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havenoffandoms · 3 years

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Hey congrats on 900 followers! Would I be able to request the touch starved prompt from your list with the pairing Aiden/Lambert please? Love all your writing!

Hello!! Thanks for requesting this prompt and this pairing! I’ve been on a right Lambden kick recently, so I felt inspired. I hope you like it!

Prompt 13: Touch-Starved

Pairing: Aiden x Lambert

Warnings: None

Prompt List

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together. Being stabbed to death in his sleep comes to mind, or having Aiden go all batshit crazy if Lambert dared to beat him at Gwent. Lambert has heard many rumours about Cat witchers in his long life. Cats are batshit crazy. Cats are emotionally volatile. Cats are backstabbing sons of bitches… literally and metaphorically. Cats are bad. Cats are evil, etc, etc. All these rumours circulated in Kaer Morhen long before Lambert even set foot in that ramshackle castle. He was too young to have witnessed the Tournament, but he heard the older witchers talk. Later in his life, when only a handful of wolf witchers were left after the sacking, Eskel gave Lambert a more detailed account of the Tournament.

“The Cats betrayed us, went on a rampage. Killed many wolf witchers in the process. Geralt and I lost many friends that day,” Eskel told him one evening, when the oldest surviving wolf was too far in his cup to notice that he was oversharing. “Radowit’s court mage Astrogarus promised the Cats monopoly on killing monsters within Kaedwen in exchange for attacking the Wolves during the tournament. Turns out Radowit was a backstabbing motherfucker himself. He ordered his soldiers to shoot all of the remaining witchers of both schools in the arena.”

“Lemme guess,” Lambert spoke, his own speech slightly slurred, “pretty boy saved the day?”

Eskel shook his head. “Fled. Mousesack helped him escape the massacre. Poor bastard never forgave himself for abandonin’ our brothers, but what choice did he have?”

Don’t get Lambert wrong. He’s not saying that Aiden is harmless, far from it. The guy’s lethal with his swords, deadly with a pair of daggers, not to mention a stealthy and clever thief. Aiden is mercurial, hot-tempered and a bit feral when he wants to be, and his morals are at best dubious. Whereas wolf witchers had their emotions beaten out of them at a young age, cat witchers feel too much, too strongly. Lambert’s witnessed Aiden flip tables when peasants beat him at Gwent, but he’s also witnessed the Cat shed a tear after bringing the news to a mother that her son did not survive the ghoul attack two villages down the road.

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but the Cat had never ceased to surprise him. The most unexpected trait Aiden has displayed to date is his insatiable need for physical contact. It’s not like Lambert hates being touched - he’s only human, albeit a mutated one, but still human. He enjoys a hug as much as the next person, especially when said hug comes from one of his brothers (or, dare he say, Vesemir) at the end of a long and difficult year on the Path. Lambert has also never begrudged a bed partner a post-coital cuddle session. Aiden’s need for physical contact is… on a whole different level.

The first time it happened, Lambert almost shoved the Cat off him and sent him packing, until he realised that Aiden was not only hugging him, but clinging onto him. His sharp nails were digging in the soft material of Lambert’s shirt, the fabric creaking in protest under the firm grip. When Lambert looked down, he noticed the pinched eyebrows and tears trailing down Aiden’s face. It wasn’t until a broken sob pushed past the Cat’s lips that Lambert reluctantly returned the embrace, arms wound tightly around Aiden’s trembling body. Aiden eventually settled in the safety of Lambert’s arms, his features softening as he sank back into a peaceful slumber.

Neither mentioned the previous evening’s impromptu cuddling session, but from that moment one, it was like someone had flicked a switch. Aiden came up with every possible fucking excuse to touch Lambert. Their hands would always accidentally graze each other when they packed up camp, or tacked up the horses. Aiden would bump shoulders with him when they were travelling on foot. If they sat next to one another in a tavern, Aiden would press his leg against Lambert’s, and if they were facing each other, a tentative foot would gently nudge Lambert’s shin and linger there. It’s not like Aiden was trying to hide his intentions, either. They rarely paid for two rooms anymore, because even if they did, Aiden would always end up in Lambert’s bed anyway, arms wound around Lambert’s body like a koala clinging to its mother.

Lambert doesn’t hate Aiden’s need for physical proximity, he’s just… confused by it. Aiden rarely takes any lovers to bed, even though he clearly craves physical intimacy. Lambert is more than happy to cuddle with Aiden, especially when they are forced to sleep under the stars and the early autumn frosts begin to settle over the region. It saves them from lighting a campfire, which may attract the wrong kind of attention to them. That’s all that’s ever transpired between the two, though… cuddling. Lambert enjoys the cuddling as much as Aiden does, but for Aiden it seems to be about more than mere enjoyment. The Cat simply refuses to go without physical intimacy which at times can be… alright, it can feel overbearing, but Lambert’s not about to complain, not when most humans turn away from him in disgust and contempt when he tries to chat them up.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Aiden almost develops a form of separation anxiety. He refuses to let Lambert out of his sight, going so far as to follow the man everywhere, and that’s the moment when Lambert snaps.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks, his tone hiding none of the irritation he feels at being tailed by this overgrown tomcat. Aiden stops dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide at Lambert’s words.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been following me since this morning… I have errands to run and it’s hard to do that when you’re breathing down my neck!”

Lambert instantly regrets his words the minute they leave his mouth. Aiden’s shoulders visibly sag at Lambert’s comment, his content expression melting into something sadder and the sight tugs at the wolf’s heartstrings in all the wrong ways. Aiden averts Lambert’s eyes shyly, the tip of his ears turning a pretty shade of pink as embarrassment washes over him. Lambert heaves a sigh. Way to act like a fucking dick.

“Sorry, Aiden. I… I didn’t mean to sound like an ass, but-”

“It’s alright, I… I knew this moment would come eventually.”

“What are you talking about?” Lambert asks, a confused frown etched on his face. Aiden doesn’t look at him when he replies in a voice far too small to belong to the lethal, cocky witcher Lambert has come to know over the past few months.

“You’re gonna ask me to leave for good. I get it. I… I’ll go back to the room and pack my things.”

As Aiden turns around to leave, Lambert’s hand shoots out and grabs a hold of Aiden’s wrist. Before Lambert’s brain has a chance to catch up, he finds himself pulling Aiden into a nearby alley, away from prying eyes of judgemental humans meandering the stalls of the midweek market. Aiden looks so unsure now, so vulnerable like this, and it makes Lambert want to wrap the Cat up in warm blankets and cuddle him and forget the world for a while. Instead, he settles on pressing Aiden’s back against the wall and draping himself around the Cat witcher as much as he can.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lambert breathes in the air pocket between them as he locks eyes with Aiden, “you’ve just been… especially clingy recently. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Aiden averts his eyes once again, but Lambert is quick to grip the other man’s chin and force Aiden to meet his gaze. Even that simple touch pulls a small hiss from Aiden, whose eyes flutter shut as he relishes in the feeling of Lambert touching him anywhere. Lambert purses his lips, eager for an answer.

“Aiden-”

“Winter is around the corner,” Aiden whispers, his tongue darting out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Lambert’s frown deepens.

“And?”

His question is met with a pointed eye roll from Aiden.

“And… wolves return to their dens for winter, don’t they? I was just… enjoying the last few weeks in your company before you leave and never come back.”

As the final piece of the puzzle slots into place, understanding dawns on Lambert. He pulls away from Aiden and the small whimper the loss of contact triggers does not go unnoticed. Something old and fragile aches in Lambert’s chest as the meaning of Aiden’s words sink in. Aiden isn’t just worried about being separated from Lambert for a few months, but he’s worried that Lambert will never come back.The wolf links his fingers with his Cat’s, squeezing softly as he leans into Aiden’s space and rubs his bearded cheek against Aiden’s jawline. The latter quickly melts under the soft ministrations, the soft content rumble deepening into a continuous purr as Lambert nuzzles the crook of Aiden’s neck.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Yeah, right,” Aiden snorts in response, “cause you’re so good with feelings and shit.”

“Not everyone’s a sappy sentimental bitch like you are,” Lambert teases gently, earning himself a half-hearted slap up the back of the head. “I don’t have to go back to Kaer Morhen this winter.”

Aiden tenses, his soft purring stopping abruptly as he takes in Lambert’s words. Lambert continues to rub his cheek against Aiden’s jaw, his neck, his cheek… wherever he can reach, the action meant to soothe the brewing storm in Aiden’s mind.

“It’s your home,” Aiden offers weakly, “I don’t want… I… it’s your home.”

“I can send a letter to the old man. Let him know I’m alive. We could find a den somewhere else… an attic somewhere, or an abandoned castle.” Lambert nuzzles the spot right behind Aiden’s ear, earning a pleased hum from the Cat. “Or you could come with me.”

“Sure. Cause that’s gonna end well…”

“That’s settled then. I’m spending winter with you.”

Aiden pushes Lambert away, their eyes meeting once again but this time, Aiden searches for any trace of a lie in Lambert’s amber gaze. He finds none, because Lambert is one hundred percent honest in his offer. He would ditch Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel for a year to spend it with Aiden… and the thought should scare him more than it does, truthfully. He’s only known the Cat for a few months, and yet… well, maybe Lambert was dreading the winter as well. How about that? It’s not like he felt equally anxious about leaving Aiden, it’s just… fuck off.

“You mean that?”

“Mhm. Fair warning… I hate the cold. If I’m spending the winter with you, you’ll have to find a way to keep me warm or I will bite your head off.”

In Aiden’s defence, he does keep Lambert warm all winter long. Their cuddling finally turns into something more, and from the moment Lambert and Aiden cross that fateful line there is no going back. Aiden becomes insatiable, always seeking Lambert’s body in some shape or form, never letting the wolf out of his sight again. Lambert may have been apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but it turns out that all his worries were for nothing. Turns out Cat witchers are still crazy, and feral, and mercurial… a tad possessive as well, something Lambert doesn’t hate... but they’re also the cuddliest sons of bitches on the Continent.

Lambert can live with that, he thinks.

Request a prompt.

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waiting4inspiration · 3 years

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One-Shots Masterlist (2021)

MARVEL ONE-SHOTS

Imagine being in an arranged marriage with Loki but you won't make it easy II Part 2

The team come across one of HYDRA's experiments, but she's muzzled, not allowed to open her mouth at all

Loki meets an assassin who turns out to be just like him. Another Frost Giant II Part 2

You can't touch anyone because you always end up turning them to ice, leaving you feeling a bit touched starved. Loki, being a Frost Giant, thinks that your powers won't affect him II Part 2

In a compromised situation, help comes to Bucky and he really thinks that his prayers have been answered and that an angel had been sent to him. He really never thought he'd see you again

Bucky's Winter Soldier programming has been triggered. Turns out the Winter Soldier has a thing for you.

Like The Hulk, you have two sides to your personality. One is the sweet and kind lady Loki has fallen in love with, and the other might as well be a demon from the depths of Hel.

VIKINGS ONE-SHOTS

You're pissed off that Bjorn is going on a raid and you can't go with because you're with child

Ivar meets an archer that can hit anything with pinpoint accuracy

Ivar's what they call 'New Money', his fortune coming from the large trading businesses he created with his brothers. Your family has never known what it's like without money, there's always some of it somewhere. But you're willing to cross any bridge to be with the man you love.

THE WITCHER ONE-SHOTS

Geralt tries to stop an assassin from killing a king, only to find out that they're not completely human

Every soulmate is born with the other's eye color. To be sure it's them, they dream of them on the night they meet. Being born with Witcher eyes doesn't make your life easy. It only means that you'll live in heartache and isolation for most of it if not all...II Part 2

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dapandapod · 2 years

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36 with lambden 🥺 after Aiden isn't actually killed by karadin, but Lambert thinks he is

36. I thought you were dead hug

So this one became so much sadder than I intended! (and let me tell you, it almost got sadder!!) If you don't want witcher 3 spoilers, or have strong feelings about what happens in this specific quest, this fic might not be for you D: This is I am barely mentioning it, since it is seen from an outside point of view, but please be aware. <3 But i would never end on a (truly) happy note, I swear!

Please enjoy this Lambden hurt comfort fic <3

Warnings: Briefly mentioned "minor" character death, misunderstanding, The witcher 3, the wild hunt, The battle of Kaer Morhen, stupid stupid pining

On Ao3 Hug prompt collection

It is not as if Aiden faked his own death. More like staged it, framed a certain slave trader asshole, and watched his doom unfold from the shadows.

Doom, meaning one angry Lambert and his brother.

Truly, Aiden didn’t mean to. He didn’t. Karadin just played his part slightly too well, and Aiden wears the proof of his cruelty carved into his skin.

On a bad day, he finds that he limps slightly. On a good day, he tries to find his way to Kaer Morhen.

The continent is a strange place right now, with the Wild Hunt racing through the lands. It’s all Aiden can do to keep out of trouble. It takes him the better part of summer and well into the fall before he finally picks up the trail of another Wolf Witcher.

That is how Aiden meets Eskel, and, in a very roundabout way, learns how to make it to the keep. There is something big and bad happening and they need every set of arms they can trust. How Aiden deserves that trust, he doesn’t know.

“Lambert will be happy to see you,” Eskel assures him.

Aiden hopes so. Thinks so. After he is done yelling, probably. And by finding him, finally tell him the things he held back.

Eskel leaves before Aiden, bidding him farewell with a big clap over his back.

It’s more comfort than Aiden has felt in a long time, and he finds himself smiling as he turns towards the mountains of the north.

It’s cold as balls, but he is warm with anticipation.

The trek is treacherous; he gets lost twice before he finds one of the landmarks that Eskel talked about.

It takes him long, too long, to find the first safe spot. Somewhere up high, he can hear wyverns calling, their voices echoing between the mountains.

It is beautiful and haunting. He understands why so many lose their way and life in these parts.

He was making good progress when suddenly snow hits.

The Wild Hunt.

Before the coating of ice becomes too thick, and before they can see him, Aiden finds cover up a tree. It’s not ideal, but he plasters himself against the thick trunk, pulling the furs of his coat down over his head.

The last time he crossed their path he almost lost a toe to the cold and he still isn’t sure he has properly regained feeling to his nose and cheeks.

It would seem like the Big Bad is about to happen.

Below him, he can hear the light steps of winter hounds and the clanking armour of at least two people.

Had Aiden thought ahead, thought of anything other than reuniting with Lambert, he would have been prepared for the fight.

But he did think only about reuniting with Lambert, about his receding hairline, his idiotic sense of humour, how protective he is of kids when he thinks no one is looking.

So Aiden stays put in the tree. No need to die for real, when he faked well enough for Lambert to believe it the first time.

Time passes, but the winter soldiers stay in the area, and Aiden has no choice but to stay still. He listens to them speak to each other, their language foreign to his ears but their voices smooth.

Not until morning does he realizes they were waiting for someone.

A scout, it would seem, as a figure sneaks between the trees. They converse briefly, and then Aiden feels his medallion hum against his chest- a portal opens up and then he is alone.

But not for long.

His trek up the path is lined with encounters of the same nature. Only once did he have to fight, two winter hounds tearing at his cloak. It is torn, but thankfully still useful..

The day he actually can see the old keep in the distance, a snow storm quickly rises.

It is no natural storm, he knows, his medallion vibrating hard enough to hurt. Temperature is dropping fast and in the distance he can hear portals opening.

Portals, as in multiple. The Big Bad is here and Aiden is in trouble.

Taking great care to retrace his steps, Aiden finds an old crumpled tower. He has to fight again, this time one of the Wild Hunt’s soldiers, but they don't seem to expect him, so the fight is relatively easy.

Easy, only taking a slash to the ribs, trashing his cloak further, but the soldier’s head tumbles to the ground with a sickening thud.

He never gets tired of hearing it.

The snowstorm lasts almost the entire day. In the far distance he hears explosions and screaming.

The explosions make him think of Lambert and his fondness for experimenting. He hopes he is safe. Which is idiotic, really, he knows he is not. They never will be, not in this life they have.

But home is supposed to be safe, is it not?

Lambert always talked about the long, silent winters.

It was always a combination of complaining and secret longing, and how he was wondering what Vesemir had been up to during the summer.

How the keep was falling apart, how his brothers were doing, and how Aiden wasn’t allowed to come.

Would he be welcome now? If they both survive this assault of the Wild Hunt, would Lambert forgive him?

The storm rages on. Aiden only realizes he has fallen asleep when he startles awake to an eerie silence. The storm has stilled, the forest and lake are quiet, too quiet.

The sun is looking down at him from high above, and it’s still cold enough for his breath to fog when he sighs.

His body protests when he finally stretches out his stiff limbs. A few quick exercises to warm up and fight that stupid limp of his and Aiden is ready to go.

The woods are a mess. Craters everywhere, ash and burned trees. The path to the keep is clear now, the faint smell of ozone still hanging in the air where the battles had been.

Aiden looks around, careful not to disturb anything. From the looks of it, there were exploding traps waiting for the Wild Hunt, and Aiden would loathe to lose his legs when he has come this far.

There is a stillness in the air, heavy and stale. How outdoor air can be stale, but it is not unusual for battlefields. But he expected the keep he is approaching to be more alive. Something tightens around his heart.

Worry.

As darkness falls, he smells burning smoke.

That is when he finally finds them. Or rather, dares to come closer.

There is a body in the fire.

Dark silhouettes outline the pyre, and Aiden barely dares to breathe. Who is it? Who… lost the fight?

Creeping forward, Aidne now sees the faces around the fire. Some of them he knows, some of them are new.

A redhead sorceress, some humans.

Geralt with a woman who must be Ciri, and the infamous Yennefer. Eskel, who stares straight ahead with a haunted look.

Lambert.

He breathes a sigh of relief, despite the angry lines of pain around Lambert’s eyes. He takes three steps forward, thinking maybe now is the time to finally step out of the shadows.

But midstep, everything crumbles.

A woman, a blond with a white revealing dress puts a gentle hand on Lambert’s shoulder. And it stays. Is allowed. Lambert even leans into it.

Maybe he was too late after all…

As he steps back into the shadows, Eskel’s eyes lock with his.

Maybe he will get answers one day about the Big Bad. Maybe he will know who they lost, and if Lambert is happy... happier…

Maybe…

Aiden returns to his tower, walking all night with a numbness in his bones.

Curling up on the stone floor, the cold seeping through his fucking cloak.

There is no one to blame but himself.

He wasn’t there.

It makes sense that Lambert moved on. Of course he would. Aiden would have wished he would, were he really gone.

But fuck does it suck.

He should get back before the pass closes or he’ll be stuck in this fucking hellscape winterland. South, maybe.

But Aiden can’t make himself get up.

For two days, he lingers in the tower. Hunts birds and hares, making up a fire when the night gets too cold. Maybe he is hoping Lambert will find him.

Maybe…

It is Geralt who finds him, spots him as he sits leaning against the tower wall, freezing his balls off.

“Aiden, I presume.”

“You presume correctly.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be with your bard?”

Stony silence.

“Why are you here?”

“Guess.”

“But why here? Lambert is… He could use a friend.”

“I saw that pretty blond, looks to me like he has a friend.”

Geralt is silent.

Then he turns around and leaves.

Aiden doesn’t blame him. Aiden should leave too.

But he doesn’t.

He hears the muttering first.

“We don’t need to hunt two days in a fucking row. Why do I need to do it? Fucking bastard.”

Aiden scrabbles to get up, to get out of sight, to... something.

Before today, he had always prided himself on being sneaky. Today, not so much.

He was resting behind one of the stonewalls. Resting, or moping, depending on who you ask. Trying to run away, he manages to make rubble fall, completely ruining his chances of being unnoticed.

In the blink of an eye, Lambert is pushing him down against the ground, sword at his throat. Until recognition hits.

“You,” he breathes. “How?”

So many things flash across his face as he backs away, standing up.

“Are you… wait…”

Lambert raises his sword again, rage now filling his entire being.

“No. No more. Fuck this. Fucking foglets, stop fucking mess with my head. I can’t take any more.”

Lambert lunges, slashing, and Aiden barely has time to roll out of the way.

“No, Lambert, please, it’s me. It’s me!”

“Stop! Talking!” Lambert roars, slashing wide, and once again Aiden has to duck. But he is not fast enough, his bad leg making his entire body jolt, and finally his trashed cloak meets its end when the sword catches his shoulder.

He grunts in pain, grabbing the wound. Warm blood seeps through his fingers.

Finally, Lambert stops, eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you?” Lambert asks, voice breaking.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Aiden whispers.

“Are you… are you…”

“I am…”

Lambert’s sword drops to the ground with a clang, and Aiden can’t hold it back any longer. He dives forward, clinging to Lambert’s shoulders, who clings right back.

“I avenged you.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“There was so much blood.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Where were you?”

“I.. Too far away.”

“Damn right. Fuck you, asshole.”

This entire conversation is held against shoulders, fingers gripping so hard it hurts. They are shaking with adrenaline and pain and hurt and relief and all kinds of feelings witchers aren’t supposed to have.

“Vesemir is gone.”

Oh.

Aiden holds him tighter, pushes his nose into Lambert’s throat.

“I saw the pyre,” Aiden whispers. And he saw the blonde woman.

And that is fine. It’s alright.

Aiden will be alright, if he knows Lambert will be happy.

“Why didn’t you join us?”

“I… tried. I really did. Why the fuck were you fighting the Wild Hunt anyway?”

Lambert is still holding him. Keeping him close.

“Long story. Gonna stay here, or wanna come to the keep? I have a big bottle of white gull.”

“Bribery? Already?” Aiden chuckles, nuzzling closer. His shoulder stings, but it doesn’t matter. Not one bit.

“I’d be an idiot to let you go now,” Lambert says, letting go, taking a step back. Traitor. The air is cold without him, but the shiver is not only from the cold.

“So don’t,” Aiden breathes, aches, wishes, hopes.

It’s barely audible, but Lambert leans in again and knocks their heads together.

“Idiot,” he mutters. “I’m so fucking glad you are alive.”

“Me too. I think we both have some talking to do.”

And maybe, just maybe, Aiden will dare tell him about that thing that he has been carrying inside of him for so, so long.

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bonelessghoul · 2 years

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the witcher and the sea (3)

Summary: When the Witcher and Princess Moira sail out to Undvik on their unprecedented journey, the distant Isle greets her with monsters beyond her comprehension and puts her strength to the test. But Moira receives more than she bargained for though when she realizes just how more complicated her life is as her relationship with the Witcher grows.

Words: 9.4k

note: hi hope whoever is stil reading this is enjoying it! I would love to hear some feedback as always :)

Part One | Part Two

Sneaking down to Urialla Harbor was the least of Moira’s problems as she walked off to the far end of the harbor that was its own little town almost considering this is where the shipbuilding took place. Many ships were standing tall and new or simply in for repairs from the harsh waters of the Isle, but the one distinct man that stood overlooking it all was Bjord.

Lowering her hood, Moira told Geralt to wait behind her while she stepped up on the massive pier to meet the shipbuilder.

Bjord was old, having been responsible for almost every ship that came from An Skellig and a close member to her family. He reminded her of the Witcher in a sense, except his strength came from years at sea that sanded his permanently sunkissed face down and hair tied back as white as sea salt. Even in the winter months, he could be found standing there without so much as a coat.

“And what do I owe the pleasure to, Princess Moira.” said Bjord, bowing before her.

But Moira opened her arms, hugging the man with a welcoming smile.

“You’re not going to like it.”

Bjord huffed, crossing his arms as he looked down at her, his lips in a frown even if it was hidden by the white hair that surrounded his lips.

“Let me guess, you need to borrow one of my ships?”

Glancing back at the Witcher who awkwardly stood there a few yards back, she nodded at him.

“Technically, he does. King Bran is sending him on a mission to rescue soldiers from our navy after trying to defeat the beast that has been lingering on Undvik.”

While Bjord could be seen scrutinizing the Witcher, she watched his face instantly turn when she mentioned what he was needed for. She thought of Rotty, Orin, and the other soldiers with the hope that they were still alive even if it meant they were freezing and terrified and it pained her so, but it was better than imagining corpses.

“Who didn’t return?” Bjord gasped.

“Rotty, Orin, and a few others.” she said, lowering her head.

Bjord had known those boys as well as he knew her. They practically grew up running around these docks pretending to be pirates and sailors before they ever really knew what their lives would be as soldiers or a princess.

“And Bran wanted you to guide the Witcher on this quest?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at the man behind her.

“I know you of all people are skeptical of his kind, but yes. Actually—no, but you know those two are my closest friends, Bjord. I am going with him to help.”

Moira would beg on her knees if she had to as she watched him press his hands to his hips and turn to look at the four ships at his disposal. Men were working on them now, but her eyes were already on one that looked ready to sail.

“Fine.”

Letting out a breath of relief, she opened her mouth to speak and thank him but he put his finger up.

“If anything happens to you, I will not be responsible for your sneaking around, Princess. And if so much as a scratch gets on my ship, you will owe me twice the more coin I am expecting for you having me cover this up.”

A smile spread across her lips and she hugged him again.

“I promise I will make this up to you, Bjord!”

Waving the Witcher over, she turned back to the shipbuilder.

“So, which one am I taking?”

Judging by the look on Bjord’s face, she could tell he wasn’t happy about which one she was allowed to take, but Moira had never been more excited to take the Schooner he had owned for years.

Putting the hood of her cloak over her head, the two boarded the decently sized wooden ship while Bjord ordered a few men to help her clear off the deck and unfurl the fore and aft sails from the two masts that stood tall above her head. She worked alongside them as well, making all the necessary preparations to sail and knowing every little step like the back of her hand.

“Are you sure you don’t need help for your journey?” Bjord asked as he leaped back down on the deck.

Moira leaned over the edge of the ship, smiling down at him.

“Eist has taught me everything about sailing since I knew how to walk, Bjord. We will be fine.”

The man sighed and put his hands on his hips one more time.

“I hope you bring them back, Princess.”

Bjord gave a salute to the Witcher as well, and Geralt nodded back.

“Me too.”

When Moira turned back around and begun to guide the ship out of the harbor, she stood on the quarter deck with the thick, wooden wheel under her fingertips. Her hands were a little shaky between the sea breeze that welcomed them and the fact that she hadn’t done this in a while, but Geralt ascended the stairs to stand alongside her and she held herself together a little more under his watch.

“For a Princess, you would make a pretty good pirate.”

Moira grinned, her eyes staying out on the deep, blue gray waters beyond her and the sight of Ard Skellig in the distance.

“I’m not a pirate.”

“Could have fooled me, considering you’re dressed like one.”

Her grin fell and she looked down at herself . She was suited in black leather, everything from her boots to her corset, and the blouse she wore underneath. Even with her cloak, she knew Undvik was colder this time of year and wore a tailored jacket lined with fur that came down to her mid thigh.

“I am not!” Moira scowled. “If anything, I’m dressed more like you.”

The Witcher hummed in response, to no avail, and Moira pulled out a compass to make sure they would be headed in the right direction after they came around Ard Skellige.

“How long until we arrive?” Geralt asked.

Moira put a lock of sorts upon the wheel to keep them sailing straight for the time being and could finally put herself at ease as she took a seat on the bench that was seated by the wooden handrail.

“About an hour.”

As she looked up at the Witcher, she could see that he moved a little too quickly to the bench opposite of her just several feet away and that his face seemed whiter than usual.

“Not a fan of being on the sea, Witcher?” she chuckled.

Geralt looked up at her, his face hard as stone with the frown her wore.

“No.” he replied, his voice deep and raspy like it always was but she couldn’t take him seriously even now.

Time passed slowly as she let Geralt adjust to the way the ship rocked in the waters, her head leaning over the edge to glance back at her home that grew smaller in the distance. The sea had a pleasant smell to it, but as her chin rested upon her arms, she could still smell the lemon and sandalwood soap that she owned.

From behind, Geralt stared out ahead at the sea where another Isle was coming into view. His breaths were slow and deep still to keep his stomach from churning, and in the midst of the salty air the only thing that could keep him grounded was that lemon and sandalwood smell. From the first day he arrived, which felt like it could have been a week ago at this rate, he smelled it and at first when he thought he couldn’t stand it, he knew she was the only one who wore it and something about that tore him up inside.

When he thought he couldn’t be distracted from it, Geralt’s head sharply turned around at the sound of something splashing in the water.

Leaning slightly, he could see her hand dangling over the edge, making wave like motions with her fingers.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked, raising a brow at her.

Moira turned around, the blob of water she pulled up like a string now hovering over the deck before splashing against the wood.

“Just toying with this curse I have been burdened with.”

“It wouldn’t be a curse if you had the proper training.” he offered.

Moira slumped back against the wooden rail and sighed, looking to see where their ship was at now and knew she would have to change their course once they passed this northern end of Ard Skellig. She knew her magic was a dangerous toy, one that Saorise always said she should never use the way she did now, but it made her feel less crazy when she knew she could control just an ounce of it at least.

“Saorise teaches me basic spells. But I won��t need proper training because I will never use it.”

“Unless to pass the time while we sit on this ship, right?” Geralt retorted, his face lighthearted even if his voice was not.

“If it’s the only thing keeping me from going insane over possibly losing my best friends then yes. If you want to judge my life choices furthermore the next ball of water I can muster up will land upon her head.”

Geralt smirked. “And I will throw you overboard, Princess.”

Moira couldn’t resist a gentle laugh if it meant masking the way her chest tightened at his smile and decided to stand up to prepare to wrap around the Isle where they would soon find Undvik.

“Well, before you throw me overboard, is there anything you can tell me about this Ice Giant? We haven’t seen one here in Skellige, not since my father was just joining the navy but I don’t recall stories of them ever attacking it the way they did yesterday.” Moira said, turning the wheel a few notches.

“I’ve never encountered one, but other Witchers have in the past.” Geralt said. “They’re giants, ruthless to humans but easy for a Witcher to take on alone.”

Moira raised a brow at him. “Alone, huh?”

“Princess, your only job is to find your friends while I handle the giant.”

Moira bit down on her tongue as she focused on the map that nearly blew out of her hands, making sure her compass was pointing in the right direction now as they turned around the Isle. She knew he would refuse her help, and as Undvik grew closer, maybe it would be for the best as her nerves tightened up inside of her ready to snap as easy as a frail piece of string.

“Is that understood?” Geralt asked, standing on his feet now.

Moira nodded her head, feeling the winds grow colder now.

“Understood, Witcher.”

~ Undvik was the least populated Isle of Skellige.

The people that did live there often lived in villages of no more than ten people and never ventured into the woods where the Ice Giant supposedly lived. A gray haze seemed to surround the small island as they docked at the small harbor where no taverns or inns were built but just the quiet and empty homes of the villagers covered in a thick blanket of snow.

Ice seemed to build up, breaking at the tide that washed onto the sand and she tried to dispel of any of it as the ship came in.

Pulling her cloak around her a little tighter, Moira and Geralt unboarded the ship and began their trek from the sand to the forest.

Arnie had said that according to the villagers, the Ice Giant lived off the main hunting path by about a mile. There was a frozen lake just before the mountain where a dark cave was nestled at the base of it which is where he thinks they all got separated. He said she would recognize it immediately because it reminded him of the bay they would play at as children where the Drowners infested now.

Trailing behind Geralt was a bit more strenuous than she expected though with the thick snow they marched through. His strides were longer than hers, but she continued to try and step in his own footsteps left in the snow.

“You’re breathing too loud.” Geralt said, breaking the silence they had shared since they broke off the hunting path.

“I’m trying to keep up.” Moira panted, her arms balancing her as she leaped into the next footprint he left in the snow.

Around them, dark pine trees towered them with their thick spines and every sound seemed to be matted down by the snow. She was lucky it was still morning or else she would not have seen a thing with how much shade this dense forest cast over their heads.

They were moving slightly uphill now, and she could tell by the way her legs burned with every step, but soon enough when the ground leveled out, their world seemed to brighten a bit as they came to an opening.

Geralt stopped at the edge of the small lake and she stopped just shortly behind him, her eyes immediately falling upon the cave that was on the other side. It wasn’t at the base like Arnie had said, but rather up a few notiches where the land moved uphill around the lake.

“Where is it?” Moira asked, eyes frantically searching around. “Where are they?”

“Moira.” Geralt nearly growled.

But it was hard for her to keep her composure as she saw nothing but ice and rock before her, and her breaths became heavier.

“They are usually sleeping during the day. I just need to lure it out here.” he said, pulling out a small glass bottle from his belt pockets.

Moira didn’t watch as he chugged the black liquid down, her eyes still scanning every inch of the lake and the land around it for signs of any human life. She thought the darkness of the cave made her soul feel cold, but when her eyes turned back to Geralt, she gasped slightly at the sight of his face.

The Witcher’s eyes had gone black and every vein beneath his skin around his eye sockets had darkened too. She didn’t mean to be scared at first, only having been so thrown off by the sight of it, but she was still as enthralled as she was terrified over what he had turned himself into just now.

Without any words exchanged between them, he tossed the bottle onto the ice.

The sound of the glass breaking across the frozen lake echoed, but there was an even deeper, more resounding thud that came from elsewhere followed by a roar that sounded as human as it didn’t.

It rattled her bones and she looked over at the cave, watching a disfigured man with skin as blue as frost and as tall as the gaping entrance itself even hunched over come through to stand on the solid surface and look directly at them.

“Stay on this side and find your friends. Don’t try and intervene while I keep the Giant on this side.” Geralt said, his voice more terrifying than before.

Moira was strucken with fear, never having seen something so monstrous in her life, but on the other hand, Geralt was already charging off to the side to reach the mountain and meet the creature halfway.

Moira didn’t want to waste anytime though as she ran the fifty or so meters between her and the cave entrance.

“Rotty! Orin!” Moira screamed.

But it was hard to focus when she watched Geralt withdraw his sword and fight the Ice Giant that was armed with a bludger the size of the Witcher himself. As they fought on the other side of the lake, she kept her eyes out for her friends and kept calling out their names as she neared the cave entrance.

“Rotty! Orin!” she tried again.

Moira paused just short of the cave, taking deep breaths that burned at her throat as she rested upon a tree. She wanted to wait for a sound or any hope at all before she marched into the black hole that was the cave. It was hard to hear when the heavy thuds that came from the Ice Giant and its roar shook the air around her.

But then, she heard it.

A weak cry.

It was her name.

Looking up to the cave entrance, she saw a full head of blonde hair and a nearly frozen face that belonged to Orin who was leaning against the cave wall.

“Moira!” the man croaked out.

Everything kicked into overdrive in Moira, ignoring the burning in her legs as she bolted through the snow and eyes never leaving his face. The relief she felt seeing him alive made her almost faint.

“Orin!” she called out, her smile beaming now.

Moira’s feet dug into the snow, her arms wrenching at her sides as she tried to propel herself up the short hill where they waited. As she made it up top though, she saw Geralt get flung across the lake in their direction and her breath hitched as he slid across the ice.

“Geralt!”

She paused for a moment, watching him struggle to get up, and she glanced back at Orin who was dragging Rotty out by his side as her mind tore itself in half on who to help.

“Moira, run!” Geralt ordered, looking at her with his black eyes before turning around to face the Ice Giant that had its eyes set on her as it came towards Geralt.

With wide eyes, Moira took off towards the boys and immediately tossed her arms around their shivering bodies. The life she could still feel within them was all she needed to ignore the way her muscles burned in hers.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Princess?” Rotty asked, managing to laugh even if his lips were blue.

“Saving your asses.” she said, pulling back from their hug.

Then, Moira glanced down at Geralt, a force of some kind blowing out from his hands and sending the giant staggering back into a tree that collpased under its weight. They were too close to the cave for comfort, but he was getting him a little bit further away now.

“We don’t have time to catch up. I need you to get back to the main path that you took up here its just a straight shot from here. There’s only one ship docked and its ours, theres blankets, food and medical supplies.” Moira barked out, guiding them forward.

“Wait, you’re not coming with us?” Orin asked, glancing back at her.

Geralt was handling his own, but even with his fast movements underneath the Ice Giant, he would be here for ages before he took the monster down.

“He needs my help.” Moira said, withdrawing her sword. “We will catch up. Just hurry and go!”

The raised ground that wrapped around the lake could take her right to the Ice Giant’s head if she calculated every step correctly. She paused, taking it all in, envisioning her plan in her head as she watched Geralt painfully try to and weave in and out of the Giant’s legs. It seemed that every hit was like a needle to stone with the way Geralt’s sword nearly bounced off of the monster.

Moira knew he would be pissed if she dove in, but he needed her help and she swiftly withdrew her sword.

Even as every instinct told her to run away, Moira took off sprinting along the path and leaped off when the Ice Giant was close enough, raising her sword and bringing it down on its shoulders with a satisfying plunge into its blue skin. It cried out and writhed around while she still barely hung on.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Geralt shouted.

“Helping!” Moira called back, dangling from the sword and looking down at him.

But the sword came loose, and she fell several feet to the not so soft snow where she lost her balance. Looking up at the giant from this angle though made her freeze up entirely, her head not even coming up to its knee but as it started to take a step towards her she knew it was going to crush her if she didn’t move. But before she could even think of her next step, a pair of arms and a force twice her size barreled into her, and her body was once again in the air before it landed not in the snow but on someones chest.

Raising her head, she was staring into Geralt’s equally confused black eyes as they caught their breaths.

“This is certainly not the time or place, Witcher.” Moira joked, her mortified face going red in the coldness as her now undone hair hung over him.

“I agree.” Geralt said through gritted teeth, rolling her off of him before they stood up together to face the giant that seemed confused as to where they went. “You need to leave. Now.”

But from behind them, the ice started to crack viciously and as the two of them turned around, Moira’s eyes fell upon two pairs of dark, sickly gray clawed like hands trying to escape. Her heart started thumping as the arms grew longer and the hands violently grabbed at the surface, and she held her sword a little tighter now.

“What is that?” Moira rasped, throat going dry.

Geralt didn’t reply, his black eyes patiently waiting for the creatures to show their faces.

Then, in a split second, their screeching voices broke the surface as they burst through the ice and into the sky. Wings as dark as their hair and the tails they had for legs spanned around from their bodies and Moira’s lips parted slightly, horror stories of these Nixa came to life before her and made her feel like a scared child in her bedroom once more.

“Fuck.” was all Geralt said.

When Moira looked at him, they shared a look of mutual understanding that only took seconds to register. She hoped to the stars that that’s what he was aiming for because she knew she couldn’t leave even if she wanted to at this point. With the Ice Giant behind them and the two Nixa in front, Moira raised her sword and tried to stay at Geralt’s side.

It all happened in a blur.

The two Nixa swarmed down them, trying to lash each of them with the ends of their sharpened tails.

Moira swung her sword, her wrist aching as it bent in every possible way, and she could no longer pretend like she were fighting with the boys but instead, a real monster now. The force behind her swing felt slow and she was getting sloppy with exhaustion, something that made her only panic more.

It was a matter of dodging and trying to swing at them when they could, but with the Ice Giant still pursuing them, Geralt had used what little magic he possessed to send a transparent, wave like force to shove the Nixa away and had called for her to turn around. Once they did, they had dodged the bludger that the Giant swung down in their direction, and Moira dove to the side while Geralt dove to the other.

But while Moira’s blood was pumping, she had stormed towards the Giant, her sword coming down from over her head and with all the might she could find in her tired arms, she created a deep slash going across the heel of the Ice Giant.

Even she had inwardly cringed after what she had done, dark blue blood spurting out at her knees.

“Moira!”

With defeat, she turned around, wishing for just one moment that she could take a breath but as one of the Nixa came soaring down at her with its sharply toothed mouth agape, pouring out a screech that ached her ears, flames came soaring past her vision from Geralt’s palm and the Nixa was only momentarily wounded as it rolled to the ground.

The screech it made only sounded worse now, so much so that Moira was nearly doubled over keeping her ears covered. She felt Geralt’s hands on her back, trying to get her to stand straight, and she opened her eyes that had been squeezed shut and she was pulled to look at him.

“Can you keep her still?”

“What?” Moira asked.

“You said your Mage taught you a few things. Can you freeze the Nixa’s wings while she’s down so I can kill it?”

Nodding, Moira raised her shaking hands, but as confident as she tried to appear, her mind was raking through the little bits of Elder speech Saorise had taught her for simple spells. She tried to push her hands out, feeling that hum of power while her blood was rushing through her, hoping for an ounce of something. But the panic that settled in as the monster began to turn and its wings started to flap made it harder to focus.

“Moira, now!”

She whispered a little saying, a simple one, that she was taught and shut her eyes.

It was supposed to be simple, but the force that poured through her hands nearly knocked her back and she planted her feet as the chill of her magic flowed through her and out towards the wings of the Nixa, pinning her to the tree behind it.

The use of that power made Moira feel like she could do anything, and she wouldn’t have stopped if Geralt hadn’t pulled her arms down. She almost felt weak without it, standing there in awe at what she had done as she watched him light the monster into flames.

The cry it made was painful, but Moira stood there, numb to it all as everything caught up to her. She was winded, especially from using her magic when a simple spell had turned into something that sucked the life of out her it seemed.

Nonetheless, she was proud of herself in that blissful little moment, smiling to herself as Geralt turned around to face her.

But then a pair of claws had tore into her leg, yanking her away and turning her whole world upside down before she could even realize it was happening. Her sword dropped having been snatched so suddenly and her body now hung upside down as she became face to face with the Nixa’s tail and instead of Geralt beneath her she now saw the frozen sheet of ice that was the lake.

Moira screamed out when the Nixa’s claws dug further into her calf and she writhed around, trying to get out of its grip even if it made her skin tear more.

When the Nixa had let go, there was only a sweet, split second of relief before Moira had realized that her descent to the ice was further than she though. Her stomach flipped inside of her and when she hit the ice, her body nearly bouncing at the impact. Stars danced across her vision so much that she thought she had slipped away, and a numbing sensation washed over her. She wasn’t sure if it was the ice that cracked or if it was her bones.

Everything inside her was churning, thorbbing at the pain that echoed through ever fiber of her being, and Moira curled up on the ice, every movement making her want to cry.

While her ears were ringing, she could hear Geralt calling out her name, and Moira forced herself to roll on her back after removing her bow and arrows. They were within her reach, but she was too scared to move again.

The Nixa had been hovering a dozen yards above her, taunting her like it were waiting for the right moment to finish her off. With her brain bouncing against her skull, she wondered if she should even bother to move out of the way with whatever she had left. But whether it be pure spite or the fact that she simply did not want to die like this, Moira forced herself on her knees, feeling something pop in her shoulder.

Ignoring the pain and the way her entire body movements were slurred, Moira lifted her bow and picked one of her brand new arrows out.

Once more, the Nixa screeched and Moira knew she only had seconds to get this right.

Grunting, tears stung her eyes as she raised her arrow to the air where the Nixa’s wings were flapping, ready to descend upon her. Geralt had been running towards her, but Moira knew that if she couldn’t rely on anything else, she knew this she could at least count on this to save her.

Crying out as she withdrew the bowstring, her shoulder burning in pain, Moira released it and watched as the bow went straight into the Nixa’s chest.

Its heart wrenching screech didn’t phase her as it collapsed to the ice and Geralt was quick to swing its sword down on its head. Moira’s arms hung at her side, and she realized her calf was bleeding out onto the frozen lake, her blood nearly black against the ice. Nothing phased her at all in this moment, and she wasn’t sure if that was good or just downright terrifying.

Geralt came over to her, kneeling in front of her as he instantly brought a hand to her face to lift it up.

“Princess, are you alright?” he asked, his eyes now normal and back to their golden glow.

There was no words when she could only focus on the leather glove that held up her face, and she knew she was silly for getting so caught up over the way his eyes poured over her given everything that happened.

“Am I alright?” Moira asked, raising a brow.

Then, she laughed. Maybe it was shock, her only way to release the trembling feeling that overcame her as tears blurred her eyes.

A flash of worry crossed his face, and he let his hand fall as his eyes drifted towards the ice.

“That was the most fun I’ve ever had.” Moira answered honestly.

When Geralt looked back up at her, she felt her smile fade when she realized he was looking at her like she were crazy.

“You’re in shock.” he frowned, standing up and extending a hand out to her.

Moira took it with her arm that wasn’t in pain, and tried to stand up, but her attempts were futile from the wound in her calf that made it difficult to put pressure on. Geralt didn’t seem to mind though and slid his arm around her as they shuffled off the ice, the two of them exhausted and beaten.

“If I was in shock I’d be screaming bloody murder like the Nixa.” Moira commented. “If I don’t gloat about what I just did back there I might cry and I do not want to cry, Geralt.”

“How do you know about them?”

“I live in Skellige. My brothers always told me scary stories to keep me from the ocean whenever I wasn’t allowed to. I just never thought I’d actually face one.”

Geralt hummed in response, and once they made it to the land, they stopped and turned to look at the Ice Giant. It looked confused, making its inaudible roars out towards them as it waved its bludger in the air.

“Shouldn’t we have tried to kill it? I mean, that was the purpose of all of this.”

Geralt sighed. “I’ll have to come back another time, preferably alone. Your friends are safe and that’s all that matters to the King for now. I already put you in enough danger.”

Moira scoffed at him, shrugging out of his hold on her.

“Alone? You wouldn’t have made it out alive if it weren’t for me.”

Once more, out of spite, Moira pulled out her bow and arrow again, and even if the movement in her shoulder made her want to spill hot tears, she knew she couldn’t have done all of this for nothing and wasn’t letting the monster live.

“Moira, what are you doing?” the Witcher sighed.

Moira narrowed her eyes at the Giant’s head. “Proving a point.”

The bow released, soaring over the lake and straight into the Ice Giant’s head right between his eyes. As she put it away though, she was nearly shuddering from the pain that kept tearing through her shoulder and quickly swiped away a tear.

“That isn’t enough to kill it.” Geralt said, crossing his arms.

Moira didn’t respond though as she watched the Ice Giant start to wave in the air as it rocked on its feet, slowly staggering before its entire body collapsed and fell into the lake, crashing through the ice as its cracks echoed throughout the forest that surrounded them.

“That hopefully should.” she said, glancing at him.

Turning around, Moira tried to walk, limping as she did so with the Witcher trailing behind her. After how proud she was of herself, she expected more from him given how much he refused her help or didn’t bother to thank her. While the cold snow seemed to numb the pain in her calf, internally, she was fuming.

“You know, you are one ungrateful, stone cold bastard of a Witcher and—”

Moira yelped as Geralt’s arms came underneath her, and there was a small tinge of panic that tightened in her chest as she had grown tired of being swept off of her feet again. While she wanted to fight the Witcher who walked with a proud smirk on his lips as he carried her now, Moira herself found a way to relax and his hold and sighed, unwilling to admit that she was grateful for not having to put any weight under her leg.

“Is this your way of thanking me for my help, Geralt?” Moira teased.

She felt his chest rise and fall as he exhaled.

“I don’t want you to risk your life for me like that, Princess.”

Moira had her head on his shoulder, the chill of the air finally seeping through her clothes now as the adrenaline melted away, and she stared up at the pine trees that towered above them. Everything that had just happened left her shaken, but it felt like it happened within seconds, like it weren’t even real.

“That’s the thing…” Moira started slowly. “I hated seeing you fight alone and wanted to jump in to help, but there was something else there. I wanted to fight and use my magic, not to risk my life for someone, but because I actually wanted to do it for myself. It was freeing.”

To put it simply, maybe she did find herself caring for the Witcher but as Saorise said: she liked danger. Whether it be a person or a thing, Moira was never going to be able to walk away.

“It was so freeing that I ended up having to carry you back to the ship, right?”

Moira smiled weakly, resting her head back down.

“Shut it, Witcher.”

When they returned to the ship, the boys had been waiting with the blankets and food Moira made sure to pack for them. They were quick to ask a dozen questions when they saw that Geralt had to carry her back, but Moira assured them she would explain while she got them out to sea back to An Skellig.

“Won’t they tell your family that you came with me to rescue them?” Geralt asked, coming up behind her.

Moira glanced up at him, pulling her cloak around her shoulders a little tighter with her good arm. She was sure that the other one had been broken in one way or another but knew Saorise could heal it right up.

“They’ve kept a lot of secrets for me. This won’t be different.” Moira said.

There was a pit forming in her stomach though, worried for just how she was going to slip past her family covered in blood with a possibly broken arm and torn up leg. It wasn’t even her family she was worried about, it was every guard posted at every corner in the castle.

Moira glanced at Geralt again, and he had been eyeing her like she would collapse at any given moment.

“I’m fine, Geralt. I’m just going to go check in on them.” she assured, leaning on the wooden railing as she made her way down.

Rotty and Orin were quick to jump up to her side, but she put her hands up.

“You’re all frostbitten and starved. Sit down.”

They listened to her regardless, and she took the nearest seat on a crate as they ate everything in sight and sat on the floor with their heaps of blankets piling them. To her relief, the third soldier they had found was asleep in the corner, having suffered the most wounds.

“I’m sure you have questions.” Moira sighed, watching their eyes drift up to the Witcher.

“You think?!” Rotty exclaimed. “You know who that is, right? That’s a fucking Witcher!”

Moira rolled her eyes, glancing at Orin who didn’t say much but seemingly agreed with his friend.

“You two think I don’t know that? After I left you all the other day, my brother apparently requested his presence in An Skellig to help with our Drowners problem. But when I found out from Arnie that you two didn’t return, I insisted that I come and help rescue you lot.”

Rotty’s face fell at the mention of Arnie.

“He’s fine, by the way.”

“But are you?” Orin asked.

Somehow, just after not even two days, the always neatly combed blonde hair was outgrown and out of place, same as Rotty and his now scratchy looking beard. She couldn’t have imagined what they went through in the darkness of that freezing cave, and that hurt her heart more than what she witnessed today.

“I’m fine.” Moira shrugged. “You two know me better than anyone. Fighting that Ice Giant and the Sirens should put me at a higher rank than half the men in the navy.” she laughed.

Their eyes widened, and her smile grew. “You fought a Nixa?!” they both cried.

Moira nodded and laughed harder, leaning down to lift up her pant leg underneath her boot to reveal the nasty claw marks left by the Nixa’s hand. It was raw as she peeled away her pant leg from it and soon to be infected if they didn’t get to Urialla Harbor soon enough but as she flashed it off to them.

They looked whiter than they did before when she first found them nearly frozen to death.

“Moira!” Rotty gasped. “And to think you were just some snotty little Princess who liked to play with the dogs.”

“You knew I never was, Rotty.” Moira taunted, wincing as she covered her leg up.

“Oh, please don’t go there.” Orin laughed, his face cringing.

Orin then tossed her a blanket which she caught with her good arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. The three of them continued to catch up, but the Witcher had been tugging at her thoughts the entire time. Occasionally, she would glance up at him and she would find him already staring down at her, each time making her heart skip. Even as she talked with Rotty and Orin about every greusome detail, the trio finding a way to laugh about it all, Moira could only think of the way he carried her back to the ship.

Geralt had been thinking of it too, but not as much as he thought of the Nixa dropping her midair to the ice.

He wasn’t sure why his heart had stopped in that very moment, hanging on bated breath as he waited for her to move just a little while he ran towards her.

Of course, no King would be happy to find that his little sister had been murdered by a monster he was meant to finish. But something about the way she inserted herself into everything, no matter the danger like a root from a tree, had grown on him.

But as Geralt watched her laugh and smile among her friends the way she did when he first saw her, a grim realization came to him; he couldn’t protect her if she fought beside him and defeat a monster at the same time. It could never be both so long as he thought of her losing that smile.

Upon returning to An Skellige, the boys returned home as their first order of business and Geralt had successfully managed to sneak her into the castle with Saorise’s help. The Mage, however, was not happy with her one bit.

“How the hell did you manage to steal a ship and go all the way to Undvik?!” she cried as she heated the bathwater.

Moira winced, not with every movement, but instead the shrillness of Saorise’s voice when she was angry. She wanted to argue that she didn’t actually steal a ship, but knew she’d be smacked upon the head for such an answer. Instead, she let herself suffer as she stripped herself of her clothes behind the screen.

“You could have died, Princess, or worse, Birna could have found out and have immediately sent you off to the next bachelor Prince in the Continent!”

“She’s already planning on it.” Moira sighed, glancing at her pulsing, bruised shoulder that was too swollen to move.

“What was that?” Saorise asked, her voice dangerously low.

“Nothing, nothing.”

Moira stepped out from behind the screen with a silk robe over her body, limping towards the bath where steam rose from its surface. Despite how pleasant it looked; Moira wanted to hide within her own skin as she awaited what else her Mage was going to say. Saorise, with one hand on her hip and the other on a bottle of soap that she poured in the water, had taken one look at her torn leg and her eyes widened.

Moira thought she would scream.

“Oh my stars you are going to put me in my grave.” the woman said, running a hand over her face. “No, you’re going to put yourself in a grave first at this rate.”

Moira dropped the robe and immediately sunk into the water, the scorching heat welcoming to her shoulder but making her hiss when her open wound touched it.

“You need to clean it.” she said, pushing her leg into the water.

“Ow!”

Moira tensed as the pain shot up her leg straight to her core, making the water shake as she immediately sat upright and bit down on her tongue to keep from crying.

“I can’t clean a dirty wound, Princess.”

Once it subsided, Moira exhaled and sunk back into the bath, the lemon and sandalwood soothing to her senses.

“I know you’re angry, Saorise but—”

The woman gave her a look that made her instantly quiet, her nose flaring as she looked down at her like she had just committed treason.

“I’m not angry, Moira, I am beyond my wits trying to find out where you thought this was okay! I know you would mess around with the boys, and I know you love your bow and arrow, but this was reckless! You could have died, Moira, whether or not the Witcher was there!”

“Well, Geralt was there and honestly we wouldn’t have been able to rescue them if it was just him there!” Moira argued.

But the second she raised her voice back, Moira was overcome with shame and looked away. She expected this—no, she deserved it. Saorise had covered for her dozens of times and she knew that if she were in her position, she would be worried too. Maybe it was her age, as Saorise would say, but Moira could not see the problem. She should be the one being celebrated right now for what she did.

“I’m going to have words with that Witcher. He should have never let you go with him.”

“It’s not his fault.”

“Right, you’re not an easy person to say no to.” Saorise huffed, beginning to work on healing the bones in her shoulder.

They sat in silence for a while aside from the grunts of pain Moira made as the healing process began. As the time passed, Moira only began to feel more guilty for putting her through the aftermath of her own actions and every word Saorise’s words began to sink in. Amidst all of the guilt though, she couldn’t deny the thrill of the day and all that had happened.

“I’m sorry.”

Saorise leaned forward, the long and curly dark hair falling over her face as she looked down at her.

“No you’re not…and that’s okay.”

Moira sighed, leaning her head back as her shoulder could now move semi freely without pain and the Mage moved her stool to the front of the tub where she could work on her leg. Now, watching the sad expression that sat upon her face as she worked delicately on her wound, Moira felt crushed.

“I’m not sorry for helping the Witcher save my friends, and I am certainly not sorry for how much fun I had today fighting those creatures. But I genuinely am sorry for putting you under this stress and having to take care of me.”

Saorise smiled at her, shaking her head.

“Moira, I’ve spent two decades guiding your brothers who don’t listen to a word I say and patch them up after wars you were too young to ever understand. But aside from all that, you were like the daughter I never had. So while I sit here and advise you and patch you up, I yell at you the way I can’t yell at your brothers because I love you.”

Moira chuckled at that, imagining Saorise yelling at Bran or Eist.

“I love you dearly, Saorise. Imagine if you weren’t here and it was Birna who became my motherly figure.”

Saorise laughed with her. “Then I would surely pray to the Gods for any man who tried to tell you no.”

“You mean you already don’t?”

As all wounds were healed that evening, for the first time in a while Moira greeted her bed without the anticipation of staying awake into the nightly hour for something exciting. Most of her candles were still light, her curtains drawn back for additional light from the nearly full moon to peak into her room, all so she could see the little book in her hands.

With her back against the headboard, the diary that once belonged to her sister sat in her hands. She would read it occassionally, and on top of that book sat her own diary where she wrote in now.

Moira poured out everything that happened today from the gaping, rotten mouth of the Nixa to the Ice Giant to the relief she felt when finding Rotty and Orin onto the paper. But the one thing she couldn’t put into words was the Witcher.

Her sister and mother were true women of royalty based on written and spoken words alike and Moira always tried her hardest to embody what she knew of them in her life every day. She wore her dresses, learned everything she needed to learn about court, and spent years learning what it took to be a Queen someday.

But as she wrote down today’s events, her mind was sucked into a tide when it came to Geralt because the side he brought out in her was not a side she was raised to show. He was complicating everything she thought she expected from her life. Adventures and monsters she only ever dreamed of were made possible today. Magic she feared became her greatest strength. Whereas her mother and sister sailed ships and helped trained the armies, Moira felt a breath of fresh air when it came to what she did with Geralt who made everything she was only ever frowned upon for become something bigger.

Nonetheless, found herself smiling at the words upon the paper as she described the undescribable ways he made her feel today even if it would horrify anyone else. Saorise was right; he was danger, and she was unequivocably pulled to it.

But then, her wandering thoughts were swiftly interrupted by a knock at her door that made her jump from her skin. At first, she wanted to pretend she was asleep but couldn’t hide her curiosity now as she slipped from under her covers.

Grabbing the candle, her bare feet tapped against the cold floor and she went to the door, figuring it was Saorise.

When she opened it though, Moira’s head tilted up to find the face of the Witcher standing at her door without his usual armor and everything within her shifted at the sight, taken back from his unexpected visit.

Fuck.

“Uh, good evening? Is everything alright?” Moira asked, not realizing how tired her voice was until she spoke.

Geralt had glanced around, seemingly unsure of himself, and she tilted her head at him as the chill of the drafty hallways came through her door and nipped at her ankles.

“Yes, I was just coming in to check on you—your wounds, from earlier, I mean.” he said, then lifting a familiar sword. “And you lost this. I wanted to return it.”

Moira had never heard him sound anything less than certain, and while she was thrilled to see him, she was more concerned of any watching eyes. Quickly, she peaked her head out into the hallway to make sure no one was near before gently pushing him into her room and shutting the door.

“I’m fine.” Moira said, quickly deciding to light the wood that sat in her fireplace. “I suppose you can see that considering I’m walking around like a frantic boar.”

Then, as she was turned away from him, she winced at her own poor choice of words. Once the room was mostly lit with the warm, flickering glow of the fire, she took a seat at the edge of her bed.

“I hope I didn’t disturb your sleep. I only meant to stop by.”

Moira waved him off. “Nonsense, I was awake anyway just doing some reading. Plus, it wouldn’t look right if we were chatting at my doorway.”

Geralt was still standing, looking around for a place to sit before his eyes fell on her dainty little chair to her vanity. Even Moira had to question why he picked such a small chair for his stature but shrugged it off.

“What were you reading? I thought princesses needed their beauty sleep.” he mocked.

She snickered. “I’m still reeling from what happened today, I wasn’t planning on falling asleep for a little while longer. But I was reading my sister’s diary. I do it on those nights I can’t sleep.”

Geralt then tilted his head at her, seemingly thrown off by the mention of her sister.

“You have a sister?”

“Had.” she corrected, watching his face fall a little. “She died when I was about six years old, falling ill after she had my nephew Crach. I don’t remember her much so it’s not all that sad, but I was given just about everything she owned. Reading her journals help me know her if I can’t remember her.”

An awkward silence filled between them after she swiftly dismissed her dead sister. If she were being honest though, it was hard to mourn the death of something she only had vague memories of that hardly felt more than dreams.

“Anyway, how are you doing since I last saw you today?” Moira asked, grabbing her silver shawl from the edge of her bed to slide around the shoulders of white nightgown she wore as she tried to change the subject.

Geralt sat uncomfortably in the wooden chair, and she feared he would break it. But it was a perfect spot for him, sitting right under the moonlight that made his hair more silver than white.

“I’m fine, Princess.”

Moira opened her mouth to protest, but he instantly corrected himself and said her name instead.

“That’s better.” she chuckled.

“I had a lot to hear from your Mage today.” he mused.

Moira went along with his faked excitement and raised her brows. “Ah, so did I. She was so thrilled about our little adventure today.”

Geralt’s lips curved, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared on his face.

“Your brother was very grateful for my actions today, since I clearly went on my own. He paid a visit to your friends as well apparently. I would have stopped by sooner, but he insisted I join him.”

“That’s Bran.” Moira nodded. “He always wants to honor those who do him favors.”

“Well, he’s a good man.”

“And so are you.”

The words came out a little quicker than she wanted to, but Moira still meant them.

“What I mean is that not many would have taken that initiative to go and save people they didn’t know, especially when they’re only here to fix a smaller problem.”

Geralt’s smile returned, and Moira’s eyes found themselves focusing on his lips. Few men here compared to the Witcher at all, she realized.

“I know a certain Princess that would have done the same thing.” he shrugged.

“That might have been the nicest thing you’ve said to me since your arrival to Skellige.”

“When have I been anything less than cordial with you?” he asked, raising a brow at her.

Moira laughed. “You may not be a mean person, Geralt, but you have the emotional intelligence of a rock.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, his grin unwavering. “That is something I have yet to hear. I will add it to the list of things people have to say for the Witchers.”

Even with the witty remarks and fleeting smiles, a sinking feeling had been growing within her since he first stepped foot in her room. Part of her began to wonder if he felt trapped or if this was wrong, the inner formalities of her life speaking loudly in her mind as she thought more and more that she should tell him to leave.

“I didn’t mean to keep you here, if you were only stopping by, that is.” Moira said, eyes falling to her lap as she played with her fingers. “There’s a really good tavern my friend works at in the village if the castle is a little too boring for your liking.”

“What makes you think you were keeping me?” Geralt asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

Moira paused, glancing around as his words mulled over in her head.

“Um, well…I’m not quite sure.” she laughed nervously. “I never have guests in my room other than Saorise and our handmaids, let alone this late at night. I’m not really sure how to make someone welcomed.”

“You really are a modest Princess deep down.” Geralt said, dropping his head as he made fun of her.

“Oh, will you stop!” Moira laughed, reaching for a pillow behind her before tossing it at him.

The Witcher caught it with ease and gently tossed it back to her, giving her something to wrap her arms around as she crossed her legs and let it sit in her lap. She could stare at him this way, sitting in her room in the middle of the night without any worry from the outside world on their minds. Maybe she was a little modest, embarrassed at having a man in her quarters so late, but Moira was never one to tread on the careful side.

Only two nights ago, Moira never would have thought she would be awake in the midnight hour talking with a Witcher who made her heart beats in ways one may only feel when looking at a beautiful, rare sunset when they knew those colors could never be mirrored again.

“Well, how about I make it easier for you and let myself out?” Geralt asked, beckoning to the door as he stood up.

“That would be the appropriate thing to do, Witcher.” Moira smiled.

Nodding at her, Geralt crossed her room towards the door and her eyes followed him with every stride. But then, he glanced back at her.

“I’m glad you’re alright. Goodnight, Moira.”

“Goodnight, Geralt.” she waved.

With the fire crackling at her feet, Moira slid under her covers that night and there was more on her mind now than before. Her cheeks were warm to the touch and she was certain it wasn’t from the fire when she was replaying every word he spoke in her head.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x OC #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x OC #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x OC

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 3 years

Text

Without You

Prompt: Meeting after a long time apart

Pairing: Jaskier/Yennefer (background Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer)

Rating: M

Warnings: Implied/referenced torture; Presumed character death (no one is actually dead); Heavy drinking

Summary: Jaskier barely copes after word spreads that Yennefer has perished at Sodden Hill. But when Nilfgaard sets their sights of him, help comes from an unexpected place.

This was supposed to be a Wuv the Bard fic for @whataboutthebard, but it grew a whump, so I had to recategorize it. You can read it below or here on AO3.

The day before Oxenfurt’s winter term starts, Jaskier learns that Yennefer of Vengerberg perished defending Sodden Hill, going out in a blaze of glory that took an entire squadron of soldiers with her. It’s a death worthy of the most terrifying, wonderful woman he ever met, and he thinks he might be sick just thinking about it. He drinks far too much mead and sleeps through the first day of classes. It’s lucky that the dean is a friend and had met Yennefer when she visited Jaskier at Oxenfurt two winters before, because that’s the kind of infraction that could get a professor dismissed.

The news comes only days after Jaskier learns that the entire Cintran royal family, including little Princess Cirilla, was butchered during Nilfgaard’s invasion. Jaskier knows that Geralt was heading to Cintra to try and get to the princess before Nilfgaard did, but he has no way of knowing if Geralt also died in the invasion. He has a horrible feeling that if Princess Cirilla is dead, Geralt is too. There's no way his witcher would have let harm come to his child surprise while there was still breath in his lungs. He lays awake at night and tries not to imagine both of his lovers consumed by flames.

It’s a small comfort that Geralt came to see Jaskier in Oxenfurt before going to Cintra. They had the chance to apologize to each other for the stupid way they both acted during the dragon hunt and make amends for years of careless words and crossed boundaries. When they fell into bed afterwards, it almost felt like it had that first time, nearly two decades before.

“Let me come with you to Cintra,” Jaskier whispered afterwards. “I don’t want you to have to do this alone.”

Geralt pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I don’t want you anywhere near Nilfgaard. Or Calanthe, for that matter.”

“I can help. Calanthe won't listen to you, but she might heed me.”

"No," Geralt said firmly. "I won't risk you, Jask. Not for anything.”

Geralt was gone before Jaskier woke up the next morning. Jaskier is sure that his lover knew if he had stayed to say goodbye, Jaskier would have talked him into letting him come to Cintra, but that didn’t ease the sting. At least they had had a goodbye of sorts the night before.

But Jaskier never got a chance to say goodbye to Yennefer. He never saw her again after the dragon hunt, something that keeps him awake nearly as much as the thought of her burning up with her own power. If she died hating him…

Jaskier is so furious at himself, for not doing everything in his power to hold onto Geralt and Yennefer. He’s furious at Yennefer for walking away, not just from Geralt, but from him too. He’s furious at Geralt for pushing her away and for running off to Cintra and leaving Jaskier alone. Sometimes, he’s even furious at Princess Cirilla for drawing Geralt away, though that’s the kind of thought that only hits him when he’s deep in his cups. He’s not proud of it.

There’s nothing he can do to abate the well of grief and fury and desperate despair within him. He can’t even bring himself to sing about it.

***

He’s surprised that it takes a month for the dean to call him into his office. Sebastian and he have been friends since their schoolboy days and when Jaskier looks at the other man, he sees how his life could have turned out if he had done what his parents wanted him to do: marry a respectable woman, find a steady, stable job, have a few children to carry on the family name.

“Julian,” Sebastian says. “You know I consider you a friend.”

Jaskier’s head is pounding. He was at a tavern the night before when a bard began singing a ballad of the Fourteen of the Hill, as they’re calling the mages who perished at Sodden Hill. There was a verse about each of the Fourteen, and when she got to Yennefer’s name, Jaskier had to leave the tavern. He’s tried to write a dozen songs about Yennefer in the past month, and hasn’t been able to compose more than a few lines. That another bard, one that didn’t even know her, is the one telling her story hurts more than it should.

Sebastian’s expression is painfully kind. Jaskier would rather him be cruel. “But your conduct this term has been unacceptable. Being late to classes, not showing up for classes at all, coming to class reeking of alcohol—”

“I haven’t come to class drunk.” That’s one line Jaskier would never cross.

“But you have come to class hungover. You’re hungover now, aren’t you?”

Jaskier looks away, unable to meet his old friend’s eyes.

“I know how much she meant to you,” Sebastian says softly. “And I know you’re hurting. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But I’ve gotten complaints about you from students, parents, and your fellow professors. This can’t go on.”

“Are you asking for my resignation, Sebastian?”

“Not yet.” Sebastian shakes his head. “I’m reassigning all your classes for the rest of the term. Take a couple of months to get your head back on straight. If you can pull yourself together by the spring, we can discuss you resuming teaching. If not…”

He trails off, but he doesn’t need to elaborate. Jaskier swallows. “I’ll pull myself together.”

It’s what Yennefer and Geralt would have wanted.

***

Jaskier is going to allow himself one more night to wallow in his grief and self-pity, he tells himself as he sits at the corner at his second-favorite tavern that night (the proprietor of his first favorite is concerned about the amount Jaskier has been drinking and refuses to serve him.) As he sits there, huddled in the shadows, he thinks of the first time he saw Geralt, brooding in the corner like the tragic hero of a storybook. Geralt would surely have something smug to say if he saw Jaskier brooding tragically. Jaskier has to squeeze his eyes shut at the thought of the little smirk on Geralt’s face.

“I love the way you sit in the corner and brood,” he would say in a terrible imitation of Jaskier’s voice. He always made Jaskier sound so much more high-pitched than he really is.

“Cheeky bastard,” Jaskier mumbles into his ale, startling the barmaid who’s clearing mugs away from the next table over. He offers her an apologetic smile.

Several hours and three ales later, the proprietor of his second-favorite tavern shows him the door. Luckily, the proprietor of this third-favorite tavern wouldn’t notice if he stripped naked and drank himself to death while singing Skelligan sea shanties in the corner, so Jaskier staggers down the road towards that fine establishment. He starts to hum to himself, but the only tune that comes to mind is “Her Sweet Kiss,” and even thinking about that song causes something sour to curdle inside him.

He stumbles over his own two feet and nearly falls, but a strong hand seizes him by the upper arm, keeping him upright. Beaming, Jaskier turns to his rescuer.

“Thank you, my fr—”

A hand slaps over his mouth. Jaskier only has time to register the pale, watery eyes of the hooded man in front of him before two fingers press against the underside of his chin and darkness overtakes him.

***

A bucket of cold water to his face rouses him an indeterminate amount of time later. Jaskier jerks awake, gasping. For a moment, he’s disoriented and outraged, until he registers the chains binding his wrists over his head and his ankles together. When he looks around, he finds himself in some kind of cellar, mostly empty except for a few crates and many cobwebs. And the three men standing in front of him.

“You’ve slept long enough, bardling,” the man in the middle, a weaselly, pale-eyed thing with a canny expression Jaskier doesn’t like, says.

Bardling.

“If you don’t stop humming and let me sleep, bardling, I’ll turn you into an eel.”

“Get over here and kiss me, bardling.”

“Harder, bardling. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jaskier whispers, voice trembling.

The pale-eyed man laughs unpleasantly. “You’re not the one making demands here.”

Jaskier tries to draw himself up to his full height the best he can when he’s trussed up like a goose. “Who the fuck are you?”

“My name is Rience,” the man says and Jaskier has the horrible thought that surely he wouldn’t be so open with his identity if he expected Jaskier to live through this encounter. “The names of my compatriots don’t matter.”

The other two men, who are both scowly and muscular in a way that makes Jaskier think of either mercenaries or soldiers, make no indication of whether or not this offends them.

“What do you want with me?” Jaskier demands.

“We’re looking for someone,” Rience says. “Two someones, actually. I think you might know where they are. Geralt of Rivia and Princess Cirilla of Cintra.”

Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat. If someone is asking after Geralt and Cirilla, does that mean they’re alive? Does that mean they’re together? Did Geralt get to her in time? He recovers himself enough to say, “Princess Cirilla perished in Cintra, or so the rumors say. As for Geralt of Rivia… I haven’t seen him in over a year.”

“Wrong. He visited you here in Oxenfurt right before Saovine.”

Jaskier swallows hard. “Ah, yes, I’d completely forgotten about that. How silly of me. In my defense, it’s been a very long—”

The sensation of a hand tightening around his throat hits him, but none of the three men are touching him. Jaskier gasps and sputters, drawing a laugh out of Rience and one of the soldiers. Eyes watering with lack of breath, Jaskier struggles against his chains. For a terrifying moment, he thinks that they’re just going to kill him and leave his body in this cellar to rot.

And then the pressure on his throat releases and Jaskier sucks in a sweet lungful of air, not even minding that it’s stale.

“Where is Geralt of Rivia?” Rience asks.

Jaskier shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’m not privy to his plans.”

“You’ve been his friend and lover for decades. Surely he told you where he was planning to take the girl.”

Geralt didn’t need to tell Jaskier. Knowing that the contents of his own mind aren’t safe from a sorcerer, Jaskier does everything in his power to not think about Kaer Morhen. “I don’t know.”

Rience steps close enough that Jaskier can smell his sour breath. “I can tear your mind apart, you little shit. I can dig through your thoughts until I know every single thing the witcher ever told you. But I’d much rather you tell me willingly. It’s the only way you’re going to walk away from here alive.”

“I don’t know anything,” Jaskier whispers.

Rience sighs. “I was hoping you’d be difficult. It’s more fun that way.”

When the first punch comes, Jaskier closes his eyes and thinks of Geralt and Yennefer.

***

The beating isn’t all that bad, all things considered. Yes, Jaskier is fairly certain his nose and several of his ribs are broken, but they haven’t brought out blades or braziers yet. Yet. When Rience and his lackeys leave him alone in the cellar, Jaskier sags, letting his shoulders heave with his pained breaths. If the chains weren’t holding him up, he would crumple to the ground in despair.

Jaskier is just a bard. He’s not a witcher or a sorceress. He’s not trained to withstand torture. He will break, he realizes. He will tell Rience everything he knows, no matter how hard he tries to stay strong. And then Rience will kill him and Jaskier’s last act on this mortal plane will be to betray the man he’s loved since he was eighteen.

Tremors wrack Jaskier’s body as terror and pain overwhelm him. It’s not fair that he learned that Geralt is alive at the same time that he’s about to lose his own life. It’s not fair that he’s going to be used against the love of his life in such a horrific fashion. It’s not fair that he’s going to go to his grave without ever seeing Geralt again and that Geralt will lose both him and Yennefer.

Jaskier is alone in the cellar for a long time, long enough for him to feel every ache and pain.

From upstairs, there’s a thump and a long, loud scream.

Jaskier’s head jerks up. Do they have another prisoner here? Who else in Oxenfurt could they have targeted to get to Geralt, or is their other victim some poor bystander that they came across? There’s another agonized scream, this one cut off, and Jaskier starts to shake harder. He doesn’t want to die. He’s so, so afraid of dying, of everything that makes him him being snuffed out, leaving only an empty husk of flesh and bone. But even more terrifying is the thought of all the hurt that will come first, of the crying and bleeding that he’ll have to endure before Rience ends things.

Footsteps sound of the stairs and Jaskier’s head jerks up to see a hooded figure descending into the cellar. They’re smaller than Rience or either of his compatriots, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. Jaskier swallows around the knot of panic in his throat as the newcomer approaches him, their features obscured by the hood and the shadows of the cellar.

“I don’t know anything,” he says hoarsely. “You can do whatever you want to me and I still won’t know anything.”

The newcomer draws back their hood at the same time that Jaskier registers the smell of lilacs and gooseberries. He makes a punched-out noise at the sight of violet eyes that he didn’t ever think he would see again.

“A pretty illusion,” he tells the face of the woman he loves, voice trembling. “But Yennefer is dead. She died at Sodden Hill and you can wear her face all you want, but I still won’t know anything.”

“Jaskier—” the illusion starts to say.

Jaskier laughs as loudly and obnoxiously as he can when he’s trying not to breathe in too deeply. The scent of the false Yennefer makes him want to cry. “And you’ve already gotten it wrong. She never called me ‘Jaskier.’ No, I was ‘bard’ or ‘bardling’ or ‘you fucking idiot—’”

“For fuck’s sake, bardling. Pull yourself together!”

Jaskier’s jaw snaps shut. Strangely, it’s the harshness of her tone that convinces him. If Yennefer were to offer sweet words of comfort, to coo over his injuries and tell him that it would all be okay, then he would know for sure that the person standing in front of him wasn’t his sorceress. No mage trying to manipulate him into spilling his secrets would expect him to be comforted by the exasperation in her expression.

“Yenn?” he whispers.

Yennefer steps closer and he sees that she obviously hasn’t had a good time as of late. Her face is thinner and her nose has been broken at least once. Her hair is more bedraggled than he’s ever seen it and her dress and cloak clearly belong to a taller person; they drag on the ground behind her. There are dark shadows under her eyes. When she raises a hand to make the chains around his wrists and ankles fall away, he sees that there are hideous burn marks marring her own wrists.

Without the chains holding him up, Jaskier collapses into a heap on the ground. Looking up at Yennefer in disbelief, he says, “You…”

“Not here.” She grasps him by the shoulders and the next thing he knows, he’s being yanked through a portal.

***

It’s not the first time Yennefer has visited Jaskier at his faculty lodging in Oxenfurt. Two winters ago, she replaced his perfectly serviceable bed with an enormous, glorious feather mattress with silken sheets and a goose down comforter and they spent three days in the glamoured bed, lost in each other’s bodies. Now, she sits on the edge of his perfectly serviceable bed, wearing one of his old chemises and carefully avoiding looking at him as he wipes the blood and fear sweat from his face with a basin of water.

“You’re hurt.” He glances at the bruises dotting her legs.

She lifts one shoulder into a shrug. “Not badly.”

Jaskier nods, swallowing hard. He wants nothing more than to sink into her arms. There was a time when he wouldn’t have hesitated; touching her was the most natural thing in the world. But that was before the mountain and the cruel, senseless things they said to each other. So he keeps himself on the other side of the room to mitigate temptation.

Outside, someone shouts. Jaskier flinches, even as the shout turns into laughter.

“Rience fled with his tail between his legs when I threw a fireball at him,” Yennefer says. “And his men are dead.”

“Imagining fleeing from a fireball. Fucking coward.” Jaskier splashes more water on his face. His hands are shaking. “Thank you.”

“It was the least I could do.”

“Geralt and the child surprise—”

“Safe. I’ve been having dreams about them. They’re at Kaer Morhen with his brothers.”

Jaskier lets out a long, slow breath of relief. When he first learned about the djinn wish that binds Geralt and Yennefer, he was so jealous and furious to learn that they have a bond that he’ll never come close to matching. Now, he’s just relieved that Yennefer can tell him that Geralt is alive and that he got to Cirilla in time. “Thank the gods.”

“I saw what Nilfgaard left of Cintra. Gods had nothing to do with it.”

Jaskier turns to face her, taking in her hollow eyes. “Where have you been? I heard you’d died at Sodden Hill. I…” He breaks off, because he feels pathetic admitting the depths of his grief this past month, the way he nearly drank away his career and his life.

Yennefer’s jaw clenches in a way that reminds him of Geralt, not that she would appreciate the comparison. “I was taken by Nilfgaard’s mage, Fringilla, right after the battle. I spent a month in captivity. They thought they could use me to lure Geralt out, that our connection would alert him to my predicament.”

Jaskier makes a strangled noise. “Oh, fuck. Yenn…”

She shakes her head sharply, like she’s trying to shake off his sympathy. “When that didn’t work, they were planning to find you and torture his location out of you.”

Wincing, Jaskier touches his ribs. “Yeah, I figured that.”

“Fringilla put a spell on me that kept me docile,” Yennefer says softly. “It stopped me from wanting to escape and the dimeritium cuffs did the rest. But I heard her giving instructions to Rience. I knew the kind of man he is, how much he enjoys inflicting pain.” She touches the bump on the bridge of her nose almost absent-mindedly and Jaskier is suddenly flooded with the burning urge to track Rience down and eviscerate him. “I realized what he would do to you, bardling, and that knowledge broke through the haze. I had to get to you, no matter what it took.”

Jaskier can’t be on the other side of the room from her anymore. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he crosses the space between them, dropping down to his knees in front of her and taking her hands in his. They feel so fragile, her fingers thin and riddled with small cuts. “Yenn, I’m so sorry. The mountain—”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Not that long ago.” Jaskier closes his eyes. “I thought you were dead and the last conversation we’d ever had was a fight because I was too stupid and jealous about the djinn bond to see that you were hurting and—”

Yennefer pulls one hand from his grasp to cup his cheek in his hand. “That explains all the empty liquor bottles.”

Jaskier laughs without humor, feeling tears slipping out from behind his closed eyelids and down his cheeks. “I thought you were gone and Geralt too. I thought I lost both of you.”

“No, Jaskier,” Yennefer says. “You haven’t lost either of us. No matter what happens between Geralt and me, you won’t.”

Jaskier can’t hold back the tears anymore, so he buries his face into her lap and lets himself weep, letting out the grief and the terror and the pain. She doesn’t offer verbal assurances— if she did, he would really think this was a cruel trick of Rience’s— but she cards her fingers through his hair as gently as she would if they were lying in bed together. Jaskier cries until his eyes are sore and dry, but doesn’t lift his head from her lap. Part of him feels like the moment he stops touching her, she’ll vanish.

“I wore myself out portaling here and fighting Rience,” Yennefer says. Her voice would sound perfectly calm, if not for the faint tremor. “But tomorrow, I’ll see what I can do about your ribs. And then in a day or two, we can portal to Kaer Morhen to join Geralt.”

Jaskier lifts his head to meet her eyes. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I think Kaer Morhen is the one place Nilfgaard won’t find us,” she says. “Once Rience stops smoldering, he’ll be back. I won’t leave you here for him to find.”

Jaskier shudders at the very thought. “But you and Geralt…”

“If it will keep you and Cirilla safe, we’ll figure things out.” She brushes his tears away with her thumb. “We can worry about Geralt and me after we’re safe in Kaer Morhen, bardling. Or as safe as anyone is in a crumbling old ruin.”

“At least I have you to stop the ceiling from collapsing on me.” He offers her a watery smile.

Her returning smile is a small, almost unsure thing. “You say that like I wouldn’t be the one bringing the ceiling down on top of you.”

“Ah, Yennefer.” Tentatively, he brings her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “There’s the sweet disposition I missed so much.”

“Did you hit your head during your ordeal?”

“Most likely, yes.”

Yennefer squeezes his hand and pulls him up to sit on the bed next to her. “I missed you too, bardling.”

Jaskier closes his eyes and rests his chin on the top of her head. “Thank you for coming for me. I didn’t think anyone would.”

Yennefer leans against him, letting out a shaky little breath. “I’ll always come for you. So will Geralt. I’m sorry you doubted that.”

Jaskier puts his arms around her, the awkwardness of their separation pushed to the side, and lets himself hold her like he hasn’t in over a year, like he thought he never would again. Tomorrow, they’ll have to have a longer talk about the dragon hunt, the djinn wish, and Geralt. Apologies will need to be made and conversations about the future had. They’ll have to make their way to Kaer Morhen to reunite with Geralt and meet his child surprise. They’ll have to figure out what to do now that Nilfgaard is after both of them.

But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, Jaskier just wants to hold the woman he loves and forget everything else.

***

#the witcher #yennskier #yenskier #jaskier x yennefer #jaskier/yennefer #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #my fic #my writing #what about the bard #whump the bard

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x-ladyathena-x · 3 years

Text

Commander

Kylo Ren x Reader

Part 2 of 4 [Cinderella - Kylo Ren] in my Wishful Thinking series- This is a completely ridiculous self-indulgent, smut filled catastrophe. All stories in this fairytale AU are interlocking and part of the same continuous plot, but can be read as stand alones. Basically, reader is the main character of all these fairytale-esque situations that she finds herself in and gets to bang all the dangerous, hot men.

Part 3 of 4 [Sleeping Beauty - The Witcher/Geralt of Rivia] - Morning

Part 4 of 4 [Beauty and the Beast - The Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes] Castle

Part 1 of 4 [Little Red Riding Hood - Dean Winchester] Red

Warnings: Shameless Smut & dirty talk/cursing. 18+ only!

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: Cinderella AU. After your encounter in the woods, you find out you’ve been invited to a party being thrown by the Commander of Starkiller Base.

After spending a few moments adjusting your dress and smirking to yourself about your road-side run-in, you were back on the road to your grandma’s house.

Up ahead, parked in the driveway sat your cousin’s car. You parked, killed the engine of your Corvette, grabbed the basket of muffins off the passenger’s seat, and walked inside.

Your grandma was ecstatic about the muffins and seeing you, but not quite as ecstatic as your cousin. She eyed you with a wide-eyed expression and nodded to speak to you in the next room.

“What’s going on?” You asked her cautiously.

She thrust her phone into your hand. It was lit up with a series of messages from multiple people that were mutual friends of the two of you. Different variations of:

Is she coming to the party?

Have you been able to contact y/n?

Does she know about his invitation?

“Have you checked your messages lately?” She asked, bubbling over with excitement.

You furrowed your brows, confused, “No. I’ve been driving. Plus, I was passing though that stretch of woods where there’s no phone signal. I haven’t gotten any messages until now—”

You trailed off as the phone in your purse buzzed out of control, trying to catch up with all the messages coming through. You all but ran over to your phone and that’s when you saw it. It was one of the first notifications you tapped. A formal invitation to what was obviously a very exclusive party being thrown by none other than Kylo Ren, the commander of Starkiller base.

“This can’t be real,” you said, looking over to your cousin.

She nodded her head in excitement, “Oh, its real. Apparently, he saw the article about you and your Corvette restoration in that car magazine. He’s throwing this whole party just as an excuse to meet you.”

“What? No way. How would you even know that?” You said skeptically.

“Well,” your cousin trailed off, “My friend Jenny’s brother has a friend that’s girlfriend is an engineer on Starkiller base and even though it’s supposed to be hush hush, the whole base is buzzing with the fact that as soon as he saw you in that magazine, he was absolutely captivated.”

This news made your stomach flutter and you thought back to the wish you’d made earlier. You’d wished to have more run-ins like the one you’d had with Dean. A thrill shot through you at the memory of Dean bending you over your Corvette’s hood, not even an hour ago and the unknown thrill of meeting the infamous Kylo Ren later tonight.

The Commander was rumored to be extremely handsome. Tall with long dark hair, but the rumor was also that he could have a mean streak.

“Wait, isn’t he supposed to be an asshole?” You asked.

Your cousin shrugged, “I don’t know, but he’s definitely your type. Tall, dark, broody, and sad.”

You had to laugh at this, “Okay, well,” You tugged at your wrinkled, sex ravaged dress and hair, “lets make this pumpkin ready for a party.”

-----

Later that evening, clad in a shimmering pale blue evening gown with a slit nearly to your hip, you entered a grand ballroom that dripped in elegance and excessive wealth. You’d heard that his mother’s side of the family came from money, but even that knowledge didn’t prepare you for what you saw.

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to grab us drinks,” Your cousin said as she rushed off to the open bar.

You watched her disappear into the sea of beautiful dresses and expensive suits before panning your gaze around the room. You didn’t exactly know who you were looking for, you’d never seen a picture of the Commander, only rumors of what he looked like.

Something made you turn your head, a feeling, a calling, an urge. Something you couldn’t quite explain, and that’s when you saw him. Without a shred of a doubt this was the man you were looking for.

He radiated power. Tall with dark hair long enough to tough his shoulders, his dark eyes bore holes into you like he wanted nothing more than cross this room and rip your dress off. Honestly, you’d definitely let him if he tried because the rumors were nothing compared to the real thing. This man not only radiated power, but raw sex. Something about him made you want to throw all caution and manners out the door and fuck him immediately. Maybe you were just feeling extra bold, empowered by the secret wish you’d made to yourself.

Your secret thoughts made your core ache and once again you felt a wetness pooling on your thigh. You sighed, maybe you should start wearing panties if this was going to become a regular thing. No, no, definitely not. Not wearing panties worked out very well for you earlier today.

Kylo Ren continued staring at you from across the room, but now his gaze warmed you up from the inside out, literally. You felt hot. You felt—something.

You gasped at the sudden onslaught of pressure on your clit. It nearly brought you to your knees and took everything you had not to cry out in pleasure.

Kylo began to cross the room, never breaking eye contact, and smirking all the way.

When he reached you, you were on the verge of losing the feeling in your legs. He scooped an arm around you, and held you against him as if the two of you were dancing. You felt warm breath against your ear and heard his deep voice whisper.

“You better watch out, thinking such dirty thoughts that loudly.”

You whimpered. Of course, why didn’t it cross your mind before? He had jedi training, he could read minds, hear thoughts, and probably a slew of all sorts of other things. Such as use the force in very sneaky, savory ways. Like right now.

“Do you want me to keep going?” Kylo whispered with a tiny nip on your ear.

You couldn’t speak so you just nodded your head.

He chuckled under his breath, “I thought so.”

The pressure on your clit sped up. It felt like an invisible finger working you under your dress. You were so close, but trying not to scream at the top of your lungs at how good it felt.

“You’re so close, I can tell,” he said darkly, “If you can come without screaming in front of all our guests, I’ll take you in the back and you can scream as loud as you want.”

That did it. That’s what pushed you over. You exhaled in a loud huff that was drowned out by the music playing on the speakers as ecstasy washed over you.

“Good girl,” Kylo whispered as he took your hand and led you through a side door that opened into an empty hallway.

No sooner had the door closed behind the two of you was Kylo’s real hand under your dress, “Mmm…” he said as he slipped a large finger inside you, “Even better than I imagined.”

You gasped and clenched down in pleasure, “Kylo—”

“Commander,” he corrected you.

Your eyes widened and if possible, his stern command made you even more turned on, “Commander, please do that again.”

“What? This?” He said as he added another finger and began to flex in in a come hither motion.

“Yes!” you panted, “Yes, that.”

“Hmm,” he hummed under his breath, “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He pumped faster, “Just had this pussy fucked earlier today by someone else and already needy for my dick, aren’t you?”

Your mind was fogged with pleasure. All you could do was pant, “Yes, Commander.”

He must have liked that because he pressed a kiss to your neck as he worked his fingers faster, bringing you to another orgasm. Your screams echoed out down the empty hallway.

Before you came down from your high, you felt something stretching you from the inside. A tiny whimper left your mouth.

“You like that?” He began undoing the snaps to his suit pants and unbuttoned his shirt revealing a muscular frame and a very hard cock.

Kylo ran a hand under your dress though the slit and wrapped his palm around your thigh. He backed you into the wall and hooked your thigh under his forearm. He pushed into you roughly and kissed you on the mouth at the same time as he began hard deliberate thrusts that rocked your whole body.

He felt so good.

“I’ve been thinking about having this tight pussy wrapped around me since you walked into my party with all your dirty little thoughts. When I realized how bad you wanted to be fucked, I didn’t want to waste any time with formal introductions. I know you, y/n, and I know you already know who I am,” he growled as he continued to roughly thrust into you.

His skin clapped against yours, echoing in the hall along with your breathless pants and whines. You were so close and you could tell that he knew it. He was getting off to the fact that he was getting you off.

“Scream for me, y/n.” he demanded as his dark eyes stayed locked on yours.

“Commander!” you screamed as you came hard.

Kylo wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttered and he didn’t pull out. He came deep inside as he pressed you harder against the wall.

You waited for him to pull out but he stayed inside for a few more seconds as he wrapped both arms around you, holding you gently. A stark contrast to the rough sex you’d just had. He nuzzled your neck and you could’ve sworn you heard a whimper come from him as he kissed from your neck down to your throat.

He gently pulled out and sat you on your feet as he cupped your face in both hands and kissed you softly.

“I can’t let you go, I need you, y/n.”

Before you could process what that could mean, he passed his hand in front of your eyes and you instantly fell asleep. He lifted you bridal style and began walking in the direction of the tallest tower…

#x-ladyathena-x #wishfulthinkingseries #commander #kylo ren #ben solo #star wars #reader #kylo ren x y/n #kylo ren x reader #Fairytale AU

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prowlingthunder · 1 year

Text

WIP TAG GAME

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it. I have been tagged by @revanchxst and congratulations I lowkey hate you this isn’t even all of them you’re a monster. I have over four hundred wips.

Tagging @mtraki, @mandakatt and @thelavenderhimbo

A Child of Blood

Birds of a Feather

Wolfthreat

Denguards

Witcher!Buffy

Red

A Mother’s Love

Harry Potter and the Light of the Moon

Minor Troubles

Roses in Stained Glass

The Ripple Effect

Des and Noct swap places

Dragon’s Breath

[Eddie Finch]

[Jake Finch]

[Hobbit/RW]

[Killing Stalking/Fallout3]

[RW/PJO]

In a God’s Bedroom

[ST/RW]

Brothers And Sisters

[Thor/RW]

[WTNC/Arcana]

Foxkits

[CSI NY Lupercalia]

[Dark Matter sequel to Pack and Pups]

Hell Hath No Fury

The Devil’s Luck

Highschool

[Sil/F8]

(Best Laid Plans)

Outsider

The GOAT

Big Town Blues

Radstorm

Line-dried Laundry

(Porns Start Like This)

[Inside Pandora’s Box]

[Pandora’s Divide]

Russian Roulette

[Silquinn scarmarks soulmate kidfic]

Snow Angels

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Winter Animals

All The Things I Didn’t Say

[silquinn daemonfic]

Ascendent Ab Infernis

to abstain from doing harm

A General Gift

Nicias/Nicola/Caleb

Triplets!verse

Cathedral of You fanfic

Dawnfire

Prompto/Cor

Galahdian!Noctis

Galahdian!Prompto

Galahdian!Gladio

Galadian!Ignis

The Feral Coeurl of Galahd

Cor/Ariel Sealion dress fic

[legion beaucoup] sequal

Terrible Things

Papa!Nyx

Vampire!Shields

[modern ardyn/ravus au]

herbwitch!Ignis

Cor/Ariel Sealion dance fic

[transplant fics]

Vipers Victim

Caleb first heat in insomnia

give a brother wings

snowchild

Zag/Achilles/Pat afterbattle comfort

Charon/Hermes/Zag

Wolflords

Caran Dagra

Starlight, Starbright

Blood and Water

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

Step Two

[Bioshock ABO]

[Heron/Seraphim fix-it]

(This is what it’s like)

(wolf fur and dragon teeth)

All The Little Children

Puppy At Heart

Batman/Hawkgirl

Brad Wayne

[Genji Lives]

[Yuuma Op]

Nest of Vipers

[Stanfic]

[Genji Lives Path]

[McHanzo Timetravel Shenanigans]

Taijo Aitai fanfic

Quadrature

Kagome, Kagome

Coal Dust

Blood and Ashes

The Chosen Ones

What Happened To Gavin

[RPF: PT meets lR]

Jedi!Shmi

Mirshko/Cody

Snowdrops

Son of Sands

Wolves

[Jeeri Stormwitch thing]

Supernova

Revan+Wolves

Monsters in the Dark

A Pocket Ful of Sand

[tcw/ep7 timetravel]

Sempiternal Energy

The Prophecy

Impulse

Matchstick/Hell

Abo gullet fic

Safe sex

Shmijango slave au

[SamJack]

[cohabitation fic]

Bad Plan

Marching Band

What Big Sisters Are For

Homecoming

[Arrow/RW Multiverse]

[Papa!Cye]

Empty Letters for the Yiling Patriarch

Little shadows far reaching

[keith and marie]

witchwolves

[Human!geralt]

#wip game #writing game #writing meme #prowlingwrites

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falcqns · 3 years

Text

Over Again

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader, Sebastian Stan x Reader

Summary: Part two to To Be So Lonely. You work with Tom again, and is forced to face Henry.

Warnings:

A/N: Here’s part two! Hope you enjoy!

Said I'd never leave her

'Cause her hands fit like my t-shirt

Tongue-tied over three words, cursed

Running over thoughts that make my feet hurt

Bodies intertwined with her lips

The next few years with you and Sebastian went great. Both you and Sebastian had issued a statement discussing what had happened, as well as Henry. The media was all over it for a few weeks, but eventually, it died down. Henry was able to maintain his role on The Witcher, but you had heard that things between him and production were a little tense. He hadn’t made any more movies, and rarely appeared at public events, such as award shows. You felt bad for the way he was being treated, but Sebastian reassured you that its what he deserved.

You and Sebastian had gotten married, and had a 2 year old daughter named Lerae Georgeta Stan. You continued to work, doing big projects such as a few Marvel movies, and quite a few Tom Cruise movies. When Tom called you and asked if you wanted to be in the new Mission Impossible, you said yes. He had told you that Henry would be appearing well, but you insisted everything would be fine. Henry had seemed very remorseful the last few years, and you weren’t one to hold grudges. You’d have scenes with him, but Tom assured you there would always be another person in the scene with you at least.

Sebastian was happy for you, of course, but he was still nervous. You understood his nervousness, and when he asked if him and Lerae could come with you, you agreed. You hadn’t ever left your daughter, and you weren’t planning on it anytime soon. You didn’t want to be one of those ‘celebrity moms’ who never see their children.

You arrived in England a few weeks after getting the role, and you, Seb, and Lerae found an apartment which was close to the set, and planned to come to set whenever they could. Seb still wanted Lerae to experience a normal childhood, and explore London, so he planned on taking her out to do “Daddy - Daughter” activities in the city.

You had arrived on set the first day of shooting, without your husband and daughter. They were supposed to come, but Lerae threw a huge tantrum the night before out of pure exhaustion, so Sebastian decided it would be best to keep her home for the day, so you were on your own. You had worked with some of your co stars before, and the ones you hadn’t worked with, you had met previously. Working with Tom Cruise had its benefits. You didn’t see Henry, but everyone else was there.

Now she's feeling so low since she went solo

Hole in the middle of my heart like a polo

And it's no joke to me

So can we do it all over again?

Just as you were finishing up in Hair and Makeup, Henry walked through the door. Every one said hello to him, but you just gave him a nice smile, to which he didn’t return, his eyes averting to the ground. Everyone was finished a few minutes later, and then it was just you, Henry, and the hair and makeup artists. You were about to say hello to him, when your phone rang. You answered, and your heart dropped.

“I have to go back to the States today,” Sebastian said, and you heard him sniffle. Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“What? Why?” You asked.

He sighed before talking. “Apparently a good 20 minutes of footage is unusable because the files on the camera card corrupted, so I have to go back to reshoot. I’m so sorry.” Sebastian said, and you heard him breaking down over the phone, and your daughter asking why her daddy was crying.

“Sweetheart,” You said gently, and noticed Henry’s face get even sadder. “It’s okay. Bring Lerae here, and you head back. I can manage her on my own for a few days, okay?” You said, and Sebastian calmed down.

“O-Okay. I’ll bring her in about an hour.” He said, and you nodded.

“Sounds good. How long will you be gone?”

“Only about a week. I’m just feeling bad because we just got here,a dan now I have to leave you alone to parent in a whole new country while shooting a movie.” He explained, and you chuckle. “We’ll survive. We’ve had weeks alone before, dont worry, okay?”

“Okay.” Sebastian said. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay. Te iubesc,” You said.

“Și eu te iubesc,” He responded, and he hung up.

Your hair and makeup was finished soon after, and you headed out of the trailer. Henry’s eyes followed you out, but didn’t say anything. You walked over to Tom and explained the situation, to which he was very understanding.

Not too much later, Sebastian sent you a text saying he was here, and you walked over to meet him at the entrance to set. His eyes were still red and puffy, and Lerae was clinging to him for dear life, obviously afraid of the big burly security guards.

“Hi sweetie,” You said, and your daughter reached out for you. “Hi, Mama,” She said, before she pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Hi other sweetie,” You said as you turned to Sebastian, who smiled as well. “Hi baby,” he said. He gave you a sweet kiss, and handed you Lerae’s diaper bag. She was mostly potty trained, but did tend to have accidents sometimes, just like a normal two year old. Seb then wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you into his chest. Lerae giggled, and rested her head on his chest too.

“We’ll be okay, my love,” You whispered, and he nodded.

“I know. I just worry sometimes.” He said and you nodded. “It’s okay.”

He sniffled again and pulled you two closer. “I should go, or I’m going to miss my flight, but I’ll call you when I land, okay?” He promised, and drew your lips in for a kiss, which made Lerae gag. “Ew, Dada!” She exclaimed, hiding her face behind her Winter Soldier bear. Sebastian chuckled, and lifted her out of your arms.

“be good for mama, okay? Dada will be back on Sunday,” He said, and she nodded. “I pwomise Dada. I be good.” Sebastian smiled, and hugged her to his chest. He pressed kisses on her cheek, which she returned, and then she was handed back to you. The three of you said your goodbyes, and you two watched as Sebastian walked away.

“Okay, honey. We’re going to go to my trailer and play there until Mama has to go film.” You explained as she wiggled out of your embrace to walk on her own. “Otay Mama. I see Uncle Tom?” She asked, as she gripped your hand and you two made your journey to the trailers. “Yes honey, we can go see Uncle Tom in a little bit.” She nodded, and you watched as she gazed around at the buildings on set. She had been on set’s before, but she was always so interested. You and Sebastian had a suspicion that she is a star in the making.

You two passed the makeup trailer just as Henry was coming out, and you smiled at him. He gave you a sad smile in return and retreated to his trailer to wait to be called to set. You two walked inside your own trailer, and Lerae climbed up on the couch to take her shoes off.

The two of you were able to stay in the trailer for a few more hours, her colouring, and you rehearsing lines, before a PA knocked on your door and told you they needed you on set in 20 minutes. You got changed into your costume, and Lerae gasped as she saw what you were wearing. You had a yellow sundress with white flowers on it, with matching yellow ballet flats.

She scrambled up, and gave you a hug. “You so pwetty, Mama.” Your heart melted and you lifted up your little girl. “Thank you, baby. Let’s get out shoes on and head to set, okay? We get to see Uncle Tom!” Lerae giggled, and slid out of your grasp. She got her shoes on and gripped her “Bucky Bear” in her hands, and followed you out.

You were reminding her that when the cameras are rolling, she has to be quiet, and sit in your chair nicely, when she squealed. You looked up, and saw Henry. “Mama! Supaman!” She exclaimed, and your stomach flipped. “Yeah, baby, that is Superman. Maybe if you’re nice enough, he’ll say hi to you,” And she nodded with a determined look on her face.

Henry noticed you, and then his eyes drifted down to Lerae. He smiled, and gave her a wave. She then decided to take off running to go say hello to one of her favourite superhero’s. You followed after her, and smiled when Henry finally talked to you.

“Hi, Y/N,” He said, giving you a tentative smile.

“Hey. Listen, you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. It’s been 3 years since then, and we’ve all moved on. I’m sorry for what my friends did to your career. I never wanted that to happen.” You said, and he smiled warmly.

“Thanks. And, you don’t have to apologize. What I did was horrible, and I deserved what happened. I don’t blame you, or anyone. I was actually hoping to a police to Sebastian about what happened, but I guess he left,” He said, glancing down at your daughter who had her face smushed against his leg, and gazing around the room.

“He’ll be back Sunday. He feels really bad too, so I think you two talking it out is the best thing.” Henry nodded, just before Tom came up and scooped up his niece.

“Hey, you two. We’re about to start. I’ll watch her.” He mentioned, while tickling her belly, and you thanked him, before moving to start filming.

If you're pretending from the start

Like this with a tight grip

Then my kiss can mend your broken heart

I might miss everything you said to me

The rest of the week went well, with Lerae glued to Henry. You two hadn’t had a moment alone to actually talk, but Michelle and Rebecca came into your trailer and insisted that they could watch your daughter so you could go talk to him.

You knocked on his trailer door, and heard a faint ‘come in!’, so you entered. He smiled at you as he was petting Kal, who ran up to you.

“I was hoping to actually talk to you about what happened.” You said and Henry nodded. “Me too.”

You sat down on the couch, and pet Kal, while Henry sat next to you. You took a deep breath before speaking. “I’m really sorry. If I had known how you were feeling, I wouldn’t have mentioned it, or at least brought it up in a different way. And I definitely wouldn’t have talked about him as much as I did. I was just in love, and wanted to tell everyone about him,” You said and Henry nodded.’

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I guess I built up how our first meeting would go in my head, and then I got angry when it went in a completely different way. Sebastian told me how excited you were to work with me, and on The Witcher, and I instantly felt bad. I wanted to come and apologize but you were gone, and the damage was already done.” He said, his eyes down cast.

You scrunched up your eyebrows. “How bad was it after?” You asked.

Henry looked up at you. “I got screamed at. By everyone. Anya, Freya, Joey, Lauren, and Director, everyone. Anya, Freya and Joey didn’t talk to me for a god two months afterwards, and everyone else was extremely harsh on me. My agent and manager said they had never seen someone act the way I did, and that they were considering dropping me. Thankfully, they didn’t, but it was very tense for a while. I’ve never seen my parents more angry at me. I honestly thought they were going to disown me. Once I had made my statement, I couldn’t find work. Until this movie, I was relying solely on The Witcher for income. Which, is okay while were filming, but the cheques aren’t as big after filming wraps. I thought for sure that I’d lose this role too when you found out, but I’m very thankful that I didn’t.”

You smiled sadly. “I don’t hold grudges. You’ve changed, I’ve changed, and everyone’s moved on. We’re all good. And don’t worry too much about talking to Sebastian. Knowing him, he’s going to try to apologize for getting me first,” You joked, and Henry laughed.

“You two seem happy. Sometimes I wonder if we could have been that happy,” he remarked sadly, and you nodded.

“Maybe in another life. But, we’ll never know.” You said, and Henry smiled.

“I’m just happy that we can be friends,” He said. “You’re daughter seems amazing. What’s her name?” He asked, as he gazed out the window where she was playing tag with Rebecca and Michelle.

“Her name’s Lerae. It means ‘strong and brave’, which she is. She was born two months premature, and she fought like hell the entire time.” You explained, your eyes drifting to her. She was running around, her blue eyes reflecting off the sun. You could see so much of Sebastian in her.

“She’s the real superhero. Not me,” Henry said and you chuckled.

“Sebastian says the same thing.”

You'll never know how to make it on your own

And you'll never show weakness for letting go

I guess it's still hard if the seed's sown

But, do you really want to be alone?

The film went smoothly after that. Sebastian arrived on Sunday, and him and Henry had a good talk, which resulted in them making plans to go to a Rugby game with some of Henry’s friends. After that game, they became really good friends. Chris and Anthony forgave him as well, and the four of them were great friends.

Lerae loved her Uncle Henry, and she loved Kal. Her daddy may be a Marvel hero, but she always had a soft spot for Superman. Henry remained involved in her life. He came to every birthday party, every dance recital, and eventually every movie premier when she grew up. He got her her first acting job at the age of 7, on The Witcher. After that, she was hooked.

You and Sebastian stayed together through everything. You gave him a son, named James Anthony Stan, when Lerae was 4. The two were inseparable, much like you and Sebastian.

Even though you and Henry remained friends, he always loved you. You’d notice it sometimes, wether it be in the way he looked at you when he thought you didn’t notice him looking, or the way he treated your children. Sometimes it wasn’t as noticeable, and you’d think it faded, but then you’d catch his eye in the right light and you saw it again.

The love.

If you're pretending from the start

Like this with a tight grip

Then my kiss can mend your broken heart

I might miss everything you said to me

And I can lend you broken parts

That might fit like this

And I will give you all my heart

So we can start it all over again

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