𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖑𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖊𝖉𝖊𝖓,

“Accomplished? No. I don’t consider that an accomplishment. Just a foolish job that an even bigger fool decided to take.” Meaning himself, of course. The incident at Blaviken was something he’d never forget. For one, because no one would let him. But mostly because he couldn’t. To do so would be a disservice. 

When she mentions his name, his lips pull into a tight line of distaste. “If I ever see Stregobor again, he won’t leave the encounter alive.” Of that, he was certain. They had a score to settle. 

As she made her opinion about fear known, he shrugged both shoulders. “Men need women just the same when they’re afraid. They just won’t admit it. But I see your point. Fear can be a shackle.” 

She comes to him then, and he feels that carefully controlled pulsing of his heart beat just a bit faster. Yennefer can rouse him in such a way that few fights could. His pulse may rise a few notches during a heated skirmish or when encountering a truly skilled foe. Yet nothing made his heart beat faster or ache more … than the sorceress before him. 

Those delicate fingers that could kill a man with a mere gesture shift through his silver hair. Yellow eyes half-close. If a man could purr, he’d be purring. While she had made him bristle before, so quickly does she soothe him into a state of playfulness. It’s remarkable. 

“Somewhat?” he repeated, lips turning upwards into a hint of a smile. “If you have complaints, I am open to learning them and rectifying. Can take as long as we like.” This time, he advances, a step nearer to her and removing his arms from their position over his chest. He doesn’t touch her just yet. Instead, fingers linger near her hip.

When she mentions Jaskier, he grumbles. “That was a one time job,” he clarified. “And I never told him he could join me. He just …” he paused, “doesn’t leave.” Though deep, deep,  in his heart of grumpy hearts, he knows that he enjoys the bard’s company. Usually. 

“He had business elsewhere. I think he’s trying to fuck some earl’s daughter,” he waved it off. “I’m sure I’ll find him in a jail cell or singing atop a scaffold at some point.” That was Jaskier’s true gift. Always being exactly where he needed to be. 

Yet Geralt hadn’t missed her particular use of a certain word either. “What do you mean, ‘also’?” he asked, eyes narrowing. 

@serphynts​

❛      whether you wear it with pride or not       ,      you do not shy away from it.      you do not claim      ‘      THAT IS NOT ME      ’       nor should you       .       OUR ACTIONS SHOW WHO WE ARE.       ❜      she does not blame him,      how could he be at fault if he were played?      so has she been.      everyone has been a pawn in someone else’s story.      the brotherhood’s hands are stained with blood      (      like her very own and like her,      )       he now he has to suffer with the consequences of his actions too.      but he is not a cruel heartless man those who reside in the continent and beyond deem him to be.

❛      i could summon him if you wish.      allow you to seek out your vengeance      .      .      .      or would you prefer i call it justice instead      ?      ❜      a ‘brow is raised in question.      ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶜᵃˡˡ ⁱᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗⁱᶜᵉ       ,      ʳᵉᵗʳⁱᵇᵘᵗⁱᵒⁿ      ,      ᵃ ᵈᵉᵇᵗ ᵒʷᵉᵈ                   whatever they fancy.      BUT IT IS COLD REVENGE.      that is all it will ever be.      ❛      fear is what people allow it to be.      fear has no place in my life                ❜      not anymore,       is what she means,       i have suffered enough.      in silence and not.

but then they’re back into that game they seem to play whenever they meet.      granted,      it has been once,      but it seems to be a dance they find themselves in.      heated,       passionate,      on the edge of      .      .      .       something.       &&      yennefer feels an unfamiliar and all consuming tug,      nothing like what she had like with istredd.       THIS IS DIFFERENT,      THIS IS TERRITORY SHE FEELS LESS IN CONTROL WITH.

❛      and here i thought you couldn’t teach a witcher new tricks.      you seem set in your ways,     ❜      eyes drift momentarily to the hand by her hip,      a smile teasing in nature lifts her tiers ever so slightly.      ❛      .      .      .      perhaps you need a teacher.      ❜      but the playfulness dies down,      first once jaskier is mentioned but also when he picks up on the momentary lapse of control she’d lost.      ❛      and you decided to leave him alone?      ᵖᵉʳʰᵃᵖˢ ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ ˢᵉᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ˢʷⁱⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᶜᵃᶠᶠᵒˡᵈⁱⁿᵍ.      ❜      the conversation is to be veered away from what he’s focused on.

Of course she’d be draped on the bed like some damned siren. Except not the kind of siren that he killed for a living. Rather, the ones in the tales that ensnared men with their mere song and beautiful faces. Close to the helots he killed, but not quite. Yennefer was a species all her own. Never a more dangerous predator had he ever encountered–because she was the only one who could truly, deeply, hurt him. 

She fringes on wounding when she gives him that title. The black cloud that never ceases to follow him wherever he goes. “Just Geralt will do,” he replies, his voice lowering in pitch. Not quite a warning, but a hint that her words displeased him. No doubt exactly what she was going for. She always chose her weapons carefully. 

Amber eyes don’t move away when she bluntly recalls their intimate encounter. “In my experience of such matters, a man rarely knows anything about a woman. Particularly when he’s inside of her.” Though he’s beginning to understand her. Something about her soul is familiar to him. It’s similar to his own. Tired, used up, and on the defensive. 

It’s when she calls the Lord both gracious and wise that twists his expression into one of disgust. Another Lord simpering over her. Just what he needed. “Mmmmm. Gracious, perhaps. Wise?” he shook his head. “I’m not sure yet. It isn’t wise to utilize the services of anyone who doesn’t feel a little bit of fear. Fear keeps you alive. Keeps you from doing something stupid.” A slight intent gaze was given at those words, referring to her decision to house a damned djinn. 

“He should have chosen you because you’re the most powerful sorceress in the land,” he stated simply. As she moves to the mirror, he looks away and takes in the room instead. Warm fire crackling away in the stone fireplace. A bed neatly made despite the few lumps where Yen had perched herself. Furs on the walls and on the floor. A typical Lord. 

“Mhm,” he acknowledged when she pointed out that Lord Timothy had also hired him. “Must be because he heard Witchers don’t feel anything.” The words are spoken sarcastically, though softened by his guttural voice. There’s annoyance in the words though they’re not directed at her. Only at the lies used to blind the people about the truth of his kind. 

“Although if you’re here, I can’t imagine why he’d need me, too. I don’t babysit Lords.” And he was becoming very, very, very tired of the nobility forgetting that. He had Jaskier to blame for that. Geralt moved to a trunk that rested in front of the bed and perched himself on the edge. Elbows rested atop his knees. 

“How’ve you been, Yen? Been a few months since I saw you last.”

@serphynts​

she’s touched a nerve and she knows it.      it doesn’t require physical eye contact but the way he responds.      HOW HE RESPONDS.      it is telling enough.      ❛      just geralt.      &&      here i thought you did not run from what you have accomplished,      geralt.      ❜      a hand raises to brush aside the loose curls out of her face and neck.      ❛      stregobor can be quite      .      .      .      an asshole.      believe me,      you should have slaughtered him too.      that bullshit he spews is his way of staying relevant.      ❜      of course she would know the story      ,      stregobor’s pride and ego had him telling the entire brotherhood.       HOW HE BESTED THE WITCHER,       THE BUTCHER OF BLAVIKEN.  

what he had failed to mention however,      something that yennefer could see in his eyes,     was the fear he felt.      knowing the last remaining      cursed girl of this fucking tale      he kept telling himself about,      was hungry and out for blood.      ˢʰᵉ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ʳᵉᵛᵉⁿᵍᵉ,      ʲᵘˢᵗⁱᶜᵉ,      ʰⁱˢ ˡⁱᶠᵉ.      &&      yennefer could not blame her.     fear was something yennefer was forced to endure.     enough for a thousands lifetimes.      ❛      𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦.      to keep us pinned and in constant need of men.     ❜      

his compliment is one she knows is not empty words.     not used to curry favour with the famed mage who turned her back upon aretuza.      but rather what he truly thinks of her,      yennefer glides towards him.     hands that hold power,      chaos,      control      .      .      .      wind into his silver-white locks bringing his gaze up to find hers and hold it.      ❛      𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚      ,      GERALT.      ❜      though his comment about what humans believe witchers to be      :       inhumane,      unfeeling,      empty.       THAT SHE KNOWS ALL TOO WELL.      witches,      like her,      remade by magic.      into something no human could ever begin to comprehend.

❛      i happen to recall that you felt quite a bit during our brief,      naked and somewhat fun time together.      ❜      the last comment is merely aimed to bruise his ego a little.      (      after all      ,      hers was bruised      ,      waking up alone.      )      though she’d never admit it aloud.      it reminded her       ,       you do not know him,       you cannot trust him.       even if a voice somewhere deep inside whispered the opposite.      TRUTH IS, WE ARE TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN.      that he could       ,       would       &&       does understand her.       though she does not dwell on that thought long.

Nobility. Geralt hated taking jobs from them. They always had a ploy or an alternative reason for needing his services. Sometimes they even just wanted him around for bragging rights. Those clients usually found themselves with a black eye or shattered jaw. 

So, when he received a letter that asked for his services with generous pay, he was obliged to accept. Though when he also took the time to notice the quality of the parchment and the elegant handwriting, the misgivings immediately began. Nobles. 

The nobleman in question, a Lord Timothy, had requested that Geralt arrive at his summer castle posthaste. There had been some mention of wearing something appropriate for an evening ball. He’d chosen to forego that particular hint. If the man wanted to hire a Witcher, then he’d dress as one. Lord Timothy could purchase the services of a costumed fool somewhere else. 

Upon arriving at the castle, he did, however, surrender his two swords. Though not the dagger in his boot. The servant at the castle led him into a study. It was a busy castle. Geralt could feel the life bouncing against the stones. A party. The sooner Lord Timothy told him about the job, the sooner he could leave and miss drunken idiots. 

Yet when he arrived at the study, he found that he wasn’t the only one waiting for Lord Timothy’s arrival. The scent hit him first. Familiar in a way that Roach’s scent is familiar. Lilac and gooseberries. 

Walking into the room, shoulders squared, he didn’t even look for her. “Yennefer,” he murmured all the same. Their last encounter had ended … pleasantly, he supposed. If one could call an abrupt departure after a rather intense bout of sex pleasant. He’d awoken from his well-earned and well-needed nap to find her gone. All trace of her, in fact. Yennefer of Vengberg knew how to hide her steps. 

Not that he was looking for her. 

It appeared that he didn’t need to, anyway. Geralt crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his back against a shelf. The musty scent of the tomes tickled his nose. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he stated, amber-colored eyes finally finding her purple. 

“Though I guess I should have suspected. If there’s a party, you won’t be far behind.” A small twist of his lips conjured up a half-smile. 

@serphynts

a life bound to a family who abused her      .       a council       .        a coven       .      .       .      &&       she was done playing by others rules.      it was time to rewrite history.       her history.       yennefer of vengerberg would be known across the continent,       the seas.       from the far north all the way to the south.      &&      ˢʰᵉ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵃ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ.       her ambition,      her drive,      her desperation was a fatal mix       :      (       for both herself and others.     )       but the gods help anyone who dares to stand in her path.

&&      that was one reason.      small as it may have been where there was relief when she woke to find geralt gone.      but also,      something she wouldn’t admit aloud.      an ache.      but finally he had given her a new avenue to search to accomplish her goals       :       EVERYTHING.       she had told tissaia de vries once,       I WANT EVERYTHING.      and soon the world will know.       𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺      :       𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮.      she has been kept like lightening in a bottle      ,       a funny coincidence.      almost as if her past had come knocking for she is       enthralling,      enchanting,      volatile.      

but she is torn from her thoughts once she hears movement.      half expecting to be told she would be waiting longer for the lord.      she’d bite her tongue,      smile coyly,      play the dutiful mage.      but then HIS SCENT fills every cavity,      every crevice,      every pore.       her name on his lips like poetry      .       though she does not allow a genuine smile to grace her painted red tiers but instead an enticing smirk.      ❛      GERALT OF RIVIA,      the white wolf       .       .       .      ❜       a pause      &&      then she continues with a touch more edge in her tone.       ❛      the        butcher       of        blaviken.      ❜

she does not move,      instead languid and fluid movements as palms flatten on the bed beneath her     :     fingers stretching out over the black silk and fur,     legs purposely crossed now whilst watching him now he is no longer hidden in among the shadows.      SHE IS A PREDATOR,       long has the time gone where she was     ᵖʳᵉʸ ᶠᵒʳ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ.      ❛      you believe because you have been inside me       ,       that you KNOW me      ?      ❜      violet hues burn into cat like ember ones      ,      perfectly sculpted ‘brow arched.      almost,      she is almost tempted into a smile once he does,      instead yennefer brings herself to her feet.      ❛      𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅.      ❜