#PunkGeralt! x Punk!Yennefer

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Road Trip : Punk!AU

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Punk!Geralt x Punk!Yennefer Word Count: 2,717 Rating: M Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak​ @whatevermonkey​ @mynamesoundslikesherlock​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​ a/n: If you missed Part II you can find the link below as written by @heroics-and-heartbreak​ my partner on this adventure and co-founder of our little Punk!AU. Read on for angst!

Part III – It’s all over, baby, but I’m still yours

{Part I} {Part II}

“Give me the phone.”

Aevryn’s eyes widened and she clutched the phone tighter. Everyone had left the van quickly except for her and Yennefer who had watched as Aevryn’s mouth curled into a little smile as she looked at the phone. She knew exactly what was going on and it was time to confront her while the rest of the group was gone. Especially Jaskier.

“Yen it’s not what it looks like,” Aevryn began. Yennefer propped a hand on her hips and fixed her with her patented “don’t bullshit me” stare.

“And what do you think it looks like, Aev?” she asked. The phone buzzed in Aevryn’s hand and Yennefer looked down at it pointedly.

“Listen… I know this is going to sound stupid. But I think, maybe this time… I think he’s trying, Yen, and don’t give me that look!” Aevryn protested as Yennefer shook her head, a familiar look of disappointment in her eyes that stung, “We had a long talk and he hasn’t been shitty. He’s been worried but that’s something, right?”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Yennefer asked. Aevryn winced, Yennefer’s words striking her as painfully as her fists may have.

“I don’t owe you anything here, Yen,” Aevryn said, her voice growing distant and icy and defensive, “I’m a grown adult. So is he. People can change. For fuck’s sake, I thought you of all people-”

“What the hell does that mean?” Yennefer asked. Aevryn took a deep breath, willing herself not to say anything she’d regret later. She knew Yennefer was protective for good reason and with good intentions. But she was already having this fight with herself, she didn’t need to have it with anyone else. Not yet. There would be time for fighting later.

“Are you going to tell Jask?” Aevryn asked.

“No,” Yennefer answered quickly.

The phone buzzed again.

“Win’s going to be looking for me,” Aevryn said, moving to push past Yennefer. She held her back by the shoulder and the pair locked eyes.

“How many times are you going to let him hurt you?” she asked. If she’d said it with disdain Aevryn could have been angry. But she’d said it sadly, the weary voice of someone who has had to help pick up their friend time and time again and is watching them hurl themselves right back into the fray.

“You don’t have to take care of me if it goes wrong. I know the risks,” Aevryn said, jostling past her and heading towards the low rolling fields as quickly as she could, tears stinging her eyes.

“But I will,” Yennefer called after her. She could tell by the stiffening of Aevryn’s shoulders that she’d heard her, but she continued walking as though she hadn’t and Yennefer let her go.

“Fuck,” Yennefer whispered to herself, kicking the tire with her boot.

“Hey, leave Roach out of this.”

Yennefer wheeled around to find Geralt walking over to the other side of the van. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket and he gave her a searching stare. She’d once compared him to malware, always scanning for problems.

“How long were you standing there?” Yennefer asked, an edge to her voice.

“Not long,” he admitted, “I was looking to see if I could find someplace quiet to meditate but they’re making too much damn noise.”

The whoops and laughter of the rest of your group were carried on the slowly cooling evening air though they couldn’t be seen anymore. They’d gone deep into the fields, leaving Yennefer and Geralt to catch up when they chose. Or, as was the silent understanding, if they chose.

“Any chance you’ll tell me what’s got you all twisted up?” Geralt asked, leaning against the van and tossing her a glance that tried just a bit too hard to be casual. She knew he could see everything; the frustration, the fear, the sadness. The way her hands trembled slightly as it did after a confrontation with someone she loved, caused by the fear that it would lead at any moment to losing them forever. Geralt knew these things but he was too good to speak on it without her permission. He was too good period.

“No,” she answered bluntly, and he gave a wry, knowing smile, nodding and then tilting his head back to rest against the rusted metal. A low roll of thunder sounded overhead, the skies going grey without their notice and Yennefer thought back to another night like this one. A night that had started beautifully and ended in a storm from which neither ever fully returned.

“You still do tarot?” Geralt asked, though he knew the answer.

“Why?” Yennefer asked, cautious but intrigued despite herself. He shrugged and his eyes, such a light brown they nearly glowed golden, peered down at her.

“Thought you might give me a reading,” he said. Yennefer cocked an eyebrow in disbelief at him.

“You always said it was horseshit,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

“I’ve been wrong about things before,” he answered with a shrug, “So, you gonna do it or not?”

Yennefer rolled her eyes and pushed off of the van, moving towards the passenger side where she’d left her bag, Geralt’s eyes following her the whole way.

“Well since you asked so nicely,” she said sarcastically. He climbed into the back of the van and she followed suit, a deck of cards in hand that she quickly began to shuffle once they’d sat down.

“What kind of spread are you looking for?” she asked. Geralt gave her a wolfish smile and she fixed him with an unimpressed look though she had to bite back a laugh.

“What questions do you have for me?” she tried again and Geralt sat back against the window, his large frame crouching to fit into the small space.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “Can’t you just pull some cards and tell me my future or whatever?”

“If you’re just going to be a dick I’m not doing this,” Yennefer said, moving to put the cards back in their box. A large, scarred hand reached out and rested on top of hers, stalling her movement. She looked up to meet his eyes which were apologetic.

“Ok,” he said, relenting, “I want to know…”

He paused and Yennefer watched breathlessly, chest tightening as she thought about the answers she knew he was still looking for, ones she couldn’t give him no matter how badly she wanted to.

“I want to know how the road trip’s going to go,” he said, and he saw the almost imperceptible shift of Yennefer’s shoulders as she exhaled with relief.

“Fair enough,” she said, continuing her shuffling. The deck was one she’d made herself, from the cardstock she’d crafted from wood pulp to the ink she’d distilled from lavender oil and other harvested ingredients. She’d designed the tarot images herself, making them unique to her. While Geralt had his reservations about magic, he unreservedly admired her ingenuity and craftmanship. He’d made the box for her cards, hewn from oak with a message burned on the inside of the box that both of them were careful not to pay attention to or mention though both knew it was there.

She spread the cards out gently and carefully facedown on the crinkly plastic covered seat.

“Pick a card, any card,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, serious in her craft but playful in her methods. Geralt took his time, staring down at them as though he were trying to will the cards to work in his favor. He was pretty sure that wasn’t how this worked but damn if he wouldn’t try. He finally pointed to one and Yennefer pulled it out, flipping it face up between the two of them.

Disembodied hands reaching out from the bottom of the card posed in supplication to a breaking dawn depicted in shimmering, golden ink. In the middle, as it was in all of her major arcana cards, a roman numeral was drawn; XX.

Geralt looked to Yennefer’s face immediately, trying to read her reaction to figure out if it was good or bad. She looked at the card for a few minutes in silence.

“Well?” Geralt asked finally, unable to wait any longer as the tension built.

“Judgement,” she said. His brows furrowed in concern and she looked up to meet his eyes.

“It’s not bad,” she explained.

“Judgment has rarely been favorable for me,” he said. “Whose judgment?”

“Good question,” she said, looking back down to the card, “It’s usually associated with resurrection and awakening. Second chances or new beginnings. Something coming to an end to make way for something else.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Geralt said, glaring at the card.

“Well you don’t believe in it, so it doesn’t matter much,” Yennefer said with a little shrug, gathering her cards and opening the box to put them back. Her eyes slipped to the words on the inside; all my love. It had been so sweet once upon a time. Now it weighed on her heart.

“I may not have always understood or believed in the methods, but I will always believe in you,” Geralt insisted.

Yennefer didn’t know if it was the urgent need in his voice the betrayed how badly he wanted her to know he believed in her – still, present tense, not past – or the closeness of their bodies in the small space. It could have been the scent of leather and aftershave that muddled her senses or the way his hand brushing against hers triggered memories throughout her body of the way it felt to be held and stroked and touched by him. It could have been the threatening knell of the Judgment card calling for an end and the panic that flooded her at the thought that the end could be this, could be them forever, finally. Destiny making a call she hadn’t been strong enough to commit to fully. Whatever the reason, be it all or none of them, she found herself pressing into his arms, her mouth seeking his and finding him eagerly receptive. His large hands seized her waist and pulled her onto his lap so she straddled him, feeling the hardening length already straining against his jeans. Her hands cupped his face, the familiar sensation of scruff and jaw and soft silver hair twining around her fingers comforting her like a song she’d turn to in times of sorrow. He ran a hand through her long, dark hair, as silky and soft as it had always been, would always be.

“This is a bad idea,” Yennefer murmured as Geralt’s lips moved down the slender column of her neck, tongue laving at the crook of her neck, undoing her in quick succession, aware of all the spots she loved best and therefore he loved too.

“You’re right,” he agreed, a hand cupping one of her breasts through the thin fabric of the cotton crop top she’d worn. “Do you want me to s-”

She cut off the question with a kiss. If she had to answer it, she had to think. And she was tired of thinking. Tired of questioning and guarding and- just tired.

“Shut up. Kiss me. Hold me tight,” she ordered. He growled in response and their bodies fell into an old dance. Hands worked at buttons and clothes were pushed aside and soon they were together again, joining as they had a thousand times before, each time peppered with an extra sense of urgency as they feared it would be the last time.

“I’ve missed you,” she sighed, the words slipping out on the heels of a moan as Geralt rocked into her.

“Gods I’ve missed you too,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against hers and gripping her tighter.

“I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted you,” the words fell from her lips like a confession and she found herself unable to stop them. It had always been hard to hide from Geralt for too long. He always saw her, and she always came back, eager to be found and seen and… other things she feared.

“Yennefer,” he pressed her name against her lips and she tasted the unspoken emotion he felt for her in it. The unspeakable thing that kept them tethered against all odds.

She stopped his mouth with her own, but she could feel him say her name still, every kiss a declaration her body answered in turn. It didn’t take long before she felt the tension building rapidly to a place there’d be no coming back from and Geralt could feel it too, pulling her face back to look her in the eyes, watching her soft flesh warm and redden and her chest rise and fall and her mouth wrap around the final, breathy gasps of her release. The sight alone would have been enough but the way she clenched around him brought him with her and as he came he pressed his head against her chest, feeling her heartbeat flutter rapidly. Yennefer pressed her lips onto his head, her arm wrapping around him and holding in there against her chest for a beat, and then two, and then she began to worry that she would never able to let him go.

“I love you.”

He heard her heart skip a beat and then it was gone, her body pushing away from his too fast for him to stop, already bitterly angry with himself for letting the words out. And then angry that he had to try.

“Yennefer,” he called, quickly tucking himself back in and going after her as she jumped out of the van, pulling a top on quickly and pausing only to button her clothes as she got out.

“Yennefer I love you,” he repeated, knowing there was no way to walk it back so he might as well have it out, “I love you and I know you love me.”

She looked up at him, eyes wild like a wounded animal who’s been cornered and he knew she was dangerous and he loved her for it.

“Geralt don’t,” she said warningly, though she knew it was too late. The thunder, forgotten in their time in the van, rolled louder overhead, echoing the emotions that warred in her.

“I’m not going to ask you to marry me. Not again. But why does that have to be the end of it? Why do we have to pretend that there’s nothing here when there clearly is. What did I do?” his voice cracked at the last word and nearly knocked the breath out of her.

“You didn’t do anything,” she said.

“Then why?” he asked, “Why wasn’t it enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

“It’s not all about you, Geralt,” she snapped, retreating into anger as the other emotions became too large and terrifying to face any longer. He could see her retreating, see the icy wall she held in place slowly build back up and he grasped her arms, pulling her in as though the added warmth of his body could help melt it away. It only rose quicker, harder, colder.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, “I’m still here.”

“This was a bad idea,” she repeated, more to himself than him. She wrenched herself out of his grasp and turned, walking into the field with no clear idea of where she was going or what she would do. In any other instance she would have sought out Aevryn but the very thought of her friend twisted her heart further. She couldn’t have Geralt, she couldn’t protect Aevryn. She didn’t really have any right to hate Valdo the way she did when she of all people understood him best. Because what was she doing with Geralt if not practically doing what Valdo did with Aevryn? She’d never been disloyal to Geralt but she was just as inaccessible and just as selfishly pulled between wanting the love and attention she received and pushing everyone away out of fear of being hurt. She knew Valdo couldn’t be trusted because she couldn’t be trusted. Not with her own heart and certainly not with Geralt’s.

Tonight, she’d chosen poorly. Tomorrow, she’d choose better.

Or she’d leave.