#This is like when you think you got rid of a roach problem

[missmrvee]

Don't worry guys, if you ever kill someone, just say "that's not true" (no need to elaborate) and "I don't claim that label" it'll work, it'll work so well

[justajsworkshop]

being in control is a terrible thing… i manifested seeing a roach. no, HAVING a roach in my room. literally not even a day before i imagined a roach crawling over me, and…. how 😭 i think it only “manifested” because i simultaneously underestimated and overestimated the power i have. i sometimes fear not being in control or things that i fear manifesting actually manifesting and so, yk. that’s what shows. but i mean, GOD. terrible. slightly amusing, but ultimately a traumatizing experience. anyways, have you ever been in a similar situation? 🥲

LMAO reality really is a mirror because i have been in that exact situation, and i’m very literal when i say it. i had a roach problem a while back, and i successfully manifested that away.

it was back in my higher anxiety days, and i was feeling pretty powerless against them, ngl. but it taught me two things: (1) if i could multiply roaches in my apartment by obsessing over them, i could do the same with stuff i actually want, like dolla dolla bills. (2) i remember one night when i was up stewing over them, i asked myself, “what would god say/do in this situation?” and the answer was easy: god would say “depart from me” and the roaches would be gone, so i did that. i cant remember what happened, but suddenly they weren’t a problem anymore… they just kinda blipped from my awareness, and i only realized later when i thought to myself… huh, haven’t seen those around. thank god (lol—literally).

i tell you this story because i was dealing with a similar, seemingly persistent problem not too long ago, and i thought about those damn roaches like… if i can get rid of those (and they were stressing me tf out), i can get rid of these. well, lo and behold, a day later i saw one of those roaches again in the problem spot, and I LAUGHED. because ofc i would. haven’t seen one since, reminded myself that’s not real/part of my experience anymore. we’re in the clear. but it was just FUNNY to me because it reminds me who i truly am.

the power can seem scary, and i used to be scared of it too. i have awful arcanaphobia, and my mind would jump scare me with mental images out of a horror show whenever i’d close my eyes to visualize other stuff. then, i’d fear, “omg is that going to manifest??” sometimes it did, sometimes not. then i started telling myself anytime i mentally see an eight legged beast, i make $1,000, and they soon stopped showing up in my mind.

idk if any of this was actually helpful for you, but i will say that i’ve def been there, and that season doesn’t last forever if you don’t want it to. it’s the same with everything else you experience about yourself—choose the narrative around it. decide now you’ll grow out of it the more you get to know yourself as imagination, and that’s exactly what will happen. you got this. 🖤

[thotsforvillainrights]

What about stain with a vigilante so who is confused as much as him that she got in a relationship 🤭

(I like the chance to inspect a relationship like this a little closer so this is a really interesting ask, Anon. Hope you don't mind I've of course left the reader a little open and more insert-able for everyone. Thank you for the ask and the Stain writing opportunity!)

~Stain and The Vigilante~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

-Vigilante, anit-hero, villain, monster. He's no stranger to having mutiple title among these and honestly he could care less about any of them at this point. He'd transformed himself from Chizome, to Stendhal, to finally the one true Hero Killer. The man that would take it upon himself to cleanse society singlehandedly and rid the streets of these filthy so-called heroes. Just the thought of them continuining to thrive, infesting the world like roaches made him sick to his stomach. He'd been more active than usual lately, trying to beat his record levels when he'd accidently came across you.

-Naturally he'd taken a moment to think first as he watched you from the shadows. He racked his brain trying to dredge up any information on you that he could but nothing was coming up. He didn't even know your name. Perhaps a newcomer then? A fresh faced hero on their first patrol? Yes that must be it. Without knowing you or your convictions he was hesitant on taking you off the map. He wanted to at least know what agency you worked under. Knowing this would help him determine how he'd split you open with his blade. However when he decided to strike you'd heard the police in the distance drawing near and fled from your spot.

-This was unlike a hero. This meant you were in fact either a villain or a vigilante...

-A week had gone by since this event and he had long since forgotten about you until he finally crossed paths with you again, this time a little closer than usual. "Hero killer Stain, you'll be a big fish for my net." You held a knife to his throat and he smiled. "Oh is that so then? Wasn't aware I managed to get a bounty on my head finally. Amazing how you heroes always seem to slap a price tag on things these days." You scoff at him and shake your head with a small smile. "Hero? Price Tag? Oh no, I couldn't give a shit about that. You're my biggest target and I will me the one to rid the streets of you. It's I alone that'll purge that problem." You push the blade closer to the delicate skin on his throat and he moves his head at an angle better suited for you. "Go on then...slice." He smirks at you. His confidence is unmatched. He knew you couldn't land a hit on him. Had you not been so focused on his face then you would've notice his blade inching closer and closer to your stomach.

-Both of you left with a few nicks on each other but alive nonetheless. Had the authorities not shown up, one of you would likely be dead or heavily incapacitated. This would not be the last time you both me at challengers, but it would be the last time you meet as enemies.

-Somewhere along the lines, your fights had become less action heavy and more conversation heavy. You'd revealed a few things about each other and you noticed the few times he got you on your back he never delivered the last blow, instead opting to disappear altogether until your next meeting. There were less hero deaths lately and way less sightings of the mysterious vigilante going by (whatever your vigilante name is). You both ended up confused when you'd crossed paths on a rooftop one night by accident and didn't end up fighting but sitting alongside each other and talking instead.

-You never formally got asked to be his significant other at any point. It was just a given when he found you bloodied and beaten in a nearby alley one night. Against his better judgement, he brought you to his own home/hideout and patched you up. Healed you and waited until you woke up 2 days later. He revealed his face to you. He saved your life...the complete opposite of something he's usually do. You were indebted to him and he was sick to his stomach at the thought of having you around more often these days. You've both had the thought cross your minds more than once: 'How did I end up with you???' And at some point, you both realized you'd rather die than be without the other anymore

[sethmacenzie]

So I've said my part about ofmd season 2s finale and that I didn't even care anymore that my favourite character died, but the show had such an insane decline from season 1 to season 2 it was simply not as enjoyable for the entire time.

So here's a quick critique of open issues that stuck with me:

-they killed Ivan off-screen and he's only mentioned once in passing, no one cares or questions where he is when they meet again, they were fine with Izzy there, but didn't even bother asking about a crew member they were much closer with -Buttons turned into a seagull (which I didn't think was bad) and it's only questioned once by Roach and then never again brought up, and Roach asks if Ed didn't simply kill him and it's just ignored -Ed doesn't really become part of the crew, he doesn't pay up for what he did and why is Izzys deathbed apology more sincere than Ed's non apology about Izzys leg? He doesn't deserve to come back at all, because he doesn't do anything to earn it. He spends a day with Fang and that counts for the whole crew, Fang who isn't even angry at him -Izzy actually earns his place within the crew and still has to apologize to Ed, his worst abuser. Sure Izzy was part of the problem with Blackbeard, but in no way does it justify what Ed did to him (and everyone else while he was Captain of the Revenge) -remember last season when Ed made it clear that he only ever killed one person, and then in the finale he coldly pushed Lucius over and it was therefore a big deal? Yeah Ed just randomly kills like it's nothing now, and "go back to what you were good at", it wasn't killing, Ed was never good at killing

-they barely paid attention to the non ships aside from Izzy and it sucks. We had such a wonderful balance in season 1 of crew live, that we got to love them all, we didn't have any of that in season 2, it's so plain when you look at Archie, she just didn't get what her crewmates got to the point you don't care about her all that much -speaking of Archie, that relationship something with Olo, JIm, Archie and Zhang Yi Sao was a mess, they sank of the biggest relationships from season 1, which had such a well done ark in the first episodes, and many, myself included thought we might get a poly relationship, but we didn't, we got the mess we had. We had a well developed relationship that took an entire season to build and it got removed during the first three episodes in favour of two new underdeveloped characters getting with them in no time

-I know we are not historically accurate and don't bother too much with it, but Zheng Yi Sao is the most powerful female pirate in history and they nerved her for nothing, I did like how Richard got rid of her fleet, but they should have used someone else than a pirate known for dying peacefully because she got so powerful she made a deal

-the pacing was obviously bad, and I want to give them as much nicety about it as possible, but Owl House got cut from an entire season to three episodes and they still manged to nail it, ofmd lost 2 episodes and it doesn't excuse this pacing

-honestly Izzys redemption ark was rushed, just so he could be killed off, it was too much, too fast. I do love the first few episodes of him, but doing drag was a bit far fetched for episode 6, but it's a small complain, loved the singinig and dancing

-"bottle it up" is the new solution to problems, after "talk it through as a crew" from season 1. Lucius, Frenchie and Izzy just bottle everything up and nothing bad comes of it, we're supposed to believe that's a good thing? -everyone knows Stede is alive, Mary relies on him being dead and it's never brought up or important whatsoever

-this season feels like there aren't proper consequences, Ed can leave and come back and it's fine, Buttons can turn into a seagull and no one cares, Auntie gets blown up with the fleet and survives, people get stabbed multiple times and survive, but Izzy gets shot and dies, it's all over the place -there is always the whole: we have a suicidal character, they try to kill themselves, they fail, they get over their depression, they finally get happy, and we kill them off just after they found happyness. It sucks as a trope, it gives every last person that is suicidal the feeling that being happy is not worth it, because you're going to die anyway and well, maybe don't have the characer that tried to kill himself this season a line about wanting to go and in the same episode that had "it's only suicide if we die", it's tasteless at best and ill-intended at worst

-Roach is in the main cast now, but I swear he had more scenes in season 1 than seaosn 2

-having a tiny funeral scene and bam wedding, like there was no decent emotional impact on either of these moments, any why would they bury him without his leg or ring?

-Stede has a panic moment when he kills Ned and it seems like that's why he and Ed slept togeher, but it's not brought up that killing is still an issue

To end it on a few positive notes, I liked -Swede becomes Jackies husband and Roach going Mrs Bettet about the whole thing -most of the first three episodes in general -Buttons turning into a seagull and being recognized as a seawitch -having more historical figures -Auntie -Susan (mostly) aside from the issue I brought up -Wee John getting into knitting -Izzy sining and dancing -the entire leg arch of Izzy -pretty much all Izzy/Stede interactions -Frenchie sceming again and the rest all going with it -indigo! -everyones new looks -Fang going fishing and his and Roachs spa day -the after credit scenes -Ed freaking out because Stede moved too fast -Stede having a killing flashback when killing Ned Low -Spanish Jackie in general, but especially poisoning everyone and getting Swede a new look -Richard as the main antagonist -Clocks -Stede getting Hellcat Maggie and the to mutiny -the entire cast was amazing

And I shouldn't have to say this, but: don't harass people over this, critiquing is fine, threats are not. And no it's not bury your gays, everyone here is gay and that is not one of the issues this season had.

[hekcart]

This post is brought to you by me writing an agenda me and an @frootsluggs have

You're warning before reading this 🪳 🐀

The two were laying on the couch, Wukong on top of the other as Macaque carded a hand through his fur, his brows furrowing at him in thought. The orange simian eventually noticed the look and tilted his head at him, causing two of hairs to stick up a bit and making the macaque snort.

"What's so funny?" Wukong raised an amused brow, sitting up a bit.

"My lil cockroach~" Macaque cooed, messing with his hair to stick it up again while the other stared at him with such an offended look. 

He busted out laughing as Wukong realized and swatted his hands away sputter, "HEY!! That's-!"

"What~?" He looked up at him all smuggly, "I think it's cute, suits you~"

He looked at him exasperated, bewildered even as he let out a lil snrk, "I'm sorry??"

"Well you surely don't go away like one," he casually tried to slide his hands back up him.

He flustered a bit, trying not to melt into the touch as he kept a pissed face, "And what's that supposed to mean??"

"You're hard to get rid of" he shrugged, "hard to kill too"

He deadpanned, "I am NOT a cockroach."

"Maybe you could… I dunno… consider you are? Just a lil?" He had reached the others neck, moving to massage the back of it a little, to hide his intent.

He melted a bit, sighing out softly, "I'm not a cockroach Macaque. I'm a monkey, m o n k e y." he spelt out.

"Mmhhmm," he hummed, casually moving his hands back up into his hair, watching the other melt more, "you are, absolutely." And then he flicked but up two hair pieces, making them like antennas, "a cockroach~"

"THAT'S IT!" 

And before Macaque could take it back Wukong had turned into a cockroach, the black simian scrambling back with a startled noise before he gagged when he realized Wukong had already made into his fur.

"FOUL, YOU'RE FOUL!" he yelled, continuing to gag. He could swear he heard that lil asshole laughing.

—

It was two in the morning when Wukong woke up due to lack of warmth. Not the first time of course, but certainly still just as dismaying. He let out a big sigh, laying there for a moment before dramatically dragging himself out of bed and heading to the kitchen. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he headed down the hall.

Once he reached the kitchen his ear twitched when he heard an inconspicuous rustling sound. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he flicked on the light, only to be greeted with Macaque whipping his head up from his spot on the counter. Purple meeting gold eyes like he had caught the man red handed, this was a recurring instance.

Wukong stared for a moment before snorting and moving to lean against the doorframe with his arms crossed, "Looks like I got a rat problem."

It took the other a moment to register what he had said, but when he did? It was his turn to look offended, "Did you just call me a rat???" 

"Did I?" And with that Wukong just looked at his claws, flicking out imaginary dirt from under it, "all I said was I had a problem.. but if you wanna conclude your rat then well..~" and then he looked at him smug, "squeak squeak rat boy~"

Macaque stares at him, mouth agape in FULL offense, "I- I'm sorry????"

"Would you like some cheese to go with those chips?" He asked casually.

"I-" and he had to blink for a moment, setting his chips down before pointing at Wukong, "now you listen here-"

"Sorry, I didn't think cockroaches could hear from here."

He stared again before letting out an amused huff, "alright alright, I deserved that, hardy har har now quit it! I'm not a rat I'm more like a-"

"Cat?"

"I mean yea, and either way I'd still be cuter then you so-"

"COCKROACHES ARE CUTE!"

"THEY ARE NOT! ONLY A COCKROACH WOULD THINK THAT WUKONG!"

"I AM NOT A COCKROACH!!"

"The allegations speak for themselves."

And Wukong huffed, rolling his shoulders back before going, "Alright. Alright. Will play this game"

"Please don't turn into a roach again-"

[arizonapestcontrol]

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[flowercrown-bard]

Ridiculous or Grumpy

I’m tipsy and tired and khalea’s comment on the Roach fic made me laugh so here you go with a silly little sequel

“Don’t you look pretty today, Pegasus,” Jaskier cooed, as he stroked down the white stripe of the horse’s nose. 

The rhythmic sound of Geralt sharpening his swords stopped. When Jaskier turned to look at him, Geralt was staring at him with a grimace.

“What did you just call her?”

“Pegasus,” Jaskier said lightly, never taking his attention away from the horse. 

“That’s not her name.” 

“False, that’s not the name you gave her,” Jaskier corrected. “But since she liked me before you, I claim the right to name her.”

“We’re not naming her Pegasus,” Geralt insisted. 

“Well, I’m not calling her Roach.” Jaskier put his hands on his hips and jutted his chin out defiantly. “She’s far too pretty and nice to have such a name. Besides, since she likes me, she obviously has good taste. Which means - “ at this, he lifted a finger triumphantly, pointing it at Geralt’s nose, “- that she knows better than to react to a name like Roach.”

Geralt frowned, though the expression looked more like fond exasperation than actual irritation. 

“You never had a problem calling my old horse Roach.”

“Exactly. Your old Roach. This lovely lady is ours. You said so yourself. No take-backs.”

Geralt put the sword and whetstone down to cross his arms. “I also said she was our Roach.”

The horse snorted and pushed her nose in between the pair, clearly demanding more pets. 

“Alright then,” Jaskier said. “How about she chooses what she’d like to be called.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, rolling his eyes, “She’s a horse.”

“So? You always talk to her anyways. What’s the difference in letting her choose her own name?”

“And how would she do that?”

“Easy,” Jaskier spread his arms wide. “You stand over there,” he gestured to the far end of the field. “And I stand here and we both call her by the name we think would suit her best. Whoever she goes to first gets to pick the name.”

“Fine,” Geralt said, lips twitching. “But you’re not going to wear your doublet.” He paused, giving Jaskier a once-over. “Or these breeches.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier nearly choked on his own spit at Geralt’s words. 

“I know you keep treats for her in your pockets and ridiculously puffy sleeves. I’m not risking you cheating.”

Jaskier shot Geralt a dirty look, muttering something about cheating and simply using all of his advantages to make people like him. Despite his grumbling, he shrugged off the doublet. 

“You know,” he said, as he untangled his arms from the sleeves gracelessly, “if you wanted to get me out of my clothes, you could have just said so. But it’s always ‘this colour is too flashy’ or ‘it’s summer, why are you wearing a doublet’ or ‘you have treats in your sleeves’ with you.”

He dropped his doublet to the ground carelessly and opened the top buttons of his chemise for good measure. “You know you could show some solidarity and get rid of your shirt too.”

“Jaskier.”

“What?” Jaskier gave him his most innocent look, as he fumbled with the laces of his trousers. “Who guarantees me that you don’t keep treats for Pegasus in your sleeves?” He paused, cocking his head to the side. “Well, maybe not your sleeves. There’s barely enough space for your bicep in there, I don’t know how you would hide anything else in them- but the point still stands.”

“Fine.” Geralt rolled his eyes again and began tugging off his shirt. “But only because it’s hot and I just want to get this over with.”

“Sure,” Jaskier agreed. “You being so ready to undress has nothing to do with you wanting to show off a bit for your dearest bard.”

Geralt only grunted, the sound muffled by his shirt. 

Immediately, Jaskier’s eyes went to Geralt’s chest and roamed over his muscles. His gaze wandered lower. 

“You know,” he said slowly, “I’m actually pretty sure that you’ve got a treat hidden in your trousers. You should take them off as well.”

That, apparently, was the horse’s cue to decide that she’d had enough of the bard’s nonsense. She snorted right in his face, turned around and walked away. From anyone else, Jaskier would have appreciated the bit of privacy, but in this moment, the horse trotting away from them was the last thing he wanted. 

“Hey!” He called out, as the mare galloped merrily away, back in the direction of the farm where they had just bought her. “Hey, Pegasus, come back!” “Roach!” Geralt called. He thrust his hand out to cast Axii, but his arm got stuck in one of the sleeves. 

“Pegasus!” Utterly undignified, Jaskier ran after her. Or rather, he tried, but as it turned out, it was rather hard to chase a horse, when your trousers were around her knees. He nearly fell over after two hops. 

The horse didn’t seem to care. She threw her head neighing and it almost sounded like she was laughing at them. 

“Arsehole,” Jaskier hissed. “She really does take after you, Geralt.”

“I don’t know,” Geralt said, as he finally  freed himself from his shirt. “Her voice is about as lovely as yours. And she definitely is as dramatic as you.” 

“The audacity!” Jaskier squawked. He shimmied out of his trousers and flung them at Geralt’s face. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Roach neighed again, making him reconsider. “Er, maybe we should catch her before we continue this debate?” he asked. 

Geralt grunted his assent. 

“We could just call her both names,” Geralt offered with a shrug. “Pegasus when she’s acting like a certain ridiculous bard...”

“...and Roach, when she’s all grumpy,” Jaskier agreed. 

Half-naked, Geralt and Jaskier took chase, each one trying to coax the horse to come back to them. 

“Roach, come back!” Jaskier caled, at the same time as Geralt shouted, “Come here, Pegasus!”

[lightdancer1]

A scene from the Magicatra AU:

"You're like a damn roach," Catra looked up.

Great. Old home week. First Adora and her 'promises' that had become more disturbing, not less. Then Shadow Weaver spreading lies that she would have done anything for not so long ago until she'd realized what a hollow set of promises they were. Lonnie leaned against the wall, boot thudding on it a few times. Catra raised an eyebrow.

"I literally got rid of you so I didn't have to have you around and what did you do? Got your dumb ass caught by Adora, of all people. Adora. Strength to punch through walls without that armor and the brains of a rock."

Lonnie went over to the tube Catra was held in.

"Literally none of that from that day was because I liked you. Still isn't, I still don't. You're an asshole with a vicious temper, who takes out all your problems with claws in a way even the Horde considers extreme at times. You're the most infuriating person other than Scorpia I've ever met and she's like the anti-you. Big, buff, stronger than whatever that thing you turn into is.....and too sweet to really tolerate except in small doses."

Both of them shared a shiver at the memory of Scorpia's hugs.

"But I wanted you out of this place because I don't have to like you to find some of the things that happened to you disturbing. And they weren't great before but now..." Lonnie laughed uneasily.

"Adora really hasn't taken your running away well. You were the only thing she was allowed to have, and that went exactly where people might think it went. When you were like all the rest of us and raised here. Now that you've seen that Princess-world?"

Lonnie's nose twitched. "And I don't like hearing Shadow Weaver talking about anyone like that."

"Bad?"

"Oh no, that's not even the nastiest stuff people say in the Horde."

Both of them rolled eyes and at the same time and in the same tone said "Grizzlor."

And shared a laugh and then Lonnie's expression became sterner.

"So since your ass was dumb enough to get caught, Kyle, Rogelio, and I are going to solve it our own way."

"Kyle?"

Catra's skepticism was palpable and she was surprised at the glare Lonnie gave her.

"He's not that bad, Catra. If you weren't such a bitch you might have seen that. But you're you." And with that Lonnie left the room.



[beeirifulmer]

Flightless Bird Pt. 1

//Warning, this contains all book spoilers.

This drops off of the request I had, but I have a new part so if the first part seems a bit familiar, that’s why.

~ TRIGGER WARNINGS: This series contains slightly NSFW content, kidnapping, torturing, child endangerment. This series a pretty intense, so if I miss any, please let me know! ~

Jude was still in exile, but it was two years later, and she was happily married to another man. They moved in together, and she discarded all her fears of Cardan Greenbriar ever finding out, in fact, she never said his name again. 

“Jude?” The girl perked her head up as she smiled hearing the sound of her husband. 

“I’m in the office, Garret!” She chuckled to herself as she continued typing on her laptop. Overtime, Jude accepted that this was her life now. No need to worry and pretend like she belonged with the folk. Jude would be wrong if she said she didn’t miss her old life though, running around in dresses with her sisters, dancing under the stars. 

“Good morning, sweet Jude. And how did you sleep?” Garret smiled as he took a seat beside Jude. Garret had no clue about Jude’s past life, Taryn and Vivienne kept their mouths shut, not that Taryn ever came. After Taryn gave birth, she never came to the mortal world, Jude tried to ignore it, but she worried there was more to it than her twin not visiting. Garret knew nothing of Cardan, nor her scars, nor her true story.

Jude explained how she slept, smiling softly as Garret laid her leg on his lap and rubbed her calf. Garret always listened, always kept an eye on Jude, always cared for her, and he was especially careful when they first got sexual, even though he was slightly wondering how a 20 year old was a virgin. Jude loved him, but there was always that small problem. She l-

“I think I’m gonna go on my morning run,” Jude smiled at her husband, kissing his cheek goodbye as she left no room for him to say anything. 

On her run, she tried to even her breathing as that small problem ran through her brain. It always did this, she’d think of it and it would flood her brain over and over as she almost felt guilty. She told herself it wasn’t true, that she just missed the memories, but dammit he was the flame and she was a moth. 

Jude stopped in the woods, hands on her knees as she leaned against a tree. She tried convincing herself it was just her brain tricking her. It wasn’t true. 

“Hello Jude,” Jude stood up straight, thinking she was officially going crazy. “Thought you could get rid of me?” The voice traveled through her body, and she knew exactly who it was. 

“Glad to see you back.

Cardan.”

~~~

Opening her eyes, Jude found herself tied to a chair. Not remembering how she even passed out, she struggled and struggled back and forth before the door swung open. In walked Cardan, then the Bomb, then the Roach, then the Ghost.

“Hey it’s a party, huh.” Jude sarcastically joked. “Let me go so I can go home to my husband.”

“See, I told you I wasn’t lying.” The Roach glared as he sat beside the Bomb, the Ghost standing in the corner as Cardan walked over to Jude.

“You’re not going back.” Cardan leaned his hand against the back of Jude’s chair, “you’re staying here, Mrs. Greenbriar.” Jude kept her composure, finding her eyes drifting down to Cardan’s lips. The soft, beautiful pink flesh made Jude’s fighting thoughts disappear. 

Cardan slowly untied her, the Bomb having herself ready to grab the Queen if she chose to ruin her chances of freedom. Jude’s breathing grew deeper as Cardan grew closer. Her fingers slowly wrapped around the thin arm of the chair she was still glued to, the Bomb grabbing her knife. 

The next moves seemed to move by quickly as Jude grabbed the King’s head and switched their positions. Cardan slammed into the chair and Jude grabbed the dagger out of her thigh garter, Cardan grabbing the knife out of the Bomb’s hand. Jude raised her leg to kick the man, but she was too slow as he grabbed her ankle and yanked her to his body. Just as Jude was to fall on the ground, Cardan - having the higher power being taller - held her tensed bent knee and they both held her up before she fell. 

Jude’s palms sat flat on the ground above her as she kicked her leg of Cardan and swung them over in a back walkover as she fell onto her hands and knees before standing up, grabbing what she had been searching for since she woke up. The design of Nightfell seemed to sing to her as her once-calloused hands ran over them. 

Cardan panted as he grabbed his own sword, holding it up in a leg-spreaded stance. His chest rose and fell, cat eyes narrowing at his lover. The Bomb, the Roach and the Ghost sat in the rafters now, watching intently as they all hoped they were right with how this would turn out. 

The silence between the King and Queen was almost like the quiet scene in a horror movie right before the protagonist gets attacked from behind. The two both eased close to one another, Nightfell dragging behind Jude, opposite of Cardan who stood in a ready stance to attack knowing the woman he fell for. The couple began to circle, Jude staring through her eyebrows as Cardan kept his chin up to assert dominance. “Jude Duarte-Greenbriar.”

“Don’t call me that!” Jude growled, swinging her sword only for Cardan to block it with his own. “My name is Jude Hemmings.” The King seemed to be on his last nerve, letting out a loud cackle of mockery.

“Is that what his last name was?” He looked at her. “Your name is Jude Duarte-Greenbriar,” Cardan dodged another sword swing. “You are the rightful High Queen of Elfhame!” The boy rolled as Jude started a full sword fight. The two went on for a minute or so before Cardan dragged his sword across her ankles, and she tripped trying to dodge them. The girl was now pinned to the wall, sword falling away from her, and Cardan’s sword pressed against her neck. “And you are my wife,” the last part came out as a low, possessive growl, thinking of how he countlessly saw what was his, laughing with a pathetic mortal man.

“Let’s make one thing clear, King Cardan.” Jude began, shuffling her feet a little yet Cardan stayed unaware. “You’re Queenless. You let me go, you fucked up what we could have had.” Jude’s foot finally tucked under Nightfell, and she flipped them over as Cardan landed in the same position Jude was just in mere seconds ago. The Court of Shadows thought this was the end, she would behead the King and leave. 

That is, until she kissed him.

“But that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.” Jude muttered into the kiss, sword dropping as Cardan took the chance to press her body to himself. Both of them pulled away as Jude moved, walking behind her but Cardan followed. “And that doesn’t mean I didn’t pray I’d get a note, or a servant at my doorsteps bowing to me.”

“You were pardoned by the crown, Jude. You are the crown.” The walking continued slowly as Jude cocked a head.

“I knew it was a trick vow, but you know how to lie even when you cannot.”

“What else then?” The movements stopped, the space between them still remaining. “Tell me more, spew the poison.” His voice almost seemed to beg.

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t lay in bed with Garret imagining it was all you. Taming me,” now with every word Jude named off, she let Cardan step closer. “Ruining me,” step. “Kissing every damn inch of my body,” step. Cardan was now inches away from his wife, “loving me.” The last words came out of her mouth with a dry aftertaste. Swallowing hard, she looked up into her husband’s eyes and both of their mouths stayed shut for once. 

Until they both smashed into one another with an animalistic passion. Jude’s back landed on the table behind them after Cardan’s arm swiped everything off to lay her down. Teeth clashing, tongues fighting, lips smashing, cursed mutters, skin on fire. Jude’s hand tangled into Cardan’s hair, his hand landing on the arch of her back and pulling her closer to him again. Finally, after Cardan left light marks on her neck, he looked at her and they stared at one another out of breath.

“Cardan.” Jude started.

“Jude.”

“Where’s my sister?” Cardan’s face fell, knowing which sister he meant.

“That’s why you’re here,” Cardan stood up, Jude’s face twisting into what seemed to be anger. 

“Wait,” Jude unraveled her hands and legs from Cardan and stood up off the table. The Court all falling to gracefully stand on the table Jude was just on. “You only brought me here for Taryn? No, ‘I missed you’? No, ‘I wanted you home’?” 

“Jude-” 

“No, Cardan!” Jude cut off her husband. “If it weren’t for Taryn, would you have kidnapped me?”

“You were married!”

“Do you know how long it took for me to get married?! To find a man that didn’t make me wanna run away because he wasn’t you? Garret still couldn’t do that!”

“Jude-”

“I spent days wishing for you to come to me. For somebody to escort me back home. To my home! The day never came, I almost died countless times for money, to pay my rent, to just get a taste of missions!”

“Jude.”

“I waited on Heather’s couch, I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want to sleep, I didn’t want to move! My husband exiled me! Now I’m here, out of exile but it’s because of my sister?! What, did you marry her instead to replace me?!”

“Jude!” Cardan now had Jude’s wrists in his grasp.

“What!” He waited for her to calm down before he spoke softly as the Ghost walked out of the room, slamming the door as if he didn’t want to hear what Cardan was about to say.

“We think Locke kidnapped Taryn and the baby and took her somewhere. They’ve been missing for over a year, and we need you to help us.”

[ffangirlingsince2001]

Nothing Alike: II

Description: Geralt of Rivia has been tasked with taking out a fellow Witcher who has decided to settle down in a town. She has no intention of leaving and Geralt is forced to take matters into his own hands.

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: (future as well as present) violence, angst, smut, fluff, language

A/N: Is that a backstory and angst I smell??

Masterlist

Geralt was enjoying the spring afternoon when she started yelling at him…or at least she tried.

“Ah you’re awake,” he replied to her gagged screams. She was squirming behind him, probably trying to get out of the well placed knots he had tied to ensure she wouldn’t get away when she did finally wake up. He noticed Roach getting restless, annoyed both with the extra passenger and her lack of manners, so Geralt gave her a little shove, sending her toppling to the ground. She hit the ground with a thud and flipped over to glare at him.

If she hadn’t been mad before, she definitely was now. In the fall her gag had come lose and now he was being subject to ever single word she had to say. So much for enjoying the afternoon.

“I should fucking kill you, you fucking coward. Where do you get off kidnapping me?” she howled, struggling against the binds. When she failed, dangerous eyes flashed at him and she snarled. “Let me go now, and I promise I won’t kill you.”

“You’re not really in the position for bargaining.”

“Yet.”

“Say I let you go, what then?”

“I’ll join a convent and repent and pray to God every day,” she began before bursting into laughter and laying in the grass. “I thought I could say it, but even your horse knew that was horse shit, I’m going to go back to where I came from and make some money.”

“Then I can’t let you go.”

“What’s it to you anyways?”

“People already don’t trust Witchers, it’s not going to get any better if word gets around that one is robbing a town of its money.”

“I won it fair and square, no robbery required.”

“Of course, fair and square, with nothing but a genetic mutation on your side.” She sent him another glare, trying to subtly slide the ropes from her legs. “If you try running, I’ll catch you.”

“Oh please, last time you got lucky.”

“No, you underestimated me.”

“Well when you look like that I’m not exactly wowed,” she sneered.

“You talk big game for being the one tied.”

“You think this is the first time I’ve been tied up, c’mon being the only female Witcher who isn’t dying through the trials is sure to make me some enemies. Don’t worry, I took care of them.”

“The only female Witcher?”

“Oh, you haven’t been keeping up with your old school I see. We’re kind of a new idea, most of us die off, actually all of us died off, except me, I lived out of spite. And now I’m being harassed by another Witcher who thinks he’s got some holy purpose, well it turns out you don’t. Go, do whatever you want, stop killing monsters and make a good life for yourself, but before you do all that untie me.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” she growled, struggling with the knots a little more frantically now.

“They hired me to get rid of you, if I let you go you’ll just go back, and then they’ve wrongfully paid me, plus they think you’re dead.”

“They think I’m what?” she yelled.

“Dead, I told them you were.”

“Then why aren’t I?”

“Do you want to be?”

“Anything is better than being babysat by some holier-than-thou, thousand-year-old, Witcher who wouldn’t know how to have fun if it sprouted out of his big toe.” Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath, considering if he should have killed her in that alley. “Why do you want me around anyway?” His anger fizzled away for a moment at that question. It sounded just as biting as the rest, but something else had slithered into her tone, a sliver of self-deprecation perhaps? And it made him think, why did he take her, why when she was nothing but agony in his side did he bother bringing her with him.

“Because I want to know you,” he said and she snorted. She was laughing at him without a care in the world.

“Why on earth would you want to know me.”

“Consider it a study, you’re the first witcher I’ve met who didn’t go right to work, who didn’t take the weight of the world upon yourself and work yourself into nothing but blood and rust mixing with the dirt.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Maybe not to you, but all I heard was, a witcher who knows how to enjoy life.” He snarled and she laughed. “If you’re going to study me you should probably untie me.”

“How about you answer some of my questions and then I untie you.” She considered it for a moment, weighing the pros and cons before she brightened with a grin.

“I’m an open book.” He climbed off his horse and ungracefully pulled her over to a boulder, perching her on top of it. He tied Roach to a tree and took a seat on his own stump.

“How long have you been out of the academy?”

“A couple weeks.”

“How old are you?”

“Geralt, you’re never supposed to ask a woman her age,” she teased, ignoring the annoyed look he sent her. “22, in real time.”

“Young to be a Witcher.”

“Like I said, I’m special,” she sneered.

“What do you mean by special.”

“Fuck if I know, that’s just what they told me.”

“Do you have a guess.”

“A few.”

“Are you going to share?”

“Are you going to make me?”

“No.”

“Then I think I would like to keep it to myself.” He nodded sharply before continuing.

“How long were you in that town.”

“The moment they let me go.”

“Did you try to leave before then.”

“Yes.”

“Where did you go?”

“How do you know I succeeded?”

“The scars above your collar.”  Subconsciously, she raised her shoulders, shifting her collar to cover the pink scars.

“They’re not from escaping, they did other things for escaping, but I tried to go home. I thought I could go back to living with my mother after she sold me out. Guess I was wrong, she sold me out again and got another purse of gold for her trouble. Then they locked me in a box, told me what being caged really felt like.”

“What are the scars from?”

“Various other incidents.”

“So, you were a regular problem then?”

“Of course.”

“Anything in particular stand out?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean any crimes that were really heinous.”

“I killed an instructor once, it was an accident but it still happened.” Geralt didn’t continue for a moment, reading the look of regret on her face. She smiled at him, almost exhausted, praying that he wouldn’t ask her to discuss it further.

“What about the boys at school, did they torment you?”

“All the time, I got used to it.”

“How bad did it get?”

“One time they cornered me late at night, held a knife to my throat and dragged me to the window. They wanted me to admit I was a whore, that I was sleeping with our instructors. I wouldn’t say it though, they threatened me for what seemed like hours, pushing me just a little too far before yanking me back inside, letting my feet slip against the windowsill. They wanted me to beg and scream for help.”

“Did you say it?”

“No.”

“And what happened?”

“They dropped me. I thought I was as good as dead, but I refused to scream, even on the way down. I hit a snow drift and walked away unscathed. They thought I would leave that night so I am pleased to say they were shocked to see me walk in the next day ready to fight.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“If I had told someone they would know exactly who shoved him down the stairs two nights later. His nose is still busted, well was.”

“Was?”

“He was one of the lucky fellows who tried to get rid of me before you came along. He’s the only one it was a pleasure to kill.”

“How many did you kill?”

“Five.” Geralt clenched his fists, she had killed five witchers, more than any monster or mage could claim and he was allowing her to live. Why was he letting her live? “Any other questions?”

“How did you feel when you killed them?”

“Terrible. I buried them, gave each of them a proper burial, except my tormentor of course. I tried to get them to leave me alone, to leave but they just wouldn’t go away. I begged them yknow, pleaded while they tried to kill me. I just wanted to be free but they saw nothing but my blood on their silver bladed sword. Until you came along of course.” He stayed silent, watching her shifting in her bindings.

“Why don’t you want to be a witcher?”

“It was an accident I became one, a curse from God. I should have died, they were willing to let me die. I’m not going to come close to death because of them ever again, not the school, the King, or God himself can make me.”

“What about me.” She glanced at him and grinned but said nothing. He reached over and sliced her bindings with the knife she had stabbed him with the day prior. “Don’t run off, we’re heading towards the moors tomorrow.”

 She was gone the next morning.

Taglist: @stuckupstucky​ @aurora-sweet​ @holyhumorliteraturelight​ @dreams-of-sunlight-and-starfire​

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

For @artemisthehuntress because she asked for Geralt finding Eskel right after he got his scars and Eskel being self-conscious, but Geralt loving him anyway.

Geralt is heading east when he catches the scent and at first, he doesn't think much of it. He's imagining things, clearly, has been alone for too long now and he's missing him. It's a trick of the mind and nothing more. He can't let himself get sidetracked in the middle of a hunt. But when the familiar scent becomes muddled with the sharp tang of blood, Geralt finds himself veering off despite himself. 

He follows the scent, keeping his pulse steady only because the scent of blood isn't strong enough for it to be a fatal wound. But it's human blood - or close enough to it - and that's enough for him to be worried. Especially considering there's no reason for Eskel to be this far north this time of year. So he walks a little quicker than he normally would despite trying to assure himself that everything will be fine. 

But when he finds Eskel, he's huddled under a tree with his hood up and Geralt's breath catches. When he focuses, he can hear Eskel's heartbeat, the faint huff of his breath and it helps to soothe him, but he approaches slowly nonetheless. He knows Eskel can hear him, smell him, but he circles around to meet him from the front just in case. But Eskel turns away when Geralt gets close. 

"Don't," he says and Geralt frowns. In all the time they've known each other - longer now than Geralt can even remember - Eskel has never turned him away. "Don't want you to see me like this."

Geralt barely refrains from scoffing at him; he's seen Eskel so thoroughly coated in wyvern innards that he didn't initially recognize him, but he supposes this isn't the time for humor. Instead, he crouches down, reaching out to press a hand to Eskel's shoulder. Eskel flinches and Geralt withdraws his hand, his concern deepening. 

"What's wrong?" he asks and Eskel just grunts at him so Geralt drops to his knees and turns Eskel to look at him. Eskel shuts his eyes and winces again and Geralt realizes what he meant before. 

There are deep gashes down the right side of his face, still raw and open, and when Geralt moves closer, Eskel pulls out of his grasp. He doesn't understand. They're both covered in countless scars, and Eskel has even been there to patch up some of Gerlt's worst, he doesn't know why this is such a problem for him. 

"Lemme see," Geralt says and Eskel doesn't remove his hood, but he doesn't draw back this time when Geralt whispers, "can I?" He pushes the fabric back and runs his finger alongside the edge of the slice. 

It's still swollen, still very fresh and Geralt is reaching for his satchel before he realizes what he's doing. Eskel bats his hand away, but Geralt just catches his eyes, gives him a look and tugs the bag into his lap. It doesn't take him long to find the salve he's looking for, but when he looks back up, Eskel looks resigned. Geralt ignores the look as well as the stench of despair, pushing down his own concern to focus on Eskel's face. 

He's as gentle as he can be, but Eskel still grunts at him as he spreads the salve over his wounds. When he's finished, he cups Eskel's face with his clean hand, wiping the other on the grass. Eskel still won't meet his eyes and Geralt tips his head up. 

"Talk to me."

"I'm a monster," he mumbles, pulling away. Geralt stops him again, shifting forward to straddle his lap. 

"You're not," he says and even he can hear the anger in his voice. He doesn't mean for it to come out like that, but if any of them should be called monster, it's him, not Eskel.

"Yeah, well, I look like one." All at once, everything clicks into place and Geralt's shoulders slump. For a moment, he's unsure of what to say, but the words slip out without him meaning for them to. 

"You're still beautiful to me." Eskel snorts and looks away from him, but Geralt tips forward, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Is that what you're afraid of?" Eskel says nothing, but Geralt can feel a little of the tension seep from his body. He presses closer, smiling against his cheek. "You think you can get rid of me just by getting a little cut on your face? If that's all it took, you would have been gone years ago."

Eskel huffs and when Geralt pulls back, there's the hint of a smile on his face. He brushes his thumb over Eskel's cheek. "We match," he says and when Eskel meets his eyes, he asks, "does it hurt?"

"No worse than the one on my thigh."

"Good. I'm heading toward Leyda, come with me."

"Geralt-"

"I won't hear it." Geralt rises to his feet and holds out a hand to Eskel, wrapping a hand around his forearm when Eskel doesn't respond. He tugs him to his feet and hesitates for a moment before pulling him into a tight embrace. "I was worried," he mumbles against Eskel's shoulder. The arms around his waist tighten. "Smelled blood."

"I'm fine."

"Hmm."

"Will it makes you feel better if I come to Leyda with you?"

"Might," Geralt hums, pulling back to smile at him. This time Eskel is the one to lean in, pressing his forehead against Geralt's. 

"Be a while before I can kiss you properly again," Eskel mumbles. Geralt reaches a hand up, brushing through his hair with a grin. 

"I'm sure we can come up with something else to do in the meantime."

"Planning on staying long in Leyda?" 

"Depends," Geralt says, "could be persuaded to stay a while if I had some company. And it just so happens I know someone who could use a few days of rest." He levels Eskel with a look and gets an eye-roll in response, but when Eskel drops his arms to his side his expression is fond.

"Yeah, alright." Eskel picks his pack up from the ground and slings it over his shoulder. He pauses for a moment before turning back to Geralt. "Thank you," he says and Geralt shrugs it off. 

"Don't have to thank me," he says, "but we've got a decent walk ahead of us, you gonna tell me what happened?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's just get to Leyda and I'll tell you whatever you wanna know." Eskel makes a clicking sound with his tongue and a black stallion comes trotting out of the trees and comes to stand next to him. He wraps his hands around the reins and when he gives a little tug, Scorpion follows without hesitation. 

Geralt trails behind a little, whistling for Roach as he follows the other Witcher. He feels better knowing Eskel isn't badly hurt, but he doesn't like the idea of leaving him alone again to walk the Path alone. Eskel can, of course, take care of himself, but they've always been stubbornly protective of each other and after decades, it's hard to fight against that. 

He decides that, for now, having Eskel accompany him to Leyda is good enough, at least there Geralt can keep an eye on the way he heals. 

[king-finnigan]

wingless thing

this is a oneshot that i was planning on turning into a full series at some point, but i never really had any ideas for the main storyline. so here it is, now; it’s an AU where everyone on the continent is born with wings. the only people who don’t have them are witchers.

Geralt sighs as he looks up at the tavern, built into the side of the mountain. There is no path up, no way to get there other than flying. Which wouldn’t be an issue for anyone else.

But unfortunately, Geralt isn’t anyone else.

He lets out an annoyed huff and Roach bristles softly, pushing at his shoulder with her nose. He pats the side of her neck, tangling his fingers through her brown mane. “Sorry, girl,” he mutters. “Gonna have to sleep outside again tonight.”

He doesn’t really know what he expected. Posada is full of mountains, of course people are going to build as high up as they can to get away from the creatures and monsters on the ground. Still, he’d been looking forward to a proper meal and a soft bed for the night, but it looks like he’ll have to make do with his bedroll and some dried meat. He always does.

He takes the saddle and reigns off of Roach and starts setting up camp – laying down his bedroll, gathering wood for a fire, checking his dwindling supplies. He counts his coin, finds out he’s still low on it and gold hasn’t magically appeared in his pouch since he looked this morning.

It’s the reason why he came here in the first place. Usually, he doesn’t venture this close to the mountains – the buildings always high up and only accessible from the air – but there haven’t been a lot of monsters in the plains and forests lately, so he had no other choice but to head east.

He looks up as he hears wings flapping, watches with a barely-hidden scowl when a young man descends from the air, softly lowering himself on one of the branches of a tree at the edge of the clearing. His feathers are a light shade of brown, almost golden in the late afternoon light, interspersed by darker ones painting long stripes across his wings. The young man cocks his head, keen, blue eyes taking in the sight of Geralt sitting on the ground, wingless.

“What are you doing down here?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, his already thin patience running out quickly. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Setting up camp.” Apparently this young man either doesn’t know what a rhetorical question is, or he’s unable to pick up on them. “But why down here?”

Geralt glares at him, narrowing his eyes at those golden-brown wings. The young man merely raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. Geralt sighs. “I can’t get up there.”

“Up where? The inn?” Geralt nods, and the stranger finally seems to get it, his eyes flicking to where Geralt’s wings should be, his mouth falling open in a soft ‘O’. He appears to figure out a lot of things in the next few seconds, his face going from confusion to realization back to confusion numerous times.

Geralt sighs, lighting the fire with a quick Igni, the blissful quiet stretching out between them.

“You’re the Witcher,” the young man says eventually. “Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken.” Geralt resists the urge to growl at the mention of that cursed town, his mind unhelpfully providing him with the memories of Renfri, of her blood coating his hands, of Stregobor cutting off her grey-and-white wings while the entire town chased Geralt away. He shakes his head to rid himself of the images.

Finally, the young man comes down from the tree, the tips of his wings dragging in the dirt behind him as he walks towards Geralt, extending his hand. Geralt doesn’t take it and looks away. Eventually, the young man gives up and sits down on the other side of the fire, big, blue eyes taking Geralt in, his brown feathers trembling slightly in excitement.

“I’m Jaskier, by the way.” Geralt doesn’t respond, but the young man continues regardless. “You know, I’m a bard. My lute is still up at the inn-“ he jabs his thumb up at the side of the mountain “-so you’ll just have to take my word for it, but it seems to me that you’ve got a bit of an image problem, Witcher. You know, I could be your barker-“

“No.”

“-spreading the tales of- of… Geralt of Rivia, the…” He seems to think for a few seconds, chin in his hand. “The White Wolf!” he finally exclaims, spreading his wings and arms dramatically, nearly knocking into Roach, who bristles angrily, taking a few steps away from the annoying and expressive bard.

Geralt looks at Jaskier for a few moments. “The White Wolf?” he eventually asks, voice flat.

Jaskier nods excitedly. “Yes! Because your hair is white and you don’t have any wings! I saw you pacing around here before I arrived, and I thought to myself ‘wow, this guy looks just like a wolf stalking its prey’, so there you have it! White Wolf! Do you like it?”

“No. Go away.” What the fuck does he need a barker for? He’s perfectly fine on his own. He’s managed seventy years alone on the path without wings, and he’ll manage a thousand more, thank you very much. Now all he needs is for this guy to fuck off and let him be so he can get some much-needed sleep. He’ll set out early again tomorrow.

Jaskier pouts a bit but gets up, luckily. “Alright, aright. I’ll leave you to it, then. Bye, Geralt.”

“Hmm. Bye.” He doesn’t look up from the fire, sees the flames dance in front of him as Jaskier flaps his wings and starts running, eventually taking off, up and up into the sky, towards the inn built into the mountainside. Once the sound of wings flapping has faded away, Geralt lets himself relax and eats a meagre meal of dried meat and a crust of stale bread. He falls into a restless sleep after that, his dreams plagued by black and white wings, speckled with blood.

---

He sets out early the next day, towards Dol Blathanna. A goat farmer had approached him in the morning, offering a hundred coins for a demon that kept stealing his goats. Geralt highly doubts that it’s a demon, but a job’s a job, and no matter how little money a hundred coins is, it’s better than nothing.

He saddles Roach and heads to the east. Before long though, he hears the sound of wings, someone flying towards him.

“Geralt! Hi!” Jaskier lands next to him, using his momentum to fall into step next to Geralt, Roach too slow and the branches too low to keep flying. He’s a bit out of breath, but his entire face is lit up with a smile that easily rivals the morning sun. There’s a lute hanging against his hip, Geralt notices.

“So, what are we hunting?”

Geralt scoffs. “We aren’t hunting anything. Fuck off.”

Jaskier pouts. “You know, you should really work on your people skills. I bet you’d get more contracts, then, though of course my songs will help. I mean, I’m almost getting the impression that you want me to leave!”

Geralt throws him an apprehensive look. “I do want you to leave. Go away.”

Jaskier huffs, his feathers puffing up slightly in annoyance. “No! No, you need my help, Geralt of Rivia. Unless, of course, you want to be forever known as the Butcher of Blaviken and a wingless monster.”

Geralt scoffs. “I am.”

“What? The Butcher of Blaviken or a wingless monster?”

“Both.”

Jaskier gasps, hand dramatically laying over his chest, wings stretching out, the tips bending forward a bit in shock. “You are most certainly not!”

“Well, I’m not a white wolf, either.”

Jaskier laughs softly, his wings folding behind his back again. “I assure you that you are. Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you agree?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but feels something soft unfurl in his chest. “Hmm.”

The bard grins. “So you do agree! Of course you do. I’m right, after all.”

It continues on like that for a while, Jaskier chatting on and on, his wings almost equally as expressive as his hands, and he almost slaps an increasingly disgruntled Roach with them several times. Meanwhile, Geralt keeps quiet, only giving monosyllabic answers from time to time, keeping an eye out for this so-called ‘demon’. Eventually, he dismounts Roach, leaving her behind at one of the only trees visible in the plain of yellowed grass, the rich mountains no more than a silhouette behind his back. He continues on foot, Jaskier following closely behind, still chattering.

“Sorry, what are we looking for again?”

“Blessed silence.”

“… Yeah, don’t really go in for that.”

Something rustles in the grass, and Geralt barely has time to turn around before something hits Jaskier square between the eyes. The bard collapses onto the ground, and the witcher walks towards him, finds a small, metal ball on the ground. He looks up when he hears footsteps, registers the dark silhouette of a person against the bright sunlight, and is promptly struck against the back of the head, his vision fading to black rather abruptly and violently.

---

He wakes up in a cave, hands bound by his side, something soft and firm and trembling pressed to his back. He frowns, confused, until he moves his head a bit and feels feathers tickling against his cheeks, the wings behind him puffed up in fear – except they aren’t his wings. Of course they’re not; he lost his a long time ago.

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” Jaskier says behind him.

Geralt grunts, starts struggling against the ropes that bind his wrists by his side.

“This is the part where we escape!” Jaskier exclaims, wings fluttering a bit in excitement, as if this is all just some big adventure.

“This is the part where they kill us,” he growls, still struggling against the bonds.

“Who’s they?” Jaskier’s wings contract in pain against Geralt’s back when a she-elf kicks the bard in the stomach.

Everything is a bit of a blur after that, getting his and the bard’s life threatened by the elves – easily identified as elves by their iridescent dragonfly wings – Jaskier’s lute getting destroyed, the elven king talking about the atrocities committed against them, and eventually letting the bard and the witcher go, even giving Jaskier a new, elven lute, the wood as shimmery and iridescent as their wings.

And before long, they’re headed back to Posada. Jaskier walks in front of him, strumming his new lute, singing a song of which only three words are true, give or take, his wings puffed up to let the soft breeze ruffle through the feathers.

Back in Posada, Jaskier offers Geralt to carry him up to the inn, which he resolutely refuses. There is a certain shame in having to stay on the ground while everyone else flies past, his differences pointedly underlined by his obvious lack of wings, but there’s something else entirely revolting about having to be carried up by a scrawny, little bard.

But instead of going back up to the inn alone, Jaskier stays on the ground with Geralt, practically stealing the Witcher’s spare bedroll.

“So,” Jaskier says, gently plucking away at the strings of his new lute. “What’s the deal with-“ he gestures at Geralt “-you know.”

He rolls his eyes. He’d much rather go to sleep right now than listen to the bard make redundant statements and ask vague questions. “No, I don’t know.”

Jaskier seems to hesitate, biting his bottom lip gently. “The wings,” he eventually half-whispers, as if it’s something Geralt’s sensitive about. Which he is, but he’d never show anyone that. “Where are they?”

“None of your business.” The light of the flames burns his eyes as he stares into the fire, and for a moment, he could swear he sees black and white feathers between the logs. For a moment, he’s still a boy at Kaer Morhen, looking on helplessly as they burn part of him, the barely-healed wounds in his back a constant, agonizing reminder of what he’s lost.

“Hmm,” Jaskier hums, plucking a few notes on his lute. “I suppose not. But there are rumours, you know? Like that you have to eat your own wings to become a Witcher.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Jaskier scrunches his nose. “Yeah, figured that one wasn’t real. Also heard a rumour that it’s what gives you your magic-“

“We don’t have magic.”

“-but my nan’s friend’s uncle’s brother’s teacher lost one wing during the war, and he didn’t get any magic powers, so I suppose that one’s a lie as well. I also heard a rumour-“

“Go to sleep, bard.”

Jaskier pouts at him for a second but Geralt doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he lies down on his bedroll, turning his back to the bard.

After a few seconds, he hears the faint rustling of clothes, the quiet thud of the elven lute being placed into the old, worn case, the clicking of locks being closed. He waits, watching the light of the fire dance across the trees around them, as Jaskier’s breathing grows slower and deeper.

Only when he’s sure that the bard’s asleep, does he let himself relax slightly, wincing when he shifts- the motion pulling at scars he can never truly forget. No matter how many nights have passed since that day so many decades ago, the ache in his back never fades.

He slips into a restless sleep.

[vvitchering]

I love, LOVE, your writing! Would you be up for some hurt/comfort Gesekel? I'm a sucker for it, especially along the lines of Geralt thinking Eskel has died on the path but then he shows up with his grin and the whole "you should know better Wolf". 💜

I’m so happy to hear that you enjoy my writing ;w; I write for you guys so getting feedback like this literally fuels me. I am also a sucker for hurt/comfort so you are absolutely in luck~

--

It’s never a pretty sight when he makes his way through settlements ravaged by the war. As Nilfgaard pushes ever northward, the people suffer. Geralt is used to carnage wrought by mindless creatures, but seeing the violence done by men to men makes his stomach turn. The bright side, if it can be called a bright side, is that with war comes death, and with death come monsters. War can be profitable for witchers, if there is coin left to be paid. 

He’s just north of White Orchard, in one such town left ransacked and bloody by a skirmish. The notice board had been covered in desperate pleas for assistance with the encroaching necrophages, drawn in by the stench of blood and bodies. Ghouls and Algouls looking to make meals of the dead would quickly move on to living prey once the bodies were devoured. A witcher was needed. Geralt holds one of the contract offers in his hand as he talks to the barkeep at the town’s tavern, one of the only buildings left intact. 

“Ghouls were a big problem, yeah, but you’re a bit late. Another witcher beat you to them, though that might be to your benefit.”

Geralt frowns. He doesn’t often encounter other witchers. They tend to stick to their own territories. 

“And how is that to my benefit exactly.” Geralt asks, already mentally counting his losses. If this town was already clean, he had a week at least to go before he again encountered a settlement big enough to find work in. 

The barkeep gives him a slightly sympathetic look.

“He drove out the flesh eaters, but they still got ‘im in the end. Poisonous bite, you know? Got ‘im right in the neck and it wasn’t long before he stopped moving. Real shame. Wasn’t a bad guy for a witcher, had a bit of good humor about 'im, even with that scarred face of his.”

Geralt’s heart speeds up despite himself. There are plenty of witchers with facial scars. It’s not him. 

He asks the barkeep to describe the good humored witcher. 

Brown hair, strong jaw, wide nose, and terrible scars that disfigured the side of his face and twisted his mouth. 

Geralt’s blood chills in his veins. It’s not possible. No way he’d let something as mundane as a ghoul take him out. 

“Friend of yours?” the barkeep asks.

Geralt is reeling, still trying to process the information, still finding loopholes, when the man reaches underneath the bar and produces a long thin object, wrapped in a white sheet. 

“Was gonna try to sell it, but if he was your kin it’s rightfully yours.”

Any doubt Geralt was trying to hold onto vanishes as he pushes aside the sheet. It’s a witcher’s silver sword, adorned with runes as familiar as the ones on his own sword, and altered at the grip to be easier for larger hands to wrap around comfortably. It’s Eskel’s, unquestionably. And no witcher would let his silver out of his sight unless...

“Where.” Geralt bites out. “Where is he.”

“The body? Dragged ‘im to the old oak by the hill. Couldn’t spare the labor to bury ‘im, you understand, but it seemed the least we could do for his help.”

Geralt snatches Eskel’s sword from the bar and leaves as quickly as his feet can carry him. He leaves Roach tethered outside and takes off at a run toward the hill he can see by the edge of the town. It’s a mistake. It has to be. It can’t be, the evidence is in his hands, but it must be. 

There’s a figure resting at the base of a huge oak that looms into view the closer he gets to the hill. It’s not him. It can’t be him.

Geralt skids to a stop. Falls to his knees in the dirt, the sword slipping from his hands to rest in front of him. 

Eskel is splattered with dried but foul smelling blood and his armor is ripped and tattered. The townspeople must have arranged him in the dignified position he laid in; back straight, eyes closed, his steel sword resting on his chest. They’ve laid him to rest like they would a respected warrior, albeit one who they couldn’t spare the resources to bury or burn.

There’s a high pitched agonized whine coming from somewhere. It takes Geralt a moment to realize it’s coming from his own throat. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this day would come. No witcher ever died in his bed. But for it to be Eskel, already... They were both still young, by witcher standards, barely men, not even at their first hundred years. And Eskel was gone. 

Distantly, Geralt registers that he’s crying. He feels lightheaded, like his soul is trying to escape and go somewhere else, like it can’t stand to exist in a reality where Eskel does not. Geralt shuffles forward on his knees until Eskel is close enough to touch. He bends over the fallen witcher and presses his face to his neck, searching for his scent, one last memory to hold onto. 

Eskel’s lightning storm essence is there still, underneath the putrid stink of necrophage blood. Geralt breaths it in, greedy, desperate, tears dripping from his face to Eskel’s neck and leaving tracks in the filth there. 

And then he hears it. A weak fluttering thud. A heartbeat. Geralt freezes, doesn’t even dare to breath, lest he destroy himself all over again with false hope. 

A moment passes. Then another. 

The dull thud sounds again. 

He’s alive. 

The relief is sudden and all consuming. Geralt collapses, curls around Eskel as best he can with all of their armor between them, and lets his sobs shake him apart. Eskel’s heart is slow, slower than even a witcher’s should be, and his chest doesn’t move at all for how shallow his breaths are, but he’s alive. 

He’s alive.

Geralt tries to match his breaths to Eskel’s and finds himself slipping into meditation. Eskel is clearly on a deeper level than Geralt has ever experienced, if being handled and transported by humans and having his sword taken from him didn’t draw him out of the trance. Geralt drifts, exhausted by both his grief and his joy, and only stirs when he feels the pillow he’s made of Eskel’s chest shift under him. 

Eskel groans and it’s the most beautiful sound Geralt has ever heard in his life. He sits up in a hurry and snakes a hand under Eskel’s neck to help the larger witcher sit up. His eyes are open and his pupils shrink and grow rapidly as he blinks and reorients himself. His gaze lands on Geralt and he smiles.

“Could’ve used you here a few days ago.”

His voice is rough and dry, but the deep tones are instantly comforting.

“You so far off your game you let a few ghouls turn you into a chew toy?” Geralt teases.

Eskel rolls his eyes and and moves to rotate his shoulder until it pops satisfyingly. He stretches his neck, producing a similar crack, and Geralt catches a glimpse of the half healed bite wound on Eskel’s neck. The barkeep’s story had been true, then. He brings a hand up to smooth down Eskel’s collar and lightly brush over the angry red skin. Eskel hisses and slaps his hand away.

“Gonna scar.” Eskel says gloomily. “I’ll never live it down.”

“You will. You’ll live.”

Geralt means it to sound light and humorous, but the look Eskel gives him says his joke didn’t quite land the way he’d hoped. 

“I’m fine. It was just a ghoul. Got me in a hell of a shitty spot, but it’ll take more than that to get rid of me.”

“I know, its just...They told me you died. You looked dead. I couldn’t hear your heart.”

Eskel reaches up and slides his fingers through Geralt’s hair to cup the back of his head. He pulls lightly, bringing Geralt close enough to knock foreheads with him. It’s an action that they’d done since they were children at Kaer Morhen, their own special way of being close. Geralt can hear Eskel’s heart now, beating away strong and loud in his chest. 

“I’m sorry I scared you. I really am fine.” Eskel says quietly, rubbing absently at Geralt’s scalp with the hand buried in the white strands. 

Geralt leans into the pressure for a moment and then pulls away, clearing his throat after the emotional display.

“Don’t fucking do it again.” Geralt says, feigning annoyance. 

Eskel laughs and Geralt once again has a new favorite sound. 

“Yeah, sure, Wolf. I’ll do my best.”

*~*

:’) well that certainly got away from me. I hope this makes up for how long it took me to answer!!

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

Prompt: Reunion Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc): Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: None Summary: It’s been a truly long winter. They haven’t seen each other in more than four moths. But all the sweeter the reunion. 

[This was supposed to be a sugar prompt but then something went horribly wrong.]

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Crossposted on ao3 here

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

The city is still covered with a blanket of snow when Geralt rides into Oxenfurt.

It's still an hour or two before nightfall, the sky painted with reds and golds of sunset and the Academy is quiet, all the students still in their classrooms. Geralt can only hope that Jaskier doesn't have any evening lectures to give tonight.

He dismounts from the saddle and hands Roach's reins to a stableboy that knows him well enough to know that it's been a long journey and the mare needs the best care she can get. Geralt is not worried about her, she's in good hands.

He makes his way through the little garden - Jaskier's favourite place in the Academy, unbeaten even by the library - and into the accommodation block, where he takes the stairs all the way up, to the lecturer's rooms floor. Jaskier's room is in the west wing, third to last.

They haven't seen each other in more than four months and if Geralt could, he'd be shaking with anticipation.

When he knocks, there's a rustle of papers from behind the door and Jaskier's voice that asks to just give him a second. The sound of his voice stirs something in the witcher's chest.

"Apologies, I've just been-" Jaskier mutters, opening the door but his words die mid-sentence. "Oh, gods-"

He freezes for a second, eyes wide with surprise and so impossibly blue, and then he's already pulling the witcher closer by one of the belts of his armour and kissing him, hot and eager, tearing a choked moan out of Geralt's chest when he runs his tongue over his lips, parting them, and licks into his mouth.

They're still in the hallway, where anyone can see them, and though Geralt doubts that that would cause any real problems, seeing that Jaskier is no longer a student in the Academy, he still steps even closer, until they're chest to chest, and presses the bard closer to himself, one hand tangled up in his hair and the other one resting on the small of his back. He doesn't have to say anything for Jaskier to take a step back, leading them both into his room without ever breaking the kiss.

Once they're inside and the door closes behind them, Geralt pushes him up against the wall, drinking in the moan that escapes the younger man's lips when his shoulders hid the wooden panels, no pain in that sound, only pleasure.

"Geralt-" he breathes into the witcher's lips, leaning into the witcher's touch with his entire body, eyes shining so bright that it almost hurts.

"I'm here," Geralt whispers, kissing him again, hard and passionate, cupping his cheek with his hand. "I'm here, Jask. I'm back."

"You're back," Jaskier echoes, right into his lips. "I've missed you so much-"

Again, something it Geralt's chest stirs, both painful and pleasant, and he exhales sharply, finding his way to Jaskier's neck, hands blindly searching for the ties of his shirt. It's been so long, so fucking long, and he can't wait any longer, can't control himself, the need to touch, to kiss, to feel burning through his veins like the strongest of elixirs.

"Never spending a winter without you again," Jaskier whispers, undoing the buckles of Geralt's armour with quick, deft fingers. "Never again, do you hear me?"

"Never again," Geralt echoes, pressing their hips together to catch the bard's shaky sigh with his mouth. "If next year you're teaching on winter term again, I'll stay with you here, in Oxenfurt."

Jaskier smiles against his lips, letting go of the witcher for only a second, allowing him to put his swords down.

"You'll stay here?" he asks, the smile never leaving his lips. "In this very room, Witcher? Oh, that would be incredible."

Just as always, he's unable to keep quiet, talking in-between the kisses that he keeps leaving on Geralt's lips, and the witcher would never admit just how much he misses that every time they part.

"Imagine us here, Geralt-" Jaskier whispers, his lips brushing over Geralt's as he undoes the last buckle of his armour which Geralt immediately gets rid off, allowing for it to fall to their feet. "I usually have lectures in the morning. We'd wake up here together, stay in bed for just a little longer than we should- You realise you can't leave any visible marks on me while I teach, don't you?"

As a response, Geralt just grins and bites a mark into Jaskier's neck, right under the sharp of his jaw, where he can't hide it.

Jaskier sucks in a breath and moans, throwing his head back, before shoving the witcher in the shoulder with no real force.

"Fuck, Geralt," he groans, pressing a palm over the love-bite. "How am I going to explain this?"

The complicated laces of his shirt finally give way, and Geralt immediately tugs it off the bard, tossing it somewhere towards one of the armchairs and pulling Jaskier even closer, pressing his chest against his own to feel his laboured breathing, his quickened heartbeat.

"Is anyone going to ask?" he rumbles, low and breathy, dipping his head to run a line of kisses over Jaskier's collarbone before sinking his teeth into it, unable to help himself.

Without even realising, Jaskier snaps his hips forward, a loud, breathless moan escaping his lips. Geralt's sharp teeth have always been a weakness of his, and though the bites would sometimes be a little too hard, would sometimes make him bleed, there weren't too many things that he loved more.

"It's not about anyone asking-" he says, both hands now tangled in the witcher's silver hair. "I'm an authority to those students, Geralt, and I-"

"And you're mine," Geralt growls, cutting him short.

It's incredibly hard to argue with that.

Jaskier's never really forbidden his lovers the pleasure of leaving marks on him, he loved wearing those but being marked and claimed and owned by Geralt was so, so much better.

So he doesn't say a word about it anymore, knowing that his image will not suffer in the slightest, but might, in fact, get even better once one or two students see Geralt in the halls and come to certain conclusions. It's not like any of them don't know they've been together for years now, seeing that they know all of Jaskier's songs and stories by heart.

"Come here," Jaskier whispers, stepping away from the wall and guiding Geralt towards the bed, gasping when the back of his knees hit it a little too soon and he falls on his back, the witcher immediately crawling on top of him.

There's still too many layers of fabric separating them, and Geralt just cannot have that, so he reaches for the hem of his shirt to pull it off but before he can do that, Jaskier takes his hand away and switches it for his own, never the one to deny himself the pleasure of undressing his witcher.

Once Geralt's shirt falls to the floor, Jaskier's hands immediately find their way to his broad chest and shoulders, caressing and scratching in a way that makes the witcher tremble with anticipation, with just how much he'd missed this.

He moans breathlessly when the bard catches his medallion in hand and pulls him into a kiss by it, wrapping his slender legs around Geralt's waist and pulling him closer, gasping into the kiss when their hips press together.

"Talk to me," he pleads, arching his back when Geralt breaks the kiss and focuses all his attention on Jaskier's neck, leaving bruising kisses everywhere he can reach, sharp teeth grazing the delicate skin. "Please, Geralt, I've missed the sound of your voice so much."

Geralt's never been to much a talker, especially in bed, but he knows a trick or two and he also knows that Jaskier absolutely loved it. And anything Jaskier ever wanted, Geralt gave.

"You want to hear me, do you?" he asks, low and rumbling, almost a growl that sends a shiver down Jaskier's spine. "What do you want me to tell you? Do you know how bad I've missed you during the winter in the keep? About the way I thought of you every single night, tying in our bed, thinking that I can still feel your scent on the pillows? Or about all the dirty little fantasies I've come up with on the especially cold night, imagining that my hands are yours?"

"Fuck," Jaskier shiffles, amlost sobs. "All of that."

He lets go of Geralt's shoulders and slides his hands down his chest and abdomen, until the reaches the waist of his trousers, undoing the buttons as fast as he can and cursing under his breath when the last one slips from his fingers twice in a row.

Geralt never breaks away from his neck, kissing and biting only to lick over the marks a second later, complying with the bard's wish to hear him and whispering hot, intoxicating words against his delicate skin but his voice breaks off into a moan when Jaskier finally deals with the buttons and slips his hand underneath, wrapping his fingers around his cock.

"Gods-" Jaskier breathes, his other hand coming up to cup the sharp of the witcher's jaw and lock eyes with him as he strokes him slowly over the entire length. "Every time we part, I almost forget just how big you are."

It only takes Geralt a couple of seconds to push his trousers off completely, kicking them off the bed and paying absolutely no mind to where it is that they'll end up, and find his way back to Jaskier, undoing the laces of his breeches and kissing long, messy lines down his chest and abdomen.

Aside from the neck, Jaskier's skin is completely free of any sort of marks and oh, there's nothing Geralt loves more than that, knowing that he's got full freedom to change that.

He doesn't wait even for a second, dipping his head down and pressing his lips to the inner side of Jaskier's thigh before pushing his knee into the bed to keep him in place and sucking a blood-red mark into the delicate skin, making the bard arch his back and clasp a hand over his mouth to silence a sharp cry, equal parts pain and pleasure.

His cock is flush and hard, curving up towards his stomach in a way that sends a sweet spasm through Geralt's lower abdomen, and he just can't fucking help himself but wrap his lips around the tip, eyes fluttering closed with pleasure.

Jaskier immediately gets his hands into his hair, not controlling but guiding and rolls his hips, breathing out the sweetest of moans.

Geralt takes that as an encouragement, opening his mouth just a little wider to allow Jaskier to roll his hips again, taking his cock in deeper, following every vein with his tongue and slowly moving back up until he lets it out of his mouth almost completely only to repeat the very same thing again. And then again, just a little faster and a little deeper.

And again, until he takes in the entire length, feeling the head somewhere deep in his throat.

"You've never told me, where you, ah-" Jaskier tries, breaking off into a moan and clenching his hands tighter. "You've never told me, where you've learned to do that."

Geralt pays no attention to his words for a little while, but then breaks away, just as slow as before, and grins at him, spit and precome glistening on his lips and chin.

"Had a few teachers here and there," he murmurs, dipping his head to run his tongue over the entire length of the bard's cock without breaking the eye contact.

Before he can say anything else, Jaskier tugs on his hair - just a little harder than necessary - and pulls his up to his lips, into a hot, raw kiss, sharing his own taste with the witcher.

"Give those teachers my compliments if you ever run into them again," he whispers, low and husky, pushing himself off the bed to flip them both over and straddle Geralt's hips, leaning down kiss him again. "Though it would've been fun to teach you myself."

He rolls his hips over Geralt's biting his lip when the witcher's cock slips against the crease of his thighs, and rocks against it, making Geralt roll his eyes with pleasure, silver hair thrown over the pillows like a halo.

"You know, Witcher," Jaskier whispers, adjusting the angle just a little so that his own cock could grind against Geralt's abdomen with every move. "I knew you're going to come back around this time - seeing what you've told me in the letter you've sent me when you were just leaving Kaedwen - and for this last week... I've kept myself prepared."

Geralt's mind is fuzzy with desire and pleasure, and it takes him a second to find a meaning for Jaskier's words but before he can come to any real conclusions, the bard already reaches for the vial of oil on his nightstand and uncorks it. He dips some of it into his hand and runs it over the length of the witcher's cock, making Geralt's breath catch.

"Jask-" he breathes, catching the bard's wrist to ground him, make him look at him. "Jask, are you sure?"

Jaskier's eyes are dark with lust but behind all that darkness, there's still the familiar cornflower-blue and his smile is as gentle as ever when he leans down to brush his lips over Geralt's.

"I am," he says, guiding Geralt's hand between his legs and rolling his hips towards the touch in an inviting gesture. "See for yourself."

Geralt doesn't question him, just runs the tips of his fingers over the length of his cock to slick them with precome and pushes two of them against the bard's hole only to feel them slip inside with almost no resistance.

Jaskier moans breathlessly and rocks onto them, prepared but still so wonderfully tight, and as Geralt pushes his fingers in up to the knuckles, Jaskier's cock twitches, leaking with precome.

"No-" he sniffles, digging his nails into Geralt's shoulder and biting his lips. "No, not like this- I want to come with you inside me and I'm already so fucking close-"

Geralt doesn't need any other words, any other encouragements, just nods, nearly shaking with anticipation, and slips his fingers out, both his hands coming to rest on Jaskier's thighs, calming and guiding him.

They're both breathless, and for a second, Geralt seems to suffocate completely when Jaskier lines up and slowly sink down onto his cock, mouth falling open in a silent moan. He's hot and tight and absolutely fucking perfect when he takes in the entire length and stops, trembling. It takes Geralt everything he's got to allow him the time he needs, knowing that though he's prepared, he's not prepared enough.

"Talk to me," Jaskier pleads, again, his voice no more than a broken whimper. "Please, Geralt, I just need- I just need your voice, please-"

Geralt can smell his own blood where Jaskier's nails are digging into his chest, and throws his head back, forcing himself to take in a deep breath and get a hold on his self-control.

"Come here," he beckons, pulling Jaskier closer, until he can kiss him again, slow and calming, one hand resting on his hip, guiding him in his slow movements, and the other one tangled up in his hair. "I could barely sleep yesterday, thinking about what it's going to feel like to come back to you. I kept picturing your eyes, your lips, your hands. Kept thinking about how it's going to feel to kiss you, hold you in my arms again, how it's going to feel to be inside you."

Jaskier breathes a shaky moan into his lips, gasping when Geralt rocks his hips to meet him half-way.

"Thought of you," he echoes, nosing at the witchers neck in a way that shows Geralt just how overwhelmed, how desperate he is. "Every single time, lying in this very bed, stretching myself open, I thought of you. Of just how good it's going to feel when you're finally here and we won't have to hold back, won't have to think about that."

He's growing confident, rocking his hips at a slow but steady rhythm, Geralt meeting him half-way every time, and they both know that they don't need much. Not now, when it's been so long, when finally being together again makes every touch feel overpowering.

"I don't have anywhere to be tomorrow," Jaskier whispers, his every breath breaking off into a moan. "We can spend the entire day in bed, only you and me."

Every time he rocks his hips, the fire in Geralt's gut burns brighter, hotter, so much that it's almost painful, and he doesn't even think about what it is that he's whispering to the bard but Jaskier trembles in response and that's everything he needs to know he's giving him exactly what he wants.

He moves faster, deeper, tearing moans and whimpers out of Jaskier's chest, and though the bard can barely keep up with him, knees shaking with strain where they're digging into the soft fur of the blanket, his cock is leaking against Geralt's stomach and that's enough for the witcher to know just how close he is.

His hand slips from Jaskier's thigh and in-between his legs but the bard catches his wrist at the last second and takes his hand away to lace their fingers together and press it into the bed, holding onto the witcher so tightly that it hurts.

"No-" he sniffles, sinking his teeth into Geralt's shoulder when he snaps his hips just a little harder. "No, don't- I want to come just like this."

The bite sends a shockwave through Geralt's entire body and it wasn't for his desire to let Jaskier come first, that would've been enough for him.

"Come on, my love," he murmurs, tipping Jaskier's chin up to kiss him again, lick into his mouth. "For me."

Jaskier bites into Geralt's lips, digging his nails into the back of his hand hard enough to draw blood and sinks all the way down, coming in one- two- three thrusts, his moan breaking off into a whine.

The scent of his pleasure spikes up, filling Geralt's lungs from wall to wall and the way Jaskier clenches around him is enough to tip the witcher over the edge, as well. He spills deep inside the bard's body, both of them still moving, taking each other through it, and it's only when Jaskier's knees can no longer hold him that they stop, falling silent for a long moment, just breathing together.

"I love you so much, you know that, right?" Jaskier finally murmurs, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips as he slowly pulls himself away to lie next to Geralt, nosing at his neck when the witcher throws an arm around him to pull him into an embrace.

"Hmm," Geralt hums, sated and content, a soft rumble escaping his lips when Jaskier places a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Love you more, sunshine."

For some time, they stay just like that, basked in each other's warmth, until finally, Jaskier pulls away, stretching and arching his back in the most tempting of ways.

"So, Witcher," he murmurs, climbing right on top again, running his thin finger down Geralt's chest. "You were saying something about the fantasies you've come up with while you were away?"

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Snowed In

Y'all, the quarantine hit hard. This fic is 100% self serving but I'm posting it in case it makes anyone else feel better? To add some spicy self loathing to my day? who knows. 

No legit pairings, a tiny bit of hinting angstiness, for the sake of form, Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: defs big warning for anxiety and depression. I don't think there's anything else? Lmk if there is and I'll edit this.

__________

“Snowed in?” you repeated, having just packed everything up and saddled both Roach and your horse Beau. 

Geralt nodded grimly, “We’ll just have to hope Jaskier hears of the weather before he tries to make it here. The mail carrier is refusing to ride the pass.”

You heaved your saddlebags down with a slightly over dramatic grunt before turning to face him, “Is it a passing storm or do they think it’s headed for us?”

He shrugged and began untacking Roach, “You’ll have to ask the innkeeper. I just heard from someone who was turned back.” 

You both finished putting the horses back in their stalls, throwing a little extra hay over the side in case you didn’t want to face the cold after dinner. The innkeeper looked frantic, attempting to deal with about five angry customers, so you headed for the connected tavern instead. In your experience, bartenders knew more scuttlebutt anyway. 

Surprisingly you two were the only ones in the bar. The pretty blonde poured the two of you a beer and slapped a loaf of bread down between you before you could utter a word of request. Something rather unusual since traveling with Geralt. 

“How long do you think this will last?” you asked, handing the woman a couple of gold coins. 

She shrugged, “Last year it was mild. Just a week I think? But the year before that the town was stuck for almost a month.”

“Hm- huh? What day is it?” you mumbled as Geralt shook you awake. 

“Twenty-three. Get up.” He ordered. The process had become routine. The two of you were stuck in a rather small room together due to overcrowding and you weren’t handling the idle time very well. 

Geralt seemed completely content to meditate by the fire and meticulously repair his armor for the rest of eternity. While you had quickly become catatonic. 

You sat up only because you knew he would lift you out of the bed completely if you didn’t do it yourself, “Ah yes, what a beautiful day to feed the horses and drink our weight in ale.” 

The sarcasm dripping from your voice only earned a stern look from your roommate. The inn had run out of the drinkable stuff last week and they were rationing little the piss water they had left.

You scratched at your hair, your hand recoiling at the feel of grease. There was nothing to do, the floor space between the bed and the fire was barely big enough for Geralt to sit cross-legged, let alone for you to do any sort of exercise to keep your mood up. Not that you would if you could anyway. Any motivation to keep some sort of normalcy had left your body around day ten. The innkeeper had let some guests spar in the lobby around day six but everyone scattered when you had attempted to join. Something about ‘the witcher’s girl’ and how ‘she might gut you out of habit’. People could be stupid, you weren’t a witcher any more than they were and even so, Geralt was calmer and more restrained than all of them combined.  

So, embracing the numbness, you stayed in bed well into the afternoon and long after Geralt had left his side of the bed.

“Did I miss breakfast again?” you asked, not making a move to get any farther from your warm blankets.

Geralt nodded, pointing to the small table near the door where some bread,  cheese, and dried meat sat waiting. 

You picked at it for his benefit, though you hadn’t really been hungry for a few days now. The storm raging outside was just about as strong as the one raging through your hollow insides. This inaction, the unknowing, the vulnerability was killing you. 

“Y/N, you need to eat more than the crumbs.” Geralt urged, moving to sit in the chair opposite to you. 

“I tried.” You sighed, “Can’t I just lay back down?”

He shook his head, “No. You’re letting this consume you. You’re tougher than this.”

You scowled at him, wanting to throw the bread in his face, “Fuck you. Nothing bothers you.”

“Your behavior is bothering me.” he countered, staring at you with a mix of worry and annoyance.

“Well isn’t that touching.” You sighed in mock flattery. Abandoning any idea of food, you got up to sit by the fire,  poking at it aggressively with an iron rod and making a point to face away from him. 

“What in the spheres is your problem?” He growled.

“Being stuck here with nothing to do?” you offered, your tone reminiscent of the young spoiled princess the two of you had saved from a wraith a few months back. 

“That’s not it. I know when you’re lying Y/N”

Your limbs felt like they might float away into the air if you didn’t curl up into a ball, “I don’t want to talk about it Geralt. I’m sorry for snapping. I just need a couple of minutes.”

“You’ve needed ‘a couple of minutes’ for the past two weeks. Time to talk.” he argued. 

You snorted, “That’s rich coming from you. You didn’t tell me you’d been stabbed until right before you passed out in Temeria.”

“I’ve tried learning from my mistakes.” his tone was one of convincing the both of you, “What's bothering you? Really.”

“I don’t fucking know Geralt.” you hissed, getting very tired of his prying.

You heard him sit back and cross his arms, “Not good enough.”

You felt the words leave your throat before you could think of their meaning, spewing out with vitriol and fire, “I’m fucking tired. I’m tired of you telling me what to do. I’m tired of watching snow pile up out the damn window. I’m tired of the stupid couple that fucks all night next door. I’m tired of this worry that feels like it will rip me apart at any fucking moment from just not fucking knowing. I’m tired of worrying about Jaskier. I’m tired of worrying about the horses getting stocked up when there’s nothing I can do to help them. I’m tired of the glares from the other guests. I’m tired of feeling powerless. I’m tired of having no decent outlet for this anxious energy I’m stuck with. I’m tired of not knowing when this feeling will go away. And I’m absolutely fucking exhausted by the thought that it’s only been twenty-fucking-three days yet I feel I’ve been trapped here for a god-damned-eternity.” 

The last sentence broke your resolve to stay angry. Upon pushing the last words from your lungs, you heaved a deep breath and let the sobs tear your chest apart, giving in to the hopelessness that had been building for weeks now. 

You heard a shuffling that registered in the back of your mind as Geralt sitting behind you, but even so, you flinched when a hand rested on your shoulders. He scooped one hand under your knees and pulled you onto his lap, pulling a blanket from the bed and wrapping it around the two of you. He let you sob until the sobs turned to whimpers.

“I didn’t realize, I’m sorry Y/N” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your hair, sending a flood of warmth to your cheeks.

“You don’t need to be.” you croaked, leaning into his affection.

“I didn’t need to pry either.” He argued.

You just hummed in reply, too much of your energy spent on purging your system of those hideous sobs. You did make a noise of protest when he lifted you from his lap and set you beside him on the floor. 

“Stay by the fire, I’ll be back.” He instructed, the tenderness of his voice surprising you. 

Minutes later, as you were beginning to pull yourself back together, he returned with a terry cloth robe and what smelled like fresh jasmine soap. Without a word, he hoisted you into his arms and carried you across the room to the bathroom. He set you on your feet and handed you the robe and soap before turning his attention to the lever pump hanging over the ceramic tub. 

“A bath?” You tried to bring your usual playful tone back to life and failed miserably.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” 

You shook your head, “I’m just…” slightly disoriented? you finished the sentence in your head, not sure how to phrase it.

“Not used to anyone accommodating your emotions.” he finished, a knowing look in his eyes reminding you just how much he knew of isolation and pain. 

As you nodded you had to mentally remind yourself you have to let people help you, that it’s okay to let people help you.

You didn’t bother waiting for him to leave before you peeled off your riding breeches. Melitele only knows how long you’d gone without changing them. You had more trouble unlacing the cinched waist blouse you’d been wearing the last four days. The restless tossing and turning you’d done instead of sleeping had it knotted four times over. When you’d finally rid yourself of every last thread the tub was full. 

Geralt traced a sign in the water, sending ripples over the surface and steam up in the air, “Shouldn’t be too hot, but test it first.” He mumbled, making an effort not to stare at you too long. 

It was rather hot but you had exposed yourself enough for one day. You took the hand he offered for balance and sank into the nearly scalding water without hesitation.

He knelt next to you, “If you wish to be alone-”

“No.” You interrupted, not having the courage to look up at him, “Please don’t go.” The words barely escaped your mouth, but Geralt heard them perfectly fine.

He wet a washcloth and lathered it with soap before handing it off to you. With the rest of the bar, he began washing your hair. At first, his hands were hesitant, as if he was afraid to hurt you. He paused when you gave up scrubbing the sweat and dirt from behind your knees, but only for a moment. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes. His nails scratched at the base of your skull, coaxing a sigh from your lips. As he massaged the soap through the tangled mess he took his time with the tension in your temples, then the pressure points behind your ears, even working out the knots in your neck. You did your best not to moan, but a couple of gasps and pleased grunts may have slipped out.  He rested a hand between your shoulders and guided you back, dipping your hair into the water to rid it of the froth he’d created. 

You peeked up at him through your lashes. If he noticed he didn’t show it. His face was relaxed, almost serene, as he raked his fingers through your hair, gently tugging on the bigger tangles. You hadn’t ever taken the time to look at his eyes before, he seemed uncomfortable over them when you’d met so you left him alone about it. Looking at them now, you regretted it. They were a beautiful mix of honey, sunflowers, and glittering gold. And they were so kind. The idea that people spat at him when they recognized his eyes made your heart ache. 

With a slight nudge from him, you sat back up, all the tension in your body having melted in the hot water or under his touch. You pulled your knees to your chest, resting your arms across them and your chin on your arms. The events of the day had you feeling like a child who’d gone too long without a nap being soothed back to sleep. If you were being honest with yourself you missed the feeling of safety that came with someone taking care of you. 

Geralt brushed your favorite oils through your hair, doing his best not to pull through knots too roughly, but it was in the same bun for about four days. 

You let your tired mind wander as you watched snow fall out the small port window above the tub. The comb had failed to detect any knots in your hair for some time but it seemed Geralt was just as lost in thought as you.

Eventually the water grew cold and you had to accept this couldn’t go on forever. 

“I think I might need to get out soon.” you mumbled, inspecting your pruney fingers. Everything in you was telling you to stay. Stay in this safe place with your gentle guardian. But you knew if you didn’t get out soon you’d never warm up, fire or not. Not to mention you knew you were taking Geralt’s actions more to heart than they were meant. He simply felt guilty for pushing you too far. 

That didn’t mean you wanted him gone though. You were more than happy to live the lie for a little while longer.

"I'll go check the horses." He offered, placing a towel and the robe within your reach. 

"Thank you, Geralt. For not… I don't know? Laughing at me?" You refused to look at him, being vulnerable enough as you already were. 

"Y/N…" he said your name like it meant something but you couldn't figure out what, "You never have to thank me. I owe you so much more than a hot bath and kind words." 

You turned your head to argue but when you saw his expression the words died on your tongue. All you could offer in response was a small smile.

It seemed to be enough for him and he nodded before disappearing through the door, leaving you to ponder what he'd meant. 

_________

Part 2 here!

[the-not-so-silent-back-up]

Until Full Moon

-1 -2 -3

Werewolf!(f)reader x Jaskier

note: I am reposting my own writting because I am planing to continue the Story. And I want my fic on my new Blog. And of coures a big Thank you to @the-winter-witcher for cheking my writting and @calamitycrowley, my beta-reader

description: Since a few month you are a werewolf, and you mostly hide in the woods because you know how dangerous you can become when it’s time. One day you meet Jaskier and Geralt. Unfortunately the witcher recently got the job to get rid of a werewolf. And that’s when it all begins

Chapter -1-

It was a sunny day, the birds were chirping, the wind was mild and fresh and the flowers were blooming in all of the colors imaginable. But Geralt wasn't in a good mood. He and Jaskier were wandering through a little village with Roach behind them. It wasn't even a village it were just a bunch of farmers living near each other.

Geralt knew that he will find no job here, and even if the farmers here had a problem with a monster they wouldn't hire a witcher, they don't trust him. How did he know? It's a mild summer day and there are no kids playing in the streets, no men working on the fields and no women anywhere to be seen. They all hide. They hide from the Butcher of Blaviken. 

Jaskier besides was also not in his best mood, he was stuck in writing a new song that he just couldn't finish properly. But he still looks at all the beauty in the world, he played his lute not for Geralt this time he played it for all the birds that were singing. But he didn't sing, because everytime he starts he remembers the song he couldn't finish. So this time he leaves the singing to the birds in the trees. 

They finally found an inn in the last village they crossed, with water for the the horse and cold ale for the men. 

Geralt wasn't in a talking mood, if he ever was. And Jaskier wasn't in the mood to play for people, today the birds were a much better audience. So the two just sat there drinking their ales in silence. 

Jaskier noticed three rough looking men coming in. They looked miserable. 

"this damn wolf" 

"shut up! You don't even have sheeps" 

"that doesn't matter. I don't want that fucking wolf near me" 

"you only care about yourself, what about my sheep and his cows" he pointed to the third man that didn't said anything yet. 

Jaskier looked at Geralt, but the Witcher wasn't interested. For him it sounds like a normal wolf and some dumb villagers that tried to hunt a wolf at the day. 

"Geralt"  the bard whispers "they are talking about one wolf, but the only wolves that hunt alone are werewolves" 

Fuck he is right. 

"Hmm" 

Jaskier turned to the men and asked them if they knew that they were trying to hunt a werewolf at the daytime. The men looked angry at the bard but after a few moments they saw Geralt in the corner. 

"What do you say Witcher?" 

Finally the silent one of them said something. 

"The bard is right. What you are talking about is definitely a werewolf." 

"Don't make these stupid faces. I told you it's a werewolf but you never listen to me." 

The first two men left without any words.

 "So Witcher how many coin for a werewolf?"

… 

 "Geralt?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Will we actually find tracks right now? I mean the last full moon was one day ago. So that werewolf is human till next month. Am I right?" 

"That's all true. But maybe we will find his hiding place" 

"His?" 

"Yes, only man become werewolves" 

"Oh I didn't know that. That is really interesting. Do you know why? Or is just that there are male and female monsters?..." 

"shh.." 

"Oh did you hear something? I am sorry. I almost forgot we on a hunt right…" 

"Jaskier!" 

"Oh yeah. I will be silent now" 

The witcher actually heard something, but now it's gone. But he is just tired of the day. So the dissimilar couple started to set up their camp for the night. 

Jaskier knew what he has to do. It's always the same after they set up the tent and decide what to eat, he is the one searching for firewood. While Geralt is either hunting for a rabbit or preparing the food they have left. 

So he makes his way into the woods, not too deep, after the one time he didn't find a way out at first and it was in the middle of the night he he finally returned, he had learned his lesson. 

He is gathering as much wood as he can find. But then all the wood he collected so thoroughly, falls all to the ground. Jaskier saw something he is familiar with, but didn't belong here at all. 

There you lied curled up unconscious, Naked. Half underneath a bush. 

Jaskier looked all around but didn't find any clue why you were here, the only thing he noticed was the little pile of clothes that was right next to you. He felt a bit uncomfortable, but mostly he was confused and concerned what happened to that young woman lying unconscious in the forest. 

He got  closer to you and was relieved when he saw you chest rising and sinking in a steady rhythm. He leaned down to carefully touch your shoulder. 

"Hey… Are you awake?" 

He almost whispers. 

It will get dark soon and he just can't leave you there, it was too dangerous. 

Now he takes both of your shoulders and shakes you a bit.

"You need to wake up. I don't know what happened to you,but I can't  just leave a girl like this in the forest at night."

His voice got louder. 

An unfamiliar voice is ringing in your ear, a man's voice with a tone of urge in it. You shake your head a little and hum a few inaudible words before you can open your eyes. 

You saw a man with dark hair and eyes blue as the sky in spring, who looks worried at you but most importantly he is holding you. 

You pushed him back because you knew what happened last night, you knew that you were totally naked and who knew if he isn't paid to find you and kill you. 

"Oh gods you are finally awake. I know that sounds like it's made up but I just was collecting some firewood and then I found you there. I thought you were dead. Can I help you. I am not going to lie, you look a bit lost and I…" 

"Turn around." 

You cut him right there 

"What? Oh yeah of course. Do need any help with that?" 

You slide into you really simply dress, make a few knots at the right spots and now you are fully dressed again. 

"Okay what did you just said, sorry I wasn't listening" 

"I said, I was collecting some firewood and I found plenty of it, but I also found you. I have no clue how you got here but I just couldn't left you there so I tried to wake you up to get you out of here. It get gets darker every minute and this is no good place to be naked and alone and unconscious."

"I am fine.."

You pat that strangers shoulder 

"but thank you for your help, I just need my bag and my basket with food and you don't have to see me ever again." 

You look around searching for your very few possessions. But they were nowhere to be found. You look back to the stranger. He looks probably as confused as you. 

"Have you seen it?" 

"What your bag and a basket? No i didn't saw such things. When I found you there was only you and your dress."

You start to lower yourself to search for your lost properties. But as the man said it get darker and you could barely see anything. Resigned you sat underneath a tree, your hands covering your face to hide the tears in your eyes from the Stranger, who just don't want to leave. That was everything you have, everything you could take with you that night you have left. What the hell are you supposed to do to now. 

"Hey.." His voice is really soft. 

"what do you think about that we leave now and go eat something and tomorrow when the sun is shining again I will help you to find your bag and your basket." 

He offers you a hand to stand up. 

"Hmm? What do you say?" 

"That is probably a good idea" 

He still holds your hand and made a little bow before you. 

You couldn't resist a smile.

"So how is the lady called?" 

"My name is Y/N just Y/N… And you are?" 

"My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz viscount de Lettenhove. But you can call me Jaskier."

He lifts up all the wood that fell down earlier and refused to let you carry any of it. As you walked out of the wood onto the meadow. 

"So Y/N you were wandering around the forest with a basket full of food, are you red riding hood or something?" 

He laughed 

"Not exactly" 

You laughed a bit too. But deep down you knew that you were actually the big bad wolf.