geralt is a witcher (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ofrivia) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} somerealityrpg,@ 2020-01-26 16:34:00 |
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| Entry tags: | !gamewideplot, active: yennefer |
who geralt & yen
what pillow talk
where jaskier's spare room
when after they've taken on pennywise the second time and BAM bitch went down
warnings FTB, some vague sexy times? very vague.
status completed in gdoc!
GERALT
YENNEFER
Standing up to an oddly dressed man that suddenly became something akin to a kikimora had been, at best, stressful. Even with the knowledge of what to do, how to stand up to it and crush its heart, the struggle had been unreal. At some point, he had grasped Yen’s hand just to steady his strength. Then, it was a spark of a reminder that if they worked together, their magic was stronger.
Once the cryptid had been felled, the room had darkened and Geralt wordlessly drew Yen out of the shadowy depths to emerge on the first floor of the villa. They had trailed It all the way down to the underbelly of the complex, a trail of red balloons threaded by a twisting anxiety had been clue enough. Trying to numb himself to the things they’d been forced to see a second time, he supplanted the fear with angered worry. He hadn’t wanted her to come, but deep down, Geralt knew she wouldn’t let him go alone.
He couldn’t have done it if she hadn’t been there.
Still, Geralt wanted to shout at her, take her by the shoulders and shake her for the withering sense she’d displayed; but, he couldn’t. As always, she proved to be the wiser of them and he’d be damned if he didn’t love Yen more for it. With all those emotions churning about in his head, he hardly noticed that they’d made it back to what had become their home. His grip on Yen’s hand tightened unconsciously, keenly aware that it all could have been lost today if they hadn’t better understood what they were up against.
He’d seen his mother again, laughing at him as he called out for her outside Kaer Morhen. It was the only thing It could glean from the surface of his thoughts to use against him, his mind too difficult for a deeper dive. For every awful word or vision thrown at Yen, Geralt had stood firm and reminded her that she was loved. Almost numb as he hit the door to the empty room, unwilling to see Ciri just yet, he waited only a moment to ensure she wanted to join him before locking the door behind them.
Stripping off his armor piece by piece, he stopped until he’d removed all but his trousers and climbed onto the bed. Laying on his back, gold eyes staring up at the ceiling, Geralt waited to speak until he heard the gentle creak of the bed under her weight.
“...Thought I’d be… angrier,” he confessed, brow thoroughly furrowed. “At It, at you, myself. Instead I’m… hmm,” finished Geralt with a sigh. He didn’t know.
The anger that coursed through Yennefer’s veins when Geralt claimed he was going after It once more, burned furiously. It didn’t help matters when he foolishly demanded she stay behind. How dare the White Wolf attempt to command anything of her? Much less willingly put himself in danger alone. Hadn’t they been told not to face It alone? Hadn’t they gone through enough the first time? She hated Geralt for his idiocy.
Underneath all of that anger, though, was an unwavering concern for the man she loved. They just found each other again, and the thought of losing him was damn near unbearable. Perhaps it was the irritating notion that he would so recklessly put their incredibly fragile love in jeopardy that caused her to rush to his side in battle. Yen’s emotions were indeed chaotic, and as they went toe to toe with the clown once more, she was thankful for that indignation. If she focused on it, instead of the unrelenting fear of the images Pennywise was capable of producing, maybe he wouldn’t be able to shake her as deeply as he did before.
She was foolish to believe that would be all it took, however, and when the abomination took the form of her step-father, Yen nearly crippled from the weight of that fear. It wasn’t until Geralt grasped her hand that she was able to see things clearly.
The trek back to their new home was almost as tiring as the ordeal itself. Her limbs felt heavy, and her mind was even heavier. It was all she could do to hold fast to his hand. A small part of her wanted him to carry her in like he had that first day, but the part of her that was still angry? Well, that part wouldn’t allow her that weakness.
Once the door to the unused room was locked behind them, she summoned a flowy robe to replace her tattered dress, before moving to lay on her back. Even though they were close in proximity, Yen felt like they were separated by miles, and she loathed this feeling.
“At me,” she questioned- turning her exhausted but fiery violet eyes on him.
“Yes, at you,” he answered gruffly. The piercing gaze sent his way went unacknowledged, but he was keenly aware he’d incited her tired rage. Proceeding would prove to be perilous, Geralt already regretted committing to those words. Regretted them, but wouldn’t take them back. Deceiving her went against the way in which he loved her.
How could he convey the thought? With a grunt, he turned on his side to look at her. When had she changed? Distracted by the robe in largely inappropriate ways, he had to shake his head to center his thoughts again. Focusing back on his rapidly disappearing anger, he stared at her features so cross with him and almost smiled in spite of himself.
“For no good reason at all other than that I hate to see you suffer, Yen.” That was, at the end of the day, the bottom line, wasn’t it? Keenly aware that she had practically a lifetime of suffering under her belt, Geralt wanted to spare her from that now. Even knowing she could bat away any threat without so much as displacing a strand of hair, that wasn’t the sort of life she wanted now; and, if he was honest with himself, neither did he.
A relatively quiet life where they raised Ciri, trained her and educated her together, sounded exactly like the way he wanted to finish out their days in this realm.
Oh, he was insufferable. Even when pretty words, that anyone else would be shocked to hear coming from his lips, were gracing her ears? He was insufferable. Yen fought the urge to lash out at him. Maybe she was too tired? Maybe his bit of a poetic answer got to her? No. She was definitely too tired. Well, that is what she was telling herself anyway.
“So you would choose to suffer alone, against a thing we both knew couldn’t be faced alone? Tell me, Witcher, what idiotic thought crept into that frustratingly handsome head of yours that led you to believe I would ever allow that to happen?” Yennefer was digging her heels into this one, and it would be a great achievement if he managed to cause her to budge even a millimeter.
Did she want to fight anymore? Of course not. Yen spent so much of her life fighting one thing or another. First, it was her heritage. A twisted secret that was almost the catalyst of her undoing. Next, it was the odds that were stacked against her in her mission to find a cure for her barren womb. Then it was Nilfgaard. That last fight almost killed her, but it paled in comparison to all of the lies she battled throughout her many lifetimes. She wanted to put all of that behind her and build the life here she always wanted for herself.
But she couldn’t do that if she lost him, and she very well could have if she hadn’t joined him despite his demands not to. So, she wouldn’t budge, not ever. She would continue to fight relentlessly if she had to, especially if everything she felt she didn’t deserve but desperately wanted at the same time was at risk.
On some level, Geralt had known she wouldn’t allow it. Any time Yen told him something was “fine”, he interpreted that as being the complete opposite. Despite knowing that, he consistently incited her ire to that end and went about his business anyway. Fully aware she could rend him limb from limb on a whim, he also understood what they meant to one another, why sometimes they had to do things on their own.
Not this, he reminded himself. She was right, but he wasn’t about to actively validate that. He had to defend his idiocy a little bit. “Yes, I would. At the very least, it would leave Ciri with someone she could still trust, and you with someone who deems you important to them.”
He knew exactly what that feeling meant to her. Gaze centered on the woman who haunted his every dream, even while laying beside him in bed, he was unwavering. “I know you can conquer an army by yourself, Yen. But, if that army had a way of forcing you to see things you wished stayed forgotten to time, then yes. I’d lose my handsome head for that cause so that you wouldn’t have to face it. Gladly.”
Despite being so very tired, Yen sat straight up her hair wild from the fight and her eyes matching her untamed tresses. “And what of you? Are you so foolish with such minimal regard for your own life? That you would leave that child behind? That you would leave me…” Yen cursed herself for allowing her emotions to overflow thus allowing that little slip of the tongue. “I don’t know what we’re fucking doing here, Geralt.” She began again, motioning the seemingly endless space between them. “But I will not have you storming off to a possible death before we even have the chance to figure it out.”
Crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child, she tried to reel her raging fire back in. Oh, he was saying all the right things, but a life here without him wasn’t one she was keen on living. Even though she felt her heart jump a little at his words, she couldn’t let this go. At least not yet.
Sighing heavily, she shook her head. “Do you not you think I know you could bring an army to their knees on your own as well? Do you not think I want to spare you from things you wish to leave in the past?”
“Never request that I remain behind again.”
Now he’d gone and done it, put his foot right into horse shit. Grumbling as he sat up a second after her, quickly Geralt reminded himself not to let his gaze wander for fear of losing more ground. It wasn’t about winning this argument with Yen, but rather finding a common understanding. Although a monumental task, her form was so terribly inviting, he concentrated on the terrifyingly beautiful visage of his--well, that was the question, wasn’t it?
Now he understood better her rage, the source of it. He wouldn’t have died against It, but he would have lived in agony until she ultimately did. For so long, Geralt had been on his own and only worried about keeping his extremities intact. Now, he had to give more careful consideration of Yen and Ciri. They were as much a part of him as his very hands.
Almost gingerly, Geralt reached out to cup the side of her face as his own ire seemed to fade into a quiet sort of calm. “Hm… it was a mistake. Forgive me.” It wouldn’t happen again, not simply because he couldn’t deny the sort of power they held between them when connected in battle, but because she was right: it was foolish.
“So. Let’s figure it out, Yen,” he offered gently, dropping his hand to the bed as he offered an apprehensive smile--of a sort. “Unless you’d prefer to yell at me some more.”
“Life in this Sphere will be so much easier for you if your ridiculous mind could only remember that I am almost always right, White Wolf.” Yen managed a small ghost of a smile, unable to stop herself from leaning into his touch. Geralt was rugged, rough around the edges, seemingly cold, and meant to be cut off from his emotions in a way that Yen once yearned to be. But, she was privy to a side of him that no one else got to witness. It was that gentler side, the one that was cupping her face, that could always tell her everything she needed to know without him uttering a single word.
“A mistake that I can forgive, but not forget,” she said finally- the storm in her eyes beginning to calm as her gaze sought his. “And you would do well not to forget either.”
“After all this time, I am beginning to believe you take pleasure in me yelling at you.” With a roll of her eyes, her head met the pillow once more with another heavy sigh. “I know what I want, Geralt.” Yen wanted everything. She always had, and she would go to great lengths to achieve her desires. He knew as well didn’t he? It seemed like decades ago when she told him she wanted to be important and loved on that mountain, and that hadn’t changed. “Do you? Do you know what you want?”
Geralt chuckled as he laid back down beside her, this time slightly closer than before. “Then how else would I give you reason to call me an idiot?” This was a piece of him reserved strictly for Yen, though he didn’t consciously realize it. She brought it out, a desire to enjoy the stillness of her comforting presence. Sleep came so easily around her, his every guard could be put down to rest. Had to be mindful not to doze off quickly.
He gained her forgiveness, which was all that mattered to him. Knowing she wouldn’t forget would keep him in line should the next beast that crossed their paths incite him to take action. From her, he wanted nothing more than her presence in his life, however she so deemed fit. When she prompted him to think further on it, his eyes grew distant in consideration. What did he want? He had worked out what pleased him that day on the mountain, but what he really desired? Difficult to say. He had spent his life simply doing what a witcher must, never pondering a life beyond it. Their kind was meant to fight until it took them.
They weren’t intended to feel let alone deign to want for more.
“I’d always said it was nothing,” he answered honestly, searching the threads of the sheets for answers unable to be given. Jaskier had asked that of him once and, in his agitation, that was the very answer he’d given: he wanted nothing. In that sense, he and Yen were on opposite sides of a coin. So, Geralt was grateful that at least they were a part of the same coin. Folding an arm under his head, as though the pillow weren’t enough cushioning, he mulled over her question a bit longer than likely warranted by the average man.
“I want to see you happy,” he offered, gaze still rather vacant as he gave voice to his thoughts. “You and Ciri.”
Happy was such a foreign concept to Yennefer. Sure, she received minuscule glimpses of happiness since arriving in Goodland, but to be truly happy? To live in that happiness day in and day out without fear of it being ripped from her clutches? Well, that wasn’t something she thought she would ever have. Even if she managed to somehow accept it, there would always be that voice of caution in the back of her mind, warning her not to lose herself.
Shifting to lay on her side so she could properly look at him, her fingers fiddled with the corner of the pillow her head was resting on. Yen watched him carefully, taking note of his vacant expression. She knew this would be hard for him to put into words- discussing his feelings never came easy to him. Honestly, it wasn’t easy for either of them, but where he was silent she was rageful. Where he was monosyllabic, she cloaked her words with venom. Oh, they were quite a pair.
“And what of us,” she asked keeping her eyes on him. That was the question. The most important one, outside of anything concerning Cirilla.
What of them? Golden eyes drifted back to this immensely powerful woman he feared almost as much as he loved. She always asked the hardest questions right before bed. Vaguely he wondered if that was because she knew he was at his most mentally vulnerable. Not because she could better read his thoughts, but so that he would actually voice them himself. Those were the thoughts he never regretted speaking, so Geralt relented. It helped that he wasn’t on the verge of slumber.
“This, here, being with you. This is what I didn’t know I wanted. I lived knowing I was hated but needed, and now…” Now, people needed him. There were people in the world that didn’t resent him or look upon him in disdain, but with warmth and care. It would have been distressing had he not been eased into it without realizing it until he’d lost her on the mountain. After that, he resorted to not caring, shoved away Jaskier and struck off on his own.
Horses were better company anyway, or so he tried to tell himself all those years.
“Now, I need this. I need you. Hmm…” There he dropped his gaze, attempting to choose his words wisely in spite of the battle fatigue trying to afflict him. “I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days with you, Yen.” With a pause, he partially glared at the pillow’s edge she picked at, seemingly frustrated with himself until a more important thought prompted him to look at her squarely, albeit with some anxiety attached. “And you? Is that what you want?”
Yen knew all too well what it was like to be both needed and hated at the same time. For a woman who claimed to possess zero worries for what others thought of her, that hatred from her brethren carried itself threateningly close to her soul. They wouldn’t ever accept her as one of their own, and perhaps that stung a little more than she let on. Despite renouncing them and everything they stood for, her desire to be needed ran deep.
So, when he spoke of such things, despite already having known what the outside world thought of him, Yen couldn’t help the hand that moved to gently brush his hair away from his face- her tempestuous mind no longer in charge. It was her heart grasping the reins now. Her heart that was completely and irrevocably in love with this man who deserved all that he wanted for himself.
“Thank you,” she replied quietly. She was well aware that drawing the confession out of him hadn’t been easy for Geralt. It was what she so desperately needed, though. Hearing him say it allowed the dam she built around the place where she kept him to be torn down. The floodgates were open now, and there wasn’t a hope of her ever closing them again.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath. If she said the words, she couldn’t take them back, and although fear had replaced the fire that had been coursing through her just moments prior? She forced herself to speak, hoping to ease his anxious gaze.
“You’re such a fool,” she whispered. “Do you not know by now? Can you not see that a life with you is all I want?”
Even knowing what he was, that was what she wanted? Geralt appeared almost confused by her words, or perhaps just in a state of raw disbelief. Yes, he understood she loved him. It had been because she loved him and believed that it was only because of the djinn that she had left in the first place. He did not doubt her feelings. When the confusion subsided, he looked and felt humbled.
Abruptly, he grasped her hand by his face and shifted until there was hardly a hair’s breadth between them. Breathing in the faded scent of her, reveling in her words, Geralt found himself rather at a loss. How could one put into words a feeling for something never once conceived as being a possibility? The tenuous steps of their relationship had been built on deceit, violence, and danger. He accepted that because those were aspects of life he knew, but separated her from it all the same because she was not just important, but a parallel exception to the rules of their Sphere. Geralt, nothing more than a mercenary for killing monsters, and Yennefer, a mage meant to bow to the most foolish of kings that hardly deserved her silver tongue.
Two sides of one coin, he reminded himself. She constantly dared to envision futures for herself, dreams she had the power to reach out and snatch out of thin air. It was harrowing to be a factor in what she desired from life, harrowing but simultaneously offered him some solace.
“Then we’ll have it, together.”
Yen made no protest as he drew near. Instead, she rested her forehead against his, matching the way he seemingly breathed her in with her own slow breaths. She didn’t know if it was possible, to build a life with him after the endless mountain of lies, pain, and violence they climbed to get here. But gods, she wanted to try. Her tenacity was unparalleled, especially in regard to her most coveted desires.
The only thing she could foresee tarnishing their already delicate relationship was her own fear. If she had learned anything from Pennywise, it was that her fears would be her ultimate demise, but she didn’t exactly need to face the creature to know that did she? Yen spent so much time trying to outrun every single one of them, and for the most part, her efforts hadn’t been in vain.
But, no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t outrun Geralt.
Putting an entire Continent between them hadn’t worked, and trying to keep her distance from him after arriving in Goodland produced the same results. For so long she believed it to be his wish that drew them together with such an overwhelming magnetic force. That was just another lie, though, and what made it worse was the realization that it was one she created. All that time she believed Geralt to be the fool, but it was her and her own convictions that proved to be foolish.
Now, she was terrified she would do something to ruin what they shared all over again. That was her true fear. All of the demons that haunted her past were manageable. She was unsure if the dread in her chest that took the form of herself could ever truly be defeated.
“Together,” she whispered before closing the space between them and pressing her lips to his. This kiss was unlike any other she had given him before. While the others never lacked in passion, they were still reserved. She always held her heart back, but now she allowed all of her emotions to flow freely, conveying everything she couldn’t bring herself to say. “Do not allow me to ruin it. Promise me, Geralt...that you will not allow me to run again.”
Her sweet kiss sweetened the deal, it also distracted him from concentrating on the conversation for its merits rather than the prospects. Human relationships had always mystified him, but not enough that he pursued a greater understanding of them. If he felt wanting, he found a brothel and endured questions of his scars as part of the payment for temporary gratification. With Yen, he always seemed, on some level, wholly at ease.
So, even as he snaked his arms around her body to hold her flush against him, his thoughts didn’t stray far. One hand braced against Yen’s back and the other poised to cradle the side of her face again, he rolled over so that she rested atop him as she spoke words that cut to the quick of him. At the end of the day, Geralt knew damn well he could do nothing to stop Yen once she set her mind to something, but he could and would always try.
Stroking her cheek with the calloused pad of his thumb, amber eyes matching her own violet ones, he felt inclined to promise her things as absurd as the very stars in the sky. Geralt of Rivia was no poet, had shunned the only one he grudgingly counted as a friend, but he knew while looking up at her that no ballad would ever truly do her justice. He held firm to their close proximity, forehead to forehead and nose to nose, and simply breathed. Steadying the fire she stoked within him, he chased down a clear thought to express to her, “I’ll swear to it.”
That was all he had wanted, what ultimately pleased him. He wanted her to stay with him, to be by his side always. Then, he would follow her wherever she desired until age itself caught up to them both and made them weary. With a faint groan of satisfaction, his lips met hers again to seal the vow. The kiss that followed sought silent permission, as he was wont to do in their every encounter, just to ensure this was what they both wanted. And by all the gods that he tended to reject outright, Geralt wanted her.
Yen smiled against his lips as she found herself lying atop his form, her hair cascading down around his face. Gods she loved him, more than she ever thought it was possible to love another soul. That absolute truth always tugged at her, reminding her every time she met those beautiful amber eyes that she would forever be doomed by her wanting heart. It was a fate that she eagerly accepted once she allowed herself to actually feel her adoration for the Witcher.
Her eyes closed as she relished in the way his coarse hands felt against her skin. He was igniting a fire in her that was completely different than the one that so often raged in her veins. These flames were almost chilling, and she welcomed them with a shudder as they coursed through her. She hadn’t experienced anything akin to it since that last night they shared together on the godforsaken mountain that took everything from them.
“I love you, Geralt of Rivia.” The words slipped off her tongue like they were a prayer she was sending to the heavens. Any other time she would have complete control of herself. She wouldn’t have made the proclamation, she wouldn’t have said his name as if it were the only name she ever wished to speak again, but Yennefer of Vengerberg was lost. She delighted in the way his touch made her weak. There wasn’t another being on this Sphere or any other that could ever bring her to her knees like this. No one else ever possessed the ability to make her want them as she wanted him.
Geralt could have asked her for anything at that moment and she would have gladly given it. So, when his lips met hers once more, Yen allowed her own little satisfied whimper that was damn near pleading to escape her. There wasn’t a false god above that had the power to make her deny him now.
How many of their previous encounters had been propelled by a frenzied lust? That day in Rinde, hands frantically trying to free them in an attempt to find some kind of connection then completion, was recalled fondly as his gentle grip on her face strengthened. Replaying countless couplings with her, Geralt could pick a favored moment from each one, but none compared to this moment with Yen here in this foreign land filled with different kinds of mechanical monsters and mysteries.
He returned her words, barely above a gritty whisper against her mouth. They were for her ears only, true, but now that he had accepted the way he felt about Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt didn’t care if Jaskier himself waltzed into this moment and overheard every word. There was no point in denying what he wanted, who he loved. With Yen atop him, Geralt gradually sat up, fingers buried deep in her hair and busy disrobing her. Despite having been with her the night she arrived, it still felt like it had been a man’s age since he’d truly laid with her. If he thought too heavily on it, he would likely find that to be accurate.
That served as yet more incentive to make this go on forever. They could take the time exploring one another again, climbing the peak of salvation together and scaling back down to a restful slumber happily entwined. It was more than he could have asked for, and far more than Geralt believed he deserved, but at the end of their night together he resisted the urge to sleep, briefly, just to watch her sated features fade and succumb to the exhaustion they’d ignored. He murmured those words again to her, a smile filled with warmth on his face, and eventually let sleep take him, too, before the morning’s rise.
Tomorrow, there could be trouble on the horizon again, but it didn’t matter as long as he had this to look forward to, a comforting embrace to purge the day’s terrors into something beautiful. Something beloved.
Once the cryptid had been felled, the room had darkened and Geralt wordlessly drew Yen out of the shadowy depths to emerge on the first floor of the villa. They had trailed It all the way down to the underbelly of the complex, a trail of red balloons threaded by a twisting anxiety had been clue enough. Trying to numb himself to the things they’d been forced to see a second time, he supplanted the fear with angered worry. He hadn’t wanted her to come, but deep down, Geralt knew she wouldn’t let him go alone.
He couldn’t have done it if she hadn’t been there.
Still, Geralt wanted to shout at her, take her by the shoulders and shake her for the withering sense she’d displayed; but, he couldn’t. As always, she proved to be the wiser of them and he’d be damned if he didn’t love Yen more for it. With all those emotions churning about in his head, he hardly noticed that they’d made it back to what had become their home. His grip on Yen’s hand tightened unconsciously, keenly aware that it all could have been lost today if they hadn’t better understood what they were up against.
He’d seen his mother again, laughing at him as he called out for her outside Kaer Morhen. It was the only thing It could glean from the surface of his thoughts to use against him, his mind too difficult for a deeper dive. For every awful word or vision thrown at Yen, Geralt had stood firm and reminded her that she was loved. Almost numb as he hit the door to the empty room, unwilling to see Ciri just yet, he waited only a moment to ensure she wanted to join him before locking the door behind them.
Stripping off his armor piece by piece, he stopped until he’d removed all but his trousers and climbed onto the bed. Laying on his back, gold eyes staring up at the ceiling, Geralt waited to speak until he heard the gentle creak of the bed under her weight.
“...Thought I’d be… angrier,” he confessed, brow thoroughly furrowed. “At It, at you, myself. Instead I’m… hmm,” finished Geralt with a sigh. He didn’t know.
The anger that coursed through Yennefer’s veins when Geralt claimed he was going after It once more, burned furiously. It didn’t help matters when he foolishly demanded she stay behind. How dare the White Wolf attempt to command anything of her? Much less willingly put himself in danger alone. Hadn’t they been told not to face It alone? Hadn’t they gone through enough the first time? She hated Geralt for his idiocy.
Underneath all of that anger, though, was an unwavering concern for the man she loved. They just found each other again, and the thought of losing him was damn near unbearable. Perhaps it was the irritating notion that he would so recklessly put their incredibly fragile love in jeopardy that caused her to rush to his side in battle. Yen’s emotions were indeed chaotic, and as they went toe to toe with the clown once more, she was thankful for that indignation. If she focused on it, instead of the unrelenting fear of the images Pennywise was capable of producing, maybe he wouldn’t be able to shake her as deeply as he did before.
She was foolish to believe that would be all it took, however, and when the abomination took the form of her step-father, Yen nearly crippled from the weight of that fear. It wasn’t until Geralt grasped her hand that she was able to see things clearly.
The trek back to their new home was almost as tiring as the ordeal itself. Her limbs felt heavy, and her mind was even heavier. It was all she could do to hold fast to his hand. A small part of her wanted him to carry her in like he had that first day, but the part of her that was still angry? Well, that part wouldn’t allow her that weakness.
Once the door to the unused room was locked behind them, she summoned a flowy robe to replace her tattered dress, before moving to lay on her back. Even though they were close in proximity, Yen felt like they were separated by miles, and she loathed this feeling.
“At me,” she questioned- turning her exhausted but fiery violet eyes on him.
“Yes, at you,” he answered gruffly. The piercing gaze sent his way went unacknowledged, but he was keenly aware he’d incited her tired rage. Proceeding would prove to be perilous, Geralt already regretted committing to those words. Regretted them, but wouldn’t take them back. Deceiving her went against the way in which he loved her.
How could he convey the thought? With a grunt, he turned on his side to look at her. When had she changed? Distracted by the robe in largely inappropriate ways, he had to shake his head to center his thoughts again. Focusing back on his rapidly disappearing anger, he stared at her features so cross with him and almost smiled in spite of himself.
“For no good reason at all other than that I hate to see you suffer, Yen.” That was, at the end of the day, the bottom line, wasn’t it? Keenly aware that she had practically a lifetime of suffering under her belt, Geralt wanted to spare her from that now. Even knowing she could bat away any threat without so much as displacing a strand of hair, that wasn’t the sort of life she wanted now; and, if he was honest with himself, neither did he.
A relatively quiet life where they raised Ciri, trained her and educated her together, sounded exactly like the way he wanted to finish out their days in this realm.
Oh, he was insufferable. Even when pretty words, that anyone else would be shocked to hear coming from his lips, were gracing her ears? He was insufferable. Yen fought the urge to lash out at him. Maybe she was too tired? Maybe his bit of a poetic answer got to her? No. She was definitely too tired. Well, that is what she was telling herself anyway.
“So you would choose to suffer alone, against a thing we both knew couldn’t be faced alone? Tell me, Witcher, what idiotic thought crept into that frustratingly handsome head of yours that led you to believe I would ever allow that to happen?” Yennefer was digging her heels into this one, and it would be a great achievement if he managed to cause her to budge even a millimeter.
Did she want to fight anymore? Of course not. Yen spent so much of her life fighting one thing or another. First, it was her heritage. A twisted secret that was almost the catalyst of her undoing. Next, it was the odds that were stacked against her in her mission to find a cure for her barren womb. Then it was Nilfgaard. That last fight almost killed her, but it paled in comparison to all of the lies she battled throughout her many lifetimes. She wanted to put all of that behind her and build the life here she always wanted for herself.
But she couldn’t do that if she lost him, and she very well could have if she hadn’t joined him despite his demands not to. So, she wouldn’t budge, not ever. She would continue to fight relentlessly if she had to, especially if everything she felt she didn’t deserve but desperately wanted at the same time was at risk.
On some level, Geralt had known she wouldn’t allow it. Any time Yen told him something was “fine”, he interpreted that as being the complete opposite. Despite knowing that, he consistently incited her ire to that end and went about his business anyway. Fully aware she could rend him limb from limb on a whim, he also understood what they meant to one another, why sometimes they had to do things on their own.
Not this, he reminded himself. She was right, but he wasn’t about to actively validate that. He had to defend his idiocy a little bit. “Yes, I would. At the very least, it would leave Ciri with someone she could still trust, and you with someone who deems you important to them.”
He knew exactly what that feeling meant to her. Gaze centered on the woman who haunted his every dream, even while laying beside him in bed, he was unwavering. “I know you can conquer an army by yourself, Yen. But, if that army had a way of forcing you to see things you wished stayed forgotten to time, then yes. I’d lose my handsome head for that cause so that you wouldn’t have to face it. Gladly.”
Despite being so very tired, Yen sat straight up her hair wild from the fight and her eyes matching her untamed tresses. “And what of you? Are you so foolish with such minimal regard for your own life? That you would leave that child behind? That you would leave me…” Yen cursed herself for allowing her emotions to overflow thus allowing that little slip of the tongue. “I don’t know what we’re fucking doing here, Geralt.” She began again, motioning the seemingly endless space between them. “But I will not have you storming off to a possible death before we even have the chance to figure it out.”
Crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child, she tried to reel her raging fire back in. Oh, he was saying all the right things, but a life here without him wasn’t one she was keen on living. Even though she felt her heart jump a little at his words, she couldn’t let this go. At least not yet.
Sighing heavily, she shook her head. “Do you not you think I know you could bring an army to their knees on your own as well? Do you not think I want to spare you from things you wish to leave in the past?”
“Never request that I remain behind again.”
Now he’d gone and done it, put his foot right into horse shit. Grumbling as he sat up a second after her, quickly Geralt reminded himself not to let his gaze wander for fear of losing more ground. It wasn’t about winning this argument with Yen, but rather finding a common understanding. Although a monumental task, her form was so terribly inviting, he concentrated on the terrifyingly beautiful visage of his--well, that was the question, wasn’t it?
Now he understood better her rage, the source of it. He wouldn’t have died against It, but he would have lived in agony until she ultimately did. For so long, Geralt had been on his own and only worried about keeping his extremities intact. Now, he had to give more careful consideration of Yen and Ciri. They were as much a part of him as his very hands.
Almost gingerly, Geralt reached out to cup the side of her face as his own ire seemed to fade into a quiet sort of calm. “Hm… it was a mistake. Forgive me.” It wouldn’t happen again, not simply because he couldn’t deny the sort of power they held between them when connected in battle, but because she was right: it was foolish.
“So. Let’s figure it out, Yen,” he offered gently, dropping his hand to the bed as he offered an apprehensive smile--of a sort. “Unless you’d prefer to yell at me some more.”
“Life in this Sphere will be so much easier for you if your ridiculous mind could only remember that I am almost always right, White Wolf.” Yen managed a small ghost of a smile, unable to stop herself from leaning into his touch. Geralt was rugged, rough around the edges, seemingly cold, and meant to be cut off from his emotions in a way that Yen once yearned to be. But, she was privy to a side of him that no one else got to witness. It was that gentler side, the one that was cupping her face, that could always tell her everything she needed to know without him uttering a single word.
“A mistake that I can forgive, but not forget,” she said finally- the storm in her eyes beginning to calm as her gaze sought his. “And you would do well not to forget either.”
“After all this time, I am beginning to believe you take pleasure in me yelling at you.” With a roll of her eyes, her head met the pillow once more with another heavy sigh. “I know what I want, Geralt.” Yen wanted everything. She always had, and she would go to great lengths to achieve her desires. He knew as well didn’t he? It seemed like decades ago when she told him she wanted to be important and loved on that mountain, and that hadn’t changed. “Do you? Do you know what you want?”
Geralt chuckled as he laid back down beside her, this time slightly closer than before. “Then how else would I give you reason to call me an idiot?” This was a piece of him reserved strictly for Yen, though he didn’t consciously realize it. She brought it out, a desire to enjoy the stillness of her comforting presence. Sleep came so easily around her, his every guard could be put down to rest. Had to be mindful not to doze off quickly.
He gained her forgiveness, which was all that mattered to him. Knowing she wouldn’t forget would keep him in line should the next beast that crossed their paths incite him to take action. From her, he wanted nothing more than her presence in his life, however she so deemed fit. When she prompted him to think further on it, his eyes grew distant in consideration. What did he want? He had worked out what pleased him that day on the mountain, but what he really desired? Difficult to say. He had spent his life simply doing what a witcher must, never pondering a life beyond it. Their kind was meant to fight until it took them.
They weren’t intended to feel let alone deign to want for more.
“I’d always said it was nothing,” he answered honestly, searching the threads of the sheets for answers unable to be given. Jaskier had asked that of him once and, in his agitation, that was the very answer he’d given: he wanted nothing. In that sense, he and Yen were on opposite sides of a coin. So, Geralt was grateful that at least they were a part of the same coin. Folding an arm under his head, as though the pillow weren’t enough cushioning, he mulled over her question a bit longer than likely warranted by the average man.
“I want to see you happy,” he offered, gaze still rather vacant as he gave voice to his thoughts. “You and Ciri.”
Happy was such a foreign concept to Yennefer. Sure, she received minuscule glimpses of happiness since arriving in Goodland, but to be truly happy? To live in that happiness day in and day out without fear of it being ripped from her clutches? Well, that wasn’t something she thought she would ever have. Even if she managed to somehow accept it, there would always be that voice of caution in the back of her mind, warning her not to lose herself.
Shifting to lay on her side so she could properly look at him, her fingers fiddled with the corner of the pillow her head was resting on. Yen watched him carefully, taking note of his vacant expression. She knew this would be hard for him to put into words- discussing his feelings never came easy to him. Honestly, it wasn’t easy for either of them, but where he was silent she was rageful. Where he was monosyllabic, she cloaked her words with venom. Oh, they were quite a pair.
“And what of us,” she asked keeping her eyes on him. That was the question. The most important one, outside of anything concerning Cirilla.
What of them? Golden eyes drifted back to this immensely powerful woman he feared almost as much as he loved. She always asked the hardest questions right before bed. Vaguely he wondered if that was because she knew he was at his most mentally vulnerable. Not because she could better read his thoughts, but so that he would actually voice them himself. Those were the thoughts he never regretted speaking, so Geralt relented. It helped that he wasn’t on the verge of slumber.
“This, here, being with you. This is what I didn’t know I wanted. I lived knowing I was hated but needed, and now…” Now, people needed him. There were people in the world that didn’t resent him or look upon him in disdain, but with warmth and care. It would have been distressing had he not been eased into it without realizing it until he’d lost her on the mountain. After that, he resorted to not caring, shoved away Jaskier and struck off on his own.
Horses were better company anyway, or so he tried to tell himself all those years.
“Now, I need this. I need you. Hmm…” There he dropped his gaze, attempting to choose his words wisely in spite of the battle fatigue trying to afflict him. “I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days with you, Yen.” With a pause, he partially glared at the pillow’s edge she picked at, seemingly frustrated with himself until a more important thought prompted him to look at her squarely, albeit with some anxiety attached. “And you? Is that what you want?”
Yen knew all too well what it was like to be both needed and hated at the same time. For a woman who claimed to possess zero worries for what others thought of her, that hatred from her brethren carried itself threateningly close to her soul. They wouldn’t ever accept her as one of their own, and perhaps that stung a little more than she let on. Despite renouncing them and everything they stood for, her desire to be needed ran deep.
So, when he spoke of such things, despite already having known what the outside world thought of him, Yen couldn’t help the hand that moved to gently brush his hair away from his face- her tempestuous mind no longer in charge. It was her heart grasping the reins now. Her heart that was completely and irrevocably in love with this man who deserved all that he wanted for himself.
“Thank you,” she replied quietly. She was well aware that drawing the confession out of him hadn’t been easy for Geralt. It was what she so desperately needed, though. Hearing him say it allowed the dam she built around the place where she kept him to be torn down. The floodgates were open now, and there wasn’t a hope of her ever closing them again.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath. If she said the words, she couldn’t take them back, and although fear had replaced the fire that had been coursing through her just moments prior? She forced herself to speak, hoping to ease his anxious gaze.
“You’re such a fool,” she whispered. “Do you not know by now? Can you not see that a life with you is all I want?”
Even knowing what he was, that was what she wanted? Geralt appeared almost confused by her words, or perhaps just in a state of raw disbelief. Yes, he understood she loved him. It had been because she loved him and believed that it was only because of the djinn that she had left in the first place. He did not doubt her feelings. When the confusion subsided, he looked and felt humbled.
Abruptly, he grasped her hand by his face and shifted until there was hardly a hair’s breadth between them. Breathing in the faded scent of her, reveling in her words, Geralt found himself rather at a loss. How could one put into words a feeling for something never once conceived as being a possibility? The tenuous steps of their relationship had been built on deceit, violence, and danger. He accepted that because those were aspects of life he knew, but separated her from it all the same because she was not just important, but a parallel exception to the rules of their Sphere. Geralt, nothing more than a mercenary for killing monsters, and Yennefer, a mage meant to bow to the most foolish of kings that hardly deserved her silver tongue.
Two sides of one coin, he reminded himself. She constantly dared to envision futures for herself, dreams she had the power to reach out and snatch out of thin air. It was harrowing to be a factor in what she desired from life, harrowing but simultaneously offered him some solace.
“Then we’ll have it, together.”
Yen made no protest as he drew near. Instead, she rested her forehead against his, matching the way he seemingly breathed her in with her own slow breaths. She didn’t know if it was possible, to build a life with him after the endless mountain of lies, pain, and violence they climbed to get here. But gods, she wanted to try. Her tenacity was unparalleled, especially in regard to her most coveted desires.
The only thing she could foresee tarnishing their already delicate relationship was her own fear. If she had learned anything from Pennywise, it was that her fears would be her ultimate demise, but she didn’t exactly need to face the creature to know that did she? Yen spent so much time trying to outrun every single one of them, and for the most part, her efforts hadn’t been in vain.
But, no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t outrun Geralt.
Putting an entire Continent between them hadn’t worked, and trying to keep her distance from him after arriving in Goodland produced the same results. For so long she believed it to be his wish that drew them together with such an overwhelming magnetic force. That was just another lie, though, and what made it worse was the realization that it was one she created. All that time she believed Geralt to be the fool, but it was her and her own convictions that proved to be foolish.
Now, she was terrified she would do something to ruin what they shared all over again. That was her true fear. All of the demons that haunted her past were manageable. She was unsure if the dread in her chest that took the form of herself could ever truly be defeated.
“Together,” she whispered before closing the space between them and pressing her lips to his. This kiss was unlike any other she had given him before. While the others never lacked in passion, they were still reserved. She always held her heart back, but now she allowed all of her emotions to flow freely, conveying everything she couldn’t bring herself to say. “Do not allow me to ruin it. Promise me, Geralt...that you will not allow me to run again.”
Her sweet kiss sweetened the deal, it also distracted him from concentrating on the conversation for its merits rather than the prospects. Human relationships had always mystified him, but not enough that he pursued a greater understanding of them. If he felt wanting, he found a brothel and endured questions of his scars as part of the payment for temporary gratification. With Yen, he always seemed, on some level, wholly at ease.
So, even as he snaked his arms around her body to hold her flush against him, his thoughts didn’t stray far. One hand braced against Yen’s back and the other poised to cradle the side of her face again, he rolled over so that she rested atop him as she spoke words that cut to the quick of him. At the end of the day, Geralt knew damn well he could do nothing to stop Yen once she set her mind to something, but he could and would always try.
Stroking her cheek with the calloused pad of his thumb, amber eyes matching her own violet ones, he felt inclined to promise her things as absurd as the very stars in the sky. Geralt of Rivia was no poet, had shunned the only one he grudgingly counted as a friend, but he knew while looking up at her that no ballad would ever truly do her justice. He held firm to their close proximity, forehead to forehead and nose to nose, and simply breathed. Steadying the fire she stoked within him, he chased down a clear thought to express to her, “I’ll swear to it.”
That was all he had wanted, what ultimately pleased him. He wanted her to stay with him, to be by his side always. Then, he would follow her wherever she desired until age itself caught up to them both and made them weary. With a faint groan of satisfaction, his lips met hers again to seal the vow. The kiss that followed sought silent permission, as he was wont to do in their every encounter, just to ensure this was what they both wanted. And by all the gods that he tended to reject outright, Geralt wanted her.
Yen smiled against his lips as she found herself lying atop his form, her hair cascading down around his face. Gods she loved him, more than she ever thought it was possible to love another soul. That absolute truth always tugged at her, reminding her every time she met those beautiful amber eyes that she would forever be doomed by her wanting heart. It was a fate that she eagerly accepted once she allowed herself to actually feel her adoration for the Witcher.
Her eyes closed as she relished in the way his coarse hands felt against her skin. He was igniting a fire in her that was completely different than the one that so often raged in her veins. These flames were almost chilling, and she welcomed them with a shudder as they coursed through her. She hadn’t experienced anything akin to it since that last night they shared together on the godforsaken mountain that took everything from them.
“I love you, Geralt of Rivia.” The words slipped off her tongue like they were a prayer she was sending to the heavens. Any other time she would have complete control of herself. She wouldn’t have made the proclamation, she wouldn’t have said his name as if it were the only name she ever wished to speak again, but Yennefer of Vengerberg was lost. She delighted in the way his touch made her weak. There wasn’t another being on this Sphere or any other that could ever bring her to her knees like this. No one else ever possessed the ability to make her want them as she wanted him.
Geralt could have asked her for anything at that moment and she would have gladly given it. So, when his lips met hers once more, Yen allowed her own little satisfied whimper that was damn near pleading to escape her. There wasn’t a false god above that had the power to make her deny him now.
How many of their previous encounters had been propelled by a frenzied lust? That day in Rinde, hands frantically trying to free them in an attempt to find some kind of connection then completion, was recalled fondly as his gentle grip on her face strengthened. Replaying countless couplings with her, Geralt could pick a favored moment from each one, but none compared to this moment with Yen here in this foreign land filled with different kinds of mechanical monsters and mysteries.
He returned her words, barely above a gritty whisper against her mouth. They were for her ears only, true, but now that he had accepted the way he felt about Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt didn’t care if Jaskier himself waltzed into this moment and overheard every word. There was no point in denying what he wanted, who he loved. With Yen atop him, Geralt gradually sat up, fingers buried deep in her hair and busy disrobing her. Despite having been with her the night she arrived, it still felt like it had been a man’s age since he’d truly laid with her. If he thought too heavily on it, he would likely find that to be accurate.
That served as yet more incentive to make this go on forever. They could take the time exploring one another again, climbing the peak of salvation together and scaling back down to a restful slumber happily entwined. It was more than he could have asked for, and far more than Geralt believed he deserved, but at the end of their night together he resisted the urge to sleep, briefly, just to watch her sated features fade and succumb to the exhaustion they’d ignored. He murmured those words again to her, a smile filled with warmth on his face, and eventually let sleep take him, too, before the morning’s rise.
Tomorrow, there could be trouble on the horizon again, but it didn’t matter as long as he had this to look forward to, a comforting embrace to purge the day’s terrors into something beautiful. Something beloved.