#yen of the Moth
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Spitting Image Prequel
(Gaara Sabaku Smut)
[Artwork is not mine! Credit to Bev-Nap]
Requested by: Myself
Word Count: 4,240
Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:
Alcohol drinking/Drunk sex
Soft boi virgin Gaara
Praising/“Good Boy”
Hickeys/Scratch Marks
Mommy kink (you can’t convince me that Gaara doesn’t have a mommy kink)
Pleasure kink
Begging
Oral (female receiving)
Creampie
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The neon lights of the bar cut through the darkness, pulling me towards it like a moth. This day has sucked, this week has sucked, this month has sucked. Plus, the promise of cheap margaritas is almost impossible to deny. I'm a sucker for a cheap alcohol-induced night.
"Welcome in! Margaritas are two hundred yen a glass tonight!" The short-haired bartender calls out, a toothy grin on her face.
"Start me off with a strawberry margarita," I order, sliding into an empty barstool at the counter. "Then slide me a lime one once it's done."
"So start your second one as soon as I'm done with your first?" She asks a laugh following her words.
"Ya, pretty much," I giggle out too, slapping my ID onto the counter before laying six hundred yen on top. "Keep the extra as a tip, love."
"Damn, already sweet talking me. One strawberry and one lime marg coming up," the bartender says, snatching up my ID and the cash. She glances at my ID, checking my age before sliding it into the tab box alongside another twenty or thirty others.
It doesn’t take long for my drinks to come. As promised, I down the first one before taking my time with the second. As I’m sipping on the lime drink, the taste of it justifying the price, a voice rings out. “Sorry ma’am, but is this seat taken?”
I turn my head towards the voice, a shorter man with a head of shaggy red hair at the end of the sound. His hair interests me, it’s a dark red instead of the normal pale-red gingers tend to be. I wonder if it’s a dye job. “No, it’s not taking, sunshine.”
“O…oh,” the man stutters, slowly sliding into the stool next to me. “Thank you, for the seat,” he mumbles, a hand running through his hair. When his hair flips up because of the movement, a tattooed red mark is exposed on his forehead, only interesting me even more.
“Of course. No lady likes to drink alone,” I answer, the buzz of my margs setting in. “No girl likes to buy her drinks either.”
The man’s eyes blink slowly, exposing the black circles around his eyes. How cute, a hot ginger that’s good at eyeliner. “Would… would you like me to buy you a drink? Is that what you’re asking?”
I let out a deep laugh as a smile cracks across my face. “You don’t get hit on often do you?”
Another round of slow blinking before a soft “no” peeps out.
“Yes, I’m asking you to buy me a drink.”
The man’s face scrunches, nonexistent eyebrows smashed together. The red is totally a dye job. “What would you like to drink?”
“A mango margarita, please, sunshine.”
Mr Sunshine stumbles over his words as he orders a drink for himself and me. His eyes are wide and stuck on me as we wait for our drinks, the intenseness of his stare poking at my nerves. “So… I haven’t seen you around the village before. Are you from the Leaf or just passing through?”
“I am from the Village Hidden in the Sand.”
“Oh, that’s… cool. Whatcha doing here then?”
“I was meeting with your village’s Hokage,” he mutters, eyes flickering down to our drinks being set on the countertop.
“Oh, so you’re a Shinobi then?” I ask, my interest sparked even more. I’ll be the first one to admit I’m a bit of a band chaser. I don’t know what it is, but Shinobis just do it for me. Besides, they’re the best for one-night stands. There’s a million of them and they’re usually too busy for anything more than a rang and bang.
“Um… I guess so.”
“You guess so?” I ask, downing my drink quicker than I probably should. “Well, if I ask if your hair is naturally red are you going to say you guess so?” I add, shifting closer to the man.
“I… um… yes, I’m… I’m naturally a redhead,” the man stutters, his cheeks quickly growing the same shade as his hair. “And you… you’re really close to my face.”
I let out a hum, slowly backing away from the shinobi. “Sorry, I’m coming off a little strong,” I mutter, waving down the bartender, who goes into action starting another drink. What’s that? Number four? Maybe I should slow down. Mr Shinobi is still nursing drink number one. “Not much of a drinker are you?”
“No, I am not. I’m only here because my brother wants to ‘get blasted’ before his wedding,” the man says, the words ‘get blasted’ falling out of his mouth like it left a nasty taste behind. “I am just here because he said I have to be.”
“What is it that you don’t like about drinking?” I ask, trying to push the conversation forward.
“I do not like my senses being unbeneficial. Besides, most alcohol does not taste good.”
“Well duh, you ordered a double shot of whiskey. If you want something that tastes good you need to get something fruity, like my margaritas. Want to try?” I push my untouched glass towards him, encouraging him to try something different.
“My sister says margaritas are girly drinks.”
“So? Who cares what your sister thinks?”
The man’s eyes settle on me again, his eyes round and full of confusion. “Why are you talking to me?”
“Because I’m a little more than buzzed and you’re a little more than hot,” I answer honestly, shifting closer to him. I rest a hand on his knee, resting my head against his so I can whisper in his ear. “Besides, I love the sight of a ginger on his knees.”
“You wish to have sex?” The man asks, his eyes widened again and hands fluttering up and down my arms. “You… you wish for me…. To…?”
I let out a few giggles, pressing a kiss to his cheek before I settle in my seat again. “Yes, but not until I slow down or until you catch up a bit, Sunshine.”
The Shinobi blinks a couple of times before his focus shifts to the drink I pushed toward him. He picks it up, downing it in a few gulps before setting the glass back down. “I do not like mangoes.”
I laugh again, sliding my nails over the inside of his thigh as I do so. “We could have ordered you a different flavor you know. What fruits do you like?”
“Apples.”
“Then let’s get you an apple margarita, ya?”
“Okay,” he mumbles, leaning closer as his eyes glare into mine. The closeness and intensity spook me a bit. “You are a strange person.”
“Why do you say that?”
“People usually don’t enjoy my… company.”
“You’re pretty, I don’t know who wouldn’t enjoy your company. But enough about your looks, you got any hobbies?”
The boy seems even more confused like he’s never given his looks any thought. “Plants,” he races out, eyes glancing at the apple-mixed drink that the bartender has left on the counter.
“Oh ya? I love plants. Willow trees are my favorite though,” I say, going on a ramble about the planet. The man nods along with my rant, his eyes locked on me the whole time. They’re pretty, slit, and a soft opal color. Dear Lord, all I can imagine is those pretty eyes looking up at me as he sits on his knees. “What’s your favorite plant, sunshine?”
“Barrel cactus!” He races out, blinking at me on repeat again. I get the feeling the man has never talked about himself before. “I… I mean, barrel cactus,” he says in a softer tone this time.
“Ya? Why’s that?”
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The Sand Shinobi clung to me is as red as his hair, cheeks heated as his head presses into my neck. “You are pretty,” he murmurs against my throat, his body weight pressed into me.
“You are hot,” I compliment back, swaying a bit because of the man’s weight and the alcohol flowing through my system.
“No, you are like really pretty and nice and your skin is so soft, and oh my that sounds murderous,” the redhead mumbles on and on, his hands sliding over my bare arms as he nuzzles his nose against me. “You are so nice. Did I tell you that? You have been really nice to me. I want you to feel nice. Let me make you feel nice. Please?”
The high-ranked shinobi’s ‘please’ comes out whiney, turning my gears even more as I unlock my front door. “Ya? You want to make me feel nice?” I mumble, throwing my things onto the table next to the front door.
“Please? I want you to feel nice, so bad. Let me make you feel nice,” the redhead begs, his hands wandering up and down my shirt, gripping the material like he might fall over without me.
While we were at the bar we talked about what he does for work. I don’t know what any of the things he said meant but he kept talking about the Kage palace so he must be some kind of high rank ninja. Having such a highly regarded shinobi begging to go down on me only turns me on more.
“You want to make me feel nice, sunshine?” I ask, shifting in his hold so we’re face-to-face. His head shakes like crazy, and his eyes are soft for the first time tonight but still locked on me like I’m the core of the Earth. “Be a good boy and kneel for me, okay?”
“Okay,” he breathes out, sinking to his knees, his hands sliding down to grip my hips as he moves.
“Dear lord,” I mutter, the sight of the shinobi looking up at me rushing arousal down my body. His head is lead against me, chin gently pressed against the waistband of my pants, eyes locked on me, and hands gripping my love handles. “You look so hot right now.”
“You are beautiful. You are the moon. You are the stars hung in the sky,” he mutters, eyes intensely on my face as he looks up at me. “But I do not know what I’m doing.”
“What?” I ask, toying with the ends of his hair. “Have you never gone down on a girl before?”
“I have never done… anything with… anyone,” he mutters, cheeks heating up again as his eyes flicker around. “But I do wish to make you feel nice. Tell me how to make you feel nice. Please?”
“Ah… are you sure?” I ask, tugging his arms off of me. “We’re both drunk. This isn’t how you want to lose your virginity,” I continue to ramble, walking away from the man kneeling on my floor.
“No, please. Pretty please?” The man begs, crawling across the floor after me. “You’ve made me feel good all night. Let me make you feel nice,” he begs, wrapping his arms around my hips again and burying his head into my stomach. “Please?”
I let out a sigh, toying with his hair again as he nuzzles my stomach. “Alright, sunshine. Let’s go into the bedroom though, okay?”
The Sand Shinobi lights up at my agreement, his hands sliding up, picking me off my feet as he stands up again. He’s a bit wobbly as he adjusts to his drunken balance and my added weight. He’s still a bit unbalanced as he tries the doors, opening the spare room packed full of storage before he opens the door to my room. “You’re really pretty,” he tells me again, settling me on the bed.
I lock my legs around his waist, keeping him stuck on top of me. “You’re really hot,” I echo, shoving my hands into his hair as I tug his face down.
I crash my lips against his, rubbing myself on his growing bulge. “Oh my… you’re… we’re…” the redhead mutters into my mouth, his hands crawling up and down my sides. I let out a giggle, using my hold on his hair to shift his head to the side. “You, you, you… you’re…” The words stumble out of him as I brush my lips across his neck, softly sucking on his skin every couple of kisses.
“Do you want me to stop?” I mumble, working a hand out of his hair to toy with the hem of his shirt.
“No! Please, no. Please keep going,” he gushes out, hands clinging to my hips, pressing me down against him as he takes over our humping. “I want… I want to make you feel good. Tell me… tell me how to make you feel good.”
“Slow down a bit, sunshine,” I hum, tugging his shirt up. My eyes flicker a bit, rolling over the outline of his stomach muscles. “Take your shirt off for me, okay?”
The man moves quickly, sliding his shirt off and tossing it to the ground before settling back in his spot. “Now what do I do?” He asks opal-eyes stuck on me as he waits for his directions.
“Keep moving your hips,” I order, the man going straight to rubbing against me again. I let out steady breaths, trying to keep my mind straight to work our way through this. “That’s it, you’re being such a good boy,” I mumble, tugging my shirt off too.
“I’m… I’m what?” He asks, soft eyes blinking like crazy as his pace picks up. His eyes flicker between my face and my chest, mouth almost watering as he looks at my boobs.
“You’re being a good boy,” I repeat, gripping his hair to tug his face toward my chest. “Keep being a good boy. Kiss and suck on my chest as you hump me, okay?”
“Yes… yes, ma’am,” he whispers, lips brushing against my chest, occasionally testing different ways of sucking on my skin. “It’s… there’s marks,” he whines, nose nuzzling me before he litters my boobs in more kisses. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave marks.”
“I like marks,” I coo, raking my fingers through his hair. “You can leave as many marks as you wish.”
“I… I want… take it off,” the Shinobi husks out, a hand sliding under the wire of my bra. “Please take it off. Pretty please? I want… I want to suck on… please?”
A smile slides onto my lips from the sound of the redhead’s desperation. I give into his wants, sliding my hands behind my back to unclasp my bra. An audible whimper spills from the hardass shinobi when my boobs tumble out, his eyes blown out and entangled in my chest. His eyes flicker up to mine, his question stuck on his lips. “Go ahead, sunshine.”
With the permission voiced, his head dips down, his tongue sliding out to cup my nipple before he sucks it into his mouth. My hand searches for his, gripping it and tugging it up to my free boob. “Fuck, sunshine,” I whimper, working my hips against his as he toys with my chest.
“Hey,” I hiss after a couple of minutes, tugging his mouth off of me.
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry,” he rambles, his desperation soaking out from his eyes, quickly coating his face.
“Hey, hey, hey, calm down,” I soothe, gently pushing his head down my body. “You just sucked a little too long, it’s no biggie.”
More sorrys tumble out of him as he kisses down my stomach, both hands on my chest now, squeezing my boobs as his mouth coats my torso. “I… what do…?” A whine falls from him, his inexperience getting to him.
“Sunshine, please calm down. You’re working yourself up. I’ll walk you through it,” I tell him, my fingers sliding under my waistband to tug my pants off. The ginger’s fingers wrap around the band too, quickly tugging my pants down my legs.
Once he’s back between my legs, my hands fall on his hair, slowly shifting his head down. “Can… I want… please?”
“Do whatever you want, sunshine,” I coo, twirling his hair around my fingertips. He jumps right in, coating my thighs in kisses and soft suckles as his hands grip my legs. His fingers dig into my flesh, sifting my legs open and closed around his head.
“I…” he mutters, tapping his nose against my underwear. “I want…”
“What do you want, sunshine?” I ask, toying with him as I grind myself against him. “Use your words like a good boy.”
“I want to go down on you. I want to taste you. I want you to feel good. Please? Mommy please?” I snap his head away from me, the bedroom name ringing in my head. “I’m sorry,” he races out, his opal eyes shiny and wide as he looks at me. “I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s… fine. It just called me off guard is all,” I mumble, shifting his head back into please. I let out a few deep breaths before letting my hands go gentle in his hair again. “You still want to make Mommy feel good?”
“Yes,” he races out, littering kisses across my panties. “Please?”
“Ya… ya, make… make me feel good, baby.”
Another whimper falls from the man between my legs, his lip hungrily kissing my thighs as he tugs my underwear off. “What do I do?” He asks, eyes scanning my exposition before jumping to my face. “I just… lick at you, right?”
“Kind of, ya. You can move your tongue in and out of me too, or if you can find my clit you can suck and lick at that.”
“And your clit does what?” He asks, bending back down to bury his head in my pussy before his tongue starts sliding between my folds.
“My clit is a bundle of nerves that make me feel really good - and that’s it,” I moan out the second half, clinging to the roots of his hair. “Right… right there, baby.”
The Shinobi’s eyes jump up, locking in my face as his tongue swirls around my clit, running over it again and again. After a couple of licks, he changes direction, sucking on the bundle as his eyes scan my face. “Fucking… lord, baby,” I moan out, my back arching as my climax crawls forward. “Don’t, don’t, don’t change anything, you hear me? Keep doing that?” I order, my breath picking up as the edge moves closer.
He does as told, continuing to suck and swirl his tongue around in the way I’m enjoying. “Fuck. God damn it. Baby,” I whine, shoving his head further into me as the band in my stomach snaps.
Once I settle down from my high, the shinobi pops up from between my legs, eyes sparkling, and face covered in my mess. “Did I do good? I did good, right? Mommy, right?”
“Right,” I mumble, trying to steady my breathing. “Come here,” I call, leading him up my body. “You did so good. You’re such a good boy,” I coo, littering his face in kisses. A smile small crosses his face, eyes soft but still intense as he looks at me. What a weird little sandman.
“What do I do now?” He asks, head decking down to cover my chest in kisses. “Can I do it again, Mommy? Can I go down on you again? Please? Mommy please?”
“Not right now, sunshine. I want you to fuck me, okay?”
“Really?” He asks, his breath airy as he asks the question. “Can I? Can I really?”
“Ya. Let me grab a condom first,” I answer, leaning over to snap open my side table drawer. I dig around the drawer, searching for a rubber. “Um… do you have a condom?” I ask, shifting around the drawer some more.
“No, do you not have one?”
I let out a sigh, snapping the drawer closed. “No, I don’t, I’m sorry. Maybe if you’re in the village tomorrow - ”
“No,” he whines, burying his head in my chest, nuzzling my boobs as he whimpers. “I have to leave tomorrow. Please? It’ll be fine, right? One time won’t do anything.”
“You do know that sex leads to - ”
“I know how kids are made. Come on! Please? Pretty please?”
“Alright, okay. Just… don’t finish in me,” I give in, hands dropping down to work him out of his pants. My cheeks heat up as my fingers slide over his length, the soft virgin boy being bigger than I thought he would be. “Lord,” I mutter, working his pants the rest of the way down. Well, he definitely is a natural ginger.
“What? What’s wrong?” The Shinobi starts to panic, his eyes jumping around my body. “What did I do?”
“Hey, calm down. You work yourself up too much. You’re just… bigger than I thought you were going to be,” I mumble, settling my hands on his waist to shift him around.
“Is that a bad thing?” He asks, the opal of his eyes pooling into my view. The shinobi stumbles a bit, finding his balance above me. His hands settle on the sides of my head, nose pressed against mine as he looks down at me.
“No,” I breathe out, slowly using my hold on him to push his penis into me. “It’s… it’s a good thing, baby. A really good thing.” His chest pumps as he slides into me, his eyes fluttering as he looks down at me. “Okay, okay, um… do you think that you can move yourself in and out?” He nods his head quickly, mouth hung open as he sucks in oxygen. “Use your words, baby.”
“Yes, Mommy. Yes, I can. I can… I can move myself,” he mutters, his hips moving back and forth, tugging his dick in and out of me. “Mommy,” he whines, head barring into my neck.
“Sunshine, move a little faster,” I ask, my nails digging into his waist. “Please, baby.”
“Yes, ya, whatever you want,” he races out, his pace picking up. I’m shifted up the bed because of his thrusts, the tip of his dick bullying its way into me. My nails race across his sides, tearing into his skin as I’m forced up the bed, the promise of scratch marks left behind. “Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy,” he whines, his thrusts getting sloppy.
“Hey,” I call out, digging my nails into him harder. “You should probably…” a moan cuts off my next order, fingers digging deep enough that I can feel his blood trickling onto my fingertips.
“Damn it,” he whines, burying himself into me, his movements stalling as his hands jump down to cling to my sides. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry,” the redhead whines, head dipped onto my shoulder as he bottoms out in me. “I’m really sorry,” he whines again, the warmth of his cum filling me up.
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My heart pounds as I push open the door to the convenience store. It's been a month... or two since I've had my period. I'm sure it's nothing, that the stress of life is just getting to me... but you can never be too sure.
The sound of my blood rushing rings in my ears as I stroll around the store, eyes flickering around for the aisle I need. It doesn't take long for me to find the family planning aisle, only increasing my heartbeat.
I feel like I'm going to throw up as I settle in front of the wall of pregnancy tests, quickly scanning over the pink boxes. I grab the cheapest one, figuring it’ll work just as well as the rest.
The sound of the test moving as I walk only makes my nausea worse. I’m sure I’m not pregnant, I’m sure it’s just stress. The test will come out negative. It’s just me crossing all my Ts and dotting all my Is.
“Hello! Did you find everything alright?” The cashier asks, an empty smile on her face.
“Ya, I did,” I mutter, placing the box on the counter.
The cashier’s eyes flicker between the box and me for a second before she scans it. “Would you like a bag?” She asks already placing it into one of the propped-up paper bags. “Your total is twenty-three hundred yen.”
I place the money on the counter, snatching the bag and the recite from the lady before turning on my heels. Panic and blood rush through me as I head toward the store bathroom. It’s going to be negative, this is just a precaution.
The lights of the bathroom are so bright that it almost blinds me, only adding to my stress. It’s just to check, it’s not going to be positive, it’s just to cross it off the possibility list.
I repeat the empty promises to myself as I take the test. My anxiety claws at my chest more and more as I wait for the test to process. How could I be so stupid? How could I let a one-night stand not use a condom? I always make them use one and then a hot sand shinobi shows up and all of a sudden my senses go out the window? What the hell? I can’t be a single mom. I can’t do this alone. But it’s fine because I’m not pregnant.
I shake the stick for a second, slowly opening my eyes to look down at it. “Well, shit.”
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#naruto shippuden#naruto shippuden oneshot#naruto shippuden x reader#naruto shippuden smut#gaara sabaku x reader#gaara x reader#gaara oneshot#gaara sabaku#gaara sabaku oneshot#gaara smut#gaara sabaku smut
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Yenralt Appreciation, Vol. 1: LATE NIGHTS
Set post s2, no s3 spoilers.
EDIT: crossposted on Ao3 now!
If she were more present to herself, she might appreciate the dramatics of it all, how appropriate it is, to be struggling for breath and heaving out sobs as a thunderstorm rages outside and flashes of light keep bursting in the room.
Unfortunately, she is rather busy keeping quiet, trying to reign in her terror as best as she can in spite of everything within her refusing to settle down. The feeling of emptiness, of helplessness, is still awfully vivid in her mind, and she almost tries to summon her magic, to do any little trick that could reassure her somewhat, but she’s too terrified at the thought of finding that she can’t.
Instead, she clenches her fists around the sheets and breathes, breathes, breathes.
“Yen?”
She jolts, turning around without thinking and fixating him with a look that’s probably as wild as they come, if the deeply worried expression on his face, briefly illuminated by a lightning strike, is anything to go by.
“I’m fine,” she gets out, but it’s so quiet and strangled that if she had been talking to a regular human they probably wouldn’t have heard.
Geralt might as well not have heard it either, for what good it does.
He doesn’t make a move to get up, because Ciri is tucked under his arm, nested between him and the wall, but he keeps staring, for long enough that Yennefer wishes she had the will to snap at him right now.
As it is, an eternity of stifled sobbing goes by before anybody speaks again, and it’s not her.
“Yen,” he calls, quietly, and she’s attracted to it like a moth to the flame in spite of herself. “Get in,” he adds, when her eyes are on him. It sounds a bit like a question, and the way he raises the covers is an open invitation.
She should say no. She should spit at him, turn her back, and spend the rest of the night terrified if she has to.
But it’s late, she’s tired, she’s cold, and her stupid, stupid instincts always seem to settle when she’s at his side, something in her trusting him completely no matter how much she yells at him, no matter how rocky their relationship may be.
Pitifully dejected, she shuffles out of her bed and accepts the invitation, settling under his free arm and sealing her eyes shut, cheek pressed against his shoulder.
He pulls the covers back up for her to hide under, and he doesn’t say anything, the way he wouldn’t over the years when her dreams would wake him up in the middle of the night and she’d press tighter against him, trying to hide her tears.
Her breaths slowly even, her sobs subduing, and when she eventually falls asleep it’s to the feeling of his hand squeezing hers.
(In the morning, when the awkwardness between them isn’t yet gone, it all feels like a dream.)
#yenraltsource#yenralt#yenralt appreciation 2023#geralt x yennefer#the witcher fic#the witcher netflix#the witcher#not spn#my fanfic#this is going to ao3 as soon as it's back up again obviously#in the mean time here it is some angsty hurt/comfort looool
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@a-tin-of-crisco gave me the idea to do a proper intro post for my friends that I made during the boopening, so! This is that, I'm really just gonna be reiterating my bio but with a litttle more 🤌✨ spice
My name is Nikolai, or Nico for short. Though I tend to hoard names, so other acceptable ones include Bones, Moth, Dev, Ashen, and Yen. I'm currently 21 but I'll be turning 22 in July, and I'm American. Now for the spice
Gender: Transmasc nonbinary. I use they/them, he/him, and it/its pronouns
Likes: I love music, art, and I enjoy a ton of different medias. The list is way too long
Dislikes: Bigotry/hateful behavior, annoying asks, uhh... Man I don't know, there isn't a ton of stuff I dislike
Fun facts: I'm an artist! I post art on here from time to time. I also will answer asks that want me to behave like a raccoon because That's My Bit. I have a lovely wonderful partner (OUR 5 YEAR ANNIVERSARY IS TODAY💙💜💙💜💙💜) who I love to blab about. And uhh... I post kinda inconsistently so if I disappear for a bit don't unfriend me? :(
Also i tag all of my posts #egge orb friday, this is a running bit and also my way around the post without tags prompt. So! Nice to meet you all <3
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tagged by @chocobiiis to shuffle my 'on repeat' playlist and share the first ten songs that play! thank youuuu! ٩(^ᴗ^)۶
"Mass Anasthesia" - Mediavolo
"Nightmare" - Red Velvet
"All I Think About Now" - Pixies
"Rabbiteen" - Jack Off Jill
"Ruby Shoes" - tommy heavenly6
"Band Aid Covers The Bullet Hole" - Scarling.
"Moth Touch" - Maple Bee
"Sunday Park" - YEN TOWN BAND
"Underwater" - Red Velvet
"ASAP" - STAYC
tagging @chaicolatte @dogbiscuit @eimiiko @loveinheart @missingwife @mouthlog @vampean ♥︎
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SKUYEN BIRDEE (skoo-yen bir-dee), a jade! skuyen uses she/her pronouns. a fairly respected matron of a small cavern, skuyen is able to pass off her slightly shady dealings as empire secrets. why is she shady?
well, she has wings. they're jade colored and insectoid, but more moth-like than dragonfly-like. luckily, they're extremely small, and so she can hide them under her clothes with only minimal discomfort.
apart from her wings, she's fairly average for a jade; 6'8", stocky, and prone to insomnia. her hair she wears very long, as she's been growing it out for 40 sweeps, and she lets it hang down anytime it won't get in her way.
she has downward angled eyes, a sharp, curved nose, and shark-like teeth. her claws tend to grow very fast, and she has terrible posture, since the cavern she runs is shockingly small. her horns are fairly small and sharp, growing in a triangular slope from the top of her head, but are flat at the front.
her lusus is a very reptilian shoebill stork, that is just over 5' tall
her hobbies include genetic research (off the clock use of the relatively defunct blood lab), scrolling dating apps obsessively (mostly haemoQuadratic, even though it literally costs 10% of her income and also some of her blood every month) and just generally waiting for whatever comes Next
typing quirk: thhe quicck browwn foox jumpps oveer thhe lazzy doog (doubles the second to last letter)
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Fighting for my life to find the earliest/most concise posts about the red wedding for a friend who isn’t terminally online. Any chance you could help?
HELLO YES im so so sorry it took me this long to get to this ask oh my god here!!!
this one from yen! ad's version mine!!! jules' version!!
greatest hits from my archive fslkjda: x x x
moth's gorgeous art! more cool art!! dee's art!! mira's red wedding cq
#also if i missed one of ur posts im so sry it wasnt' on purpose i am just scrolling thru my archive going holy shit that was cool it was#not on purpose i prommy#so so sorry it took me so long to get to this oh my god#ty for the ask!!! <333#links might be scuffed sorry
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if your pronouns aren't on this list, tell me so I can add them.
Mostly it's just the first two forms that matter for most of the pronoun pin designs, but people kept asking for the full sets, which is why they're all listed out.
You know, I had these sorted into groups of 10 but tumblr decided to undo that. so. RIP.
ace/aces/acelf (or aceself)
ae/aem/aes/aemself
ae/aeon/aeons/aeonself
ae/aer/(aers)/aerself
ae/ryn/(ryns)/rynself
ae/aev/aevs/aevself
aero/aeros/aeroself
aix/arix/aiv/aixelf
an/droid/androidself
an/dro/gyn/oid
an/dro/dros/androself
aro/aros/aroself
ar/lok/loks/lokself
asi/min/mina/minself
aster/asters/asterself
ay/ace/aceself
ay/li/yen/alienself
bee/bees/beeself
bee/bem/bes/bemself
beep/boop/boops/boopself
bun/buns/bunself
by/lar/lars/larself
byt/byts/bytself
ca/thar/tis/tharself
card/cards/cardself
ce/cer/(cers)/cerself
ce/cey/ces/ceyself
ce/cey/ceir/ceyself
cey/cem/ceir/cemself
ce/cim/cims/cimself
ce/cir/cirs/cirself
cer/cers/cerself
char/chars/charself
charm/charms/charmself
che/chi/chis/chiself
che/chim/chis/chimself
click/clack/clacks/clackself
clo/loc/(locs)/clockself
club/clubs/clubself
club/heart/spade/(diamond)/suitself
coin/coins/coinself
co/cos/coself
cu/ti/tis/tiself
cy/cyan/cyans/cyanself
cyan/cyans/cyanself
cy/cyb/cybryk
cy/cyb/cyber/cyberself
da/dar/dark/darkself
dark/darks/darkself
dae/daem/daems/daemself
dae/daem/daemon/daemonself
de/ad/ath/adself
de/der/(ders)/derself
de/dim/dis/dimself
de/ir/irk/irself
deq/dir/dira/dirself
dey/dem/des/demself
diamond/diamonds/diamondself
dove/doves/doveself
dre/aras/arel/araself
dre/dream/dreams/dreamself
dream/dreams/dreamself
e/em/eir/emself
e/er/ers/erself
e/im/is/imself
echo/echos/echoself
es/lin/lins/linself
ex/exs/exself
ey/eir/eirself
ey/em/eir/emself
ey/er/eir/erself
fae/faer/(faers)/faerself
fae/fir/firs/firself
fang/fangs/fangself
fe/ir
feather/feathers/featherself
fleur/fleurs/fleurself
fluff/fluffs/fluffself
fox/foxs/foxself
frog/frogs/frogself
gal/lif/frey/gallifrey
gar/ros/roself
gear/gears/gearself
gi/gin/gins/ginself
glitch/glitches/glitchself
he/him/his/himself
hea/ler/(lers)/lerself
heart/hearts/heartself
hero/heros/heroself
hop/hops/hopself
hy/hym/hys/hymself
ido/eis/eiself
ili/ilin
it/its/itself
ith/iths/ithself
ith/kir/kirs/kirself
ivy/ivys/ivyself
ix/hal/hallep/halself
ix/ixelf
izi/av/avi/fiself
jay/jays/jayself
joke/jokes/jokeself
joker/jokers/jokerself
ke/kem/kes/kemself
ker/kri/krix/kriself
key/kem/kes/kemself
king/kings/kingself
kit/kits/kitself
kit/kitten/kittens/kittenself
kiz/zuna/zunas/zunaself
ky/shal/shalk/shalself
ky/tin/tins/tinself
kyn/areth/arev/arethself
leaf/leafs/leafself
ley/lem/les/lemself
li/lia/lias/liaself
li/lim/lis/limself
li/lin/lins/linself
li/lir/lirs/lirself
lo/lok/loks/lokself
lu/lun/luna/lunself
lu/luna/lunas/lunaself
lun/luna/lunas/lunaself
luna/lunas/lunaself
ly/lyr/lyrs/lyrself
mae/mer/mims/merself
mal/ad/dy/malady
mango/mangos/mangoself
meow/meows/meowself
mi/mus/pol/muself
mio/fel/fels/felself
mley/mlem/mlems/mlemself
mon/arch/archs/archself
monarch/monarchs/monarchself
moon/moons/moonself
moth/moths/mothself
mp3/mp3s/mp3self
mus/ruum/ruums/ruumself
N/Z/Q/(R)/C
nat/zahl/quoz/(reals)/comp
ne/nem/nes/nemself
ne/neo/neos/neoself
ne/rix/riv/rixelf
nei/ther/thers/therself
neo/neon/neonself
neo/neos/neoself
ney/nem/nes/nemself
ni/nir/niys/nirself
ni/nir/nirs/nirself
nix/nixself
nor/mal/mals/normalself
nor/nors/norself
nov/nova/novas/novaself
nova/novas/novaself
oak/oaks/oakself
owl/owls/owlself
paw/paws/pawself
pe/per/pers/perself
per/sim/sims/simself
pix/pixel/pixels/pixelself
pri/prin/prince/princeself
pri/pin/princess/princesself
pro/noun/nouns/nounself
pru/nus/sero/nuself
pup/pups/pupself
purr/purrs/purself
queen/queens/queenself
queer/queers/queerself
quer/cus/quercuself
qui/sal/kus/salself
quir/quirs/quirself
rain/rains/rainself
rak/sura/suras/suraself
rawr/rawrs/rawrself
re/rei/reiv/reiself
ri/rin/rins/rinself
ri/riv/rivs/riverself
ri/riv/rix/riself
rot/rots/rotself
ry/ryn/ryns/rynself
sci/ence/(ences)/enceself
sci/scis/sciself
sci/ur/rus/sciuruself
se/ser/sers/serself
se/sim/sims/simelf
sey/sem/seir/semself
shay/shayself
shay/shays/shayself
shey/shem/sheir/shemself
she/her/(hers)/herself
si/sin/sina/sinself
sia/lia/lias/liaself
sil/silv/silver/silverself
singu/laer/larity/singularity
ski/per/pers/perself
skip/per/pers/skipperself
skip/skips/skipself
skipper/skippers/skipperself
so/sol/sols/solself
sol/solar/solars/solarself
soul/souls/soulself
spade/spades/spadeself
spark/sparks/sparkself
star/stars/starself
ste/stel/stellarself
stell/stellium/stelliumself
strife/strifes/strifeself
su/[na]/uvu/lo/(kar)/zeda
sun/suns/sunself
sy/rup/rups/rupself
sy/sky/skys/skyself
tal/lyn/lyns/lynself
tar/dis/tardiself
te/teal/teals/tealself
te/ter/ters/terself
te/ter/(ters)/terself
tey/tem/tes/temself
they/them/their/themself
thi/hil/(hilz)/hilself
thorn/thorns/thornself
thun/thunder/thunders/thunderself
ti/tik/tiks/tikself
toad/flax/toadflaxself
toad/toads/toadself
toy/toys/toyself
tri/trick/tricks/trickself
twig/twigs/twigself
vae/si/av/siself
vae/vaer/vael/vaerself
vae/vam/vas/vamself
ve/vei/veir/veiself
ve/vem/ver/vemself
ve/ven/vens/venself
ve/vim/vis/vimself
ve/ver/vers/verself
ve/ver/vis/verself
vee/veen/veens/veenself
vey/vem/veir/vemself
vi/viol/violet/violetself
vi/vir/virs/virself
vix/vixs/vixself
vo/vos/voself
voi/void/voids/voidself
void/voids/voidself
W/X/Y/Z
wa/wir/wor/(worl)wirself
wasp/wasps/waspself
wave/waves/waveself
weird/weirds/weirdself
willow/willows/willowself
wolf/wolfs/wolfself
X/Xs/Xself
X/Xself
xae/xaer/xael/xaerself
xae/xaer/xaerself
xe/hir/hirs/hirself
xe/hir/(hirs)/hirself
xe/xem/xeir/xemself
xe/xem/xel/xemself
xe/xim/xis/ximself
xe/xir/xirs/xirself
xe/xym/xys/xymself
xei/xev/xes/xevself
xeno/bell/bella/bellself
xey/xem/xeir/xemself
xi/kiyn/kiyns/kiynself
xi/xir/xirs/xirself
xie/xyr/xyrs/xyrself
xiy/rik/ix/sirav
xy/xym/xys/xymself
zag/rey/yus/zagreus
zal/az/azself
zap/zaps/zapself
ze/hir/(hirs)/hirself
ze/hir/hirs/hirself
ze/zem/zel/zemself
ze/zem/zeir/zemself
ze/zer/zers/zerself
ze/zir/zirs/zirself
ze/zir/zis/zirself
zey/zem/zeir/zemself
zhe/hir/hirs/hirself
zhe/zir/zirs/zirself
zy/zem/zel/zemself
zy/zev/zel/zevself
zy/zym/zys/zyself
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Time and Time Again
Time and Time Again
by Imaginarys
Su-Han has a lot on his plate. First coming back from being in stasis after Fu's sentimonster quite literally ate the Temple, for lack of a better description. Missing the one who was the love of his life before all this happened. Then getting used to the modern world and all it has to offer. Not to mention the two heroes he has to watch over now and make sure they don't meet the same fate as the last Ladybug and Chat Noir of his time.
The heroes in question – they think they're all that. They're stubborn. Stubborn enough to make anyone pull their hair out in frustration – thank goodness he doesn't have any hair for that. The young heroes still have much to learn about themselves, each other, and their Miraculouses, things that Master Fu was never able to teach them.
Shadowmoth gets stronger every day, or at least smarter. He's sending out better supervillains to do his bidding than ever before, and it's only a matter of time before some epic final battle arrives.
The question is – can Su-Han help Ladybug and Chat Noir fulfill their mission to stop Shadowmoth before he gets their miraculouses?
Words: 6851, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Times of Our Lives
Fandoms: Miraculous Ladybug
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/M
Characters: Su-Han, Yen (OC), Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Chloé Bourgeois, Plagg, Tikki, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Bọ rùa, Past Chat Noir
Relationships: Su-Han/OC, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Additional Tags: Past Lives, Reincarnation, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Plot, Adrinette | Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Identity Reveal, Su-Han Needs a Hug
Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39859233
#AO3 Feed#FanFiction#AO3 Adrienette Plus#💚#🐞#❤️#Adrienette Plus#Miraculous Ladybug#♧#R:M#A:Imaginarys#Reveal Fic#Reincarnation#Soulmate AU#Fluff#Angst
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romantic confession meme / not accepting / @angelustm : "don't make me say it. i can't say the words." / from yuna!
“It’s not even that hard.” He couldn’t believe how the woman found it hard to utter these simple words. For moths the two had been rather exclusive with one another. The moment Yusuke steps into the facility it’s as if she’s been given notice and within no time she would find him and guides him to a more private area where the two could have a chance to talk..though considering she was still technically on the clock he would throw in a few hundreds of yen here and there. At the very least he got a lapdance out of it, what more could a guy ask for?
However, today was a rare occasion as the two of them were off duty for the day and Yusuke pulled out all the stops on this day, took her to a great place for lunch and the rest of the evening was spent walking, talking. Yusuke mostly shared the experiences of his past, joining a demon tournament, finding out he had demon blood in his veins..being conflicted to witness his ancestral parent dying, he basically shared everything between them until she began to mention how she felt. The words were coming out but she kept beating around the bush instead of going straight to the point about her feelings.
“C’mon spit it out!” Yusuke said, waiting for her to say the words that she wanted to say. “It’s not even that hard, here I’ll show you how easy it is. I happen to like you, so much that it took me all night t’ think of where t’ take you on this date. THAT’s how much I like you, and let me tell you it sucks because I’m there in bedIcan’t go t’ sleep cause YOU’RE always on my mind. Screw ‘liking’ you I think I fell for you and it’s the kind of screwed up I can live with.” That he said with a smile, a rather sincere one.
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My thoughts on Dr. Stone’s S03E05 (“Science Vessel Perseus”)
(Safe to read for anime-only folks.)
My thoughts after watching Season Three, Episode Five:
01. Poor Kaseki… with all the rain that's made contact with that wood, it's probably expanded in ways that are detrimental to building the ship… :(
02. I don't want a miniature yacht! I want everybody (or almost everybody) to go! :O
03. Whatever Ryusui wants, Ryusui gets! If he wants to turn one million yen a month into an even larger fortune, then that's what he'll do! :D
04. It's interesting how Francois' outfit has more serious colors in the past - like it's a reflection of the difference in vibrancy and life between Francois' past employers and present employer :)
05. Working hard is a great look on Ryusui! :D And Francois gazed at him so admiringly XD I'm guessing the reason he didn't volunteer to build a model ship before was because they were already constructing a ship before Ryusui was depetrified! :)
06. Ryusui used Senku's word - exhilarating! :D
07. Suika has a lot of faith in Senku and Ryusui! :) Hmm, I didn't know before this that Senku's outfit had layers… I learned something new about him today! :O
08. Oh, we're still at paper, then? XD But anyway, this episode's title is "Science Vessel Perseus!" :D
09. Minami's creating the Kingdom of Science Photo Diary! :)
10. A casino… Ryusui sure has his priorities! XD
11. A pantograph… :O Aww, Suika drew a small Senku and the thingy drew a large Senku! :)
12. A 50-kilogram pen for the jumbo-sized version… They really did need power! :O Nazka Lines? Those are in… South America, right? Aww, Taiju drew a medium, more detailed Senku and the thingy drew a humongous, also detailed Senku! :D
13. …I didn't even remember this ship building roadmap until they showed it to us again XD
14. They need time… the most important resource of all :O
15. Kohaku loves winter sports! (Although they make her look blurry XD) Senku's making chocolate! Ukyo taught Suika and the other kids how to read! Nikki has cute writing, and Senku has… less cute text he wants to include with the photos XD
16. Hmm, Senku looked a little older after that lathe conversation… or is it just me? :O
17. How long would it take to find and utilize wild silk moths? But however long it took, they did, it and Ruri and Kohaku like the results… especially Kohaku, who looks all blurry in the photos again! :D And Suika was hiding with the other watermelons! :)
18. One year to build the ship… and a Season Two callback about how long a year can be! :D
19. Minami knows everybody, and will miss everybody… and may even feel a sense of responsibility towards those she chose to be revived… It's a tough position to be in… :(
20. Francois really thinks of everything in advance, even photo timers! :O
21. On September 10, 5741, the kingdom of science completed the Perseus sailing ship! :D
22. Senku and Suika are next to each other on the platform as the Perseus is being launched into the sea! And Kaseki's so happy about the grandest project of his life being completed! :)
23. I wish they had explained more about Perseus and Medusa, and why it's the perfect name for the ship! Maybe in the next episode? Although Chrome seems to get the reference, so maybe the story was told before this moment :D
24. Oooh, this is a new, epic-sounding song! :O And we have the world exploration team, and the humanity development team! :O
25. Senku has a great point! Imagine putting EVERYBODY on the ship… only for it to sink and doom the future of humanity XD
26. Ryusui's a very thoughtful, caring captain to think of what harm an unwilling sailor can do to a ship's entire crew! :)
27. Oooh, the boarding of the ship has begun… cue the opening song! :D Senku, Chrome, Kaseki, Yuzuriha, Ukro, Francois, the power team (which includes Kohaku! :D)… Kinro, who only boarded when called because rules are rules! :) And… Ginro… XD Senku's very considerate to point out that the humanity development team will be doing important work as well! :D
28. That's Kohaku, taking other people's safety very seriously! :) Strange how she didn't know about Hyoga and Homura being on the ship already, though… who got them on there? Taiju and Nikki? Oh, interesting that Kohaku used the word "Japan!" The modern era folks must have explained more about the world to the Ishigami Village folks! :D
29. It's a huge risk, but a very smart move at the same time. This way the most powerful warriors will be watching over the most powerful enemies… :O
30. Hahaha, Gen was trying to speed things up before his name got called XD And Kohaku comes to a realization about Gen's way of saving face :)
31. And they've set sail! The humanity development team looks like they're really going to miss the world exploration team! :O
32. Kohaku's pretty understanding of Ginro's point-of-view! :O And speaking of Ginro… What an incredibly underhanded by clever plan! XD He even used his knowledge as a person of the water to do it right! But, since Senku and Ginro collaborated on his entry into the Grand Bout, he knows how Ginro's mind works… :D
33. So, was Kinro about to thank Senku because he had the tiniest of hopes that Ginro would do exactly this? In any case, Ginro's "decision" to chase after them is a huge morale booster for the world exploration team! They're even dancing in a circle around him! :D Although… poor Ginro… because of Senku and science, Ginro's underhanded, clever plan completely backfired… XD
34. Senku's eyes were shining as he talked about where they would go next - to the island where his father and the others started the new age of humanity, and where the Hundred Tales were born! :O
35. And that's Episode Five! :) I think I liked it more than Episode Four, because this one had more interpersonal interactions, whereas the previous episode was more technical. I know what's coming up in the next episode - whose title is "Treasure Box - and it's going to be a lot of fun to watch! :D
https :// fireflyhwufanficwriter . tumblr . com / MyDrStoneEpisodeMangaThoughts
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The Witcher season 3 Episode 5 liveblog
An aphrodisiac in the food? Really
Yens Outfit ist also ugly 🙈
Hehehe the smirk from yen when Geralt tells Sabrina how lovely yen looks
Bahahaha Philippa stole Geralts line when dijkska dismissed her "hm"
And Geralt is not amused to See him
Don't get Jealous of istredd.. again...
Also Yen told you that you must answer to anyone who wants to talk to you. (Not truthfully but talking with them)
Dancing really not something Geralts Likes. Especially when they either can't look at Him or throw themself at Him. But somehow He knows the steps.
Really Geralt? Making a scene with istredd? Jealousy doesn't make someone to stay...
Oh the fight was staged? Okay 🤣
The moth did warn stregobor. He pulled a Gandalf. Irks
Awwwwww He told yen that he loves her
OK sooo it wasn't stregobor? It's vilgefors? (Also his name Sounds like fart in German....)
Soooo it gives a second drop of season 3? Or was that all and I need to wait for season 4?
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i’ve been playing a lot of meditative comfort games recently and i am currently kind of obsessed with the idea of Yennefer as a Moth-Long favored by the Ring-Yew. the principle of change and metamorphosis, chaos and secrecy? the Hour of desire and relentlessness, a God-from-Flesh whose other principles are Heart, of ceaselessness and protection, and Grail, of birth and thirsting? a pathway to ascension marked by the shedding of one’s flesh for new shapes, the trading of form and life for power? like, that’s Yenna!!
#my niche crossover headcanons are sexy and irrefutable 😌#‘The Ring-Yew commanded I bare my flesh and I obeyed. I will not always obey the Ring-Yew.’ LIKE#frankly when i say ‘of the Ring-Yew’ i mean ‘ascended under the Ring-Yew‚ now an Obliviate in opposition to the Hours’ rule’#Ciri is Knock like her mother btw; of openings and gateways‚ oracles and wounds#Geralt is Winter: of grieving‚ quiet‚ death and kindness by death#Dandelion is 100% mundane and everyone is working so so hard to prevent him from getting ritually sacrificed#Philippa is Edge & a Long of the Colonel (‘the actual canon polymorph should be Moth’ u say pffffft ok fine acknowledged but consider this)#(the Colonel gave his sight for power; the patient‚ lethal‚ & cunning; the counterrevolutionary & promoter of current power status quos)#(but also the one who stands against the Worms in the World just as Philippa stands against the White Frost)#so u might ask: does that make Yen’s rival Philippa? the answer is no. chiefest among Yen’s obstacles is Emhyr#Emhyr is Lantern and of the Sun-in-Rags; and more than anything he wants the daughter he fathered with the Long Pavetta returned to him#(he is consumed by it. no one knows if Emhyr himself was a Long when he fathered Ciri—but they whisper)#(supporters of his point out if Emhyr had been Long then it would likely have been Pavetta who committed the Crime of the Sky)#(...unless Pavetta made a deal in secrecy with a reluctant reckoner for him to take her child to save its life ohoho)#also listen Yen would never if she could avoid it—the House is no place for lovers#but TELL me if she wanted that Geralt wouldn't LET Yenna kill him & root the Wood in his rotting lungs so he could follow her to the Mansus#hot.#laurelnose.txt#i made this post for Me but if you need context it’s about#yen of the Moth#secret histories tag
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this was part of an old scrapped comic that will never be, but i find this crack ship idea so sublime that i guess i’ll share it
and as a proud owner of both a kratos and geralt nendoroids they do indeed hold hands on my shelves in what i like to call a pro gaymer move
#kratos#geralt of rivia#the witcher#god of war#moth arts#i am a gamer and that's pretty sad but honestly kratosxgeralt canon now#the comic was ...i don't...#they're just two gay gruff dads raising their kids and fighting monsters#this is dandelion/geralt erasure i'm so sorry to all you bard fuckers out there#me crack shipping this like 'begone twink' even though i'm more familiar with the witcher game dandelion where he's not a twink#i never did finish witcher 3 mostly because i got stuck save-scumming trying to get a fucking card that has a random chance of being awarded#all that i know is i kinda don't like yennefer and triss is best girl sorry not sorry#although....yen/triss...the solution is found...i've been blind all this time
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i call my bf mothman so that if i ever make sad on main posts about missing him like i am right now because i miss him then i will also be able to chuckle a little because
mothman
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from what i’ve tasted of desire
first post season 2 fic! of course I immediately wrote a fix-it, because these boys still haven’t talked about their feelings. needless to say, this contains spoilers for season 2 and the season 2 finale in particular.
read on ao3
~
Jaskier’s coat has a hole in it.
After everything, it should be trivial. The bodies of half the remaining witchers—Geralt’s brothers, his family—are laid across the tables in the main hall. The grey stone is stained with black streaks where they fell, like the veined marble of a mausoleum floor. Beyond the doors, he can see Ciri sitting on the broken rampart, Yennefer leaning close, their heads bent together. Exhaustion and grief press close and heavy around them all.
It shouldn’t matter that his jacket has a hole in it. He’s not hurt. He’s alive, and so is Yen, and Ciri, and—and he’s fine. Compared to what everyone else has been through, no hurts or discomforts of his should even register.
But. This is his only coat. The only thing he owns, really. Geralt plucked him out of that cell and he’s only got what’s on his back: one pair of trousers, a couple of shit boots not meant for the road, one shirt with a badly patched ax hole in it, a tattered vest, and one coat with a massive tear running from the small of his back and halfway up to his right armpit, bursting the seam. He’s lucky that whatever tore the heavy leather open didn’t tear him open with it.
He makes his way back to his room that evening with heavy feet. He knows he should have stayed, probably, to help everyone clean up longer and maybe sing to lift their spirits. But he doesn’t have a lute anymore, and he’s so tired.
The room he found for himself is small, and on the outside wall of the keep. There’s a crack in the ceiling to the right of the bed, and when he looks directly up he can see three pinpricks of light against the blackness of the northern sky. The mountain chill seeps into the room insidiously; he’s only glad it isn’t snowing. Still, the moth eaten blanket he’d rustled up does little against the cold, and his thrice damned fucking coat has a fucking hole in it. He can feel the chill against his back when he curls his feet up under the blanket. He doesn’t have any socks. They’d worn out on the way to Kaer Morhen and he’d finally had to throw them out.
Gods above, it’s fucking cold.
After tossing and shivering for an hour, Jaskier finally pulls himself out of the bed with a groan, dragging the blanket with him. Maybe if he can find a lit hearth somewhere he can get warm enough to pass out. After a moment of hesitation he grabs the bottle on the nightstand. There isn’t enough left in it to knock him out—thanks for nothing, Jaskier of yesterday—but maybe it will at least warm him up. His bones ache with the cold, and his bare feet burn where they touch the icy stone.
There’s still a fire burning in the main hall, but that’s not happening. People might still be there, and the room smells like iron and ozone. He stands in the hallway for a moment, chewing his lip in thought. Maybe the lab, though he isn’t sure it would be that much warmer. Maybe he could just find another room? He wishes, for a fervent moment, that he could just go find Geralt. His fingers are stiff where they hold the thin blanket around his shoulders, and the barely healed burns along his index and middle finger ache along his joints. If he could just find Geralt and curl up next to him with the excuse of warmth, maybe this would all be alright. He knows he shouldn’t want that anymore, because Geralt left him and he’s barely apologized and Yen is back and he told himself he wouldn’t do this anymore, but—
He’s so cold.
The kitchens. There’s an idea.
He makes his way quietly through the halls, though he has no doubt that if any witchers are awake they’ll hear him moving about. The kitchens are tucked off of the main hall, far enough away that he can’t hear whether people are still moving about in there. He doesn’t want to know, entering through the old servants’ entrance in the hall instead. The kitchens of Kaer Morhen are large, as they would be in any keep, but clearly under-utilised. Several work tables line the long room, but only the one at the far end has cooking utensils left on it. Various herbs and spices hang from the ceiling, alongside dark pots and pans worn lopsided with age. On the far end of the room, the hearth emits a gentle glow that has Jaskier sighing in relief.
The fire is banked; only glowing embers remain. A small pile of wood sits next to the fireplace, and Jaskier eyes them warily. He should add a few to the embers, get a real fire going to warm himself up. But his fingers burn, and the memory of a flame licking up the side of his palm and the thick smell of his skin bubbling makes him hesitate. It’s warmer here already. Instead, he sits against the warm stone of the hearth and digs his teeth into the cork of his bottle.
The wine goes too quickly, but it does leave him feeling slightly warmer, fuzzy around the edges. The stone against his back isn’t too cold, but the floor is freezing. He tries to arrange his worthless coat underneath himself, wishing he still had his traveling gear. A bedroll would do him wonders right now. He’s still shivering a bit, and he can’t feel his toes. He should add another log to the fire, but he’s just… tired. He wants to sleep, and forget how heavy and empty he feels for a moment.
He dozes fitfully, for a time. He can’t say why he wakes, but when he does it’s with a racing pulse. For a moment he doesn’t know where he is or what woke him—a flame dancing on the tip of a finger fills his mind—and he flails. A hand catches around his wrist, and it’s so warm he shudders almost violently. “Jaskier,” Geralt says, and Jaskier stills.
He blinks a few times to orient himself, and finds Geralt crouched on the floor in front of him. “Geralt,” he says, adrenalin flashing through his veins and chasing away some of his exhaustion. “What’s wrong?”
“Why are you in here?” Geralt asks, eyebrows pulled low over his unsettling eyes. Jaskier’s stomach turns over nervously.
“Sorry,” he says, swallowing. “I—If you need me to leave—”
Geralt is still holding his wrist. It’s unbearably distracting, burning against his cold skin. Geralt shakes his head. “It’s fine, Jaskier. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. I was in the hall, I heard someone come in here. Thought it might be Ciri.”
Of course he didn’t come just to check on Jaskier. He forces down his disappointment with age old practice. “Of course,” he says, finally pulling his wrist from Geralt’s grasp. Geralt lets him go easily, and it hurts as much as it ever did. “Well, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Why are you in the kitchens?” Geralt asks, and eyes the empty bottle to Jaskier’s side. “Raiding the wine stores?”
“I did that yesterday. Most of it’s poison,” he grumbles. “I was cold. If you must know.” He wants to snap it, feels irritated enough, but instead it just comes out hoarse and tired. He leans his head back against the wall behind him and wishes the fire was warmer. “My room has a hole in the ceiling.”
“Most of them do,” Geralt points out. “You should wear something warmer to bed.”
Jaskier raises a hand to press his palm to the center of his forehead. “I’ll keep that in mind next time,” he says dryly. “Point me in the direction of the nearest seamstress and I’ll be sure to ask for a pair of her thickest woollen socks. In the meantime, I’m afraid I’m making do with what I’ve got.”
Geralt is quiet for a moment. Jaskier has his eyes closed, but he can feel the witcher’s heavy gaze on him. He refuses to meet it. “You should have said something.”
Now Jaskier does open his eyes, if only to glare. Geralt is soft in the low light of the flickering embers, his eyes dark honey. A cloying feeling rises in Jaskier’s chest, and he wants it to be hate but he fears it’s something else entirely. “And when was I supposed to do that?” he asks sharply. “Before or after your Child Surprise got possessed and murdered half the people who live here? Somewhere on the road between Cintra and Kaedwin? Should I have asked my jailer before we left Oxenfurt? Or maybe I should have thought to pack a bag before I was—” He stops, biting his tongue.
Geralt’s mouth twists. So beautiful, Jaskier thinks with despair, and he hates himself. He hates all of this. He hates that he’s in this stupid drafty dead keep in a coat that has a hole in it. He hates that Ciri hasn’t said more than two words to him since they met. He hates that his lute is gone, even though he couldn’t play it anyways right now with his hands as they are. He hates that Yennefer is easy to get along with, that her hands fit so nicely in his, that he can’t dislike her easily anymore. He hates that Geralt speaks in kind, soft words to Ciri and speaks so plainly to Yen, because why, why couldn’t he ever do that with Jaskier? And he hates that he’s so weak, that he’s here again after he told himself he’d never fall back into all this bullshit, because Geralt said I need your help and Jaskier is weak and wanting. He always has been.
For a moment Geralt looks like he’s going to say something, and then he stands. Jaskier feels something like relief, and also much like grief, leaving him cold and exhausted. But then a hand is thrust down into his face. Jaskier blinks at it and then looks up at Geralt. He wonders if the wine was stronger than he thought, because Geralt is looking at him expectantly and Jaskier can’t for the life of him imagine what he wants from him. He never could figure out what Geralt fucking wants. “Come on,” Geralt says, wiggling his fingers. Jaskier reaches up and takes them on automatic, his head buzzing with empty static.
Geralt’s hand is so warm, almost painfully so, and as he pulls Jaskier to his feet the burns on his fingers drag against old callouses. He hisses, and Geralt reaches for his elbow as Jaskier pulls his hand away to shake it out. “You’re hurt,” Geralt says, all soft eyes and concern. Jaskier wants to scream.
“It’s nothing,” he says, unable to stop himself from holding his injured hand to his chest. It’s not serious. It’s been weeks since the mage, even though at times Jaskier still feels like he’s back in that room, pinned down like an ant under a magnifying glass. His fingers have mostly healed. The blisters broke and scabbed over while he was in the little cell in Oxenfurt, and he was lucky they didn’t get infected. His pointer finger especially is still red and raw around the tip, the underside right where he would pluck the strings of his lute, if he had one. Yennefer has her magic back, so he might even be able to ask her to remove the tender, shiny skin so he can play easily again. He just… hasn’t had a chance to ask.
Geralt pulls his hand towards him, and Jaskier is powerless to resist him. His palm falls open, bare for Geralt’s inspection. “These are old,” Geralt says, surprised. He runs a finger across the burns, gentle. Jaskier resists a shiver.
“Two weeks,” Jaskier admits, not pulling his hand back. There’s no point. “I thought Yennefer told you.”
Geralt’s face is blank for a moment, and then shifts subtly—just a tension in his jaw, around his eyes. Jaskier doesn’t think anyone else would recognize it. Or maybe that’s not true, and he only wishes it were. “She told me you ran into trouble in Oxenfurt. With the firefucker. Damn it Jaskier.”
“I didn’t tell him anything,” Jaskier says, peevishly. “Not that I had much to tell.”
“That’s not what I—” Geralt shakes his head. His shoulders are squared off as if for a fight, but he’s careful as he cradles Jaskier’s fragile fingers. “Come on,” he says again, his other hand pulling to guide Jaskier along by his elbow.
He doesn’t know where they’re going. Geralt leads him from the kitchen and down several halls, up a flight of stairs, beyond the little niche where Jaskier’s derelict room is located. He’s only been in the keep for less than seventy two hours, and it truly is a maze. The wine probably doesn’t help. By the time Geralt has led them down the third hall, Jaskier is well and truly lost.
They finally stop in front of a heavy door, which Geralt promptly pushes open. This part of the keep is in better repair; most of the sconces are lit, and a few dusty tapestries cover the stone walls to keep out the cold that seeps relentlessly from them. The room that Geralt drags him into is dark, but a moment later it springs into shape around them as Geralt twists his fingers into a quick igni. Jaskier does his best not to flinch.
The room is only barely bigger than the one Jaskier left, but it’s better outfitted. A soft fur rug covers the floor, another spread out on the four poster bed. A high wooden table sits against the back wall, the pool of melted wax around its unlit candle threatening its other occupants—loose papers, several quills, an old tome, some empty bottles. Geralt’s armor rests on a stand in the corner, his swords resting in their scabbards against the wall nearby. A tall armoire sits against the closest wall, but Jaskier can see several articles of clothing strewn carelessly about the room—a shirt on the back of the desk chair, a pair of boots next to the foot of the bed, one knocked on its side. This, Jaskier realizes suddenly, is Geralt’s room. The realization wakes him up more than anything else that has thus far transpired, chasing the last of the wine from his blood.
“What—” he starts, not even sure what he’s about to ask. Geralt doesn’t wait, pushing him to sit on the bed while he goes over to the armoire. “Geralt,” Jaskier says, almost distracted by the relief of the warm rug under his freezing toes. “What are you doing?”
Geralt doesn’t respond, only humming softly as he digs through the wardrobe. Jaskier huffs, pulling his knees up to his chest so he can dig his numb toes into the warm furs covering the bed. The room is already warming up with the fire going, and despite his curiosity he can feel himself growing drowsy. His eyes flutter shut of their own accord, only to snap open when something hits him full in the face. He splutters as it drops into his hands, and Geralt’s warm, grovely laugh fills the small space.
“What’s this?” Jaskier asks, spreading the fabric.
Geralt is already turning back to the wardrobe, pulling out a few more items. “It’s a shirt,” he says, voice still loose with amusement. “One that hasn’t been used for target practice.”
“Hilarious,” Jaskier deadpans as Geralt dumps another bundle of cloth into his lap. He tosses the pants aside in favor of the shirt, laying it out so he can start shucking his coat and vest. As he does so, he glances over the proffered loans, expecting to see worn out shirts patched from old fights. Instead he sees a neat cotton undershirt with a high collar and embroidery across the shoulders. The pattern is familiar, a floral motif—
Jaskier stops halfway out of his vest. “Hold on. Is this… mine?”
Geralt also freezes where he’s still digging through the wardrobe, holding one sock in hand like he’s been caught stealing it. He winces. “Erm. Got left behind in my things a while ago.”
“Several years ago,” Jaskier corrects. “These trousers are mine too! Why do you have these? Have you been stealing my good clothes all these years?”
Geralt turns away, head ducked low as he apparently becomes invested in his search for the other sock. “Not my fault you left them in my bags,” he mutters.
“Why do you still have them?” Jaskier wonders aloud. They would never fit Geralt, not with his broad shoulders. He strips his own shirt off, and immediately grimaces. He’d love to burn it, but he can’t afford to, unless Geralt is hiding a few more of his lost wardrobe pieces in there. He quickly changes into the new shirt, sighing in relief at the feel of clean, warm cotton against his skin. He stands to quickly change into the pants, which are worn soft with age. He remembers using them to sleep on the Path, what feels like a lifetime ago.
Geralt finally steps back to the bed as Jaskier sits down again. The fire has warmed the air of the room significantly, but without his coat, patchy though it may be, Jaskier finds himself suppressing shivers again. “It didn’t feel right to get rid of them,” Geralt says, shifting slightly from foot to foot. “I liked…”
“Liked what?” Jaskier asks. Geralt huffs, as if frustrated, and drops to his knees before the bed. Jaskier has a truly terrible moment where he nearly spreads his thighs open on instinct, a frankly implausible wave of arousal rising in him. He presses his knees together tightly, but Geralt isn’t even looking. He’s reaching down to cup Jaskier’s ankle in one hand, pulling his foot forward. Jaskier watches, aghast, as Geralt gently slides first one, and then the other sock onto his feet. They’re warm, and surprisingly soft. Once he’s done, Geralt smooths his hands up behind Jaskier’s calves. He leans his forehead against Jaskier’s knees, like a worshiper coming to prayer. Jaskier doesn’t know what to do; he feels as frozen and immovable as a statue in a temple.
“I’m sorry,” Geralt says, hushed. Jaskier swallows, and the sound is embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. “I know I said it before, but… I’m sorry, Jask. Not just for the mountain. For everything.” He lifts his head, looking up to meet Jaskier’s stunned gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you. I’m sorry I’m still not.” One of his hands pulled away from Jaskier’s calf to hover over his burnt fingers where they’re clenched tightly in the bedsheets. “I missed you.”
Mortifyingly, Jaskier feels his eyes burning. His vision blurs, obscuring the image of Geralt’s open, pleading face. He turns his face up towards the ceiling, trying to keep any tears from falling. “You know,” he says thickly, “when that fire fucker had me tied up to a chair, he kept asking me where you were. And I was relieved, because you never cared enough to show me your home. I wanted you to ask me to come here with you, for years. But you never did, and I was glad because if you had I would have known where you were, where Ciri was. And I thought, isn’t that pathetic, that I’m so happy you cared about me so little, because I still didn’t want to be the reason you got hurt.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt says, hoarse, but now that he’s speaking Jaskier can’t stop. It’s like it’s cracked him open, and his mouth is moving so quickly he barely knows what he’s saying.
“You left me on a mountaintop. You told me you never wanted to see me again. And you were always—You were always so closed off, and I thought, that’s just how Geralt is, he’s reserved, that’s fine, but it’s not even like that. You talk to Yen, I’ve seen you with Ciri and Vesemir. You just didn’t like talking to me, is that it? We’ve known each other for twenty years. I spent half my life following you around, and you never even told me that you thought I was your friend. I’m sorry I’m always the one getting you into shit situations, I’m sorry I asked you to come with me to the ball and I’m sorry I fucked up with the djinn and I’m sorry I elbowed my way into your life and didn’t leave you alone and that you hated me there so much. But you’re the one who came to find me, alright, so don’t go blaming it on me this time. I don’t even want to be here. I don’t.” He pants, chest heaving. He looks down at Geralt, whose face is carefully blank aside from the slight wrinkle between his eyes. He looks gutted.
“Then why did you come?” Geralt asks, soft. He’s still kneeling before Jaskier, hands on either side of Jaskier’s thighs. The contact is warm through his new pants—his old pants, which Geralt kept.
Jaskier’s throat constricts, and against his will a tear slips free. He can feel the hot trail of it down his cheek. “You fucking know why.”
“You haven’t forgiven me,” Geralt counters, and it doesn’t sound accusing, it’s just a fact. And he’s right. Jaskier feels like an open wound of anger and hurt, and he can’t imagine allowing Geralt close enough to try to apply a salve yet.
“No,” he agrees, mouth twisting. “I can’t. Not yet. But I still—” He sucks in a breath. “I want to help.”
“I don't want to keep you here if it’s not where you want to be,” Geralt says. He’s looking at Jaskier with a deeply familiar expression. Guilt. Always guilt.
“It is,” Jaskier says, even though he knows he said the opposite not half a minute ago. “I don’t want to leave. I just. I want… I don’t want to feel like you think I’m a nuisance to have around. I don’t even know why you want me here anyways. I’m not a fighter, Geralt. I can’t do magic. I don’t even have a damn lute anymore, and my hands—” He has to stop, the tears cutting him off. He feels more slide down his cheeks, but he refuses to let the sob caught in his chest escape.
Geralt lifts his hands, his palms coming up on either side of Jaskier’s face. His thumbs skim over the skin beneath Jaskier’s eyes, collecting the dampness there. His expression is unreadable and enormous. Jaskier takes two shuddering breaths, the force of them racking his frame. “Jaskier,” Geralt says, quiet and demanding and earnest. “I didn’t come find you because I needed someone to fight for me. I needed someone I could trust.” He pauses, staring into Jaskier’s face. It’s probably a mess, splotchy and red from anger and tears. Geralt doesn’t seem to notice. “I missed you,” he says again, not a trace of embarrassment in his face or tone. “I just wanted you with me. If you don’t want to be here, if you can’t forgive me, I understand. But I want you here. I do.”
Jaskier crumples. There’s nowhere to go but further into Geralt—as always, as always—so he ends up falling forward until his face is pressed into Geralt’s neck. Heavy arms come up around him, two huge palms sliding along his back. The tears come in earnest, and the sob he was keeping trapped in his rib cage falls from his mouth in heaving gasps. He’s been cold for so long, and Geralt is so warm, holding him close. He makes soothing sounds into Jaskier’s hair, mouth pressing softly just behind his ear, and if anything that just makes Jaskier cry harder. He can’t remember the last time he felt cared for, wanted.
Geralt holds him until the sobs wind down, until Jaskier is slumped bonelessly against him, exhausted. He’s never felt so tired in his life, he thinks. Not even after walking all the way down that damn mountain. Geralt doesn’t pull away. He just shifts his arms down until they’re under Jaskier’s thighs and lifts. Jaskier clings to Geralt, his fingers clutching at his back, though he doesn’t remember putting them there. The world tilts, and a moment later Geralt is drawing the furs up around them, still holding Jaskier close.
It’s dreamlike. Jaskier feels empty and clean in the wake of his outburst, and the warmth of the furs and Geralt’s body are bliss. He thinks he’s been cold since he turned away from Geralt on that mountain. Sinking into the warmth, he presses a muddled apology into Geralt’s shirt.
“Don't,” Geralt admonishes, and Jaskier can feel the rumble of his voice where they’re pressed together. “I hurt you. You deserve to be upset about it.”
“You didn’t mean to,” Jaskier says, because he knows this. Geralt may be an idiot and he may let his emotions get the best of him, but he didn’t want to hurt Jaskier, not like this. He knows that. It should matter, that Geralt didn’t mean to, didn’t know that he had that kind of power over Jaskier’s heart.
“It doesn't matter,” Geralt says, and that’s true too. “I did it anyways. And I’m sorry. But I’m not going anywhere. Not without you, if you still want to join me.”
Jaskier pushes his face further into Geralt’s chest, breathing him in. He still smells the same. Like horse and iron, campfire, a hint of lilac. Heroics and heartbreak. Just a bit of onion. “I always want to be with you,” Jaskier admits, a bit hopelessly. “I can’t seem to stop.”
“Can’t say I mind,” Geralt says, and he sounds like he’s smiling. “I’ll try not to make it such a chore from now on.”
Jaskier huffs a laugh. “Fat chance,” he says, muffled by Geralt’s shirt. He’s so warm, drowsy and content. It shouldn’t be this easy, but here he is. He’s always been weak when it comes to Geralt. “You’re always going to be a pain,” he slurs.
“Takes one,” Geralt retorts, and his hands come up and smooth over Jaskier’s shoulder blades. One lifts to card through Jaskier’s hair. “Go to sleep, Jaskier. I’ll apologize again in the morning, and you can see if you forgive me then.”
Jaskier shivers awake at that, pulling back a bit. He finds Geralt’s face in the dim light, his eyes bright in the dark. “What if I don't?” he asks, defiant.
“Then I’ll say it again,” Geralt says, and Jaskier’s breath rushes out of him as Geralt leans forward. His lips brush along Jaskier’s cheek. “And again,” skim along his nose, press to his other cheek. Chasing away the tear streaks there. “And again.” A chaste press to his lips, barely a breath. Jaskier feels it in his toes. Geralt pulls back, just enough to look at him. “Until you do,” he finishes. “Or until we die, I guess, or you decide it’s not worth it. I wouldn’t blame you.”
Jaskier laughs wetly. He’s not entirely sure that he’s not dreaming. Maybe he froze to death in his broken little room, or fell into a feverous delirium from his infected wounds in that cell in Oxenfurt. Maybe he tripped down the mountain and broke his neck, and this has all just been the last fleeting imaginations of a dying man. It feels real, though. Geralt’s breath is hot against his face, and he feels so tired it seems unlikely that he could be dreaming. “I guess we’ll find out in the morning,” he says, and lies back down to curl into Geralt’s chest. It feels like a challenge, and he holds his breath as he waits.
Geralt settles back down next to him, with a sigh that sounds fond instead of exasperated. Jaskier wonders if he could find a way to fit the sound into a song. “In the morning,” Geralt agrees, and Jaskier smiles.
It doesn’t feel like healing, not quite. But it feels like the start.
#geraskier#the witcher#the witcher season 2#twn#geralt of rivia#jaskier#fic recs#my work#witcher#me @ myself stop fucking writing in present tense#this is ooc and I don't :) care :)#my next post is going to be a huge meta analysis of the second season with much critique so uhhhhh sorry#spoilers#witcher spoilers#the witcher season 2 spoilers
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Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.
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I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.
2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that
art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.
tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers
---
“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”
“Yup.”
“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”
“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”
“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”
“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”
“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”
“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”
“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”
“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”
“Hmm. Fuck.”
---
Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.
Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.
---
Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".
Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.
As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.
“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”
“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).
“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”
The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”
“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.
“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”
“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”
“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.
“How did you know?”
“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”
Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”
“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”
Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.
A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”
“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”
“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”
Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.
---
Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.
He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”
Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”
“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”
Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”
“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.
From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”
The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”
“Hot chocolate.”
Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.
“Where is Yennefer?”
“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.
“She isn’t your mate?”
“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”
“You smell like each other.”
“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”
“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”
“Anything else you’re curious about?”
“Why don’t you have more lights?”
“Huh?”
“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”
“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.
“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."
“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”
---
Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."
They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.
“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."
Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.
So he makes a decision.
---
The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”
“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”
“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.
Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”
“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.
“Open them,” Geralt urges.
Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.
Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.
"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."
"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."
"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."
#mothskier#mothman jaskier#cryptid jaskier#creature jaskier#witcher geralt#the witcher netflix#geraskier#geraskier ficlet#geraskier fic#geraskier fluff#bouncey's endless getting together fics#bouncey's endless au collection#LYSSA WHY#WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME#art and fic#collab sorta#prompt fill#geraskier prompt fill#bouncey answers#ahhhhhhhh#mothskier!!!!
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