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( I'M GOING TO EAT YOU UP )
[ in all honesty, yennefer has no idea what to fucking think.
she feels some hope for the future. her magic thrums through her again, feeling warm and bright and right there, but she can't quite enjoy it. no, not with what it almost cost. she ignores it, the way it completes her once more. it runs through her like fire and warms her despite the chill of the tundra. she no longer feels so alone with it now alongside her with her current company.
geralt and ciri leave her on the edge of the bridge without a look back. both of them burn with anger towards her. she deserves it, she knows. wanting to sacrifice a child, for fuck's sake, doesn't exactly endear one to other people. (it hardly endears her to herself.) it's not exactly a choice she thinks she can walk away from without a scar. she has to grow around it, live with it—and yennefer, despite all she's seen and done, isn't quite sure how to properly take a step from that.
she remains out in the cold long after she should've picked herself up and wandered back into the grand ruined hall. it's half out of self-pity—she's sure jaskier might be in the middle of writing some stupid song about the evil witch finally getting her dues—and half out of absolute exhaustion that she picks herself up. yennefer of vengerberg has never let anything get her down, but this… this is different.
when she wanders back in, the room's still a shit pile. everything's ruined. tables remain broken, most of the bodies have been plucked from the ground and taken somewhere more sacred for the witchers to begin preparing for a proper goodbye. the hall doesn't look so grand. it looks pathetic and hollow, much like how she feels.
yennefer's never been one for self-deprecation, but she's a little tired of trying to convince herself all of this is fucking fine.
most of the witchers are gone, thank fuck. she's not interested in making small talk with them. none of them would say what she needs, look at her the way she needs them to. she's merely a stranger—and whatever geralt's told them of—and what she needs right now is the proper derision only one person can give her.
and there he is, sitting out of place. it's comforting to know he's as much of an outsider as she is. he doesn't sit like a witcher, certainly doesn't look like one.
she approaches, uncaring if he hears her boots, and childishly flicks jaskier's ear. ] You had a piece of flesh on you. [ monster or human, she's not quite sure. doesn't really care to elaborate, knowing she may use it in the very near future (in the next few minutes, perhaps) to torture his vanity.
yennefer takes a seat beside him, brushing up against him without much of a care, and drops onto the firm wooden bench. at least this one survived the attack from the monsters. it's strange to her, sometimes, what ends up surviving and what ends up dying. a lot of the strong get fucked over by luck.
although she wants to sit up straight, she rests her elbows on the table before her and her head in her hands. jaskier's already seen her at her worst and believes it. she has nothing left to lose. her hair's a mess, her nails are chipped, and she feels as dirty as she looks.
good thing jaskier doesn't look any better. if he did, she'd really consider throwing herself off the bridge.
in her hands, voice muffled, ] Thank you for doing what I asked.
[ for having faith in a magicless mage's potion. ]
she feels some hope for the future. her magic thrums through her again, feeling warm and bright and right there, but she can't quite enjoy it. no, not with what it almost cost. she ignores it, the way it completes her once more. it runs through her like fire and warms her despite the chill of the tundra. she no longer feels so alone with it now alongside her with her current company.
geralt and ciri leave her on the edge of the bridge without a look back. both of them burn with anger towards her. she deserves it, she knows. wanting to sacrifice a child, for fuck's sake, doesn't exactly endear one to other people. (it hardly endears her to herself.) it's not exactly a choice she thinks she can walk away from without a scar. she has to grow around it, live with it—and yennefer, despite all she's seen and done, isn't quite sure how to properly take a step from that.
she remains out in the cold long after she should've picked herself up and wandered back into the grand ruined hall. it's half out of self-pity—she's sure jaskier might be in the middle of writing some stupid song about the evil witch finally getting her dues—and half out of absolute exhaustion that she picks herself up. yennefer of vengerberg has never let anything get her down, but this… this is different.
when she wanders back in, the room's still a shit pile. everything's ruined. tables remain broken, most of the bodies have been plucked from the ground and taken somewhere more sacred for the witchers to begin preparing for a proper goodbye. the hall doesn't look so grand. it looks pathetic and hollow, much like how she feels.
yennefer's never been one for self-deprecation, but she's a little tired of trying to convince herself all of this is fucking fine.
most of the witchers are gone, thank fuck. she's not interested in making small talk with them. none of them would say what she needs, look at her the way she needs them to. she's merely a stranger—and whatever geralt's told them of—and what she needs right now is the proper derision only one person can give her.
and there he is, sitting out of place. it's comforting to know he's as much of an outsider as she is. he doesn't sit like a witcher, certainly doesn't look like one.
she approaches, uncaring if he hears her boots, and childishly flicks jaskier's ear. ] You had a piece of flesh on you. [ monster or human, she's not quite sure. doesn't really care to elaborate, knowing she may use it in the very near future (in the next few minutes, perhaps) to torture his vanity.
yennefer takes a seat beside him, brushing up against him without much of a care, and drops onto the firm wooden bench. at least this one survived the attack from the monsters. it's strange to her, sometimes, what ends up surviving and what ends up dying. a lot of the strong get fucked over by luck.
although she wants to sit up straight, she rests her elbows on the table before her and her head in her hands. jaskier's already seen her at her worst and believes it. she has nothing left to lose. her hair's a mess, her nails are chipped, and she feels as dirty as she looks.
good thing jaskier doesn't look any better. if he did, she'd really consider throwing herself off the bridge.
in her hands, voice muffled, ] Thank you for doing what I asked.
[ for having faith in a magicless mage's potion. ]
sorry for the delay! had some tough weeks
Oh, I do love it! [He starts counting with his fingers.] Pillows - by the gods, we need so many bloody pillows. And proper mattresses - their enhanced spines may be able to sleep on those fucking rocks they dare to call beds, but I--
[Around the corner Yennefer turns, there's a door, and Jaskier immediately interrupts himself when he opens it. The hot springs are a sight to behold, a little piece of heaven hidden in the mountains. Jaskier can already feel the warmth caressing his skin, and after a moment of shock, he cries out--]
Oh, sweet nectar of the gods!
[--before he starts undressing right there without a second thought. And he's very efficient at that, too, shedding layers faster than a witcher's reflexes. He takes off his ring, too, and safely puts it in his jacket's pocket, but he leaves on his two necklaces (ring and tuning fork) because those he can't lose in the water.
It's as if he's forgotten that Yennefer is there with him, not that it would've stopped him. So now the witch can see how shapely his butt and his thighs are thanks of years walking after certain witcher, how hairy his whole body is under his clothes, the scar on his leg that he got as a kid when he fell off a tree, the one on his ribs from a monster incident... and well, there's his cock too, of course, but Yennefer is already familiar with it thanks to that djinn-inspired groping: not too small, not too big, just a nice comfortable average.
Jaskier tests the waters with his toe, yelping when the first spring is too hot, but exclaiming fuck yes when he finds the one with the right temperature. He jumps into it without a care, going underwater from head to toe, and groaning in obscene delight when he resurfaces.]
That's it, I'm spending the rest of winter here. [He says as he begins running his fingers through his now wet hair. Fuck, he should've brought a comb.] Not even another monster invasion can make me move right now.
you're all good! 💖 i hope everything is better!
closing the door behind her to protect anyone's eyes from seeing the ungodliness of jaskier naked, yennefer stays near it as she watches him in amusement. it's as if he's thawed—he comes to life; he's a flurry of excitement and juvenile happiness…
and she does check him out just a little. yennefer was concerned perhaps a spell had turned him into half-man, half-goat. but he's still a man—a decent one to look at if his ass is anything to go by—and a map of a life that she's underestimated as being spent being pretty and hiding behind a lute. ]
What if there was a monster lurking in the water, hm? You didn't exactly check to make sure it was unoccupied.
[ honestly, jaskier. the reason he's survived all these years has been pure luck.
but yennefer, smiling, steps away from the door, and begins to toe-off her boots. unlike jaskier, she isn't going to shed herself of her clothing in a flurry of excitement. the last few days have suddenly hit her and she feels as though her nones are made of the stone that shapes kaer morhen.
she's slow to undress and she cocks her brow pointedly at him. turn around. you're in the presence of a lady. ]
no subject
[Speaking of experience there, but also he thinks it's fair logic to think the witchers wouldn't allow anything creepy besides themselves in their keep (possessed Child Surprises being an exception, of course). And that's why Jaskier has survived this long: yes, part of it may be luck, but he's also just spent two decades putting his safety in the hands of a certain witcher, who never failed to keep him safe.
Well, at least until the mountain. But let's not go there now.
Once upon a time, he told Geralt that Yennefer is a very sexy but insane witch, words he still stands by to this day - he won't say them aloud because he doesn't want to give her the pleasure, but the way she glances at her doesn't exactly hide it. If they hadn't met the way they did, he would've hit on her without hesitation - beauty and power, a combination women of this world don't often get to have.
That brow, though. That cocked brow makes him raise his own.]
...you're serious. [He snorts again but still closes his eyes and throws his head back against the edge of the pool, soaking contently.] It seems you've forgotten I've already seen your tits, witch.