled to his felicity at your little crush for the witcher. His guesses were correct then. Well, it always does. Damsels, maidens, princesses and even sorceresses had an eye for his beast-slaughtering friend. Even he so, could prove that Geralt was a handsome, dashing witcher despite of his quiet and grumpy attitude at times.

It definitely adds that 'oohmph' effect for Geralt Of Rivia.

"To answer your undying curiosity, He doesn't have a consort or a lover, understand?!" Jaskier tried to heartened. You crossed your arms like a snob and a fierce glare. The latter's laugh died down as he held onto his stomach, "Besides, It's...kind of knackering to explain,"

The latter gave you a shrug, mouth jutting in a pout with a raised brow, "If you wanna be mother hen to the child, then go ahead. She already had her tantrums last month and it didn't end well for me," he cocked his head to the side and stared out of nowhere then suddenly shaking his head to erase the thoughts when he added, "---I had a bruise on the forehead because she threw a block of wood at Geralt and it bounced on me,"

Jaskier moved away from the door, patting his clothes in attempt to dust away the dirt that didn't seem to be seen. He was actually brushing off the negativity that was happening, "Just...don't make her scream or annoy her any less,"

His warning made you question in interest, "What? Why?"

"You'll die," Jaskier was quick to answer like it was nothing. He grabbed onto his lute that rested upon a wall and inserted the hoop around his shoulders. You watched him strum, "You're joking,"

"A bard makes epics! Not jokes!" he gave you a once over with that smile of his, before ambling away from you and towards the door out of the house. Kolby was crouched on the side as he eyed the bard with curiosity. "Well, seldom, I do...or maybe all the time?" was the only words he mutter before leaving the house and probably plan on giving you both the time alone; believing that you could simmer Cirilla's anger rather than him.

You've exhaled an exasperated breath, staring at the Hirikka who was guiltlessly eyeing you with no animosity.

With one swift turn of your heel, you were face to face towards the door to her room, "Cirilla?" you softly knocked; knowing that she'd heard Jaskier leave. So, it was better because she seemed to not like him knocking on her door, "---Kolby wants to play, would you like to play with us?"

A loud, squeaky sound echoed around the house made by the Hirikka himself as he heard his name from your lips. Thus, you've heard the lock to her door being pulled, alarming you that it was already unlocked and so, you've gently pushed the door open; a quarter of your foot already in her room, "Can I..come in?" you hesitatingly asked. No answer was given so maybe that was a yes.

You stood in the middle of her room. It was plain and definitely dull. All dirt-brown with white sheets like it wasn't a teenager who was resting in her chambers. The room needed a woman's touch and creativity. If you'll last longer in their dimension, then there was no problem because you could help her make her room more cozy and sweet.

She was covered in sheets, obviously not wanting visitors as she was curled away from the door. A typical reaction of a child who was upset about things.

You slowly sat on her bed, making Cirilla turn till she was facing the bulbless ceiling with the sheets covering her face. Only a candle on her bed side table was the only thing giving you light as the day was already night, "What's the matter?"

A harsh breath was heard under the covers; puffing out frustratingly, "Geralt lied to me," she glumly whispered like a secret was being told. You shifted on the bed and laid your back on the bed post, "About?"

Cirilla took a peek under her covers and there you saw those pretty blue eyes gazing back at you with sadness, "---Slaying beasts. Again. I thought he stopped,"

You've crossed your legs like a pretzel; giving her a soft smile and faze of your eyes that could comfort her, "But, isn't that what he always do?" pause.

People have been saying that like it was his job. It was like he was born for that kind of thing; killing beasts and what if's. Thus, you respect it especially that you didn't live in their world and you don't have the right to judge people for what they do to survive with life.

"He is a witcher," you added softly, trying to sound reasonable and for her anger to pass.

Arguments lead to disappointments. Hence, it always only leaves people upset and for their hearts to turn gloomy. You were never a fan of it, as fights just makes you want to cry. As per usual. Growing up sensitive was a pain in the ass because sometimes; with just one loud retort or yell could get you sobbing like a child because you were hurt.

No wonder Cirilla was wailing beneath the covers. There were hints of redness amongst the sea of her eyes and you wouldn't notice it when you didn't have stared.

The princess of Cintra hurriedly sat on her bed, making you slightly bounce at the action. You watch her forehead crease a lot more than it ever does, her eyes now fixated on the candle on her bed side table, watching how the flames sway their bodies like they were dancing under the moonlight, "Witchers encounter all types of beasts. Poisonous, lethal or the uttermost dangerous creatures you can ever meet,"

"You're worried he'd die in a battle," you stated the obvious and nodded in understanding.

Cirilla snapped out from staring at the candle for far too long, giving you a once over as she weakly spoke, "You've never seen him in a real fight," she stated as a matter of fact. You clicked your tongue as you thoroughly tried to remember, "He'd kill an Alghoul?"

At long last, the princess gave a smile as she acknowledged your non-existent ideas about what a real witcher is, "That's just a novice type of beast, Y/N." pause. "---Geralt has encountered more than that. Dragons, werewolves, sirens, archgriffins and more. You name it, he can slaughter them all," Cirilla stated with that certain confidence she had for the only person protecting her through it all.

After a second of cogitating; she'd voiced out, "---Even people, Y/N. If he protects you, he protects you with all his life. He eliminates every beast that cause detriment to villages, if he is given a favor. That's what witchers are painfully trained for; to terminate beasts that inhabits our world,"

Only a shut of your mouth was given to the princess. Your smile falling as you continued to listen like a behaved school girl, and so she raved on to your further knowledge, "---He doesn't care what happens to him. Geralt is not any normal human you may know. He may appear like it, but no. He is disliked by a lot of people. Though, Some are not due to Jaskier's notable epics about him. Thanks to the annoying bard," she snorted after giving gratitude to Jaskier and his poems.

Her smile grew as she tried to lighten up the mood of the topic; even noticing how you were frowning beside her bed. She proceeded to give utter details about the man you've never have thought would experience that kind of future for him, "---He lives longer than any other human, has supernatural abilities and is trained to kill these beasts. He's a mutated human,"

Your mind was shook, heart feeling blue because of the backstory of what he is. There was actually an explanation as to why he was quiet most of the time; only uttering words when he wants to then his mood changes like a woman who has a period for two years straight. He rarely smiles, but when he does; it was as if the world was having multiple rainbows all at once whenever it happens.

He had a nightmare of a childhood probably.

You swallowed the tight knot forming your throat, still grasping at the new information like it wasn't real; that everything wasn't. Especially the way how your heart was left in somber when you should think about how you would go home and not about his past.

Your mind was in a mess. Only you could shut your mouth after hearing those news. You wanted to ask if those supernatural abilities consist of what Superman has and try to lighten up the mood; but you couldn't utter out a word and felt depressing because you've suddenly pop out of nowhere and added to Geralt's problems.

Cirilla secretly inspected your reactions and you were frowning. A new sight for her to see as she was used to seeing you smile all the time: that happy-go-lucky aura you had drawn her into liking you as a member of the house just like Jaskier; or a family which Jaskier earned the spot.

She noted your silence as a go signal for her to rant more, "---He's the only person who takes care of me. After all of my family who has died from the war,"

The war? a question popped inside your head and you've lately realized that it was said out loud for the princess to hear.

She dubiously nodded to your question, biting the insides of her cheeks as she opened herself like a book to you, "Cintra...it has been our kingdom," her voice faltered, growing softer and weaker; the topic appearing to be sensitive for the princess, yet she still continued with her big girl panties, "---Nilfgaard is a kingdom you don't want to encounter; especially the elves. They're still hunting us down,"

They were still being hunted. You wanted to say out loud but decided to keep your mouth shut for the sake of her because she sounded like she wanted to cry again.

Thus, her voice began to grow smaller. Cautious that she might be heard by anyone. She pulled her legs to her chest and slipped her arms under her thighs. Chin falling on her sheet-covered knees. A visible pout obvious to be seen and she appeared vulnerable, "---I'm scared because if Geralt dies, then there's no hope for me. Then, I'll be left...all alone, again." Cirilla's voice cracked, swallowing the cries and never letting it out as it has already been poured for the last seven hours.

Hence, her next words coming off as a whisper instead; like a child telling secrets to her teddy bear, "---with no one, Y/N. Because I have no other family except for Geralt and Jaskier. I don't want to be alone,"

The way she's said it broke your heart. She was just an abandoned child who was slapped with a harsh future for her. You couldn't help but feel more saddened especially when she'd pulled herself more to shape herself into a tighter ball.

You studied her form, a sincere smile traveling up your face as you don't try to let your emotions get to you better than she does. With open arms; you've offered, "Come here," Cirilla gave you a once over; hesitant of your actions, "You think you can give me a hug?"

Thus, the princess of Cintra knew that was all she needed. A genuine hug from a woman's touch that could get her temporarily forgetting the fears and trauma that has been ruining her mentality and continuously.

"A beautiful destiny is always masked with an unbearable truth and thus waiting for a price to pay,"

FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! PLEASE DOOOOO! IT’LL MEAN SO MUCH TO ME!

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx

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seanfalco · 4 years

Text

Punk!AU Master List & Time Line

A collaborative Modern Witcher AU written by @ficsandcatsandficsandcats and myself, in which Jaskier, Geralt, & Yennefer are members of the punk band Vicious Mockery and the reader is a fan who ends up coming along with them on tour and begins dating Jaskier. Also features a couple of original characters and rival Valdo Marx.

*denotes smut

Drabbles/One Shots

Prequel/Past

Shut Up and Dance ( Valdryn )

A Good Look on You ( Valdryn )

*Choice Accomidations ( Valdryn )

Prequel 1 ( Jaskier x Indie!Reader )

Blonde ( Valdo x terrible decisions )

*Prequel 2 ( Jaskier x Indie!Reader )

Main Storyline

*Fingered in the Bus ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Mosh Pit ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Hugs ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

*Backstage ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

*Wearing his Shirt ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Piercings ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

*Mistakes Were Made ( Valdryn )

Twister ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Stay Away from Aevryn ft. Valdo ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

*More Mistakes Were Made ( Valdryn )

-> Road Trip takes place approx. here <-

*Distractions ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Too Drunk to be Driving ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

A Favour ( Valdryn )

Proposal ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Tattoos ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

D&D ( The Whole Gang )

Tour Bus Snuggles ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

A Puppy ( Valdryn / Platonic!Valdo x Reader )

Stupid Handsome Face ( Valdryn )

A Perfect Proposal ( Valdryn )

Fetch ( Valdryn )

Swift-Marx Wedding ( Valdryn )

*A Very Valdryn Honeymoon ( Valdryn )

Breakfast in Bed ( Valdryn )

Not Good Enough ( Valdryn )

Can’t Sleep ( Valdryn )

Disaster Wedding ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Staycation Honeymoon ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Double Date ( Jaskier x f!Reader / Valdryn )

First Fight ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Just Good Like That ( Valdryn )

Washing Hair ( Valdryn )

Cabin in the Woods ( The Whole Gang )

Movie Night ( The Whole Gang )

*In the Cemetary ( Valdryn )

Don’t What Me ( Valdryn )

Future [ft. Sam, Ciri, & Nic]

Tea & Nursery ft. Valdo ( Jaskier x f!Reader / Platonic!Jaskier & Valdo )

Girl’s Night ( The Punk!Girls )

Giving Birth ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

I found you in crying in the bathroom at the Grammys ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Sam’s First Birthday ( The Whole Gang )

First Word ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

The Kiss Monster ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

First Anniversary ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Future ft. Sam ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

Brunch ( The Whole Gang )

Introducing Ciri ( Geralt x Yennefer )

Ciri’s Room ( The Whole Gang )

Uncle Valdo ft. Sam ( Jaskier x f!Reader / Valdryn )

Twinsies ft. Sam & Ciri [ Jaskier x f!Reader / Valdryn )

Pre-teen Sam ( Jaskier x f!Reader )

It Was Always Him, Wasn’t It ( Valdryn )

Sweets ft. Pre-teen Sam & Nic ( Valdryn )

First Date ft. the Uncle Squad ( Sam x Nic )

Jealous ( Sam x Nic )

Promposal ( Sam x Nic )

Series

Road Trip (takes place after More Mistakes Were Made) - Completed

Part 1 — Coming Out of My Cage

Part 2 — Out Here in the Field

*Part 3 — It’s All Over Baby, But I’m Still Yours

Part 4 — But Where’s Your Heart

Part 5 — If You Need Anyone

Part 6 — Your Shockwave Whisper has Sealed Your Fate

Part 7 — It Was Not Your Fault, But Mine

Part 8 — Hold Out Your Hand

Part 9 — And We’ll All Float On Okay

Famous Last Words [ Valdryn / Platonic!Jaskier & Aevryn ] (Prequel) - Hiatus

Part I — I Can't Do Everything but I'd Do Anything For You

Part II — All I Do is Kiss You Through the Bars of a Rhyme

Part III — I Can't Do Anything Except Be in Love With You

Art

Punk!Jaskier

Punk!Yennefer

Punk!Aevryn (oc)

Punk!Geralt

Punk!Valdo

Masterpost

Picrew: Gang + 2nd Gen

Valdryn Commission - Varrix

Valdryn Commission - Soddingcloudgazer

Aev & Valdo Portrait Commission - witchesconstellation

Headcanons

General Punk!AU HCs

Punk!Jaskier & social media HC

Punk!Valdo HCs

Punk!Aevryn HCs

Aevryn Faceclaim

Aevryn n//sfw alphabet

Favourite down time activities

Vicious Mockery’s reaction to fanart/fic

Tour bus HCs

Does the gang smoke?

Keystone moments (to write)

Drinking HCs

Ultimate Ship Meme: Valdryn

updated: 8/29/2021

#punk!au #punk!au masterlist #punk!jaskier #punk!jaskier x reader #punk!geralt #punk!yennefer #punk!valdo #punk!aevryn #valdryn #punk!valdryn #jaskier x reader #gerennefer

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multifandom--fics-blog · 6 years

Text

rules

here you can find a section about me, who i write about and the rules and whatnot about this blog

about me

my name is chandni

i’m 22 years old

i’m a multifandom person and into a lot

(want to know more? send me a message!)

about this blog

on this blog i will write all sorts of things: imagines/scenarios, bulletpoint imagines, short fanfics, “reactions”, “memes”, etc.

you can request anything of the above and i’ll write it for you!

rules

i don’t write about underage idols/celebrities

i will write angst but i do not write about rape/abuse

i will write smut but i can’t guarantee that it’ll be any good, because i’m very awkward and not skilled in this department

if you are not sure about what you want (angst/smut), send it to me anyways and i can always see if i will write about it or not

i write idol/celeb x reader and celeb x celeb

who i write about

i am just one person and even though i’m multifandom, i’m not familiar with everything there is out there

(if the person you want me to write about isn’t on this list, send me a message and ask, i might’ve forgotten to put them on this list!)

Harry Potter - Harry Potter - Ron Weasley - Hermione Granger - Draco Malfoy - Blaise Zabini - Dean Thomas - Seamus Finnigan - Victor Krum - Drarry

K-Pop idols - All EXO members - All GOT7 members - All Monsta X members - All NCT members (no angst/smut for underage members!) - Pentagon’s Yeo One and Hongseok - All Seventeen members - VIXX’s Ken and Leo

Teen Wolf - Stiles Stilinski - Derek Hale - Sterek

The Maze Runner - Newt - Thomas - Minho - Gally - Newtmas

Brooklyn Nine-Nine - Rosa Diaz

The Last of Us - Joel

The Witcher - Geralt - Ciri

Detroit: Become Human - Connor - Markus - Kara - Hank - Connor x Hank

Captive Prince - Laurent - Damianos - Lamen

Lord of the Rings - Aragorn - Legolas

The Hobbit - Bilbo Baggins - Thorin Oakenshield - Fili - Tauriel

Panic! At The Disco - Brendon Urie - Ryan Ross - Spencer Smith - Jon Walker - Ryden - Joncer

Fall Out Boy - Patrick Stump - Pete Wentz - Peterick

Uncharted - Nathan Drake

Avatar: The Last Airbender - Zuko - Katara - Zutara The Walking Dead - Glenn Rhee - Daryl Dixon - Paul “Jesus” Rovia - Glaryl - Desus

Marvel - Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes - Thor - Loki - Captain America/Steve Rogers - Hawkeye/Clint Barton - Hulk/Bruce Banner - Falcon/Sam Wilson

Until Dawn - Josh - Mike

Cabin in the Woods - Holden McCrea

Sherlock - Sherlock Holmes - John Watson - Johnlock

Kingsman: The Secret Service - Gary “Eggsy” Unwin

Celebrities - Chris Evans - Tom Felton - Thomas Brodie Sangster - Will Poulter - Dylan O’Brien - Taron Egerton - and probably many more

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kiritella · 8 months

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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.

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kiritella · 7 months

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Series: Sehnsucht, Chapter Three: Within Arm's Reach

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

Warnings: near death experience, very cold temperatures, mentions of severe child abuse, intense loneliness

Words: 3.5k

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—Five Years Ago—

The strange woman appeared suddenly. She dropped out of a circle of twisted light—an ocean of condensed air and smoke. Old, vibrant runes curled along its outer edge when she fell, panting, her raven hair loose and damp. A potent stench wafted through the air before the portal closed behind her. The woman knelt on her knees, catching her breath as she held her side.

The little girl grimaced from her hiding place as a small line of blood seeped out from between the woman’s fingers. Pressing her lips into a thin line, her brows furrowed and she shifted from foot to foot, a war amongst her thoughts. She should run. She should place as much distance between herself and this new woman. It wouldn’t have been any different than what she had been doing for quite some time now. But more blood pressed out from beneath the woman’s hand as she sat up and groaned. Her breaths were sharp and heavy as if she had been running from someone, ans sweat beaded along her hairline. Carefully, the child emerged from behind the tree and crept closer, one hand on the dagger at her waist as the other reached out to tap the woman’s shoulder.

The woman’s head snapped up, eyes piercing her with a glare, but the girl was too fond of their color to pay any mind to the harshness behind them. That same harshness extinguished just as quickly as it had formed. The woman groaned as the child knelt beside her and touched the woman’s ribs.

“What are you doing here?” the woman asked, her voice soft if filled with a terseness of exhaustion. Her black hair framed her face perfectly, drawing even more attention to her purple eyes. She was really pretty.

The girl shrugged, and instead of answering, whispered beneath her breath the start of a spell and laid a hand over the woman’s ribs.

“Use another source, child,” D’ao reminded her, a whisper in her thoughts so familiar and close. She smiled weakly as she continued the spell, dipping her hand into the grass beneath her. The soft blades around her palm grew dark, the shadow stretching from between her knees and out around the both of them. They shriveled and twisted, turning brown as they died and finally, crumbled into dust.

It wasn’t a bad injury, she realized.

The woman took a deep breath and her eyes were wide as she stared at the child. Checking beneath her palm where her skin had once been cut open, she found her side completely healed with only a small, nearly imperceptible scar to show for it.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked with a soft voice. The girl only shrugged. “Where are your parents?”

At this, the girl offered a distasteful grimace, and the woman softened. Sighing, the woman motioned her to come closer. “I’m Yennefer. What is your name?”

The girl crept closer, as if asked to approach a coiled snake in a bed of flowers. Slowly, Yennefer reached out and caressed the girl’s cheek, and her purple eyes wandered over the child’s features. She remained stiff as a board and silent, to Yennefer’s wonder, and only when Yennefer’s hand sank into the girl’s hair did she flinch. Her fingers caught on the growing matts and caked mud as they tried to brush thorough the strands. The heat of embarrassment crawled up the girl’s neck and into her cheeks. She was dirty, and she didn’t want the woman to be dirty too. She backed away.

Frowning, the woman stood to her feet and held out her hand. “Will you come with me?” she asked, and the child hesitated. “I hear a river nearby. I’d like to wash the sweat and stench off my skin. Do you know where it is?”

She nodded and slowly grasped the woman’s pointer finger. Yennefer smiled and started them along their way toward the sound of the river. “How long have you been out here?” she asked and was offered a shrug. “You don’t talk very much, do you?”

She shook her head.

“Is there anyone I can take you home to?”

Again, she shook her head. Glancing up at the woman, she bit the corner of her lip before she pointed to the small tear in Yenn’s dress, the healed scar beneath it. Yenn smiled softly.

“I was running from a horde of Drowners, almost got out unscathed, but one nicked me before I could get the portal open. I got what I needed from them though, so it is no matter.”

The girl hummed and scrunched her nose, making a dramatic shiver shake her spine. Yenn chuckled.

“Yes, it was frightening, I suppose,” she said, mindful of the girl’s young age. “Where have you been living?”

The girl raised her hand and waved it about the forest surrounding them.

“Out here in the woods?”

She nodded.

“I bet you’ve come across a monster of your own,” Yennefer commented and the girl laughed, shaking her head, but in the end, she shrugged. “A beautiful dagger you have. Catch rabbits with it easy enough?”

She nodded, then pointed up at the sky, but Yen raised a brow in confusion. The girl whistled, mimicking the sound of a swallow, and Yennefer smiled. “Birds?” she asked, and the girl nodded.

“Do you like it here?” she asked, and the girl shrugged. “If you’d like, I can take you to the nearest town—” she was cut off when the girl tore her hand from hers, small vibrant blue eyes widening with terror as she shook her head violently. “Hey–no, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Yennefer rushed, kneeling down to be level with the girl’s height. “I won’t take you there if you don’t want to go,” she said, reaching out her hand again. A sad frown dipped her lips when she wouldn’t take it, watching her with such trepidation.

“Do you not like people?” she asked and the girl nodded. “Did they hurt you?”

Biting her lip, the girl hesitated, then nodded.

“Was it because of your magic?”

The girl stepped further away as her hands began to tremble and grief overtook the older woman. Yenn swallowed the knot in her throat. “You know…I understand a little bit about that too,” she said and the girl narrowed her eyes. “I am not welcome in some places either.”

Softly, Yennefer whispered beneath her breath, and the budding flowers of spring began to bloom. The girl’s eyes widened in wonder as she whipped her head about, watching small blossoms pop open all around them. A smile grew on her face and Yennefer softened, reaching out to pluck one of the flowers and offered it to the girl.

“They see it in our eyes,” she said after a long moment as the girl came closer, taking the flower and holding it against her chest. Once more, she let Yen take her hand. “Can I teach you something? A little magic?”

The girl nodded.

“Alright. You’ll have to talk again, like you did earlier. This is an illusion spell,” she said, and reciting the words slowly, her appearance changed. Her purple eyes shifted into a beautiful dark brown, like soil turning over after a rain. “Do you think you can do that one?”

The girl shifted, hesitant, but after Yennefer spoke the words to her again, she attempted. Then again, because it didn’t work, and again, until finally, the girl’s eyes shifted. Yenn’s breath caught when she saw the purple enveloping them, so similar to her own, and her head fell to the side with a smile, though the girl frowned at the dead flower in her hand.

“Well, you’ve certainly gotten the spell,” she said, standing up once more. “Why don’t we try and find that river now, and maybe while we clean up we can try to find a color for you that…” Yenn trailed off and hesitated, looking down at the small child clinging on to her pointer finger, her big purple eyes staring up at her with such wonder. “One that can hide the fact you have magic, yeah?”

The girl nodded, and led Yennefer to the river. Unprepared as she was to see Yenn remove her arms from her dress to wash her back, she was still more surprised when she asked her to do the same. The light brush of this woman’s fingers over her skin left behind a sensation so strong it overcame her. It left something within her and edged her to tears.

Yennefer washed the mud and grime from off the girl’s cheeks, from her clothes, the woman’s breath catching as she washed the child’s neck, finding markings along her shoulders. More still, when she helped her peel out of her dress. Her fingers trailed over the marred, butchered skin of the girl’s back—the welted ring over her left shoulder. Yenn was awfully quiet after that, but as her fingers sank into the girl’s hair, combing out the knots and mats, the girl couldn’t find it in her to care. She cried as an ache overtook her chest and melted into the woman’s hands, unsure of why or what had come over her—as if something in her heart was trying to reach out and hold the woman, cling to her. She didn’t see the unshed tears hidden behind Yenn’s eyes as she hugged her.

The feeling remained when Yennefer stayed with her that night, telling her about magic and teaching her the spell she’d used on the flowers, and though she could not perform it, the child held on to each Elder word with wonder. She left only in the morning after they had eaten, and even still, there was something in the woman’s eyes that lingered in the girl’s mind— sadness, and–and something, well, she didn’t know what it was. She disappeared in a portal of milky air and smoke, and no matter how much time passed, the sensation of warmth remained imprinted on her bones like a tattoo, leaving her craving more.

—Currently—

“Hurry, child,” D’ao said with urgency. “The storm is growing.”

The pit in her stomach grew as she kept Roach at a gallop. Her eyes were burning, begging to close, and she could hardly find the strength to keep Geralt on the horse. D’ao had led her up the Gwenllech, through the gap in the granite rock—which she never would have found without him—and passed the gorge and now, as the sun began to lower in the horizon, she came into the valley. A path circled the outside of the valley, almost bowl shaped, but turning, she followed the small stream into the forest. It barely trickled, and ice covered the outlines of it. The path was exceedingly difficult, clearly not meant to be taken by many, and certainly not by those who did not know it.

Her head nodded against her chest as Roach carried them around corners and massive boulders, and over fallen trees. The stead, at the least, seemed comfortable with the landscape and sure of her footing. After hours, the sun began to set, and the sky grew even darker than it had been by the thick layers of clouds, but alas, there it was. The sight of Kaer Morhen’s stone walls peeking through the thick, monstrous trees sent relief shooting through her like fisstech.

Struggling to remain awake, she pushed on, trying her damndest to stay ahead of the growing snowstorm. Snow had already begun to fall, numbing her fingers and legs. She could hardly even feel the reins in her hands, and Roach was left to do much of the leading. Even the red scarf bundled around her head as a hood couldn’t keep her cheeks from the bitter cold. Winter was well enough here, especially so high up in the mountains.

At last, the sound of hooves beating against stone blessed her ears, and opening her eyes, blinked away the blurriness of her vision so see an old road leading to the main entrance of the castle. It was much larger now, up close, and the heavy wooden gate towered over her head as she approached. She did not have time or energy to pay for the disarray of the castle walls. The arches and towers slowly crumbled high above her head, and wooden beams from old bridges or gateways rotted through. She rather took the time to shove on the wooden gate, praying it would open as Geralt’s breath against her back came out heavy and tortured. Its iron lock clanked against her efforts. Her heart sank.

What if it was a trick?

“That is nonsense,” D’ao assured.

What if it was all made up by a ghoul-bitten Witcher struggling to maintain his consciousness?

“He wasn’t that far gone, child.”

What if Vesemir isn’t actually here?

“That…is more realistic…”

“What if no one is here?” she asked D’ao, and the following silence was bone chilling.

“Oh God,” she whispered, looking back and forth about the wall for some sort of entry way. The wind blew in harshly as the snow grew heavier. Thick snowflakes touched her eyelashes, and she blinked them away quickly. Her chest seized as she whispered, and the vines about her body and Geralt’s slowly let him onto the ground. She jumped off the horse, feet landing beside Geralt’s unconscious body, his pained face and struggling breaths. He groaned.

Roach became antsy, shifting from side to side as she tried to press further into the doors. Whether it was from the storm or something approaching behind them, she didn’t know. Her legs strained with each step as she limped up to the gate, a hand on the hilt of her sword, though she doubted she would be able to wield it properly. Shoving the door again, the lock clanked in the courtyard behind. Fuck.

Her breaths came in sharp as panic crawled out of her chest. Geralt had quit coming back into consciousness yesterday eve, and his mumblings had grown incoherent to stopping entirely. All that remained was his breath and she didn’t know how to save even that for him. She had taken too long to get there.

If Geralt died—

If she had just—

Her head spun as she crouched down, her hands tangling with her hair as she tugged on the strands. Her chest grew tight. She didn’t know what to do.

—[Flashback]—

“What’s your name?” she asked, wide eyed and wondered as the white-haired man carried her.

“Geralt.”

“Are you a Witcher?”

He sighed. “I am.”

She smiled and her small hands held onto him a little tighter. “You have really pretty eyes, Witcher Geralt.”

“...” he hesitated, looking at her strangely and adjusting her in his arms. “So do you.”

“Really?” she asked, lighting up, “Do I?”

He grunted with a short nod and she giggled, resting her small head against his shoulder.

“Witcher Geralt?” she said after several minutes of walking in silence.

“What is it?”

“...thank you for saving me.”

“......you’re welcome….”

“Did…” she stopped, trailing off.

“What is it?”

“Did it…did the monster suffer?”

“....” the witcher fell silent for a moment. “No.”

“Good.”

—[End]—

Her hands trembled as she grit her teeth. Launching herself to her feet again she banged on the door until the sound of the lock echoed in the valley. She was numb, tired, her leg was hurting, and she could barely keep on her feet anymore. A pit hollowed out her stomach and crawled out like spiders through her limbs. There wasn’t anywhere else she could take him. This was it. This was the most she could do. And if no one was here, then Geralt was going to die—

“Vesemir!” she shouted, it tore through her lungs so loudly it shook the air and trembled the ground beneath her feet as she beat on the door incessantly. It echoed in the valley with such desperation that even the trees were swayed by it and reached out as if to help her. It carried through the walls of the fortress, into the mountain until it gripped the stones at their very core.

“Somebody, please!” she cried again, and this time, it was followed by a metal shift of the lock. The gate opened.

“Who in the goddamn—” started the ginger-haired man now standing before her. She was focused more on the second of the three men, his one eye blue and the other brown. She melted into her red scarf. Wolf medallions hung around each of their necks and something warm spilled down her bones and settled the panic.

“Is that Roach—”

“He needs help,” she whispered, pulling Roach to the side to reveal Geralt lying motionless on the ground.

“Geralt—” started the third as all three of them rushed forward. She was unceremoniously pressed out of the way by Sir Ginger, but it was more in urgency than dispute.

“What happened?” the third man, older with silver hair, asked as Ginger and Two-eyes hauled Geralt into the courtyard, each arm tossed over one of their shoulders.

“Ghoul,” she answered, “Wrist.”

“How long?”

“Three days.”

“Fuck.”

“Potions?”

She shook her head. “Broken.”

Sir Silver shoved open the set of doors leading into the castle, and before them came a great hall. Tables were set up and a large fire pit sat in the back. Geralt was lifted and rested onto one of the tables near the fire.

“Damn he’s cold as ice,” Two-eyes said.

“It’s about to come down as a blizzard,” Sir Ginger said. He then glanced at her, “And who the hell are you? A Mage?”

She flinched.

“Not important right now,” Two eyes said sharply, then glanced at her as he removed the bandages she had wrapped around Geralt’s wrist. “No offense.”

She shook her head and shrugged, anxiously watching Geralt’s chest quake up and down. “None to be taken.”

Sir Silver checked Geralt’s eyes, and his face grew pale. “Coen, the Golden Oriole,” he said and Sir Two-eyes left, “Lambert, she brought Geralt home. Try not to insult the child.”

Lambert huffed, wiping away the poultice she had made, grumbling something about healers. Sir Silver handed him a cup of what she assumed was either water or alcohol before he turned to her. She swallowed thickly as her stomach twisted.

“Was he already unconscious when you found him?”

She shook her head quickly. His eyes trailed over her figure carefully, seemingly searching for something, when they jumped back to hers.

“You’re hurt too,” he said, reaching out toward her, but she jerked out of his reach, limping away. “Ghoul?” he asked with a furrowed brow, slowly retracting his hand and taking a step back.

She shook her head.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded as Coen rushed back into the room, two vials in his hand. Sir Silver turned back to Geralt, holding his head as Coen poured the vial of golden Oriole into his mouth. Lambert snatched the other vial and poured it over the bite. White foam erupted over it as the skin crawled with red tendrils up to his elbow. His whole arm seized and a groan slipped past his lips. The scent of spoiled meat grew pungent in the air and she tried not to gag as she crept closer, only an arm’s length from him.

She hovered despite the looks, her breath stilling as she waited. Slowly, after what she felt to be hours, though it was only a few minutes, his skin morphed back into its natural hue. It grew on him like a sunrise and she exhaled sharply.

“What are you thinking Vesemir?” Coen asked, and Sir Silver hummed. Vesemir.

“I think it was close,” Vesemir said. “And he needs rest.”

A soft laugh fell so unexpectedly from her even she was surprised, but her knees gave out and she collapsed onto the seat beside Geralt. Three days of no sleep had caught up to her, and there was nothing left to keep her going.

“Woah—hey,” Coen started, his arm leaping out to catch her, but she was far too gone to be able to recognize it. Geralt was safe. He had the help of people who knew what they were doing. Now, she watched Geralt’s chest as his breaths began to even out, no longer short and choked, gurgling in her ear as his lungs filled with fluid. He may not have opened his eyes like she had hoped, but his features had relaxed. He no longer seemed pained.

The relief flooded her so intensely she trembled, and she drowned in the sensation as her eyes fell closed. She was done.

“What the hell?” Lambert asked as Vesemir laid a gentle, hesitant hand on the girl’s shoulder. Shaking her softly, they realized quickly she was asleep, completely succumbed to the warm room beside Geralt. Questions, Vesemir decided, could wait until she had woken up.

“Let’s get them to proper beds,” he said quietly, fully taking in the child’s appearance with a frown. “And someone tell Yennefer and Ciri when they get back from their lessons.”

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

73 notes · View notes

kiritella · 7 months

Text

Series: Sehnsucht, Chapter Six: Summons

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

Warnings: uhhh....lies?

Words: 3.8k

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

Geralt stared at the ceiling. Yennefer was tucked into his side, and she would be asleep if it weren’t for the fact that she wasn’t. Her breathing wasn’t right for it, and her heart was still beating too fast. He didn’t mind. In fact, it was because of this that he didn’t mind speaking when he heard it again—the quiet little scuttle across the floor somewhere in the castle. It couldn’t have been too far away, and yet he couldn’t pin it down.

“Someone is skittering about the halls like a mouse,” he said, and Yennefer shifted, her head coming to lay on his chest. There was a twitch of a smile on his lips at the way she wrapped her arms around him. His own fingers trailed over her spine.

“It probably is a mouse, Geralt.”

“If it is, it is a very large one…and you should be concerned.”

She hummed. “Ciri, then.”

He thought about that suggestion for a few minutes, silent. Then he heard it again.

“Ciri doesn’t skitter.”

Yennefer let out something between a groan and a whine, rolling off of him. “Just go see who it is, Geralt,” she muttered.

With the cold now laying over his body instead of her, he was tempted to leave it be, but with whatever it was roaming the castle, he knew he wouldn’t sleep. Sighing heavily, he say up with a groan. He pulled on a little more clothes, snagged his swords from beside the bed, and quietly left the room.

The sounds repeated and stopped again, seemingly settling, before moving again. A draft of cold air wafted through the corridor as he walked, eventually leading him to the gathering hall. While prepared for Ciri or Lambert, perhaps even a giant rat, he was surprised to see a small, wrapped up frame sitting in front of the dying embers of the fireplace.

The flames had gone out long ago, leaving the large room starkly cold. The embers were the last remnants of warmth besides the child huddled up in front of them with a thick fur. He recognized it, as it had once been one of his before…of course. The unusual feet had been hers.

He relaxed, setting his sword on the table as he passed by, making his way toward her. Her lips were moving, though she did not speak, and he ignored the slight tremors of his medallion. She didn’t turn, even when he picked up a log beside the pit and tossed it onto the coals. It would help to keep them alive until dawn.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked. After a long moment, she nodded.

He hummed. “Cold?”

“It is actually warm here,” she said. It was a rather amusing contrast to how she was wrapped up at the moment. His lips twitched. Small tongues of flame licked the bottom of the logs, easing around the wood as it crackled and popped. It easily grew and lit up their faces as they watched.

With the fire helped, she had assumed Geralt would be trudging his way back to bed. It was late, after all. But against this thought, he sat down beside her.

Ghosts of the fire spread about the walls, lights and shadows turning into figures reaching out with clawed hands. The creatures haunted the stones to their core and surrounded her, awakening from graves she had thought buried. She shivered, pulling the fur over the top of her head. D’ao’s soft hold in her thoughts settled her slightly.

Avoiding the walls with the fur hood she had created, she watched Geralt. He stared into the fire with a thoughtful expression, but from the bags beneath his eyes, it was obvious he was tired. Or perhaps they were just from the Witcher’s age. Did Witchers age naturally? He certainly didn’t appear much changed in years, just like Yennefer.

His eyes were golden and vertical, cat-like slits as she had remembered from years ago, but they were softer now. They were easier to look into. And he wasn’t so rigid.

Then again, this all could have easily been the misguided remembrance of a ten year old child. Nonetheless, she found him strange, but not in a bad way…more like a juxtaposition. He was strong, menacing, cold even toward an enemy, and yet he turned warm when he looked at Yennefer. He was swift to kill, though merciful enough to make it quick. He had clearly lived through agony, but he had a gentleness about him. Especially with Ciri.

She had not been around all that long, but she had seen enough to know these things. How his eyes followed Ciri when she trained with the others. In his pacing when she was late from the woods. Whenever he embraced her, pulling her in just a little closer before he let her go. He cared about Ciri. She was more to him, just like Yennefer was.

Geralt looked at her suddenly, and being caught like a deer in the headlights, she turned away just as quickly.

“Ask,” he said, a small smile poking at the corner of his lips, though she could not see it now.

She pondered for a moment, and finalizing her decision, asked. “Is Ciri your family?”

“She is.”

“And Yennefer?”

“Yes,” he said. He spoke so quickly and easily it felt ridiculous to ask. As if, somehow, it was obvious. She shimmied further into her blankets as heat crept up her cheeks.

“Why does blood make you family?” she asked.

“...why do you ask?”

Hesitant, she shrugged. “It matters.”

Geralt flicked his gaze between her and the fire. “Well…blood means you are related, not that you are family. And, for spells and such, being related to someone, it can be a powerful thing. But family is a choice. Ciri is mine because I want her to be, and she does as well. Yennefer too. The other Witchers are my brothers. Vesemir is my father. None of us are related by blood.”

“So you chose them.”

“And they chose me.”

She released a tense breath, and the ghosts on the walls didn’t seem to reach out quite as easily before. She couldn’t feel their grip on her shoulders and neck, their hands wrapping around and clawing her open. “Can I choose mine?”

“If you want.” Geralt paused, unsure of her thoughts as he looked at the girl. Her gaze was glossed over, unblinking as she stared into the fire, into the red-hot embers and ash. She looked into the flames as if they were a mirror. He wondered just what it was she saw in their reflection. “What happened to yours?”

She was quiet. For several minutes, he determined he wouldn’t get a response, but her timid voice broke the silence. He couldn’t see her anymore. Her head was buried in her knees, the blanket over the top of her head. She was hiding, he realized. She was like a wounded animal, exhausted from running and accepting whatever came. He almost felt guilty for asking.

“My father didn’t know my mother was a mage until I was born. She blamed me…said everyone treated her differently.” she paused. “They used to tie her mouth shut…hit her sometimes. Mages weren’t allowed to talk much. There were rules, and…one day I broke them. They sent me away.”

It was an extremely docile way of putting what happened that day. But for three reasons she didn’t expound on it. One, the simplest reason, she didn’t enjoy talking about it. It was a long and terrible story. Two, she doubted Geralt was asking for an entire backstory in the middle of the night when he was clearly tired. And three, the heaviest reason, she didn’t want to make it sound like she blamed Geralt in any way for what happened. It was entirely out of his control. She was what she was. She just wished the world was more willing to accept that even being what she was, she wasn’t entirely hideous and terrible.

“I’ve never seen a family like yours,” she whispered. “It’s nice…warm.”

“You’ll find yours.”

“And if they don’t choose me?”

“That’s the thing about family…they grow on you.”

She poked her head out of the blanket and cocked her head to the side. “Like a fungus?”

Geralt huffed a laugh, softening as he eased back into the palms of his hands. Something in him shifted like iron or stone, she wasn’t sure, but the way he was looking at her was different. She found she rather liked it.

“Sure,” he said.

She smiled, resting her chin atop her knees as she looked into the fire. There was a certain determination and thrill in her voice when she spoke. “I can be a fungus.”

—some time later—

It was an interesting perspective, the tops of Kaer Morhen’s walls. They weren’t exactly the highest reaches, but they were fairly high. The snow reflected the evening sun, stirred in the air, and graced the tips of the trees as they swayed. Winter had now come in all its might, settling in firmly not long after she had arrived within the castle walls. Vesemir had been right, it was bitterly cold and wet. It was miserable, and for the first time, she was grateful to not be in the midst of it alone.

Periodic grunts drifted up to her from below, Geralt and Ciri down in the courtyard in the middle of a fight—sparring session, more accurately put. It was going nowhere except in circles, but even still, it was strange to be above it rather than in the middle of it. Dogging and parrying, advancing and retreating. It all looked different—like a dance, almost. The swift movements and sways, the trace around an opponent. She had only ever been to a couple of dances when she was little, but it was similar in an odd sort of way.

Geralt would lunge and Ciri would parry and retreat. Ciri would advance and strike, Geralt would sidestep and counter. They moved with each other. She wondered if it was from years of practicing together. It was much more fluid and serene than what she had learned with the Knights of the Flaming Rose.

A firm grip along her spine pulled her attention. It wasn’t a threatening sensation, rather the opposite despite its urgency.

“An Afreet was captured,” D’ao said, his familiar, gravely voice in her mind unable to stop the shiver of anxiety. That would explain the urgency. She frowned. Geralt advanced and Ciri countered as Lambert and Coen walked out into the training yard.

An ache returned to her chest as laughter erupted in the courtyard, Ciri knocked back on her rear, Geralt’s sword at her chest. She looked away as Geralt offered her a hand up, favoring the broken stones beneath her feet.

“You can always come back…” D’ao said softly. “It’s only a capture, you don’t have to go hunting for it. We already know where the Afreet is. All you need to do is release it. The Witchers won’t be leaving until the close of winter.”

She hummed, but it was empty. “Do you still fear them?”

“It is less for fear that we do not interact with the Witchers, and more for convicted neutrality.”

“Neutrality.”

“We do not interfere with the affairs of your realm.”

“You say that as usual, but you still interfered with mine.”

“You were the—”

“Exception,” she said. “Right.”

“Yes. We are bound to Destiny in the same ways you are, child. And she needed something from you.”

“I still don’t understand Destiny.”

“Few do. It is not something we often understand, but that we follow unwittingly.”

She shook her head. “Strange that we should follow blindly.”

“Strange indeed.”

She sighed heavily, crouching down onto the ground. The parapet blocked the wind and she curled into her cloak. “Where is the Afreet?”

“...”

“D’ao?”

“I’m sorry, En’ca minne. I must break my promise.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“The Afreet has been bound by your mother, Ita.”

The blood drained from her face so quickly she swayed. The parapet caught her back, as she tried to find herself again. “What—why?”

“I am not certain…The Council only knows that it has been done.”

“But…”

“We do not know what Ita intends, but an Afreet in chains of any sort is dangerous. And if it is bound…Minne, it will not be a bond like ours. It will be one of servitude. And your mother does not have the mind to bind it properly, the spell will likely consume her before she can finish it.”

Nodding, the girl resigned, pressing her hands against her thighs. A terrible ache grew in her chest as her eyes blinked against the shifting wind. There were only three Gatekeepers in existence, as far as she knew. Herself, and two others of whom she would likely never get to meet. The Continent was far too large for her to be so lucky.

“Okay…”

“You must leave soon,” D’ao whispered, and an impression of a hand rested on her shoulder.

“I know…”

“...” D’ao was silent for several moments. “The Witchers will be here when you return…I will get you there and back before they are gone. You do not need to mourn them.”

She chuckled darkly. “I am what I am.”

“And what are you?” asked a voice, graceful and soft.

She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. Yennefer approached, donned in a thick fur cloak that must have kept her toasty even in the snow.

“Hungry,” she said.

“Well, we’ll have to fix that,” she said, motioning her up from the ground. “The boys are about done training and the food is to be ready after. Besides, I wanted to show you some more books before we started.”

…

She never despised the role she had been given as Gatekeeper, not even for a moment. This time, however, she was discontent, and she didn’t even know where to begin. Yennefer was talking about books with Ciri across the table. Something about her magic lessons, and normally, she would have paid attention, but her mind was much too far away. Geralt was with Vesemir, Lambert and Coen, and the others were hanging about the castle amongst each other. It was warm here. Crowded. She wasn’t alone.

She was safe here.

Having D’ao was…it was different. The Genie had always given her a sense of comfort, family and trust, but there was something different about being around people. Something about being with people who weren’t looking at her with disgust or keeping her at the edge of their sword. It made the world different.

It hadn’t been long, she knew, but living with them made the thought of being alone once more a dreadful, painful thing. As she packed up a bit of food into her cloth pack, every bone and muscle resisted. Because to her, it hadn’t been a short time. It was the longest she had stayed with anyone where she didn’t need to hide or be ashamed of what she was.

She didn’t know what to tell them. How to say it.

Perhaps they wouldn’t mind too much that she was going to be leaving for a while, but they would care a little, and that much she held sacred. Moreso, she didn’t know how to tell them because she didn’t want to leave in the first place, and much less toward the outskirts of Ban Gleán.

She hadn’t stepped foot in the region for seven years, and now she was asked to go and see the same people she had sworn to never see again. It wasn’t her duty she questioned, of that she had an iron-clad loyalty, but her will to accomplish it…to face what she had run from, that did not have as much fortification.

The thought of simply vanishing from Kaer Morhen in the middle of the night had occurred to her, but somehow, she knew she wouldn’t get away with it. Moreso, though, she wanted to be able to come back without…well…she wasn’t exactly sure what would happen.

“I…have to leave for a while,” she said, finally, over dinner the next evening. Her fingers twitched around the bread, crumbling it between her fingers. Both Yennefer and Geralt’s heads snapped toward her.

“Where?” Geralt asked.

“It’s a rather strange time to take a vacation,” Vesemir added.

“A village I used to live in. I have to take care of some things.”

“What kind of things?” Ciri asked, clearly curious.

“A friend asked me to take care of some business about this time of year. I…said I would.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, it was merely vague, and she knew they were aware of her avoidance by the look they shared.

“When do you need to leave?” Yenn asked.

“I was going to leave in a couple of days, at most,” she said, “But I probably won’t be gone too long.”

“How far away is it?” Geralt asked. “What city?”

“If it is far, I can portal you there,” Yennefer offered.

“Oh–no, it’s alright—”

“I insist,” Yennefer said and Geralt watched her knowingly. There was something behind his eyes that argued with her mind. A look she couldn’t ignore. “I don’t have to join you if you don’t want company, but I can at least get you where you need to be. This winter is harsh, and traveling long distances would be difficult and dangerous.”

“Especially if you tried to descend the mountains on foot,” Geralt added. “I’m still surprised you managed to find your way here. The path is hidden, and it is difficult for those who don’t know it well. And in the winter, even the ones who know it have difficulty passing it. A portal would be safer.”

She was silent, and swallowed thickly. They took it as acceptance.

“Where to?” Yennefer asked.

“Shaerrawedd, there is a village on the outskirts,” she said, and Geralt narrowed his eyes. Her heart pounded against her chest, and her fingers twitched. She tried to ease the tension with a laugh. “A portal would take off a lot of the travel time.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want company?” Ciri asked and she nodded. Yennefer merely said to let her know when she wanted to leave. Geralt was silent, but not once did he look away.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him even with the holes being bored into her skull. The look he gave her hurt in more ways than one. It was deep and unwavering, accusing almost. Knowing, dangerously so. The last thing she wanted to do was explain where she was going, why she didn’t want to tell him the full truth. Yennefer already knew about the marks on her back, she didn’t want Geralt finding out why they were there in the first place. And for this reason alone, did she decide to leave the next day through Yenn’s portal.

It would be better this way.

—

“Shaerrawedd?” Geralt said and she jumped, her pack dropping from her hands as she spun toward the door. He leaned against the frame of her room, his arms crossed and eyes narrow. His features were lit up dimly by the low light of a candle sitting on her desk. She looked away.

The lies tasted bitter.

He grunted. “At least you’re smart enough to not lie twice.”

Heat rushed up her cheeks, and she bent over, picking up her travel pack. She glanced at him momentarily before turning her eyes back to the bag.

“Is…is it selfish to ask you to believe the lie?” she whispered and he was silent for a long moment.

Geralt sighed and pushed off the doorway, taking her bag away from her as he drew close. Firmly, he bound it with the leather straps in a manner she had been attempting, and failing, to do.

“Is your business in Shaerrawedd dangerous?” he asked.

She shrugged. “No more than usual.”

“Anything to do with magic?”

“...” she bit her lip. “A bit.”

Geralt nodded to the sword at her bedside. “You know how to use that?”

“Not like you, but I can best a decent Knight,” she said with a hint of pride.

His lips twitched in brief amusement. He handed her the pack back. “And it is important enough to you that you feel the need to lie to us to accomplish it. Is it immoral?”

She lowered her eyes and shook her head. He sighed once more, and after a brief shuffle, something dangled in front of her face. A necklace, silver by the looks of it, and with a small pendant at the end. “Yennefer said to give you this, just in case.”

He laid the necklace in the palm of her hand. She raised a brow, confused.

“It is a…hmm. If you get into any trouble, speak Yennefer’s name into it. She will be able to find you and get us to you. And when your business is done, use it, and she will portal you back here.”

“Oh…”

“She also said to tell you that you are a terrible liar, and if your business has anything to do with cheating or manipulating, you had best get better at it before you leave.”

“Ah…” she couldn’t help the embarrassed chuckle. “Hermit school didn’t teach me about the mischievous art of lying…”

Geralt laughed, and they fell into an easy silence.

She turned, and as she threw the pack over her shoulder and adjusted the strap, the neck of her shirt shifted at the back, partly exposing her left shoulder. She did not see Geralt pale as she exited the room, or how his hands clenched and his jaw snapped tight. She did not know that he had seen the burned “W” in her shoulder, a rare mark he had seen more than once in his time, and hated with every fiber of his being. He knew, and bile ran up his throat.

She was seventeen, and the mark was certainly not fresh.

“Will you be back?” he asked suddenly. When she looked back at him, she smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.

“If you’ll still have me!” she said, and though she wasn’t lying, there was a weight in her words. Geralt nodded stiffly.

“You are always welcome here.”

—

The milky white portal dispersed behind her. The simple walls of the Shaerrawedd outskirts towered in front of her, the gates not even five rods away. She smiled at Yennefer’s accuracy, and turned away from them. Rather than into the southern-facing entrance, she followed the road even further south toward Ban Gleán.

Already, she felt the shiver of waking up from a dream.

“Why do you mourn something that is not lost?” D’ao asked.

She smiled grimly and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, and remained silent.

80 notes · View notes

kiritella · 7 months

Text

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?

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