#fresh fragrances for winter
musenkuss · 1 year
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Jo Malone Soaps. Lime Basil & Mandarin // Red Roses // Pomegranate Noir // English Pear & Freesia
61 notes · View notes
baetheinsider · 1 year
𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 "𝐈𝐓" 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐
It’s always been my dream to be viewed as a living goddess. When anyone encounters me, I want them to feel as though they have just come in contact with an ethereal being. Someone who is so uniquely feminine, elegant, skillful, kind, elegant, and charming. I want them to be captivated by my beauty and enraptured by my intellect. There is no spell that can accomplish this. Only dedicated and precise hard work. You have to be dedicated. You have to show up for yourself every day, even when you’re tired. Even when you’re sad. Even when you feel totally uninspired. Put in the work for what you want. Here is your guide.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Consider your diet. Be mindful of how much you’re eating. Try to stray away from overeating. You should cut back on the amount of sugar and processed foods that you eat (cut back ≠ cut out). Make sure you are getting enough greens, protein and fruits.
Drink at minimum 3L water.
Incorporate daily fresh pressed juices.
Drink hot tea.
Keep alcoholic beverage consumption to a minimum.
Take daily vitamins and supplements.
Exercise 5 times a week at minimum, even if it’s only 30 minutes on the treadmill. Do something that will help you maintain your weight and your figure. The goal is to maintain a tight and toned figure.
Incorporate a consistent stretching routine into your daily routine. Stretching lengthens limbs and improves gracefulness.
Play tennis in warm weather and start learning how to play golf.
Go on walks whenever you’re not in the gym. Fresh air is good for longevity.
Get chiropractic adjustments and massages to keep the muscles limber and free of tension
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Clear face and body of acne and hyperpigmentation.
Get skincare treatments that help the skin look clear, radiant, and age gracefully.
Practice consistent oral hygiene routine: whitening mouthwash + floss + scrub tongue + brush teeth + act fluoride rinse mouthwash
Get a teeth whitening kit and start drinking through a straw so you don’t stain your teeth.
Stick to a consistent bathing routine.The body should be exfoliated and shaved 2-3 times a week. Use kojie san soap to maintain skin’s even complexion. Use a yoni shower gel for the vaginal area. Use exfoliating gloves + exfoliating cloth to wash with. Scrub feet to maintain between pedicures.
Post shower (spring/summer): hempz body lotion (add glycerin) + avene body oil + dove dry spray + (pink rosa) + femme rejuv oil + perfume oil + fragrance of the day
Post shower (autumn/winter): hempz body lotion (add glycerin) + cerave healing ointment + dove dry spray (vanilla + cocoa butter) + femme rejuv oil + perfume oil + fragrance of the day
Stay on top of wellness check ups:
Start taking care of your natural hair. Get a relaxer with every 10-12 weeks. Get sew-ins with closures/ minimal leave out to grow hair. Box braids and feed in braids for the summer time with. Deep condition hair under the dryer whenever not in protective styles. Dye your hair back black for a more classic + natural look.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Start using hair perfume
Once a month, get a deluxe pedicure at Bally once a month
soft pink for spring
white for summer
french pedi with fleshy pink base for summer
black for halloween
red for the holidays
Do gel manicures at home with a gel mani kit
Milky white
Baby pink
Baby blue
Red for the holidays
Keep eyebrows groomed - trim them every 2-3x weeks
Get your lashes done every month and fill ins as necessary at LaLa Lash. Always go for the classic style
Keep your makeup natural. Do not paint your face. You should look as natural and real to you as possible. For night time or special occasions, of course you can do a little more like a sultry look. Your makeup should just enhance your natural beauty and the work that you’ve put in to have good skin.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Makeup routine:
Primer + powder to prep
Lighter concealer for under eyes to brighten
Perfectly matched foundation
Concealer closer to your skin tone for any other inconsistencies
Powder foundation to set the makeup
Bronzer to warm up the face
Fill in your brows lightly and conceal to clean up
A little bronzer on the lids
Lash extensions should be done but if not, lashes that look natural or mascara
Top off with a neutral lipstick or a gloss
It’s critical to keep on top of your beauty treatments so they don’t pile up and your look remains consistent.
6K notes · View notes
simonsdoll · 2 months
can u make sum hc about what the codmw guys would smell like.... thank uuu 🤭
Tumblr media
MW2 men and what would
they smell like
Includes: Price,Ghost,Soap,Gaz,Konig,Los Vaqueros and Graves
- Price smells of tobacco and manly musk when he doesn’t put on cologne
- When he does he smells like pine, cedar wood or a very herbal scent
- I feel like he uses Old Spice or Dr.Squatch religiously
- Ghost smells of gunpowder or very strong masculine and smoky cologne
- If he puts on cologne he smells of oceans and fresh rainfall. Almost as Earth and soil collided and made a scent for him. Woodsy and earthy
- I see him as a Dior Sauvage type of man or Tom Ford ombré leather
- If in battle he smells very musky yet has a lingering scent of a sweet aroma
- Soap smells of rich vanilla or a blue and sunny Mediterranean Sea
- I have a feeling he loves any manly perfume at Bath and Body Works
- He uses Dolce&Gabbana light blue or Acqua by Giorgio Armani
- Gaz smells of citrus or the breeze from the top of a mountain
- He enjoys very clean and subtle fragrances that bring out his manly musk
- Lingering smells of fresh laundry or breezy meadows
- He might use musky green tea or musky oak moss by Dossier
-Konig smells of fresh forest rain or winter sierra mountains
- Would smell of very ambery mint or a very woody sage
- Showered in a herby and earthy aroma like eucalyptus or lavender
- Could use some Versace Eros or Burberry for men
- He smells of strong notes of sandalwood or fresh ocean breeze
- Has a lingering smell of smoke that doesn’t overbear his manly musk
- Prefers aquatic or very sweet tropical scents
- Uses Náutica Voyage or Bvlgari Aqua for men
- Rodolfo smells of roasted coffee and sweet musky vanilla suede
- Has a lingering smell of citrus that smells tangy yet sweet
- Loves perfumes that smell of roasted dark almonds or musky chestnut
- Might use Intenso or The One for men by Dolce&Gabbana
- Graves smells of sandalwood and cardamom which compliments the musky woody notes
- Enjoys the smell of warm cedar wood and intense sweet smell of vanilla
- Smells of smokey and autumn dropped dead leaves falling onto the warmth soil of Earth
- Uses Bleu de Chanel or Tom Ford’s Noir
Tumblr media
Check Masterlist for more
228 notes · View notes
sunnylands-world · 3 months
The ugly is pretty
Tumblr media
Pairing: draco Malfoy x reader
Summary: you met an attractive boy at the perfume store but you had no idea that he was a bully…
Word count: 985
Warning: enemies to lovers, love at first sight? Hufflepuff and muggle reader, pov switching. I think that's it
Universe: Harry Potter
A/n: I'm so so sorry this took this long I just hadn't figured out a way to write it
Tumblr media
Draco let out a sigh as he examined the bottles of strong smell. He didn't know what his mother would like, he wasn't a female. He huffed turning on the heel of his shoe only to be blinded by the girl who entered. Her hair had a simple yellow headband and her dress flowed a bit with the breeze of the open door giving him a peek of her soft skin under. She wandered around, small fingers grazing the bottles of perfume. A small smile made its way on her face and he saved it to his memory like photograph.
You smiled, glance through the fine glasses, seeing a blonde boy with a black suit. you'd never seen him around. He was tall enough that his body wasn't hidden but he didn't touch the ceiling. His eyes were icy blue making you wonder if his personality was as cold or if he was like hot chocolate the perfect contrast to a cold winter. Warm and comforting. His eyes caught yours and everything seemed to blur together before his face scrunched up like he was displeased about something. you couldn't help but wonder if you were the cause. You looked down swallowing your insecurities as they crept up in your mind.
His father appeared like a crow merely watching his son's next move. Draco felt his heart sink. He knew what he had to do. He dragged his feet in your direction making you look up with a returning smile before it quickly vanished. He took the bottle from the shelf dosing you in the fragrance. it soaked your hair and dripped down your clothes.
Your lip trembled as you looked back up at him but he ignored the broken look on your face adding more salt to your wounds. "You smell like you live in a barn. It's no wonder why you're in a store selling perfume. Not like you could afford it, you filthy, stinking mudblood." He finished but you don't catch the guilt in his eyes.
You're mortified and humiliated as you rush from the store, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you make your way back to Hogwarts.
That boy wasn't at all warm or comforting; he wasn't anything your mind made him out to be. He's cruel just like his eyes. that icy blue color was exactly how he was; shards of ice that were painful and cold to slide across and you could feel it, feel yourself bleeding out as you ran past people sending you weird looks.
You smelled of the flowery fragrance and it wasn't in a pretty way. It was so intense it smelled more like flowers covered in chemicals.
He had humiliated you and you swore on your heart that you'd never look at him the same.
He knew you'd never spare him a glance when you saw him at school. He looked your way and you two probably looked like fools to the outside world. He looked guilty, apologetic while you looked enraged like you saw your worst enemy.
He deserved it. You didn't even know him and he just proved what others said about him and if you ran into Hermione and her two friends she was bound to have told you about him.
He had a chance to have someone look at him differently, like he wasn't a boy who had been an asshole to others and the truth was he had been but you didn't know that, well at least you didn't before.
He was sure it was too early to say he was in love but you were something fresh like new flowers in a garden of dead grass. He was dead grass and you were just planted in his yard of disaster. He only wished he hadn't ripped you from the field.
He figured he'd just have to tell you. He'd have to admit that his father was shitty and he chose to be a coward and never change courses because he was afraid of his father, afraid of losing what made him, him because who was he If he wasn't a bully, a Malfoy with money and pure blood.
He found you, out in the yard with your friends and even there you still lit up like the sun. No one else was there because you were just so bright that they weren't seeable; but it didn't matter he just needed to see you.
He walked towards you and your eyes met his as he stood patiently hoping he could make this right.
You sighed hating how your mind and heart couldn't agree. He was still pretty even after he did something so ugly. There was nothing attractive about his actions but he was. He was shards of ice but you still wanted to try and skate across the smooth parts.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" You groaned. He pushed down the lump in his throat taking a step forward, not just now but in life.
"I'm- I want you" he stuttered trying to figure out where to start.
You scoffed "you have a funny way of showing that"
"It's not- my father came and I have- I want to make my father approve of me so I did what I did because-"
"Your a coward" you finished with a chuckle and draco tried hide the hurt on his face when you said it
"Well what person doesn't come with problems," you sighed "it's always the ones I want most that have all the issues." You rolled your eyes
"Wait! So your not-"
"Oh no I'm still mad but you can try and change my mind" you giggled seeing the frustration on his face.
"Your gonna have to stop cutting me off or-"
"Careful Malfoy don't want to lose me" you smirked
"Your lucky I like you"
"Your lucky I like you" you both say in unison
Tumblr media
@alexxavicry, @sarahthehuffpuff, @supercoffeeblogs, @thatwattpadobsessed, @amyclare04, @kyracanwrite, @animeloverfreak310, @imafangirl22, @phildunphyisadilf, @jac1ndaa, @lovelycassy
138 notes · View notes
kittysdiary · 7 months
Kitty’s Pink Princess Winter
Tumblr media Tumblr media
It’s been awhile since I made a winter guide so I thought I’d make an updated one since winter is literally my favorite season ever! 🎀❄️🧸
Winter Doll Looks
Tumblr media Tumblr media
I am definitely feeling Yves Saint Laurent Fall/Winter 2022 collection but with more pink! Fashion staple fabrics like furs, leather, velvet, silk, cashmere and lace are definitely going into my closet for the colder weather.
Statement wardrobe pieces include:
• Turtle neck dresses
• Fur coats
• Knits
• Leather jackets
• Pea Coats
• Skirts
• Blazers
• Cigarette pants
• Heels + winter boots
• Silk slips
Shopping List
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Since the weather has been getting colder, a lot of my clients who come to see me for a facial have been getting flares of dry skin and I can totally relate! Treat yourself to a day at the spa for a facial, mani + pedi or hair treatment to get prepped for the cold weather. Stock up on moisturizers, creams, hair masks, lip scrubs and lip balms!
• Buy gloves or mittens to stay warm and if you’re prone to dry skin in the winter time
• Purchase fragrance free skincare to prevent sensitivity and irritation
• If dry skin is present on your body, try out Peach & Lily’s KP Bump Boss body scrub (my fave!!)
• Get a few Tree Hut body scrubs for fun
• Buy clothes and laundry detergent that are non-irritating
• Get a humidifier to add moisturizer to the air
• Change out your bed sheets and pillow cases. I like to purchase fuzzy blankets and satin pillow cases which helps with my skin + curly hair
• Buy some yummy scented candles + peppermint essential oils for relaxation
• Add cozy slippers, socks, leg warmers, ear muffs + uggs to your winter wish list
• Satin pajama sets and night gowns from Victoria’s Secret
• Sleep masks
• Oversized sweatshirts + velour track suits for lounge days
•Pretty lingerie
• New mugs, cookie cutters, aprons, hot chocolate, tea, coffee and winter baking books should all be on your shopping lists
• Get a cute plush friend and a night light
Winter Glam
Tumblr media Tumblr media
• Sleek buns/ponytails
• Bombshell curls
• Black, brown, platinum blonde + auburn hair colors
• Fluffed false lashes or lash extensions
• Lip glosses in any brown, red or pink shade
• Powder matte lipsticks that are nude, deep red or earth tone pink
• Arched eyebrows
• Faux beauty marks
• Warm + spicy fragrances (my favorite winter scent is YSL’s Black Opium Neon + Philosophy’s Fresh Cream & Warm Cashmere)
• Pink blushes
• Setting powders with warm undertones to brighten up your face
• Glitter eyeshadow
Icy Accessories
Tumblr media Tumblr media
• Pearls, diamonds + swarvorksy
• Fluffy handbags
• New wallets
• Icy watches
• Hair clips
• Velvet scrunches
• Hair pom-poms
• Scarves
• Plush spa headbands
• Diamond brooches (yes I know. I’m an old soul 🥹)
•Gold or silver jewelry pieces
Other Winter Doll Tips
• Get a new calendar and use it!
• Write down goals + affirmations for the new year
• Get new books, journals and magazines
• Organize and clean your space
• Stock up on cold and flu medicine
• Get hand sanitizer and hand creams so you don’t dry out your hands
• If you have a Barbie mobile please stay safe on the roads and get your car prepped for the cold weather please!!
• Meditate and manifest
• Don’t forget to check in with therapists and health care providers! Seasonal depression is making its rounds so please make sure you have a good team behind you!!!!
• Stay extra cozy and warm under the blankets + by the fireplace
• Watch holiday movies, bake some sweet treats and go holiday shopping
• Send your loved ones well wishes with letters or cute holiday cards
• Decorate your home while listening to holiday music and clean the snow from the drive way if needed
• Most importantly stay safe and have fun!
Happy Holidays!
Kitty (xoxo!) 🦌💓
233 notes · View notes
radioactiveparker · 6 months
It's A Date - Robin Buckley X Reader
Tumblr media
Summary: Robin works up the courage to ask you out
Warnings: None
Word count: 2.3K
A/N - This is the first thing I've ever written, please let me know if you liked it xxx
Your tired eyes battled against sleep as you unwillingly forced them open to seize the bothersome beeping of your alarm clock; it was a regrettable companion that shook you by the shoulders at each light of daybreak. The soft white-gold light of the morning kissed the walls of your bedroom, dressing them up in pretty pastels. These were the very four walls that had become a cocoon for the years you required their sanctuary. Birds tweeted their sweet love songs to the rising sun as an invitation for the new day. The deep hues of their feathery plumes glimmered in the light as they soared against the expansive canvas of sky as it flourished into dawn.
With a reluctant groan, you threw your duvet from your cozied figure, the motion bringing a gust swirling around you. The brisk breeze from the autumn air infiltrated every warm cell of your body, triggering goose bumps to crawl along your flesh. You cursed yourself for not putting on longer bottoms for bed last night. It was a harsh awakening when your bare feet pressed against the cold wooden floor, feeling as though you were walking along a frozen lake. You were almost surprised the soles of your feet didn't instantly freeze to it. As quickly as you could, you tottered out and into the bathroom, desperate for a hot shower before school.
The searing water came over you as pleasant as warm summer rain, soothing the bitterness from your bones. You felt as contented as a parched flower, each petal swelling and blooming with warmth and hydration after a harsh drought. You washed quickly and dressed up with many layers to keep yourself warm from the biting weather. The pieces were casual, yet flattering. It was the type of casual that was not casual at all, having spent more time than necessary carefully co-ordinating each item for you to feel your best. 
Upon leaving the bathroom, the warm, buttery smell of breakfast meandered it's way to your nose and led you down the stairs. There was a huge array of breakfast items upon the table, the same as there was every day, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Soft pancakes and berries with sticky maple syrup threaded upon the top. It remained your favourite breakfast, despite eating them almost everyday. Caramel-brown toast decorated with perfect slices of avocado for your mother, and fluffy scrambled eggs piled high on a bread bun for your father. You quickly joined them at the table and began stuffing your face. The amber syrup relaxed on your taste buds, coating them in waves of sweetness. The spectrum of reds and blue berries cascading down as pockets of natural sugar were so inviting you wanted to take your time to enjoy them. But time was running short as 8 o'clock was drawing nearer.
The brassy honk of a car startled you as you shoved your last bite into your mouth. With a quick kiss on the cheek, you said goodbye to your parents, before grabbing your coat and school bag. You stepped out of the house, breathing in the gold and scarlet as the wind blew a cold note, the beginning of winter's first serenade. The faint smell of the previous night's rain emitting from the wet foliage brought the fresh fragrance of a new season. It was a brilliant day. Despite the cold, the sun was still blazing bright in the clear sky, causing the frosted dew to glitter like a swarm of fireflies. Pulling your coat tighter to your shivering form, you rushed towards the BMW parked on the edge of your driveway.
"Good Morning." You greeted, sliding across the soft leather of the passenger seat, thankful to be out of the cold.
There was the cushioned slam of the car door as you shut it, and a whiff of the citrus car freshener mixed with the woody smell of aftershave.
"And how are you my little love muffin." Steve smirked, pulling into the street and starting towards the school.
You released a groan of annoyance at the nickname. Ever since you told him that you had a secret crush on someone, he had done nothing but tease you.
You and Steve had known each other since you were little, having lived directly across the street from him for the first ten years of your life, before your mother started to complain that your house was too big for just the three of you. So your mother decided to downgrade to a house on Cherry Oak, which wasn't too far away, but it made spending time together more difficult. There were no more secret notes to show through the window when you should be in bed, or attaching two tin cans with a string to try and talk to each other. The two of you had managed to persuade your parents to get you bikes for your 11th birthdays to see each other more frequently. Even after all this time you still went to school together and hung out everyday, which you were grateful for. You always felt bad that Steve had to drive past the school to pick you up just to drive all the way back, but he always insisted that he didn't mind.
"Please, would you stop calling me that."
"Not until you tell me who it is you have a crush on." He beamed.
Heat rushed to your cheeks. There was no way you could tell him you have a crush on one of his friends: Robin Buckley. You had met Robin when Steve began working at Scoops Ahoy. When you had first met, you were insanely jealous that Steve had been spending time with someone else. There was a residing fear deep in your gut, that he would find someone else to be friends with. Someone better than you, that he would want to spend more time with, and then he would eventually forget about you. But that's not what happened at all. You first thought her attitude towards Steve was very arrogant and inferiorating. You had no idea how he was friends with her. There was a part of you that was almost grateful she acted that way, and maybe it would put Steve off. It never did. But the longer you all spent together, the more endearing it became. Any doubt that you had about her had been crushed to nothing. It was as though someone had suddenly turned on the light and you could finally see her in all her glory. Everything about her was gold and shining, and you were itching to have her. Despite her behaviour towards Steve, Robin had always been sweet to you, and so you offered sweetness in return. All at once you began to crave it, so badly that it almost hurt. You were beginning to realise now why they called it a crush. When you were with her it was like your lungs were compressed, your stomach twisted and your heart would beat so hard your feared with would become distorted. There was the self inflicted pain of false scenarios and imagined responses that would never come to reality because you were too scared that they would push her away if you tried any of them. But the hurting was worth it when you still got to see Robin at the end of the day.
"Steve, you have your entire life to be a jerk, why don't you take the day off."
He jestingly placed a hand over his 'hurt' heart. "Wow, never have I been more insulted in my life."
"Well, you clearly haven't been listening to Robin."
"Speaking of the devil..." Steve trailed off, turning into the school parking lot.
Robin was hunched comfortably on the red-clay brick wall in front of Steve's parking spot. She held a worn book in her hand, one that looked to be several hundred pages long, and her backpack lay open on the ground just below her feet. You couldn't help but melt at how beautiful she looked today. She was simply dressed in jeans and a plain t-shirt, layered underneath a chequered button down, of which she left the first few buttons open. She wore all of this under a thick coat that just made you want to give her a big, warm cuddle. It was an effortless outfit, but she looked absolutely gorgeous in your eyes. She reached a hand up to tuck a stray strand of dirty blonde hair behind her ear and out of her face. It was make-up free, showing off all of her freckles. With her undisturbed vision, she noticed Steve's car approaching. Robin visibly straightened with a grin on her face as she jumped from the wall and shoved the book into her bag.
The car slowly rolled to a stop and you hopped out, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Robin mimicked your actions, before prancing up to you. She greeted you warmly and gave you a quick hug. Your skin burned under her touch, even through your many layers, as you regrettably let her go. She smelled good, you noticed.
"what's up dingus?" Robin teased Steve, who slammed his car door a little harder than he should have.
He sighed. "Good morning to you too, Robin."
She stretched out a hand to ruffle his perfect looking hair. "Hey, watch it!"
Pushing her away with a groan, he dropped to look into the side mirror of his car and began raking his fingers through his hair. Although you have teased him for it, Steve did have exceptional hair. Soft waves of rich mahogany woven with strands of deep auburn, often styled so flawlessly it made you question if it was real or not. Anyone would be jealous of hair like that, you included. You watched Robin as she pushed forward towards the school, letting out a contagious cackle that had you smiling widely. It was a sound so sweet and joyous. As joyous as a prayer, deep and soulful. It was truly a blessing to hear. If someone told you that gods and goddesses didn't exist, you wouldn't believe them: you were staring right at one.
Steve jogged towards the two of you. "You are like a hurricane in human form." He turned to you. "Does it look alright?"
"You look fine, Steve." You rolled your eyes. "I hope you worry about your grades as much as you worry about your hair."
"My grades are fine, don't sweat it."
"Whatever you say, just don't come crying to us when you don't graduate and have to stay behind another year."
"You might end up finally having something in common with Eddie 'The Freak' Munson." Robin jumped in.
"What do you mean, Robin? They already do." Steve turned to you perplexed. "Have you seen Eddie's curly locks?"
You placed the back of your hand to your forehead and pretended to faint into Robin's arms. She caught you with her forearms under your armpits, almost dropping you as she laughed. You could feel her breath on your ear and you almost fainted for real.
"Steve 'The Hair' Harrington has got some competition." She laughed again.
"I honestly can't stand you two sometimes." He rolled his eyes with a smile, before forcing himself ahead. "I'll see you guys at lunch."
The two of you continued to snicker as you watched him stride towards his locker, hilariously walking past Eddie Munson along the way. Only when it was just the two of you did you realise that Robin still had her arm around you. Your body went numb with tingles as you stood yourself up properly. The sudden self awareness made you stiff and silent. Despite your movements, Robin still laced one arm through yours, something you didn't realise was a courageous move on her part. Your heart was thumping so wildly in your chest, you were scared she was going to hear it over the raucous in the school hallway. With your brain going into overdrive, you focused hard on not tripping or walking into anyone as she guided you towards her locker. Not that you didn't already know where it was.
You noticed her hesitance to unhook her arm from yours and the redness growing on her cheeks. She avoided your eyes as she moved her arm to unlock her locker. You stood against the lockers with sweaty palms, a bit closer than you probably should have been, but you wanted to feel her touch again. You watch her eyes dart about the inside of her locker, looking through it rather than searching inside it, and twitching her plump lips like she was psyching herself up for something.
"So I was wondering if you wanted to go to the movies with me after school to watch this new Back to the Future movie? I asked Steve yesterday but he turned me down because he's going on a date with Emmy Mcneill, which by the way, I told him was a really bad idea because she is already dating Scot Davids." She finally looked at you with wide eyes. "Not that I thought of you as a second option, it was just that we had already planned to go to the movies together at some point,--"
"Robin." You tried to interrupt.
"but we didn't know when or,--"
"what movies were going to be playing and--"
"Yeah?" Her eyes met yours.
"I would love to go to the movies with you."
You would be surprised if your ribcage wasn't bruised by how violently your heart was hammering against it. There was more than just butterflies in your stomach, there was an entire zoo running rampage in your gut. This was the day you had been waiting for for what felt like forever. You were always too scared to make the first move, but you and Robin were finally going to be spending time together alone and without Steve.
"Cool. Great, it's a date." Her eyes went wide again. "Not that it's a date date, not unless you want it to be, but I meant it like 'it's a date!', like 'it's a plan!" or it's some sort of engagement. Not an engagement! We're not getting engaged, God knows I'm way to young to get married yet--"
"Robin," you hold her hands in yours and she looks at you hopefully, "it's a date."
273 notes · View notes
violet-lazer · 8 days
Content / Warnings : EXPLICIT 18+, Terzo/Reader, Gender-Neutral Reader, Fluff and Smut, Terzo is a Hopeless Romantic, 3.2k words. Thanks, please enjoy! (AO3)
It’s not that he can’t commit, as he’d told you one evening, fingers tracing your spine as you lay together in flushed afterglow. It isn’t that his eyes wander or he grows bored of his lovers. He’s simply never wanted to. Until-
Or: Terzo wants to watch the stars with you.
Breezy nighttime air hits your face as you’re gently guided out of the heavy front doors of the Ministry and into the grounds. There’s grass underneath your feet, the gentle trill of birdsong in your ears, and you can’t see a bloody thing. Terzo’s hands are over your eyes, and he’s leading you from behind to a destination unknown. His chest is warm against your back.
“I could’ve just closed my eyes,” you say, as you carefully pick your way forwards through the grass. Terzo chuckles, and you feel the rumble.
“I admit, the distance feels much longer at this pace,” he says. “Perhaps I should have done a test run. But can you not feel the excitement coursing through you? The mystery?”
“I can feel myself tripping and breaking my neck,” you reply flatly. Terzo tuts.
“Where is your sense of adventure, hm? You will change your tune soon enough. Come.”
You know the grounds well, and as you venture on, you can tell you’re approaching the greenhouses when you’re hit with a heady bouquet of fragrance- honeysuckle, jasmine, rose; the evil-looking plant that Primo claims eats people. You continue walking, and you recognise you’re out past the edge of the well-kept gardens and meandering towards the edge of the woods where the foliage creeps along the floor like beckoning fingers. About three minutes of careful navigation later, you stumble on a rock and almost fall directly on your arse before Terzo grabs you.
To his credit, Terzo catches you with only the mildest of fumbles, and even manages to keep one gloved hand over your eyes as he does it. Very professional. He clears his throat.
“Shit. Ah. We are stepping onto a path now. Pick your feet up, please.”
You crane your head sideways and hope he can feel the withering look emanating from you that his hands are mercifully concealing. In apology, he presses a kiss to the most accessible part of your cheek.
“Sorry. We are nearly there.”
Gingerly, you let him nudge you forwards. There’s stone underneath your feet now, uneven cobbles. You know where you’re going.
The ruined groundskeeper’s cottage at the edge of the woods is haunted. Well, that’s what the priests say to attempt to dissuade any curious Siblings from exploring the structure too enthusiastically. Yes, it’s true that it’s all crumbling stone and ivy encroaching through dead windows, and the wind can be exceptionally vocal in the winter. Sure, nobody is quite sure why or when it was abandoned. Haunted, though? You think it’s more likely that a decrepit abode is a potential health and safety nightmare and the senior clergy is keen to minimise the number of accident forms they have to fill out. Still, it has its uses for the bold- you’ve heard tell of Siblings holding seances, conducting rituals, throwing the occasional orgy. You’ve been there yourself, once, years ago when you were a fresh initiate determined to lay bare all of the secrets the Ministry had to offer. You’d chanced a careful exploration and found naught but empty rooms and disappointment; a week later a sizeable chunk of ceiling fell directly onto a similarly inquisitive Sibling so you’d steered clear ever since. That was an isolated incident though. Probably.
Terzo slows his pace, bringing the two of you to a stop. After imploring you to close your eyes for just a second- you comply- he reaches around and in front of you, and you hear the distinctive sound of the cottage door pushing open. The iron knocker sounds a clang as he lets go and replaces his hands over your eyes.
“Here we are. One more step.”
Together, you cross the threshold. Once you’ve come to a stop, Terzo lets his hands drop and you inhale sharply at the sight that greets you. You’re expecting cold, half-ruined walls and the aura of decay but before you, the shell of the living room feels alive. A frankly staggering number of candles bathe the small room in an inviting glow, and the years-cold fireplace is aflame. In the centre of the room, on the floor, a large, heavy-looking blanket has been arranged with some complementary pillows. You can smell incense from one indistinct corner of the space. It’s warm. It’s beautiful.
Behind you, with a voice you could swear was tinged with the slightest hint of nerves, Terzo says: “Well?”
Turning on your heel, you finally come face to face with Terzo. Half-lit by candlelight, shadows playing on his handsome face, he’s looking at you with the most earnest of expressions; hand outstretched for yours. This is for you. He’s done this for you. Anything you could say feels insufficient. But you have a go.
“I can’t believe you’ve done all this for me.”
He smiles. “Well. I can. Let me show you the best part, hm?”
You slide your hand into his and he guides you toward the centre of the room, encouraging you down to sit opposite him on the blanket. It’s thick enough that you don’t feel any residual cold from the floor, and it’s probably absolutely fantastic on the knees if you were to, say, end up straddling someone tonight. Hm.
Terzo raises an eyebrow at you. “Comfortable, yes? If you wish to be staring at the ceiling later I think you may be disappointed. Look up.”
You look up. Directly above you is the famed hole in the roof, and it’s large enough, almost the size of the sprawling blanket you’re sitting on, that when you gaze upwards into the inky sky you can see a vast array of stars.
You pull your gaze back to Terzo and you want to tell him.
It’s been two months since you and he began sleeping together. A month and a half since he asked you to be his. Mindful of his…popularity, the more cynical voice in your head warned you to be realistic, to keep your expectations low, to prepare yourself for the possibility that he would grow tired of you and move on. As other Siblings had helpfully reminded you, Terzo wasn’t widely known for commitment. But he’s given you no reason for pause. Terzo wants to spend every waking moment with you, and every sleeping one at that. So attentive and present that it would be genuinely impressive if he could find the time to court anyone else. It’s not that he can’t commit, as he’d told you one evening, fingers tracing your spine as you lay together in flushed afterglow. It isn’t that his eyes wander or he grows bored of his lovers. He’s simply never wanted to. Until-
Still, neither of you have dropped the bomb yet. The declaration that feels like the point of no return, that desperate leap into the unknown. If you cross that threshold together any illusion of a casual affair is shattered, and what then? You either belong to each other for the rest of your lives or suffer complete and utter heartbreak. Perhaps, though, tonight could be the night. Perhaps. Let’s see how brave you feel. But fucking hell, he’s brought you to gaze at the stars and he’s so close and so handsome and you know it’s only a matter of time before you slip. You swallow.
“Thank you,” you say. “Terzo, this is–”
“I am in love with you.”
It comes out of him so quickly, so honestly that you’re stunned to silence, and judging by Terzo’s expression, it’s taken him by surprise as well. After a moment, he clears his throat.
“Hm. I was planning to save that for later.”
This would be a good time to respond, but you’re struggling and he’s in love with you. Your heart is going to burst out of your throat. Fuck, this is real; and it’s more than you’d dared to hope for. Is this why he’s brought you here tonight, to tell you? The reason he’d double- and triple- checked this morning that you were still on for a date? Hey. You still haven’t said anything. Glancing downwards, Terzo runs a hand through his hair.
“Do not feel pressured to say it back. It is still early, I know-”
“I’m in love with you too.”
Of course you’re in love with him. You never stood a chance. Every morning you wake up next to him and he pulls you into a lazy morning embrace, each time you pass in the corridor and he pushes you into a corner to steal a few secret kisses, you fall just a little bit further. Your response comes pouring out of you like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And it is, really. The dissipating tension in Terzo’s shoulders is instant, and extremely visible.
Terzo lets out a deep exhale. “Thank fuck for that.”
He leans forwards to kiss you and you meet him in the middle. It’s slow, tender, his hand raising to caress your cheek. When you reach forward to tangle your fingers in his hair his tongue presses into your mouth and you accept him wholeheartedly. Oh, the things he does to you. Oh, the things he could be doing to you right now. If you just shift forwards like so, you could get your legs either side of his to straddle him and-
You’re just about to make your move when Terzo pulls back gently. You frown, and he laughs.
“I know, I know. I want to ravish you too. But I cannot be thinking with my cock all the time, yes? We are on a very strict schedule and-” he makes a show of checking an imaginary watch- “I believe it is time for the light refreshment and star-gazing portion of the night.”
Pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, he gets to his feet and retrieves a decently-sized picnic basket from one of the unlit corners of the room and places it in front of you with a flourish. It’s almost comically prototypical, complete with red gingham cloth. Very cute. You laugh.
“How long has that been there?”
Terzo shrugs. “Oh, years, I would imagine. It was here when I arrived, actually.”
With one hand, he flips up the lid of the basket and gestures for you to have a look. You peer in to assess the contents.
Ooh. Well, there’s definitely a bottle in there, that’s always a welcome sight. And ah- on top there are a couple of boxes emblazoned with the name of that little patisserie in town you adore. The two of you had had your first proper date there, sat across from each other at a tiny table on a rainy afternoon, condensation painting the window as you took turns sampling each others’ pastries. And he’d held your hand over the table even though anybody could have seen you and you allowed yourself to entertain the dangerous idea that he might be serious about all this.
You look back up at Terzo. He gives you the smallest of self-satisfied smiles, and you think you’ll let him have this one. Sitting beside you, he busies himself unpacking the basket, and you watch him set plates, glasses and an expensive-looking bottle of red before you. As he pokes around for a corkscrew, your gaze wanders to properly take in your surroundings. Here, in the centre, pools of candlelight encircle you, and the darkness beyond is inconsequential. You could be anywhere. It’s just you, him, a blanket he’s surely stolen from someone and a really impractical amount of candles for one man to have arranged and lit by himself.
“Did you do all of this yourself?” you ask. Terzo stops what he’s doing and graces you with an extremely complacent look.
“Yes,” he says. Then, he tilts his head in consideration. “Well. I planned everything. And I did ninety-nine percent of the legwork. I was at the patisserie at nine o'clock this morning wrestling an old man for the last box of tiny croissants. But Omega did help me with some of the-” he waves a hand at your surroundings- “decor.”
You nod, quietly lamenting the fact that you were not present to witness your lover antagonising the elderly.
“Makes sense. I was thinking some of those candles were placed a bit high for you to reach.”
Terzo quirks an eyebrow at you. “Oh?”
Oh? The change in atmosphere is palpable as Terzo shifts onto his knees, leaning towards you to close the small distance between you in one swift motion. He’s fixing you with a look that sends a shiver running down your spine to settle between your legs, and you can scarcely catch your breath as he reaches up to trace your bottom lip with his thumb.
“But I can reach you.”
You gladly let him push you onto your back. The blanket cushions you nicely as Terzo climbs on top of you. Trailing kisses down your neck, his hands begin to wander, fingers ghosting any exposed inch of skin as he works his way down, down, towards the heart of your desire. Terzo gives your thigh a squeeze before tracing teasing, exploratory touches between your legs over your clothes. How easily you begin to fall apart for him, bucking your hips upwards to grind against his hand, to chase the friction you crave. He looks you straight in the eye as he slips his hand beneath the layers of fabric that separate you, and when he bypasses that final barrier, fingers finding your warmth, his moan matches the one that falls from your lips. Your need for him is laid bare, and Terzo regards you with a hunger that borders on animalistic.
“Already so desperate for me, hm?”
Well, it’s his fault. And he knows it too, giving you a wry smile as he withdraws his fingers and shifts to settle on his knees before you. You help him undress you, pulling your underwear down and off and as soon as it hits the floor he’s there, sliding his hands up your thighs and spreading your legs. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him. Terzo descends upon you slowly, reverently, pressing kisses to every sensitive inch of skin as he makes his way towards your aching core, and you are almost delirious with anticipation. Please.
“We are off-schedule.” he says, voice thick with lust. “Head back, love. I want you to see stars.”
And then his tongue is on you, warm and wet, and you throw your head back in sheer pleasure. Terzo moans around you as he tastes you and in response you reach down to knot your fingers in his hair. Fuck, you can’t help but rock your hips into him, grinding into his mouth while he goes down on you. Above you it’s constellations that neither of you likely know the name of, your moans escaping into the air as Terzo brings you towards your ruin.
There’s nothing separating the two of you here from the stars thousands of miles away but there’s no time to get existential as Terzo pauses to reach up and push two gloved fingers into your mouth. Obediently, you suck, tongue eager against leather and when he’s satisfied he withdraws, hand sliding down between your thighs. Slowly, presses a finger into you and you breathe a fuck right towards the heavens. Terzo hums approvingly and you can’t help but lift your head to look at him. He’s so beautiful when he’s between your legs, mouth full of you, paint beginning to smear along your thighs. The most divine evidence of his unholy devotion to worshipping you. He pushes another finger into you gently and begins to fuck you, fingers crooked to stroke the most sensitive area of your heat. You’re edging closer and closer to your climax with every lap of his tongue and when you finally come you’re a mess of clenched thighs and choked gasps, twitching tight around his fingers. Desperately, you pull him on top of you to catch him in a messy kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. You feel his cock hard against your leg and you reach to palm him through his trousers. Groaning, Terzo grinds into your touch, biting at your lip.
“Let me fuck you,” he breathes into your ear.
“Fuck me then,” you respond.
Already there’s want simmering between your thighs, an ache to be filled, completely. Terzo requires no more encouragement, rearing back and swiftly unbuttoning his trousers; you’re treated to the glorious sight of that dark spill of hair leading from his stomach to his cock. He shifts his trousers down his thighs- deftly taking his underwear with them- and kicks them off hurriedly before settling between your legs. And now, he looks down upon you as if he has all the time in the world. Grasping his already-leaking cock, Terzo begins to stroke himself languidly above you; the sensation of precum leaking onto your skin makes you shiver. This is Terzo in his element, and he’s at his most powerful right as he’s about to sink into you. You lift your legs to wrap them around him; to coax him forwards, and he lets you. Pushing the head of his cock down through pooled precum he guides himself into you, exhaling a satisfied sigh as you stretch around him. Terzo rolls his hips to fuck you and you draw him close once again; he buries his head in your shoulder as he thrusts and you revel in each needy groan that escapes him. It’s not long before his pace quickens and he lifts his head to meet your gaze, nose bumping against yours, breaths ragged and heavy. You’ve never seen a more exquisite sight, and he’s yours. You lift your hands to his face.
“I love you,” you gasp, and his breath hitches, hips bucking hard against yours.
“Shit, I’m-”
Almost immediately he spills into you, thrusting shallowly as he rides his orgasm out, wide eyes giving the distinct impression that his own cock has ambushed him. Regardless, he leans down to capture you in a kiss, messy and unrefined, and his tongue scrapes your teeth in his desperation to push it into your mouth. When you part, Terzo pulls out of you gently and collapses on his back next to you, finding your hand and lacing your fingers together as his breath evens out. After a few moments, you break the silence.
“I told you I love you and you came immediately.”
There’s a pause, and then you hear Terzo chuckle. “Apparently so. How embarrassing.”
You laugh, letting your thumb trace lazy circles over his, gazing upwards into oblivion above.
“Stars are nice, though.”
“Mm.” He gives your hand a squeeze and then lets go, propping himself up on his elbows. “You know, I was actually planning to seduce you with my astronomical knowledge over our little picnic. I borrowed a book on constellations and everything. Studied for, oh, a full afternoon. But alas-” he makes sure to heave a dramatic sigh- “it wasn’t necessary. Hours, wasted.”
As much of a shame as it was that Terzo hadn’t had the chance to flex his new-found knowledge, the fact that you’d derailed his plans so completely and so quickly feels infinitely more gratifying. In fact, you’re going to have some pastries and wine in about two minutes to celebrate. But in the name of generosity…
Scanning for your target, you pick out a particularly bright cluster of stars and raise your arm to point.
“Alright, what’s that one?”
He’s quiet for a moment as he follows the line of your finger, eyes narrowing in consideration. He hums. Then, he turns to look at you with the utmost seriousness.
“I do not have a fucking clue.”
111 notes · View notes
thedreamlessnights · 3 months
Accismus - pt. 3
{part one} {part two} {part three} {part four}
Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)
Synopsis: The path to Novigrad proves dangerous as you and Geralt are forced to shelter in a cave. You learn more about the man behind the ballads.
Warnings: Mentions of blood, corpses and death, and retching. Graphic descriptions of a monster death, fire and smoke, and being choked (not in a sexual way). Lots of sexual tension, though.
Word Count: 11.8k
A/N: Sorry for the long wait in between chapters, this bastard chapter simply would not end. Apparently, this fic has also decided to be really long, seeing as it's now over 20k and barely into the story. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
You don’t remember how you got here - this decaying old house.
You don’t recognize it. It’s drafty and creaking and smells of rot, and yet… you know it, somehow. There’s an old fireplace in the kitchen. Molding food sits on the table. Something at the back of your mind is screaming for you to leave, but where will you go? It’s snowing, after all. Can it really be winter already? 
Your knees bend of their own accord to tend to the flame, the way you have for years. In this place, your body has a mind of its own, seeking your survival.
Warmth, that’s what you need. A full belly and a warm place to sleep. But there’s no kindling in the fireplace - only a long, heavy knife resting in the old, grey ash. You stow the knife on your belt. It’s bound to come in handy later. 
A shame about the fire, though. Any wood from the snow will be soaked through. Your knees creak as you rise. It seems you haven’t stood in years.
You open the door to find that everything outside is covered in a layer of white, but the smell of it is all wrong. Snow is crisp and clean and good. This is… bitter. Fermented. Putrefied.
The substance crunches under your feet, but the sound is wrong, too. It crackles - akin to dead leaves at the end of autumn. The thick heaviness of snow, trodden into the soles of boots - it is simply not there. 
On impulse and nothing else, you reach down and brush the tips of your fingers to it. It’s hot to the touch. 
Something is so very wrong about this place, but you can’t decipher exactly what it is. Everything is off and crooked and distorted from where it should be, but your memory is a fuzz and you can’t remember what things are right.
You really should get back inside now. 
Which way did you come from again? You can’t recall. Nothing looks familiar. Everything is just white. You close your eyes for a moment and breathe. The bitter fragrance of the false snow is still there, coating the inside of your mouth like soot. 
There’s no wind. No sound. Stillness, emptiness - that’s all this place is. You open your eyes again ever-so-slowly, as if what you might see is better left unseen. But there’s nothing. 
Nothing but a house directly behind you - how could possibly you have missed it? It’s not the one you just came from, though. This is your house, with the warm sheets you’d saved up so long for, and warm, fresh bread on the table, and smoke so thick it chokes your breath.
This is your house, and it’s on fire. Your hands are burning, but you don’t know how. You’ve kept them close to you all this time, haven’t you? Haven’t you? 
An answer never comes. Smoke is now your world, and it’s starved. Smoke eats away the air, and your lungs, and your flesh. It takes your bones, your body, your still-pounding heart. It chokes you, scalds your throat, chars your esophagus all the way down to your stomach. 
Smoke is indigestible. Your stomach won’t take it. It retches it back out and you choke up bile alone. Tears burn at your eyes.
You can’t see, and you can barely hear. The world is just heat and smoke and hunger and gasping breaths and your damaged airway, and the smoke can only do what it knows how to do: consume.
Hands are around your neck, cold and cruel. A knife is heavy in your hand. A man is choking on his blood. A woman is still in your arms, and it’s your fault. You loved her, but you can’t remember her name. 
And all of the world is just smoke. You’ll join it, soon. You’ve spent so long trying to get out, but you’re so tired now. Your muscles have gone to dust. Your bones have crumbled. Everything is so dark…
Your hands. Your hands are burning.
Your eyes shoot open with a start, and you inhale clean, good air through working lungs. When the blur of sleep fades, you find nothing but the golden glow of soft light through cracks in the wood. 
No smoke. No fire. No snow, even. Just a dream, like all the others. 
Another terrible fucking dream.
The memories seem cursed to follow you forever. They give you no mercy in your sleep. Your hands are stinging again - it must have been what woke you up. 
Little by little, the fears and pain begin to dull. 
The inn. Slowly, it becomes a silent mantra for yourself. You’re at the inn. You’d slept here, and now you’re awake again, and there was no fire, or smoke, or ash. Even the flame that once roared in the fireplace last night is gone, orange embers flickering in its absence. The room is still warm, though. 
You turn to look for Geralt’s sleeping form, but find nothing in his place. The bed next to you is empty. Geralt is nowhere to be found. 
Panic jolts through you like ice through your veins. No, no, no, you think. Your eyes dart around the room over and over, as if he might appear out of nowhere. But he’s not sitting at the table. He’s not in the bath. He’s not in the bed. Even his things are gone. 
You don’t know what to do. You numbly sit up and stare blankly around the room, pondering whether or not you’re still dreaming. But no, this is no dream. Your skin stings when you pinch it, and your mind is alert and responsive - this is all much too real. 
How’d he gotten past the djinn’s protective field? Had he found something on djinns in his reading, and somehow managed to break the wish? But why wouldn’t he have woken you? That’s the thing you can’t get past. Why had he left you sleeping and alone? Even after a day, it doesn’t seem like him. 
Gods, what now?
Should you stay in town, attempt to make a living somehow? That money won’t last forever. You could take your horse and look for someplace to go, but where? You have no home to return to. No friends, no family. All your possessions are with you - coin, some clothes, and food. 
No, something must be wrong. Surely Geralt would have told you he was leaving. He hadn’t even said goodbye. Did something happen? Was there a struggle? Is he—
You suddenly bolt to your feet, bracing yourself for the sight of blood, or worse - but find something else entirely: Geralt. 
Alive and well, from what you can see, and asleep on the floor. 
Your breath escapes you in a burst of sheer relief. Of course. It should have been your first guess, but… well, your mind isn’t fully awake yet, and you’re far more accustomed to things going wrong than them going right. Why’s he on the floor, anyway? Had he fallen off?
You can really only see his legs from where you’re standing: his trousers, instantly recognizable. But despite everything logically telling you otherwise, you’re still scared he’s somehow gone - so you risk a careful step further to take in his sleeping form.
Geralt’s eyes are closed and he’s laying on his side, left arm tucked underneath his head. Some of his hair is loose around his face, stray strands disrupted by his sleep. The rise and fall of his chest is soft and even, and he looks much younger while asleep, more relaxed. You’d wager that most people do. Maybe even you. 
He’s next to a scattering of papers and his armor. His boots sit on the floor at the front of the bed, along with the rest of his things.
You can’t help watching him for a moment, taking in his features in a way you’d never be able to do when he’s awake.
There are some scars on his right arm, lines of raised skin that aren’t covered by his shirt. He must have more. How many? 
You picture what it would be like to run your fingers over them, lazily tracing along each line. Your cheeks slowly heat with guilt, but his skin looks so very soft. You know from the experience of his touch that his hands are callused, but the rest of his skin looks velvety and smooth. 
His hair, too. In the wake of last night’s bath, it’s clean and shiny. You’d like to run your hands through it. You’d like to trace down, over his cheeks, following the scar above his brow. The small one on his nose.
You’d… you’d like him to touch you, too. To study the feel of your skin, and gently graze his knuckles against your cheek. To lean in, and cup your jaw, and –
Enough. You shouldn’t want that. You shouldn’t be thinking about that. Why is Geralt on the floor?
Another glance at him reveals the sight of a blanket tossed over his lower half - one of the soft, fur blankets from the inn’s bed.
He hadn’t fallen off, you realize with a sudden pang in your chest. He’d slept on the floor on purpose.
The familiar feeling of guilt returns, clenching in your chest. Had you talked in your sleep? Kicked him? As far as you know, you don’t do either of those things. Or… you haven’t done it before, at least. Had he simply felt uncomfortable sharing the bed? In that case, you would have gladly taken the floor, and wouldn’t have minded it a single bit.
As quietly as you can, you sneak back into the bed, lay down, and close your eyes.
Sleep doesn’t come again, and you don’t search for it. Time passes - an hour, maybe more? Your mind races over and over, wishing that you could go back in time, that Geralt hadn’t slept on the floor, that you’d offered to do so first. Your hands are stinging something fierce.
When he finally stirs: the sound of a long inhale, the shifting of the blanket - you stay where you are, eyes closed, rolled onto your side with your back toward him. He sits down on the bed and starts putting his armor on again. You can tell he’s trying to be quiet.
So a moment later, you let yourself move, faking the dregs of sleep, and Geralt pauses for a moment.
“Morning,” he says. His voice is hoarse with drowsiness, making heat flutter under your skin. He resumes the donning of his armor, slightly turning his head toward you as he speaks. “How’d you sleep?” 
“Fine,” you murmur. “You?”
“Can’t complain,” he says. 
Liar, you think, almost smugly. Really, you’re glad you aren’t the only one.
“Better head out soon if we want to get you those gloves,” he continues. “Market’ll start crowding up before long.” His voice is soft, and the remnants of sleep have faded from it. Once he’s got his chest armor on, he stands, moving to the front of the bed for his boots.
You watch him for a moment, then give a nod he doesn’t see. “Alright.” 
It doesn’t take you very long to get ready. You don’t have much. A little food in your satchel, your clean and dirty clothes, your coin. You’re ready to go before he is.
When he’s finished, you swing your satchel over your shoulder and the two of you head out. You can only hope it won’t be as bad as it was yesterday.
Tumblr media
The market is crowded, even this early, and you’re downright elated to leave this town - though you’ll surely miss the comforts of the inn. People won’t stop giving Geralt strange looks and jabbering out insults they don’t even bother to soften. Some of them look downright hostile at the very sight of him being there. He pays them no mind, but you find yourself antsy and scrambling from place to place in an effort to get out sooner. More food, more drink, and better gloves - they’re not hard to find. 
Then comes more riding.
The pain is less than yesterday, and the pace is slower. You feel much more comfortable around Geralt than you had - knowing him more, knowing he’s patient. All of that is better. 
But it’s hot, even more than it had been. There’s a mugginess to the air, brought on by dark clouds that seem to endlessly border the sky, blocking out the sun but not the heat. 
Sweat trickles down your neck and forehead and back, and you have to fight to avoid giving a groan - at this rate, your clothes will be just as filthy as they were yesterday.
The riding gloves you’d bought at the market bring huge amounts of relief from the torture that was yesterday’s ride, and it’s much better to give your horse more rein like Geralt had suggested - but the wounds still hurt. The bandages make your hands stiff, too, and it’s harder to grip anything.
Then it starts to rain.
It comes on slowly at first, a soft drizzle, barely noticeable. It’s even pleasant as it continues, cool and sweet on your skin against the terrible heat of the sun. You start to hope it’ll rain for the rest of the day.
Your wish unfortunately seems to be granted, because it gradually begins to pour. Droplets hit your head and slowly dampen your clothes. Water starts to trickle down your face. It doesn’t stop, and it doesn’t slow - it continues until it’s soaked you and Geralt through, down to the very bone. Your thighs begin to chafe against the saddle, painful friction from the wet fabric of your clothes against leather.
The sky darkens until everything is grey. The combination of the wind and rain becomes painful, stinging against your skin as it hits. The dirt beneath Mead’s hooves becomes mud, slick enough that she’s slipping, and Roach is, too. Geralt mutters soft words of comfort to keep her calm. You don’t trust yourself to speak. You just pat Mead’s neck and hope she won’t buck you off.
As the rain relentlessly comes down, Geralt’s pace - and subsequently, yours - becomes nothing more than a canter, then a light trot. Any faster, and you’ll both end up in six inches of mud. 
You can’t stop shivering, teeth clenched as you ride. But there’s nowhere around here to stop, nowhere for shelter, so the two of you are forced to go on.
Geralt checks in on you every so often, asking if you’re alright. If you weren’t feeling the need to lie through your teeth, you might appreciate it. You aren’t alright, but there really is nothing Geralt can do about that. He’s undoubtedly in the same boat that you are: drenched, miserable, and hungry.
Just as it’s starting to thunder and spook the horses, the two of you come upon a cave. The sight of it seems like a miracle. The sky is only getting darker, Roach and Mead are only getting more anxious, and the rain is so thick you can barely see Geralt in front of you. But you know what he’s thinking when he stops, eyes raking over the cave, hesitantly stalling his hands on the reins. 
The two of you have no idea what’s in that place. If any danger comes, you’ll have to be within ten paces of him. You’re no witcher, you’re unarmed, and in there, there could be bandits, trolls, drowners - or worse. 
“Gotta get out of this rain,” Geralt finally decides. “The horses won’t take much more.”
And so, the two of you head off the road. 
The ground at the entrance is flat, making for a good place to bring Mead and Roach in for shelter. The cave’s beginning consists of a large, open cavern, and nothing inside seems to be alive, aside from a few patches of puffballs. Some animal skeletons lay on the ground, but they look well-aged. Nothing recent. No rotting carcasses.
Somehow, that fact doesn’t comfort you. 
Further in is a tunnel - one neither you nor Geralt seems particularly eager to go near. Instead, you make camp where you are. 
There’s no wood in here, and the pieces you’ve brought in from outside are soaked through. You gather some loose moss for kindling, but all it’ll do is smoke. 
For a moment, your dream flashes in front of your eyes. You shut them and shake your head, willing the image to vanish. After all that’s happened, it isn’t the flame that scares you. It’s the thick, heavy smoke that once choked your lungs. That seared from the inside out.
Ignoring the echoes of memories, you stack some wet logs and attempt to light them. They don’t take. Fuck, you think. No fire. A damp, freezing cave, no bed or blankets, and no fire. At least you’re alive.
But Geralt comes up from behind you, simply flicks his fingers in the direction of the logs, and a roaring orange flame starts in the small pit you’d made. 
You can’t help staring at him in awe. Magic. It has to be. You weren’t aware witchers used magic. Or maybe they don’t, and it’s just him? In any case, you cozy up to the warmth, and Geralt does too, taking a seat across from you and resting his hands on his thighs. 
The shadows of the flame paint him with harshness and distortion - hollowing out the bones under his eyes, under his nose and cheeks, sharpening and accentuating his features. It only makes you want to stare at him more. 
Everything does. Every small detail.
You look away, but there’s not much to look at in here, and your eyes eventually roam back to him. He seems lost in thought, gaze intently focused on absolutely nothing. Hesitantly, you allow yourself to take in a little more.
He’s soaked to the bone. Stray strands of his hair cling against his forehead. In the light, his eyes are almost molten - even more gold than usual, reflecting the dancing flames in front of him. They stay solely aimed at the fire, at first. 
Then they slowly move up to your face. 
You’re staring. 
With a jolt, you look away and start rummaging through your bag for some food. Geralt doesn’t move, doesn’t even look away. He just stares at you, waiting. You can feel his gaze scanning over your features.
When your resolve finally breaks and you meet his eyes again, he lifts a brow. Does he know? Does your face give that much away?
“I didn’t know witchers could start fires,” you say. A feeble attempt to cover for your actions.
“Igni,” he says. “Basic magic. Every young witcher is taught to use it.”
He hums in agreement, and his eyes finally leave your face as he turns toward his things.
It’s not cold enough for hypothermia, but it is cold enough to be very uncomfortable, and you’d be a fool not to appreciate Geralt’s fire. You take off your gloves and wet boots and socks, try to rub warmth into your feet, then try to warm your clothes by sitting in front of the flame. Your shivering lessens. Your clothes become damp instead of soaked through. 
Geralt, meanwhile, pulls out some supplies and starts to make some sort of potion over the fire. You don’t recognize it. An unidentified spirit, some berbercane fruit, and mysterious bits of some form of tissue. From what you can see, you’d guess it’s a tongue, but it definitely isn’t human. Too long. Differently colored. From what species, then? 
You decide halfway through watching him that you don’t want to know. 
When he’s finished, he pours the liquid into a vial and hooks it onto his belt. Is it you, or is it getting colder? 
“Better get some sleep while you can,” Geralt says. “I’ll keep watch.”
But you don’t want to sleep. You’re sore and wet and cold, and you know what you’ll see and what you’ll feel. You’re exhausted to the bone and ache from head to toe, but you’d still rather drag yourself around like a heavy sack than go through those nightmares again.
“I’m not tired,” you murmur. “You can sleep, though. I’ll keep watch, wake you if anything-”
Your words cut off as Geralt suddenly goes tense, muscles drawing tight as he freezes in place. His eyes focus on a point behind you, and his head turns the slightest bit to the side, as if he’s honing his hearing in on a distant sound. 
After a long, anxious moment on your part, he moves. His hand slowly reaches behind him - fuck, he’s grabbing for his blade, should you start moving? But instead of drawing it, he keeps his hand still on the handle, eyes darkened and narrowed.
When you muster up the courage to turn around, heart thumping so much it seems to crash against your ribs, you see nothing. Just the cave, and the long, dark tunnel.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice barely over a whisper.
“Something’s coming.”
He stays still a moment longer. Then his sword slides out of its sheath with a hiss of metal - a fluid motion, faster than you can blink. 
You’re on your feet immediately, still barefoot, hands empty. Anxious to do something, anything. You find yourself moving behind Geralt, feeling frustrated and antsy, hair standing up from the nape of your neck down to the skin on your arms. 
“Know how to use a crossbow?” he asks.
His brows rise - more for himself than you. “Huh. Hope you’re a fast learner. Should’ve taught you sooner, really.”
Surely he must be joking, he can’t really want you to shoot, but - no, he’s serious: pulling the bow off his back, loading it up in a flash, and shoving it in your hands. They’re better than yesterday, but they still hurt.
“Trigger’s here, at the bottom,” Geralt says. “Only use it if you have no other choice. Aim first, then press the trigger.”
You gawk at him, but he’s already turned away from you. “Any other useful tips?” 
“Sure. Don’t point it at me.” 
“Thanks. Very helpful.”
He hums in response, but the sound is distracted. His fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword as he rolls his shoulders.
It’s definitely colder now. You’ve started shivering again. The horses buck and whinny as fog starts to roll into the cave. Thunder crashes overhead, shaking the ground, and the crossbow feels slick in your hands. 
His voice is tense and distant: distracted.
“Don’t die.”
He huffs, smiling a little. “Not planning on it.”
More fog is rolling into the cave - a grey, dirty fog accompanied by a terrible, inhuman snarling. 
“Shit,” Geralt says. “A foglet. Stay back as much as you can.” 
You back away from him in horror. That fucking djinn couldn’t have allowed you twenty steps instead of ten? What kind of shitty protection puts you in more danger?
The snarling finally comes closer, and Geralt makes a movement with his fingers. A purple circle of light forms on the ground beneath him. More magic.
Your heart pounds so fiercely that you feel it might take a year off your life.
Then, to your left, comes a vicious growl as a creature appears out of the mist. It moves too fast for you to get a good look, but it’s clearly not there to have a friendly chat. It creeps toward Geralt, hops behind him, and swipes.
Geralt smoothly dodges the attack, disrupting the fog as he takes a defensive stance with his blade, circling around the foglet. It swipes at him again, and again, he dodges. Your vision fuzzes. He’s too far. You take a couple steps closer, and the feeling fades.
Geralt is fast: ridiculously so. Faster than your mind can truly take in, darting from one place to the next. Each step the foglet takes, Geralt is with it - jumping out of the way, calculated, graceful movements that you can barely follow. Every so often, the wish pulls at you and you’re forced to follow, tense but fascinated.
The foglet snarls, striking out and missing as Geralt dodges then counter-attacks, flitting in close. His sword comes down in a glint of silver and strikes the creature’s shoulder. Blood splatters near your feet. 
The creature howls in pain, then it’s… it’s gone. 
Wait, - no, not gone. Invisible. There’s still movement. The fog follows where it goes, and Geralt is tracking its actions with his eyes, waiting. A predator, tensing for his prey.
Then, just as the foglet reappears, Geralt dodges. It’s jumped at him again, but in missing, made a misstep and landed straight in the middle of the purple circle Geralt made earlier. 
Lavender light wraps around the monster like a cocoon, trapping it in place. It snarls and hollers and lashes out in vain, but doesn’t seem able to leave the circle.
Thank Melitele. 
Geralt goes to hit it again. Your whole body goes tense. Half of you wants to turn away and the other half of you is completely unable to do so. You’re frozen.
But in terrible luck, the circle dissolves just as Geralt moves, fading away into dust. The creature instantly goes invisible again.
“Shit,” Geralt says, slightly panting. 
The hair on your neck stands up. A cloud of fog is spreading again, and this time it’s not coming toward Geralt. This time, it’s headed for you. 
Your instincts kick in like you’ve been struck; your feet start moving, skidding away from that thing as fast as you possibly can and toward Geralt, careful not to press down on the crossbow’s trigger because Melitele forbid you accidentally shoot him right now. 
The foglet reappears in a flash and follows behind you with surprising speed, but it’s wounded and bleeding and just barely slower than you are, hissing in either anger or pain.
The moment you’re behind him, Geralt’s fingers thrust out toward the foglet, this time in the shape of a different sign - one that shoves the creature backward like it’s been hit with an invisible force. Ripples of leftover air carry over to you, and the magic disturbs the fog enough for you to see the foglet knocked to the floor. 
Geralt stalks over to where it lays and strikes down without hesitation - a single, powerful jab into the abdomen. It lets out a last growl, then goes still.
The fog slowly begins to dissipate. Your heart rate returns to normal. You let the crossbow point down toward the ground, panting.
There’s foglet blood splattered on your feet. It doesn’t even phase you.
As you catch your breath, you watch with a muted fascination as Geralt removes his sword from the foglet and wipes it down, sliding it back into his sheathe. Then, you step closer to the corpse.
As it turns out, monsters bleed like anything else. 
Dark liquid pools out from the deep gashes Geralt left, diffusing a metallic note into the air. When you inch closer, wrinkling your nose at the putrid stench of it, you find a gaping maw in the foglet’s chest - and not one put there by a sword.
The rib cage is open and exposed. The abdomen is hollowed out all the way to the sacral vertebrae.
The thing is, it’s not bleeding. The two sword wounds are, but not the exposed inner tissue - which should be bleeding. A lot.
No, you realize, recalling how it’d looked as it ran toward you, the rib cage was open the whole time - as if it wasn’t an injury, but designed to be open. 
Medically speaking, having the entire spinal column exposed is asking for all kinds of trouble. But then again, the thing has no visceral organs and had sprinted around even with a large, bleeding hole in its shoulder, so… clearly, it has different capabilities than a human. 
Gods, what are you doing? Trying to judge a monster’s design on the basis of human anatomy - you’re wasting your time.
Making your way back to your things, you gently set the crossbow down with the bolt pointed away from anything but rock, and wipe the blood off your feet with a loose rag from your belongings.
Geralt is watching you. You can feel those eyes on the back of your neck, as hot as the memory of his touch. When you turn to look at him, he’s staring at you - an unreadable expression on his face.
“What?” you ask
“Dunno,” he says with a shrug, shaking his head. “People aren’t usually this calm after being chased by a monster. Or eager to analyze them.”
A chill runs down your back, and you shiver.
“I’ve met a lot of monsters out there,” you say, settling next to the fire again - away from Geralt’s burning gaze, which seems to be endlessly fixed on you. You squeeze your eyes closed, then give a small shake of your head. “That thing wasn’t so bad.”
With agonizingly slow steps, Geralt approaches from behind and sits down right next to you, resting his hands on his knees as he looks at you expectantly. 
“Ever gonna tell me how you got that djinn?” he asks. 
He’s too close. Too close to you. You can practically feel the heat radiating off his skin from where his knee almost brushes yours. 
And you can smell the forest on him. Earthy, sharp, fragrant… bark from the trees, the tang of leather, mud and rain. A hint of the herbal soap from the inn last night. It makes you want to bury your face in his shirt and breathe him in. Damn him. 
You used to be a good liar. A great one, actually - habitually mixing half-truths into conversations to avoid what you didn’t want to discuss. It was rare for you to ever have the lower hand in a conversation. 
If you wanted people to tire of you and leave, they would. If you wanted people to notice you, you’d flash a smile their way and draw them in with a charismatic hook. If you wanted them to lose their round of Gwent, you’d twist your face to look like you were nervous, get them to waste their cards - then, afterward, lay out your winning hand with a shocked, almost guilty face.
I won? Really? I was so sure I’d lose!
And maybe… maybe you’re still able to do all those things. Maybe, if you went out into that rain and found someone else to talk to, you’d be able to lie as easily as you breathe. 
The problem is Geralt. 
Geralt - with his deep, endearing voice, his ridiculously attractive face, and bright, attentive eyes that don’t miss even the smallest of details. The problem is that he has heightened senses, while around him you seem to have only a weakened disposition.
You hate handsome men. Not the random pretty face on the street, but someone truly handsome, someone like Geralt, whom you can barely look away from. Someone who fills your thoughts with foolish scenarios that you know will never come true but never get driven away by any amount of logic or reasoning.
Handsome men drive you weak in the knees, dull the sharpness of your wit, exploit every chink in the armor you’ve so painstakingly put up.
If he were anyone else, and if you didn’t want him the way you do: if he didn’t crowd up your mind with thoughts of the way it’d feel to touch him, to lean forward now and kiss him… well, you’d bet all your coin that you’d be able to lie circles around him, and he’d never even know.
But he knows now; sees right through you and your excuses, and doesn’t seem to have any issue with calling you on it.
Ever gonna tell me how you got that djinn? 
His expression is so damn smug that it makes you angry - makes you want to make him angry, too, or at the very least, frustrated. You might be a bad liar around him, but your resolve remains solid as steel.
“I already told you how I got the djinn,” you reply. “Don’t you remember?” You cross your arms and wait to see how much he’ll press you. Maybe he doesn’t even remember your words.
“Yeah,” he replies gruffly. “Said it was given to you.” He raises a brow - gazes at you pointedly. “Not exactly a common gift. Never, actually. Don’t know anyone willing to give up three wishes of their own accord.”
Your heart starts pounding. “Are you asking me if I stole it?”
“Can’t say I’m not.”
His eyes aren’t accusatory. They’re warm and curious, fixed on your every move. You hesitate in your response, fingers stiffly curling into loose fists, then releasing. A nervous habit, hindered by the bandages on your fingers. 
Gods, he smells good. He’s so close. You can barely think, much less decide what to say.
“I took from someone who took from me,” you finally answer. “But - I’m not a thief.”
Your words turn his curiosity into mirth - the barest hint of a smile, the crinkling of his eyes. “Worried I’ll report you to the guards?” he asks.
“Not unless you intend on serving the sentence, too,” comes your retort. “Can’t exactly get away from me, can you? And I imagine you don’t want to go to prison.”
Geralt shakes his head. “Not really.” 
“So, no,” you say with a shrug. “I’m not worried about you reporting me. I guess….” You pause, weighing the words of your thoughts on your tongue, then finally letting them fall. “I guess I just didn’t want you to read me the wrong way. You don’t know me very well, and I think we both know you don't exactly have the best things to go on.”
It’s become hard to meet his gaze again.
“Pretty harsh on yourself,” he says softly.
“I have to be. I’m the whole reason you’re here, aren’t I? I - I can’t act like it didn’t just put both of us in danger. It keeps you from contracts, and your friends, and...”
You almost bite off your tongue trying not to say Yennefer.
“Everything,” you finally manage. “You’re wet and trapped in a cave in the middle of Velen, and it’s my fault.”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t mean you have to punish yourself, though. You’re stuck here, too.”
You give a lighthearted scoff. “This conversation is hardly punishment, Geralt.”
“Not what I meant,” Geralt says. His eyes trail down to the bandages on your hands. Your cheeks go hot in shame. 
“That wasn’t punishment,” you immediately insist. “It was just…” You can’t find the word, and it doesn’t help that Geralt is waiting for your answer. “It was rationality,” you finally decide on. “I knew we needed to ride, and I knew there was nothing you could do to change the situation. Any breaks only would have prolonged the pain. I was just being rational.”
There’s a long pause where Geralt just sits and stares at you, and you attempt to meet his eyes but quickly fail. Your gaze turns over to a nearby patch of mushrooms. 
Useful things, puffballs. You’d once used them to dye your clothes. More often than not, though, they were used to supplement meals. At least Oxenfurt taught you something useful - edible plants.
“Do something for me,” Geralt asks, finally breaking the silence.
When he doesn’t continue, you hesitantly glance up at him. “What?”
“Act as if I’m on a contract. You’re paying me to be here. I’m here of my own free will.”
“I can work with that,” you say, fumbling for your bag. “How much would you charge for something like this? Finding a djinn?”
“Hold on,” he says, holding up a hand. “Not gonna take any more of your money.”
“No,” you say instantly. “I won’t accept it, then.”
“Can’t force me.”
You stare at him then, in a blinded sort of defiance - trying to think of some way he’s wrong. But you can’t. He’s stronger and faster and almost certainly smarter than you, and he’s right. You can’t force him. 
So, after a long moment, you turn to another method - your best attempt at a pleading moue. 
“C’mon. Don’t give me that look,” he says, but his expression is pained. “Won’t change my mind. Listen - already told you, you aren’t forcing me to be here. Don’t blame you for that, so stop blaming yourself. Don’t need to impress me, either.”
“Impress you? I’m not trying to.”
He gives you a look.
“I’m serious. You’d know if I was.”
“Let me guess,” he says dryly. “You’d steal a djinn from me.”
You shoot him a glare, anger and attraction flaring in your chest and mixing so much you can barely tell them apart. This damned wish is suffocating you. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t relax. Can’t even decide what you want. 
You want him to stop looking at you like that, but you also want him to keep doing it so much that your chest aches. You want to make him angry, but you also want to press your lips against his - see if those stories about him and his vicious appetite are true. 
“Funny,” you snap. “Very funny. You should tell your bard friend that he forgot to put your sense of humor into his famous ballads.”
“Already tried. Dandelion has a flair for the dramatic.”
You ignore his words and continue staring pointedly at a rock near the cave’s entrance. 
Geralt shifts. “Sorry,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wasn’t serious. Didn’t mean to upset you.”
To his credit, he does sound genuinely remorseful. Unfortunately, that just makes you feel worse. It’s not his fault you’re feeling like this - even you don’t know why you’re really upset. 
Maybe it’s the mention of the djinn. You can barely think about that djinn without feeling nauseous, much less laugh about taking it.
“It’s fine,” you murmur. “Don’t worry about it.”
When you look back at him, his expression has gone solemn. He’s studying you.
 “Djinns are pretty valuable,” he says. “The person you stole from - are they after you? That why you wished for protection?”
“No.” The word is harsh and pained, tearing through your throat without a second’s thought. You swallow hard, turning your face away. “I… I didn’t - it wasn’t… No. Who I stole from, he won’t be coming after me. Ever.”
You’ve said too much. Your chest heaves with emotion before you exhale it out, trying your best to mask your expression. There’s a pause as Geralt observes you. He’s searching your face again. His gaze suddenly sharpens.
“You were pretty damn calm seeing that blood,” he murmurs. His words are slow and careful - bordering on hesitant. 
The weight of his statement sits heavy in the air. Your hands begin to shake. 
“If you don’t mind,” you say curtly, reaching for your bag, “I think I’ll take that sleep after all.” 
“Hey,” he says. His tone has turned soft, reassuring. “Don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Not judging you. Just curious.”
You swallow hard, closing your eyes. Your voice is shaky when you speak.
“Does it make a difference if I tell you he deserved it? That he didn’t give me much of a choice?” 
“Yeah. Figured as much,” he replies, leaning forward and resting a hand on his thigh.  
You try very hard not to stare at that hand. His gaze hasn’t let up on your face. 
“What you said at Crow’s Perch,” he continues. “Just doesn’t seem like the words of a cold-blooded killer.”
You don’t know what to think about that. You want to take his reassurance, bask in it, tell yourself you aren’t awful. But Geralt doesn’t know the whole story. Surely he’d hate you if he did.
The two of you sit in silence for a long while, listening to the patter of the rain outside. After you’ve tired yourself out with your own thoughts, your gaze flicks back to the foglet corpse. It’ll start stinking soon. What if there are more of them?
“What you said about the crossbow…” you say. 
Geralt’s attention perks up, and you continue. 
“Did you mean it? Are you really going to teach me?”
“I should,” he replies. “Be safer if you learn.” 
He stands, stretching, then nods for you to join him.
“Not so sure about that being safer,” you mutter under your breath. Your mind won’t stop supplying you with visions of you accidentally shooting Geralt in the back. Then again, maybe he’d take pity on you if you shot him and finally let you pay him.
“Heard that. C’mon, up.”
Getting to your feet, you flex your fingers and wince. The effect of the celandine has long since faded, and your hands feel raw and painful.
“Hang on,” Geralt says, taking a step closer. “Better change your bandages before we start.”
The thought of his hands gently tending to you again is far too much to take. You want it so badly that you can’t possibly let yourself accept it.
“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “They don’t hurt.”
He stares at you, unimpressed. “Pretty bad liar, you know that?”
Only around you, you think.
“No, I’m not.” 
He takes a step closer. “Heartbeat gets faster when you lie,” he says. “Dead giveaway.”
The blood drains from your face.
“You - you can hear my heart?”
Your heart, already pounding, speeds up. Geralt raises a brow as if to emphasize his point. “Part of the witcher mutations,” he says. “Heightened senses.”
You know that. He’d heard the foglet coming when you hadn’t heard a thing, and you’d known then that it was because of his mutations - but what your brain had failed to consider was the fact that he could hear more than monsters: he could hear you. 
Melitele, your heart speeds up every time he touches you. No wonder he seems to see straight through you. You don’t trust yourself to get any closer to him when he’s looking at you like that. 
“You couldn’t have told me that sooner, or - I don’t know, given me a warning?” you ask.
He gives a light shrug. “Sorry. Thought you already knew. Wasn’t expecting you to be a compulsive liar, either.” 
 The ghost of a smile he wears tells you that he’s teasing you, but you shoot him another glare.
You start to think of - well, everything, and dread pools in your lungs. Every moment you’d thought you had some sort of shield for your emotions, your heart had given you away. Hiding your face hadn’t even helped, not even a little, not when he could hear your heart pounding in your chest like an admission of guilt.
“Alright,” you mutter, swallowing hard. “I’m a bad liar. My hands do hurt. How’s that?”
“Real enthusiastic, aren’t you?” His tone is practically dripping with sardonicism. “Now sit down.” 
He gestures toward a nearby rock that’s about half your height. You hesitate, trying to think of some way to get out of this, but when nothing comes to mind, you give in and take a seat. As you watch him prepare the bandages again, you try your best to keep your heart rate slow.
Deep breaths, that’s all it is. And he’ll just think you’re breathing like that because it hurts. 
But his touch is as gentle and warm as you remember. He carefully peels the old bandages away, pausing for a moment when you wince, then continuing on. Your heart rate wanes and rises over and over like a wave, and all you can do is breathe through your nose and try not to think. 
Most of the blisters have popped now. All that’s left is of them itchy, dead skin and the seeping rawness of the healing wounds below. Your hands jerk when Geralt touches them - an automatic spasm, more itch than pain - and he simply holds them still and continues on. 
That hold is so firm you couldn’t squeeze out of it if you tried, and he’s barely applying any pressure. Is this the work of mutations, or is it a developed strength from years of swordwork? Perhaps a mix of both? 
How ironic that someone called the Butcher of Blaviken is bandaging your hands so delicately. How strange that it was him assigned to you, and not someone else - someone that might have been crueler, might have been impatient. Another witcher. Another being. Why Geralt, of all people? Why is he here with you? 
Despite your best efforts, the erratic rhythm of your pulse won’t soothe. Heat builds in your skin and spreads lower and lower. You desperately try to push the image of Geralt away. His scars. The way he looked when he was asleep. The way he’s kneeling in front of you now, brows furrowed as he concentrates. Oh, gods…
Trying to find any way out of your current train of thought - anywhere but here and now - your mind frantically turns back to the ballads. To his dozens of names. Anywhere but here and now. Dandelion. Roach. Yennefer. 
That’s right, Yennefer. The thought of her takes you out of danger for the present moment. You think of her with fierce intent. You mull over The Last Wish.
Dandelion’s tales have always been a sort of guilty pleasure for you - ways to pass the time in between everything else. Some of them seemed too far-fetched to ever be possible, but others rang with an element of truth that seemed hard to deny. 
But Geralt isn’t like you’d pictured him. The Butcher of Blaviken hardly seems appropriate for a man so… morally bound. Everything about him reflects someone with real emotions, someone who’s known real consequences - the kind that weighs down on his shoulders in quiet moments.
Not that you don’t know the story of Blaviken: how he’d apparently massacred innocents in the street and fled. But you can’t imagine him doing a thing like that. Ever. Maybe it was just as fanciful of a tale as every other falsity. 
You ache to ask him about it, but a certain fact halts your tongue: despite everything, aside from his mention of killing the guards at Crow’s Perch, Geralt’s hardly told you anything about himself. His words are never focused on personal matters. 
You, on the other hand, have told him far too much, and not wanted to. 
But would he tell you if you asked? You want to know - not only about Blaviken, but about why he calls his horse Roach, and whether all those ballads are true. You want to know about Dandelion, and Yennefer, and if Geralt really bound himself to her on the first day they’d met. 
You want to know why he was in Skellige, if it’s true that he killed Foltest, and if he also had a hand in killing Radovid like they’ve been saying on the street.
You want to know all of these things and a hundred more, but by the time the courage starts to come to ask him, Geralt’s already done bandaging your hands.
“There,” he says. “Ready? Not hiding anything else?”
You shoot him a glare. “For example?”
“Dunno. Blisters in your boots, maybe?”
You rise to your feet and pray you won’t shoot him - accidentally or on purpose.
“Good. C’mere.” He grabs the crossbow off the ground where you’d left it, still cocked. “That patch of moss on the rock. See it?” 
You do. It’s almost a perfect circle.
With practiced hands, Geralt aims the bow forward and shoots. It hits the moss dead center.
Showoff, you think.
“Your turn. Show me what you’ve got.”
He hands you back the bow, then steps behind you - placing a bolt in your empty hand. 
He’s close. Close enough you can feel the warmth of his chest brushing against your back. The smell of him is driving you mad. Leather, bergamot, sandalwood. A hint of herbs. Resinous. Addictive. Dangerous. You’re in so much danger from your own actions that you’re trembling.
“Gotta hold it away from you, always,” he starts. “Don’t load it until you need to.” 
You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck. You shiver and grip the bow and try not to think at all. 
Geralt pauses. “You’re shivering. Heart’s pounding. Sure you’re alright?” 
“Just… cold and nervous. I’ve never shot a crossbow before. I’ll be fine - keep going.” 
It’s a miracle your words come out sounding believable, even if they have truth mixed into them.
“Alright,” he says. “Pull the string back until it’s locked on the catch.”
Your bandaged fingers don’t have much dexterity, but you manage to do as he says. Your heart is still pounding, but Geralt doesn’t mention it.
“Bolt goes in the groove, there,” he says, coaxing your hand into the right place. Your lungs run out of oxygen. You can’t seem to breathe.
“Now,” he continues, “raise it and aim. Don’t rush, though. When you’re ready, press the trigger.”
Your hands are still shaking. Your mind is too polluted with Geralt to concentrate - the heady smell of him, the pleasant heat of his body, the sharp handsomeness of his face, his rough, callused hands, his gentle, burning touch. You raise the crossbow to your eye, aim, hold your breath, and shoot, and—
Well… completely miss the target. The bolt strikes the rock wall and pitifully clatters to the ground.
“Not bad for a first shot,” Geralt praises. “Try again. Remember to breathe. Make the shot while you’re breathing out - you’ll think clearly that way.”
Not bad? you think. He really is just as much of a liar as you are. Who would’ve thought the White Wolf had such a bleeding heart? You’d taken forever to load up the bolt, taken even longer to aim, and still hadn’t even gotten close to the target. 
Practice makes perfect, though. You hadn’t been expecting to hit it anyway. This time, you really do want to make the shot - not only because it’s humiliating to miss, but because knowing how to use a crossbow is a pretty damn useful skill. 
At this point, it’s almost a guarantee that the two of you will come across something dangerous again - and next time, it might not go as smoothly as the foglet had. You need to learn to shoot.
You breathe steadily and stare at the patch of moss - the one that still has Geralt’s arrow in it. You can do this. 
Hands a little steadier than before, you tug the string back into the catch. Then, trying to keep your mind on nothing but the weight of the bow in your hands, you slide a bolt into the groove.
Geralt is silent behind you, but if you know him in any way, shape, or form, you know he’s watching you. Catching every detail.
It feels more natural to raise the bow to eye level this time. You breathe in. Focus on the target. Carefully, you ready your hand on the trigger. Exhale. 
The arrow pierces the target - not quite in the center like Geralt’s, but you’ll take it.
“Good,” Geralt says. “Try it again.”
Don’t get cocky, you instruct yourself. You aim as carefully as you had before, breathing in deeply. Something inside you seems to click. The hair on your arms rises in anticipation, and there’s a sudden stillness to your thoughts that feels almost like you’re underwater. You keep that feeling in your lungs, your hands, your every move. Then, you press the trigger again.
The bolt pierces straight through Geralt’s arrow. 
You stare at it in complete and utter shock, so stunned you’re unable to move. Then you blink, thinking your eyes are playing tricks on you. Was that… some kind of freakish beginner’s luck? 
Biting back a smile, you turn to look at Geralt. There’s something in his face you can’t identify, something quizzical and… warm. He studies you for a long moment, the way he seems to do constantly these days, then raises his brows.
“Again,” he instructs.
Your next shot misses the center arrow by a mere inch. Not bad for your third try. Your parents had always talked about finding things, hidden talents that just came naturally to them, and you’ve had a few things like that yourself. Maybe this is another one of yours.
“Don’t go celebrating just yet,” Geralt says, interrupting your thoughts. “Moss is one thing - a moving target is another.”
He’s right, of course. No sentient creature is going to stand unmoving while a crossbow is being aimed at them.
“Alright,” you say with a shrug. “What are you going to do about that, then? Throw a piece of wood and get me to hit it mid-air?”
“Not a bad idea,” Geralt says. “Get ready.”
“You have to be joking,” you say quickly. “You can’t - you can’t think I’ll hit that?”
Geralt, who is squatting down to grab a piece of wood, tilts his head. “Got a better plan?”
“Yes, I do. Don’t die or pass out. Then I won’t have to use the crossbow.”
He rises to his feet, lightly tossing the wood into the air. His hand comes up in a graceful flash to catch it again. Somehow, he manages to make all of this look effortless. 
“I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to defend you at all times,” he says softly. “That’s the preferred scenario, sure, but I can’t guarantee it. Besides - thought you wanted me to teach you.”
“I do,” you sigh. “But not - like this. Not by throwing pieces of wood and having me shoot at them.” 
“This isn’t Kaer Morhen,” he chides. “Wish it was, but it isn’t. Gotta use what we have. Don’t trust me?”
 “I do trust you, but… I - oh, Geralt! I’ll look ridiculous.” 
He smiles impishly. “Got something better to do?”
“Yes. Sleep.”
“Funny. You told me you weren’t tired,” he reminds you. “I know you’re stalling. C’mon. Get ready to shoot.”
“Unbelievable,” you grumble, but you pull back the string and ready another arrow. Geralt waits for your signal, then throws.
The wood passes and hits the ground before you’ve even pulled the trigger.
“That was too fast,” you protest. “How am I supposed to hit that?”
“Think a drowner is gonna stand still to let you shoot it? A bandit? A ghoul? Try again.”
Another block of wood flies past. Your arrow is much, much too late.
Geralt must throw those blocks of wood fifty times, and you still don’t even come close to hitting any of them. So much for a hidden talent of yours. 
Halfway through, you have to start reusing bolts. Luckily, a large majority of the ones you used are undamaged, but even then, you continue to hit nothing. Your patience begins to wear thin.
“This isn’t doing me any good,” you eventually insist, letting the bow go slack in your hand. “Any monster or human is a much bigger target than a piece of wood.”
Geralt squats down to grab one of the fallen blocks. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we haven’t got any practice dummies here. You’re learning to follow the movement, anticipating where it’ll end up. Useful skill.”
You give him an exasperated look.
“What? Doubting my training?” he asks.
“Have you actually trained anyone before, Geralt?”
Your words are meant as a joke, but something deepens in his gaze - the slightest shift in expression, the faintest falter in his composure. Not anger. Something else: maybe some kind of aching, or regret, or grief. 
The look on his face: it’s how you feel every time you think about home. 
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I have. Had a little help, but… yeah.” 
You open your mouth, to apologize, maybe - but with a small shake of his head, your mistake is gone. Geralt is smiling. 
Completely lost in thought, but smiling. Not a faint smile, either, like the ones he gives for your jokes, but a full, fond smile as he thinks about something, or… someone. 
“Can’t take much credit, though,” he says. “She always wanted to learn. Couldn’t have stopped her from training if I tried.”
He clearly isn’t talking about Yennefer.
You watch him for a moment and decide you’ve told him enough about you that you can finally press just a little, a single word that slips from your lips before you can regret it. 
Geralt finally looks up at you, brows furrowed. His lips part and he hesitates, clearly trying to think of what to say. 
Shit. You shouldn’t have asked.
“Sorry,” you blurt. “None of my business, you don’t have to -”
He gently cuts you off with another shake of his head. “Her name’s Ciri. She’s my…” He pauses for a moment. “She’s like a daughter to me. I raised her by choice, trained her at Kaer Morhen.”
Geralt has a daughter? 
That’s news to you. The fondness in his gaze when he’d thought of her - he clearly cares about her, clearly misses her. Was that what he was doing in Skellige? Had you ripped him away from her?
Gods, you very well might have separated him from his family, and… you’re sitting in a cave, complaining about the way he’s training you - something you’d asked for. Trying to keep the both of you safe.
For a terrible moment, emotion almost overwhelms you. You swallow it down and breathe. Geralt might be able to hear your heart, but he can’t read your mind. 
“Thank you,” you say, taking a seat on a rock a few feet across from him and setting the bow down next to you.
Your words seem to catch him off guard. His expression flashes with quizzicality, then settles on a slight sort of trepidation. “For what?” he asks.
“For… telling me about Ciri, and bandaging my hands. And the crossbow training, of course.”
The wariness in his face melts away. “Don’t need to thank me for any of that.” 
“Well, I am. Can’t force me not to.” 
He huffs, letting out a low, grumbling noise deep in his chest. You give him a small smile in response. A brief, comfortable sort of silence falls over the two of you, and you bask in it for a moment. 
The rain is still pattering outside, but it sounds a little lighter. Hopefully, by tomorrow the two of you will be out of here. It must be nightfall by now - it seems even darker out there.
“Out of curiosity,” you say suddenly, “can Ciri shoot a piece of wood mid-air with a crossbow?”
Geralt’s brows pinch as he thinks about it. “Don’t know, actually. Witchers - not really ones for crossbows, usually prefer swords. Didn’t exactly teach her.”
“Is it even possible?”
His gaze falls to the bow. “Huh. Asking to see me do it?”
You give a shrug, feigning indifference. “Well, if you can’t, I definitely can’t.”
He rises and takes the bow from you. “Gotta throw a piece of wood for me, though. High and straight, no cheating.”
“Me, cheat?” you ask. “Never.”
You briefly consider giving him an awful throw, but ultimately decide against it. You want to see if he can actually do something like this.
Grabbing a block, you carefully step out of the way of the bow and prepare to throw. When he nods that he’s ready, you give it your best toss. 
You almost can’t believe it after all of your failed attempts, but Geralt hits it. The arrow pierces the block in a flash of silver and it roughly impacts against the wall, splintering into pieces. 
In one try. Lightning-fast.
You stare at him, stunned. “That’s… impressive,” you manage to say. “Have you ever done anything like that before?” 
Even after pulling off something like that, he somehow manages to look humble. “Shot a lot of drowners underwater,” he says, setting the bow down. “Sirens, too. Once, uh, shot apples off someone.”
“Shot - what do you mean, off someone?”
Geralt rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking extremely bashful. “Well…”
The sight of this famous witcher, looking so incredibly embarrassed about this apple-shooting event, draws a sharp, surprised laugh from your chest.
Geralt’s face softens. “You laughing at me?”
“Only with good reason,” you tease. “You should see your face. Let me take a guess: you were drunk?”
“Then… you did it as a dare?”
He shakes his head.
You take a seat a few feet away from him and give him an expectant look. “Alright, I’m intrigued.”
“Not much of a story, honestly,” he says. “Probably disappointing.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
Geralt huffs again, seeming to mull it over before he gives a light shrug. “Can’t hurt.”
Bringing your knees to your chest, you lean in closer, and you don’t miss the brief, lovely flash of a smile that crosses his face. Then he hesitates, brows furrowing.
“Don’t even know where to start.” He thinks for a moment, sitting forward and propping his hand on his thigh. “Was, uh… recruiting people… had to get into this - place. Needed people with certain skills.”
You scowl at him. “You know, you can just say you were planning a heist, Geralt.”
His shoulders slump in defeat. “Astute of you,” he says. His brows lift. “Sure you aren’t a thief?”
You narrow your eyes. “And here I thought you could tell when I was lying. What’s my heartbeat saying, master witcher? As I’ve already told you - I’m no thief. The djinn was a special circumstance. Go on?”
 His expression turns sullen. “Gonna have to stop talking if you’re gonna keep using my words against me.”
“Why? You’ve done the same thing to me. Fair’s fair.”
The two of you stare at each other for a long moment. You cross your arms. He does the same. 
“Pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” he finally says. “Figures. Yeah, it was a heist. Sounds stupid, but I didn’t have a choice - needed something that was locked up in an auction house. Long story short, I found someone who had a plan to get in, but we needed some extra help to execute it. I went out to recruit a girl named Eveline - a circus performer. She agreed to help. Needed me to help her first.” 
He glances at you to see that you’re following, then continues. 
“Turned out, the man who was the last act in her show had gone blind. Already spent all the money from the tickets, though - couldn’t refund them - so she asked me to stand in for him. Her business partner balanced apples on his head, a leg, and his arms. I, uh, shot them off of him. Surprised I didn’t hit him, actually. I wasn’t sure if he’d come out alright.”
The thought of Geralt using his crossbow to shoot apples off a stranger is so entirely bizarre and ridiculous that you find yourself laughing again. 
“A very good story,” you tell him. “I see now why Dandelion uses you for his ballads.”
He tilts his head. “Why’s that?”
“Well,” you drawl, “from what I hear, you seem to find yourself in very interesting situations. Frequently.”
He huffs. “That’s one way to put it.”
“What would you call it, then?”
His gaze stalls on a point behind you. All at once, he looks a thousand miles away. Run-down. Exhausted.
“Guess I’d say I’ve never been drawn to things that are comfortable,” he murmurs. He shifts, looking down at a rock near his boots. “Got a tendency for getting into trouble. Following people into it, too.”
“Like Dandelion?”
His eyes crinkle. “Yeah, gotten into a fair amount with him. The stories are exaggerated, though.”
“I figured they might be,” you admit. “Some were… a little outlandish.”
He nods. “Like I said, Dandelion’s got a flair for the dramatic. Changes details, shifts things around to make himself look better, or….” He pauses, letting out a slow breath. “He makes things sound simple, easy. They’re never that way. Not for a witcher.”
His tone is pensive and somber. You wonder which one of the stories he’s thinking about.
“I see what you mean,” you tell him. “You don’t like Dandelion’s ballads, then?”
“Wouldn’t say that, exactly,” he responds. “It’s… strange, having people recognize you, know things about you that are better left private. If it were up to me - I’d rather not have everyone know the intimate details.”
You can’t imagine what it would be like to be recognized by people you don’t even know. To have them hear about your relationships, your experiences. To have them be shifted for the sake of a better lyric.
A part of you feels guilty for having read those ballads so eagerly. You’ve spent hours with him in silence, wondering about things and people and details of his life he hadn’t even mentioned to you. You’d always assumed the stories were told with complete permission, but looking at it now, it feels, well… like an invasion of his privacy. 
Not to mention, not everyone views him as positively as you do now. You’d thought him a brute before you met him. People at the inn spat at his feet. Called him a freak, a mutant. People at the market had made a point to show he was unwelcome there, loudly blathering about how witchers are a curse of nature.
All of that must be incredibly exhausting.
“I’m sorry, Geralt,” you eventually tell him.
“Gotta stop saying that,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”
His words don’t stop the twisting sensation that’s coiling in your gut. Silence falls again, and you wring your hands in your shirt as you try to think of something to say. Nothing comes.
After a long while, Geralt straightens up.
“Rain’s stopped.”
Sure enough, the patter of the rain on the mouth of the cave has gone quiet. Does he plan on riding again? You wouldn’t be opposed to starting off now - in fact, you hope for it. No sun to scorch your skin. Cool wind against your cheeks. Stars as your view.
You’re both exhausted, but… still. You could rest at the next inn, get away from the heat of the day.
“How far are we from another town, do you think?” you ask.
“Couple hours, maybe,” he says. “Can’t ride tonight, though. Too much mud.”
You swallow hard. “Oh.”
“Don’t worry,” he says. He leans back against the rock wall of the cave, settling his hands behind his head. “It’s not much longer to Novigrad. Hopefully, we’ll find a good lead, but… odds are, we’ll spend a few days there at the least, get some rest.”
You give a sharp nod. “And you’re sure this friend of yours won’t mind having us?”
“This friend of mine happens to be Dandelion,” Geralt ruefully informs you. “Saved him more times than I can count. Doubt he’ll begrudge us a room.”
“Wait - we’re… we’re meeting with Dandelion?”
Geralt smiles wryly. “Starstruck?”
“No, no,” you say quickly. “Just surprised.”
“That’s good. His ego’s big enough as it is.”
You hum softly in response, distracted by your thoughts. 
Every time you think of Novigrad, you get a pit in your stomach - and for good reason. It’ll be the determinator for a number of things; questions you haven’t dared asked, questions even Geralt doesn’t know the answer to. 
Neither of you have brought it up, but surely he must be thinking about it - the odds of you two finding another djinn are simply not in your favor. Djinns are incredibly rare and incredibly valuable. Who knows if you’ll be able to find one, much less make it there safely. 
And if you don’t find one…
You try to brush away the thought. There must be some way.
Giving a glance to Geralt, you find him still in his laid-back position, eyes closed now. Good - hopefully he’ll sleep for a while. It’ll give you some time to think in peace.
You’ve never been to Novigrad before - never strayed very far from the university when you were attending. In the remnants of the war, you’re hesitant to enter the city. You’ve heard that the witch hunters were burning mages and non-humans, and you’re not very keen to see what’s left of that in the aftermath. 
Maybe it won’t be all terrible, though. Soon you’ll sleep in a warm bed. Not to mention, you’ll be meeting one of Geralt’s best friends (or at least, you think he’s one of Geralt’s best friends). You aren’t quite sure what to make of Dandelion from what you’ve heard, and you haven’t the slightest clue how he’ll view you.
Oh, gods - how will you ever explain the situation to him? Traveling with just the two of you isn’t so bad, but what will Dandelion say when you and Geralt have to share a room? And what about Yennefer, will she be in Novigrad as well? 
The more you think about Geralt’s friends and family, the uneasier you feel. You’ll be so incredibly out of place among them. These are the kind of people who end up in ballads and on Gwent cards. You hadn’t even managed to graduate from Oxenfurt. 
And once it’s over, you’ll likely never see Geralt again.
A familiar ache settles in your chest. In between everything that’s happened lately, you’ve grown completely careless. You’ve allowed yourself to make too many mistakes, to grow too relaxed here. You’ve told Geralt too much about you - enough that he was able to derive one of your biggest secrets in the span of just two days. Once this djinn business is done, you’ll go your separate ways.
No more, you tell yourself. You’ll be friendly with him, but no more soul-baring. No more asking him questions. No more facts about yourself.
“Hey,” Geralt says suddenly. You’re so startled by the sound of his voice that you jump, heart racing as you turn to look at him. His eyes are open again, and he’s sitting forward with his hand placed on his thigh.
“Sorry,” he says. “Just realized - I don’t know something about you. Something pretty important.”
I can’t tell you, you think, but you don’t know how to word that in any decent way. You swallow hard and stare at him instead.
“How important?”
Is he going to ask you about the djinn again? Oxenfurt? You can’t tell him about those - you won’t.
“What is it?” Your heart is racing again. 
He raises a brow. “Your name,” he says. “Never told me your name.”
His gaze is warm and expectant on your face, and a strange sort of heat flutters in your gut. He gives you a small smile.
Your name.
Well, you think. Maybe you’ll tell him just this one thing.
Tumblr media
tags: @henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen
117 notes · View notes
chiveburger · 5 months
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
2022′s favorite skincare, make-up and fragrances tagged by my longtime fave @nito-onna. here is the link is her much more articulate post! 
starting with skincare... 
rohto mentholatum - acnes anti-bacteria spot dressing patch. I’ve tried two acne patches in the last couple months and this one is by far the better one. It’s very thin and unnoticable, it comes in two sizes per sheet and has helped me quicken the process of popped pimples and whiteheads
lush - catastrophe cosmetic. this clay mask is probably one of the best lush fresh masks I’ve used, and I’m planning to repurchase it with my recyclables. It’s more moisturizing than it seems, and after it dries it flakes off and makes for a very easy cleaning process (compared to every other lush fresh mask). 
laneige - water bank blue hyaluronic eye cream. I’m not a consistent user of eye cream, even though I should be but I’ve stuck with using the one from laneige for the last couple months. It’s straightforwardly packaged, supple and gel-like which makes it very light on the under eyes. It also lasts for a long time
fresh nation - b5 hydropower lip care. one of my go-to lip balms during these last winter months. I also slather it on as an overnight lip mask. It’s not heavy, scentless but moisturizes well. It was also like $14 for 3...
bush balm - bermuda dark spot exfoliating scrub and oil combination. probably one of my most favorite finds of 2022. I’ve been using this religiously on my underarms and I do see a very gradual fading of my dark spots. the sugar scrub is very gentle, and the oil is not excessively greasy. this is my only ongoing subscription on amazon
going to make-up...
wet n wild - megaglo makeup stick in sand. one of the BEST concealers I’ve used in years, and the only con about this is that it kinda stinks. this shade is perfect for my skintone, it’s not very heavy, extremely cheap and does a really good job on my eye bags. I haven’t found a concealer in this suitable of a shade ever
glossier - cloud paint in beam. a forever favorite item for me regardless of the year. I’ve had one tube of this bush for the last 3 years so it really goes a long way, and I do not leave the house on a day out without using this. the cream texture is light and versatile and you can build the strength of the blush according to your preference. 
dejavu - fiberwig ultra long mascara in pure black. again, an item I’ve used for a couple years and still love and is always apart of my make-up routine. It’s the one mascara I’ve used that doesn’t clump and elongates my lashes without making spider legs. I haven’t experimented with any other mascara after finding this one.
lastly I only have one fragrance and its...
giorgio armani - sì eau de parfum. all I can say is that this is my scent. If you ever meet me in person I���ll smell like this. I’ve gone back and forth from different perfumes but I always end up coming back to sì. I’m not a big fan of floral scents, so this one is more musky. I have used this since high school and have not found a scent I like as much as this. 
thanks for reading if you’ve gotten this far. I tag @033h, @vensulove, @calpicowater, @idleminds, @julieterbang and everyone who likes pentagon to do this tag!
54 notes · View notes
afropearl · 8 months
my christmas wishlist 🧁
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
{this is more of a snippet because the real list is very long and growing :3}
skincare ♡
tatcha dewy skin essentials set
fresh strawberry exfoliating wash
the creme shop sheet masks
sanrio hydration lock moisturizer
beauty ♡
laniege lip sleeping mask {sweet candy}
fresh color and care sugar lip set
glossier balm dot calm {lavender}
tony moly holiday masks set {peppermint foot mask and ginger snap hand mask}
hygiene ♡
hempz sweet peppermint and sugar plum moisturizer
lush bath bombs {snow fairy, sweet pudding, butter bear, snowdrift}
bath and body works hand creams and sanitizer
gisou honey hair perfume
fragrance ♡
marc jacobs daisy {eau so sweet and eau so intense}
idk ♡
new airpods
holiday candles
sweaters, warm socks, gloves {your typical winter stuff}
tons of plushies :3 {bt21, sanrio, squishmallows the whole nine yards}
thanks for reading 🎀
90 notes · View notes
coquette-club · 1 year
How To Smell Good All Day
1. Use a non perfumed soap like dove beauty bar, this cleans the skin without stripping it. After, wash with your favorite scented body wash. Before washing the soap off, let it sink into the skin for at least a minute or two. This would be the perfect time to wash your hair if you’re doing that!. When washing your genitals be sure to 1) not wash inside and 2) you are using a gentle nonscented cleaner to keep your pH in check and be sure to be gentle! I promise you do not smell as bad as you think you do and you aren’t gonna smell like roses or fruit, you’ll smell like you. If you still feel the need to use your scented body wash keep it to the inner thighs only!. With the gentle cleaner be sure to get any creases like between the thighs, any rolls of skin or fat and underneath your breasts as that collects the most sweat.
2. Every few days to every other week exfoliate your body with a body polish. If you use a loofah, exfoliating gloves, exfoliating body wash or a combo, you can skip this step or narrow it down to once or twice a month.
3. If you have sensitive or super dry skin like i do, try to use thick body butters in the winter and whipped body creams in summer and see how that works on you! This is the step where you apply your favorite lotions etc, if you’re sensitive to fragrance apply a light moisturizing lotion first then layer with your favorite scented one, this is extremely helpful for those with sensitive skin who prefer to shower every day. If you cannot shower every day and prefer every other day take the break day to moisturize and replenish your skin. Apply lotion while your body is still slightly damp. (Note
4. When applying perfume or scented body oil, apply it onto freshly moisturized, slightly damp skin to lock in the scent. Be sure your lotion and perfume fragrance compliment each other whether it’s from a set, have similar smells, or are different yet work together. Apply behind the ears, back of the neck, each wrist and behind the knee. If your skin is easily irritated apply behind the ears and on clothing instead such as your collar or sleeves. Body mists are much gentler and can be applied all over the body and since they dont last as ong can be applied more heavily and reapplied throughout the day.
5. To keep fresh breath, be sure to use your toothpaste of choice and brush at least twice a day and i know we dont do it but try to remember to floss if not when u brush your teeth then after you eat to get any food bits! Use an alcohol free mouthwash as it can dry your mouth out. Also tongue scrapers are great to get any excess bacteria off your tongue just be sure not to to it every day or too roughly as it can cause damage and bleeding
198 notes · View notes
liaromancewriter · 6 months
Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree
Premise: Ethan returns from a business trip and discovers the joy of being home.
Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: General. Fluff. Words: 995
A/N: This fic is inspired by TikTok Tuesday 35 from @potionsprefect. Submission for @choicesdecember2022 Day 19 “Christmas Lights” and @choicesficwriterscreations Holiday Event 2022. Also submitting to @choicesholidays​ prompts “thankful” and “holiday spirit”.
Tumblr media
The sky above was dark, but the snowy white city streets were bright, with Christmas lights providing a kaleidoscope of color. Pop music drifted from the car speakers, and his driver’s head bobbed lightly with the tune, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.
Ethan Ramsey sighed deeply as the car neared the mid-rise condo building facing the Boston Harbor. It was good to be home. There was a time when he would have considered a condo just a place to park his head at night. Now it was home and held everything he cherished in his life.
Glad to leave the cold and icy wind behind, he grabbed his bag from the trunk, marched through the revolving glass doors, and into warmth. Up the elevator. And home.
Ethan unlocked the front door and inhaled the fragrance of fresh flowers in the foyer. It was mixed with vanilla from the holiday baking adventures; Cassie had texted him updates. And there was another scent, something indescribable and yet so familiar.
He set his overnight bag against the wall and hung his thick winter jacket in the hallway closet. The cheery melody of a classic Christmas song was blasting through the air, and he raised his eyebrows at how loud it was. He sent a silent thanks for soundproofing as he followed the sounds to the living room.
The sight before him set off a wide grin across his face, displaying teeth and dimples. He leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest and watched his wife and daughters literally rocking around the colorfully decorated Christmas tree.
Cassie Valentine was barefoot, dressed casually in jeans and a black sweater, her blonde hair flying everywhere as she executed a perfect pirouette. His wife laughed uproariously when Sophie and Eloise tried to copy her but lost their balance and, giggling, fell into a heap on the thick floor cushions.
His daughters were also barefoot and wore knee-length dresses with flared skirts in the same style but different colors. Their long brown hair was held back from the front by glittery fairy headbands almost falling off.
He couldn’t hear their giggles above the music, but he could see the pure joy on their innocent faces as their mother helped them off the floor.
That’s when he noticed Cassie’s phone mounted horizontally on a tripod, likely capturing the dance party to send to his father and her parents. Both sets of grandparents demanded a near-constant stream of photos, videos and FaceTime calls.
His heart softened when the three of them started gyrating their hips to the rhythm of the song’s chorus. They hip-checked each other before leaping away and twirling in place, throwing their arms in the air.
To be fair, at five years old, the twins’ dancing was more energetic than coordinated. But they also had their mother’s natural gift and style.
The tune on the speakers changed to another popular Christmas song, one of those ubiquitous ones you couldn’t avoid no matter where you went. Before he lost them to the music again, he moved further into the living room and into their line of sight.
Eloise and Sophie shouted gleefully when they saw him and rushed towards him, their arms wrapping around his legs. They tilted their heads back and gave him toothy grins. He smiled at them, his hands automatically brushing away the wet strands clinging to their rosy, red cheeks, the back of his hand caressing the soft skin.
He met Cassie’s smiling gaze as she sauntered to where he stood, unable to move due to the girls clinging to his legs. She laced her fingers through his, cupping the back of his neck with her free hand, and leaned in.
“Welcome home,” Cassie whispered before capturing his lips in a brief but searing kiss.
“It’s good to be home,” Ethan said softly, clearing the gruffness from his throat.
“Daddy, come dance with us!” Eloise exclaimed, taking his hand to drag him to the middle of the room. Sophie did the same to Cassie.
Ethan started to protest that he didn’t dance to this type of music. But his words were drowned out by the pleading looks from his daughters. Unable to deny them this, he nodded and joined in, laughing at how Sophie and Eloise started jumping around.
Cassie held out her hands, and both girls took one. Then all three spun round in circles, their feet stamping to the fast melody. Ethan started to call out that they would get dizzy, but they changed dance moves before he could get a word out.
Sophie tried to pirouette again, succeeding this time, her body held up by Cassie’s tight grip on her hand. Meanwhile, Eloise tucked her hands in both of his and tried to get him to dance with her.
“Round and round in circles, Daddy,” she said giddily.
He stumbled at first but soon followed Eloise’s lead, holding on tight to her small hands as the room spun around him. Ethan wouldn’t necessarily call this dancing, but the twins seemed to love it, as did their mother.
The song changed to Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, which was a cue for him and Cassie to change dance partners. He whirled Sophie in his arms while Eloise and Cassie did some kind of bunny hop moves.
Rockin' around the Christmas tree At the Christmas party hop Mistletoe hung where you can see Every couple tries to stop Rockin' around the Christmas tree Let the Christmas spirit ring Later we'll have some pumpkin pie And we'll do some caroling
Snow swirled outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the world into a magical, white fairytale land. Inside, the star on top of the Christmas tree shone bright, and music continued to play.
The family of four danced around the Christmas tree, lost in the pleasure of being in each other’s company, their laughter ringing free.
They were happy. They were home.
All Fics & Edits: @a-crepusculo​ @annfg8​ @bex-la-get​ @bluebelle08​ @cariantha​ @choicesaddict5​ @coffeeheartaddict2​ @crazy-loca-blog​ @doriopenheart​ @genevievemd​ @headoverheelsforramsey​ @lucy-268​ @jamespotterthefirst​ @jerzwriter​ @mysticalgalaxysstuff​ @openheartforeverinmyheart​ @peonierose​ @takemyopenheart​ @potionsprefect​ @queencarb​ @quixoticdreamer16​ @rookiemartin​ @trappedinfanfiction​​  @vi-writes-stuff​ @zahrachoices​
Submissions: @openheartfanfics​
Ethan & Cassie only: @custaroonie​ @lady-calypso​ @hopelessromantic1352​
61 notes · View notes
kristina100000 · 10 months
kristina i need help picking a perfume or cologne for the dolls
moonlight patchouli by van cleef & arpels
fresh cream by philosophy
maasaï mara by berdoues
lolita lempicka by lolita lempicka
samsara by guerlain
en aparate prolixe by histoires de parfums
sorcery by oakcha
some of these i used to own and some i own today, mostly unisex. i prefer masculine fragrances but i would suggest amen and amen pure havane both by mugler and both for men, they are definitely more unisex and perfect for winter. power by kanzo too
134 notes · View notes
feytouched · 9 days
Tumblr media Tumblr media
review • flower knows moonlight mermaid perfume: # luna goddess tree
flower knows is a chinese beauty brand i really like, and this is the first time their perfumes are available on the international website. i bought this mostly as vanity eye candy for the pretty bottle, without high expectations of the scent itself. still, i wanted to share my thoughts nonetheless.
here's the brand's description of the fragrance on their international website:
"The top notes feature a sweet yet slightly bitter lemon peel fragrance, with a cool and serene touch of mint, crafting a fresh and non-greasy opening. In the middle notes, damp moss is combined with spring tea and cedarwood. The base notes of sandalwood and musk bring warmth, leading to a refreshing and satisfying spring-summer cedarwood woody fragrance."
on their promotional material for the domestic market (autotranslated) they wax a lot more poetic. winter moonlight + ice crystal melting + cloud after rain is a banger of a scent description:
Tumblr media
immediately on the skin, this is a very straightforward bergamot-and-tea fragrance. despite the super femme bottle, it smells perfectly androgynous, which i really enjoy: a clean, almost shower gel-like scent that fits into the typical citrusy aquatic formula. as soon as it dries down, i can detect a soft, dry, powdery wood note from the sandalwood, which becomes the dominant feature of the scent for most of the wear time. decent sillage, not particularly long-wearing. the total sum of its parts is remarkably clean and refreshing; i can see myself wearing this scent to casual hangouts all summer long!
it does have its downsides though: there is a hint of a rubbery note from the coriander which to my nose kinda cheapens the effect, and as a very straightforward aquatic fragrance it's not at all a new or original concept as a whole. the "winter moonlight/ice crystal melting/cloud after rain" description kinda oversells it (i'd say the 'cloud after rain' bit somehow feels the most accurate) and at about 47€ it feels a little overpriced, but i suppose you're paying for the sculptural bottle. still, i don't regret blind buying it for that and the rather pleasant fragrance within it.
flower knows also sent a sample of the other perfume in this line (forever blooming flower); to summarize that one, it's a strong gardenia-narcissus-jasmine floral blast that's giving middle school body spray. not my thing, i'm glad i went for the blue variant.
17 notes · View notes
【 Shining Nikki TW+CN 】 Welfare
Tumblr media Tumblr media
【 Shining Nikki TW+CN 】 Welfare
A light fragrance purple fresh and sweet, irregular white like melted cream, full of childish fantasy.
Suit Display :: Winter Milk (冬日奶芙)
Collection :: Federal Style
Designer :: ​Yuka (佑果)
Rarity :: SR
Attribute :: Sexy
Date :: 16/02—01/03/2023
Type :: Welfare
31 notes · View notes
fruitchouli · 8 months
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
yes ginger is so underrated because people expect that ginger ale smell that most ginger perfumes have but this is a beautiful classical floral with a unique earthy base named after miss ginger rogers not miss ginger root.. i get lots of mimosa, an extra rosy geranium and a very elegant olfactive interpretation of fresh spring soil.. it’s one of my favorite fragrances to pull out at the end of every winter alongside sisley’s soir de lune.. they smell like beams of sun trying to wake up the plants from their wintertime nap…
63 notes · View notes