#to all my brooding f/os!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peterpparkrr · 2 years

Note

hey i got the bridgerton books for my birthday a few days ago and i finished the first one. I would like to ask if I can get an OS with Anthony? Maybe that she's a family friend and has been in love with Anthony forever. but who never pays attention to her and only notices what he actually has in her when she is ready to let go to find another man?

A/N: Yessss I love the books so much! I devoured them after S1 came out! Once you’ve read them you’re gonna have to come back and tell me which one was your fave!

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Cruelest Way

You’d been in love with Anthony Bridgerton since you were fourteen.

You and your family had been visiting the Bridgertons at their estate in Kent. Lady Bridgerton had been your mother’s childhood best friend and your parents had made the Bridgertons your godparents. You’d spent most of your childhood with the Bridgerton brood.

Anthony Bridgerton had been one-and-twenty that summer, freshly graduated from Oxford, and in your eyes, the paragon of a gentleman. He was tall, handsome, polite, and maybe a touch too serious, but that didn’t both you. He, of course, had little interest in spending time with a child seven years his junior.

Colin Bridgerton, on the other hand, had been ecstatic to have a friend of his age to spend the summer with and had been incredibly eager to show you all around the grounds.

The pair of you had been as thick as thieves. You loved having a friend your own age, and Colin delighted in having someone around who wouldn’t shirk away from his more adventurous exploits.

It was Colin who had dared you to climb the tallest tree in the woods on the west side of the estate, a dare you happily accepted, though not before daring him to climb it with you. You climbed the trees on your own estate without problem, and the heights did not bother you.

Until you had reached about halfway up the tree and as you pushed your foot off the branch you had just been standing on, moving quickly to catch up to Colin, who was already two branches ahead of you thanks to his lack of skirts and petticoats, that it suddenly cracked and came crashing down, falling to the ground beneath you.

You and Colin had both shrieked at the branch’s sudden breaking, and you only began to slightly panic as you realized your return to the ground suddenly became much more challenging, as neither one of you were tall enough to bridge the now insurmountable gap between your current branch and what was now the next branch down.

As the pair of you stared at each other with wide eyes you began to bicker about how exactly the pair of you would manage to return to the ground.

And that was when Anthony Bridgerton, your own personal white knight, appeared. He had been riding back from the village when Colin spotted him in the distance and shouted for him to come help.

And so he had swooped in, dismounted his horse, and climbed up the tree to help you back to the ground with minimal admonishment or lecturing.

He had even agreed not to tell either of your mothers about the incident so long as you both promised to never climb alone again.

You’d nodded solemnly as he had held out his hand to shake on the agreement, first to Colin, and then to you, enveloping your own hand in his larger hand, his palm warm as he squeezed slightly before winking at you and remounting his horse and riding back to the house.

Anthony Bridgerton had been your hero that day. And every day since it seemed that you seemed to fall deeper and deeper in love with him.

Which was unfortunate because he never gave you so much as a second look, no matter what you did.

Which is how you found yourself standing against the wall at yet another ball, watching Anthony Bridgerton charm, flirt, and dance with yet another young lady, a woman who was never you. Who would never be you, no matter how much you hoped and prayed and waited.

You’d been so lost in your daydream that you didn’t even realize that Colin Bridgerton had come up to you, or that he had grabbed your hand, and dragged you away from the wall and onto the dance floor.

“Colin,” You protested as you tried to pull your hand back slightly. Though Colin’s grip only tightened as he refused to relinquish his grasp.

“If I have to watch you moon over my brother from the sidelines of yet another party I might actually stab myself in the eye,” Colin groaned as he continued to pull you towards the dance floor. “Your despair is palpable, I’m surprised he can’t sense it from all the way over there.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Colin, it’s not becoming,” You huff as you roll your eyes. You’re probably more familiar with Colin’s antics than anyone other than his family, and far more likely to put up with them, but sometimes you wish your friend was just a touch more comforting, or at least a touch less discerning.

“Just dance with me, and try to enjoy yourself,” He replies with a knowing look before he winks at you cheekily.

You glare at Colin for a moment but it’s half-hearted at best as his gesture eventually wins out and you can’t help but smile back at him. Especially once the music begins and he is quick to swoop you into his arms and twirls you around the dance floor.

As the pair of you twirl and laugh you nearly forget your troubles. For the duration of the song, you’re able to just live, and be, and not have to worry about anything other than remembering the dance steps as Colin leads you across the floor.

It’s in moments like this, moments where you feel carefree and happy that you wish you’d fallen for a different brother, or perhaps just a different person so that you could fully enjoy moments like this. But you didn’t, and so the moment the dance is over and Colin has safely returned you to your spot alongside the other wallflowers you are reminded with a painful stab to your heart that you’ll never have a moment like that with Anthony.

He’d never given you more than a passing acknowledgment at events like this, and he’d certainly never danced with you. You were simply a family friend, the closest confidant of his younger brother. He’d pay you attention at family events. He’d join you for a walk through your estate’s gardens, and join you and Colin for a ride or two. He’d chat with you at shared dinners, ask you questions about your life, your opinions, and make you feel like he really did care for you.

But the moment your family’s returned to London, that you saw him at a society event like tonight, it was like you became invisible to him. As if you simply ceased to exist.

“I hear congratulations are in order, my dear,” Lady Bridgerton greeted you as you stepped into the drawing-room beside your mother.

Bridgerton House was one of your favorite places to be when you were in town for the season, if not for the company of Colin or his other siblings, for the way that Lady Bridgerton always made you feel welcome, like another one of her daughters. Which, as her goddaughter, you supposed in some ways, you were.

She wrapped her arms tightly around you and squeezed you into a comforting hug.

Once the ladies had finished fawning over you, you retreated to the tea service and breathed a sigh of relief. Though the moment was short-lived when a low voice spoke in your ear.

“What has our mothers in such a state?” Anthony asked quietly as he snatched up a handful of grapes from the table, popping one into his mouth as he turned to look at you. “I haven’t seen my mother so ecstatic since Daphne announced her engagement to Hastings.”

“My father has decided it’s time for me to marry, he plans to accept Lord Fife’s proposal on my behalf,” You admit to him. Your eyes trained on the teapot in your hands as you pour yourself a cup. Unable to meet his gaze as you inform him of the news.

“You’re marrying?” Anthony asks.

“Well, yes,” You reply with a small shrug. “I’ve put it off long enough.”

“Lord Fife?” Anthony clarifies in disbelief as if he’d misheard.

You merely nod as you lift the cup of tea you had been fixing up to your mouth.

“You could do so much better,” He scoffs.

Your teacup and saucer clatter back to the table as your head whips up to stare at him in disbelief. The entire room quiets at the sudden noise as you stare up at Anthony in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and anger.

“Could I? Because I’ve been in love with the same man for the last eight years and he has never given me so much as a second glance,” You reply coldly. “Everyone told me just to wait, that eventually, he would see what was right in front of him. So I waited, I thought if I was patient he would finally see me. I come from a good family, my dowry is sizable, there was nothing to detract from my standing except for his obvious lack of affection. I waited and waited and you never saw me.”

Anthony stared at you with wide eyes.

“I-” He starts as he gapes at you.

You shake your head in disbelief as you glance around the room, to see both of your mothers and several of Anthony’s younger siblings staring back at you with surprise and sympathy.

“And now I’ve made a fool of myself,” You say in a whisper, the embarrassment of everyone’s pity bringing heat to your face. “I must go,” You manage to get out before you flee the drawing-room.

“Wait!” Anthony shouts after you, following you out onto the street.

You need to get away from him. You should get off the street. A scene in the middle of Mayfair? You’ll be feeding London’s gossips for weeks.

But you refuse to back down. Not when Anthony is making this about him. Not when you’ve been in love with him for years. If anyone deserves to make a scene, it’s you.

“I’ve already waited so long, Anthony, what could you possibly have to say to me now?” You hiss at him as you spin on your heels to face him, furious.

Anthony scrambles to a halt at your sudden about-face. Placing his hands on your shoulders to balance him as he jerks to a stop right in front of your nose.

He then stares at you for a moment, his face still all-too close to your own as he studies you.

“That I care for you,” He says quietly.

“This is not funny,” You tell him with a shake of your head as you can feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes.

You’d gotten used to Anthony hurting your feelings, but you’d always been able to take refuge in the fact that he was doing so unknowingly. But to have him say this to your face? You’d never known him to be cruel, but perhaps you do not know him at all.

“I am being entirely sincere,” Anthony protests. “I have always cared for you. I have cared for you since that day I helped you down from that tree.”

You can’t speak, can’t manage to get the words out of your throat, you can only continue to shake your head as the tears begin to stream down your face.

“Don’t marry him,” Anthony states plainly as his eyes continue to bore into your own.

“And who should I marry instead, you?” You spit back at him in anger.

“Yes,” Anthony replies.

“You can’t mean that. You don’t love me,” You mutter.

“But I do-” Anthony begins before you cut him off.

“You haven’t spared me a second glance in the years that we’ve known each other, how am I to truly believe that you have any sort of feelings for me?” You tell him. “How can I know that this isn’t some sort of bizarre male jealousy merely based on the fact that you cannot have me anymore?”

Anthony opens his mouth but you hold up your hand to stop him.

“You have given me nothing, I have put up with the bare minimum for years, I will not continue to do so because of your ego,” You continue. “I will not marry you only for you to tire of me once our vows are said.”

“But I do,” Anthony replies reverently. “I do love you.”

“I’m sorry that it took so long for me to admit it, I’m sorry that it took someone else to push me to admit it to you,” He tells you, his hands grasping your own, squeezing them tightly. “I will humble myself before you, I will do whatever it takes, for however long it takes to make you believe me.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“Tell me what you want from me and I will do it,” He says. “Tell me that you want me and you’ll have me, for the rest of our lives. I’ll swear it to you now, and I’ll swear it to you in front of the priest and our families and everyone, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t let me lose you.”

“I can’t lose you,” He repeats. “I’ll fight for you. I’ll always fight for you.”

You once again four yourself speechless. You stared at him, taking his expression, the pinching of his brow, the way his eyes were searching yours desperately, the fact that he was still holding your hands in his so tightly, like he thought you might slip away.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you inhale deeply through your nose before you exhale and open your eyes again.

You nod your head slightly as you squeeze Anthony’s hands in your own gently.

“I will consider your proposal,” You tell him. “I will not accept Lord Fife, but you must court me- properly court me before I will agree to marry you. I will not see either one of us trapped in a marriage unless we are both certain that it will make us happy, do you understand?”

“Of course, of course,” Anthony replies quickly, his face breaking into a boyish grin. “I will prove myself to you. I promise to show you all the love you deserve, and to make myself worthy of you.”

#requested #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton reader insert #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton series #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton request #bridgerton reader insert

2K notes · View notes

inber · 4 years

Text

Hey, Jealousy - Geralt x Reader OS

anonymous asked: Can i ask a request where reader, geralt and jaskier find themselves at a similiar situation to that party with yennefer, where humans were all under a spell and making out/having sex with each other (djinn episode), but reader makes out with someone random or jaskier and geralt is jealous af of YN even though they're not together? Ps: love your writings

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

(Sorry about that; tumblr has the stupidest editor. Had to repost to reformat.) Sure thing, Fren! Thank you for the prompt. You know I love me some uncertain, jealous Geralt. Obviously this is shaped around the Djinn episode, but without the boyes getting themselves into trouble (Jaskier probably wasn’t in a very sexy mood in that room, let’s be fair). Not my gif. Enjoy!

Summary: You’re pretty cosy with Jaskier on the road, believing Geralt to be indifferent. When you find yourself in a bit of a conundrum at Yennefer’s estate, he proves you quite wrong. Pairings: Jaskier x Reader, Geralt x Reader, Jaskier x Orgy (lol) Warnings: Adult. Smut. Dub!Con (mild, but present). Mentions of an orgy. Masturbation (F). Oral receiving (F). Overstimulation. Squirting. Bit of Geralt angst. Word Count: 4630 Tags: @persephonehemingway @xmother-mortemx @alwayshave-faith @alliyjane @stretchkingblog97 @p3nny4urth0ught5 @geeksareunique @didi0666 @tigers-pat @asgardianangelo @agniavateira @superkamigurudende @i-am-sarah @punkrogers-jerkbarnes @deansbbysblog @mary-ann84 @khaleesi-provenance @locht3ssmonster @thatonesebstanfan @afterthenightprevails @saint-hardy @ayamenimthiriel @goldensilvan @hina-chans-stuff @salaveenas-personal-blog @elsassnowflake @msmimimerton @delightfully-anonymous @uncoolcloudyhead @buggy-blogs @magic-and-the-macabre @chook007 @whatevermonkey @hermeowyn

Masterlist is here. If you’d like to support me for my time, I’d really appreciate it! Thanks for reading!

You could feel the weight of Geralt's molten gaze burning your skin from across the campfire, sharp and judgemental, although his handsome features were as impassive as ever.

When you'd met Jaskier at your town's inn and he'd discovered your skill with hand-to-hand combat – by buying you multiple cups of wine and chatting your ear off – you'd been excited to join the bard on the road as his bodyguard. You rarely had cause to travel, and Jaskier was charming, handsome, and made you laugh until you were hunched over, gasping for breath and begging for mercy. Not only was he offering coin, you strongly suspected that the offer of night company wasn't off the table. Why wouldn't you go for it? You had needs.

What you didn't need was a brooding shadow of a Witcher haunting your every footstep.

Jaskier had neglected to mention that you'd be travelling as a trio – he presumed you already knew – and the first time you'd met Geralt of Rivia in the stables, you'd made a right ass out of yourself immediately.

“Jaskier!” You'd caught the bard's attention in a stage whisper, saddling your dapple-grey mare, “That's Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. Gods, but he's as fucking handsome as they say.” Wide-eyed, you'd watched the massive man tending to his own horse; his movements were graceful and precise. “Mmh. Don't know why he has to fuck his way through brothels. I'd pay him.”

“Oh, yes,” Jaskier trilled, “That's Geralt. He doesn't say much, but he's actually quite delightful company, when it comes down to it. Hey, can I ride on your horse, too? Geralt makes me walk.”

“He-- what?” You spluttered, dropping a saddle-bag to the ground. “Fuck, Jaskier. Give a girl some warning. What if he'd heard me?”

“I heard you.” Geralt spoke; his voice was a delicious sliver of velvet, the brush of exotic danger. You felt the damnable flames of a raging embarrassment consume your entire body, and the glare you shot Jaskier was so heated that it was surprising the bard didn't simply combust under your focused disdain.

“He... has good hearing?” Jaskier shrugged, grinning boyishly, and you rubbed your face with your palm. Wonderful.

Things only got more awkward from there.

Jaskier was an affectionate travel companion, sat behind you on your patient, strong horse; he whispered silly tales into the shell of your ear, or tested the waters with a gentle hand on your waist when he pointed something out in the scenery to you. When he wasn't rebuffed, he took to casually cuddling you when you rode, and you thoroughly enjoyed the contact. You shared your own stories with him; little nothings about your clumsy youth, or why your horse was called 'Captain Chomp'. Even though he'd been warned, Jaskier insisted that he could win over any man or beast, and summarily you treated the bruised bite-mark later at camp.

Through all of this, Geralt was a silent sentinel, watching. If he was spoken to, he answered in a short grunt, or if absolutely necessary, snippets of sentences. Often, you caught him narrowing his gaze at you, and you had no idea why. After a week or so of travel in this manner, you'd approached him about it whilst watering the horses, Jaskier bathing at the far end of the lake – to 'preserve your virgin eyes', he'd said. You'd kicked him in the shin.

“It's a fine day.” You remarked, considering how to navigate a conversation with the imposing man of marble-and-gold, more lion than wolf, you'd have said.

“Hmm.” He grunted, and you wondered what you'd expected.

“Listen, Geralt...” You bit your lower lip and forced your gaze not to waver from his form, even as he apparently ignored you. He was fondly brushing Roach's mane; you thought it rather sweet. He did seem to love that horse. “I know we didn't meet, uh, in the most... respectable of fashions.” Gods, you tried not to remember what you'd said, because you did enough of that in the hours before sleep, replaying the conversation, “And I apologise for that, sincerely. It was unbecoming of me.”

He paused, and met your gaze with his; your breath caught at how truly beautiful his eyes were, even split down the centre with that feline pupil that betrayed his mutation. You thought you saw the slightest tremor of a smirk on his lips, but it was gone so quickly that you couldn't be sure.

“Don't worry about it.” He murmured, monotone.

“Well, it's just that I feel like... you aren't exactly fond of me, and I was wondering if it was because of what I'd said.” I'd pay him, your words echoed in your traitor brain, and you hoped he wasn't so endowed with sensitivity as to feel the heat of your blush.

“People have said much worse.” He picked a stray leaf from Roach's tail. “Don't worry about it.”

“I just wanted--”

A surge of water hit you from behind, completely soaking the white button-up blouse you wore, and you screamed as if you'd been stabbed. Geralt's focus was upon you instantly, looking for the threat; instead, he saw the wet curve of your breasts, and the peek of your tight nipples through the fabric. You were too shocked to register the raw lust that leapt into his vision, and you whirled on your feet to see Jaskier tugging his breeches back up, dripping wet, grinning impishly.

“Oh, oh, I'm going to fucking kill you.” You seethed, storming towards him.

He laughed, and took a few steps back. “No, no no, no you're not. Then you don't get paid.”

“I do if I loot your corpse, you louse!” You screeched, before bodily tackling him into a thicket of grass, intent on choking him out. Jaskier might have thought that you'd engage in a cute, girlish water-splashing contest, but no; he had his work cut out for him as you wrestled him, easily hooking your arm around his neck as he flailed. “Say you're fucking sorry!”

“You're... fucking... sorry.” Jaskier wheezed, grinning, even seconds away from unconsciousness.

“How attached are you to all your fingers?” You growled, “Because I'm thinking--”

“I yield!” The bard gasped, tapping your arm; you relaxed it, just a little. “Fuck, I'm sorry. You just looked a little dry, and I thought you'd look nicer wet.” The inflection in his tone was raunchy. It simply earned him a fresh round of fighting, the two of you trading pokes and slaps and twists of limb without mercy.

Geralt watched you hold your own from afar, and smiled to himself.

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

“Why are we to visit this Yennefer, anyway?” You asked at the campsite, casual. You'd all finished eating, and Jaskier was cuddled at your side for warmth. You had one arm slung about his shoulders.

“She has information about something I want.” Geralt offered, and you didn't expect him to expand. You glanced at Jaskier, who shrugged.

“Gods, must I torture all information from you, Geralt?” Exasperated, you huffed. He actually laughed, and the sound was rich and throaty. Even Jaskier stared.

“I'd love to see you try to torture me.” Geralt growled, and you felt the stalk of his tone thrill up your spine. Beneath your clothes, your hair stood on end. Unable to back down from a challenge, you lifted your chin.

“I'd have you begging for mercy in ten minutes.” You promised.

“Prove it.” His teeth were a predator's porcelain in the lick of the firelight.

“Aaalright, stop fighting over me,” Jaskier interjected, “I love both of you dearly. There's enough of me for everyone. Anyway, it's late, and I'm tired.” He tugged your arm. “Come to bed?”

You glared at Geralt over the flames; he returned the look, heat-for-heat. Jaskier tugged again, and you relented.

“Fine. But sing that song I like so much?” Saccharine, you smiled. You heard Geralt's low groan of protest.

“Of course.” Jaskier rose and offered you his hand. Ladylike, you accepted it, and he pulled you to the tent you shared, beginning the verse that you knew the Witcher detested. “Wheeeen a humble bard...”

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

Out of respect for Geralt, you and Jaskier never did much but cuddle and spoon at night. You didn't feel right about climbing atop the bard and sating both your desires with loud, wild abandon; not whilst the Witcher could hear a squirrel sneeze from a mile away. There was a mutual understanding, however; once you had some time alone, or entered a town with an inn room you could rent, you'd explore your friendly relationship further. You certainly didn't mind when Jaskier's warm hands cupped your breasts over your clothes as you slept, or the throb of his morning erection against the curve of your ass.

More than once you'd had to restrain yourselves; more than once, Jaskier had slipped away before breakfast 'to bathe', which also gave you time to relieve your own pent-up desire. With quick fingers on your clit, you would muffle your orgasm into the crook of your elbow as best you could, temporarily relieving the ache that was getting worse with time.

You were truly thankful when the city of Rinde came into view, not just because it meant restocking your supplies and taking a short break. An actual bed, an actual decent meal, an evening with Jaskier; there was a lot to look forward to. You urged Captain Chomp into a slightly faster trot.

“We're going straight to Yennefer, yes?” Jaskier enquired, as you rode behind Roach. Geralt grunted; you presumed that meant 'yes'.

“Why are we to go see the mage, too?” You hissed, lowly. It was getting dark, and you thought about the wasted hours spent making small-talk with the woman.

“Because I write about Geralt's conquests, dove.” Jaskier informed you, “I go where he goes. If I don't, I miss out on a story – he's not the best at recounting events. Maybe you've noticed.”

You sighed with all the drama of a horny, scored woman. “Fine. But I don't wish to linger.”

“Neither do I.” Geralt piped up, and you had to snort. At least you were all on the same page.

You saw the horses tethered at the grand manor, and you stretched your road-wearied legs, blinking up at the estate. It was well-lit, and you thought you could hear activity inside. At least she was home, you thought.

There was nobody to greet you as you entered the hallway, which was unusual. A mage of rank usually kept servants. “Hello?” Jaskier chirped, into the strangely still belly of the first floor.

You narrowed your eyes. “I don't like this.”

Geralt grunted, dismissing you, and strode forward. You followed in his wake, keeping Jaskier close behind you. The knuckle-dusters in your pocket felt heavy, and you brushed your fingers over the dagger strapped to your hip.

A peculiar fog spilled down the stairs, curling like the invitation of ghostly fingers, and your suspicion spiked. “Geralt, I--” Again, he ignored you, and forged up the steps. Gritting your teeth, you followed. The hazy smoke felt pleasant somehow, warming, and you wondered at it; perhaps the mage was testing new spells or potions. You had no idea how mages worked.

When Geralt shouldered open a massive oak door, you realised that your ignorance ran very deep, indeed.

“What the fuck?” The Witcher wondered, as you and Jaskier gaped at the scene unfolding before you.

Couples of all genders, ages, sizes – Gods, you thought you even saw elves – were twisting together in an erotic dance, in various states of undress. There were oils and candles and ropes and some things that you didn't even recognise – was that a fucking horse whip? – and you stuttered your shock. The longer you stood there, the more you breathed of that strange mist. And the more you breathed, the more normal the carnal, writhing orgy seemed to appear. You felt the tenseness of your muscles begin to uncoil, as you stumbled a few steps into the place, collapsing bewildered onto a plush cushion. Jaskier tottered over to you, and sat at your feet.

Geralt was unaffected, striding through the haze with purpose to stand before a beauty of a woman; her olive skin was rich in the low-light, and she was one of the few present who wore clothes. You thought you saw the flicker of violet in her irises. “Gods, I want her to sit on my face.” You slurred, and felt no shame at the sentiment like you should have.

She rose, examining Geralt like he was a treasure. Your attention drifted to Jaskier, who was taking in his surroundings, his warm hand on your thigh. So warm. It felt good. You shivered, and he turned to regard you; the vivid blue of his eyes was a mere sliver, consumed by his pupils. Without realising it, your hands were at the buttons of your shirt, popping them open one by one. Jaskier watched, transfixed, before he leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss.

His plush lips sent a spark of lust crackling across your entire body, and you returned the embrace eagerly, abandoning your open shirt in favour of raking your hands through the chestnut of his hair. He moaned into your mouth and you licked up the sound, kittenishly nipped his lower lip, pressed your body into his. Faintly, you were aware of a blonde woman behind him, her hands on his wide shoulders as she helped him out of his doublet. You didn't care. The more the merrier, you drunkenly thought, as you breathed deeply of the lazy-hazy smoke, tilting your head back to allow Jaskier to run his mouth down your neck, to your breasts. You moaned, long and low.

“Yennefer, I just need to know if the tales of the djinn are--” Geralt was getting nowhere with the gorgeous mage, who was intent on toying with him, just as she manipulated the people in the room. He heard the sound of your voice, filled with lust, and whipped his gaze to regard you across the party. As Jaskier cupped your tits and laved your aching nipples with his tongue, Geralt growled.

“Friends, are they?” Yennefer asked, her ruby lips tugged into a smug smile. “The girl wants to fuck me, you know. I wasn't going to get involved in this nonsense, but she is so very pretty...”

The Witcher whirled again, all bared teeth. “Release them from your spell.” He demanded.

“Why would I?” She blinked, playing the part of naïve so naturally, “They are having such fun.”

At this point, you were straddling Jaskier, finding the lacings of his breeches too complicated for your dopey fingers; instead, you were taking your pleasure from the friction of his hard cock in a slow dry-fuck, the curve of your back pornographic, your fingers tangled in the hair of his chest. He was moaning into the nameless blonde's cunt as she knelt over his face, lazily eating her out as she purred encouragements.

Geralt snapped.

He stormed away from the minx of a mage, who laughed in his jealous wake, and idled by your side. “Get off him.” He ordered, “We're going.”

You paused to regard the Witcher, your kiss-swollen lips parted, eyes half-lidded; he looked magnificent. He groaned when he realised that nobody was home upstairs in your mind, not right now. You were too far into the grasp of the spell, lost to lust. So he did the only rational thing he could think of.

He picked you up and hoisted you over his enormous shoulder, considered Jaskier for a moment – another person was already taking your place – and left the room. The bard didn't even notice.

You mewled in disappointment, feeling dizzy as the floor swayed beneath you. All of you was hot, and you were no longer getting the pleasure you so desperately craved. The sounds of the slick, heady party became distant. You were faintly aware of another descent, another set of stairs, and then your feet were touching the ground in a new room.

Without a thought you turned, seeking the door, your body wanting to return to the party. It knew the way. Geralt growled again, and slammed the only exit, heaving a barrel in front of it. With a whine of protest, you shoved at the heavy object in vain, struggling, before sliding down the wood to sit, dazed.

“Fuck's sake,” Geralt growled, pacing. You were in a small cellar, lit by a torch – although you could have been on top of a mountain, for all you were aware – and your eyes tried to follow his pacing. He was blurry. Handsomely blurry. “I should have listened to you. I'm sorry I brought you here.”

Gods, but his voice was sexy. You palmed your own breasts, eager for some sensation. It wasn't enough. He glanced at you, stiffened, and resumed a faster pace. “Don't do that.” He barked.

“Mmmh.” You moaned, wriggling your undone breeches free from your hips, down the length of your legs. He could smell you before, but in this confined space it hit him like the savage slap of a merciless ocean wave, and he balled his hands into fists, pausing at a wall, pressing his forehead against it. Your cunt was aching, dripping; you ran your fingers along the slick of it and shivered.

“Stop.” He rasped, “Gods.” He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't be tempted to look, but the sounds you were making were so divine that he couldn't help but steal a peek. Your fingers were curled inside yourself as you tried to stimulate some kind of release, sweating and frustrated. It felt like you were constantly on the brink of orgasm, but unable to push over the edge into release, left in a stasis of torture.

“I can't--” Geralt snarled, “I can't do anything whilst you're... like this. Fuck knows I want to. It'll wear off soon enough, you just need to endure.” He begged you with his golden gaze, every muscle in his body coiled and corded, resisting.

You knew he was talking, but you didn't understand him. All you knew was that he sounded like sex, and you wanted him to keep doing it. “Please.” You managed, sniffling, squirming against your own hand. “Need, I need...”

“I know, sweet girl.” His voice was of an incoming storm, and the thunder of it rocked you. “I can't.”

“Keep-- please. Keep... doing that.” The sound of your own finger-fuck was an obscene thing in the shrink of the room, as you arched the small of your back. His eyes were pitch, as if he'd consumed a potion. Snatching a small pot from a shelf, he tried to keep his hands occupied.

“Keep doing what, sweetheart?” He asked, his voice a rough plea, “I don't know what to do. I can't give you what you want, I-- it wouldn't be right. I'd never--”

He was cut off when you squealed, the rawness of his voice enough to bring you to climax. Like a statue he watched your small release, the squirt of your juices, the hard pant of your breath as you shivered. He had that noise memorised from the mornings you relieved yourself when Jaskier was away, but watching it was an entirely spiritual experience. The jar in his hands shattered from the pressure he was gripping it with. “Fuck.”

It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, and you bucked uselessly against your own hand. “Plee-eeease.” You sobbed, bleary gaze fixed on him, tears trailing your cheeks. The ache was enough to hurt you. He could see that.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He chanted, dropping the remnants of the pottery to the ground. “Okay, I'll... my mouth, on you. This won't be about me, sweet girl. I'll help you, but I can't... be with you. Not like this.” His raging erection screamed at his own morals, but he fought back his selfish desire. You needed him.

His pretty voice was stroking you, that much you knew, but you were unprepared for his mouth on your cunt. Squeaking your surprise, you fisted a hand into his silvery hair and jerked your pelvis up sharply, feeling the delicious scratch of his stubble on your inner thighs. He growled into your folds, thrusting his tongue into your weeping pussy to taste you, before he replaced it with one thick, curled finger. His lips sealed over your clit and suckled. This was exactly what you needed; the pain subsided and gave way to a tsunami of pleasure. Your head thudded back against the wood of the door as he brought you to climax in less than a minute, his moans joining your own, the massage of his fingertip on your g-spot constant and firm. Throughout the firestorm of this one, you rode his face savagely and he took it, worshipping your clit, knowing when you were becoming too sensitive for the pressure and relenting, only to toy with your button in tongue-tip circles, making you crest a second time. The flex of your walls was a morse-code on his hand, every climax bringing a fresh trickle of your wetness for him to devour.

You screamed, you bucked, you panted like an animal in heat, unable to get enough of the feeling. Your hands were everywhere, scratching the door behind you, knitted into his long hair, cupping your breasts. Still he stimulated you, and still you came. There was no beginning or end; your orgasm became cyclical, a world for you to dissolve into bodily, the electric snap of your nerves a sea-storm that you joyfully weathered. Time had no meaning for you. Nothing existed except the feeling of him, the fierce sound of his growling, the constant relief he provided you selflessly, again and again.

For the better part of an hour, he had you in this state; the only times he paused were when you became hoarse from screaming, and then he fetched you a jug of water from the shelves, demanding that you drink of it. Finally, the haze began to lift; he felt it in the slackening of your fucked-out muscles, and heard it in the confused guests descending the stairs en masse. Yennefer had grown bored.

With care, he withdrew from your sore, quivering cunt, doing his best to tug your breeches back on. When that proved to be impossible, he simply slipped his own shirt off and wrapped you in it, lifting you. You were rag-doll limp, but he heard your steady breath and heartbeat. Some part of you became aware of the sound of hoofbeats, the rumble of his bare chest as he spoke, the slip of fresh cloth on your sweaty skin. But for the most part, you drifted.

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

You awoke to an afternoon sun, moaning at the feeling of your aching muscles. Your mouth was dry and your throat a razor-wire slice; you fumbled sleepily for the tankard of water at the bedside and drank it all in frantic gulps. And then you became aware of a warmth behind you.

“Jaskier,” You rasped, “What the fuck happened?”

“Not Jaskier.” Geralt's voice made you turn so quickly that your entire body protested at the movement; he was tucked in beside you, shirtless. You stared at him with wide eyes; it was about then that your aching pussy made itself known, and you whimpered.

“Did... did we... fuck?” You whispered, and he frowned.

“Not... exactly.”

“Why do you have no shirt on, then? In... my bed? Is this my bed?”

“You're wearing my shirt.” He explained, and you looked down. Oh.

“Yennefer's... party.” You tried to recall, “There was...” Blinking, vague memories danced in the eye of your mind. “I think I had a really, really strange dream.”

“Wasn't a dream.” Geralt murmured, shifting slightly to face you. “She had some kind of lust spell active. Both you and Jaskier were affected.”

Faintly, you recalled kissing the bard – and also a blonde woman. Then you remembered stairs, the snarl of a beautiful voice – Gods, what a voice – and then an aggressive pleasure that had consumed you so entirely that you couldn't pinpoint how or what or why it had occurred. Recalling it made your lower body tense, and your cunt practically screamed – not for awhile, bitch!

“You were there.” You blinked, “You took me from the party.” It didn't make sense; you shook your head. “Why...?”

You'd never seen Geralt look so exposed, so contrite. So human. “I couldn't bear... to watch. It's not my business. I'm sorry. But I just-- I don't--” He struggled, “I had to get you away from it.”

You fumbled to understand. “I thought you didn't like me.”

He groaned, and rubbed a his eyes with a hand. You saw how exhausted he looked. “I tried not to. I really did. I wanted Jaskier's happiness. Fuck, I didn't know what I felt. From the first day in the stables, you... drew me in, somehow. It wasn't until Jaskier asked me if I'd be okay with you two renting a room for a few nights here in Rinde that I realised...” His eyes met yours, “I was jealous. I-I had no right. I have no right. But fuck, I was. I am.”

“Jealous?” You parroted, stupidly, disbelieving.

“Yes. But Jaskier, he's a good man. And I respect him. So I kept my distance, until I saw--” His jaw pinched tight, and his gaze fled from yours. “I didn't think, I acted. And you were in pain. I swear to you I did not take my pleasure from your flesh. I just needed you to be safe. I'm sorry.”

Whirling with this information, you stared. He could not meet your gaze. For the first time, it was you in silent judgement, and him making a fool with a stream of verbal nonsense.

“Jaskier is safe. He's in another room with two people – a woman and a man that he would not release his grip upon, even after the spell subsided. I stayed here to make sure you were okay, but if you want, I--”

“Geralt.”

“--Can go. If you wish me away, I won't seek you again. I understand if--”

“Geralt!”

Finally, he stopped, and you gently placed your fingers on the sharp line of his jaw, seeking his eyes again. They were softened and wary. “You helped me. And maybe I could not have said yes before, but if I said yes later... well, I wasn't joking about what I said when we first met. I like you, too.”

His brow rose, the lightness in his gaze reminding you of poured honey. “What... of Jaskier?”

You snorted. “You think Jaskier is monogamous? He'll probably want to join us.”

Geralt frowned. “I don't like sharing.”

Laughing, you leaned in, pressing your lips against his chastely. “I believe that has been established.” He murmured, returning the affectionate gesture. “We'll talk to him later. See, that's the thing – talking. Communication. It gets you far.”

He grunted. “I'm out of practice.”

You laid a hand on his chest, and wriggled closer to him. “Well, we have time, don't we?”

He smiled at you, placing his own large hand atop your own, squeezing your fingers. “We do. As much time as you'll give me.”

#the witcher #the witcher fandom #the witcher fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #witcher #self insert #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #smut #jealousy #fortune writes #witchernonsense

735 notes · View notes

ecoamerica · 1 month

Text

youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

14K notes · View notes

echoes-lighthouse · 3 years

Note

👀 [@ray-writes-sometimes]

Okay okay so here's Death and her younger brother Dream

And he's being all sulky and she's the best big sister so she's here to listen to him vent and then smack him on the head with a loaf of bread and tell him to get his shit together

Just.... wow.... look at her!!! This is the first time we meet her, if you read the series in order (which I didn't), and she looks SO COOL. Her makeup and her hair and her outfit and her pointy lil boots she's just so eighties and I know she was designed in the eighties but she is the most delightful parts of the decade and I cannot get over the way she pushes her hair back to get ready to Debrief with her dumb brooding sibling

She's such a good sister and I love her so much AH

(side note, I love all of the Endless and I love that Dream just goes and feeds pigeons when he's feeling angsty... he's such a good character and I'm very fond of him, disaster creature)

send me eyes emoji and i'll post a photo of one of my f/os and gush about it

#f/o gush #death becomes them #source: sandman #f/o ask games #asks

6 notes · View notes

roboraindrop · 4 years

Text

I tend to worry a lot that my style of giving love is overbearing and annoying, as I'm sure people who read my posts are well aware 😅 but man... It's times like this, when I'm so full to the brim with love for a character, that I truly feel like myself. This is who I am. Giving copious amounts of love and affection, telling people what they mean to me, giving a million kisses and saying "I love you" a million times. Is it a lot for some people? Absolutely, and that's understandable! But for me... This is my default. I do wish that I could tone it down sometimes, but in the end, I would never get rid of or change this.

Love... Is not a bad thing to have in abundance. I spent so many years being brooding, angry at myself, so sure that I would never mean anything to anybody... If I want to shoot hearts out of my eyes at this point in my life, then dammit, I am GOING to! And nothing is going to stop me!

Nothing is going to stop me from loving my friends and my f/os with all of my heart. Nothing is going to stop me from telling them. Nothing is going to stop me from spreading the love and the light that I have inside of my heart!

You all deserve to know how important you are, and that no matter what, you are so incredibly loved.

#rain rambles

11 notes · View notes

pkselfship · 4 years

Note

How about 2 and 3 for the s/i ask meme :>

Doing my KOF S/I, Kiki Cruz, for these!

2. Does your insert have a very strong relationship with a f/o, maybe more than one? Tell us a little about the dynamic they have! This can be a bond that’s romantic, familial, or platonic, anything - even an enemy would count as a strong relationship!

Alright, so “canonically”, Kiki ends up marrying Iori, but in alternate universes, she’s either Kyo’s girlfriend or Terry’s girlfriend. In all three universes, Kiki is Kyo’s childhood friend, but because so much time has passed, she completely forgot about all that. (Good fluff fuel in the Kyo route and very VERY good angst fuel in other routes, especially the canon one.)

In the canon route, Kiki starts off as Iori’s protégé and they’ve got this whole “opposites attract” thing going on. Kiki’s the bubbly ball of sunshine and Iori’s the edgy brooding one. As their relationship grows, Kiki learns to be more mature and confident in herself while Iori learns to be more compassionate and open with others.

In the Kyo route, Kiki is Kyo’s student instead and they’ve got the “childhood friends but one of them forgot” thing. On top of that, Kyo’s got this complex where he feels like he has to constantly protect Kiki like back when they were kids even though Kiki’s all grown up and can fend for herself.

In the Terry route, Terry and Kiki also have an “opposites attract” dynamic, but it’s where Terry is the laid-back carefree one and Kiki is the high-strung neurotic type. As their relationship grows, Kiki learns to let loose more and not worry so much about the future and Terry learns to take things more seriously.

3. Who in their canon are they closest to? Who would they drop everything to come help, if anyone? Who’s the person they’re least close to? Who would they most likely not get along with, if anyone?

Other than the romantic F/Os, She’s close friends with Shingo, Mai, Yuki, and Blue Mary. Barring most of the major villains in the series, Kiki does not get along well with Mature and Vice. They find her bubbly personality annoying and Kiki finds them callous and cruel.

#self ship #self insert #ask #saint.of.grado #thanks amanda!#the rising star

2 notes · View notes

rose-wine-selfships · 4 years

Text

♡People I’d Like To Get To Know Better♡

I’ve been tagged by the wonderful @silentlyfangirlingselfshipper! Ask and ye shall receive my dear since you want to know me better! ☺️👍

Favorite Colors: My absolute favorite color will always be pink. However, I’m also partial to blue and green depending on my mood too!

Last song I listened to: I Beg You by Aimer from the Fate Stay movie, Heavens Feel part 2: The Lost Butterfly.

If you haven’t already got into the anime series of Fate Stay Night, I HIGHLY recommend you do so since it’s a killer anime at the top of my list! This song is very deep, dark, edgy, and creepy as freaking hell, and it perfectly describes how one of my favorite characters descended into madness for a VERY good reason. Look up the series and listen to Aimers songs because each and every one of them is a masterpiece in my opinion! 👍💕

Favorite Musicians: Green Day, Pink Floyd, Kung Fu Generation, Cool Joke, U2, Ed Sheeran, Aimer, BTS (Believe it or not I really like their music).

My guilty pleasure for genres is mainly music from the 80s all the way to the late 90s and 00s.

Last Film I Watched: Judgement at Nuremberg by MGM Studios (1961).

It’s a really deep film about how the German people from the tragedies and ugliness from WWII testify to the convictions and apathy they gave when Hitler was in power. If you truly want to know how dictators think and act, just look inside our own justice system. You’ll be shocked by how almost the exact same thing from 73 years ago is happening right now here in the US. If you are a history buff, please check this movie out!

Last TV Show I Watched: Evolution of Evil. The current episode I watched featured Kim Jong Il and how sick and twisted his mind was long before he came to power in North Korea. My Dad wanted time to watch with him so I didn’t mind, lol. Another good watch if you want to know about historical figures that made great infamy in the past.

Favorite TV Show: Ouran High School Host Club (OHSHC, 2006). It’s a classic millennial anime of mine, but I love it so damn much! The characters are fun, sweet, and so memorable to think about! Plus it’s a funny spin take in the classic harem/romance genre of anime shows. And on top of that, one of the most BADASS female protagonists ever, Haruhi Fujioka. Wanna see all of that? Watch online or on Netflix! ❤️

Favorite OC?: Besides Atsushi Nakajima, I really like England from Hetalia. They are both complex, interesting characters that aren’t exactly easy to figure out. They have deep and introspective ways of thinking, and their brooding is what draws me in. Besides their dark pasts, they still want to have a better life away from it by being better people. Even if they both weren’t my f/os, I would have still loved them just as much because I relate to them a lot personally. That’s why they’re my favorite characters from these fictional universes.

Sweet, Savory or Spicy?: I love sweet foods! Give me an ice cream, edible cookie dough, or chocolates anytime and I’ll take them all gleefully! But on the flip side, I really love spicy foods also. However, I can’t have too much spice since it gives me a really bad case of heartburn afterwards. Other than that, I love both sides of sweet and spicy equally!

Sparkling water, Coffee, or Tea?

I absolutely love tea! However, I love coffee just as much too! It really depends on my mood and how energetic I’m feeling. If I’m super energetic, I just drink tea to calm me down, especially if it’s Boba Tea. But if I’m low on energy, a hot cup of black joe will make me feel all right soon! So a little bit of both is usually what hits the spot.

Pets?: I don’t have any right now. I used to have two kitty cats that were the most wonderful family members I ever had. One passed away a couple years ago, while the other passed away about four months ago. Both passed away from an incurable liver cancer that took their lives so swiftly. It is still very, very difficult to think about them too long without grieving hard.

However, I still try to think about them and smile, and look back on all the memories I used to have with them. To me, my cats aren’t my pets. They are my brother and sister and I’ll miss them for as long as I live. It won’t mean that I won’t get another cat or two, and I’ll make sure to honor them in my memories too! They will always be in my heart. 🐈🐾💕

Tags: I’ll tag @nougatships, @nohr-and-thirst, @bungoustraygays, @enma-reblogs, @queenshroorn, @rjatizay, @bungoustraydogsimagines, @bungou-positivity, @chuuyaaf, @dazaaaai, @faenova, @frecklydork, @friskywiggles, @hippyakat, @inoselfshiplove, @ky-jane, @lovestruck-idiot, @lovelysheepy, @mmicemy, @nadineselfships, @queerselfshipper, @quesselfships, @truedespair, @tins-of-oysters, @xxnight0skyxx, @xemonerdx, @yourfavelovesyouunconditionally, @yourfaveadoresyou, and @zero-arcana to participate in this game if you all want to! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

#self insert game #ask game #getting to know each other #getting to know me #getting to know you #getting to know my followers #getting to know people

11 notes · View notes

peacefiresky-archive · 5 years

Text

lift a flask, raise it high -- red mountain’s about to explode!

Syndre was seven-almost-eight and a slave when the ash came.

Syndre was playing outside near the tower of Tel Naga with some of the children of Telvanni magisters when she felt it.

As the adults all brooded over what happened in Vivec City, the children, too young to understand, went about laughing and playing.

They’d been in the middle of planning their best prank yet! They were going to enlist Deltas’s older brother, a high-ranking Telvanni there in Sadrith Mora, to create a grand illusion and make it appear as though the visiting Cyrodilic noble was stark-naked. They’d been giggling over the thought of it, taking turns describing what they thought he’d look like. “I bet he’d look like one of those western swine, with all that pale pink skin and with how fattened he is on all that butter and chicken’s eggs they have in Cyrodiil,” Deltas had said. Syndre cackled, saying half-heartedly that he shouldn’t be so mean, and Tedris, the son of the man who owned her and her parents, had teased her for being so soft-hearted and --

Then it began.

It felt like a… thud, as if the earth had been struck by a very large hammer very suddenly. The children all paused, looking around at each other and the area around them. Something felt wrong. Slowly, unsurely, they laughed, but the strange thud had sent their nerves fraying. They all agreed to continue their genius plot tomorrow, and they were about to part ways --

Syndre’s father raced around the corner to the shade of the tower in which they were playing. His hair was sticking up every-which-way and his beard hadn’t been properly trimmed and his eyes were blown wide. He saw his daughter and let out a silent breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding, taking half a second to rest before nearly stumbling over to the children. “Syn,” He said, “We have to go.”

“What? Why?”

“Red Mountain. Erupting. We need to go!”

Ama was dragging Syndre along. After her complaints over how fast they were going went ignored the first dozen times, the child had fallen silent. She simply tried to keep up the best she could. At first, she thought they’d been using the eruption as cover for an escape - Ama and Ata often whispered of escape, but usually they said they would seek the employment of Master Neloth, who paid his servants, work off their debt -

She quickly realized that they were running from something that would kill them much faster.

Ash storms seemed to be the normal weather these days. Syndre supposed she’d just have to deal with it.

Ama screamed when Ata mistepped.

The roads had gotten perilous. The foyadas had come alive, cutting off the main roads, and Ata said they had to follow one of them. They’d be alright, he said. They’d just step lightly.

It had been more perilous than they’d realized. The lava wasn’t slow moving, like Ata had said it’d be, but it splashed and flowed like water, and --

And he slipped.

Syndre smelled burning as Ama pulled her forward. They’d have to continue on, Ama said, gritting her teeth, tears running like lava down her burnt cheeks.

It had been four days since Red Mountain woke, and it hadn’t stopped spewing ash and lava and death and misery since.

Syndre saw Ama last when they were trying to board a silt strider in Caldera. It’s the last one that'll depart from Caldera for a long, long time, they said.

The sun was choked with ash, and there were dozens of others trying to board too, and they pushed and shoved and Ama held Syndre up, screaming something - she’s a child! Please, take care of her -

Hands other than her mother’s grabbed her. And the Dunmer who made it onto the Silt Strider pulled her on, just as the great lumbering Silt Strider had begun to depart.

Her mother waved as the Silt Strider left. She yelled, and Syndre barely heard her over the screams and cries of those left behind in Caldera -

“Os daehla ohl!”

I love you!

One of the Dunmer, dressed in burnt and torn clothes that looked like they’d been expensive once, offered her water.

The tired line of bodies seemed to stretched for miles. One-thousand-and-some Dunmer who lost everything. The grief laid heavily in the air, and there was barely a sound from the band of refugees, save for the shuffle of tired feet and the occasional long, pain-ridden wail of some poor mer who finally broke under the pressure.

There were a lot of people breaking, Syndre noticed. She was one of the ones who broke but got better. She had her new friend to thank for that.

Syndre shuffled along, clutching the hand of the nameless, formerly-noble mer who’d taken to caring for her. He lost his family in the ash, she heard the others say. Five children and a wife, all gone, they said. Is it any wonder he clings to that child so?

She pretended not to hear.

“Where do you think we’ll go?” Syndre asked, her voice rough from disuse.

“We’ll continue through the mountains,” said the mer. He had a nice voice - a deep, gentle rumble, with an accent that reminded Syndre of the Redoran cities. “We’re going towards the north, so we’ll end up in Skyrim, near the city of Windhelm.”

“What’s Skyrim like?”

The mer smiled a bit. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been. I heard it’s very cold.”

“Will we freeze to death on the way?”

The mer paused. “We won’t,” he said, “I know enough pyromancy to keep us and a few others warm.”

“But some people will.”

“It’s a possibility,” said the mer.

“No,” Syndre said, kicking at a loose pebble with shoes barely held together by twine, “they will.”

The mer was quiet for a while after that, though she noticed he held her hand just a bit tighter.

“...What’s your name?” She asked.

“Redoran Arviris, from Ald’Ruhn. What’s yours?”

“Syndre Saduram, from Sadrith Mora.”

“You’re Telvanni?”

“No,” Syndre said, “but my friend was. My ama and ata... we, um, worked for Master Neloth.”

Arviris hummed. “Do you know magic?”

“A little bit.”

“They have a Mage’s College in Winterhold. I hear it’s a day’s ride from Windhelm.”

“I dunno,” Syndre said. “Maybe when I’m older.”

Arviris smiled a bit at that. Syndre thought he did those little half-smiles a lot. Like he was really sad, but she made him a little bit happier. Made him able to at least attempt a smile. That made her smile a bit.

“Hm. If you like fighting,” A little glimmer of hope in his eyes, “we can go down to Whiterun. I heard there’s a good fighter’s guild, called the Companions…”

“Maaaybe,” Syndre said. “We can visit and see?”

“We cooould… Go to Markarth, explore the Dwemer ruins.”

“How about Solitude? I heard it’s like Cyrodiil, but colder.”

“We’ll head there as soon as we get into Skyrim, then.”

“Not as soon as we do,” Syndre said. “I still want to see what the Snow Quarter in Windhelm’s like.”

“Me too.” Arviris ruffled her hair.

She smiled up at him.

And they continued on, together, into Skyrim.

Syndre was eight-years-and-a-day-old when she realized how close death lurked to her.

Arviris had agreed to stay at Refugee’s Rest, in hopes that Syndre’s Ama showed up. They stayed two weeks before the news of the destruction of Caldera reached them.

They were the last of the refugees to flee the city before a cloud of burning ash had descended upon the city that night. All who couldn’t find good shelter were roasted alive, from the inside out.

She heard it was a quick death. She prayed to Azura that her mother didn’t suffer much.

Syndre was twenty-eight, a legionnaire and part-time mercenary, when they had raised enough drakes for them to move out of Windhelm.

#ch: syndre saduram #ch: redoran arviris #This Made Me Sad.

6 notes · View notes