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pirateprincessblog · 1 year

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Cry For Me 》 P. Seonghwa

I make these to help you visualise! But you are free to imagine whatever you like :)

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𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔:

One

Two

Three (in progress...)

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: you promised your friend. you asked for forgiveness and gave a promise that you wouldn't even look her father's way. it isn't your fault that you suck at keeping promises. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: psh x reader x khj 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: best friend's father seonghwa, seonghwa's business partner hongjoong, smut, angst, bits of fluff 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, nsfw scenes, unprotected sex, voyeurism, dacryphilia 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: had to include both of my biases :D

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

༻♡༺

The pastry shop was flooded with people. It was Monday, which meant new specials were added to the menu. Your special Butcher of Blaviken piece of cake was long forgotten. You didn't even get a chance to taste the inviting red frosting. Oh, to be in the Witcher world now instead of being lectured by your friend. Henry Cavill would understand.

"You didn't think about it affecting us? You didn't fear about losing me as you did it?"

You're numb to the words. Her father fucked the thoughts out of you and you couldn't seem to feel any guilt in you. Yet, you didn't want to lose her. She was the only one who could keep up with your mood swings and random obsessions with movies and books that come and go. She was the only one that returned the energy you'd give her.

"Damn it, answer me! What the fuck were you thinking? How the fuck did you even manage to do it? He doesn't fuck anyone since mom left!"

People are staring, those sitting getting their chairs closer. Your friend is giving them a free show and they're willing to take it.

"I swear to God-"

"I wasn't thinking." You say, looking directly into her eyes.

"What?"

"I was not," you get closer, making sure not to break eye contact, "thinking."

"How the fuck did it happen? How did you convince him?"

The amount of the word fuck would even impress Geralt- well, you get it. I have an obsession with Henry Cavill. Little fourth wall break here. Okay, let's continue. No more, I promise.

Your calmness is angering her even more. She doesn't seem to understand how unaffected by all of this you are. You don't feel guilt simply because Mr Park agreed to all of it. In fact, you had already given up on your plan. He came to you and started it all over again.

"I was snooping around his library and he came, we hit it off and that's all you need to know."

"He came to you?" She laughs in disbelief.

"He came to the library, not me."

Frustrated, she groans and drops her head on the table. You glance at the cake, the chocolate Wolven sword on top of it as inviting as Mr Park in his unbuttoned shirt.

"Listen, I cannot undo what happened. Truthfully speaking, I wouldn't even if I could."

The girl raises her head, her angered look changing into the one of disappointment. You try putting yourself into her situation. You'd feel hurt, sure. But as long as it is a one-time thing, you're sure you'd get over it. It's not like Mr Park will declare his love to you and make you his new wife and her step mother. And that's what you tell her, causing her to calm down a bit.

"Didn't you make similar comments about Wren's dad? That you'd give him anything he'd ask for, if only he approached you?"

She seems offended that you remembered and mentioned that. Still, she remains calm. Her eyes are fixed behind you, concentrating on the moving line of people that are no longer interested in your conversation.

"It was just a one-time thing. It won't happen-"

"I miss mom."

And just like that, she breaks down. Your heart shatters when the first tear rolls down her cheek. After all, she is still her dad's little girl. And no matter what Mrs Park did, she was still her mother.

"Hey-"

"Just let me do what I need to do." She says, her voice trembling as words left her mouth. "I just need to let it out."

"You sure you want to do that here?" You ask, careful not to make her angry again.

She sits silent for a few moments. Her eyes are fixed on the traffic outside, a tear rolling down her cheeks every other moment. You've never seen her so helpless and vulnerable. She is always collected, calm, and usually the one to cheer people up. Now, when it's your turn, you don't know what to do.

"I could do it in a dressing room at Zara." She laughs, then sniffs. "Want to join me?"

And just how can you say no to her?

It is noon when you enter her house. Both of you are drowning in various bags full of clothes. She is an entirely different person than she was this morning. As if it didn't happen at all. You're watching her as she skillfully carries all her bags up the stairs and into her room. You almost trip and fall multiple times, yet you are determined to get there on your own, without any help. She laughs at you from the top of the stairs, then announces that she is going to take a shower.

You balance the bags in your hands, eyes glued to the marble stairs which shined brighter than diamonds under the expensive chandelier. Once you reach the top of the stairs, you put the items on the floor so you can correct your posture and crack your back. You hear a thump, then shuffling. With horror, you watch as two bags start rolling down the stairs. All of its contents are spilling on the way down, and all you can do is watch and hope they'll stop at some point.

But when they do, they stop in front of a pair of polished black shoes. Your eyes stay fixed on the Victoria's Secret pink bag, somehow hoping that if you're not looking at him, he will disappear. Pale slender fingers come into sight, the pointer finger hooked under the handle of the bag. Your eyes follow as he raises it to his head level.

"I think you might've dropped something." He speaks first.

You're not sure what to say. Or do. So you continue to stand like a deer on a highway, your feet refusing to move. Since you're already staring, you take a few more moments to admire the changes on him. His hair is darker than the last time, and not as fluffy. His lips have a red tint, and you notice a slight shadow at the corners of his eyes. He is wearing a black turtleneck, paired with perfectly ironed pants and a belt. He is effortlessly perfect.

He chuckles, then bends over to pick up the items laying on the white tiles. Your legs and brain finally make a signal, and you are running down to yank the items away from him. Your movements are rushed and clumsy, and all the clothes are landing outside the bag instead of inside it. From the corner of your eyes, you realise that he has stopped helping. Instead, he is standing again, his attention now on something else.

You wish the ground could swallow you. A piece of fabric lays on his delicate fingers, thumb caressing the lace as a smirk forms on his tinted lips. He is holding your newest holiday edition lingerie set. It is as red as your cheeks right now, and if you didn't look away, you're sure your head would've exploded from embarrassment.

"Good deal on the set?"

You're not sure if he is trying to lighten the obviously awkward situation, or if he is making fun of you. After all, he is standing there, dripping in designer clothes and looking classier than you. Yet you're standing there, dripping in clumsy and tacky.

"I would never buy something so ugly for a full price." You manage to mumble, then reach for the fabric.

"Ugly? I don't think it's ugly." He pulls his hand away, "It's very... Well, it screams Christmas. And only ten dollars for a full set?"

Unable to read his expression and tone, you stay frozen. You feel so small in front of him. The tone is tugging towards mockery more than towards harmless joking, and you're not feeling comfortable. Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes, your lip slightly trembling. You're a mess, standing in your scattered lingerie and paper bags, in front of your friend's hot father who isn't making you feel as good as last time you saw him.

"Can I please have my things back?" You manage to ask, voice cracking at the end.

His smile drops. The man takes a few moments to examine your body language, and once he realises what he has done, he puts the items in the bags. He takes his time to pick them up one by one, not once looking up at you.

Your sniffles echo through the room, and you're trying your best not to let the tears smear this little makeup you have left on your face. You still have to look a bit decent. Park Seonghwa is now holding the bags in front of you, patiently waiting for you to take them. You carefully soak in the tears with the sleeve of your top. Your eyes avoid his as you reach out to take your belongings. The slight brush of his cold fingers against yours has your stomach going on a rollercoaster. You remember how they felt against your lips as he touched you. You manage to look into his eyes, this time not looking away immediately. You wish to repeat the guilty pleasure. The way he looks down at you makes you want to drop on your knees and give him just what he deserves.

"That look is going to get us both into trouble again, kitten." He whispers.

Still focused on trying not to cry, you don't realise that you are pouting and looking at him through wet eyelashes. He gulps, then glances behind you. He then steps towards you, until you can feel his comforting warm breath on your face.

"That smeared mascara is giving me deja vu."

You immediately remember what he is referring to.

"Will you let me smear that pretty makeup of yours?"

So he gets off to smeared makeup. Ironic, since he always looks so neat and fresh. Not only him, but every area around him too. Your breath hitches as he brings his hand to your cheek, thumb ever so lightly grazing the skin where your tear had started the journey. He wipes it, then brings it over to his mouth. He closes his lips around the thumb, and you see his tongue peeking out a bit to lick the salty liquid off the tip. You are too taken aback by his action, and now you are the one to get a deja vu.

You stood like this in front of him the last time too, only this time, his fingers aren't in your mouth, but in his.

Maybe you spoke to soon, maybe he could read minds. You didn't know. You could only watch as he brings his thumb to caress your bottom lip, as if asking permission for entrance. You grant it to him, ready to give him anything he asks for.

Your core throbs at the way he sensualy massages your tongue with the finger. You allow yourself to get confident, swirling your tongue around it. He lets out a groan, tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

"Don't give me that look, kitten. We can't."

You pull away from his hand, a string of saliva connecting your body parts making both of you feel dazed.

"Then stop fingerfucking my mouth, Sir." You say as politely as you can, tone low with lust.

Before you know it, Mr Park has you slammed against the wall, hands pressed firmly on your waist. You whimper when your back collides with the cold wall, but his actions are quick to distract you. His knee parts your legs, rising a little so that it makes contact with your crotch. You let out a sigh into his mouth, ready to give yourself to him. His fingers press into your cheeks, cupping your jaw so that you can't avoid his gaze. He is looking at you so intensely that you could cum right there on his thigh and knee. The smell of sandalwood and jasmine coming from his neck and chest area is not helping at all. It is inviting, and you don't want to be rude and decline an invitation.

"As much as I'd love nothing more than to fill you up with my cock against this wall right now, until you're staining my wall with your arousal, I'm going to need you to stay away from me."

The tower of fantasies you've slowly started to build suddenly crumbled down under his words. Emotions are erupting inside of you, lust and disappointment merging into each other and creating frustration and sadness. You are sexually frustrated, and this man has done nothing but worsen the situation.

"You'll leave me like this, Mr Park?"

He looks down on your lips, eyebrows furrowed as if thinking about which wire to cut.

Red — the powerful lust growing inside of him. The desire to have you crying under his touch from immense pleasure. The urge to abuse your clit with his tongue until he has you shaking in his arms.

Blue — the fragile relationship with his daughter. He just won her back, and making a fatal mistake like this could mean losing her forever.

Green — harmless flirting and teasing. Messing around and seeing you blush is something he just might get used to.

Park Seonghwa was also very sexually frustrated. But he was also a man with a reputation and half a family. He cannot bring himself to ruin either of the two.

"I want you on your best behaviour, kitten."

You look at him through your lashes again, this time on purpose. His fingers then pull at your hair, exposing your neck to him and causing you to whimper. He looks down at you, and you see yourself in his dilated pupils, drowning in the dark pools of lust.

"I mean it." He says, lips grazing your jaw as he speaks. "Be good for me."

And with that, he steps away from you, giving you one last head to toe checkup. He then turns around and makes his way to the library, leaving you flushed and a mess against the wall. You watch his back as he walks, noticing how huge his shoulders are and how slim his waist is. The things you'd do just to bite into any of those things. If you only had the courage and confidence to seduce him. You can only watch from afar, wishing that he would drop his guard and come to you.

It feels like that evening all over again; him making you yearn for him, then leaving you and disappearing into his space. The promises you gave to your friend are pushed back, and your brain has opened the path doe the thoughts you shouldn't be having. Yet, it's not breaking a promise if he is the one to come to you, is it?

You pick up the bags, this time not letting go of them until you've reached the room. You drop on the bed, face buried into the softest blankets you've ever touched in your life. Your clit is almost pulsating and burning from being all worked up. Touching yourself won't help. It's not the same. You've gotten a taste once, you'll never be able to do it the old way. Park Seonghwa is the only one who can help.

How dare he get so close to you, get you all worked up like that, then tell you to stay away? What kind of sick teasing and torture kinks is he into? Whatever it is, you have already fallen into his trap. You crave him, your body yearns to be touched by his fingers again. Every place on your body he touched on the stairs burns with sensation. You can only let out a frustrated groan before getting up and fixing your hair.

Your eyes examine the abnormally red cheeks and smeared mascara. You looked like you were fucked senseless, not just cornered by your friend's hot father. Although you wish he did the first.

"Professor Gellert gave me this stupid project that needs to be done by tomorrow. I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to— damn. Are you okay?"

The girl comes in while drying her hair with a towel, eyebrows scrunched with worry as she looks at your reflection in the mirror. Your back is turned towards her, and you're having a hard time looking into her eyes. How can you, when in your mind you're picturing Mr Park forcing your head onto his cock as tears run down your cheeks, just how he likes it?

"Are you sick?"

"The stairs killed me." You laugh it off, pointing at the bags.

"Oh, right." She brushes it off, then throws the wet towel into the basket near the bed. "Do you have a dress for the college celebration next week?"

"I'm not going." You say, remembering how many familiar people will show up.

"Why not?"

"I'm going to have a stomachache then."

You don't even have to look up to know that she is killing you with her stare. Both of you know that you will end up going, you just choose to throw a little tantrum before giving in.

"Your dance partner is so excited for you though."

"I forgot whose name I even pulled. Mind reminding me?"

To avoid having people without a pair, all people were supposed to pull out names. You know you weren't too thrilled about it, but you still can't remember who it was.

"Avan? No, he is with Vic. Oh, Joseph!"

"The Catholic boy?" You ask, now realising why you were so unimpressed.

"No, no, the hot Catholic boy. His hair grew since last summer and his teeth are like, super straight and white. He became the hottest thing to ever walk at that college."

A sigh leaves your lips at the realisation that more money will be reduced from your bank account. You can't go looking basic nor weird. People there aren't the nicest little dandelions, and you are very fragile when it comes to real life. You will need a proper dress, proper heels and equally good makeup. Luckily, you know just the person who will help.

Hours of goofing around, working on the project, and a warning to quiet down from Mr Park due to his business video chat, both of you are asleep. You'd lie if you were to say his stern voice didn't do things to you. He was so good at giving orders, and you are willing to take all of them. Both of you were in your matching satin sleeping dresses, laying on your stomach and watching funny moments of your favorite groups, laughing your heads off and making weird noises on purpose. It was a competition, each of you making a weirder and louder noise than the other. A few screams and laughing fits later, Mr Park Seonghwa knocked on the door. He came in calmly, eyeing up both of you.

"Girls, I have an important meeting and I'm trying to win an opportunity to keep our lives the way they are and not lose everything. Yet, here you are, sounding as if I've kidnapped you and am boiling you alive."

Your smile drops, but your friend remains the same. This tells you that him coming in to intervenire happens more often than you'd think. His usually soft and sparkly eyes are now sharp and serious, his eyebrow raised and his tinted lips going slightly downwards. He is still wearing the turtleneck, only this time he has added a grey coat resting on his shoulders.

"Sorry, dad."

His eyes shift to you, and silence swallows the room. You are taken aback by the intense gaze, and your friend nudges you with her elbow.

"S-sorry, da- Mr Park." You stutter, and your face heats up as soon as you finish the sentence. You wish to crawl out the window and disappear in the bushes. Maybe even cry yourself to sleep there.

Your mission is to seduce him, yet how can you succeed when all you do is embarrass yourself in front of him? He must've lost interest. You are convinced that he is your fantasy come to life, and you simply can't let go. You don't want to let go. Not until you get at least one more taste.

To your surprise, he only hums, then exits the room. You hear his footsteps in the distance, then a door being shut louder than usual.

"He's a real dick sometimes."

In the morning, you are awoken by your friend's raspy voice asking for period cramp pills. It takes you a few moments to adjust your eyes to the morning light.

"Where are they?" You mumble, mouth full of toothpaste.

"Your favorite place in this house." She laughs.

You peek outside the little bathroom to ask why she is laughing and what does she mean by that.

"Dad's office."

You roll your eyes, then return to brushing your teeth. Once you make sure to pick on your skin a little, then put on foundation so that your friend doesn't give you a lesson about it, you head outside.

"You'll see a few drawers below his fantasy section. There's all kinds of pills, just bring me the ones we usually use in these days of suffering."

As you approach the room of your favorite memories and dirty pleasures, you hear his voice coming from inside. It sounds lower than usual, and he sounds very professional. He is saying words even you've never heard of. In conclusion, he even talks expensive and sexy.

"Hongjoong, my marketing team is suffering because they took the most important elements from them. Half of the team quit when they heard who is trying to get involved."

You don't want to interrupt, but if you don't get those pills, you're going to be the first victim of the Hormonal Queen Park. You knock lightly, then slowly open the door.

You swear that if your toes didn't hit the wooden door frame as you tried going inside, you'd let out a moan. Mr Park is sitting in his usual chair, wearing a white shirt. It is halfway unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. You see a thin gold chain decorating his sun kissed skin on his neck. His lips are reddish as usual, and his hair isn't as neat as it was yesterday. His jaw rests in his hand, while his other hand is scribbling something on the papers at the corner of his desk.

He doesn't speak. Instead, he raises an eyebrow towards you. You point towards the drawer, then try showing him that you're looking for pills with your hands. He scoffs, then returns to his conversation. Still sleepy, you forget that you are still only wearing the satin lavender dress. It is when the morning cold breeze hits your legs that you realise. You're already here, there's no point in being embarrassed anymore.

Your eyes read the signs at the top of the bookcase. Adult fiction, Criminal, Erotica, Fiction, Horror... and Fantasy! Right behind his back.

Fuck.

Having no other choice, you get down on all four, and start crawling towards the drawers. Mr Park hasn't yet noticed your little mission. He is too frustrated with his ongoing problem to notice a half naked girl crawling on his office floor. You cheer inside your head as you successfully reach the drawers. You pull at the handle, but it doesn't budge.

"You've gotta be kidding me." You sigh, trying with all your strength. The drawer stays closed, and you're already ready to go home.

The only thing left to do is ask Mr Park, but you wouldn't dare to interrupt. Instead, you crawl to his side, careful not to be seen on camera. You're sitting near his leg, looking up at him while figuring out how to ask. You opt for the quietest solution, and you'll see where it gets you. With a quiet gulp and a sigh, you finally reach out towards him. Instead of quietly calling him like you intended, you gently poke his leg under the desk.

The man looks down, eyebrows scrunched with confusion. He almost chokes on his saliva when he sees you, then redirects his attention at the screen.

"Mr Park," you whisper.

"Hongjoong, I'm gonna have to pause the video for a second."

"That's fine, I'll just go through the mails one more time."

You hear a click, then silence. Mr Park grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. You look like a treat, waiting to be picked up and consumed by him. The way your knees have a slight red tint have his mind racing with thoughts.

"Are you crazy?" His tone is calm and low. The grip on your jaw is firm, his fingers pressing into your cheeks and forcing your lips into a pout.

He can't get over how big your pupils have gotten, and how well he can see your cleavage from that position. The sight of your breasts squished together by the shiny satin fabric combined with your pouty stare from the bottom aren't helping his situation at all. How can he hold back when you're sitting there like a present, waiting to be unwrapped and enjoyed? He had countless comparisons, and hundreds of ways he could take care of you. If only he could.

"I just need some pills," you whisper, too mesmerised by his intense gaze to speak in normal voice.

"So you decide to crawl under my desk to ask for it?"

"I'm not—"

"Right, still nothing. I guess we really lost the proof."

The voice is coming from the screen again. A flash of disappointment crosses Park Seonghwa's face. Still, he leans back into his chair, hand still holding your jaw. His grip softens, and he proceeds to caress your cheek with his thumb. The simple action makes you almost purr. You don't remember the last time you got this kind of affection.

With your eyes closed, your body relaxes into his touch. Nothing exists anymore, except Mr Park, his scent and touch. You allow yourself a few moments of silence. The men's voices are becoming distant, and you swear that you could fall asleep just like this. You feel the slight roughness of his fingers, a sign that he aged like fine wine. You remember your father's hands being all rough and dark due to working hard jobs all these years. Seonghwa must've inherited family business. Or he knows how to take care of himself.

You look up at him, chin now resting on his knee. You aren't sure if you want to climb into his lap and take in all the affection he is willing to give you, or get down further under the desk and make him squirm in your hands. Deciding to test the waters, you drag your fingers up his leg, resting them just near his crotch. Mr Park wets his lips, glancing at you for a second. When you see no signs of complaining, you move over so that you're sitting comfortably between his legs. Your hands continue the journey to his belt, excitement rushing through your veins and into your heart as you feel the cold leather underneath your fingertips. You take your time to play with the buckle, just like you read in one of your favorite books.

Just like the man on the worn out pages of your book, Park Seonghwa gulps when you pull the zipper down, just enough to graze him with your nails. You're overflowing with confidence, and you're a little impatient too. But you want to take your time to take care of him. Make him yearn for you just like he did to you. As quietly as possible, you undo his pants, and are delighted when you find out he is wearing no underwear. You reach inside with your tongue, just enough to touch him and make him adjust in his chair.

"You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

Mr Park moves your hands, then pulls his cock out for you. One of his hands is holding onto your hair, gently pushing your head towards it. You don't have time to admire the size or all the little details you wanted. Your lips are pressing against his tip, the taste of precum sweet and salty at the same time.

He is impatient, and in desperate need to feel your hot mouth around him. You obey, finally taking him in and making sure to press your tongue flat against him. Unable to control it, he releases a groan.

"Hwa, you sure you're good?"

"I'm good, I just —" he pauses, looking down at you. How does he tell his business partner and best friend that his daughter's friend looks too good with her mouth stuffed like that? With her tits almost falling out and her pupils so big he just wants to slam his cock into her pussy and fuck her into oblivion?

"Just...? If you're not feeling good, we can continue later. I get this must be very hard for you, but —"

Just when you think you've won, Mr Park shakes his head. "No, no. That's fine. Remember how I told you my daughter wanted a kitten? Well, she's not letting me work in peace."

"Oh, that's adorable. Give her a few pets from me."

Park Seonghwa smirks, then looks down at you. His fingers caress your cheeks, and you melt at the touch. It is a motivation to take him in all the way, slamming the tip against the back of your throat.

"She's a very naughty kitten. I can't seem to get rid of her."

"See, no matter what they do, I'll never be a dog person. I love them so much. Just the sight of one makes me feel all fuzzy."

"Oh, just wait until you see this one."

You freeze in your spot. Seonghwa pulls your head away with a loud pop, and shoves his desk away to expose you. His thumb wipes your drool and his precum from your lips, then proceeds to pull you into his lap so that you're facing the screen. The man on the screen is as frozen as you, and as handsome and Mr Park. His gaze drops on your now exposed breasts, and you see his chest slowing down as he tries to breath normally again.

"A unique one, isn't she?" Seonghwa speaks first, holding your head in place by pulling your hair. You're forced to look at the man, and instead of feeling ashamed, you are only feeling more worked up. "I've never been a cat person, but this one is just so obedient I might actually keep her."

"Well, fuck me. That is one hell of a kitten."

"Come on, love. Why don't we show Hongjoong all the tricks I have taught you?"

You aren't sure what he means, until he lays you on his chest and spreads your legs. Your panties are so drenched, they're almost see through. The man on the screen is devouring you with his stare. Something about both of their gazes and confidence has lit a fire inside of you that cannot be put out. In the corner of the screen, you see your exposed and messy figure spread out on Mr Park's lap, and it only adds up to the atmosphere you are so enjoying.

"Actually, since Hongjoong has more experience with cats, how about he shows us how to perform a some tricks?"

You know he isn't asking, just giving you a trailer of what awaits you. A chuckle comes from the screen, and the man flashes his pearly white teeth at you through a smirk.

"First, you might want to tie her up. You don't want her running away, do you?"

Without hesitation, the man yanks his belt from his pants, and secures it around neck. You are having a hard time breathing. Not because of the belt, but because of the overwhelming feelings mixing inside of you. You've never been manhandled like this, and you are afraid that you might get too used to the feeling of Park Seonghwa doing this to you.

"You still have that wand?"

"Sure do."

Confusion takes over your features, and you can't help but wonder why Hongjoong knew that. Do they do this often? If so, are you just another toy Mr Park is going to play with and leave?

"Relax, kitten." Mr Park seems to notice your sudden discomfort. "Spread your legs for me."

And just like that night, your legs are over the armrests, the wand dangerously close to your clit.

"Having a good view, Kim?"

"A gorgeous one, Park."

Mr Kim leans back on his chair, hands working on his belt but not yet doing anything. It seems he enjoys watching more than doing anything. A sweet vibrating sensation spreads all over your folds, and you cannot help but buck your hips into the toy.

"Make your screen bigger, Seonghwa. So that she can see just how pretty she looks."

The man doesn't pull the gadget away as he changes the screen size, making Hongjoong's the one in the corner and yours taking over the screen. Now you can clearly see yourself; spread on Mr Park's lap, his chin resting on your shoulder, dark eyes looking at you through the camera. His ringed fingers are skillfully moving the toy up and down your clit, while his other hand holds onto the belt, lightly choking you.

"Doesn't moan easily, huh? Try circles."

Mr Park listens, circling the swollen bud with consistent vibrations. You feel like you're going to cum any second, and you don't want to do that so soon.

"Feel good?"

"Yes," you breathe out, holding onto the fabric of his pants as you try your best not to go over the edge.

"Then let us hear it, doll."

No matter how good it felt, it wasn't enough to draw moans from you. "You have to try better than that, then."

A scoff leaves his tinted lips. He brings them close to your neck, just enough to lick a stripe up to your jaw.

"Use your other hand, too."

Mr Kim is so skilled with giving orders. And Mr Park is so good at listening to him. His fingers, which are the prettiest ones you've ever seen in your life, move your panties aside just to slowly thrust between your walls. He explores, wiggling his two fingers inside until he curls them up. With the elbow of the hand which holds the toy, he presses into your lower stomach, making the feeling more intense than ever. He starts pumping into you slow, matching the rhythm of the vibrations.

"I've never seen such an obedient kitten. Look how good she is doing."

"Indeed, she is doing so well. Now, if she could orgasm on my fingers, she would be the best."

"Ngh—" you groan, chasing the orgasm just like he asked you to. You know you can't handle two, but you're willing to try for him. Well, them.

"Come on, pretty girl."

"S-sir—" you cry out, ready to spill over, "I can't—"

"Can't what?" He slows down, moving the wand away for a moment. You take a few seconds to catch your breath. You feel all wet and sticky, but look hotter than ever. You're still unused by him, yet you looked like he has ravished you twice today.

"If I cum now, it'll be too much." You admit, pupils big as you look at him. "I want to cum when you fuck me."

"Spoke too soon about obedience, huh?"

The wicked smirk on the screen lets you know that they won't let you off so easily. Mr Park then slams his lips onto yours, sucking and licking at the plump flesh of your bottom lip as he brings the wand back to your clit. You shake in his lap, feeling a tad bit overstimulated. His other hand holds your thighs separated, but you still try to close them. The warm muscle of his tongue massages yours, and for a moment, you forget about Mr Kim. You forget about your best friend. You wish to wake up like this every day, admired, praised and consumed by him. Your hands reach into his hair, grabbing at the fluffy strands and anything else they can reach.

"That's so fucking hot. I didn't know how sexy you make out, Hwa."

Park Seonghwa smiles into the kiss, and in that moment, you wished to experience it every day. You wished this wasn't just messing around with your friend's dad. Your feelings for him are growing, and you know them well it's forbidden. But how to tell a heart no?

"You're welcome to come over and try these days," he winks at the screen, then shifts his attention back to you. "And just what do we do with you now? Do I make you cum and stop the fun?"

His thumb caresses your flushed cheek. You have a hard time forming a sentence, and all you can do is breathe into his mouth and look at him. His tongue peeks to wet his lips, doing the same to yours in the process.

"You'd rather shamelessly drip all over my pants like this? You just want my daughter to find out?"

Come to think of it, it's weird that she didn't notice your absence. Maybe she gave up. Maybe she went back to sleep. Whatever it is, you've made it clear to her that this is nothing more than just messing around. No romance involved. Even though your heart feels tight at the last sentence, you pretend like it's nothing. All those things you've thought about while touching yourself late at night are coming to life, and you won't try to stop that in any way.

"Mr Park?"

He hums, fingers fixing your hair and eyes scanning your face with adoration. "Yes, pretty girl?"

"Please fuck me."

"When you ask so nicely, how can I say no?" He says with a chuckle, then glances at the screen.

Mr Kim is sat still, looking at everything unfolding in front of him as if he's watching a movie. Or a porn video. His attention is fixed on your breasts, and you allow yourself another moment of confidence. You cup them, rubbing your nipples and squeezing the soft flesh while throwing your head back.

Mr Kim clicks his tongue, then gets closer to the screen. He rests his elbows on the desk, and his head on his hands. "Hwa, give her a little treat from me."

The older man doesn't waste a single second before licking a stripe over your breast. He wraps his lips around your bud of nerves, then proceeds to work his tongue around it. You're squirming in his lap, accidentally stroking him while doing so. He hums into you, the vibrations making you let out the first moan.

"There it is."

You feel so close, but you're too far. Your body is limp, and he hasn't even had you the way he promised yet. As if he could hear your thoughts, Mr Park hooks his fingers under your panties. He grazes over your clit, then pulls the panties down your legs.

"Let's pull a real trick now, kitten."

The man adjusts your body on his lap with ease, and you're too mesmerised by his strength to notice that his cock is at your entrance. It is when he lightly slaps your clit and pulls the belt on your neck that you give him attention.

"Eyes on Hongjoong."

You try to protest, but he grabs your jaw and inserts a finger into your mouth. Your head is now stuck in one position, and you can't avoid Mr Kim's gaze. He has a wicked grin on his face again, and just when you're about to make a stupid remark, Park Seonghwa slowly lifts his hips to enter you. He deliciously fills you up, leaving no space at all. His hot skin is grazing your walls just right, but not yet hitting the spot you need the most.

"Fuck—" he hisses, keeping the slow motions going.

You glance at the corner of the screen, seeing Mr Kim now palming himself through his pants. "You've gotta tell me where you buy these kittens, man."

The man behind you laughs between the moans, but doesn't say anything. He enjoys it as much as you, and isn't bothered to keep any conversations or teasing going. At least you hope so.

He lifts your body up, then moves his hips upwards so that he can move faster. Watching yourself get fucked on the screen by a man your dad's age, while another one watches wasn't quite in your fantasy list. But fuck, you're so happy that it's happening. Your eyes follow Mr Park's cock as it smoothly disappears inside of you, causing you to whine and moan in his arms.

"Think you've teased her enough?"

"Just a bit more." The man whispers, head falling back on the chair and his moves getting sloppy. "Fuck, love, you're gonna make me cum so quick."

You feel like you're dripping all over the place. His cock is soaking up your juices, making wet noises in the process. That, along with his skin hitting yours as he reaches the deepest ends of you, is what will keep you fueled for months. You glance at him through the screen, and you almost cream right there on his cock. Something about fucking in clothes is a huge turn on for you, and seeing Park Seonghwa sprawled out on his chair, with his unbuttoned white shirt and pretty gold jewellery, with his head resting back and eyes rolling from pleasure, with his fingers digging into your skin and hair sticking to his forehead, makes your head spin. You wish to take a picture, and look at it every night just to admire him. His sun kissed chest is exposed more than when you entered the room, and you wish to mark him up so bad. Hopefully, next time.

His hips are going at a slow pace, but deeper than last time. He reaches to all the places inside of you, stroking them all just right. He lifts your body, just to slam it down on his cock and hit your most sensitive spot. A loud moan is halfway out your lips, but he is quick to pull the belt to keep you quiet. He repeats the movements, this time faster and harder.

"Oh, baby," he almost growls under his breath, "making daddy feel so good."

Then, as if something has snapped inside of him, he pushes the chair back and lets it fall back with a thud. His hands push your body down onto the desk, and he grabs your waist like his life depends on it. He adjusts the camera so that Mr Kim can get a clear view of your drooling and flushed face, along with Mr Park's lower body continuously slamming into you. You feel so sensitive, and you haven't orgasmed once yet. Tears form at the corners of your eyes, and you let them fall. You're not sure if you're crying from pleasure or pain, but you didn't want either to stop.

And Park Seonghwa fucking adored it. He adored your face decorated with tears as he took you from behind, forcing you to watch yourself on camera while another stranger is watching you.

"Wish you could see how well you're taking me." He groans. "So fucking good for me."

"Is she taking it like a good girl, Hwa?"

"Oh, she's doing such a good job. Aren't you, love?" He says with a smirk, knowing that you're incapable of speaking.

Your eyes roll back, and you feel like you're going to evaporate. His consistent thrusts are helping you build up the orgasm, and you just know that you're going to cum harder than ever.

"You're fucking her dumb."

"I know. Look at her." Mr Park pulls the belt so that you can lift your head from the desk. Your lips are dry, and you can barely see anymore. Everything is blurry, and you feel nothing but endless pleasure. "Loves being thrown around and used until she cries. Don't you?"

You manage to nod, but quickly go back to moaning and almost drooling all over his desk and keyboard. His hand sneaks towards your clit, toying with it in circles until he has you screaming and almost growling. He is abusing all the sensitive buds on your body he can reach, from you G spot and your clit, to both of your nipples.

"Talk to her, Hwa. Make her speak even though she obviously can't. Make her cry and beg for you."

"Hear that, pretty one? Talk to me. Tell me, who does this pussy belong to?"

You want to kill Mr Kim for giving him the idea of making you talk. All you want to do is cum already. All this teasing is doing you no good. It's becoming addictive, and you just know this won't be the last time.

"Y-you, Sir." You choke out, body still rocking into his.

"Will you take all of my seed like a good girl you are?"

"Fuck, yes, yes, yes—"

"Will you fuck yourself on my cock until you've creamed all over it?"

"Yes, oh fuck, yes—" you groan, moving your hips back so you can fuck yourself on his cock just like he asked you to.

You look at his figure through the screen. His gaze is fixed on the way your tight walls are swallowing him up, and he seems completely mesmerised by it. You use him as you'd use one of those dildos you have saved on a Web shop, milking him just right. His moans are low and the hottest thing you've ever heard in your life. With each minute that passes, his voice becomes lower and much more of a whisper.

His eyes search for yours, and once you lock your gaze with his, you don't let go. You let him fuck you into the desk, with a whole stranger watching. Tears roll down your face, pleasure too intense to take. You groan, moan and whine at each thrust, trying your best to chase your orgasm.

Seeing that you're struggling, he picks you up, only to throw you against the bookshelf. He lifts your leg up, almost resting it on his shoulder. The new angle has you reaching new notes, and he has to stick his fingers into your mouth to keep your noises muffled.

"How cute. Fucking her against the Erotica section."

The shelves shake as Park Seonghwa slams into you, each thrust abusing your G spot so good that you're drooling around his fingers.

"Come on, kitten. Cum on daddy's cock. Milk me dry."

You moan around his fingers, and he takes that as a signal that you're close. He replaces the fingers with his lips, tongue searching for yours only to caress it in the most sensual way ever.

"You close, baby?"

"Yes, yes, yes—"

"Come on, just a bit more. Almost there—"

"Fuck, oh fuck, yes—" Your head falls on his shoulder, hands holding onto them for dear life.

"I'm cumming, love, I'm gonna—" his breathing is heavy, and his moans are now getting high pitched," fuck, oh God, baby—"

You squeeze around him, riding out your orgasm as he paints your walls with his seed. You're weak in his arms as he uses you until the end, making you milk him dry just like he asked. He thrusts into you a few more times, slower and more gentle than ever.

His fingers cup your jaw, lifting your head up so that he can look at you. He wipes your tears with his thumb, then inserts it into his mouth. You can't help but laugh at his wicked kink. He isn't moving away from you. Instead, his lips mold into yours softly. He caresses your cheek as he gently sucks on your lip, occasionally grazing it with his tongue.

"Ah, the aftercare. The best part, honestly."

Park Seonghwa smiles into the kiss for the second time that day, making your heart flutter. "Liar," he mumbles.

He pulls away for a moment, eyes searching your face for any sings of discomfort. When he sees none, he rewards you with another kiss, a kiss so light and comforting that for a second, you really thought he could want something more than just fooling around. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer towards you and deepening the kiss. You're mesmerised by the way he kisses. His scent is all over your body, and his tongue is taking care of yours in ways nobody ever knew.

This time you're the one to pull away, trying to catch some air. He rests his forehead on yours, his heavy breathing comforting on your face.

"I think I'm addicted to you."

You're taken aback by his statement. You're unable to move, or say anything. All you can do is watch as his face turns from calm and content to one of worry and fear.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Only sexually?"

Now he is the one who is taken aback. He didn't quite think about it. Sure, he can't wait to see you. He always checks if you're coming in the house with his daughter. He loves seeing you in your bubble when you eat or speak about your newest fandom.

Ah, shit.

"Let's start differently."

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. The man licks his lips, then sighs. "How does dinner this Saturday sound?"

A laugh escapes your lips, and he follows right after. It takes you a moment to collect yourself, then finally speak.

"That's quite formal for someone who is still balls deep inside of me."

A moan of surprise leaves your body as he thrusts into you, more teasingly than sexually. He then proceeds to pull out, making his seed drip down your legs and onto the carpet.

"Want me to try again now?"

"Not necessary," you finally put your leg down from his shoulder, muscles sore from the new position, "I accept the invitation, Mr Park."

He hums, not bothering to correct your addressing. You were hoping you'd get to call him by his first name. Maybe it's too early. Still, it doesn't stop you from constantly thinking about it.

Seonghwa.

How pretty.

♡

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬:

@scardorosht @kitty4hwa @seokjins-condoms @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @rkivesofmymemories @ateezzseonghwaa @bangmechann @dandelion-aj @rialovesyunho @ryleleee @anoooon13

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flowercrown-bard · 2 years

Text

A willingness to trample him

“How about this one?” Jaskier asked, pointing at the brown mare with the white stripe down her face. “She looks just like the last.” Geralt frowned at the horse, crossing his arms.

“No.”

Jaskier reached over the fence, attempting to pet the horse. She regarded his hand suspiciously.

“Seriously Geralt, what’s wrong with her? She’s strong, she’s fast, she even is -” The horse snapped at his hand and he pulled it back with a yelp. “See? She’s even as grumpy as the old Roach. Just the perfect fit for you.”

Geralt grunted in disagreement, scowling at the horse, as if she had personally offended him.

“Not her.” He grabbed Jaskier’s sleeve, pulling him away from the horse and towards another one. Jaskier threw the farmer, who was watching them with in annoyance, an apologetic look. They had been at this for what felt like hours. He couldn’t fault the farmer for getting impatient with them.

“Listen,” Jaskier said, touching Geralt’s arm lightly. “I know this is hard for you. Roach was…Don’t tell her I said something nice about her, but she was a good horse. A good friend to you.”

Something twitched in Geralt’s expression.

“But giving her away was the right choice. She’ll be happy in her old age, munching on all the flowers her heart desires and getting all the pets from Henryk’s children.”

“I know it was right,” Geralt said. “Better than if she stayed with me and got hurt.”

Strangely, Jaskier got the feeling that Geralt was avoiding his eyes. Jaskier narrowed his eyes at him, scrutinising his carefully blank expression. His heart stuttered, when he realised what Geralt wasn’t saying.

“Oh.” He swallowed and skipped ahead, so he was standing in front of Geralt, forcing him to look at him. “I want you to know,” he said in a mock-haughty tone, “That I’m neither old nor do I lack the sense to run away when there’s danger. I’m not going to get hurt by being with you. If anything, I’d be a danger to myself and society, when I’m on my own.” He dropped the falsely arrogant tone, becoming more sincere. “I’m not going to leave you, alright?”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “You’ve got crow’s feet.”

“Those - “Jaskier squawked, his voice moving up in pitch, “- are laughter lines! Because I just so happen to smile a lot when I’m around you and there’s nothing you can do to make me want to stop being with you. So.” He put his hands on his hips. “Don’t you worry about where to retire me to. I’m not leaving. In fact,” He turned around again, hopping onto the fence, “I would really appreciate it if you could finally find a new horse that you’re happy with so we can continue travelling together.”

During his tirade, Geralt’s face softened. He rolled his eyes fondly.

“You’re being an idiot,” Geralt said. He opened the door of the enclosure and walked past Jaskier. “Naturally.” With a grin, Jaskier hopped down, following Geralt dutifully, as he looked over the horses. He tilted his head. “You weren’t that picky last time. It took you less than an hour to choose your new Roach.”

Jaskier still remembered that day well. He hadn’t known Geralt for long then and he was sure Geralt wouldn’t have taken him with him to pick a new Roach, if Jaskier hadn’t insisted.

“It was easier then,” Geralt said, mirth in his eyes, “I just picked the one that looked like she wanted to bite you.”

“You!” Jaskier gasped dramatically. “I knew it! You wanted to use your horse to get rid of me! So what? A biting horse didn’t work, so now you’re looking for one that wants to trample me?”

Geralt snorted and shook his head in fond exasperation. “Something like that.”

“Something like that,” Jaskier echoed. “Go on then. Tell me what it is you’re looking for in your most precious companion. I can take it.”

Geralt shot him a look out of the corner of his eyes. “I like a companion who’s quiet.”

“Liar,” Jaskier sing-songed easily.

“Fine.” Geralt let his eyes wander to a light grey horse, with a mane that might have been white once, if it hadn’t rolled around in the dirt before. “I like… loyalty. A horse that doesn’t just stay with me because she has to but because she learns to like me.”

“Well, that’s not hard to find,” Jaskier said. “You’re very likeable. Animals love you. Unless they’re cats, of course. But I’ve never met a horse who wasn’t wrapped around your little finger. What else?” “I like a horse that…doesn’t mind if I lean against her? Or touch her even when it’s not necessary. She should be affectionate.” Jaskier nodded along sagely.

“Pretty,” Geralt said so quietly and quickly that Jaskier wasn’t sure he had heard it right.

“What?” “I like a…a pretty companion.” A bright red tinted the tips of Geralt’s ears and he turned his head away from Jaskier.

“Oh.” Jaskier fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “Well, of course. Your companion must be pretty to fit you.” He coughed awkwardly. “So. We’re looking for loyalty, open affection and beauty.”

They had reached the muddy horse by now. At the sound of Jaskier’s voice, she lifted her head, ears curiously turned towards him. As soon as Jaskier lifted his hands, her ears turned back and she snapped at him.

Immediately, Geralt guided him away, scowling at the horse in disappointment.

“Why not her?” Jaskier asked, nudging Geralt playfully, “She certainly has that willingness to trample me.”

“Not her,” Geralt said simply. He nudged Jaskier right back, with far more strength than Jaskier had used. It almost sent Jaskier tumbling into a pile of horse droppings. If it wasn’t for Geralt’s hand shooting out and catching him, Jaskier surely would have ruined his new doublet. It would have been a shame. He had bought it specifically to make a good impression on the new Roach.

That is, Jaskier was saved by Geralt’s hand and by something nudging his back until he was standing upright again. He turned around to see a light brown horse look at him curiously.

“Oh.” Jaskier lifted his hand to let her snuffle it. “Hello there.” He could feel Geralt’s eyes on him, as he scratched the mare between her ears. She snorted a gust of warm breath into his face happily.

“You’re a pretty one,” Jaskier said, laughing in delight, as the horse’s soft nose snuffled at his hair. “And affectionate! Helpful too. Helpfulness is almost the same as loyalty, wouldn’t you say, Geralt?”

He turned his head to find Geralt looking at him with softness in his eyes.

“Too bad she’s keen on helping me instead of trampling me. She wouldn’t be of much use in helping you get rid of me. She likes me too much.”

As if to prove him right, the horse shoved him again, making him stumble straight into Geralt’s arms. Geralt caught him instantly. When Jaskier looked up, Geralt’s face was but a hand’s breadth away from his. Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat, when he noticed a light red dusting Geralt’s cheeks.

“She’s perfect,” Geralt said, one hand rubbing a small circle into Jaskier’s arm, while he reached out his other hand to pet the horse. “This is our new Roach.”

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #roach #ficlet #fic #witcher #the witcher #my writing #fanfic

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artistsfuneral · 10 months

Text

and part 17

"Then talk, bard, find your closure."

Jaskier's eyes widen in horror, "No. No, Geralt, I could never do that to you." Geralt sighs at him, sounding tired. "Listen," he says, calsping his hands together in a gesture Ciri will unintentionally copy after a couple of years living with them. "I appreciate the sentiment, I really do, but it's not like you haven't done exactly the same back in the tavern."

Jaskier winces at that, ashamed of his own actions. Before his thoughts start spiraling, Geralt interrupts him again. "Don't. Whatever you're thiking about, stop it. Turning in circles will get us nowhere."

"Talk to me, bard," he repeats and watches Jaskier shrug at him timidly. "About what? I could tell you some more about Ciri? You remember her, right?"

"No, Jaskier. This isn't about Ciri, it's not about me either." Geralt's voice is awfully calm as he speaks. Anyone else would've probably found it comforting, but Jaskier knows Geralt, knows that the man in front of him isn't trying to comfort a loved one, but a stranger who needs counseling. His mind has shifted into work mode. Jaskier is now his contract.

"How did I die?"

Jaskier stops breathing, "No. Anything but that."

"Something happened. Something you can't accept, or you wouldn't be trying to change the topic."

"No. Nothing happened."

"Bard. You're shit at lying. How did I die?"

"I can't tell you that. I just- I can't"

"Why not?"

"Don't ask me, Geralt."

"Why not? Why do you try to hide what happened?"

"Because- Because it was my fault you died!"

Geralt looks at him, really looks at him and Jaskier is waiting for the worst to happen. "I find that hard to believe.

remember to like and reblog if you voted :)

tell me if you (don't) want to be tagged :)

(is it mean to tell you that it would've been a peaceful death had you chosen the other option in part 16? 👉👈)

(x) @fingons-rad-harp @sinfulpetgirlrd @wren-of-the-woods @basilikum7 @eveljerome @this-is-not-a-slow-burn @araglas1989 @alaskawho @cinary @swan--writes @mirrorthoughts @chaoticfandomthot @sonatabee @gregre369 @awitcheress @yaskefer @hannibard @myfeelisfunny @kore888 @filledepluie @pathsofpassion @joyfulcherryblossombasement @ryuuhana91 @toapoet @nerdymuffinbonkcloud @ineffably-a-fangirl-99 @starlghtstarbrite @siriusly-the-best-bi @cowboybuttconnoisseur @logastellus21 @chasinggeese @whump-der-it-is @inanoldhousewrites @reluctantbroodingdads

Did the tags work this time?

#the witcher #witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard

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thetriumphantpanda · 10 months

Text

Stolen | Marcus Pike (Day Two)

Series Summary | A week on from the biggest museum theft in history, you find yourself shipped to D.C. to track down the most important British archaeological artefacts, stolen from right under your nose. You didn’t plan on Special Agent Marcus Pike getting under your skin in the process. Special Agent Marcus Pike didn’t plan on falling for you either.

Chapter Summary | You fall into a quick routine whilst the hunt for your artefacts is ongoing. Marcus makes good on his promise of the best Italian food outside of Italy as a way for you both to forget your daily stress for a moment.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Archaeologist/Curator F!Reader

Word Count | 4.9k

Warnings | Marcus and reader shamelessly flirting with each other, mentions of food and alcohol consumption but nothing much else right now.

Authors Note | Day two with Marcus and this is... not my best. I think because the pacing on this fic is so different to anything I've done previously, I'm not confident that I'm not completely rushing things but here we are! I hope you enjoy it and if you do, please consider dropping me a comment, reblogging or heading into my ask box to share the love! If you're interested in being added to the taglist for this or for any of my other work, please check this post on how to do that! And as usual, a HUGE thank you to @morning-star-joyfor beta-ing this huge chapter and generally just HYPING ME UP. ILY.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You groan at the incessant chiming of your alarm. There is no way that it is already time to be awake. You roll over and through blurry eyes manage to turn the alarm off, rolling onto your back to let your eyes adjust to the soft morning light drifting in through the curtains.

Rubbing the last of the sleep from your eyes, you pick up your phone, opening it to find your email app overflowing with unread emails from London. They were already five hours into their workday, and each and every email you opened was basically screaming at you for an update on the case. An update you had expressly told everyone wouldn’t come until later in their afternoon. You sigh as you push yourself up in bed, dialing Mark’s number before you can think about what you’re doing.

“Jones, good to hear from you,” You can hear the familiar background noise of the office behind him, “How’re things over there?”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, “Fine, I guess, would be even better if you could get everyone off my ass looking for updates though.”

“I’m sorry Jones,” He sighs down the phone, “I really am trying, but I’m sure you can understand that everyone here is on edge right now.”

You sigh again, “I know, it’s not your fault, hopefully I’ll have something to update you with when I call you later on,” You shift on the bed and push yourself up, padding over to the window to draw the curtains, “How’s Geralt?”

“Geralt’s fine,” Mark chuckles, referring to your dog that he had agreed to look after whilst you’re away, “He’s got a taste for roast chicken now, Miranda cooked him one especially as a treat.”

“If you spoil him too much, you’re paying for the roast chicken I’m going to have to feed him when I come back, you understand.”

“Loud and clear Jones,” You can hear someone trying to talk to him on the other end of the phone, “Listen, I’ve got to bounce, but I’ll speak to you later, alright?”

“Alright, have a good day.”

“You too Jones,” He finishes, “Go get ‘em.”

You’re in and out of the shower in record time that morning, cleaning the rest of the jetlag from your skin, swiping on some mascara and painting on your foundation and concealer to cover the pretty large circles around your eyes from sleep deprivation. You’re shrugging on your blazer when there’s a knock at your door.

“Morning, boss,” It’s Lizzie, “Car should be downstairs in ten.”

“I’m ready,” You mumble, letting her hold the door open whilst you grab your laptop bag and your handbag, checking you’ve got everything before closing the door, “Sorry about last night, I slept for longer than I thought I would.”

“That’s alright,” She smiles, pressing the button for the elevator, “I managed to entertain myself.”

There’s a smirk on her face that has you smiling too, “What did you get up to?” You tease, nudging her with your elbow.

“I just went for dinner,” She unlocks her phone and opens up Tinder, “American men love British women,” She winks, “I met Tod, who took me to the fanciest steakhouse in D.C., paid for my dinner and then blocked me when I told him I wasn’t interested in sleeping with him,” She’s scrolling through her messages to make a point, most of them unread, “Who do you think I should go for tonight?” She’s stepping into the elevator, you’re close on her heels, “David looks nice,” She opens his profile and scrolls through his photos so you can see, before she’s going back to his message, “He seems to think I’ll like a seafood restaurant around the corner from here.”

You’re both laughing by the time the elevator reaches the lobby, Lizzie pressing send on a message to David, letting him know when and where to meet her, “What about you?” She asks, “Don’t tell me you managed to sleep all the way through to this morning?”

You shake your head as your heels clip through the lobby, “There’s a great diner just around the corner,” You shrug, “Marcus showed me.”

Lizzie looks up at you with telling eyes and a smirk on her lips, “Did he now?”

“Shut up,” You chide, “It was kind of weird to be honest, phones me to ask if he’d upset me and then takes me for pancakes at nine in the evening.”

“I can’t blame him,” Lizzie shrugs, “You did look like you were about to slap him yesterday.”

“That’s because he chooses to ask the old white man the questions automatically, instead of me.”

“Come on Jones,” She’s speaking as she rounds the car that was sent for you, slipping into the backseat next to you, “That’s because Pete works for the police, it’s his job to know the answer to those questions, you can’t blame the poor man for that.”

“Well, don’t go getting any ideas,” You warn her as the car starts slipping through the city, “It was a one-time thing, just so I had somewhere to go on my own.” You know it’s a lie. You can already taste the pasta and the wine he’d promised you this evening, but Lizzie didn’t need to know that.

“I knew you agreed with me,” She speaks after a few minutes of silence, just as the car is pulling in to drop you off, she senses your confusion, “When I said he was cute!”

You groan as you both reach for your things and start walking into the building, “I do not think he’s cute.”

“The blush on your face would suggest otherwise,” She teases, shoving her own bag into the airport style security scanner to be checked, “You never go for dinner for anyone, not even at home, you definitely think he’s cute.”

“We’re shelving this conversation right now.” You demand, following her actions of setting your things down and heading through the scanners.

Once the security detail is satisfied neither of you are terrorist’s about to blow the place to the ground, they let you through and its only moments until you’re back in the office from yesterday. There’s a similar buzz about the place, people tapping away on computers and walking around with files. You can already see Marcus and his partner sitting in the meeting room with Pete, talking and laughing with each other, which makes your blood boil. You hope they aren’t talking about the case.

You march over, Lizzie having to run to keep up with you, knocking twice on the glass before you enter. Their conversation goes silent, only adding to your suspicions that they were in fact discussing the case without you.

“Good morning,” Marcus stands to greet you, “Sleep okay?”

“I slept fine, thank you,” You reply is curt as you sit down, “I trust you’ve got an update for us?”

He’s still standing, and his partner is looking up at him with a jovial look that you’ve seen in men before, and it infuriates you even more. Steven is looking at Marcus as if to say, ‘who does this girl think she is?’, flouncing into our office and demanding answers from us. You couldn’t give a fuck, you think, looking back at him, I didn’t make my career worrying about what silly men like you think.

Marcus takes a deep breath and sits back down, opening up the folder on the table, “So, the good news is, Steven managed to track the gang from the airport,” He pushes some grainy CCTV stills across to you which you take, “We’ve tracked them from here to a warehouse on the edge of the city, but the issue is, in all of the footage, there’s no sign of them carrying anything, no bags, no boxes, nothing.”

You throw your head back and groan in frustration, “That would have been too easy, wouldn’t it?”

Pete chuckles to the side of you, you shoot him a glare. It wasn’t meant to be funny; you fume silently.

“Doesn’t mean your artefacts aren’t there,” Marcus reassures, “We see it often that they’ll ship these things separately so they can’t be caught with them, so we’re planning a raid on the warehouse to see if that is the case.”

“Today?” You ask, optimism in your voice.

“It’s a big operation, you’ll understand,” Steven speaks now, “It’ll take us some time to pull the right resources in so we’re aiming for tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you joking?” You scoff, “I’m sorry, but this is the biggest museum theft in history, of one of the most important British archaeological finds and you’re going to wait until tomorrow afternoon?” You turn to Pete now, hoping for some back up, “If this were the Met they’ve have raided it this morning, right Pete?”

He looks like a deer caught in headlights, his stutters a little, “Well, I mean, we’d need some time to put things together.” Traitor.

You take a deep breath in and push it out through your mouth to calm yourself, “Is there any way we can raid tomorrow morning?” You ask.

This time it’s Marcus who speaks, “We know how important this is, not just to you, but for us as well, so let me see if I can pull some strings and get things moving a little quicker.”

You nod in understanding, wondering whether he is in fact doing this for the greater good, or just to stay in your good books, “I appreciate that Marcus, thank you.”

He nods, “No problem, let me head out and make some calls,” He turns to Steven, “Can you get the briefing document ready, just in case we can get things moved around.”

Steven nods in understanding but you don’t miss the glare he shoots your way as he stands up to leave. What is his problem? Pete also stands to leave, mumbling something about updating headquarters back in London.

“Is it okay if I stay here to dial into my call with everyone back home?” You ask Marcus, who is shuffling papers back into his file.

“Sure thing,” He smiles, the warm smile you remember from last night, “Take your time,” He says, shutting the file and turning to Lizzie, “How about I show you where the coffee machine is, I’m sure you both need one.”

You’re waving her out of the room as your other hand is pulling your laptop out of its bag, she knows how you take your coffee, you just pray that the creamer they use here instead of milk doesn’t make you sick.

As soon as you dial into the call, you’re wishing you hadn’t. Wishing you could curl up into a ball and forgo all responsibilities. It’s times like this that you really missed fieldwork, sure digging up ancient skeletons could be emotionally taxing, but at least they never talked back to you or demanded why their stolen artefacts were still in fact stolen before they’d even greeted you a hello.

“Good morning to you too,” You smile sweetly into the camera as soon as Hartwig has demanded his update, “I’ve got some good news, the team here have managed to pick up the gang exiting a flight here in D.C. and then making their way to a warehouse on the other side of the city.”

“And is there any update on anything being found?”

“They’re pulling a team together as we speak with the hopes of raiding it in the morning.”

Hartwig looks bereft in his little square box on your screen, “Is there no way you can push for any earlier?”

“I already did, they were going to wait until tomorrow afternoon, but Agent Pike is putting in some calls as we speak to get things moving more quickly,” You look up from your screen and you can see the aforementioned Agent Pike stood with Lizzie, who has two mugs of coffee in her hand, they look deep in conversation, when his eyes flit to yours you immediately look back down at your screen, “I’ll be heading out with the team tomorrow, hopefully as early as possible so I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got any news.”

As soon as the pleasantries are over you slam the laptop shut and bury your face in your hands. God, you just wanted to be at home, on your sofa, with your dog and a cup of tea and all of this nonsense behind you. There’s a soft tap on the glass and you expect to see Lizzie, but it’s Marcus, two mugs of coffee in hand.

“Lizzie asked me to bring you this,” He sets the mug down next to you, “She had some calls to make so she’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready to head back.”

You smile up at him, gripping the mug. You don’t look before you take a drink and yep, the creamer is far too much that it has you pulling a face, but you take another big drink, hoping the caffeine makes today a bit more bearable, “I needed that, thank you.”

He’s perched himself on the table next to you, a safe distance away that it doesn’t seem inappropriate but close enough that if you wanted to, and you really did, you could put your hand on his thigh. Not this again, you chide your brain. It’s actually him that closes the gap though, reaching one of his hands to rest on yours which is on the table.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.” He says softly, clearly able to understand that this might just put you into an early grave with the stress you constantly feel through your body.

You unconsciously turn your palm up on the table before you know what you’re doing and suddenly, you’re actually holding his hand. He doesn’t seem to mind, just squeezes your hand with his before letting it go.

“Now, I know that a good bowl of pasta and a glass of wine will help,” He’s smiling, “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

You nod with a smile that matches his own, “See you at seven, Agent Pike.”

The rest of your day goes by in a blur. You spend most of it back at the hotel, replying to the myriad of emails you have to get through, all of which seem to be some kind of version of ‘I understand the magnitude of the situation, but myself and the team here in D.C. are doing our best.’. You take a nap in the early afternoon, supposing it’s one of the perks of everyone back home having logged off and gone home, and then soaked in a bubble bath, which did nothing to relieve the stress and tension from your shoulder blades.

It's not until six that you realise you have absolutely nothing to wear to dinner this evening. Your suitcase either consisted of the suits you wore during the day to give you the confidence to tell off jumped up FBI agents how to do their job, or the comfy clothes you’d favoured when working in the field. Nothing you pulled out screamed ‘dinner at a nice Italian restaurant with the handsome man who should really remain a professional colleague but that you definitely wouldn’t mind kissing.’

You shake your head again at the intrusive thought. When was your brain going to catch up with the fact that even if you did kiss him, you were only here for a few weeks at best. You had to remind yourself of the last time you went too quickly with someone. It never ended well.

Settling on your most casual pair of trousers and a knitted jumper, you sighed. This would have to do. You stuff the company card and your phone into your pocket and head down to the lobby. You’re thirty minutes early but there’s still an incessant vibrating coming from your pocket, indicating you’re still receiving a tirade of emails that will need to be dealt with. When you exit the elevator, you’re not expecting to find Marcus already sat waiting for you, typing on his phone in a way that makes you think he’s probably got the same amount of stress on his shoulders that you do.

“You’re early,” Your voice makes him jump and you stifle a giggle at the way his phone nearly slips from his hand, “Tell me you’ve not been here for too long?”

He looks at his watch, “Maybe a half hour?”

“You turned up an hour early for dinner?”

“You turned up half an hour early for dinner,” He counters, “I was just catching up with emails.”

You take your phone out of your back pocket and flash the screen at him, Outlook notifications stacking up by the minute, “Looks like we’re both in the same boat then.”

He moves closer to you, showing you his phone as he switches it off, “Go on, do the same.” He urges.

“Marcus, I can’t…” You trail off.

“Of course you can,” He shrugs, “Unless you were planning to ignore me for the entirety of dinner?”

He has a point, even you would never dream of spending your evening ignoring this man in favour of your emails. You curse the smile appearing on your face but follow his lead, showing him the screen as you turn your own phone off and put it back into your pocket.

“Good girl,” He praises, you think it must have been an unconscious choice of words because you’re both blushing as soon as it’s left his mouth, but you don’t complain, “Now come on,” He grabs hold of your hand and starts dragging you outside, “It’s time for the best tiramisu outside of Italy.”

Marcus manages to hail a cab outside with ease and only let’s go of your hand when he leaves your side to circle the car and take the other seat, but not before opening the door for you to climb in. He makes polite conversation with the driver as he zips through the streets to drop you off at the restaurant. You smile as you look out of the window, he’s ticking one of the green flags you’ve always looked for in men back home, being polite to anyone doing you a service. God, this was bad news.

The restaurant is a small, hole-in-the-wall, type establishment which has you excited. In your experience these were always some of the best places back home. Much like the waitress from the previous night, the waiter here greets Marcus with a firm handshake and a ‘welcome back’, you wonder if this man ever cooks his own food.

You’re sat at a table for two in the back corner, candlelight splaying across the table. There’s soft music playing in the background and starched napkins. Far too nice for a dinner with a colleague you think to yourself, but let it lie for now. He orders a bottle of white wine and when it arrives you must admit that this man knows his wine.

“Fuck, I needed this,” You whine, taking a second sip, much bigger than the first, “Thank you, by the way, for getting everything moved up for us.”

“It’s the least I can do,” He shrugs, something which you realise is one of his quirks that you enjoy, “I know how much stress you’re getting, so anything I can do to make things easier, I’ll do.”

The waiter comes back to take your order. Marcus insists on sharing bruschetta to start with, you opt for a carbonara because it’s the only tried and true way you know to test an Italian restaurant’s caliber, Marcus goes for a risotto which you’ve already decided you’ll be stealing a forkful of.

“So, considering this is two for two where the waiters have greeted you by name, do you know how to cook?” You tease over your glass of wine.

He chuckles, “I do, but when I’m on my own it makes more sense to come out to eat, or order in.”

“So, there’s no Mrs Marcus Pike then?” You watch closely as his face drops a little and you realise that you’ve probably fucked up, “I’m sorry, that was too personal, don’t feel like you have to answer that.”

He takes a sip of his own wine and leans back in his chair, his way of creating space between the two of you, “There was, once, but we were young and stupid so it didn’t work out,” He takes a deep inhale now, “And then a failed engagement, she was actually meant to move here with me but decided there was someone else who was better for her.”

You want to reach across the table and squeeze his hand, whilst his voice doesn’t give away his obvious disappointment in his failed relationships, his face certainly does. Gone is the usual smile, replaced with a frown and a furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry Marcus,” You lean yourself back on your own chair, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

He looks up at you and his features finally soften a little, “It’s fine, Jones,” He insists, “It’s part of who I am, the fact that I fall in love without really thinking about it, nothing to be ashamed of, just something to be careful of.”

“Who told you that was my nickname?” You ask, trying to steer the conversation away from the misery it was sitting in currently.

“Lizzie,” He takes a break to answer when the waiter puts down your appetizer, “That’s what she called you earlier when we were talking, you want me to call you something else, because I can if it makes you uncomfortable?”

You shake your head, “No, it’s fine,” You reassure, “Didn’t know if that was another of your federal agent things, knowing my deepest secrets.”

“If I knew that then I’d be able to answer why you’re here instead of out in the field,” He’s taking a bite of his food and then speaking before he’s finished, something that would normally drive you wild but is endearing here, “Makes sense though, Indiana Jones, world famous archaeologist.”

“He’s actually a terrible archaeologist,” You speak once you’ve taken a bite of your food, “World famous, yes, but I’ve never seen that man write an archaeological report.”

Marcus actually throws his head back in laughter, which has you giggling too, when had things ever been this effortless with anyone? You think back to all the forced first dates back in London, where one finance man after another had bored you to death. It had never felt like this.

“Point taken,” He says when he’s recovered, “So, what about you, no man missing you back in London?”

“There is only one man in my life right now and that’s Geralt.”

“I’m guessing Geralt isn’t your boyfriend?”

“No,” You laugh, popping the last bite of your bruschetta into your mouth, “He’s my dog, I’d show you a picture, but you made me turn my phone off.”

“Remind me to ask you tomorrow then,” He smiles over his glass of wine, “But no actual man, good to know.”

“I guess jetting all over the world to find pieces of history wasn’t really conducive to anything long term,” You mirror his own shrug from earlier, “And the men in London are just shocking, so I’ve found it easier to be on my own.”

“Never had the urge to settle down?” He asks as the waiter places your pasta in front of you.

“Of course, especially when all of my friends are doing the same,” You swirl the spaghetti around your fork, “You and I have the same issue of falling too easily, tends to scare a lot of people off right?”

You don’t miss how Marcus’ eyes are trained on you as you purse your lips perfectly in order to suck the end of the spaghetti through your lips, or how his eyes flit to your bottom lip when your tongue peeks out to lick the last of the sauce from it. There’s a sudden realization that you might actually have this man wrapped around your finger if you wanted it.

“Hello?” You move your head down into his line of sight, “Earth to Marcus.”

You watch as he does something like you do when you find your mind drifting, shaking his head and apologizing, “What did you say again?”

“I said, falling too quickly is something we have in common and that it tends to scare people off.”

“Right,” He scoops some of his food into his mouth finally, “That was my mistake last time, asking her to uproot her life to come and marry me after a few months.”

“Her loss,” is all you respond with, “Lucky me though, I get to sit and have dinner with you by candlelight.”

“Who say’s I wouldn’t have brought you here if I did have someone?”

“Because this is totally a date,” You smirk, he raises an eyebrow, “Candle on the table, folded napkins, talking about our failed love lives, you brought me here on a date Marcus Pike.”

“If the shoe fits,” He smiles, “You want this to be a date?”

“Undecided.” You tease as the waiter clears your plates; Marcus asks him to bring you a slice of tiramisu to share before he leaves.

There’s an air of tension as you sit and sip the last of your wine. The tone has definitely changed, and you don’t even really know why you’re doing it. You know nothing can really happen between the two of you. You know that in a few weeks you’re going to have to pack up your suitcase and go back to the mundane life of London. You know if you start something here, you’re probably going to fall in too deep and break your own heart, as well as his, when you leave. But when Marcus Pike is looking over the rim of his wine glass like he wants to devour you, you can’t really help yourself.

The tiramisu is placed in the middle of the table but there’s only one spoon. He picks the spoon up and drags it through the corner of the dessert before putting it to his mouth. You watch as he drags the spoon back through his lips, stopping to run his tongue over the bit of cream he missed the first time. Then, he’s dragging the spoon back through it and leaning over the table slightly to bring it to your lips.

You look at him through hooded lids, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out to catch the bottom of the spoon, before closing your lips around it as he pulls the spoon back out from your mouth. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat and this repeats until the whole dessert is finished.

There’s a sense of haste when he asks for the bill and you throw down your company card to pay, much like you’d done the night before. Even when Marcus is gripping onto your wrist and dragging you outside, you wonder if your minds are thinking the same thing. For you, all you can think about when you’re back in a cab and going back to the hotel is that you want to kiss that delightfully plump bottom lip of his and run your fingers through his hair.

He practically throws some dollar bills at the driver, mumbling to him to keep the change as he’s following you into the hotel, standing silently next to you whilst you press the button for the elevator. All you can think is that you wish he would make a move, touch you, whisper something in your ear, anything. When he steps inside the elevator with you, you’re finally thinking he might.

“You’re getting in the elevator with me?” You ask, eyebrow raised as he steps in behind you.

“Just making sure you get back safe.”

“Marcus, my room is a two second walk from the lift.”

“And I would be a terrible federal agent if I didn’t make sure you were safe for those two seconds.”

The doors close behind you and you let out a silent prayer that you’re the only two in there. You rest your back on the wall as Marcus steps a little closer, “I’ve gotta give it to you, agent, that was the best date I’ve been on in a while.”

He takes another step towards you, closing the gap so that his body is almost pressed to yours, “You just needed to fly across the pond to find the right man.”

You tilt your head to the side a little, pushing yourself off the wall to close the final inches of air between the two of you. You can feel his arm wrap around the small of your back to steady you. You’re tilting your head up to meet his. You can see his glazed eyes staring down at you before they flutter shut, much like your own do in the next second. You can feel his breath fanning across your cheeks, his hand at your back pressing more firmly, bringing you even closer into his warmth. You’re almost certain that there is the faintest touch of his bottom lip to yours, but then there’s a ding of the elevator bell and the doors are opening. You hear Marcus groan in frustration, the moment entirely lost as he pulls his face from yours.

“Guess I’ll have to wait to kiss you when you find my artefacts tomorrow,” You breathe, taking a step around him to exit the elevator, “Goodnight, Agent Pike.” You finish, just as the elevator doors start to close and he disappears.

If only you could have heard the sigh of his reply as he leant his head against the wall of the elevator, “Goodnight, Jones.”

Marcus Pike Taglist: @theviolethourdeux @yvonneeeee @dinsdjrn @morning-star-joy @cavillscurls @sinsofsummers @tightjeansjavi @cupofjoel @swiftispunk

#Pedro pascal #Marcus Pike #Marcus pike fic #Marcus pike fanfic #Marcus pike fanfiction #Marcus pike smut #Marcus pike fluff #marcus pike imagine #Marcus pike x you #Marcus pike x reader #Marcus pike x female reader #Marcus pike x f!reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fic #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal

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dancingwiththefae · 7 months

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at the end of all things

1.3k, Milva & Jaskier, reference to torture, flashbacks, hurt/comfort, potential (mild) book spoilers In a quiet moment in Brokilon, Milva and Jaskier come to understand each other AO3

“Rience is dead.”

The words came from the witcher's mouth with a wheeze. It wasn't a name she recognised, but then why would she. She waited for the bard's response. When none came, she risked a glance in at them. Jaskier sat with his back to her, leaning over Geralt. The witcher was still bed-bound. Sometimes she wondered how he was still breathing. For the first time since she met him, the bard was quiet. It was unnerving. When he eventually spoke, she had to strain her ears to hear.

“Are you sure?” There was a wobble to his voice. An uncertainty that she only ever heard from him in moments like this, when she really shouldn't be listening. But she couldn't help it. These people were strangers in her home. Her safe place. The witcher, she understood. Eithne vouched for him. They had a history, an understanding. The bard was a different story. Every inch the human. Swanning in here like he owned the place. His incessant chatter and naivety grated on her. He didn't belong here. He belonged in the comfort of cities. In moments like this she wasn't so sure. And that was what irritated her the most.

“Killed him myself,” the witcher replied. The tension eased from the bard's shoulders ever so slightly. He took a deep breath and dropped his head.

“Good,” he said at last, almost at a whisper, “that's- that's good.”

Jaskier turned away and Milva slipped away from the entrance.

“You should rest,” he mumbled, “I'll come back to check on you in a bit.”

The witcher hummed and Milva heard shuffling as Jaskier rose from the ground. He breezed straight past her as he left, either unaware or uncaring of her presence. Curiosity got the better of her and she followed close behind.

“Who's Rience?” she asked as she matched pace beside him. He didn't answer at first, heading away from the settlement. She followed in silence.

“He's a mage.” She almost jumped, she was starting to suspect he wouldn't answer at all. “With a penchant for fire.”

He stopped then and turned to face her. She studied him carefully. He refused to look her in the eye, he looked at almost anything but her. He worried at his fingers, a habit that she had noticed since he got here. He seemed to curl in on himself slightly. There was more to this than that.

“He hurt you?” she guessed.

Jaskier pursed his lips and looked down at his hands. And then he sighed and sat down on a log.

“He wanted information,” he began slowly, “information that I didn't have. But he wouldn't take no for an answer.”

Milva frowned, considering his words.

“He tortured you,” she said as she sat down opposite him. The bard gave a short nod towards the ground. They both descended into silence. She didn't know what to say to that. Something soft. Reassuring. Something like, 'it wasn't your fault' or 'it's going to be okay. They were not words that she could say because she knew that they were not true.

A small child with a bow in her hand who only ever wanted to please her father.

“Life's unfair like that,” she settled on instead, “the world is harsh.”

The bard chewed his lip, thinking over what she had said.

“You're right,” he replied softly, “but forgive me for wanting to believe otherwise.”

She hated him for that. She envied him. To still feel like there was good in this world, that things would work out for you in the end. She wanted to dismiss the thought outright. Call him foolish for entertaining the idea even after what he had been through. What his friend had been through. It was unfair. Unjust. Cruel. And that's the way it has always been. Will always be. The only thing to do was to harden yourself to it. If you saw it coming, it wouldn't hurt so much when it arrived. Yet he, who could worm his way even into Brokilon, who talks and sings incessantly, who has little regard for anyone but himself. He is allowed to think different. That, she decided, was what was truly unfair.

As they sat together, away from everyone else, she allowed herself a moment to feel the weight of it, just as he felt the weight of his own burdens. There was something different about him here. Like she was able to glimpse behind the mask, see the man that was underneath. If it was a facade he had, it was a solid one. But then, was she any different. He looked as though he had more to say, a crease forming on his brow, lips parted slightly.

“I thought-” Jaskier cut himself off and frowned. She waited silently for him to continue. “I thought it would be better when he was dead. I thought I would feel...happier. But I just feel the same.”

Her stepfather on the ground, spitting blood. The rage that had built up inside of her cooling in an instant. She gave him a few kicks and ran.

“If only it were that simple,” she uttered, almost under her breath, but the bard heard it anyway. The way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. It was like he could really see her. She had his full undivided attention, his sympathy, his understanding. She didn't like it. It was too personal. A part of her wished he would go back to being the idiot she had let into the forest so that she had an excuse to yell at him again. Eventually his eyes slipped away from her and she let out a breath. He seemed lost in thought. The air around them, though heavy, was peaceful and so she dared not disturb it by asking what was on his mind. It wouldn't have took much to guess anyway.

She followed his line of sight down to his hands, where he was rubbing his thumb across his fingers. Back and forth, back and forth. It was then that she finally noticed what he was doing. It was faint, but from this close, she could see the scarring. He worried at it rhythmically, soothingly. She couldn't help but lean forward to get a better look. Milva had been around long enough to recognise the tightness of the skin, the change in tone. They were burns. He pulled his hand back suddenly. She looked up to find him staring back at her. He looked as though he'd been caught, though she couldn't understand why. He opened and closed his mouth a few times and then stood abruptly.

“I should check on geralt.”

He made to leave. She reached her arm out to stop him.

“The waters,” she explained, nodding towards the scars, “they can heal you too.”

“Oh,” he smiled, the mask was firmly back in place, “don't waste it on an old fool like me.”

Milva wanted to argue, but something in his face told her not to. Instead she stepped aside to allow him past. He offered a small nod as he left, nothing more. She watched him as he walked towards where Geralt lay. The way he stood straighter as he left the safety of their hideaway. As he walked away, she was sure that what was shared between them would never be spoken about again. He was a fool. Fivolous and naïve of what lay ahead. But for a moment, she glimpsed something more, something deeper than that. And, she feared, he had seen the same in her. Well, if the idiot was going to walk straight into a war without thinking to protect himself, she was just going to have to do it for him. She went in search of her bow. It was time to go hunting.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher netflix #milva #maria barring #jaskier #faye writes #milva & jaskier

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sexualsam · 1 year

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What's Lost is Lost (Pt. 2)

Ok ok I’m back and with part two. I kind of let myself get carried away with this one and im sorry if it got away from me. This will most likely be the last part so let your imaginations run wild. I have been binging Black Clover so I kind of started this and then completely forgot about it. My requests are open loves!

Word Count: 1,413

Imagine: Imagine: Meeting Geralt for the first time in a tavern you work at. At least to you it’s the first time. (Semi angsty Geralt) CONTINUED

This was her fault, at least she knew that. At least she could admit that.

If stubborn had a picture next to it in the dictionary, her photo would be right next to it. Smiling like all hell, even if she knew that all hell was about to break loose.

There weren’t many things she was good at, but with the things she was, she wasn’t just good, she was amazing. Lying, manipulating, being cold and calculated. These were all things she went above and beyond in.

This was different, however. She was in a situation, a bad one. One that not only put herself in danger but also someone she cared for.

She stood there in the middle of a windowless room, with a knife pressed against her throat. She stared in front of her. There stood the most important person. Him.

He was the one person she truly cared about, loved, even. He could pull her out of her own head in an instant. But she would never admit it. She wanted to think she was heartless.

Deep down, she knew. This wasn’t a time to laugh, it was a time to be scared, to fear for her life; but she couldn’t help it.

How could he seriously believe she cared this much about her life. Her simply complicated, dark, twisted life. That was his mistake, his fault.

She couldn’t care less about what was going to happen to her. Whether she lived or died, it didn’t matter.

So, she laughed.

… you really think I give a fuck about what you do with me? She could feel his eyes staring at her even as she looked at the floor.

The one and only person she cared about. And the one she cared about the least.

… do it then.

She felt the blade press deeper into her skin as her captor’s grip got tighter.

He looked at her, eyes glossed. And for a brief moment, he could see a small flicker of guilt on her face.

He knew that he loved her, but he would never admit it. She was heartless. She didn’t care about anybody but herself, and he knew that.

Geralt thought back to the last time that he had seen you. You were nothing like the girl he had run into at the tavern almost a year ago. You, no, that girl was not you.

Ever since that night he had been searching for the answer. What happened? Where had you gone? Why?

He had asked these questions to himself repeatedly. Simply put, there was no answer. He had scoured villages, kingdoms, forests and realms. No one had anything that had any answers.

He instead turned his attention towards a more direct approach. Locating the woman he had seen at the tavern. The shell of your formal self that he had run into on that fateful night.

He had circled back to look for you. No one seemed to remember the bar wench or anything special about her, except for her low-cut dresses. Geralt had to restrain himself while listening to his witnesses speak. The way they spoke about your body sent him into a rage. They spoke like animals and as if you were a piece of meat waiting to be devoured. He knew you; he knew every part of you. He had explored every single inch of your body. But the way the villagers thought of you. The way they vividly described the small part of you they were able to see in the dim tavern light made him want to start a massacre. No one was able to royally piss him off as much as they did. No one except for you.

Your constant taunting about how there was never a lesser evil. How he didn’t need to treat you like you needed protecting. How he was breathing or walking. There was always something to bicker about.

Geralt mounted Roach once more. He was on his way out of Kaer Morhen. He had gotten all the rest and vials he needed to last him the year. He planned to continue his search for you for as long as he had to. Until you were in his arms once more, starting petty arguments and laughing both with and at him.

The cold air nipped at his face; he hadn’t stayed the whole season at Kaer Morhen. Only long enough to stock up on what was needed to succeed in his mission. One without coin as his prize for winning.

As dusk started drawing closer, he had decided to set up camp for himself. Something small and sufficient for one night. Geralt typically gravitated towards a river or stream, as to have water for himself and his horse. However, there was a spot that was barren. No water or actively flowing source of hydration. Instead, it was where he and you had snuck out to, dozens of times. When Lambert or anyone else at Kaer Morhen had gotten on your nerves, he could usually find you here.

It was a small escape for you, and for Geralt it was a treasure trove of memories from the past.

During spring, it was littered with tulips and weeds. The tall trees surrounded it, creating a clearing and a perfect sky for you guys to gaze upon as you lay. He could almost feel the warmth of your skin as he reminisced. The memory seemed too real. Sprawled out in the clearing, nothing but nature under you. You nested into Geralt’s arms, looking up at the blue sky. His hands rested atop your abdomen as you plucked the grass mindlessly from the earth. His scent was so calming to you. Of course, you teased and taunted him, but he knew it was all good fun.

At first, he didn’t find it so amusing. He thought you were stubborn and narcissistic. But just as soon as he realized why you acted the way you did, he was already enthralled by you.

He found himself concerned with your safety and your recklessness. He wanted to fight to protect you even in the smallest of altercations. Geralt was well aware of your abilities and what you were capable of, but he didn’t care, he had a need to make sure you were safe.

You were indeed stubborn. Protection wasn’t something you felt you needed. You could feel yourself becoming more and more captivated by him and his ways, but you didn’t like being vulnerable. Everytime you felt that emotions were starting to peek through, you put up walls. The only time he had ever truly seen you at peace was in this clearing.

Geralt could feel a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He longed to be with you once more. He was the only person that truly knew you and likewise. He had let parts of himself that no one had ever seen be free around you.

As he approached the clearing the memories grew fonder and stronger, as did the faint glow to a dancing light.

Somone has tainted this land.

He dismounted Roach and was sure to be quiet. He stopped far enough back that he was still masked by the darkness.

“Stay here.” He quietly muttered; the steed slightly nodded as if understanding what he had just said.

The Witcher drew closer, taking small and quiet steps, careful not to draw any attention towards his direction. He knew it was not a monster or beast, simply a human looking for a camp. But not here, not in is sacred place.

The warmth of the fire slowly started to crawl to his skin. It was a change from the frigid temperature that surrounded him. A sheet of ice shattered beneath his foot, and he held his breath.

Damnit it.

A cloaked figure looked in his direction, though he was sure they couldn’t see him he shrunk back into the shadow of the tree.

He waited, waited for a proper amount of time, till he was sure the person had assumed it was an animal or their imagination. He conditioned his stealth like walk over to the clearing.

He could see now that the figure had moved. They were standing up, staring directly at him. With the distance he had covered, the flames of the fire surely illuminated his features as so with the cloaked figure.

He choked on his breath.

“Geralt?” . . .

#geralt of rivia #Geralt #the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x y/n #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x you #gerald x y/n #supernatural #the witcher smut

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 11 months

Text

Part 24 - Sy

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 23 -- Part 25

Pairing: Sy x trans!ofc (Alicia)

Summary: The guys throw a New Years Eve party at 179th Crescent Street...

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, oral (m and f receiving), anal fingering (m receiving), an interesting case (if I do say so myself) of phone-moaning (look it up if you have to). Brief mention of transphobic parents and mention of (child) abuse.

ETA: PLEASE, if I missed any tags/warnings, let me know. (Always let me know, but let me know for this one in particular. It's way more likely I accidentally missed something that can be triggering for someone here.)

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: I'm on the verge of having a panic attack over posting this. Not because I think it's bad - I personally love this chapter - but because Sy is such a crowd favorite and I'm a little nervous about how this will be received. Also: Liz is the first trans character I've written at this point. So much research went into this, which is part of why I struggled with writing this so much. We're still horny on main, though, as always.

It's obviously a first for Sy, too, and he says some stupid shit - he also really likes this girl, which doesn't help with foot-in-mouth-disease, obviously. Bear with him, please.

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @summersong69 @peaches1958 @fvckinghenrycavill @keanureevesisbae @livisss @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos

Charles punched a guy. We’d all love to get through a night out - or in, apparently - without something like that happening, but it doesn’t seem to be in the cards for us. That said, I think he was right to do it, and if I’d been within arms reach of the guy, he’d have had me to deal with, too. Harassing Dani was wrong, but to do it right in front of our eyes… That’s just plain stupid. When everyone’s back to their business, I turn back to Alicia and watch her as she takes a sip of her beer.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I say. I huff quietly when I hear myself speak. Little too much emphasis on that ‘g’ at the end. I’m hiding my accent. I like this girl.

I first noticed it when I talked to Mike after the chaotic house meeting from a few days ago. I say ‘chaotic’, but it wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for us. It’s not our fault! Who puts eight guys our age in a house and calls it a day? Anyway, he told me one of Dani’s roommates wanted to find out if Dani had been lying about my… Let’s go with ‘skills’. Apparently, the review was pretty good. Now, I’ve seen Sloane. She’s on the hockey team, and I normally wouldn’t dream of passing up an opportunity like that, but I just… Couldn’t care less, to be honest. And then Liz texted me and Mike caught me grinning at my phone like an idiot. Which he pointed out while also grinning like an idiot. And now here we are.

“Say that again,” she teases. Fuck, I’m busted. How about I don’t answer her, and just shake my head instead? Will that work? “I like the way you talk, Sy.”

There’s a hint of a drawl to her voice. It’s definitely subtle, but it’s there. At first I wonder if she’s messing with me, but when she asks where I’m from, I have my answer. She’s not mocking me, she’s from Georgia. Which my stepfather would say is even worse, but I stopped listening to him right around the time I turned six. The longer we talk, the clearer her accent becomes. Makes me wonder when she lost it. And why. Takes me a while longer than I care to admit to ask her that…

“My aunt from New York took me in when I was twelve,” she answers. “Parents kicked me out for… You know… What about you? What made you move away?” It doesn’t bother me that she doesn’t finish her sentence, because I have a perfectly good idea of what she would have said if she had. I feel like everybody would have known. When Mikey found out Liz and I were texting, he asked me if I knew. I told him I did. Then he asked me if I cared, and I told him I didn’t. I meant what I said.

“The short version is that I tried to hit ma’s scumbag boyfriend back, hit ma instead. Can’t come home unless I apologize to him. Which I ain’t gonna do.”

“Ouch, you win. More beer?” She’s on her way to the kitchen before I can even answer.

Now that I’ve got nothing else to do, I look around the room. Charles has disappeared - probably with Sloane - and Leon is still chatting up Ariel, Dani’s other roommate. They seem to know each other, which means she might be the same Ariel he always competes with to be first in his class. Marshall is up to something that involves Vivienne Chase. I know the type. We all do. I know Marshall has referred to her as a ‘puck bunny’ before. He seemed pretty annoyed by her at the time. Guess that’s over now. I don’t know what’s been bugging him, but it can’t be good. I reckon there’s an eighty percent chance that this ain’t the way to solve it, either, but it’s none of my business, and I’m gonna treat it that way.

Alicia and I play a few more rounds of horrible childhood bingo, until people around us start counting down. It’s a countdown to a first kiss I’m shockingly nervous about. Luckily, she’s braver than I am, putting her bottle down while reaching for mine. Then, when that’s put to the side as well, pulling me closer to her by hooking her fingers into the pockets of my jeans. I expected to not have to lower my head: she’s nearly six feet tall. What I didn’t expect was that I’d be looking up slightly. She’s wearing heels, too, fucking hell. It takes everything I’ve got to keep with a certain level of decency. Yes, practically everyone in this room is doing the same thing I am, but that don’t mean… Alright, she doesn't seem to care about propriety half as much as I do.

“I’ve got a perfectly nice room upstairs, with a lot less prying eyes.” Why am I not surprised she’s coming with me?

Goddamn, this girl can kiss. I’m already dizzy, and something just tells me I ain’t seen nothing yet. The way she’s clawing at my back makes me think she likes it rough. I don’t mind it one bit: I ain’t exactly built to be gentle. She moans loudly when I pin her against the door. Her dress was already creeping up her thighs when I walked her upstairs, but is now only inches away from exposing that gorgeous ass completely - I didn’t let her go first on the stairs for no goddamn reason, and now that we’re in private, whatever fabric stands between me and that ass is frustrating me to no end.

“Hm, eager,” she chuckles as my hands push her dress up further. I groan as she makes a point of grinding her hips against mine.

“Well, you’re a hot piece of ass, so…” She laughs when I pull her away from the door, towards my bed.

That dress comes off easily, but not before she pulls my shirt over my head. That look in her eyes as they glide over my chest, the way she takes her bottom lip in between her teeth… This chick is driving me fucking nuts. I enjoy the way she looks at me for a while too long, apparently, because she reaches behind her back to undo her bra and tosses it aside. Now it’s my turn to stare and her turn to revel in the attention. ‘Great tits.’ That’s it. That’s the only thought I have. Anything else, my brain just refuses to process - like the ringing of her phone, which I hear faintly in the background somewhere. The only reason I know I’m not making it up, is because I watch her pull it out of the purse she dropped next to my bed, and hang up on whoever is on the other end. Other than that faint notion, that rack is really my whole world right now. Fucking magnetic. I mean it. It’s as if gravity in this room has somehow shifted, and everything is now pulled towards her chest. Alright, maybe not everything, but God knows I am, for sure.

The few quick kisses on her neck are out of a kind of twisted courtesy - pure pretense, to separate myself from a fucking caveman by a hair or two. As much as I hate to admit it, all I really want right now is to get more closely acquainted with these boobs. They’re far from the biggest I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t say they’re the nicest, either - although they’re definitely up there. But, damn, I’d be lying if I said there had ever been a pair I’d been more curious about. I have a strong feeling she won’t appreciate it if I say something about that, but unfortunately there just ain’t enough blood going to my brain right now for me to think straight…

“Can’t believe these are fake.” Once I realize what I’ve said, I look up at her like a deer in headlights.

“No worries, you’re good,” Alicia laughs when she sees my face. “I mean… They are fake.”

“How ‘bout I just try ‘n’ keep quiet from now on?” It’s gonna be tough, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if I accidentally say something really stupid and ruin this.

“Oh no. They say you’ve got a dirty mouth. I wanna hear it.” That’s all good ‘n' well, but I’m gonna keep my mouth otherwise occupied for the time being. I sincerely hope she won’t mind.

My nerves about saying something stupid end up on the back burner when her phone rings again. I fucking hope it's a protective friend or something.

"Jesus, who keeps callin' ya?" This is the third time in ten minutes. I gave it a pass the first two, but now… Why doesn’t she turn the damn thing off?

"My ex," she groans. Not what a man wants to hear, honestly. The phone stops buzzing for a minute, and then it picks up right where it left off with call number four. The good news is that she seems as annoyed as I am. The bad news is that continuous phone calls from the ex of the girl you're trying to nail are a really effective boner killer. Liz sighs and hangs up again, while I give up on trying to ignore this issue.

"Bad breakup?" I ask lightly, barely taking my lips off her skin. I'm fixing to get as much quality time with these tits as I possibly can, ex be damned.

"The worst," she groans. "She cheated." There's two words in that sentence, and I have no clue which one confuses me more.

"Cheated? On you? Now that's just stupid." She laughs in reply - a sound that turns into a moan when I bite down on her nipple.

I’m a little disappointed when one of her hands reaches for my chin and pulls me back up. I was having a great time! Must’ve looked sad, too, because she laughs and looks at me with feigned pity in her eyes before kissing me. I wonder if that’s the only great way she has to cheer me up… My hands continue their exploration. It’s almost impossible to move on from her boobs, but I eventually make it further down, and my hand finds its way between her legs. Hm.

"Sy," Liz has clearly picked up on my… surprise? Is that the right word? It's a good thing there’s a hint of a chuckle to her voice, because I'm just confused at this point.

"Yeah?"

"This vagina was brought to you by the wonders of modern medicine. Doesn't get as wet as you’re probably used to." That actually explains a lot - and nowhere near enough. It sounds like lube would fix most of that problem, and I have some, so we’re good there. Thing is: it tastes horrible. Luckily, Liz manages to solve my dilemma before my indecisiveness really gets to me.

“I’ve heard too many good things about that allegedly incredible head game of yours,” she says coyly. I chuckle as a grin spreads on my face. Knowing her expectations are high should probably make me more nervous than I already am, but it doesn’t. I know what the girls I’ve been with say about me, and I take pride in that particular skill. Does that make me a cocky jerk sometimes? Absolutely. They don’t seem to care when they’re screaming my name, so why should I?

I kiss my way down Alicia’s body. Slowly. I may be impatient but I enjoy teasing ‘em a little too much to skip that part… She clearly disagrees, trying everything in her power to push me down faster. It’s cute, and it makes me laugh.

“Ain’t gonna work, sugar,” I say in between kisses pressed to her stomach. “The more you try, the longer I’m gonna drag this out. Be good for me, okay?” She agrees - reluctantly - meaning I can continue my journey south.

Not being able to use my hands is going to be a challenge. One I’ll gladly accept, that’s for sure, but a challenge nonetheless. It takes me a minute to find something she likes. Thank God she’s not shy! Actually, she’s pretty loud, which is fantastic. I love a woman who just offers up the intel on what she likes unprompted. Makes me look like I know what I’m doing, because… well… I’ll know what I’m doing. She’s all moans and whimpers and ‘right there’-s and breaths hitching as my fingertips dig into her hips. Her hand is on the back of my head, pulling me closer to her… I can’t wipe this smug grin off my face - she’s gonna cum in no time.

Fuck! That goddamn phone again! I stop what I’m doing, raise myself up on my elbows and look at Liz.

“Pick up the phone,” I growl. I’m done with this bullshit.

“What?” Liz asks me, slightly dazed. I understand her confusion, but I’m seriously over this.

“Pick up the goddamn phone,” I repeat. My grin widens as I watch Alicia accept the call and put the phone to her ear.

“Kelly. Hi," she says. She’s clearly not happy to even speak to her. Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna try my best to make this the best phone call they ever had. I can’t help but chuckle as my mouth finds its way back to where it was a minute ago, and goes right back to doing exactly what it was doing before we were so rudely interrupted. When I look up, Alicia stares back at me, eyes wide with shock, begging me… to keep going.

“Eh, no. I - ah - I’m not home.” She’s trying hard to keep her voice steady, I’m trying hard to break her. Neither of us have it easy right now. And ultimately we’re both still playing for the same side.

“Why do you even give a - fuck!” Honestly? Nice timing. Kelly’s voice - which I can barely make out from where I am - starts to sound more agitated. Apparently, the answer to that question is a long one, because Kelly keeps talking for a while. That gives me just the right amount of time to really drive Liz nuts.

“It’s literally - hng - none of your business - hmm - what I’m doing,” Liz suddenly snaps. “Or who I’m doing.” I almost choke on my own spit when she adds that last bit.

“Because we broke up, remember? Jesus.” There’s no way she can last long now.

“Kelly, seriously, stop bothering m-oh my god, Sy!” It’s a good thing she can’t see my face, because I’m grinning like crazy.

“That was fun,” I tease when I lie down next to her again. “Turn that thing off.”

“I doubt she’ll be calling back,” Alicia says, but she turns her phone off anyway before turning to me. “You really are as good as they say.”

It’s a reputation I never asked for, but I can’t say I mind having it. And I certainly don’t mind honing my craft, so to speak. Besides… most girls are willing to trade good head for good head - in my personal experience, at least. I can't complain about that.

Her fingers leave goosebumps on my skin wherever they move - and they move absolutely everywhere but the place I actually want them in, while she kisses me fiercely. It’s far too easy to lose myself in her touch, especially when she finally does go where I need her most.

I’m prepared for the soft gasp I hear when she wraps her fingers around my cock - anything else there is to notice gets lost in the sensation of her lips all over my chest and abs as she makes her way down. Her tongue feels amazing as she slowly swirls it around the tip of my cock before taking me all the way down with no issues.

I'm staring. I know I am, and I don't give a damn. It's been a while since I've been this impressed with a girl's skills. Fuck me, she's good. Her eyes are on me the whole time she's down there, slobbering all over my dick - pardon my French - and I'm in absolute heaven. Until…

"Whoa!" Those fingers are headed directly where no man - or woman, for that matter - has gone before. Not on me, at least.

"What's the problem, Sy?"

I curse softly under my breath and pray Geralt isn't listening in. "I'd say somethin' along the lines of me not bein' used to a girl tryin'a stick a finger up my ass," I mumble. Judging from the grin on her face, she heard perfectly. She slowly climbs up until she's lying next to me again.

"I strongly recommend that you give it a try," she says in a sultry tone, with eyes that put 98 percent of pornstars to shame.

"Normally I'd ask ya why I should trust a girl on this," I sigh, "but I reckon you would know…"

"First-hand experience," she replies. I don't know what it is, but something about this is intriguing.

"Is it good?" I ask carefully. I'm not saying I will… just that… I might.

"Like you wouldn't believe," she purrs in my ear. That's it, I'm blaming her. It's her. She is impossible to resist.

"Alright, I'll bite," I say, and I can't believe my own ears. "I'll try it." She's made me fucking curious. Dammit. Oh well. If I don't like it, I don't ever gotta do it again, right?

"Told ya," she grins. I'm still dizzy. That was hands down the best fucking orgasm of my entire life. Fucking hell. And there she is: smug smirk firm on her face, and soft lips torturing my earlobe.

"Gimme a break, sugar," I moan softly as I gently pull her head away from my face by her hair. She seems to like that.

"That good, huh?" Yeah, yeah, missy, you're awfully proud of yourself. Well… she's not wrong. It really was that good.

"Yeah," I sigh. "But why not go for the… more traditional…" What I want to know is why she didn't…

"You want to know why I didn't let you stick me." That would be one way of putting it, yes.

She takes a deep breath and looks at me.

“Cards on the table, Sy: There’s no way you’re gonna fit,” she says. Are my eyes deceiving me or does she look embarrassed by that?

“Alright, that explains that,” I say, pulling her into a hug.

“You’re not disappointed?” she asks, her voice as full of disbelief as the expression on her face. I shrug. Of course not! Why would I be?

“Nah.” It’s the truth, however hard that may be for her to believe. It’s not even the first time this has happened. You never know what the reaction is going to be when girls first find out what you’re blessed with. At this point, I’ve seen everything from nerves to sheer terror to excitement - sometimes on the same face, within the same minute. This ain’t nothing new to me. But it bothers her. And it bothers me that it bothers her.

“Hey,” I say as I put a finger under her chin and make her look at me, “I’m okay with it if we don’t have sex.” That’s not what I should have said, but I hope she doesn’t jump on it…

“We are having sex,” she says, one eyebrow raised. Fuck.

“Yeah… I know that. Sherlock pointed that out a few days ago, I’m just… I’m still… adjusting my vocabulary.” The grin on her face spreads slowly while I scramble for words, and I glare at her.

“I’m sorry, Sy, I shouldn’t be teasing you like this,” she laughs.

“No,” I reply, “you shouldn’t. You’ll have to make it up to me.”

“Well, there’s always anal,” she says. There’s no way she doesn’t actually hear the record-scratch in my brain. That whole thing came out a little too point-blank for her to be joking. I think. At the same time, I’m not even sure she said what I think she said. I have to have made that up, right? There’s no way…

“What?” I blurt out. And lo and behold: She repeats herself. There it is again. ‘There’s always anal.’ She really said that. Alright.

“Hold on… Your pussy can’t handle me, but your ass can?” I don’t mean to sound as surprised - or crude - as I do, but I can’t help it. This is very… counterintuitive to me. To say the least.

“The downside of designer pussy is that it doesn’t really… stretch easily,” she says softly. I can’t stop myself from letting out a chuckle when she says ‘designer pussy’ - two words I’d probably never expected to hear that close to one another.

“Hey, I’m not opposed to the idea,” I say. It would be another first for me. Definitely something I wouldn’t mind crossing off the list. But not tonight. Not after that blowjob - that's what we're gonna call it for now, I'm still getting comfortable with that other thing that happened. Not after that orgasm. Not after all those beers. She seems to understand perfectly.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asks. I look at her, completely confused.

"Literally not even one bit, darlin'. You're stayin' right here."

#179cs #179 crescent street #henry cavill characters #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #syverson #captain syverson #syverson x ofc #syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfiction #syverson smut #syverson x trans!ofc

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limerental · 6 months

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ficletvember 2023 - day 12

reynard/geralt, some background implied meve/reynard

Frustrated by the freshly-knighted Geralt's insubordination, Reynard challenges the witcher to a duel that ends much more pleasantly than expected.

content warning for an explicit handjob

Reynard didn't care at all for their latest recruits.

The biggest layabout was the poet, who had claimed exemption from military service by some obscure byline of Rivian law and regularly proceeded to imbibe as much wine and ale as possible.

Instinct said that the soldier and the barber-surgeon were unsavoury characters despite their apparent usefulness in the ranks and in the infirmary. Both frequently shirked their duties to visit their ailing cohort.

Reynard could not fault the girl for her troubles, though he was certain she could have been better served sent off to the nearest village healer rather than being carted about in wagons during the long march each day.

The worst of all was the witcher.

Reynard had protested the bestowment of knighthood on some vagabond wanderer at length at the nightly briefing afterward until his Queen had been forced to raise her voice to admonish him, red blots of fresh blood appearing on the cloth she pressed to her wounded mouth. The queasy shame of that sight had only fueled Reynard's dislike.

What sort of character was this Sir Geralt of Rivia, who could earn Meve's respect so readily, who had awed every soldier on the bridge with his speed and prowess? What had possessed Meve to offer him a knighthood?

Sir Eyck was the only one among them who had agreed heartily with his poor assessment, claiming to any that would listen that all witchers to be despicable mutants befouling the very ground upon which they walked.

That seemed a trifle too far for Reynard. He had never had any trouble with the witchers he had been acquainted with. No more than any other tradesmen.

Though Sir Geralt's appearance was slightly ghoulish, he behaved the same as any other new recruit fresh from the fields or the smith or the mill. Which was to say he lacked discipline, was unfamiliar with military protocol, and often acted like he'd rather be elsewhere. He was arrogant and sulky and prone to bitter snark, and on top of that, he had poor posture and refused to dress as befitted a knight, wearing no armour but a tatty leather jacket and unwilling to remove his headband and tie back his hair in a regulation style.

No matter that he had unmatched skill with a blade and with his body. That he moved soundless and quick and sure. That he could prove to be immeasurably useful in the war.

Reynard's list of complaints only grew. Meve's favour had clearly been displaced.

Discovering Sir Geralt locked in a card game with several rowdy dwarves while meant to be on night watch was the last straw.

“Sir Geralt,” Reynard called as he approached. “My instructions were clear, were they not? Stand watch at the north gate until you’re relieved. Did you find those orders too difficult? Think yourself too good for them?”

“General Odo,” the witcher acknowledged, though infuriatingly, he did not look up from his hand of cards. The dwarves had forgotten the game to titter amongst themselves, clearly hoping for the spectacle of a skirmish. “I promise you, it's not difficult at all for me to follow those orders. I would know the second anything out there tried to approach. You're better off with me on watch, even playing cards or blind-drunk, than any ordinary soldier in this army.”

“You arrogant fuckin’--”

Reynard's hand leapt to his sword. His temper flared hot. Heightened witcher senses be damned, he couldn't have a high-ranking soldier appearing to slack on duty and then mouth off to his superior.

“Think this through, General,” said the witcher, strange eyes dropping to Reynard's sword hand. He set down his cards very slowly.

“Draw your sword,” Reynard demanded.

“Too dark for a proper duel,” Geralt said, which he would have relented to, allowing the issue to lie until morning, had that statement not been followed up with, “and I'd have the clear advantage. Barely a contest.”

Reynard's sword hissed from its sheath.

The dwarves let out a chorus of excited jeers and slapped Geralt on the shoulders. Reynard had long given up on admonishing their lot for improper decorum, but he glared sternly at them anyhow. The witcher did not rise, watching him with an inscrutable expression.

“Stand up,” he ordered. Geralt stood slowly, and Reynard squared his stiff shoulders in defiance of the witcher's relaxed slouch.

“Might be best to do this without an audience,” said the witcher to loud complaints from the dwarves. Fortunately, they hastened off without much fuss

Which left Reynard to realize how eerily alone they were.

It was well past midnight. Reynard had been driven by his usual sleeplessness to patrol the limits of camp. Sparse torchlight glowed at intervals along the palisade perimeter, but otherwise, the darkness of the wilderness loomed and the huddled tents lay as quiet as an army camp ever did.

There was not a soul in sight to bear witness to Reynard's challenge. A sworn knight would be duty-bound to answer his call to a duel, but Geralt shied from that duty as easily as he did the rest and would not draw his sword.

“If you're that insistent on a fight,” said the witcher, voice infuriatingly casual, “let's settle for hand to hand. No sense dulling our blades.”

Had Reynard been in full armour, he would have refused the foolish request, but the late hour found him stripped down to his gambeson and largely unencumbered. With a gruff nod, he set aside his sword and undid the clasp of his cape, anticipating its long trail hindering him in close combat with an opponent so swift and unpredictable.

“To first pin,” he announced with all the formal sternness he could muster, as if this were an officiated tournament duel and not a midnight scrap.

Reynard knew at once as they circled one another on the packed earth beyond the perimeter fence that he had erred in challenging such a man.

The witcher's eyes glinted with an animal shine as he circled, and each movement was fluid and precise. He resembled, in every sense, a predator waiting to strike.

A shiver went down Reynard's spine.

As expected, the fight was over almost as soon as it had begun. He had some inkling that for the sake of his pride Geralt allowed a single punch of his to land, and then, the witcher pivoted his hips, easily shifting his weight, and drove Reynard back with a series of swift blows that found him thoroughly pinned against the log palisade.

Up close, the witcher's eyes were no less animal, slitted pupils narrowing as he loomed into Reynard's space, the taut muscle of his pinning arms as unyielding as iron. He smelled of leather and the earthy must of the stables, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool night.

Reynard's heartbeat thundered with lingering adrenaline, and Geralt tipped his head as though to listen, taking a slow, deep breath.

The slit pupils dilated.

With a startling, cocky boldness that, if he were armed, would have seen an ordinary man's hand severed from its wrist, Geralt dropped a hand to palm between Reynard's legs.

He had not recognized his own arousal until the deternined press of the touch brought it to dizzying awareness. His back arched against the rough wood, mouth falling open with the intensity of the feeling.

The involuntary groan as the palm shifted to encompass him more firmly inspired Geralt to shush him, one hand curving around the back of Reynard's skull and the other making quick work of his laces

“This too improper for you, General Odo?” The cheeky fucking bastard asked in a rumble of sound as his clever fingers encircled his erection and stroked, thumb teasing with expert pressure at the slit of his cockhead.

The witcher had far more talents than simple swordplay. Perhaps that was why his fellows showed him such unerring devotion.

Perhaps Meve had wanted– Had already–

“Get on with it,” Reynard grunted, wavering voice lending far less authority than usual to the demand.

“That an order?”

Reynard had little chance to respond to the insolent remark, the focused touches that resumed in earnest forcing him to clench his jaw tight to quiet his resulting groans.

It had been a very long time.

Not one for brothels or casual tumbles, he had been celibate for years now. For nearly two decades.

He had not even thought to seek such a distraction, ever having stuck too close to Meve's side– but no, he refused to besmirch his queen's virtue by even thinking her name in the midst of such a crass act.

Geralt's thumb stroked along the nape of his neck, strange gaze bright with intensity as they locked eyes, and for a moment, Reynard was certain he was about to be kissed.

Instead the witcher's mouth dropped to his throat, breathing deep as though scenting him, and Reynard was struck by the thought of how easily the sharp of those strange canines could tear his throat wide open.

He could not bring himself to regret his foolish challenge. Not as the witcher's hand sped its pace and his mouth sucked a bruise below his collar.

It was over near as quickly as their brawl had been.

Had he been a younger man, the sight of the witcher tasting the spend that coated his long fingers, expression smug, could have inspired a second round.

As it was, Geralt nodded to him and slunk back to his post, leaning with crossed arms against the palisade. Reynard could feel his eyes on him as he retrieved his discarded cape and sword and strode quickly away into the camp.

Even when Gascon wolf-whistled over the sight of the mark in the command tent the next morning, Reynard could feel little regret. Especially when Meve's eyes could not seem to stop lingering on the dark smear of the bruise.

The regret came several days later when news came of the desertion of the strange company.

It was some vindication that he had been right about the witcher's true nature, having begun to hope that he was wrong.

And having hoped of another chance encounter, unlikely to forget anytime soon the alluring weight of the witchers gaze nor the sure touch of his hands.

#my fic #ficletvember #i just think general odo and geralt had some tension in their single scene in the books you know #anyway how many thronebreaker ficlets is that now lmao #reynard odo x geralt

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fandom-junk-drawer · 2 years

Text

The Witcher Headcanon - Trouble Bonus Scene - Part 3

@hollowxo @kierancaz

Yennefer sat looking at Jaskier, who was sitting in front of her on the carpet, playing with the spoon Geralt had bought him. She was studying the curse on him to see if she could get a better idea of what it was. It didn't seem like most curses she'd come across. This one seemed almost benign. It wasn't hurting him in any way, so technically was it even a curse? What was it's purpose? How the f**k was she supposed to break it?

Yennefer was pulled from her study when Jaskier started whining. The toddler looked over at Geralt and whined again, and Geralt was surprised when the boy deliberatly touched his fingers twice to his little mouth. He blinked, not sure if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Jaskier did it again and Geralt made an almost excited sounding 'Hmm'

"What?" Yennefer asked, curious. The gesture looked familiar...

Jaskier fussed and babbled, repeating the gesture again.

"He's signing." Geralt replied, "It's not perfect, because he doesn't have the fine motor control or coordination, but he just signed 'food'. He's hungry."

Yennefer wondered if Jaskier was mentally still an adult, just trapped the body of a 13 month old baby. It was a mildly disturbing thought, now that it was in her head. There were so many ways that unbidden thought made her uncomfortable. Especially knowing what he was like as an adult. She eyed him suspiciously.

She touched his mind, and found nothing but normal baby mentality. That was a relief...

"How does he even know how to do that?" she inquired as Geralt picked up Jaskier and started walking to the kitchen.

"He said his Grandmother taught him Handspeak. Maybe she started teaching him as an infant. It would explain how he's so proficient at it. He probably learned to sign before he could speak."

Yennefer put crumbled up bread in a bowl and poured a little milk in to make it soggy, and put it down in front of Jaskier. "There you are, sweetling!" She said, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. The toddler picked up little handfuls of the mush and noisily stuffed it into his mouth.

"How about you use that little spoon to eat with, Jaskier?" Geralt suggested as Yennefer tucked a rag under Jaskier's chin to keep the mess off his shirt.

Jaskier blew raspberries and banged the spoon on the table with abandon. By the time he was done eating, most of what was in the bowl was now on the table, on Jaskier, and on Geralt. And he needed his diaper changed.

Yennefer handed Jaskier to Lambert and charged him and Eskel with changing him. They were still on Yennefer's Sh*t List for the Market Incident.

Coen had escaped her wrath when he'd chosen not to participate in the prank, so he was not asked to help. He went along anyway for the entertainment.

The three Witchers took the pungent smelling toddler off to the bathroom, where there was warm water, rags, and distance from Yennefer.

The toddler laid on an old towel on the floor, playing with his spoon while the three Witchers crowded around him, eyeing the diaper tensely as if it were something that might, at any moment, explode.

"Go ahead, Eskel!" Lambert said, shoving the brown haired Witcher closer. Eskel paled.

"Why do I have to do it?"

"Because the whole Market Incident was your fault!"

"You did it too!"

"Yeah, but you started it!"

"Be a leader, not a follower, Lambert!"

"You're older, you should be setting a good example!"

"P*ss off! Yennefer handed him to you!"

"Yeah? Well he likes you better!" Lambert began, and Coen joined him as they chorused in unison "You've got the Love Bite!"

"Ah, F**k!" Eskel snarled.

"F**k!" Jaskier echoed. Three pairs of eyes snapped to the door as the Witchers froze, listening for any sound to indicate that Yennefer was on her way to rain down righteous indignation upon them. There was nothing, aside from the sound of her moving around in the kitchen.

"Shhhhhhh!" Lambert said to Jaskier, holding a finger to his lips for illustration purposes.

Jaskier looked at him with big, innocent eyes, put one pudgy hand to his mouth and quietly whispered "F**k."

The Witchers: *melting at the cuteness*

Eskel decided to get it over with before Yennefer came in and yelled at them. He steeled himself and started unfastening the diaper, saying with forced cheer "Alright, Jaskier, let's see what we're dealing with..." It was truly awful.

Yennefer smiled to herself as the exclamations of horror filtered into the kitchen. Jaskier made the most maliciously delighted giggle Yennefer had ever heard as the Witchers gagged and cursed.

"Oh, f**kiNG-! *eAuUgHhH! *"

"It's *hURk!* running out *hUrK!*, running out the side!"

"Hold him still !*EauUGh!* Hold him still!"

"I'm-! *bLuuUuUrGH!* I'm trying!"

"NoOoOOO, dOn'T tOuCH mE-! *hUuUuRK!*"

"OhH gODs ItS *blUuRrRrGh!* iT's On mE!"

"WHaT the fU-*eEauUrrRgGHH* diD he EaT???"

"*BbluUUURRAagGHhh! * IT's still wArM!

"*phonetically indescribable sound of utter horror* hE's p*SsInG oN mE! He'S P*SSING On mE-! NnNnnnOoOOOO! It wEnT iN mY mOuTH!"

Geralt took pity on them and went to help. They ended up having to bathe Jaskier, who giggled and splashed in the tub, and tried to eat the soap, enjoying the chaos he was creating.

Yennefer decides that it is probably a blessing that Witchers can't have children as she watches four damp Witchers chase a naked, soaking wet toddler down the hallway, his little a**cheeks as shiny as two peeled boiled eggs.

There was a loud, happy shriek as he was captured, and Eskel came walking back down the hallway, Jaskier held upsidedown by an ankle, his giggle box working overtime.

Geralt had swooped in with a towel and wrapped Jaskier up before carrying him off to Yennefer's room to him get into a diaper and a fresh shirt.

By the time Geralt carried him to the livingroom, Jaskier was looking like he was ready for a nap. He kept mumbling a repetative 'Da-da-da-da-da' in a sleepy hum around his thumb as he tucked his head under Geralt's chin.

Geralt laid down on the couch, with Jaskier laying on his chest, and started purring. And accidentally purred himself to sleep.

He woke with a start when he realized the comfortable, warm weight on his chest was gone. He fell off the couch as he scrambled up, his body not awake enough to be on speaking terms with his brain, and started frantically stumbling off in search of Jaskier.

He heard him start crying in the kitchen and all sorts of horrible thoughts ran through his head.

Lambert and Eskel were entertaining Jaskier at the table while Yennefer was trying to mash some boiled apples.

Geralt burst in and snatched the toddler off a surprised Lambert's lap, growling as he held him protectively.

"He's alright, Geralt, he just dropped his little spoon." Eskel said placatingly, holding up the utensil while Jaskier cried and Geralt kept growling and staring intensely right at Lambert.

Lambert very carefully turned his head away, not looking Geralt in the eye. He only glanced briefly in Geralt's general direction before looking down and away, and mumbling "Calm down, you high-strung f**k-!

"Stop cussing in front of the baby!" Yennefer snapped, slapping him on the back of the head with the towel she had over her shoulder.

Jaskier stopped crying and laughed. He looked at Geralt and clumsily signed 'more'.

"Do that again. He likes it!"

Yennefer did it again, and Jaskier chortled in amusement.

Eskel slapped the back of Lambert's head, and Lambert squawked "Ow! F**K!"

Jaskier squealed and shouted "F**K!" at the top of his little lungs.

Three pairs of eyes glared at Lambert...

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poswiecenia · 26 days

Text

@fereldensheroes - "I'm trying to fix your hair, so hold still." (Jask for Sunflower) \ &. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

( 🌻 ) THE HALF SUCCUBI winced as jaskier comes at her hair with the brush. it was tangled, her own fault for not keeping good care of it when she had gone off with geralt . . her father had warned her. alas she had not listened to the advice given, thus the position she was now in.

❝ THEN DON'T ---- ow ---- tug so hard ! ❞

#fereldensheroes #OUT OF CHARACTER ( MEME REPLIES )ㅤ ㅤ ( ㅤ 🌟ㅤ ) ㅤ ㅤ — ㅤ thanks for being grand uwu #SUNFLOWER ( WITCHER V )ㅤ ㅤ ( ㅤ 🌟ㅤ ) ㅤ ㅤI COME HOME TO THINGS ANEW BUT THE SMELL OF DEATH STILL STINGS THE SENSES.

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geraskierbrainrot · 2 years

Text

This is a collection of Alternate Universe fics where soulmates exist (and, more often than not, Jaskier and Geralt are soulmates)

One-marker by @zuzallove | T | 1k

Some people are born with a thousand soulmates. Others with just one. Geralt has a meagre double mark. It doesn't matter, though, does it? It's not like he's going to have a relationship with either one of his soulmates. Cue Jaskier.

Nisrae by spqr | M | 3k

Jaskier's seventeen when he pulls the Witcher from the fire. He has no idea, at the time, that it's a magical fire.

Socially Accpetable Ways to Meet Your Soulmate by @elpiething | E | 4k

Jaskier's parents weren't precisely keen on their oldest Omega child going to Oxenfurt to learn art. So they told him to pay off his own student debt. Which means they can't technically get mad at him for going in for a camera test at Vengeance Studios. - An AU where Alphas can't knot without medical assistance. Or their soulmate.

you don't have to call me yours, my love by @serenfire | T | 4k

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says. “This is absolutely my fault, and I shouldn’t have accompanied you in the first place. But you don’t have to worry about me! I can deal with this myself.” “Jaskier, you’ve been cursed to tell the truth until you fucking smooch your soulmate!” Geralt shouts. “And you don’t have a soulmate! So no, you can’t deal with this yourself.” Jaskier winces. “It’s actually a little worse than that,” he admits. “I know for a fact that I will never be anyone’s soulmate.”

I Promise (Not) by @zuzallove | M | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 5k

It's modern era New York. Jaskier is an aspiring singer/songwriter who pisses off the wrong person. Geralt is the man supposed to beat him up. It's not that simple, though.

“Yen,” Gorgeous growled into the phone. “Did you know that I was called away from the Marini deal tonight because a twink that looks twelve accidentally offended that moronic cousin of yours?” Jaskier gasped, putting a hand on his heart to show him how outraged he was.

Ear Worm by @raven-dirt | M | 6k

When a song is stuck in your head, it means your soulmate is listening to it, wherever they are in the world.

Geralt hasn’t slept properly since 1229 because he can always hear singing.

What's Mine is Yours by @operacricket | T | 7k

Jaskier had always had a set of lungs to rival the North wind. By the time he was old enough to put words to his wailing, his poor mother’s head was grey and her heart torn by the babe who had never once stopped crying. There wasn’t a healer or witch she took him to who didn’t say the same thing: there was nothing to fix. They could treat a bruise, bandage the reflections of another’s injuries that sometimes echoed onto his skin, but there was no curing pain that wasn’t his. --- Soulmates Share Injuries AU

→ They Know (I'm Yours) | T | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | 1k

There's more danger in their connection than a few bumps and bruises.

Love as You Are by @geralt-jaskier | E | 16k

Jaskier didn’t want to marry just any noblewoman--no matter how comely she may be--he wanted adventure and many loves, but most importantly his biggest, greatest love of all. He is not expecting that love to be in the form of a brooding stranger sitting at the back of a tavern. In one instant his breath catches in his throat at the beauty of the man before him and in the next, there’s a burning sensation on the bottom of his heel as his mark makes itself known. It’s pain and pleasure knotted together, roses surrounded by thorns.

Of soulmarks and one-sided matches by @ylc1 | T | 17k

Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a happy experience. In Geralt’s experience however, things rarely ever go as they’re supposed to.

Nothing to Lose But My Secrets by @handwrittenhello | E | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 45k

Jaskier is the best assassin in the Northern Kingdoms. On the most important mission of his life-- kill the Warlord of the North or die trying --things go terribly wrong, and he's taken prisoner. During his time as a captive in Kaer Morhen, he's forced to confront some uncomfortable truths: witchers aren't what the stories say, his soulmate is most definitely somewhere in the keep, and he may have found himself on the wrong side of this war. -- aka a warlord AU, soulmate AU, and enemies-to-lovers fic all in one!

Show love to all these authors by leaving kudos and comments, and happy reading!

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier fic recs

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dadralt · 2 years

Note

30 pls :)

She was hoping he wouldn’t be here today, that he would’ve caught an illness or left town or anything really. But no, there he was, entering the room with his father and brothers. They were all handsome but Geralt stood out of the crowd with his white hair, chiselled jawline and golden eyes.

Nobody misses Lady Glevissig’s Ball, that’s what her mother had told her when she was trying to find excuses of her own. And that’s how she ended up here, in her purple gown, wanting to be anywhere else in the world.

Geralt saw her, their eyes meeting for a brief instant, before he continued looking around the room. It hurt, but she knew it was her fault. Or well it was Istredd’s really. Stupid, stupid Istredd.

She hadn’t had the time to say no, to explain to him that her heart was already someone else’s, before he had proposed. Her mother was delighted, of course. She hadn’t really expected Yennefer to find a match during this season, or at all. Her eldest not really her biggest concern.

The news had made its way around town pretty fast and she didn’t want to think about Geralt and how he must have taken it. But he needed to know the truth.

“Mama, I’m going to see Sir Rivia.”

“Okay,” is all her mother replies, turning back to discuss with Lady Vigo and her husband.

Yennefer walks towards Geralt and he looks surprised when she reaches him.

“Miss Vengerberg,” Vesemir says and the usual smile is notably absent from his face. Eskel and Lambert send her cold looks, but it’s nothing compared to the glacial look in Geralt’s eyes. If she had any hope left that they didn’t know, it just disappeared into thin air.

She swallows hard.

“What do you want?”

It was Geralt who spoke up, his voice neutral, distant.

“Let me explain.”

She’s staring at him, begging with her eyes and oh. The men of Kaer Morhen have a reputation, they can’t feel, they don’t fall in love. But as she looks at Geralt she knows that’s all lies because she can see everything in his eyes; the pain, the hope but mostly the love he still has for her.

“Fine,” he replies and she knows it’s a win for her already.

“Let’s go outside, I can – “

“No, here,” he says and fine, she can let him have this. It stings, that he’d rather do this in front of everyone, but she won’t back out.

“Fine.”

He takes her hand and tugs her towards the dancefloor. They get in position and join the other duos, shuffling and moving in harmony on the rhythm of the music.

“Geralt, I – “

“Just get it over with,” he says, cutting her off. It’s hard and blunt and his eyes look cold again.

“It’s not what you think,” Yennefer replies. “Istredd caught me by surprise, I had no idea he was going to propose, I promise you.”

Geralt’s listening, mouth a thin line.

“Mama saw it and she blew it up into this big thing when it was never supposed to be. And I wanted to scream that I wasn’t interested in Istredd, that he wasn’t the one my heart was longing for –“

“Then why didn’t you?” Geralt asks, not a single emotion on his face.

“I ... couldn’t,” she says, defeated. She wants to cry, to run away because this world is so unfair. She knows in her heart that the only one that matters is Geralt. So why couldn’t she just say it? It’s so simple, and yet.

“I’m so sorry, Geralt,” is all she can say before he stops them. Her hand is still in his and he brings it to his lips, dropping an oh so gentle kiss on her skin. Her heart breaks there and then, in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by her dancing peers.

“Goodbye, Yennefer."

She doesn't stop him from leaving.

types of kisses prompt list

#yeah idk what this is either #they're STUPID!!!!!!!!#ahhhhh #ask #anonymous #types of kisses prompts #AUgust #my writing

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arabellaininterstellarboots · 1 year

Text

In Your Debt

╰┈➤Pairing: Jaskier X OC

╰┈➤Requested: No

╰┈➤ Words: 905

╰┈➤ Summary: A young maid gets into trouble, luckily Jaskier is there to safe the day

╰┈➤ Genre: fluff, slight violence, cussing

The clouds outside hid the full moon, shielding the light he provided. It was eery dark outside. but that wasn't a problem for Mathilda. She was inside the bustling tavern.

The tavern was filled with life this evening. A well known Bard named Jaskier was invited for tonight- well, he more or less invited himself. But the crowd of the tavern loved his music. He was a master at what he was doing. An angelic voice with an even better lute, and a eye candy for the ladies-and some men.

Mathilda listened with one ear while she served ale and beer to the customers. Their thirst never seemed to go away, much to Mathilda’s annoyance. Especially one customer stood out. He was here since early noon, drinking away in the corner. At first, he was normal, occasionally asking for a refill, like a normal person, but the more he drank, the worse he got. He got clingy and aggressive, asking and telling her inappropriate things.

“Do you ever fucking stop?”

Mathilda bursted out. She had enough. The men around them looked toward the pair.

“Oh now you answer?” He didn't catch the aggressive undertone in her voice, acting as he did before. “Just take your ale and leave the hell!” She shouted, pushing the pitcher across the counter. The drunken farmer didn't realise he was supposed to stop the jug, so it slithered across the counter, spilling its content over the farmers clothes and breaking once it made contact with the hard wooden floor.

The pitcher sprung into a million little pieces, making the floor look like it snowed. The farmer gasped at the cold liquid on him. “You whore!” He roared.

By now the bard stopped playing, focusing his attention on the fighting pair.

“Now I’m the whore? You acted like a cheap man whore the whole evening. Suits you right. Now get out of here!” She yelled back, angrily brushing her hair out of her face. “Oh no, I will not!” In one swift move, the farmer picked up the biggest shard he could find and threw it at the young barmaid.

Mathilda didn't react quickly enough, the shard pierced her arm like an arrow. She let out a horrifying scream at the sight of her arm and the pain she felt along with it. “Oi!” Another male voice said and the farmer turned around to the source of the voice and was met with a punch in his face.

The bard shook off the blood that stuck to his fist now, kicking the unconscious farmer aside and making his way behind the counter to the injured barmaid.

“Hello there” he carefully said, gently taking one of her hands in his. “Hello” She answered, not looking up from her arm. “May I help you with that?” he asked, examining the wound. Mathilda wasn't able to form a sentence, so she just nodded.

Jaskier noticed her face getting paler by the second so he supported her by holding her unharmed arm and placing his other arm around her waist, guiding her out the tavern.

He found Roach outside “The Dancing Goose”, the tavern he was suppose to play in, so he shouted for his friend.

“Geralt!”

“Gerald where the fuck are you?!”

Jaskier shouted louder the second time, feeling her weight drop more onto him.

He heard a grunt behind him. “Geralt, thank the gods!” he huffed and turned around with Mathilda, who was slowly loosing conisnous from the pain.

“What did you do, Jaskier?”

“What did I- Geralt, I did absolutely nothing! Now help me!” He scoffed, repositioning the woman at his side.

Gerald and Jaskier sat in their shared room, waiting for the woman on the bed to wake up. Mathilda stirred and with a jolt, she was sitting upright in the bed.

“Woah there, calm your horses young lady!” Jaskier jumped up from the seat and walked towards her side, carefully crouching next to the bed.

“What have you done?” She whispered, her eyes fixed on the cloth that was wrapped around her arm.

“Why does everyone instantly assume it’s my fault?”

Geralt let out an amused grunt and Jaskier glared at him. “You were attacked Lady. This man brought you to me to fix you up. You’re in his dept” Gerald explained before he left the room, calming Mathilda a little.

“What's your name?” Jaskier asked.

“Mathilda” she croaked , picking at the cloth. “Leave it there.” Jaskier took her hands in his. “My name is Jaskier, or Julien. Whatever you prefer”

“Julien” she tested his name on her lips, whispering. The bard smiled a little, his name from her lips sounded so right. “You’re the bard from the Tavern, right?” She looked up for the first time, at him, his soft blue eyes looking right back at hers.

His eyes were like passion on ice. A frozen lake in the most beautiful winter wonderland. His eyes looked like fire on ice, if you can imagine that. A certain passion burning in them.

Jaskier was starstruck. He never saw eyes like hers. She had all the colors. A ring of blue on the outside, melting into an emerald green that turned into a soft golden hazel color. Her lashes covered her eyes a bit, but he was still able to see her mysterious eyes.

A soft “Thank you” rolled from her lips, while she still gazed at him.

“You’re very welcome.”

Jaskier found his new muse. He was certain of it.

#jaskier #jaskier fanfic #jaskier x oc #the witcher #gerald of rivia #jaskier the bard #jaskier the witcher

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writingmysanity · 2 years

Text

Fireflies and Rosemary Sprigs

Prompt: Eskel gardening with Ciri

Pairing: Uncle!eskel x Ciri

Word count: 1029

A/N: this is requested by @sulkyskywalker so! Darling, I really hope you like it. I am sorry about the wait. Thank you ever so much for your patience. Unbeta'd as per usual. I suppose ill take the fault for any and all mistakes.

Silence has settled over the forest, brilliant neon streaks of orange and pink fading to deep rich purples and navy, highlighting the flickering lights above. All else has long since settled in for the night, nothing more than the distant chirp of the night. Flickering lights float in the air, buzzing slightly as a small body weaves through them, eyes flashing with gentle childish awe- their lights flickering in her eyes.

She had seen little of them from her home in Cintra- but she was vaguely aware of them. Though, she never got to enjoy them truly.

Though her eyes aren’t quite as sharp as her Geralt’s, her gaze settles on the body before her. Quietly, she settles at his side, staring out at the land before her nestled in the shadows. For a while, neither of them speaks, just listening to the way the wind brushes through the trees, and whispers through the grasses. She is almost shocked at how noisy the night is, the bubbling of the nearby stream bouncing over the rocks and the call of the various creatures calling out into the blanketed nothingness- looking for something to call its own.

From where she sits, she can just make out the fence posts surrounding your garden, rows, and stalks of greenery dancing in the breeze, illuminated only by the flickering light of the oil lamps in the windows- the smell of your cooking and the sweet tang of rosemary lingering in the air.

“What’s on your mind, pup?” Eskel’s voice cuts through the silence, making her jump, earning a chuckle from the man lying beside her. Huffing at his laughter, her eyes narrow at him, nose scrunching up a bit.

“How are you so sure something is on my mind?” Ciri grumbles, making his smile grow, his eyes still closed.

“You sought me out, Ciri,” he begins, eyes finally flickering open, brilliant eyes very nearly glowing, much light the flickering fireflies dancing around them. “This is where I go to think, too.” his voice is softer, now. Ciri reaches out for a bug, watching as it crawls onto her finger, it buzzing every time it's light flickers and glows. The soft light illuminates her just enough for Eskel to really see the soft smile on her lips. He doesnt miss the concern pinching at her eyebrows.

“Why am I here?” she asks finally, eyes moving to his, her smile falling. His eyebrow quirks, hmmming at the young girl, lifting his head slightly to get a better look at her.

“To rest,” he answers, shrugging. She scoffs.

“Witchers don't rest,” he chuckles.

“They do, but,” he grunts as he sits up, stretching out his back, wincing when it cracks, grumbling about getting old. “You aren’t a witcher, Lil wolf.” he offers her a kind smile. “Nor should you want to be.”

She frowns.

“It’s noble,” she tries. He snorts, trying not to roll his eyes.

“It’s a singular path- one you have the choice of not choosing.”

“And yet, you train me.”

Silence settles over them again as Eskel contemplates how to go about this. He doesnt wish this life for his niece. He wants her to grow and live happily in a quiet village where monsters are nothing more than a figment, a story, a nightmare.

“Your life,” he begins with a sigh, standing, offering her his hand. She takes it quietly, letting him haul her to her feet. “Is inevitably intertwined with ours. No matter what I wish for you, young Cirilla, that will not change. And our lives are surrounded by blood, danger, and death.” as he speaks, he walks back towards the cottage, pausing at the garden. He motions for her to go in first. She does, waiting for him on the other side of the fence, her eyes never leaving him. He can hear the way her heart slams against her chest, he can almost taste the anxiety rolling off of her.

“So, my fate is sealed.” he looks down at her, a mountain of shadows and scars, but his eyes are soft, melting like gold in the moonlight.

“Fate is a fickle thing,” he muses, pausing before the row of rosemary bushes, kneeling to pick a sprig. She watches him closely as he takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent, before reaching up, and offering it to her. She holds it to her nose, the warm earthy scent filling her senses, a smile tugging at her lips. “All fate can do is bring someone to you, it can not dictate what you do with the soul before you.”

She kneels beside him, tilting her head so that she may still see his face as he speaks. Breaking off another sprig of rosemary, he settles back against the fence post.

“You ask why we train you,” she just nods, a soft breathy confirmation as she settles before him, waiting. “Because I've been here before,” he admits quietly. “And I chose wrong.” almost unconsciously, his hand moves to trace the scars on his cheek, his bright eyes dulling with regret and pain. She is sure he will tell her the story, like Geralt does when he is trying to make a point, about the danger, about the pain, but he doesnt. He just shakes his head mournfully.

“I will not make the same mistake twice. I will not leave you to fend for yourself. We train you so that you may defend yourself in a world constantly cast in shadow. Not for you to become a witcher. If I had my way, there would be no need for you to train.”

She is silent for a while, eyes flitting from his eyes to his scars, contemplating his words.

“And what would you have me do?” she asks quietly, watching as his eyes rest on one of the windows, the firelight illuminating your figure as you dance with Jaskier, laughter pouring into the night, the scent of rosemary still lingering in the air. His voice is steady, calm, but soft.

“Find your home, Pup,” he looks at her again. “Find what makes home for you, and never let it go.”

Tag list: @errruvande @thesleepy1 @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @queenxxxsupreme @screechingdreamercollectorsblog @open--till--midnight @one-eyed-captain-kinky

@seidenbros @cosmos-coma @deanmcogorman @dark-academia-slut

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me a message or ask or something.

#eskel fic #eskel #the witcher #the witcher imagine #witcher eskel #eskel imagine #eskel witcher #netflix eskel #team eskel #netflix!eskel #game!eskel #ciri #ciri of vengerberg #ciri of cintra

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witch-and-her-witcher · 2 years

Photo

not another teen fic, part one

“Here we are, Aretuza Academy.”

Ciri brushes her ashen blond fringe from her eyes. Taking in the massive, brick campus sprawling in the middle of Oxenfurt in front of her, her heart catches in her throat. The wrought iron gates at the entrance seem to be the harbingers of her new life as a regular high school student and all that implies to a teenager.

She turns back to her parents. They’ve just accepted research positions at the University of Oxenfurt, finally hitting big with the work they’ve been toiling away in Ofier the last decade to accomplish.

Yennefer, regal even when she was constantly sweat drenched and donning a boonie hat, looks perfectly in her element within a city with her designer scarf stylishly poking out of her black peacoat and thigh-high black leather boots elongating her frame.

Always her mother’s perfect opposite, Ciri’s dad, Geralt, hasn’t changed from his edgy, casual professor attire he maintains in any temperature. Shoulder length white hair pulled half up, wire rimmed glasses endearingly slightly crooked, unbuttoned top layer of a flannel rolled up to his elbows to reveal the large, snarling wolf’s head tattoo on one forearm and a beautiful raven holding a purple lilac in its beak on the other.

“Try not to reveal right away just how well you’ve been educated by your parents up ‘til now, hm?” Yennefer says with a wink, taking her daughter’s hands in her own and giving a gentle squeeze. More nervous for the separation than Ciri herself.

Geralt doesn’t hesitate to pull her into a bear hug. “Don’t listen to your mother. Blow them away, kid.”

“Ugh, Dad! Someone will see,” Ciri says, feigning embarrassment and pushing away to restraighten her uniform.

There is a steady stream of similarly uniformed students milling in the front courtyard of the school and entering through the gates. Ciri can feel the prickle of their curious gazes. Drink it up, she can’t help but think in challenge. Neither parent has raised her to back down from a new experience, no matter how active the butterflies in her stomach.

“So dashing,” Yennefer comments. They were both supportive of Ciri opting for the trouser uniform bottom instead of the strongly suggested skirt for female students.

Geralt’s gaze narrows on a few of the groups of students. “Are these kids really highschoolers? They look like grown adults.”

“Oh, hush, it’s just selective breeding and mummy and daddy’s lush bank accounts giving them the appearance of maturity." Yennefer hooks her arm in Geralt’s before he’s tempted to question a few of the closer, unsuspecting youths. “We should be off to our first day as well, dear.”

Ciri grins. “Don’t let the big kids pick on you!”

“Don’t do drugs,” Geralt calls back as her mother drags him away. Yennefer knows she must rip the band aid.

Smiling after her doting parents, Ciri takes a moment to breathe deeply, before placing her hands securely on either strap of her backpack and turning to face the gates again. Taking her first steps into Aretuza Academy, Ciri reminds herself she’s a nobody transfer student and not everything is as dramatic as a teen movie.

And then the most beautiful, well sculpted teenager she’s ever laid eyes upon steps into her path. Jet black hair tucked behind a pointed ear, sharp green eyes looking her up and down in cool assessment, and perfectly white, straight teeth shining in a half smile (maybe a snarl?).

“You must be the new girl we’ve heard so much about.”

-----

this is all @something-more‘s fault XD

#not another teen fic but actually it is #self indulgent mini series #witcher fan fic #high school AU #ciri #geralt #yennefer #my writing

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cardierreh15 · 1 year

Text

I posted 2,608 times in 2022

That's 1,651 more posts than 2021!

80 posts created (3%)

2,528 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@augustsprincess

(care not to add that person)

@angreav

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I tagged 894 of my posts in 2022

#henry cavill - 403 posts

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#enola holmes 2 - 28 posts

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Longest Tag: 140 characters

#if you have to go for a lung transplant and your surgeon is a black lesbian are you gonna tell her youre sick of them being forced down your

My Top Posts in 2022:

Unexpected Outcomes

Hey everyone! Decided to do something a tad different with the chapter photos. Now, they’re still a work in progress and I have to tweak them a bit, but I hope y’all like the uniqueness of it anyway! Here’s Chapter 3, Company.

**I do not give anyone permission to copy or repost my work!!!

Warning 18+: Cursing , Mentions of Abuse , Mentions Of Sex , Mentions Of Violence & Infidelity

Description: Anya & Amadeo discusses the future of what is suppose to be.

Word Count: 2.3K

Company

Anna.

Baby.

Listen, I'm sorry.

Please answer me.

Pick up so we can talk about this?

Anya.

Read at 09:32am

'You should talk to him,' Nadine said softly, peaking over her shoulder, glancing down at the blue text messages sent from Joseph the previous night before. She walked around her daughter and sat down in her seat, bringing her hot cup of Americano to her lips. Anya looked up at her from her phone after clicking the power button. She didn't want to talk to him. She really didn't know what to say to him. 'I have nothing to say to him... urr, really don't know what to say.'

Her mother finished her drink and placed her mug down, 'Yeah, I could see that but,' she paused as if she was hesitating to tell her something grim. 'When i was a little older than you, years after your father and I got married, he lost his mind and hit me.'

Anya's head snapped over to look at her mother. She looked pained, and she was shocked really. With the way her father loved her mother, never in a million years would she have thought he would've beat her. 'Mama-' Nadine lifted her hand, stopping her daughter from continuing on, 'I don't need your pity. And there's no need to apologize, it wasn't your fault. But, i can guarantee my life... he never hit me again after that.' She gave her daughter and devious snicker before pulling her mug back up to her lips.

The young woman's eyebrows tugged into one, confused yet, intrigued- 'Well?' she leaned in, placing her arms on the table comfortably, 'What did you do?' A smile tugged on her lips. She was so much like her mother, so she knew her mother got her payback. Nadine stared at her for a brief moment before she glanced to her left, 'Your company is here.' She pressed her lips together, giving her a gentle smile.

Anya listened for a moment, the soft sound of a foreign car engine had been shut off. Amadeo was early. 'Forget about him. I'm not concerned about him,' She stood up and walked around the table to meet her mother, 'How did you handle the situation?' Her mother pressed her lips together, 'I made your father pay in the worst possible way. But it was a lesson for the both of us. I learned to forgive him and we moved past that. I will tell you more about it another time. But for now, try not to kill your fiancé? Hmm?'

Anya cringed at the word. Fiancé. She imagined being happy with the word. Being in love with the idea of being someone’s bride. Being Joseph’s bride. Her eyes diverted to the side.

‘I’m already regretting this,’ she looked back up at her mother with a sigh, ‘Can we just pretend we’re married and live in separate homes and live separate lives?’

Nadine laughed a hearty laugh before shaking her head and walking away.

Anya’s eyes followed her mother as she stride gracefully across the stone patio. Her laughter traveled throughout the estate and it caused her to grit her teeth together in annoyance.

***

Good morning, son. How are you?

I’m hanging in there. How is she— handlin’?

Mmm, she’ll come around. Just like you. She’s out in the garden waiting for you.

Anya’s ear’s twitched at the conversation that occurred in the house between Amadeo and her mother. She rolled her eyes in annoyance. As if her mother knew if she’d come around or not.

She grumbled, mumbling to herself, ‘she thinks she knows me? She doesn’t know me. I have to figure out how to get out of this—‘

‘Good Morning, Anya.’

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33 notes - Posted July 10, 2022

Phoenix: Story of the Lost Fire Princess

Y’all are going to be getting a lot more Geralt content because our baby won’t be playing him anymore. I’m only trying to help keep dreams alive. Happy Halloween Everyone 🎃

**I do not give anyone the permission to repost or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Sparring . (Innocent, no bloodshed)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Phoenix (Curvy African American Woman)

Description: Just a friendly sparring match 😈

Word Count: undetermined

Chapter 5: The formidable Opponent.

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!’ The repetitive sounds and the forced grunts caused Phoenix to toss and turn all morning. Thankfully, she had gotten plenty of sleep last night and it felt so good to be sleeping on something other than the ground for once. She sat up, groaning a little bit as she felt the sting in her hip. It had been sometime since the werewolf attack, but she was still human at the end of the day and if she wasn’t careful enough— it would never truly heal properly. So she carefully pulled herself from the bed and stretched out her body. Relaxing her muscles and bones so she could go about her did with little to no straining.

After she was done, she looked up at the chest that was by the door. There was a brush sitting on top of what had seem to be trousers and a blouse. She reached behind herself pulled at one of the corset strings and untied it. She then quickly got dressed. The button down blouse was a crème colored with flared, ruffled wrists. A tad bit tight at the waist to define her curves, and it had flared, ruffles at the hem. The trousers, were made of fine leather. Slightly scuffed from the previous wearer, but she was grateful for how comfortable they were. These gave her a nice contour to her thighs, hips and rump. Hmph, she’d have to come shop at Motel Kaer Morhen a lot more.

Phoenix walked out of her chambers, pulling her hair back into a sleek curly ponytail that fell down her back like waterfalls. Her boots clicked down the hall happily as she approached the gruff mumbling of Vesemir’s voice.

As she walked into the dining hall, she took notice how the men didn’t take notice of her this morning. That was kind of refreshing to say the least. They were talking amongst themselves, chuckling and sharing witty jokes. But Geralt was no where to be found. She walked over to Vesemir who was stirring something in the cauldron, ‘Good Morning Vesemir.’ Her voice slightly tired but still liberating and pleasing to the ears.

‘Good Morning, Phoenix. I trust you slept well!’ He didn’t turn to look at her, he just kept his eye on that food. ‘Yes. Someone told me before that if there are in rats around… it’s warm enough.’ She giggled and glanced down at the pot. ‘I slept fine, thank you. Where are Geralt and Ciri?’

To be frank, this was probably the first time in weeks that she hadn’t awakened to the sight of Geralt’s face. It was like her routine was disturbed! Finally, Vesemir turned to look at her, ‘They’re outside in the training yard. You should go with them? There’s no such thing as too much training. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to have you.’

Phoenix nodded and gave him a soft smile, ‘Sure. Thank You.’ She gave him a simple bow and walked towards the back doors, that opened to a world of mysterious contraptions and training tactics.

She stood there on top of the stairs as tiny snowflakes fell on top of her and instantly melted. She watched as Ciri stabbed and swung at that dummy over and over again. Well, that’s where the tapping and grunting came from. ‘What a relief.’ She thought. ‘Again, Ciri.’ Geralt called out, leaning against a destroyed statue with his arms folded across his chest. ‘Yah! Hugh! Urgh!’ She grunted out, swinging and stabbing harder, faster.

The woman glanced at Geralt for a brief moment then back at Ciri. She was starting to notice how frustrated Ciri had become, so she spoke up. ‘I think that’s enough!’ She raised her hand as she descended from the few stone steps. Geralt looked over his shoulder and Ciri turned around. She smiled at the sight of her new friend. And her eyes clearly thanked her for cutting a training session that was going nowhere. ‘I think the girl is tired of the doll. I think she will learn better if she had another moving part.’ She placed her hands on hips as she stood next to him.

Geralt narrowed his eyes, looking down at her, ‘you’re suggesting her go against me?’

‘No. Of course not. Sure you have your patience, Witcher but you Witcher’s are—‘ she walked over to the wooden swords, ‘Sloppy.’ She teased with a smirk. Cirilla tried to hide her giggle from her father by looking away. But he’d caught it anyway.

‘Come Cirilla. Let’s see what the old man had taught you hmm?’ And she stepped forward.

Cirilla looked up at Geralt with pleading eyes, ‘May I?’

Geralt looked down at her and then back up at Phoenix. He didn’t say a word, instead he just jerked his over. And Ciri flashed the happiest grin anyone had ever seen, then she skipped over to Phoenix.

Phoenix took a second to look her over. She stood in a protective yet, striking stance, ready to attack or shield. ‘Hmm, good stance Ciri.’ She complimented and took a chance to swing the wooden sword. But Ciri was fast! She blocked the attack then parried it with a push back.

Stumbling back, ‘Oof!’ Phoenix caught her balance and raised a brow. ‘Not bad, Cirilla!’ Could she really say she was surprised? Geralt smirked in pride.

Phoenix stood up straight before she took her stance. ‘OK, I won’t be stopping this time. Try to fend me off ya?’ Ciri nodded, taking a deep breath, ‘OK.’ And she took her stance as well.

Phoenix swung at her side and she blocked it beautifully. This time, the girls didn’t stop. They pushed one another. Swinging harder and faster, trying to simply keep up with one another. But it wasn’t until Ciri found herself getting too comfortable. She took her eyes off of Phoenix for a mere two seconds and Phoenix was able to kick at her wrist to disarm her, and point the tip of the wooden sword at the side of her neck. The girls stared at one another, breathing heavily. ‘Never. Get too comfortable. Complacency can become a weakness. And your opposer won’t hesitate to gut you if you aren’t quick enough.’

Phoenix glanced over at Geralt. He had stared; intrigued about what he had just saw. But then, Ciri quickly smacked the sword out of her hand and pulled her dagger off her hip. She then rested the blade right beneath Phoenix’s chin. ‘Sorry, you were open and distracted.’

Phoenix stared at her for a little bit until a giggle had left her lips. Then Ciri had joined her, placing her dagger back into her holster. ‘Good Job, sweet heart,’ she placed her warm hands on Ciri’s cheeks, ‘I am proud of you.’ She then dropped her hands, ‘Go inside. Quench your thirst, you must be dying by now!’

‘I will,’ she sighed heavily, ‘Are you coming inside?’

‘Shortly darling, shortly.’ And she gave Ciri and slight bow before the girl turned away and walked back inside of the miniature castle.

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42 notes - Posted October 31, 2022

Phoenix: Story of the Lost Fire Princess

Hi everyone! I’m back! Here’s Chapter 4 of Phoenix! Enjoy ❤️‍🔥

**I do not give anyone permission to repost or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Cursing , Drinking , Violence , Nudity , Mentions of Loss , THE FEELS 🥺💔 , Angst ,

Pairing : Geralt Of Rivia x Phoenix (Curvy African American Woman) (With Guest Stars: Coën, Lambert, Vesemir)

Description: Days after their ambush, Phoenix & Geralt make their way back to Kaer Morhen where she meets those who helped change his life.

Word Count: 3.9K

Chapter 4: Kaer Morhen

The two of them rode in a comfortable silence. Phoenix was to busy taking in her surroundings as, she had never been on this side of the continent before. Even though everything was pretty much the same, having a new companion, made everything seem all the more — different.

‘Hmm, you’re rather chatty today.’ He said softly, with a slight bit of playfulness. He glanced back over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of her looking down at the shimmering snow.

‘Perhaps I do not have much to say today Witcher. You should pay attention to the path before you get us lost.’ She argued back, her own little playful taunt.

Geralt smirked at her remark, ‘Lost? I know this Terrain better than I know the bestiary of this Continent,’ he looked back, ‘You should put some trust in me Princess.’ And he looked ahead once again.

Phoenix rolled her eyes as a smirk curled on her lips, ‘Hmph.’ She breathe out. Her caramel eyes once again found that sparkling white snow again. This time in the trees. And the way the sun shone down on it, — it was breathtaking. It was like looking at diamonds! It was so white and — untouched! As if no one had ever traveled this far before.

It was unfortunate that she never got to take in this bustling and beautiful world around her. She was always on a time limit. Always on her toes. Minding the twins and running from those who wish to seek her harm. Or worse— bring her back to her kingdom, defenseless.

***

Riding from the protection of the trees up above, Geralt and Phoenix had finally come to a stop in a open field that turned into snow covered mountains. And hiding in plain sight, a place she had thought she’d never see in person, was sitting there awaiting their arrival.

Phoenix clutched the reins tightly in her palms as her chest shook with shock and anticipation. She finally opened her mouth, and a small cloud of fog disappeared before her.

‘Phoenix, this is—‘

‘Kaer Morhen.’ She stared up at the fortress as if it were to burst into flames! It was old as time, (or it had seem to be) destroyed by the trials of time and weather. Or maybe—

Geralt looked over at Phoenix. Watching as her emotions shown like a picture book on her beautiful features. ‘Home.’

She looked over at him with her plumped lips pressed together in approval. ‘After you. I am your guest, after all.’

He had given her a simple nod and kicked at Roach’s side, taking off towards the path that lead up to the fortress. And Phoenix had followed suit.

***

After pulling their horses to a stop and dismounting them, the both of them made sure to tie them up, and remove all of their equipment to bring inside with them. Phoenix was enthralled to learn more about this place! Things that the books wouldn’t tell or her father’s Golden Knight, Levy, refused to explain. She looked around, noticing more debris lying about. Large rocks, broken statues, and one thing that caught her eye in particularly. The remains of a.. Griffin?

‘Geralt is that a—‘

Geralt smirked and looked over at her with slight confusion, ‘A Griffin? Yes.’

Phoenix had dropped everything that she held. Her weapons, her travel kit, her knitted blanket— EVERYTHING— and quickly rushed over to the icy bones. She dropped to her knees, fast breaths leaving her lips. She popped the button on her wrist and removed her her glove.

With the warmth of her hand now gone, she shuddered at the brisk feel. She could have used her power to warm up her palm, but she wanted to feel all of this. This whole moment, she wanted to remember how everything felt. So she placed her palm on the skull of the skeleton and she had never felt so enlightened before. Phoenix let out a scuff, with thick tears filling her eyes. All of this was like a dream to her.

Geralt had picked up her valuables and walked over to her, ‘decades ago. A father, seeking the revenge for his mate and offspring. When Griffin’s mate, they—‘

‘Mate for a lifetime.’ She said softly, loud enough for him to hear but so softly. Phoenix looked over her shoulder, up at him with wet eyes. ‘He only wanted justice. Were there any innocent lives slain?’

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46 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

The Guy Next Door

It’s been a while yall 😏🚩

Pairing: Henry Cavill(Ronan) x Curvy African American Woman(Amunet-POV)

Warnings 18+: Cursing , Mentions of Sex , Angst , HeartBreak , Mentions Of Loss , Angst , Mentions of Abortion .

Description: After finding out something that would change Amunet’s life forever, she comes across something that would change how she looks at Ronan.

Word Count: 2.6K

Chapter 7: Reflections

She was looking at herself in the mirror; glaring at her curves as — she felt like she was a bit more different than she was when she started seeing Ronan. She had a glow to her, one that she recognized but, clearly in denial about. She wouldn’t even know what to think or say to herself if what she had believed it to be true. Hell, she wouldn’t even know what to say to… him.

Amunet was lost in the artistic curves and swirls of her stretch marks when he swiftly wrapped his arms around her body and pressed kisses against her head. It caused her to gasp suddenly in surprise; but she didn’t dare fight that smile that was growing on her lips. ‘Hey, what are you doing— we’re going to be late.’ He mumbled against her flesh.

‘Nothing just— nothing.’ She turned around and tightened her towel around her chest.

Ronan gave her a concerned look, ‘Are you OK sugar? You haven’t been yourself the past few days.’

She placed her hand on his chest and her chestnut eyes lingered there for a moment before they looked up into his deep blue depths. ‘I—…’ she didn’t even know where to start. Her nervousness got to the best of her. The quieter it grew, the more anxious she became and now her stomach begun to turn.

Ronan grabbed her hand gently, ‘Whatever it is that’s bothering you Netty you can tell me.’

She finally felt a great weight being lifted off of her shoulders when he reassured her. ‘Can we stop by the store on the way to the meeting? I have to pick something up.’

— Amunet stood there in that aisle alone as she squeezed her purse handles in her palm, staring down at the medium sized pink boxes. She didn’t want to believe the changes she saw in the mirror. Perhaps it was just her own mind playing sick games on her. But: ‘It wouldn’t hurt to be sure…’ she said softly before snatching up the pink box and hurrying to the front to pay for her belongings.

‘Thank you. Where’s your restrooms?’

‘Straight to the back ma’am. There’s a big sign, you can’t miss it.’ The young lady said gracefully to her.

‘I probably still would. Thank you.’ She gave her a gentle smile and swiftly turned around to walk away and the young girl shouted, ‘Good Luck!’

It caused Netty to stop in her tracks. She truly didn’t know how to feel about all of this. She was between: “how could you allow yourself to get pregnant by a stranger? Get rid of it if you are.” Or “You’ll have what you’ve been needing. What you’ve been missing. Keep your baby.” The girl had no idea what she was going through, so she just looked over her shoulder and said, ‘Thank you!’ And started to walk again, ‘I’m going to need it.’

Are you OK in there?

Baby Girl?

Netty do you need me to come inside?

She glared at the text messages as she paced back and forward in the handicap stall. Then she glanced back at top of the screen to look at the time. It had been ten minutes after she had taken the test. Filled with so much anticipation and dread, she could feel her hands start to sweat and her chest begin to tighten. ‘OK. Breathe— what’s the worse that could happen right? You could be pregnant? —‘ No. it would be him not wanting the baby. Nor her.

Pushing those thoughts behind her head, she walked over to the sink where the covered stick sat in. It was flipped upside down on purpose so she could brace herself. And with a bit of hesitation, she finally picked up the stick and looked at it.

2 bright pink lines.

Netty felt like she had been hit with a freight train. Her eyes filled with tears, ‘Oh God.. Oh God.’ Was all she could muster out. She continued to stare down at the stick as if she was hoping if the first line would disappear. Until she finally felt her phone vibrating. Pulling it up into her view with her shaking hand, it read: “Ronan” with a Green and Red button. Her breathing had become hitched and shallow. She was starting to have an anxiety attack. ‘Fuck!’ She begun to sob harder, covering her mouth as she tried to concentrate on her breathing.

Eventually the phone had stopped vibrating and his name had disappeared. But her vision was blurred with thick tears. ‘Breathe Netty— Breathe!’ She held her chest as her other hand gripped her phone tightly. Her chest hurt, and she could feel an oncoming headache. So she closed her eyes, and took 3 deep, and slow breaths. She looked at herself in the mirror before her brown eyes glanced down at her belly. She tried to think about the positives in her situation. She would have her chance at being a mother again. She would get to smell that addicting baby scent and hopefully, Ronan would be happy and they could be a family. Then, there was the buzzing again. This time, she didn’t allow it to ring through, and she just picked it up.

Sniffling, she answered the phone, ‘Hello?’

‘Hey are you— Netty are you alright?’ He sounded concerned.

‘Ye—yeah.’ She looked down at the stick once again, ‘I’m OK. Hey, do you think we can pass on the meeting tonight? I’m not feeling well and I have to talk to you about something.’

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49 notes - Posted January 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Lmao I had this dream last night.

Henry came into my apartment, used his key and everything “Honey I’m home.” I’m confused as hell cause I recognize that voice but my husband is sitting in our bedroom. So I’m like “who the fuck just walked in my house?!” So I get up and go see what the commotion was and this mf is in my KITCHEN PULLING SHIT OUT OF THE REFRIGERATOR AND ALL LIKE THIS HIS HOUSE! So I’m like “excuse me?? What are you doing?!” This mf turns around and is like “Baby? You having amnesia again?” And my husband comes out of the bedroom and is leaning against the counter, “Yeah. She’s been having it all fucking day. Maybe you can deal with it?”

My alarm woke me up, YALL I AM PISSED 🥲

98 notes - Posted April 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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