#and later geralt goes to get him and just goes 'very good. never remain on the ground when you fall.'

[beth--b]

Sunburn

For @sicktember prompt 15 Sunburn

Jaskier hated waiting. He was not patient by nature and found sitting still for long periods of time exceedingly difficult. Unless of course he was composing a new song, that was the one exception.

This was one of the reasons that being a travelling bard was so appealing. He got to travel the continent rather than sit around at court waiting to be required for something.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved playing at court, the food was great, the wine was usually flowing and the people, well the people were usually quite appreciative of his many talents in areas other than music.

There were however downsides to travelling, namely when Geralt decides that he needs to wait at the inn, or the campsite while he goes off to kill some beastie or another.

This was one such day.

Geralt had left just after dawn to scope out the area, there was a contract for a griffin and Geralt knew of a few locations nearby that it could be using for a nest.

While Geralt was gone Jaskier was to remain in the clearing where they had made camp and not ‘wander into the woods and get eaten’.

So, Jaskier had spent the morning composing while Geralt was off doing his witchering thing.

But now he was bored, and also hot.

Read it on Ao3 here

He found himself pacing around the campsite trying to alleviate the need to move, or to do something.

“If only Geralt had left Roach behind,” muttered to himself, pushing his sweaty fringe out of his face.“I could have spent some time brushing her, perhaps bribed her into letting me braid her mane. Ah well.”

He kept pacing and eventually threw himself down onto the ground laying back on the grass and fanning himself with his hand.

“Ugh why is it so hot today, if I don’t stop sweating my poor doublet will be stained forevermore.”

Deciding the only reasonable course of action was to remove said clothing to protect it from further damage he pulled his doublet off and after further deliberation, shucked his chemise as well.

He lay back in the grass and tried to think of an idea for a new song.

After long moments he decide there were no ideas. He was clearly a fraud and would never be able to write anything good ever again.

Eventually he decided that maybe was good enough after all but the bloody heat was melting his brain and dying out his creative juices. Nodding to himself he sat up for a moment to look around and check there was no sign of Geralt or Roach, or worse, the griffin. Satisfied he collapsed back onto the ground and before he was really aware it was happening he found himself drifting off to sleep.

This was exactly where Geralt found him several hours later.

Jaskier woke up to the feeling of water dripping onto his face. He sat up spluttering and shaking his head.

“What the fuck Geralt?” he exclaimed, raising his arms to emphasise the point only to stop short. “Ow! Again, what the fuck,” this time quieter as he examined his arms. His very red arms.

“You looked a little warm there bard,” Geralt explained, mouth twitching with a hint of a smirk.

“Oh wow, thanks that’s very clever Geralt. Very good then, make fun of a man when he’s down.”

Geralt just reached a hand out to help Jaskier up, the bard taking the proffered hand and heaving himself to his feet, shaking his head as the world spun for a moment. Geralt steadied him and handed him the water skin he had so recently used against him.

“Hmm thanks I guess. Melitele’s tits, how burnt am I?”

Geralt looked him over and noted a few places where it looked like the skin was ready to blister.

“Pretty burnt. I have some salve we can use to help though. Drink some water, you’ll be dehydrated after being in the sun so long. Next time you fall asleep in the middle of the day maybe do it in the shade.”

“Ah yes of course, the shade. Why didn’t I think of that.”

Jaskier tipped his head back and drank deeply from the water skin, realising just how thirsty he was the moment the first sip of water hit his parched mouth.

Once he was finished he finally asked the question he would normally have asked the moment Geralt returned.

“So did you find the griffin?”

“Not yet, found plenty of evidence though so I know where to head tomorrow. Should be able to take care of it then so we can move on.”

Jaskier just nodded and moved to sit back down in the shade closer to their belongings. It would be dark soon, he’d napped the afternoon away apparently. At least that’s one way to cure boredom. If only he’d chosen a better location.

Geralt moved to his bags and after digging through it for a moment he pulled out a small pot and brought it over to Jaskier.

Sitting beside the bard he unscrewed the lid and took a small dollop of the salve inside and spread a thin layer over Jaskier’s arms and chest, focusing on the worst of the sunburn. Finally he helped apply a layer to his face which now left the bard feeling like his face was on fire for another reason. At least with him already looking like a tomato Geralt hopefully wouldn’t realise he was blushing.

Once he was finished Geralt replaced the lid and sat the jar beside him.

“Better?” Geralt asked, eyes flicking between Jaskier’s face and his very sunburnt chest.

“Ah yes, much. Thank you my dear.”

“Good. I’ll help you apply more tomorrow morning before I head out.”

Conversation seemingly over Geralt stood and moved to put the salve away.

Jaskier shook himself out of the stupor he seemed to have fallen into as he watched Geralt walk away.

Maybe not the best way to get Geralt’s hands on him, but until the time came where he could confess his feelings, if ever it came, he would take what he could get.

#the witcher fanfiction #Sicktember 2022 #prompt 15 sunburn #geralt x jaskier #light whump #jaskier whump #Jaskier #Geralt #pre geralt x jaskier

[asweetprologue]

Nili’s Benchmark Geraskier Fic Rec List

hey yall! I officially hit 750 followers (a few days ago, I blew past the benchmark without even realizing!), which is... insane. I truly can’t believe that so many people over the last year have enjoyed my presence in this fandom enough to continue to follow my work. you guys are so great and I love you all so much, so I decided to put together a gift for you!

this is a list of my favorite geraskier fics from the fandom, which I have been putting together over the last year or so. a few of these are big in the fandom, but a lot of them are smaller pieces that I feel deserve more attention! I have provided ao3 and tumblr links where I could find them, as well as ratings and summaries. Most of these are canon!verse because I’m not personally a big fan of modern au’s, but there will be a few of those scattered throughout as well. I’ve divided the fics into two sections: oneshots and multichapter. See the list below the cut!

Being in this fandom truly has gotten me through the pandemic in a big way and I have made so many good friends while here. thank you all for validating my weird obsession with these characters and enabling me in these trying times <3

Oneshots

all that was good, all that was fair (all that was me is gone) | M | 7517 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions Of Violence | @xdandelionxbloomx

Somewhere, deep in a forest, a man drags himself from his grave by sheer power of will. He lies gasping on the forest floor and does not know who or what he is. The world is wide and wonderful, though, and there is so much to see.

Or, Jaskier is so stubborn that he literally comes back from the dead.

Another fascinating addition to the mythology of the Witcher. Jaskier’s slow rediscovery of himself is so well done here. One I’ve come back to again and again. 

As Fast As Love Can Go | T | 9628 | @bygodstillam

There are Faeries in the Wood.

That's what everyone said, at least, not that there was any solid proof. Jaskier had tried, more than once, to find some. Just a hint somewhere, of a real story, of real magic. But all anyone seemed to have was stories.

Jaskier was determined to find proof. He wasn't expecting to find a witcher in the process.

Fascinating fic with some really interesting worldbuilding, and a fresh new take on True Love’s Kiss. Also with some great art by @hehearse!

beautiful, he stirs up still things | T | 2575 | @alittlebitmaybe

“You’re not asking me to dance,” says Geralt.

Jaskier turns his palm up on his knee, offering it. “I think you’ll find I am.”

Just them dancing. This is a lovely sort of pre-relationship dynamic. So soft.

Dialogue Prompt | NR | 2932 | @reinvent-and-believe

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

Geralt gets Jaskier a gift, which prompts some confessions.

Even a small love | E | 22,272 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con 

“Well,” Jaskier replies distractedly. “Lots of things want to strangle you.”

“You don’t.”

It isn’t a particularly troublesome accusation, or even necessarily an accusation at all.

This is one I read early on in the fandom, and it really stuck with me. The dynamic between Jaskier and Geralt is perfect, and the misunderstandings between them feel so realistic. The non-con is not extreme, but do mind the warnings. 

For the Space of a Heartbeat | T | 2021 | @drowningbydegrees

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Just sweet, morning after discussions. I love to see them talking for once.

Greensleeves | T | 10,414 | @rebrandedbard

When Geralt crosses paths with Jaskier in the spring, the world is dressed in green. Quite literally. Everyone everywhere is wearing green, and it all comes down to a song Jaskier has written that, to his mortification, has become popular throughout the Continent. It's torment, being forced to preform the song over and over again and have his heart broken anew. But who is this Lady Greensleeves the people say Jaskier is so maddeningly, heartbrokenly in love with? At the baron's wedding party, Geralt is determined to find out.

This is one of my personal faves - there’s just something about Jaskier’s feelings being put on blast while Geralt remains totally oblivious that I think is so very them. And the resolution at the end is delightful.

I Don’t Wanna Fall (If It’s Not In Love) | E | 13,902 | @writinglizards

The first time it's out of desperation. Things get rapidly out of hand from there.

OR the building of a relationship through mutual wank sessions.

I love everything Ashley writes, but this one was the first fic I read by her and it still has a warm place in my heart. I also highly recommend It’s Been A While (makes me cry every time) and Tell Me Honestly

Like a Storm, Like a Flood | T | 1065 | @valdomarx

Jaskier is leaving for the winter, and Geralt can't bear the thought of not seeing him for months.

It was soooo hard to pick only one fic by George, but this one is so soft and sweet and yearning I just had to go with it. This is really just about Geralt finally hitting a breaking point and saying enough is enough.

one flesh | E | 10,763 | WARNING: MCD 

“Well, then. I’m a ghost.” Jaskier spread his arms grandly. Geralt held his gaze for a moment, then dropped his head and laughed. Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “Do fill me in on what’s so funny.” It wasn’t funny. It was just so - ridiculous, the things Geralt’s fucked up brain would invent. This had to be the last nail in the sanity coffin, it just had to be.

Or: Jaskier is a ghost, and Geralt is a mess.

Jaskier dies and comes back as a ghost to haunt Geralt into taking care of himself. Geralt does not handle this gracefully. This fic is so sad and heartbreaking, but the ending is so sweet.

to render it transparent | E | 23,901

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

Sigh. This fic. This is a time travel fic - Geralt ends up in the future living with Jaskier on the coast, just after the mountain. It’s slow and beautiful and extremely bittersweet, all about how we choose to love people despite how much it can hurt us.

With All the Continent A Stage | M | 4745 | @greyduckgreygoose

Later, Geralt learned that the play was four hours long. Four hours long. It didn’t feel like it. Most of it passed by in a fever dream of ominous music, dance-fighting and dryads in gossamer leaves, swinging from hoops attached to the ceiling. Yennefer made an appearance, played by Priscilla in a glittering negligee. She sang a song to Geralt about putting him “Under Her Spell”, and they had a sensual dance number which was made a little strange by a sickened Jaskier (played by Jaskier) coughing loudly in the background.

(Jaskier invites Geralt to a musical production inspired by his own life.)

Jaskier basically writes Geralt a love letter in the form of a four hour long play. Geralt is an idiot about it.

Multi-Chapter Fics

A Lover’s Lament | M | 25,364 | @somedrunkpirate

So,” Jaskier begins, as casually as he can, “you are telling me, that in theory, if I were to be in love with someone — anyone — that person could well be in terrible danger?”

Of all terrible and ridiculous things that have threatened Geralt’s safety, Jaskier’d never thought that loving him might be what will get him killed.

I honestly can’t count the number of times I’ve read this fic. The monster is so interesting, and the mythos of it fits seamlessly into the world of the Witcher in my mind. Jaskier being so afraid that his feelings are going to put Geralt at risk, clearly unable to see that Geralt is going through the exact same thing. I think about the scene with them looking at each other almost daily. 

A Pair of Gloves, the Scent of Roses | M | 24,134 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence

In the bustling days before the Midsummer festival, Geralt is sent into the countryside to deal with a monster - with Jaskier once again by his side. But the bard has not forgiven him, and while he's not hiding his contempt for the Witcher, he is recalcitrant about revealing his true motives for joining him. As the hunt turns into a desperate mission to save an innocent man and the monster is not what is seems to be, Geralt learns a few new things about his old friend and decides to finally attempt to mend the rift between them...

This is one of my favorite’s in the fandom - it feels so believable, the world is so rich and the oc’s are convincing and charming. Geralt and Jaskier feel so honest here, stumbling around each other but still drawn together. Beautiful beautiful beautiful

Bearing the will of the flower | NR | 11,449 

The way Jaskier sees it, his hobby of following a witcher around was always pretty likely to get him killed.

The fact that it's happening now because the witcher in question doesn't love him, he thinks as he coughs up crumpled flowers, hardly makes a difference.

My favorite hanahaki fic in the fandom. I’m such a sucker for these, and these two idiots being so incapable of talking about their feelings really makes them prime candidates. 

Food of Love | T | 22,488 | @wallatile-qvibbler

I brought a dead princess back to life through the power of song is the kind of thing that would have got an eyebrow raise even from the stone-faced Geralt of Rivia, so it's a good thing he and Geralt will probably never see each other again.

(or: the one where Jaskier channels magic through his songs, and it almost never goes as expected.)

This is a Jaskier and Renfri centric fic, which wasn’t something I knew I wanted until I read this. Jaskier is a bard which in this AU comes with magical powers, but it feels so well integrated into the universe that I wish it was just... how the Witcher is. Renfri is so good here, and even though Jaskier and Geralt barely even interact you can feel the tension and love between them. Cannot recommend highly enough.

friends and allies of the witcher | T | 10,312 | @theamazingbard

Yennefer crawls over to her newest cellmate. They’re curled up on their side. Breathing, but only just. She’s not sure what she’s hoping for when she turns them over. Still isn’t when she sees that it is indeed Jaskier.

“Shit."

Yennefer and Jaskier each suffer in more ways than one at the hands of Nilfgaard.

Yennefer and Jaskier get capture by Nilfgaard and tossed into a cell together. Exactly what I want out of season 2 honestly. Their interactions are gold.

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope | E | 45,188 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con | @lesdemonium

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier's mother with Jaskier's obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the "gift" became more of a curse.

You know I’m not gonna make a rec list without listing Zoe’s Ella Enchanted au. Need I say more?

Silver and Copper | M | 56,139 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence | @kaer-cuan

Geralt is just supposed to pass through the quiet Lettenhove area. He's not anticipating being begged by its people to help save their viscount from a curse that keeps him from daylight. Lord Jaskier, they call him, and he's likely dying.

As Geralt struggles to untangle the ugly web of history that has lead to the increasingly complicated curse, he finds himself spending more and more time with the strange young viscount and wondering just what he might have been before the curse, and who he might be after. But things are not always as they seem, and as the curse tightens its grip on Jaskier, Geralt is forced to face the fear of failing yet another person whose choices were stolen from them.

Or-

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

This is a fic that haunts me. It’s very scary in parts, and mind the tags - there are some very heavy themes here. But it’s beautiful and touching, and Jaskier feels very true to himself even though his origin is so different.

we could be married (and then we'd be happy) | E | 50,222 | @a-kind-of-merry-war

Jaskier reached into his pocket, fingers grasping around the little box. He pulled it out with what he hoped was a romantic flourish, flipping it open to reveal the simple gold band inside. “Geralt,” he said, confidently, cooly, like this wasn’t terrifying, “Will you marry me?”

Geralt and Jaskier fake marriage proposals to get free deserts and shit but it goes tits up when Vesemir catches them in the act. Not knowing how to fess up, they go along with it for a while, which is hell because they’re both pining like mad. As I said, I don’t love modern au’s, but it’s merry so of course this one had to end up on my list.

~

And that’s it! 20 fics for you, and hopefully you can all find one or two you haven’t read before. There are a lot of people and fics that I didn’t include in this list only because I was trying to not put a million down (which I could). I highly recommend anything by @wherethewordsare, @julek, @contemplativepancakes, @witcher-and-his-bard, and @inber, as well as those linked to fics above, and I’m sure there are others I forgot to mention. Yall have truly made being in this fandom worthwhile <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic recs #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #witcher #fic recs #fic rec #I'm certain i missed a lot of good ones I've read over the years but I didn't want to risk making this super fucking long anyways #if you didn't see your name listed it isn't bc I don't adore you and your fics it's because i'm stupid <333

[havenoffandoms]

72 for Geralt/Jaskier?

I meant to post this a lot earlier... sorry about the wait, nonnie. I hope you like it anyway. I'm not sure how it came out in the end after I agonised over this for the past couple of days, but it was fun going back to my Geraskier roots.

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Prompt 72: Character A has a secret. Character B does whatever they can to find out what it is. When they find out, they wish they hadn't.

Warnings: brief angsty episode, mention of Geralt's traumatic childhood

Also, I love that art! Holy Shit!? So of course this had to feature before the fic <3

Travelling with Jaskier had its downfalls.

For one, the bard talks a lot. He never stops, not even in his sleep, and that would drive any man insane if you ask Geralt. He listens to Jaskier waffling about poetry all day, every day, he doesn’t have to endure a lecture on the benefits of iambic pentameters when he’s trying to fall asleep, thank you very much. Jaskier also likes to complain about every little thing that causes him discomfort, which when they’re on the path, ranges from fly bites all the way to sore feet. Travelling with a human also means that they travel considerably slower, unless they’re both riding on top of Roach, but Geralt doesn’t like putting his best girl under that kind of strain very often.

For all of Jaskier’s flaws, Geralt would hate to have to separate from his bard. At least, when Jaskier is close by, Geralt can keep an eye on him and make sure Jaskier doesn’t get himself into any unnecessary trouble. Having Jaskier travel with him gives Geralt peace of mind. He appreciates the singing as well, even if he could stand to tell Jaskier this a bit more often. Geralt deems that his bard’s ego is plenty inflated without Geralt making it worse. Not to mention that life always seems a little bit brighter when Jaskier is around, and the nights are a little less lonely as Geralt gets to pull his bard close and fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart. Knowing that Jaskier is safe is the only thing that lets Geralt sleep peacefully at night.

You’d think that after nearly two decades of knowing his bard, Geralt would have figured out Jaskier’s secret by now. Geralt is, of course, referring to Jaskier’s near supernatural ability to always come up with coin when he and Geralt need it most urgently. Geralt has no idea how the bard does it - his songs are popular, granted, and on a good night Jaskier makes enough to buy a nice room for the night and the better pieces of meat from the kitchen. Still, being a bard doesn’t pay that well, not even if you were as famous as Jaskier. Just last week, Geralt’s horse and most of his belonging were stolen by bandits, leaving Geralt travelling on foot and too poor to afford to buy a new horse. Two days later, Jaskier came trotting up to their camp atop a gorgeous mare, looking mighty pleased with himself but refusing to tell Geralt how he managed to afford to pay for the horse.

“Would you believe me if I told you I stole her, Geralt, my dear?”

“Not in a million years,” Geralt admitted deadpan, pulling an offended squawk from his songbird.

“Just because I’m a bard you don’t think I can steal a horse?”

“I don’t think you could ever steal a horse because you’re as stealthy as the proverbial bull in the porcelain shop.”

It’s not just the horse, though. Geralt’s armour needed replacing and good armour doesn’’t come cheaply. Geralt doesn’t hire the services of just any blacksmith or armourer to craft his weapons and protective gear. He has his regular suppliers, the ones he always goes back to because he knows that their work is reliable and of the highest quality. And even though these people know Geralt by now, even offer him a friends and family discount on occasion, their wares still come at a hefty price. Geralt, as it turns out, didn’t have the coin to replace his armour for a few months. He desperately needed new boots, though. A new pair of breeches wouldn’t hurt either, and his silver sword broke in half whilst fighting a particularly vicious griffin a few weeks back.

Geralt didn’t even mention all of this to Jaskier. That didn’t stop the bard from going ahead and commissioning a brand new suit of armour, new silver and steel swords, as well as a few casual clothes for Geralt to wear on the warmer summer days. All of this must have cost an arm, a leg and a fucking lung, and yet Jaskier acted like he didn’t just break the bank all for Geralt’s benefit. He didn’t even get anything for himself and that realisation had Geralt feeling slightly embarrassed about the gesture.

“You don’t have to buy me all this stuff, Jask.”

“I know that, dearest,” Jaskier assured him, eyes soft and an easy smile playing on his lips, “but I wanted to. Only the best for you, my sweet witcher.”

The mystery of where Jaskier managed to find the coin to pay for all this remains unsolved, despite Geralt’s questioning. Well, if Jaskier won’t outright tell him, then Geralt will just have to investigate the matter by himself.

"Where the fuck did you get your hand on all the coin to pay for all this?" Geralt asks one evening, blunt and straight to the point. There was probably a kinder and gentler way to ask this, but after spending weeks mulling over Jaskier's sudden new-found fortune, Geralt has lost the little patience he possessed in the matter. Jaskier, on the other hand, looks perfectly unperturbed.

"From the bank," he offers simply as he sprinkles expensive herbs over the hare Geralt caught earlier that evening, "you know, where people deposit their valuables? I know you witchers don't believe in bank accounts, savings and interests, but-"

"Where does the coin come from?" Geralt interrupts, hissing those words through clenched teeth.

"Why, my inheritance."

Geralt stares for a long while. It takes his brain several seconds to catch up to what Jaskier is telling him, and another few seconds to make sense of the words. Inheritance?

"What inheritance?"

"Well, when my father passed away he left me and my siblings a share of his wealth. That's how inheritance works. Say, pass me my satchel my dear, I think I have some more spices in there."

Geralt wordlessly hands Jaskier his satchel, still trying to process this new discovery. Come to think of it, Geralt knows precious little about Jaskier's family. Sure, that's probably on him for never asking, but Geralt has grown so used to Jaskier oversharing every aspect of his life that he never needed to ask his bard anything. Jaskier just… never talked about his family. Or his childhood, or his upbringing. His life story seems to always begin when he was a student at Oxenfurt.

Geralt is growing curiouser by the minute.

"When did your father pass?"

"Oh? Uh… good question. Maybe a few years after I went to Oxenfurt? I'm not sure. I received a letter from the bank notifying me that a share of my father's wealth was deposited in my account."

Geralt frowns. "You never went back to find out what happened?"

"No."

Well, that's an oddly abrupt response, and Jaskier doesn't seem like he's got anything to say on the matter. Which only makes Geralt feel more curious about the whole thing.

"Why not?"

"Geralt…" Jaskier heaves a sigh before putting on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, too tense to be genuine. "My father and I didn't get along. I felt no need to go mourn him with the rest of my noble family in Lettenhove when he passed. That's it. That's all there's to it. I was not a good enough man to refuse my share of the inheritance, either, despite my non-existent relationship with him."

That's a lot to unpack. Geralt always assumed that Jaskier had a good childhood. Then again, he would think that, wouldn't he, considering Geralt spent his own childhood being tortured by magnanimous and sadistic mages. Where most children got to spend time outside helping out in the fields or playing with their friends, Geralt was put through drill after drill, after drill… until he was physically unable to walk so much his muscles hurt.

"Wait… did you say your noble family?"

"Hm?"

"In Lettenhove… there's nothing in Lettenhove. Only the Viscount and his family live there on a large esta-" Geralt's mouth clicks shut as realisation dawns on him. "Your father was the Viscount of Lettenhove?"

"Yes. And since I'm the oldest, after he died that title passed onto me. But I much prefer being a bard, so I graciously devolved my duties to my younger brother, who now manages the estate. Are we done with this conversation?"

"I didn't mean to make you mad…"

Geralt watches Jaskier stop dead in his tracks, his shoulders briefly tensing at those words, before exhaling loudly through his nose. Jaskier anxiously rubs the back of his neck as he straightens up and offers Geralt a sheepish smile, that one warmer and softer than the previous one.

"Sorry, dear heart. I didn't mean to be so short with you. It's just… well, there's a reason I don't bring up my family all that much."

"Hm." Geralt gently taps the spot next to him on his bedroll, and Jaskier doesn't have to be told twice. Soon, Geralt has one arm wound tightly around Jaskier's shoulders. Not quite a hug, but the intention is there all the same, and Jaskier eagerly melts in the embrace. "I shouldn't have insisted. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. You did nothing wrong." Jaskier nuzzles the crook of Geralt's neck sweetly before depositing a featherlight kiss just over his pulse point. "Do you want to ask me anything?"

Geralt ponders over that question far too long before whispering an answer in the air pocket between them.

"Did he hurt you?"

Jaskier hesitates.

"Not physically, no. He didn't approve of my aspirations and choices. He didn't support me. I suppose it hurt a little when he didn't see me away to Oxenfurt at the age of 15, but he never raised a hand on me."

"Hm." Good, Geralt thinks. No child should ever have to suffer at the hand of an adult. Geralt earned plenty a beating at Kaer Morhen, some justified and others not so much. Just because he went through this doesn't mean he condones it.

"At least I get to spend his money on someone I love," Jaskier offers softly, eyes as blue as the deepest ocean glancing up at Geralt through dark lashes, “That, at least, the old man can’t take away from me.”

A happy little rumble bubbles up Geralt's chest, despite the blush gracing his cheeks.

"I never thanked you for the gifts." Geralt blushes a deeper shade of red at the realisation. "Sorry. It's been a long year."

"Well, good thing we're heading North soon then, hm?" Jaskier straightens up so he can cradle Geralt's face in his lute-calloused hands. Their eyes meet then, amber seeking out blue, and Geralt thinks that he must be the luckiest son of a bitch in all the Continent.

"Yes," he agrees in a whisper, tilting his face to place a kiss on the inside of Jaskier's wrist, "good thing, indeed."

Request a prompt

#havenwrites #the witcher #wiedzmin #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #the witcher geralt #geralt #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #dandelion #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #jaskier/geralt #dandelion x geralt #geralt/dandelion #request open

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

All Dressed Up (And Nowhere To Go)

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): just your regular smut  Rating: explicit

Summary:  Things haven't been perfect since Geralt and Jaskier reunited after the mountain, but Jaskier suspects he knows why and he's determined to fix it.

on ao3

the italics didn’t transfer properly to tumblr (🙄) so for best reading experience, follow the ao3 link <3

Six months. Six months since that memorable day when Geralt showed up in his audience. Six months since his apology. Six months since Jaskier had pulled him aside and forced him to talk things through. Six months since their reconciliation.

Six months and more tension crammed into that time than any man deserves in his life. And things are good between them, very good. Maybe the best they've been since the incident in Cintra now that everything is out in the open and steps are being taken to consider each other more carefully. So Jaskier can't figure out what the problem is between them, but he'll be damned if he's not going to solve it.

He's tried talking about Ciri, but that seems to be going quite well and he's even brought up Yen, but she and Geralt are working on things for Ciri's sake. Their personal relationship seems to have been set aside, but Geralt is okay with that.

The only remaining things are Geralt's family and him and since winter was some time ago now he doubts it’s the other Witchers. So. It must be him. But Geralt has been different since their reunion, softer and more forgiving than before, so he doubts Geralt is upset with him. Which only leaves one option. One that makes his heart beat quicker and his mouth go dry. One that feels altogether like he should be imagining it, but what if he's not? He has to try.

So, Jaskier keeps an ear out for new contracts until he finds one he knows Geralt won't pass up. He goes to town ahead of him and waits until, as expected, Geralt shows up a couple of days later. Jaskier keeps an eye on him but stays out of the way until Geralt heads out for the hunt, then he puts his plan into action.

- - - - -

Geralt's exhausted. The graveir had proved to be tougher than expected and his right shoulder aches from a bad swing. He wishes he hadn't turned down Jaskier's offer to accompany him to Novigrad because he might still be with him now and Geralt sorely misses him. But things are good - or they will be, they're working through it and he doesn't want to push too hard too early.

But Melitele, what he wouldn't do for one of Jaskier's massages right now. Or just to have him fuss over him in the bath like he used to. Or, fuck. Even just to listen to him sing while he bathes and stretches out the aches and pains. They'll see each other soon enough, probably, but every time they part, there's a small part of him that wonders if this will be the time Jaskier doesn't return. He couldn't blame him for it, after the things he said before, but he'd still be devastated to lose him like that again. And despite being much better, things haven't been perfect since their reunion.

There's a block of some sort that they can't seem to pass - or maybe it's just his imagination, but it's so persistent he can practically feel it in the room with them. They have talked at length about their problems in the past, Geralt has apologized as well as he can and Jaskier had accepted that with the condition that Geralt continues to try. And he will, as Jaskier promised to do as well; they'll keep working at it until it's good again, maybe even better. But something is still in the way.

Geralt sighs as he heaves himself up the stairs, already eyeing the door of his room. He could use a damn good nap, but thinking about Jaskier has him feeling otherwise. He crosses the landing, shoving a hand against the door and leaning on it more than pushing it open, but as soon as he's inside, he stops dead in his tracks. The door bumps his hip on its way shut and he barely shifts to let it fall closed behind him.

In his bed, wearing nothing but a feathered hat and ankle-length jacket is Jaskier.

Geralt's eyes dart from his bare chest up to his face before sliding lower again and he struggles to take it all in at once. Jaskier's hair was longer when they first reunited, but he's got dark stubble covering his jawline and that hat does something to him that it really shouldn't.

Before he even realizes he's moving, Geralt's shucked his swords and he's halfway across the room. He bends down, hauling Jaskier into his arms and barely sees the flash of a smile before Jaskier's kissing him, soft and deep with both hands on his face. Geralt shifts as surprisingly strong thighs wind around his waist and he adjusts his arms to hold Jaskier tighter, reaching up to brush a hand through his hair.

Jaskier shifts in his arms and the jacket slides against his skin, smooth and silky on the inside and he hums against Jaskier's lips. This… feels right. This feels like coming home and he can't even find the words to express himself, to tell Jaskier the magnitude of his emotions. He deepens the kiss, slipping his hands to Jaskier's thighs to hold him as Jaskier shifts.

He breaks the kiss but his mouth only briefly leaves Geralt's skin, slipping down to his jaw and what little of his neck is exposed while his fingers seek out the clasps of Geralt's armour. He's gotten him out of it more times than Geralt knows, either because he's been too weak or injured to do it himself or just because he liked the help. A pang of guilt distracts him for a moment, a reminder of how he once took him for granted, but Jaskier's mouth finds his own again and he forgets about it.

It doesn't take Jaskier long to undress him and Geralt has to kick the pieces out of the way to keep from tripping on them. He huffs a soft laugh as Jaskier's fingers immediately drop to his waistband, unbuttoning his trousers and tugging his shirt free. He gets his hands on his bare skin and hums as he slides up his chest, fingers tangling in his chest hair before returning to his task of getting Geralt out of his clothes.

Geralt drops him down on the bed, reaching to push down his trousers, but Jaskier stops him. He's got his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, looking up at him with dark eyes and Geralt couldn't deny him anything in the world. When Jaskier softly asks let me? Geralt drops his hands to his sides.

Jaskier's hand finds the back of his neck, pulling him down again and Geralt doesn't protest, shifting to kneel over him. Jaskier draws him into another kiss before even touching his trousers, hands sliding up and down his sides.

When he finally slips his hands down, sliding Geralt's trousers over the swell of his ass, he draws him into another kiss, nipping at his lips. Geralt shuffles to kick his boots off and Jaskier is pulling him back against him before Geralt's trousers are even off of him. He huffs a laugh, but Jaskier seems unconcerned, happy enough to kiss him and tangle his fingers in his hair.

But Geralt has been waiting for this opportunity for longer than he can truly remember. Jaskier's chest is covered in a thick thatch of hair and Geralt has spent far too many summer afternoons longing to run his fingers through that hair. He presses his nose into it now, inhaling Jaskier's scent and humming against him. He licks his nipples, wrapping his lips around each of them and delighting in the soft little moans he gets in response. Jaskier is incredibly responsive, more so than anyone he's been with, and his skin prickles with every little moan and whine out of him. It only makes him more eager to please, to hear more of those sounds.

He slips lower, dragging his lips down toward Jaskier's navel. He presses his palm to his thigh, his thumb just sliding against the crease of his hip and Jaskier rises into the touch. He's got his head thrown back, lip between his teeth again, and Geralt is feeling like he's burning apart seeing him like this and he hasn't even touched his cock.

Part of him is afraid to, afraid that if he gets what he really wants, that this will prove to be a dream and Jaskier will be gone again. So he nips and sucks at his hips, fingers slipping closer and closer but never touching his cock, even when Jaskier whines and pushes against him. But Geralt can only hold out for so long and his own cock is aching beneath him, desperate for any relief, but he doesn't even dare press against the mattress lest this be over before it starts.

He lifts his head, watching the way Jaskier squirms, hat tipped forward over his forehead as Geralt's fingers press into his skin. He's stunning, truly beautiful like this and he wonders if all the others who have shared his bed have taken the time to appreciate him the way he deserves. Unlikely, he thinks sadly. With a soft hum, Geralt noses at his stomach, following the thin trail of hair down to where his cock sits against his hip.

He brushes his lips against him and Jaskier whines, shudders beneath him but doesn't push even a little. He lays still, chest rising quickly with each anticipating breath, and when Geralt's mouth finally slides up to the head of his cock, wrapping loosely around him, Jaskier curls in on himself.

He lets out a low whine before extending himself again and Geralt sinks lower, sealing his lips around him. He licks the pre-come from the head of his cock and sucks at it. It's been ages since he's had another cock in his mouth, but he lets Jaskier's sounds and movements guide him. He hums around him, working him over thoroughly before pulling up to look at him again.

Jaskier's got the hat pulled all the way down over his face, holding it there as he groans and bucks beneath Geralt's ministrations. Geralt pushes a hand up his chest and Jaskier groans, reaching for him and curling his fingers around his. It stirs something in Geralt's chest and he pulls off of Jaskier's cock, kissing his way up his chest before tipping the hat up and finding his mouth again.

Jaskier's free hand slips into his hair and he kisses back furiously, moaning softly between his lips. Jaskier quickly overpowers him, rolling him onto his back and sliding a hand down his stomach. He teases the head of Geralt's cock with his fingertips before breaking the kiss and pulling away.

"Mm, I wasn't finished with you," Geralt mumbles but Jaskier just huffs a laugh and leans back in for one quick kiss before shifting down the bed.

He pushes Geralt's trousers all the way down and tugs off his boots, leaving them in a pile at the end of the bed before sliding his hands up his thighs and smiling down at him. He readjusts the hat on his head and moves to take it off, but Geralt reaches up before he can think, wrapping his fingers around Jaskier's wrist.

"Leave it on?"

"Anything you want, darling."

Jaskier's eyes flash dark and he dips down, mouthing at the centre of Geralt's chest. He lets his teeth graze his skin and Geralt sighs, shifting so he can wrap a hand around the back of Jaskier's neck. He slips his fingers through the loose locks of hair, wrapping it around his fingers as Jaskier nips and sucks at his chest, hands firmly pressed against his sides. Like this, with Jaskier's hair brushing his shoulders, Geralt thinks he knows why Jaskier liked washing his hair so much. He likes the feel of it through his fingers, likes the thought of doing something for Jaskier not because Jaskier needs it, but because Geralt can offer.

"After," he hums, tugging a little unintentionally as Jaskier's mouth wraps around his nipple, "could I wash your hair for you?"

"Geralt, my sweet, I would be delighted. But let me take care of you for a little while, hm?" He flicks his tongue against his nipple again before moving lower and Geralt shuts his eyes.

He pushes his fingers further into Jaskier's hair, dislodging the hat a little, but wants as much of him as possible, wants to hold him as close as he can for as long as he can. Six months seems like an eternity walking on eggshells around each other, but he's wanted this for so much longer than six months. Wanted Jaskier from that first moment in Posada where he strolled right up and made himself at home. From when Geralt told him in no uncertain terms that they were separating now and Jaskier told him no.

Jaskier's mouth around his cock draws him from his thoughts and Geralt bucks against him, arching off the bed. He thrusts shallowly into the wet heat, lips parted and head thrown back as he groans softly. Jaskier's hand settles on his hips to steady him, but it doesn't keep his hips from twitching, jerking up into his mouth. He's careful not to push too hard, but he wants this, wants it more than he should.

"Jask-" he pants, "Jaskier please."

Jaskier sinks down on him again, slipping a hand down to cup Geralt's balls. He rolls them between his fingers as he sucks him down, bobbing slowly in his lap. Geralt's thighs spread further and he mumbles a shuddered fuck as Jaskier's hand squeezes around him. Jaskier's mouth rises, tongue pressing against the underside of his cock as he slips to the head and sucks hard before pulling off.

"What would you like, love?" His free hand comes to stroke Geralt's cock in place of his mouth and it feels good. He loves having Jaskier's hands on him this way, but it's not enough, not right now.

"Fuck me?" he whispers, "gods, I want you- please." The hand on his cock twists right below the head and Geralt groans.

"Do you want that?" Jaskier asks, slipping his other hand lower. Geralt spreads his legs as Jaskier's fingers tease the crease of his ass.

"Wanna hold you," he hums, "wanna feel you."

"Yeah," Jaskier whispers, "I want that, too. Do you have slick, love?"

"Mm, yeah, in my bag."

"Fuck. Get it out," he mumbles, then before Geralt can move, Jaskier's mouth is around his cock again, taking him all the way down.

Geralt shudders, but Jaskier flicks his eyes up at him, giving him an encouraging look and he reaches over the edge of the bed. He fumbles with his pack, unable to look away from Jaskier, the way his lips are stretched wide around him, but he locates the bottle and plucks it from the bag. He clenches around it as Jaskier's teeth graze against him and he shoves the bottle at him urgently.

Jaskier gives a little laugh, the reverberations of which make Geralt squirm, then he's pulling off and taking the bottle from him. He doesn't waste any time slicking up his fingers and pressing between Geralt's cheeks. He hums as he presses over his hole and Geralt's hips jerk.

"Why don't you roll over? It'll be easier."

Geralt shifts obediently, rolling onto his stomach and he moans as Jaskier tugs him down the bed, making his cock rub against the rough sheets. But Jaskier is quick to get back to work, getting his hands on him and spreading his cheeks. He shifts up closer, bending to kiss the base of Geralt's spine as he runs a slick finger between his cheeks.

Geralt shudders when he doesn't pause, squirming to get that touch back. But Jaskier doesn't leave him wanting for long. He runs two fingers along next time, pressing into him with one and then, when Geralt opens beneath him, he rubs the second finger around his rim.

He's enjoying this, Geralt realizes, he likes playing with him like this just touching aimlessly. And Jaskier doesn't stop. Once Geralt is loose enough, he adds a second finger and thrusts into him. He pushes in deep and Geralt rocks back onto him; he loves the stretch, but he wants more, wants it deeper.

"Shh, you'll get it," Jaskier breathes and Geralt realizes he's been speaking his desires out loud. "I love that you're so needy, Geralt, gods. Tell me what you want, darling."

"Want your cock," he groans, quick enough that he surprises himself. "Want you inside me, fuck- more Jask, please." Jaskier pulls out a little before thrusting in with three fingers and Geralt arches into the bed, pushing onto his knees. "Want your cock," he mumbles, "you won't hurt me."

"Geralt," he starts gently, but Geralt shifts as soon as Jaskier has pulled out, turning onto his back again and tugging Jaskier down by his jacket.

"Jask I have spent every night this week with a wooden toy up my ass imagining you fucking me instead. I'm ready, you won't hurt me."

"Oh," Jaskier gawks, "fuck Geralt that's…" his eyes are wide, dark and Geralt just grins at his shock.

"I only wanted you." He nuzzles against his cheek, delighting in the rough scratch of stubble and moves down, nipping at his jaw and neck. "And since... " he doesn't want to say it out loud, doesn't want to ruin the moment, "fuck, this beard Jask. Been driving me insane."

"You like it?" he asks and when Geralt looks up, Jaskier is resettling himself between his thighs, taking himself in hand.

"Very much."

Jaskier's cock nudges against him and Geralt bites his lip, groaning as he pushes inside him. He kisses up his stomach, nuzzling against the side of Geralt's neck and thrusts deep, sinking all the way into him. Geralt's eyes flutter shut and he tips his head to give Jaskier more space, better access to his skin. He nuzzles in close and Geralt has to reach up to keep the hat from falling off. Jaskier just huffs a laugh and pulls up to kiss him properly.

"Like the hat too, hm?" he asks, breathing softly against his lip.

"Mm, looks very good on you." Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier's waist, arms slipping under the fabric of his jacket once more to hold him against him.

Jaskier kisses him again and Geralt loses himself in the press of his lips and the shift of his hips. Jaskier rocks slowly into him, but he hits his prostate every time and Geralt is helpless to do much but hold him closer and moan against his lips.

They fit together easily, chest to chest, and when Jaskier rolls him onto his side and the hat tumbles to the floor, Geralt is too wrapped up in him to even notice. He slips a hand up into Jaskier's hair and rocks against him, rutting against his stomach. He's so close already, too worked up to last long, but now that the rush is over, now that he's got Jaskier in his arms, his orgasm is secondary.

Jaskier lifts Geralt's leg, hooking it over his hip and the slight change in position has Geralt moaning, sparks shooting up his spine as Jaskier rocks into him.

"'M close," he mumbles and Jaskier nuzzles against him.

"Gods, me too. Come for me, love, come on."

He does, almost as soon as he's told. Jaskier pushes deep, grinding into him and it pushes Geralt over the edge. He whines as he comes, clinging to Jaskier and rocking his cock into his hip. He's still riding through it when Jaskier comes a moment later, arm hooked under Geralt's thigh and bringing him closer.

They rest for a moment, tangled up like that, before Geralt pulls back far enough to kiss him again, Jaskier huffs a laugh but lets himself be drawn in, deepening the kiss and tangling his fingers in Geralt's hair.

"Should clean up," he hums, "I remember someone wanting to have a bath? Hm?"

"Not yet," Geralt mumbles, "just grab a shirt, for now, bath later."

Jaskier reaches over the edge of the bed to pull one of Geralt's shirts from his pack and Geralt immediately uses it to wipe the mess away, cleaning them enough that they won't make a mess of the bed. He flops onto his back, tossing the shirt to the end of the bed, and Jaskier crawls up over him. He leans over his chest, smiling down at him and pushing his fingers lightly through Geralt's chest hair.

"This was… good," he says as if expecting confirmation.

"It was," Geralt agrees, though he can't help but be a little suspicious at the way Jaskier looks at him. "But-?"

"No but," he whispers, "just… good." He leans down and as soon as their lips meet, Geralt hauls him on top of him, arms sliding beneath the jacket to wind loosely around Jaskier's waist.

"Things have been difficult lately," he says and he can see in Jaskier's eyes that he knew this was coming. "I'm afraid I might have added to that."

"How?"

"I- I'm not oblivious to my own feelings, Jaskier. I know they say Witchers are cold and heartless, but that's not- I'm not."

"I would never suggest such a thing."

"I know, but I withheld certain things from you. I never told you how I truly felt-"

"I think we're past that," Jaskier grins.

"But maybe if I'd said something before, we-" he sighs, frustrated and Jaskier reaches down to brush a stray hair from his face.

"We what, love?"

"I learned a lot of things being with Ciri and Yen. Before I didn't know how to… how to cope with what I felt for you and it came out… wrong-"

"Shh," Jaskier whispers, "I know, Geralt. We talked about this, it's not perfect yet, but we'll get there."

"Jaskier," Geralt whispers and when Jaskier looks down at him, soft and loving, Geralt almost chokes on his words. "I want to be good for you."

"Geralt you are. You're trying, my darling and that's all I can ask for."

"Hmm."

"Don't you hmm at me mister, I know you know how to use your words now."

Geralt laughs softly and tugs him down into another kiss, humming softly against his lips. "Okay," he whispers, "we keep working on it."

"Exactly," Jaskier grins, "although, I believe working hours are over so-" he sweeps an arm down and recovers his hat, winking at Geralt as he sets it back on his head and slides down the bed.

#geraskier #hat and coat fic #sorry this is so late #i struggled with it #and then i panicked #thank you jessica for all your lovely notes <3333 #rex writes

[all-hail-the-witcher]

leaves

this started as a hc but turned into a long thing about geralt being a huge softie.  enjoy.

___

jaskier collects leaves that he thinks are pretty during the fall and presses them in his song writing notebook so he can look at them during the winter when all the leaves are gone. and, he'd never admit this to anyone, but he knows exactly where each leaf came from, and what he and geralt were doing when he found them, so they help him stay close to geralt in the cold months when he's away at kaer morhen.

geralt doesnt understand the fascination cause “they're just leaves jaskier” and gets kinda grumpy when jaskier walks extra slow during the fall to admire and inspect the leaves. but he secretly enjoys the way that jaskiers face lights up in front of their camp fire at night as he shows geralt each leaf he collected that day and tucks them safely into the pages of his notebook. 

jaskier used to show them to roach to inspect but after she ate a particularly beautiful one on accident he does not allow her anywhere near his precious leaves.

one year jaskier and geralt part ways a little earlier than normal, geralt deciding to begin the trek to kaer morhen sooner than he normally would due to a lack of contracts so jaskier goes to oxenfurt earlier as well. the leaves are just beginning to change color as they part ways. 

a few nights into the journey geralt is making camp for himself and roach when he sees a bright red leaf sitting on the forest floor, exactly the kind of leaf that jaskier would pick up and admire and wax poetry about before tucking it into his notebook. but jaskier isn't there, and geralt feels a little pang. he glares at the leaf the entire time he's setting up camp. 

the camp fire has burned down to the embers by the time geralt is ready to lay out his bed roll, but he can still see the leaf at the corner of his vision. he sighs and gets up, knowing that it will continue to bother him unless he does something about it. he picks up the leaf, brushes off the dirt far more lightly than he would ever care to admit, and goes to tuck it in to his saddle bag in the roll of parchment he keeps on the off chance he has to write a letter. 

roach snorts at him. “shut up,” he mutters back. “its just a leaf.” roach nuzzles his arm. “no, i don't miss him. im just...bringing him a souvenir. we had to part early this year.” another snort. “yes, i know you know. but he didn't get to see the leaves this year. i don't want him to be disappointed.” roach headbuts him as if to say, you dumb witcher. geralt ignores this, but gives her some nice pats before retiring to his bedroll. 

in the next town geralt buys a random book. he doesnt know what it is, he bought the cheapest one he could find. but he's not going to read it, he just needs something to keep jaskiers leaf in so it doesnt crumble to bits before the spring. he swears roach laughs at him for that. 

throughout his trip up to kaer morhen, geralt finds himself progressively walking slower, taking time to admire the leaves as the bard had once done. 

he picks up the second leaf a week later after a battle with some drowners. he’s heading back into the town, having come across his first contract in weeks, holding the head and covered in river muck and guts when he sees a perfectly yellow leaf on the ground in front of him. he picks it up gingerly, trying his very best not to get guts on it (and he nearly succeeds). if the alderman thinks its weird, a witcher coming back with a drowner head in one hand and a yellow maple leaf in the other, he doesnt say anything. roach does tho, whinnying the second she sees it in geralts hand. he ignores her, and presses the maple leaf into the book a few pages after the brilliant red one. 

after that he adds to the collection more frequently. an reddish oak leaf he finds on the ground outside of a tavern, a brilliant orange leaf he finds at his campsite, a yellowish orange leaf the size of his face that he finds along the road and so on. roach makes fun of him every time he reaches for the book, but geralt ignores her. they're merely souvenirs for jaskier, nothing more. 

collecting leaves slows him down considerably, but he cant bring himself to care. he's even disappointed when the last of the leaves disappear and the first snow sets in. 

but that doesnt stop him from collecting things to add to his book. he gathers different small pine branches, holly leaves and other things that he knows jasper has never seen before because they grow too far north. he becomes so caught up in his hunt for interesting plants that the snow is already falling thickly by the time he reaches kaer morhe, despite him leaving for the keep so early. eskel and lambert chide him for being late, but he ignores them, happy that he managed to fill most of the book with leaves for jaskier.

that whole winter the book remains in the bottom of geralts pack, wrapped carefully in his spare shirt. he thinks about it often, but doesnt dare bring it out for fear that one of his brothers will catch him and make fun of him for being a sap. he's not a sap, he just found some leaves for his friend. 

winter drags on far too long in geralts opinion and leaves as soon as the passes are clear, antsy to get back to his friend and give him the book. but on his way down he discovers yet another beautiful thing that jaskier would love: wildflowers. roach is slightly more appreciative of this because wildflowers are things that she is allowed to eat. geralt often feeds her them to see if she approves. if she spits it out or refuses to eat it, then it doesnt make it into the book.

in the space he has left in the book he fills it with wildflowers, sometimes going out of his way to collect them. there are buttercups, dandelions, little blue ones the color of jaskiers eyes, poppies, apple blossoms, daffodils, and even a few rose petals that he buys from a stall in a market. the book is brimming with nature now. he has to be careful not to lose any of his treasures. 

finally, he arrives at his and jaskiers meeting spot. he stables roach who gives him a headbut of encouragement and he grabs the book carefully wrapped in his shirt before he makes his way to the tavern, suddenly very nervous. 

jaskiers voice is already wafting out of the tavern as he draws closer, having beat geralt to the meeting spot for once, and geralt hesitantly steps inside, knowing jaskiers eyes will be on him the second he goes in. he’s overcome with thoughts, what if jaskier hates it? what if he thinks it's dumb? what if he laughs at him? 

he enters anyway, because he's a witcher for fucks sake and he can handle his friends scrutiny. immediately he sees jaskier, sitting in the corner, working a crowd. as always, jaskiers eyes snap to him the second he steps foot in the tavern and he winks. geralt gives him the smallest nod and heads to his table in the corner after ordering an ale. he tucks the book out of sight on the bench next to him. 

minutes later jaskier barrels over, eyes bright with the life of the crowd he had been entertaining. 

“geralt!” he exclaims. “finally. i thought you stood me up, you big oaf. i never make it here before you do, i thought you may have been eaten! although im not sure by what exactly, i don't know what species has a taste for witches, dragons maybe? well never mind, youre here now and you better have a good excuse for being so late, even im starting to get bored of this town and you know how i love towns...”

geralt smiles into his ale, he missed this, but he'd never admit it. his eyes flick over to the book sitting on the seat beside him, unsure whether or not he should give it to him. 

jaskier, being the observant fucker he is, notices. “geralt what do you have on the seat there? is it a monster head? you know what happened last time you tried to hide a monster head in a tavern, i thought the town would chase us out with pitchforks they were so angry! surely you wouldn't-”

“here.” geralt mutters, cutting him off, unwilling to listen to that horrible story. 

jaskier stares at the lump of black fabric on the table. “geralt, why are you giving me your shirt? its not really my style, i’m not one for black really, makes my skin look too pale.”

“open it.” he says into his ale. 

jaskier does, and stares at the book dumbfounded. “a history book? geralt you know that i am a master of the seven liberal arts, im a professor at oxenfurt! i have all these boring books in the library, i didn't need you to get me one, although it is very thoughtful of you to- oh”

geralt, tired of hearing jaskiers babbling, flips open the book, revealing the bits of nature he had spent their time apart collecting. jasper is silent, which geralt takes as a bad sign. maybe roach was right, maybe he didn't like it, maybe he'd wasted his time for nothing. 

“cause you....you didn't get to see...the leaves this year,” he mutters, looking into the tavern, unable to see the inevitable disappointment on jaskiers face. 

“oh, geralt,” jaskier whispers. “you collected all of these for me?”

geralt doesnt say anything, but his silence is enough. 

“this is why you were late. you were collecting these, for me.”

“its okay if you don't..like them” geralt bites out. 

“oh no no no no, geralt, they're wonderful.” 

geralt looks at jaskier and sees him touching the pine branch he took form the trees outside kaer morhen, tears brimming in his eyes. “you don't hate it?”

“no, love.” jaskier smiles softly. “i adore it. and i adore you. and id love it if you tell me about all of them, please.”

for the first time in years geralt feels something like a smile tugging at his lips and he picks up the pine branch from jaskiers hand, telling him how it came from the tree outside his window, the one that he looked at everyday as a kid growing up. the same tree that lambert once dared him to climb and he nearly did before being spotted by vesemir and scolded at. jasper laughs and sniffs the pine carefully before placing the branch back in the book. 

they pour over the book for hours at their table in the tavern. geralt cant remember the last time he's talked this much, much less about himself of all things, but jaskier is more than happy to listen. 

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#witcher #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #geraskier #greaskier fic #witcher fic #idk where this cam from but i vibe #if anyone wants to be tagged in my future rambings #please let me know #i hope you enjoyed this hc fic type thing #geralt is a huge softie and i love him #saph scribbles

[jaskiersvalley]

I must say that i fucking love your writing ❤❤❤❤my heart melts by how much Jaskier cares and loves his wolves. Just, god, so wonderful! Thank you so much!

There is something so good about Jaskier looking after all his wolves, isn’t there? And I’ve been thinking about Kaer Morhen and how it’s a place where witchers go to rest over winter. What would happen if we turned that on its head? This goes against everything canon but...have I ever been known to stick to canon here?

Each winter, Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen while Jaskier went his own way. It was an arrangement that suited them both, even if Geralt left it until the very last moment before leaving. Really, Jaskier just put it down to his sparkling, magnetic personality that Geralt was finding difficult to give up. At least, that was what he thought until he suggested that they spend a winter together. There was nowhere Jaskier really had to be and he was curious to see the crumbling remains of Kaer Morhen. Geralt was so sparse with details of the place, if Jaskier wanted to write epics about it, he would need to see it for himself.

After some hesitation where Geralt actually looked cagey, Jaskier turned big, pleading eyes at him and got a nod of agreement. Excitement had Jaskier’s heart soaring. He was finally going to see the nesting ground of witchers, see them at their most relaxed and in company of family. They stocked up a cart with salted meats and dried fruits along with any other things Geralt deemed necessary.

The trek up to Kaer Morhen was long, exhausting and Jaskier hated every moment of it. He couldn’t fathom why it had to be so winding, narrow and dangerous. One false move and it would be a slow yet certain death. Arriving at the keep, there was no warm greeting, no reunion of family. The food wasn’t taken to a communal kitchen or pantry. Instead, Jaskier and Geralt hauled everything up to a sparse bedroom and piled into a corner.

Other witchers arrived too, silent and slinking in the shadows. Geralt nodded at them but didn’t speak much. The most interaction they had with each other was on the training grounds. It looked gruelling. Jaskier winced at the blows they delivered to each other, breaking skin, pummelling each other, only to have Vesemir tell them where they were weak and useless. Suddenly, Jaskier understood why Lambert rebelled against being a witcher, why he hated it so much. All through the years, Jaskier had believed that winter was when Geralt could relax, spend time with family and not be wary. But instead, he was pushed harder, made to train, fight against his brothers with desperate brutality. Food was scarce, what they managed to bring with them had to be what lasted for the winter.

Things came to a head when Jaskier found Eskel in the stables, whispering apologies to a goat for not having enough food for them all. He looked miserable, clutching the goat to his chest, knife set to the side and ready, It was heartbreaking, awful and Jaskier had had enough. He’d snapped then and dragged Eskel up to Geralt’s room and gave him some of his own food.

“What are you doing?” Vesemir had looked disapproving when he found out.

“Your job.” Jaskier was livid, fury made him fearless. “You call this home? This isn’t family. This is a survival camp of the worst kind. You’re turning them on each other.”

He didn’t know what response he’d expected, Vesemir was a witcher and older than Jaskier could hope to live in the span of three lifetimes. Yet when the old witcher snarled, he didn’t back down.

“What would you have them do? Go soft over winter? Have them spoilt rotten so they don’t want to leave in the new season? Or if they do, they’ll be slow and reliant on others? No, they need to remember that the Path is a better place for them. This is how they get back out there each year.”

It was the most ridiculous logic Jaskier had ever heard. To make a winter so bad, witchers want to stay on the Path was disgusting. He sneered and glared at Vesemir.

“These aren’t the 900s, we live in modern times now. And I will not stand for your tyranny and bullying.”

Their altercation had been watched quietly by Eskel but also drew in Geralt and Lambert who were hovering behind Vesemir. Jaskier stared him down. “I’ll prove it. You just watch.”

With some help, he got Geralt and his stash of food down into the kitchen. Eskel brought his meagre pile down too, muttering shamefully about not having enough coin for more. However, Lambert lingered, hesitant.

“What do you want to trade?”

“No trade.” Jaskier shook his head. “We’re in this together. Everyone brings what they can, you’re brothers, not enemy.”

That evening, Lambert still hadn’t brought his stash down but Jaskier still served him a bowl of watery stew he had managed to put together from what was in the pantry. There was even a bowl left by Vesemir’s door. The next morning, Lambert’s stash had been added to the pantry.

Training was another battleground between Vesemir and Jaskier. They stood either side of the court, announcing they were both offering training. Strangely, Lambert was the first to head for Jaskier and it was just the two of them that morning, loyalty and fear making Eskel and Geralt stick with Vesemir.

Three days later, Geralt, head down, shuffled to Jaskier’s end of the training grounds and he sat down next to Lambert. As far as he could see, there had been no physical training or anything strenuous Lambert had been forced to do. It might change but he wanted a moment of peace, even if it was half a morning. Instead, he got offered a warm fur to settle in and Jaskier tried to draw him and Lambert into idle conversation.

After lunch, like a beaten dog, Eskel slunk closer. In the distance, Vesemir stood rigid, glaring. Jaskier looked up and set his book of poetry aside.

“Vesemir!” He shouted as the lone witcher turned to leave. Breaking into a run, Jaskier rounded on him and, without any preamble, pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay. You did what you thought you had to. Let me help though.”

It was one of the most miserable winters Jaskier had ever had. Despite careful rationing and pooling of resources, it was still a tough time. By the end of it, he could see the witchers were eager to leave, to get out of Kaer Morhen. Even with his care and gentle approach, the keep held too many bad memories, too many bad habits.

“Next winter, don’t come here. Come to Lettenhove. All of you.” It was a generous offer but the witchers obviously didn’t know just what he was offering. One by one, they agreed except for Vesemir. “You too, Ves,” Jaskier clarified. “Come and let me show you a winter you’re worthy of.”

The year passed, the witchers let loose from Kaer Morhen and dispersing without so much as a look over their shoulders. Spring melded into summer which bled into autumn. As winter approached, Jaskier made arrangements, had rooms prepared for potential visitors and returned home with Geralt in tow.

First at the door was Lambert, looking gaunt and exhausted. The year had obviously not been kind to him, his coin pouch looked light and that was without any supplies he needed to buy for the winter. He was shown to a room and Jaskier found him staring at the soft bed, not daring to touch it.

“You sure that’s for me?”

Jaskier simply helped take his armour off and pushed him into the bed, tucking him in. He would have laughed at the way Lambert looked so bewildered by the gentleness if his heart hadn’t been too busy breaking over the same thing.

Next, Eskel arrived, goat in tow. He was given a room of his own and Jaskier smiled when he was presented with a book of poetry as thanks for his hospitality. It was one he’d mentioned back at Kear Morhen as having never been able to get hold of. Chances were, it had cost Eskel a pretty penny.

When Vesemir knocked on the door, he looked deeply uncomfortable, as if expecting the whole thing to be a trap or to be turned away. He had a cart piled up with food for the season already. Jaskier showed him to his room without batting an eyelash.

Winter was so much better. The witchers still trained but there wasn’t the edge of desperation to their fights. Sometimes it was downright playful, Lambert clinging to Eskel and refusing to be thrown while Geralt pelted them with snowballs. There were other changes too. Slowly, the witchers softened. That wasn’t to say they lost their muscles, they still trained, kept sharp but there was a layer that Jaskier fondly referred to as ‘puppy fat’ on them. They weren’t locked away in a crumbling, cold keep and struggling to survive for another year. Instead, they were thriving.

While Eskel never strayed beyond the boundaries of the home, Lambert was out frequently. The one time he came home dejected because someone made a snide comment about how a witcher should be left out in the cold wilderness to freeze, Jaskier had gone out, a cheap lute in hand. He came back without said lute but the next day there were rumours Lambert heard of how the Viscount hand smashed a lute over someone’s head. After that, nobody dared question the appearance of witchers in the town. It was a well known fact that they were guests of Jaskier and were to be treated as such.

Vesemir’s last walls came crumbling down when, over dinner, rather than snapping and snarling at each other, the other witchers chattered away happily and Lambert laughed. It wasn’t the bitter, hollow bark of before. Instead, he leaned into Eskel with easy familiarity and giggled. Finally, Vesemir understood and he had no idea what to do with the regret and shame that witchers allegedly never felt. And yet, despite everything, a solid warmth settled on his left. Jaskier looked up at him with a smile. Someone settled on his other side and Eskel offered a soft shoulder nudge. It was Geralt who boxed him in from behind, hands on Vesemir’s shoulders and squeezing.

“You’re alright, old man,” Lambert said. “You did your best and what you thought was right.”

Come spring, the witchers were all raring to go, healthy, healed and ready to return to the path. They knew they had their roles and destiny to fulfil, wouldn’t even consider shirking their duties. However, now they had more of a reason to survive rather than sheer spite and not knowing how to die. Instead, they knew that, come winter, they would have a family once again.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #tldr: winter is not a nice time to be a witcher

[bamf-jaskier]

What the fuck is up with Triss and Geralt (in the books)

Hello! and in today’s wtf post, here is a summary of the relationship (or lack thereof, sorry Triss) of her and Geralt’s relationship in the books. 

TLDR: At the end of the day, Triss and Geralt have a clearly described mutual attraction to each other through all the books. However, Geralt’s attraction to Triss does not compare to his love for Yennefer and as such, despite Triss and Geralt sleeping together once, they set boundaries and relegate each other to friends. Geralt never fully stops being slightly drawn to and sympathetic towards Triss and Triss never fully falls out of love with Geralt. 

CW for minority graphic depictions of violence (standard for the books)

More under the cut:

So, let’s start out with their backstory. Here’s a snippet describing their hook-up from Blood of Elves. 

Then Geralt of Rivia appeared. A witcher leading a stormy life, and tied to her good friend Yennefer in a strange, turbulent and almost violent relationship.

Triss had watched them both and was jealous even though it seemed there was little to be jealous of. Their relationship quite obviously made them both unhappy, had led straight to destruction, pain and yet, against all logic… it had lasted. Triss couldn’t understand it. And it had fascinated her. It had fascinated her to such an extent that she had seduced the witcher – with the help of a little magic. 

She had hit on a propitious moment, a moment when he and Yennefer had scratched at each other’s eyes yet again and had abruptly parted. Geralt had needed warmth, and had wanted to forget.

No, Triss had not desired to take him away from Yennefer. As a matter of fact, her friend was more important to her than he was. But her brief relationship with the witcher had not disappointed. She had found what she was looking for – emotions in the form of guilt, anxiety and pain. His pain. 

She had experienced his emotions, it had excited her and, when they parted, she had been unable to forget it. And she had only recently understood what pain is. The moment when she had overwhelmingly wanted to be with him again. For a short while – just for a moment – to be with him.

So Geralt and Triss had sex once, and it is important to note that while CDPR took the interpretation that this meant Triss had assaulted Geralt and used that in their games, this is not explicitly said in canon. The single line “she had seduced the witcher – with the help of a little magic.” is also likely to be referring to how mages use transformation magic in order to alter their appearance to be more beautiful. This is mentioned by Fringilla in Baptism of Fire: 

She herself had regularly ridiculed the crude image painted by gossip and propaganda of the typical sorceress from the North: artificially beautiful, arrogant, vain and spoiled to the limits of perversion, and often beyond them.

Even then, Geralt has a pattern (similar to Yennefer as well with Istredd) of sleeping with other people such as Fringilla herself in Lady of the Lake when him and Yennefer are on a break. So it’s important to note for their relationship in the books, that there is nothing in the text that says that Triss assaulted Geralt and that is simply another literary interpretation of the relationship and not directly canon. 

Sometime after their hook-up Triss is presumed dead at the Battle of Sodden but goes to Kaer Morhen in order to teach Ciri magic. Here is Geralt and Triss’s reunion in Blood of Elves. 

“I’ll take your horse,” offered Geralt, reaching for the reins. Triss surreptitiously shifted her hand and their palms joined. So did their eyes.

“I’ll come with you,” she said naturally. “There are a few little things in the saddle-bags which I’ll need.”

“You gave me a very disagreeable experience not so long ago,” he muttered as soon as they had entered the stable. “I studied your impressive tombstone with my own eyes. The obelisk in memory of your heroic death at the battle of Sodden. The news that it was a mistake only reached me recently. I can’t understand how anyone could mistake anyone else for you, Triss.”

“It’s a long story,” she answered. “I’ll tell you some time. And please forgive me for the disagreeable moment.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I’ve not had many reasons to be happy of late and the feelings I experienced on hearing that you lived cannot compare to any other. Except perhaps what I feel now when I look at you.”

Triss felt something explode inside her. Her fear of meeting the white-haired witcher, which had accompanied her throughout her journey, had struggled within her with her hope of having such a meeting. Followed by the sight of that tired, jaded face, those sick eyes which saw everything, cold and calculating, which were unnaturally calm but yet so infused with emotion…

She threw her arms around his neck, instantly, without thinking. She caught hold of his hand, abruptly placed it on the nape of her neck, under her hair. A tingling ran down her back, penetrated her with such rapture she almost cried out. In order to muffle and restrain the cry her lips found his lips and stuck to them. She trembled, pressing hard against him, her excitement building and increasing, forgetting herself more and more.

Geralt did not forget himself.

“Triss…Please.”

“Oh, Geralt… So much…”

“Triss.” He moved her away delicately. “We’re not alone… They’re coming.”

So they have a (bit) of a spicy post-death reunion where Geralt says some very nice and heartfelt things things that make Triss especially horny. Triss almost orgasms from a hug and kisses Geralt to avoid moaning (can you tell this series was written by a man yet?)

Then later, Geralt and Triss have a conversation about Geralt needing to reach out to Yennefer because Ciri’s trances and magic are becoming overwhelming. In fact, in this scene, Triss is pretty shaken up because she was just in a joint-trance with Ciri. So, post-trance in Blood of Elves Geralt brings up their past hook-up: 

“You have to get help from another magician. A more gifted one. More experienced. You know who I’m talking about.”

“I do.” He turned his head away, clenched his lips.

“Don’t resist. Don’t defend yourself. I can guess why you turned to me rather than her. Overcome your pride, crush your rancour and obstinacy. There is no point to it, you’ll torture yourself to death. And you are risking Ciri’s health and life in the process. Another trance is liable to be more dangerous to her than the Trial of Grasses. Ask Yennefer for help, Geralt.”

“And you, Triss?”

“What about me?” She swallowed with difficulty. “I’m not important. I let you down. I let you down… in everything. I was… I was your mistake. Nothing more.”

“Mistakes,” he said with effort, “are also important to me. I don’t cross them out of my life, or memory. And I never blame others for them. You are important to me, Triss, and always will be. You never let me down. Never. Believe me.”

She remained silent a long while.

“I will stay until spring,” she said finally, struggling against her shaking voice. “I will stay with Ciri… I will watch over her. Day and night. I will be with her day and night. And when spring is here… when spring is here we will take her to Melitele’s Temple in Ellander. The thing that wants to possess her might not be able to reach her in the temple. And then you will ask Yennefer for help.”

“All right, Triss. Thank you.”

“Geralt?”

“Yes.”

“Ciri said something else, didn’t she? Something only you heard. Tell me what it was.”

“No,” he protested and his voice quivered. “No, Triss.”

“Please.”

“She wasn’t speaking to me.”

“I know. She was speaking to me. Tell me, please.”

“After coming to… When I picked her up… She whispered: ‘Forget about him. Don’t torture him.’”

“I won’t,” she said quietly. “But I can’t forget. Forgive me.”

“I am the one who ought to be asking for forgiveness. And not only asking you.”

“You love her that much,” she stated, not asking.

“That much,” he admitted in a whisper after a long moment of silence.

“Geralt.”

“Yes, Triss?”

“Stay with me tonight.”

“Triss…”

“Only stay.”

“All right.”

Okay this scene makes me feel a lot of emotions because Triss knows she has to let go of Geralt and she genuinely wants to because she values her friendship with Yennefer more. But like she said, she can’t forget. And it’s also important that in the same way Triss asks forgiveness, Geralt is asking forgiveness too. He knows that he slept with Triss while still in love with Yennefer and while, like he says, he doesn’t think his mistake is unimportant, he is not going to pursue a romantic relationship with Triss. 

This scene is so important because it sets the boundaries for the two of them. Especially at the end with Triss asking Geralt to stay the night with her platonically, it’s them trying to re-gain their friendship without the romantic aspect. Triss is a pretty insecure character in the books. In fact, in an interview when asked what immediately came to mind when her name was mentioned, Andrzej Sapkowski said: insecure and red-headed. So her setting these boundaries for herself is important and Geralt setting these boundaries is important as well. 

After this, Geralt stays as as close friend of Triss, even comforting her when she recounts the Battle of Sodden (which btw is one of my favorite book Triss moments in the series, it’s so powerful). 

Then, Triss is traveling with Ciri and Geralt and gets very bad food poisoning and basically has to be nursed back to health by the two of them and Geralt has to literally hold her as she shits herself in the woods. So it’s nice that he’s being a supportive friends but also it’s a gross situation. 

On the road, when asked by Yarpen who Triss is to Geralt (Triss is currently very sick and asleep) he replies in Blood of Elves: 

“Who is this Triss to you?”

“What difference does it make in this situation?”

“In this situation – none. I asked out of an inappropriate curiosity born of the desire to start new rumours going around the inns. But be that as it may, you’re mighty attracted to this enchantress, Geralt.”

The witcher smiled sadly.

You can tell that there is a still a lingering sense of attraction. But it’s not love and it pales in comparison to what Geralt feels for Yennefer. So it’s important Geralt keeps up the boundaries he set earlier. But it’s not just Geralt who has trouble letting go. When Triss is in the worst part of her fever she says this to Geralt: 

“Oh, Geralt,” she sobbed. “I so regret… I so regret that what was between us”

“Triss, please.”

“…it should have happened… now. When I’m better… It would be entirely different… I could… I could even—”

“Triss.”

“I envy Yennefer… I envy her you—”

“Ciri, step out.”

“But—”

“Go, please.”

It’s hard for the both of them, in my opinion Triss far more than Geralt but they both struggle. 

It’s important to note that at the end of Blood of Elves, Yennefer also finds out the whole story about Triss and Geralt from Ciri:

There was a subject which the girl [Ciri] instinctively and carefully avoided. But one day, she got carried away and spoke out. About Triss Merigold. Yennefer, as if casually, as if indifferently, asking as if banal, sparing questions, dragged the rest from her. Her eyes were hard and impenetrable.

Now, the next time Geralt and Triss meet, Geralt and Yennefer were invited along by Philippa to attend a mages’ meeting on the island Thanedd. Here is their meeting from Time of Contempt: 

They went over to Triss, who was shimmering in shades of blue and pale green. On seeing them, Triss broke off her conversation with two sorcerers, smiled radiantly and hugged Yennefer; the ritual of kissing the air near each other’s ears was repeated. Geralt took the proffered hand, but decided to act contrary to the rules of etiquette; he embraced the chestnut-haired enchantress and kissed her on her soft cheek, as downy as a peach. Triss blushed faintly.

So, Yennefer knows that they slept together but they all seem to be able to co-exist together which is good. Yennefer and Triss even have a sem-nice conversation about Ciri together moments later:

“They’re on excellent terms,’ Yennefer warned her gravely. ‘Be careful, Triss. Don’t breathe a word to him about–about you know who.’

‘I know. I’ll be careful. And by the way…’ Triss lowered her voice. ‘How’s she doing? Will I be able to see her?’

‘If you finally decide to run classes at Aretuza,’ smiled Yennefer, ‘you’ll be able to see her very often.’

‘Ah,’ said Triss, opening her eyes widely. ‘I see. Is Ciri…?’

‘Be quiet, Triss. We’ll talk about it later. Tomorrow. After the Council.”

“Tomorrow?’ said Triss, smiling strangely. Yennefer frowned, but before she had time to ask a question, a slight commotion suddenly broke out in the hall.”

This is an important conversation, because Philippa set up the Thanned meeting as a way to arrest Nilfgaardian mages such as Vilgefortz and Francesca and Triss was in on this planned coup while Yennefer was not. However, I don’t want to get too off-track, so back to Geralt and Triss’ relationship! 

Triss in Time of Contempt, mentions to Geralt that Yennefer is member of the mage’s council and asks Yennefer why she hadn’t told Geralt yet and this is Yennefer’s reply: 

“No, darling,’ said the enchantress, looking her friend straight in the eyes. ‘For one thing, I don’t like to boast. For another, there’s been no time. I haven’t seen Geralt for ages, and we have a lot of catching up to do. There’s already a long list. We’re going through it point by point.’

‘I see,’ said Triss hesitantly. ‘Hmm… After such a long time I understand. You must have lots to talk about…’

‘Talking,’ smiled Yennefer suggestively, giving the Witcher another smouldering glance, ‘is way down the list. Right at the very bottom, Triss.’

The chestnut-haired enchantress was clearly discomfited and blushed faintly.

‘I see,’ she said, playing in embarrassment with her lapis-lazuli heart.

‘I’m so glad you do. Geralt, bring us some wine. No, not from that page. From that one, over there.”

Then, Geralt asks Yennefer once he and her are alone and says: 

“Sure you didn’t go a bit too far?’ he asked coldly. Yennefer’s eyes flared violet.”

“Don’t try to make a fool out of me. Did you think I don’t know about you and her?’

‘If that’s what you—’

‘That’s precisely what,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘Don’t make stupid faces, and refrain from comments. And above all, don’t try to lie to me. I’ve known Triss longer than I’ve known you. We like each other. We understand each other wonderfully and will always do so, irrespective of various minor… incidents. Just then it seemed to me she had some doubts. So I put her right, and that’s that. Let’s not discuss it any further.”

So underneath this exterior, there’s definitely some tension and we see Yennefer’s possessive side come out. Needless to say, Triss isn’t going anywhere near Geralt romantically while Yennefer is in the picture. However, it is important to note that Yennefer still highly values Triss’ friendship, going so far as to daydream about her being in their lives if Yennefer and Geralt were to ever retire. 

Then, during the coup on Thanned, Geralt’s leg is horribly injured and Triss is the one who saves him (although she did help cause the coup in the first place). From Time of Contempt: 

Now Geralt could see nothing and hear nothing. He was sinking, submerging into something warm. He thought Vilgefortz had gone. He was astonished, then, when a fierce blow from the iron staff struck his thigh, smashing the shaft of his femur.

If anything occurred after that, he did not remember it.

‘Hang in there, Geralt. Don’t give up,’ repeated Triss Merigold endlessly. ‘Hang in there. Don’t die… Please don’t die…’

‘Ciri…’

‘Don’t talk. I’ll soon get you out of here. Hold on… Damn I’m too weak, by the gods…’

‘Yennefer… I have to—’

‘You don’t have to do anything! You can’t do anything! Hang in there. Don’t give up… Don’t faint… Don’t die, please…’

She dragged him across the floor, which was littered with bodies. He saw his chest and belly covered in blood, which was streaming from his nose. He saw his leg. It was twisted at a strange angle and seemed much shorter than the intact one. He didn’t feel any pain. He felt cold. His entire body was cold, numb and foreign. He wanted to puke.

‘Hold on, Geralt. Help is coming from Aretuza. It’ll soon be here…’

Triss basically drags Geralt to Tissaia and begs for help. Tissaia reluctantly gives help and Triss teleports Geralt from Thanned to Brokilon to be healed by the dryads and tells only Dandelion where he is and keeps Geralt’s location a secret. Both Yennefer and Ciri are missing after the coup. 

However, once Triss fully commits herself to the Lodge of Sorceresses, she puts  their well-being above all her previous connections. In The Tower of Swallows, she is even willing to let Geralt die as he didn’t serve the purposes of the Lodge:

“The information,” Yennefer said dully, “for his life. Save him, Philippa.”

“No, Yennefer.”

“Because it's not in the interest of the Lodge.” A purple fire kindled in the sorceress’ eyes. “Did you hear that Triss? There, you have your Lodge. You see their true colors, their true interests. And what do you think of them? You were a mentor to the girl, almost – as you put it – a big sister. And Geralt…”

“Do not attack Triss’ relationships, Yennefer.” Philippa retaliated with her own fire in her eyes. “We will find and rescue the girl without your help. And if you succeed, that's fine, a thousand thanks, because you will have saved us the trouble. You tear the girl out of the hands of Vilgefortz and we will be happy. And Geralt? Who cares about Geralt?”

“Did you hear that, Triss?”

“Forgive me,” said Triss Merigold dully. “Forgive me, Yennefer.”

“Oh, no, Triss. Never.”

While Triss takes many steps to try and find and save Ciri, she does nothing of the sort for Geralt and it appears that she has abandoned much of their friendship (and Yennefer’s) in favor of The Lodge. Despite this, Triss still showcases jealously whenever someone else mentions being involved with Geralt. 

For example, in Lady of the Lake, Fringilla is summarizing her seduction of Geralt and his responses and says: 

“December came,” she continued. “Then Yule, then the New Year. The witcher calmed down to the point where Ciri’s name no longer showed up in every conversation. The monster hunting expeditions, which he regularly undertook, seemed to completely avail him. Well, maybe not completely…”

She trailed off. She thought she had seen Triss Merigold’s blue eyes flash with hatred. But perhaps it had just been a reflection of the flickering candle flames. 

Seeing The Lodge like this is a turning point for Triss and she regrets joining The Lodge and her actions in The Tower of Swallows and says as much to Nenneke in Lady of the Lake:

“I cannot go madly hurrying after Ciri to help her, I cannot run like crazy to save Geralt and Yennefer. Not only that, there is a war, which you have sent your girls… A war, that Jarre fled to and I am refused the possibility to even stand on a hill. To once again stand on a hill. Knowing this time, I’d made the right decision.”

“Everyone has their decisions and everyone has their hills, Triss,” the priestess said quietly. “Everyone. You cannot escape your own.”

This arc of jealously, betrayal, and love comes to a head when Triss accompanies Ciri and Yennefer to Rivia to try and rescue Geralt from an uprising. Yennefer rounds on Triss and the two of them have an absolutely vitriolic fight. From Lady of the Lake: 

Triss averted her face, determined not to give Yennefer any excuse. She did not expect it to work. For a long time she had been sensing Yennefer’s anger and aggression growing stronger as they approached Rivia.

“You, Triss,” Yennefer mischievously insisted, “do not blush, do not sigh, do not drool or wiggle around in your saddle. Or is it that you think because I agreed to your request that I want to have you with us? That I was interested in seeing you spend a meeting with an old love? Ciri, I asked you to go on ahead. The two of us need to talk!”

“It is not a discussion, it is a lecture.” Ciri dared to argue, but under the threatening glare from violet eyes, she immediately recoiled, clucked and galloped off on Kelpie on the road ahead.

“You’re not going to meet a loved one, Triss,” Yennefer continued. “I am not so noble or stupid enough to give you the opportunity, or him the temptation. But just for today. I could not deny myself the sweet satisfaction. He will know what role you play as a member of the Lodge. He will thank you for that with his famous look. And I’ll be looking at your quivering lips and trembling hands, I will listen to your lame apologies and excuses. And you know what, Triss? I will faint with delight.”

“I knew,” Triss grunted. “That you would not forget, that you would take your revenge. I agreed to this, because I was actually at fault. But one thing I must tell you, Yennefer. Do not count too much on fainting. He knows how to forgive.

“He knows what was done to him, of course,” Yennefer narrowed her eyes. “But he will never forgive you for what was done to Ciri. And me.”

“It is possible,” Triss swallowed. “He may not forgive. Especially if you insist. But he won’t fly into a rage. He won’t lower himself like that.”

“Yennefer flicked her horse with her whip in anger. The animal whinnied and leapt and the sorceress swayed in her saddle.

“Enough talk,” she snapped. “More humility, you smug viper! He is my man, mine and only mine! Do you understand? You have to stop talking about him, to stop thinking about him, you have to stop admiring his noble character… As of right now, right now! Oh I want to grab you by your matted red hair…

“Try it!” Screamed Triss. “Just try it, you vindictive bitch and I’ll scratch out your eyes! I…”

The both fell silent when they saw the cloud of dust as Ciri galloped back towards them.

That fight was particularly ugly and it’s built out of a lot of repressed feelings and betrayal over the course of the story that these two refused to properly address. However, the two of them put this aside in order to work together and fight together in the end of Lady of the Lake, but this post is not for analyzing Yennefer and Triss’ relationship so I won’t link the quote. 

TLDR: At the end of the day, Triss and Geralt have a clearly described mutual attraction to each other through all the books. However, Geralt’s attraction to Triss does not compare to his love for Yennefer and as such, despite Triss and Geralt sleeping together once, they set boundaries and relegate each other to friends. Geralt never fully stops being slightly drawn to and sympathetic towards Triss and Triss never fully falls out of love with Geralt.  

#holy shit this post turned out ridiculously long #so kudos to anyone who makes it through the end #also now I want to do analyses for all the characters' various relationships like Yennefer and Triss #the witcher #meta #triss Merigold #geralt #triss #the witcher books #Andrzej Sapkowski #the time of contempt #the tower of swallows #baptism of fire #blood of elves #the lady of the lake #myposts #wtf series

[fatbottombucky]

A Past Life *Geralt of Rivia x Reader*

Summary: could you write a female reader x Geralt who has PTSD due to past abuse and he accidentally triggers a flashback. It’s okay if you feel uncomfortable writing this, thank you for your time

Characters: Geralt & Jaskier

Pairings: Geralt x [F]Reader

Warnings: Nothing, except for Geralt yells at Reader and it triggers past memories of a man who was not so kind to her- she also flinches when he steps forward to help, makes the whole thing very angsty. They aren’t together in this, although I can do another part where they are because I have an idea for a sequel to this

“Look at us,” the sprightly voice interrupts the quiet, “three best friends, out and seeking adventure in this land.” 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you, looking over your shoulder at the bard- who had hired you as an armed bodyguard whilst he sought adventures to sing about. What you didn’t expect was his ‘best friend’ to be a Witcher, especially The Butcher of Blaviken. 

“Hmm,” came the grunt of Geralt, on top of his horse, Roach, “you’re not my friend.” 

The comment completely aimed at Jaskier. Although, what you’ve seen from these two it’s just their norm if anything. Jaskier annoys Geralt, Geralt, for some reason, puts up with Jaskier and sometimes even humours him. 

“Excuse me?” Jaskier exclaims, “you’ve known Y/N, what, a day and she’s your friend over me? The bard who, not only, writes lovely ballads about you BUT,” he strides ahead and starts to walk backwards to look up at Geralt’s face, “but, I may add, spends his free time helping you on the road and aiding you in trying times.” 

Geralt looks down at Jaskier for a brief moment, expressionless and releases a deep exhale through his nostrils. 

“Yes.” Is the one-word answer he gives Jaskier, casting a downward gaze to Jaskier, “she doesn’t talk… or sing.” 

Jaskier looks at you, a scoff leaving past his lips. You raise an eyebrow with a proud smirk, befriending Geralt seemed like an easy task- you wondered if he actually did have a lot of friends, due to the limited demands. Jaskier fell silent and walked beside you, clearly wounded from the encounter and a little pouty. 

You cast a glance to Geralt, clearly unphased or doesn’t care. “He’s playing you, Jask,” you elbow the bard, “clearly you both are friends because he could've run off to get away from you but he hasn’t, has he?” 

“Ha!” Jaskier grins, “that is true, Y/N, Geralt clearly loves me. He just doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, I mean, you’re new and he’s clearly uncomfortable around you.” You hide your smile, till you look at Geralt who is looking at Jaskier with a raised eyebrow, disbelief written on his face. “Don’t worry Geralt, you’ll get used to Y/N, just takes time getting used to her ‘tis all.” 

You smile at Geralt who only slowly blinks and looks away, ahead and into the forest you’ve been walking through for Geralt’s next contract. You like to think you’d be useful, but you’re not well versed in slaying monsters, especially the ones that Geralt goes after. Sure, you’ve killed a few Ghouls in your time but anything three times your size. 

You had never gone up against anything like a Bruxa though. In fact, most of your life has been dealing with the worst kind of monsters: men. They hide their true intentions with cheesy lines and charming smiles, they lurk in the open and gain trust, they make you believe you’re wonderful and special. The worst type of monsters is the ones that hide so plainly in sight. 

“Maybe I should write songs about you,” you let a small exhale and shake your head, “the girl who doesn’t fear The Witcher.” 

Jaskier looks pleased with himself, almost going to strum on his lute, “There’s a lot of girls who aren’t exactly scared of him.” You smirk with a raised eyebrow, the indication of your words not going unnoticed by either, “plus there’s worse to be afraid of than some monster slayer.” 

“Hmm,” comes the grunt of Geralt, his language of ‘leave me the fuck alone’ or ‘continue’, in this case, it’s the latter. 

“Men,” it’s a simple word but it makes them both look at you, then one another, “people who hide their intentions and cast shadows on your life. I know a monster slayers beast, but people, well, they hide theirs and that’s… far worse; a surprise attack.” 

It goes silent between you three. 

The dull thud of Geralt hoping down from Roach, he ties her reigns to a tree and looks Jaskier for a moment and then you. You raise an eyebrow, apparently, you’re meant to understand that look, but you don’t and that makes Geralt of Rivia sigh. 

“Stay beside Roach,” is his response, “least I need is to look out for you two.” 

You huffed a little, you may not be a “monster killer” but you can look out for yourself. You don’t need some brute man keeping you safe, especially since past ones haven’t been so good at it. But you’re hired to look after Jaskier, to go where he goes and therefore you remained beside the bard. 

Geralt disappears through the thick brush, swords on his back and not making a sound; not even with his feet. He can’t have been gone for more than two minutes before Jaskier loudly sighed. 

“How am I meant to write songs about him and his fights if I can’t see them?” He crosses his arms, lute on his back and shaking his head, “not like he’s extremely talkative after a fight either, grunts and one-word answers, half the time I have to make up details.” 

You felt for Jaskier. He only wanted to write about real adventures, real stories, you’ve heard his old songs and listened to him write his new. He’s improved and Geralt doesn’t seem to realise how important he’s played in that. 

“What if…” you trailed off, “I go and watch? I’ll keep out of sight and I’ll tell you what happened?” 

Jaskier looks torn, “I’m not sure… Geralt, he can be very, I think it’s best we stay here.” 

You chuckle, rolling your eyes, “I can look out for myself, Jaskier. Besides, he'll be too concerned with the Bruxa than I.”  

Keeping a firm hand on your steel sword you walk in the direction Geralt left in. It’s dark and silent, which has you wondering just how far Geralt is, but then you hear it. The slight shriek in the distance, the grunts that distinctive of Geralt. You quicken your steps and crouch down, finally in view of the fight. 

Your heartbeat quickens and for a brief moment you think Geralt knows you’re here, he looks around briefly as if sensing you but quickly goes back into defensive mode. The Bruxa is not what you expect, it looks human and naked, long dark hair and fingers that finish into sharp nails. It’s ugly but powerful. It disappears from sight, still attacking Geralt, who looks different than before. 

Dark eyes and veins, paler than usual. His whole stance is oozing with intimidation and the focus; it almost makes you wonder why you aren’t scared, it almost makes you understand why people do fear him. You watch in amazement at Geralt fighting, how agile he is despite his size. You revel in just watching him fight, although you feel bad because it feels almost intimate- like you’re catching him at his most vulnerable, despite it being the complete opposite of. 

But the moment of revelling is cut short, the Bruxa vanishes again and instead of attacking Geralt it goes silent. He stalks around the woodland floor, sword in hand, dark eyes casting in every direction and listening intently for his moment to pounce. 

You frown because nothing is happening. For a moment you think it might’ve runoff, how you wish it would have. A twig snaps behind you, you stand to full height and swiftly turn around, the sword being pulled effortlessly from its sheath. Before you can swing, it hits you and it’s claws scratch your arm causing you to also fly backwards. 

“I told you to stay away,” his voice is coarse and deep, cuts through the tension like a silver knife. 

You sit up as he stands before you, back towards you. A purple circle encompasses him and he fights the Bruxa with efficiency, the cloaking of the Bruxa gone and he’s able to see it’s every movement. He picks up your forgotten sword when rolling out of the way, it’s sights set on you once again but before you can even begin to stand two swords pierce its stomach; slicing in opposite directions and cutting it in half. 

A long-awaited breath of relief leaves you, you sit up and hold your sliced arm. 

“Igni,” Geralt holds a hand over the body and it sets alight before you. He whistles twice and a moment later you hear the galloping of Roach approaching, also a very confuddled Jaskier trying to keep up with her. “I told you to stay away,” Geralt directs at you, although not facing you. 

“It’s my fault, Geralt, I should’ve-” Jaskier tries to defend but is cut off. 

“You could’ve gotten killed,” you shakily stand up, brush yourself off and trying not to look like you’re in pain because it’ll only make the situation worse. 

You shrug one shoulder, “I’m fine. I’m also sorry, I didn’t think it knew I was there.” 

Geralt huffed, his face almost back to normal but it only makes him look angrier somehow, “Fuck you are. You’re bleeding and Bruxa scratches are painful, especially when not treated properly. No wonder you’re afraid of men, you haven’t seen any part of real life to know you should’ve been too afraid to even be around here.” 

The mocking words slice through you, you narrow your eyes at The Witcher. But instead of retaliating you compose yourself, knowing already that getting into any sort of conflict with a man, especially this man, could result in much worse circumstances.  

“It’s done now. You’ve killed it, I got in the way. I’ll patch myself up when we go back to the village to collect your reward.” You think it’s over, well you hope it is. You begin to walk in the direction Roach came from. 

“No!” Geralt’s stern voice stops you, you turn on your heel and look at him wide-eyed, he’s angry. “It isn’t done. You put yourself and me in danger, you can’t just-” he steps forward but you step back, breathing heavily and you fall to the floor,  trying to capture your breath. 

Past memories of your life before this one. A life filled with loud yelling, stern stares and even crueller hands. Of a man, not even Geralt’s build, more like Jaskier if anything. Sparking fear into you, instead of the love he once promised to forever give you. A life of threat and pain. 

A life you longed to forget. 

You shut your eyes tightly, praying to the gods that you don’t look like an idiot. You feel someone settle beside you, snapping your eyes open and met with amber ones, he lifts a hand but instinct takes over and you shrink away from him. Almost cowering before him, you thought you’d gotten over this. The evidence clearly states you haven’t. 

A gentle touch is placed upon your shoulder, no words spoken as he keeps a small distance but a hand still comforting you. You eventually return to normal, finally looking at Geralt with teary eyes and a watery smile to accompany it. 

“I’m sorry,” is all you can mutter and Geralt shakes his head, a little ‘hmm’ leaving him. 

Geralt is silent, kneeling beside where you’re huddled, conversation not exactly his strong suit. You watch as he thinks over his words, a more refined ‘hmm’ leaves his body like he’s thinking of how to word something. 

“Please tell me the one who caused this is dead,” you exhale through your nose in amusement, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, “otherwise I’ll have to make another stop.” 

You shrug a little, “It was a long time ago, I’ve been running from that life. I do not need a Witcher to kill for my revenge,” Geralt tilts his head at your words. “I’m a fucking idiot. A guy yells and I cower before him, how am I expected to protect anyone?” 

“Because you know, more than anyone, what it’s like to be put into a position you cannot break out of.” 

The words hang in the air for a second before he stands up, taking your hand and pulling you up gently. He looks over your wound, grunting at the look of it, the adrenaline is fading and it’s starting to prickle in pain. Jaskier, for once, is quiet but concerned about you. Geralt even helps you onto Roach, leading the horse through the woods. 

Sat in the Inn with a couple of ales and Geralt patching you up in the candlelight. You recount the ordeal to Jaskier, who is smiling now with a belly full of bread. After being told countless times by Geralt that you’ll be fine, it was nice to see he actually cared about you. 

“You know, I might just write a song about you,” Jaskier informs you, sitting back with a smug smile, Geralt raises an eyebrow. “We make a great team, don’t we. Where shall we go next?” 

You frown a little, “I think, I’ve gotta chase up an old life.” Geralt snaps his eyes to you, though doesn’t say anything. “I left a book open, it needs to be closed. We all have to face our monsters at some point,” you sigh and sip your ale. 

“It’s a good thing you’ve got a Witcher as a friend,” Jaskier states and nods at Geralt. 

You don’t miss the gentle ‘Hmm’ from Geralt.

Part Two

(Lmao this is over 2K words, wtf! Hopefully, this is okay. I didn’t make this romantic, but if you want a second part I will make it romantic, I already have an idea for it. Just let me know- Rosalie)

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia one shot #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt one shot #geralt imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher one shot #jaskier x reader

[astralalmighty]

Here, have my version of “Jaskier gets kidnapped by Nifguarrd”

because i was bored

After the mountain, Jaskier spends a week drinking his sorrows and feeling rather pissed off, then he picks himself backs up and continues his life as a bard.

He stumbles upon Yennefer in a bar and they drink together, and then befriend each other.

They spend the next few months traveling on and off, getting each other out of sticky situations, and planning on how to find a baby for Yen.

Jaskier says kidnap one from a bad family, Yen is unsure if she would be satisfied knowing how she get the child.

They respect each other and become good friends, even affectionately nicknaming each other Yenna and Buttercup.

Yennefer eventually visits Istredd while she and Jaskier are apart, and goes to Sodden.

She is wounded badly releasing her chaos, and manages to portal herself to Jaskier, who helps her recover.

  About a month after the Fall of Cintra, Nifguarrd places a bounty on Jaskier’s head.

Jaskier is kidnapped, and tortured for a month on the locations of Geralt and Ciri.

He says absolutely nothing for fear of accidentally giving any information.

Mind-reading spells don’t work on him for some unknown reason (cough cough he’s not human). The mages are baffled and Jaskier is thankful.

Yennefer has been in hiding, and manages to find Jaskier through Triss’s help.

They rescue him rather anticlimactically, and Yen helps Jaskier recover.

They eventually part ways, with Yen going to the other mages to help with the war, and Jaskier begins traveling alone, helping where he can.

Jaskier also begins hunting monsters and taking contracts as a source of income, and ends up stopping his singing altogether.

  By now, it’s been three months after Cintra fell.

Jaskier becomes very strong and talented. He can fight and barter beautifully.

All the while, Yen and him remain in contact.

One night, a young girl attempts to steal from his camp.

He catches her, and realizes it’s Ciri.

She’s alone, and terrified. They bond, and while she never tells him who she is, Jaskier knows exactly who she is.

He never asks about Geralt, but makes a silent promise to protect her and raise her.

Eventually, she reveals she had been traveling with her father, but they had been attacked by bandits and she ran.

Jaskier strongly suspects it’s Geralt she’s referring to.

Yen is too weak to portal to them, but tells Jask she will get to them as soon as she can.

The two really bond, and grow into a father-daughter relationship, with lots of wonderful hair braiding because Jask has long hair and they both love hair.

One day, they’re attacked by Nifguarrdian soldiers and Ciri screams.

She managed to control her power enough to not harm Jaskier (cough cough non human), but she kills the soldiers.

Jaskier reveals he knows who she is and who Geralt is.

  They continue traveling, and one day stumble across Geralt in an old inn.

Geralt and Ciri both cry, and Jaskier spends approximately three minutes feeling happy, then remembers how angry he is.

He tells Geralt he doesn’t want to talk to him about the past, but made a promise to protect Ciri and swears to keep that promise until his dying breath.

Geralt tells him he wants to talk to him and he wants them to travel together.

Jaskier spits out his ale after hearing that.

Once Ciri goes to sleep, Geralt apologizes. Jaskier asks for some time, which Geralt gives.

Jaskier doesn’t tell him about Nifguarrd, Geralt doesn’t ask.

Geralt has no idea that Jaskier was kidnapped, only that Jaskier has a few new scars, has long hair, wears simple clothing, can fight like hell, and is far more sexy than Geralt expected.

  They travel to Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier and Ciri meet the wolves.

Yennefer eventually makes her way to Kaer Morhen, and Geralt will forever deny the confusion he felt when Jaskier and Yen ran to each other, embraced, and cried at their reunion.

  The wolves, princess, mage, and former bard settle into a routine.

Yen trains Ciri in magic, Jaskier teaches her everything about academics (with help from Vesemir, Yen, and Eskel), the wolves train her and teach her to fight, and Ciri begins to find a new family.

Jaskier also begins sparring with the wolves, but refuses to remove his shirt.

Geralt never understands why.

Geralt does understand that Jaskier is very impressive with a sword and Geralt should seriously stop ogling him during training.

Lambert, Eskel, and Vesemir love the bard, mage, and princess Geralt brought into their lives.

  Drunken shenanigans. Amiright?

  Often, Ciri has nightmares, and she goes to Jaskier when she can’t sleep. She knows about his nightmares and feels better when he comforts her.

Jaskier also has nightmares, but no one knows except Ciri and Yen.

Geralt feels a little detached when he learns of Ciri always going to Jask, but when he overhears then talking after a bad nightmare, he feels better knowing Jaskier is such an amazing father to her.

Yen and Ciri begin to have a mother-daughter bond.

Lambert and Eskel realize they’re becoming uncles, and Vesemir notices his presence as a grandfather.

  One night, Geralt happens to awake late after caring for Roach, and overhears Jaskier having a nightmare. He doesn’t barge in, but he begins to suspect there’s more to Jaskier’s past.

He overhears more of Jaskier’s nightmares, and asks Yen about them, but she refuses to tell him.

  Halfway through the winter, there’s a warm spell, and Jaskier volunteers to travel down the mountain and to get supplies.

Nifguarrd is after every Witcher, not just Geralt, and Yen needs to stay to protect Ciri.

Jaskier returns within two weeks with all the supplies and an injured arm.

He explains how there had been a contract for a kikimora, and he was injured when the monster fell on his arm after the fatal blow.

Geralt is shocked and angry that Jaskier would risk his life so recklessly, and Jaskier reply is, “It’s not like it was my first kikimora, Geralt.”

Needless to say, Geralt bluescreens.

  Jaskier explains to Geralt part of his past, how he and Yen became friends, and how he began training and fighting after the Fall of Cintra.

He avoids, though, his time with Nifguarrd.

A few days later, and several months after Jask and Geralt met again, Jaskier forgives Geralt for the mountain and the years they spent in a one-sided relationship.

He knows Geralt is sorry and has changed as a person. He may have already moved on from the past, but it’s time he truly let go of all anger and bitterness he feels.

Geralt is relieved and thanks him.

Cut to the wolves drinking and Geralt drunkenly confessing his love for Jaskier and his brothers respond with, “We know how you look at him idiot, now go kiss him.”

Geralt panics and refuses.

Jaskier is unfortunately absent from this conversation.

  Not much time after that, Geralt accidentally walks in on Jaskier bathing, and sees Jaskier’s scars.

Jaskier was whipped by Nifguarrd, and has numerous scars on his back.

Jaskier yells at Geralt to get out, and Geralt knows that there’s more to Jaskier’s past.

Geralt confronts Jaskier, and cautiously asks him if he knows the entire truth about Jaskier’s past.

Jaskier admits that Geralt doesn’t know everything and tells him about Nifguarrd. He keeps it brief.

Geralt is guilt-ridden, and confides with Yen.

She sighs, and says, “If Jaskier ever blamed you, he forgave you long before you ever even apologized. If he knew what the future would’ve been when you first met, that would’nt’ve stopped him from traveling with you. Also you two are very much in love just kiss already.”

Geralt is somewhat reassured.

  A few days later, Jaskier has a very bad nightmare, and takes a walk. Geralt follows and finds him on one of the balcony things (idk architecture).

Jaskier knows that Geralt feels guilty, and convinces Geralt that what happened to him was never and never will be his fault. Geralt was guilty, but is now swayed by Jaskier’s words and actions.

Geralt thanks Jaskier for being there for him, and for forgiving him. Feeling rather bold now, he mentions how Jaskier had been trying to figure out what pleased him, and tells Jaskier he’s been thinking about this. He says, “I know what pleases me now, you.”

Jaskier asks Geralt if he’s reading this situation correctly, and Geralt tells him that Jaskier is a poet, and he trusts poet’s judgements. Jaskier laughs and tells Geralt that poets read situations whatever way they want to, regardless of the accuracy. Geralt responds by cupping Jaskier’s cheek and telling him he’s reading the situation correctly.

Jaskier kisses him under the stars. (FINALLY)

Geralt kisses back. (ABOUT TIME)

Annnnnd they fall into bed together. (I am not writing smut, no thank you, I am not risking that, we are gonna rate this Mature because of the violence, not because of any horny idiots in love).

  Next morning: Lambert bursts into Geralt’s room in a panic, telling Geralt they’ve lost Jaskier and can’t find him.

Geralt says Jask is probably fine, and Lambert is not consoled, and continues to rant until Jaskier pops out of the blankets and demands what’s going on.

Needless to say, Geralt kicks Lambert out.

Lambert: We found the bard; Yen: Oh where was he?; Eskel: With Geralt; Lambert: More like under Geralt; Vesemir and Yen: ......; Yen:     Fucking FINALLY; Ciri: Oh gross but I agree Yenna

(Yes this is how everyone finds out)

  So yeah now these two are FINALLY in a relationship.

And everyone sorta falls into this big found family, and they spend their days training and learning, and their nights spending time together.

Jaskier even begins to sing again (much to Ciri’s, Geralt’s, and Yen’s urging).

Eventually, winter ends, and they need to decide if it’s safe for anyone to go out.

Yen gets in contact with Triss, who comes to Kaer Morhen.

Triss gives them a basic rundown of the war, and they all decide that Vesemir, Ciri, and Yen will stay at Kaer Morhen, while the rest of the wolves and Jask will continue traveling, but they all need to keep low profiles.

It ends with this set-up, and a final look at the mountain before the witchers and the bard part ways, all intent on returning home to their family by the next winter.

#the witcher #geraskier #yennefer #yennefer of vengerburg #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #lambert #eskel #vesemir #ciri #bamf jaskier #is kidnapped by nifguarrd #thats the premise #but the plot is more #and the romance is there but i dont want it to be the entire of the fic #i want the brotps #i want teh found family #found family #i want the kaer morons #kaer morhen #my writing #fic #my fic #kaer morons #this is what i came up with #after multiple nights of trying to fall asleep #and not falling asleep #so i came up with this in my head #here you go

[brasskier]

@badthingshappenbingo trope #3 (and this one was actually requested!)

Thank you to the incredible @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde for reading this one over for me!

Trope: Suicide attempt

Summary:  Yennefer's just running a few errands, and doesn't expect to end up talking Geralt's bard down from a rooftop. Jaskier is ready to leap, and doesn't expect a certain mage to interrupt his grand finale. Both of them might just walk away with a better understanding of one another. (Or, a character study in borderline personality disorder.)

TW for suicidal ideation/threats/gestures and reference to self-harm. The descriptions aren’t graphic and he doesn’t actually jump, but this whole fic deals with suicide and mental illness. Be safe y’all <3

Read it on my ao3 or below the cut:

The trip to Tretogor wasn’t supposed to last long. Replenish her stock after the utter disaster that was the dragon hunt, some odds and ends as she came upon them, maybe get absolutely shitfaced and forget the whole thing happened. That was all. And it looked like, for a pleasant change of pace, there weren’t going to be any complications. Errands finished, Yennefer was enjoying a hearty roast at one of the better taverns in the city when she noticed the early warnings of a brewing commotion. First murmurs, then the voices grew louder and more persistent, and then people were pushing outside. She ignored them; a petty barfight was not something she particularly wanted or needed to get involved with. The bar was still stirring, and eventually when she finally shifted her focus off her roast, the tavern was near-empty, only the drunkest of patrons remaining. Even the barkeep was shuffling outside. Clearly, something was happening. Something big. With a beleaguered sigh, she pushed up from her chair and headed out the door.

A surprisingly large crowd greeted her outside, more expansive than the usual clamor around a simple drunken brawl. She approached the barkeep, standing on the outskirts of the mob, and she didn’t even have to speak before the barkeep jerked his head skyward. She traced his gaze to the roof of a towering building casting its shadow over them.

“Poor sod’s gonna jump, I reckon,” the barkeep ruminated, eyes still fixed upwards. In place of the massive beast she fully expected to be perched atop the building stood the figure of a man, trembling at the very edge of the roof. She squinted, an uncanny familiarity settling into her gut.

She mumbled her half-hearted thanks, already pushing through a portal to the rooftop. The man, still frozen in place on the opposite edge, didn’t seem to notice the sudden company, and her uneasiness grew into a sinking dread.

“Jaskier?” she called, tentatively, afraid to startle him. Any last shred of hope that she was mistaken (though the intricately embroidered doublet was hard to mistake) was gone when he jerked his head back to face her. His mouth was agape, an uncomfortable mixture of surprise and disappointment drawn across his features. “What are you doing?”

“The fuck does it look like?” He snapped back. There was more than his usual sarcasm or mock-incredulity in his voice, real and deep-felt anger coloring his tone.

“Don’t do it,” she urged, surprising herself with the tenderness in her own words. “Come on now. Just come down.” Why did she care? The question gnawed in the back of her mind, and she did her damndest to push it aside. She’s a good person, after all, right? She’d do it for anyone, surely. None of Geralt’s not-getting-involved nonsense.

“Fuck off, Yennefer.” He let out a barking laugh, thin and breathy, pitching forward ever so slightly with the force of it. She felt her whole body tense, hands reaching out reflexively.

“Where’s Geralt? What happened?” This was, apparently, the single worst line of conversation she could’ve settled on, because he dropped abruptly to a squat and for a split second she was certain she was about to witness the man’s death. 

“I’m not his fucking keeper.” He was nearly at a roar now, a fever-pitch that sent a shiver down Yennefer’s spine. “Haven’t seen him in a week. Not since— not since—” Though she couldn’t see his face, his eyes fixed resolvedly on the ground below, she could hear the tears cut through his words, his breath hiccuping.

“Shh,” she hushed him. Clearly, something had happened after she stormed off. What, precisely, could wait until later, when he was back on solid ground. “I know. It’s not fair.”

“The fuck do you know about fair?” he scoffed, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around his abdomen against the biting wind. 

“He fucked me over, too.” She should’ve been offended, and she would’ve been if she wasn’t far more concerned with making sure the bard didn’t fling himself into an early demise, which would be decidedly unfair. That sentiment did little to ease him, and withdrew no response. “Fuck Geralt,” she declared, trying again. “Damn brute thinks he can just take as he pleases.”

“And— and then discard you once he’s had his fill,” he mumbled, offering her the slightest glance back, tears glistening against the pink of his cheeks. 

“You’re better than that,” she set forth like a thesis. “You’re — loathe as I am to admit it — talented, bard. People like you. You’ll find plenty of material to write about.” Perhaps an appeal to both logos and pathos would be sufficient, at least enough to get him off the ledge. 

“It won’t be the same.” He frowned tragically over his shoulder at her. “I've lost it all, Yen. Look at me— I'm just a silhouette.”

“That's nonsense. He… you're more than him. He's not everything.” It felt ridiculous to her, throwing yourself off a roof over an argument with a friend. After all, Jaskier had always managed to exist in the spaces between Geralt before; teaching, or penning his next obnoxious ballad, or bedding married women, or whatever it is overgrown manchild bards do. But, then, she'd almost killed herself to restore something she knew she could never get back. So perhaps they were even.

“Look, this is awfully sweet of you, but—” he swept his arm, gesturing vaguely at nothing in particular. “Just let me go. I’m doing everyone a favor.” He turned his attention back to the ground, wind rippling through his hair. “Should’ve done this a long time ago.” She felt her heart skip — a long time ago? This wasn’t just a histrionic reaction to whatever might’ve occurred between him and Geralt; gods knew how long he’d felt like this.

“You know I can’t do that,” she retorted, drawing tentatively closer. “Don’t make me portal you down.” He huffed, waving her off with a trembling hand. 

“Please, Yen.” Realistically, she knew it would be easy to oblige his request. Walk away, pretend not to hear the sickening thud, and carry on. He was only her ex-witcher’s ex-bard, after all. “I always knew it'd end like this. I’m just… I’m glad I even made it past thirty, really.” 

“That’s— I’m not— no, Jaskier. I’m not letting you throw yourself off a roof, for the love of the gods. That’s insane.” She wasn’t sure what was more insane, letting him go, or standing here arguing with him. “You’re going to be real glad when you make it to forty, bard.”

“Am I though, really? This isn’t my first time, believe it or not. And every time I live, or I back out, or I let someone talk me out of it. And I always regret it in the end.” Her mind reeled again — every time? How many had there been? She pushed the thought back.

“You won’t find out unless you get down,” she argued, drawing closer still. He tensed, sensing her presence, hands balling and unfurling repetitively. “Come on. Go to the tavern with me, get something to eat, have a—” she was close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath now “—more drink. I’ll be out of your hair in the morning, and if you still regret it, well…” 

“Fine,” he finally agreed on the tail end of a sigh, turning to fully face her. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” She didn’t like the resolve with which he said those words, but he was agreeing to come down, which at least was a small victory. She’d handle tomorrow when it came around. In the meantime she needed to get them both down. “Or eventually,” he tacked on as she held her hands out, forming a portal back to solid ground. “Inevitably.” The word rang in her mind as she looped an arm around him and led him through the portal. As an afterthought, she summoned a blanket with a flick of her fingers; it was one of those cheap, thin blankets they kept at the inn, but it would do. She tossed it over his shoulders and he dug his fingers into the fabric, drawing it closer around himself.

Once they were back in the tavern, that thin blanket still draped over Jaskier's shoulders and mug of ale held in shaking hands, it was time to talk.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, dragging his thumb up and down the cool tankard, avoiding meeting her eyes at all costs. “I’ve caused such a fuss. You must be anxious to get out of here.” He finally glanced in her direction when he felt a hand land on his forearm.

“It’s fine, really,” she insisted, and he couldn’t bear the pity in her eyes. “Now are you going to tell me what that was all about?” He huffed a laugh, looked away again.

“It’s just, you know. Me and my theatrics.” He shrugged, running a hand along his jaw.

“Bullshit.” When, exactly, Yennefer had gotten so good at seeing right through him, he wasn’t sure. But he did know he definitely didn’t like it.

“I’m sorry. I just, I… I get like that, I guess,” he muttered finally, dragging his thumb along the rim of his glass.

“Suicidal, you mean? You just get… suicidal?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow, moving her hand up to his shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess.” He reached blindly, dropped a hand over hers. “When something goes wrong. Someone leaves me again. I just, I fuck up a lot, and I’m no good at dealing with the concequences.” 

“That’s— gods, I know you’re an idiot, but that’s really worth killing yourself over?” She tried to keep her tone light, clipped, maybe a little detached. He was uneasy with the attention, it was obvious, and she was also certainly not ready to admit that maybe, just a tiny bit, she sort of cared about him.

“Geralt, he ran me off,” he mumbled, sinking further into the blanket. “After the hunt, after your fight, he blamed me. For everything, the entire two decades of our, well. I guess it wasn’t friendship.” He chewed at his lip, a nervous habit, anger bubbling below the surface at the thought of that day. “Told me the greatest gift life could give him would be to take me off his hands.” Yennefer balked at him, finally hearing the context of his despair, and she was just about ready to portal right over to wherever Geralt had fucked off to and give him a piece of her mind.

“That’s terrible,” she told him, the best she could really offer. Nothing she could say would undo what’d happened, and nothing could change how much it hurt him. “He really is a bastard.” Jaskier nodded slowly, raised his tankard up in toast. “When’s the last time you ate? You must be starving.”

“Stew would be nice,” he replied quietly, meekly. She haled one of the barkeeps, ordered him a stew, and requested another round of drinks. “It’s not just the fight, though,” he added once the server was gone. “I don’t know how to explain it, Yen. Why I do the things I do, or feel the way I feel. It’s just, it’s all too much sometimes, you know?” She knew. All too well, she knew. She was only just beginning to understand herself, just beginning to feel some semblance of control. He was so young — perhaps not by human standards, but comparatively. 

“I know. It’s hard.” They felt like empty platitudes, like she had no idea how to truly connect with him, and it was frustrating. She wanted to help him, but she wasn’t sure how, wasn’t sure he wanted it. 

“Yeah.” He bobbed his head, picked at the wood of the table. They drifted into silence, neither sure how to fill it, neither sure this was a conversation either wanted to have. The stew arrived, and he picked at it rather than devouring it like he usually did his rations. 

“You know I’m sterile, right?” she finally broke the silence once he’d finished his food and pushed the bowl aside, leaning closer, her voice pitched in a conspiratorial whisper. He nodded solemnly, averting his gaze, watching the light catch in his amber ale. “And you know I’ve gone to great lengths to rectify that, correct?” Another slow nod.

“I know, Yen. I’m sorry, I know you have far more right to be miserable than I do. And here I am, wallowing like a toddler—” She waved a hand to cut him off.

“No, listen, stupid bard. It’s really not about being able to have kids. It’s about the fact that I don’t have a choice, that I’ve never had a choice,” she elaborated, hiking the blanket further up his shoulders as it started to slip.

“I know. And here I am, I’ve gotten everything I wanted. I got to choose; running away, going to Oxenfurt, becoming a bard, traveling. Gods, I followed Geralt to the ends of the bloody Continent for two decades of my life I’ll never get back — but that was my choice.” 

“Would you please let me finish my point, instead of interrupting me to wallow in guilt?” He gnawed at his lip, finally turning to face her. “It wasn’t about being a mother, it was about choice. So this—” she waved her arm dramatically, wondering for a moment when exactly she’d started picking up his mannerisms. “This isn’t about Geralt at all, is it?” After a moment of contemplation, he carefully shook his head. “Then what is it about?” 

“I don’t know, to be honest,” he muttered at the tail end of a swig from his tankard. “I’ve just always been like this,” he said with a sweep of his hand, palm upturned, string-callused fingers twitching aimlessly. Her violet eyes bore into him expectantly, and he felt angry for a flicker of a moment — she was a witch, right? He should be able to just sit back while she delves into the darkest crevices of his psyche, let her root around and not have to struggle to put his life into context and language. “Can’t you just, y’know…” He tugged at his fingers, tilted his head.

“Read your mind?” she finished the question, scooting closer to him, and he felt the hair on his arms rise. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” He nodded, and she pressed her forehead against his, pulling him in close, enveloping him in the lilac and gooseberries he knew Geralt loved so much. He understood why; he felt inexplicably safe, even as the logical half of his brain urged him to pull back. This was all for show, and he knew that— she didn’t need to touch him to read him. Either way, he was grateful to not have to give language to the nameless, that she could just see.

See Jaskier at seventeen, screaming at Valdo from across the courtyard, "if you leave me I swear the fuck to melitile I'll kill myself," knowing he's made this exact threat verbatim so many times Valdo can't believe him, unable to recall what they were even arguing about anymore. When they break up, his mother tells him the first heartbreak always hurts the worst; it hurts all the same every time thereafter.

Jaskier at twenty, slicing thin lines into his thigh for what had to be the millionth time, running out of unmarred skin, witcher/tentative friend asleep somewhere beside him in the darkness. If asked, he’s not sure he’d have an excuse. Sometimes to feel something, sometimes to feel nothing. Either way, this uncertainty is what keeps his wrists clean.

Jaskier at twenty-three, wailing great, hiccuping sobs, shoulders rattling, blind beyond teary eyes. Geralt, gods bless him, doesn’t know what to do, stands arm’s-length away, regards him with uncertainty and pity. They’d fought about something that didn’t matter and he couldn’t remember, and that rage washed over him, red-hot, balled fists trembling at his side. “Get out! Gods, are you thick? Leave, Geralt; I fucking hate you.” But then Geralt listened, because Geralt didn’t play Jaskier’s games, and now there he was, sobbing, babbling, “don’t leave me, I’m sorry, I’ll be better, I can’t lose you, it’ll kill me, don’t go.” Geralt stays; they pretend nothing ever happened.

Jaskier at twenty-seven, at the ashes of his latest burnt bridge, just another failed relationship that feels altogether more like death than separation. Grieving it more like death, too; sobbing until he could do little more than stare at the ceiling and try to breathe, mourning a cemetery of mistakes and a lifetime of failure.

Jaskier at thirty-two, depression blanketing him with the fresh snow, the man he'd tangled up his entire identity in fucked off to the mountains for the winter while he sludged through classes, distracting himself from having to confront the fact that he doesn't recognize his own face in the mirror. Jaskier does exist in the spaces between Geralt, but, sometimes, that Jaskier is a husk.

Jaskier a few days ago, marching back to Oxenfurt because that's all he knows, doubtful Jaskier even exists anymore, the emptiness in his mind unbearable and somehow terminal, altogether certain he's been incompatible with life from the very moment he entered it and resolved to rectify nature's mistake himself. 

Jaskier who, his entire life, has felt everything, too much, all at once. Who's always been led by his heart — and not in the beautiful, Romantic way, but messy, tragic, and uniquely Jaskier. A man so utterly at the mercy of his own mind, drowning in feelings he doesn't have the language to name, his entire being defined not by who he is but what he does and who he loves. 

Jaskier, on a rooftop in Tretogor, itchy feet ready to fling him off the ledge. He'd told Valdo once, in the in-between hours not quite night or morning when everything seems strange and far away, that he knew how he was destined to die. Pressed on, even as Valdo chuckled and called him presumptive, “I'm going to kill myself.” Not today, or tomorrow, but inevitably. He said it not with the certainty of someone who's seen into the future but the cynical resignation of a man who knows no other escape. And Valdo punched his arm, told him not to talk like that, promised it would get easier one day. He hates Valdo now, not that he remembers why, and that day has yet to come.

She pulled back eventually— finally — and swept a shaky thumb over his cheek. He chewed on his lip, staring expectantly with hauntingly wide eyes. 

“Jaskier.” It was barely a whisper, uttered at the end of a sharp exhale, and when violet eyes met his they shone with an uncanny recognition. He wasn't sure what, precisely, she'd seen, but he knew whatever it was had been enough. He'd invited her to the bleakest corners of his mind, and now she regarded him like a lame horse. He ducked his head, but she caught him with a hand on his chin. “You know that's not how destiny works.”

“Hmm?” He wracked his brain to figure what she might be referring to, coming up empty-handed. He didn't have a big, grand destiny like she or Geralt did. He was just Jaskier the bard, Jaskier the one-night stand, Jaskier the disappointment. 

“It doesn't have to end like that. You have a choice,” she elaborated, still painfully vague, but he understood. 

“This isn't the first time, Yen, I—” 

“I know. I saw.” Right, she saw, probably everything, and he had the wherewithal to feel humiliated for it. 

“I've cheated it enough times. I can't outrun it forever.” It felt nice, at least, to let his walls down a little, stop playing the perpetual naive optimist. Almost a relief, even, a weight off his shoulders. 

“I know. But you're strong, Jask.” She moved her hand from his chin to the back of his head, guiding it to rest against her shoulder. “We have more in common than I thought, you know.” He laughed, thin and heady, but with a little more conviction this time, and pressed his face against her neck. 

“Is that your way of telling me you're fucked up, too?” He asked, and, despite the levity in his tone, he truly was curious. 

“Yes, bard,” she hummed, reaching out to sip at her tankard.

“You're not going to give me any more than that?” He fought off a yawn, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. “I just told you everything.” 

“Maybe someday,” she replied, setting the mug back on the table. “But right now I think you could use some rest. We both could.” She slipped out of the booth and he let his head tilt back against the wall, mourning the absence of her warmth. 

She returned a few minutes later, room procured, and hiked the blanket back over his shoulders as he reached for his lute and followed after her. It was a nice enough room, two beds on opposite sides, a bath he had no intention of utilizing. Exhausted, he kicked off his boots, shrugged off his doublet, and dropped onto the bed. He let his mind wander, dozing as Yennefer readied herself for bed, eyelids heavy by the time she blew out the candles.

“You won't try again?” Yen asked from across the room after a while, barely a silhouette in the faint moonlight. Jaskier rolled over to face her, finding her staring distantly out the window.

“You, uh, you have to be more specific,” he muttered, tugging the blanket closer to his chin. It smelled of lilac and ale. 

“How am I supposed to make that more specific?” It came out sharp, like her usual tone with him, but he could still feel an uneasy twinge to her words. 

“I mean, I don't know.” He felt stupid for reasons beyond his grasp. “Not today, or tomorrow. But I can't promise never.” There was a long pause, and Jaskier barely breathed, wondering if he'd managed to upset her as sleep crept up on him. 

“Not today is enough,” she said finally, sounding almost far away, and his breath hitched in his throat.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, voice thick with impending sleep. “When are you leaving?” The me he omitted at the tail end rang in his mind, unspoken but understood, heavy in the nighttime silence. She was supposed to leave in the morning, so he could either move on or finish what he’d set out to do; he wasn’t sure he wanted her to uphold that promise anymore.

“Not today.” He exhaled slowly. Not today is enough. And maybe, just maybe, enough not today's would add up to never. 

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfic #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #tw suicide #jaskier whump #bad things happen bingo #brasskier does bthb

[jacks-wylan]

The townsfolk indeed call for another Witcher. For all Jaskier knows, the baker's wife put a contract in a notice board in the nearest town – Corvo Bianco is small, and it's a bit farther away from any main roads – and, surprisingly, someone has arrived.

It's the innkeeper, that Jaskier meets at the well as he goes to collect water, that says that to him. “It's a Witcher I've never met before,” he says, gruffly, while he weights up two buckets full of water, “He came here this morning, flashed a strange grin when he asked us to take his things, payed a room and went to hell, probably.”

Jaskier is almost afraid to ask, “What is he like?”

The Witcher is obviously not Geralt, because the innkeeper would have known him in that case. Jaskier is scared to hope anyway – he wants him to be Eskel, or Lambert. He needs a familiar face, someone he can talk about and understand his words. A shoulder he can cry on. A friend he can ask to keep an eye on Geralt, because he can't anymore.

“He's, uh, strange. Has scars, pale skin, two swords.”

“Like any Witcher.” Jaskier almost laughs. He can be anyone, really. He doesn't dare to hope.

“Dunno if he'll come back, but he has a room in my inn. You might meet him.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath, “I might.”

He does, that same evening. Jaskier doesn't even know why, after all, if the Witcher is Eskel or Lambert, they know where he lives – and if they already know about Geralt and his break up and they don't want to see him anymore, Jaskier surely doesn't want to impose his presence to someone who doesn't want it. He can be annoying, and most of the time he ignores when a person is annoyed by him, but he can take very well that kind of hint.

But curiosity's got the best of him, and won against the disappointment that is already stinging in his chest, while he walks, slowly, the small roads of Corvo Bianco. The past years, he has taken the same roads so many times that he's lost count, to reach the tavern down the village so he could perform for a, yes, a small crowd, but a very welcoming crowd. A crowd that Jaskier always adored, especially when they warmed up towards an amazed Geralt – still not used to the generosity, kindness and gentleness of this people.

He enters inside the inn and he's greeted by the innkeeper's wife. After a bit of small talks, she immediately points him a table in the center of the common room, where a man dressed of a light, leather armor is eating voraciously, not looking up as the innkeeper's wife tells him, “He's the Witcher!”, even though Jaskier is pretty sure that he's heard them very clearly.

Jaskier doesn't know what he was expecting. Not Geralt, but when his eyes lay on the Witcher's hair, he feels nonetheless a pang of disappointment when he notices that the colour is wrong, it's a too dark shade, not even close at the white strands Jaskier is so fond of. It's not even the brownish, gentle colour of Eskel's, and that is definitely not the chaotic head of Lambert. And he's never met Vesemir, but by the stories he heard, the Witcher is definitely not Geralt's mentor.

He blinks frenetically, but his eyes remain dry. He has half a mind to just turn around and forget about the unknown Witcher – right now, it's not strong enough to deal with the mess of another Witcher – but, the other half... the other half is curious. He wants to know who he is. He's been so lonely lately...

“I'll pay for what he eats.” he says then, to the woman in front of him, “Bring him another bowl of broth.”

“Want some, dear?”

Jaskier shakes his head, “I've already eaten, thank you.” he tells her, as he walks towards the Witcher that now is looking straight at him with a confused stare. He fidgets with a hem of his doublet, feeling a bit intimidated under the Witcher's unnerving eyes.

When Jaskier sits finally in front of him, he notices his medallion. The animal it represents is definitely not a wolf. “You're welcome.” he says, because he doesn't really know how to break the ice.

It works, somehow. The Witcher laughs, with a half seductive smile. “You must be the bard that lives here. There's this little girl that this morning talked my ear off about you, while showing me the way to the inn. She said you're funny and have a funny voice.”

Jaskier laughs. She must be the baker's daughter, the split image of her mother. “That must be me, yes.” The innkeeper's wife comes to them with two steaming bowls of broth, and ignores Jaskier splutters when one of the bowls is settled in front of him. She just looks at him, deadpanned, and makes a tactless remark about the weight he has lost lately, before turning back at her chores. “You're here for that child's parent's contract about a wolf.”

“That girl thinks it's a werewolf. And she's godsdamn right about that, at least.” the Witcher eyes at him through long, thick lashes. His eyes are of a strong yellow, they almost glow in the timid light of the torches. There is smudged kohl decorating his lids, it makes them bigger and more feline. They are like a black cat's. “She's wrong about you, you don't seem funny at all. You have no instruments with you, and I am not hearing a single song danced in miles. You're boring,” he grimaces, then, “And depressed. You're depressing me.”

Jaskier doesn't touch the broth, that's going cold under his nose. And really, as much as he's trying to be better, he can't deny those words. “Sorry for that. I... forgot my lute back at home.” he lies easily. His lute has remained untouched since Rinde, and now it's collecting dust inside his case under the bed. “My name is Jaskier, by the way. I was hoping–” what? What was he hoping to obtain? There is a Witcher in front of him and it's not from the Wolf's school. It's all a waste of time. “Nevermind. You're a Cat Witcher, and, I'll be honest, I haven't heard anything good about Cats. People say that you're cunning, and cruel. I, obviously, don't think it's true, because people say those things to all kind of Witcher, really,” he doesn't say that most of those things was Geralt that told him, “But I thank you for your services. If there's really a werewolf around here, it's... bad. It's a very bad... situation. Rarely we've had this kind of problem, here.”

“You know quite a lot 'bout Witchers, uh.” the Witcher pushes his empty bowl to the side, without lowering his gaze from Jaskier's face, “Name's Aiden. I'm a Cat Witcher, and I am usually cruel, if needed.”

Jaskier tries a smile, “Hopefully, we won't need it. I just wanted to tell you that here, you'll be... treated well. Not as a mutant, that is. They are used to Witchers, so no one will charge you more than needed for food and such, and they will pay you what is owed.”

The Witcher – Aiden – passes a hand against his lips, wiping the grease away with a swift move, “Good. I like when I'm payed fair and well. Now, this has been awkward enough so, if the master bard will permit it, I will head to bed. I spent all the day in the woods and found nothing, so if y'all are so cordial as you're saying, now I deserve a very good rest.” he says, standing up and stretching his long limbs. He's more lean and slender than the Witchers Jaskier knows, with less muscles and more agility, he guesses. I bet his cock is still smaller than Geralt's, Jaskier thinks, then, immediately after, he feels the urge to bang his head against the table.

Jaskier doesn't answer him, too occupied in try not to maim himself. But then, Aiden stop in his track and turns around enough to look at him again, contemplating something that Jaskier cannot read in his expression, “Now that I think 'bout it, I have another contract. Considering that I have to wait the next full moon to do anything with the werewolf, better get done with that too.”

Jaskier shrugs. It's not really his concern, after all. For a second, he has the impulse of telling him that, if only he needs it, he has some witchery potions back at his house. Just in case he hasn't enough supplies with him for both the contracts. After all, Geralt won't use them ever again. But, but something stops him to propose that: fuck, they're Geralt's, regardless of everything.

He won't give Geralt's things to anyone for any reason at all.

“The little girl hired me,” Aiden continues, with a grin. “She said that your house is haunted, because every night all the village hears wails coming from.”

Jaskier blinks, “That's... that's untrue.”

“She said that everyone is just ignoring that. Oh, it must be a very scared– correction, scaring creature living into your house.”

“There is no creature in my house! And no one wails in the night!” Jaskier snaps, incredulous. Whatever the fuck? “Well, I would know if there is something like that in my own house, I live there! There is nothing apart from me!”

Aiden raises an eyebrow.

Suddenly, hot shame creeps up Jaskier's chest, coloring his cheeks in an ugly red. “It's not me, Witcher.”

It's impossible. He doesn't cry since the day the townsfolk sent the pie to him. And during the night he, Gods, he just sleeps. He doesn't have nightmares, he has no reason to wail.

“Oh, I don't know. But worry not, bard, I am the monster hunter here, so I'll soon find out what lurks in your shadows, for very little compensation. See ya later, then!”

“Later?” Jaskier repeats, stunned. All he receives for an answer is the Witcher retreated back, and nothing else. He's totally been ignored, damn it. “Fucking hell.” he softly murmurs, even if all he wants to do is screaming for the terrible fate that has fallen upon his head.

He doesn't want another Witcher in his life. One – three, he lost them all – is enough, and he has already stomped on his poor, fragile heart, surely there's no need for another one to push his finger into the still fresh wound. Aiden will notices the evident presence – late presence – of a Witcher, from Geralt's old armors and weapons hanging on the wall, to the countless potions in the storage, and there will be questions, so many question that Jaskier still doesn't want to answer. And if he, indeed, is the one wailing during the night, he'll want to know the reason, and– and he doesn't want to explain himself. He feels so tired.

Dazed, he leaves a couple of coins on the table, next to the untouched, cold bowl of broth and gets out into the fresh evening air. He blinks while walking, not really acknowledging where he's going but pretty sure that his own feet are taking him home.

He thought he was feeling better. He thought that after a couple of months, he's made peace with what happened in Rinde, considering that it was no one's fault, considering that now Geralt is safer that he'll ever be with him, considering that all he wants is Geralt's happiness even if it's not with him. Sure, Jaskier's always been selfish, and he's always wanted everything despite it all, but– but he thought that with Geralt was different, that he was – is – more important than his foolish humanly desires.

And yet, Gods. And yet, here he is, sad and depressed, still waiting for Geralt to come home.

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read the rest on ao3!

#okay this is almost 30k of a self indulgent nonsense #geraskier #geraskier fic #jaskier/aiden #jaskier/aiden/lambert #the witcher fic #mine:fyccina #the link is under the cut obv #lambden #aiden x lambert #lambert/aiden #jaskier x geralt #jaskier x aiden #lambden fic

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Jaskier has started referring to the parts of his life as pre-dragon hunt and post-dragon hunt. He doesn't like to refer to the actual incident because he tries to think about it as little as possible, but even pretending like it didn't happen, his life post-hunt is nothing to brag about.

He's never really felt like he belonged anywhere; he didn't fit with his family, he annoyed most of the other kids his age - Oxenfurt may have been the only place he felt comfortable. But all of that changed when he met Geralt because he was just as fucked up as Jaskier is and no one had wanted him either and with him, Jaskier had elevated them both. And it was good, for a while. Or at least he had thought it was. He doesn't think much about his Witcher anymore. His heart aches to know that even someone who knew and understood the pain of not being wanted could throw him away so easily.

Evidently, Jaskier is entirely unlovable.

Which is fine, he tells himself. He can still charm his way through court and find people to keep him company for a time. And even if they too move on, he'll get by. After all, nothing could be as bad as losing someone you thought was a kindred spirit. Nothing could be as bad as losing your one true friend.

But he doesn't think about that anymore.

Except when he's composing. When he can't find the words because anything uplifting sounds false and falls flat on his tongue. The only words he can get to flow are dark and melancholy and they get him thinking about feelings and people he would rather forget. Only how could he? Whatever possessed Geralt to shun him after twenty-two years, Jaskier doesn't share it.

Maybe it's because witchers don't have emotions. Jaskier had thought that was some sort of line, but maybe Geralt is just good at pretending to feel after all.

The longer he spends alone, the more somber his writing becomes and the less people want to pay to hear it. The only thing they want to hear anymore is Toss a Coin and Jaskier can't bring himself to play that anymore. The only song about Geralt he can stomach playing is one he wrote for himself and he's not ready for anyone else to hear. Not that they would want to anyway, it's not as though it's any happier than the rest of his repertoire.

He travels for a while but eventually, without the coin from performing, he needs to find somewhere to settle for a while. Somewhere he can find some other job. No one wants a bard who makes people miserable, so he makes his way to Oxenfurt because it's the only other place he knows he can find work. And maybe someone there will be happy to see him.

He arrives mid-afternoon on a sunny day and while he receives a warmer welcome than he has in months, it still doesn't feel quite right. He and Geralt had something special and no amount of familiar faces will help him recreate that - especially if it was all in his head to begin with.

It feels good to have his position back as a professor and Jaksier enjoys the constant stream of people in and out of the college, but his happiness is hollow. So many of the people here who he once considered friends seem more like acquaintances in comparison to the closeness he felt with Geralt. Maybe he's being too picky; the people here are kind and accepting and much less often request to hear songs about the Witcher he made famous.

So Jaskier tries. He tries harder than he ever has before to fit in and to be accepted, but even as he tries, even as he considers changing things about himself it doesn't feel right. He doesn't only want to be accepted, but to be accepted for who he is. And he's not perfect, but who is? Certainly not any of the people who have abandoned him in the past.

Over the next few months, he makes a routine for himself. He teaches classes during the days and most nights in the evenings will go to the tavern to drink and talk. Occasionally, he can be convinced to play a song or two if he's had a lot to drink, but mostly he goes to watch and listen.

Then one night he's been having a bad day. He can't quite place what's wrong, but everything just feels off and he feels more alone today than he has in a long time. He makes it through the day and doesn't even return to his room before heading off to the tavern to sit alone in the corner with a mug of ale.

He realizes when one of the regulars casts a suspicious look in his direction, that this must be what Geralt felt like that first day so many years ago. All he had wanted was peace and quiet and a drink and instead, he had gotten Jaskier. No wonder he didn't have to think twice about getting rid of him. At least Jaskier doesn't have to worry about anyone approaching him tonight; the few other patrons seem to realize it's best to keep their distance.

He thinks back to a younger version of himself, fearless and fascinated, approaching Geralt of Rivia and demanding a review of his performance. Three words or less he had said and Geralt had given him three exactly. He frowns thinking about it now and his heart aches as though something is wrapped around it, squeezing the life from it.

A group of other professors comes in a little later and the crowd grows. A few people say hello, but no one stays to sit and no one really wants to talk. A young aspiring bard gets up and sings Toss a Coin and Jaskier decides it's time to leave.

He's not drunk, not really, but it seems to take him ages to get back to his room and when he does, he flops down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Every night he spends here, staring up at these same beams and he feels trapped. He misses lying out under the stars and staring up at trees that swayed in the breeze. Even now in the dead of winter, he would trade his comfort and safety for the freedom of traveling.

But what's the point in traveling alone?

For the first time in a long time, he lets himself think of Geralt. He thinks back on all the good times, on all the nights they spend out in the wilderness either out of desire or necessity and he thinks about playing music around the fire. Occasionally, Geralt would even sing with him if he knew the words and those nights were the best of all.

Jaskier aches to think of them now, to think of all they used to have and everything he wishes he could gain back. But Geralt made it inescapably clear that Jaskier is not what he wants and all he can do now is try to accept that.

When he falls asleep at long last, it's thinking about golden eyes and white hair tinged orange by firelight.

The next afternoon there's a commotion in town and Jaskier, wanting something to take his mind off things, goes to check out what it is. He regrets it the second he walks into the inn.

"Is it true the Witcher is here?" someone asks and Jaskier freezes in place.

"They said a witcher," someone corrects, "not the witcher."

"But it is him, isn't it?"

Jaskier doesn't wait around long enough to hear whether or not the consensus is that yes, it is Geralt, the great White Wolf. Jaskier retreats quickly, heading back to his room because if it is him, he doesn't want to see him. Even if it isn't him - not likely, with his luck - Jaskier's had enough of Witchers to last a lifetime, thank you very much.

He tells the few people he sees that he'll be writing and would prefer not to be disturbed before heading up to lock himself away in his room. They're happy enough that he's writing again that there's no hesitation in their agreement and Jaskier feels confident that he will be left alone. His confidence only lasts as long as the peace outside his bedroom door lasts.

Within the hour, there's some sort of argument taking place downstairs and while he wants to know what's going on, he keeps to himself. He has even started writing a little and he'd like to keep the flow going while he can. He ignores it for as long as he can, but then there's a knock on the door. Dreading who might be outside, Jaskier pretends not to hear.

The first two times, he pretends, but then the knock comes again and he sighs and heaves himself up from his bed. He crosses the room on unsteady legs and pulls the door open. He's expecting someone to be there asking him to come down and talk to the Witcher because it is Geralt. He's probably doing something unpleasant like walking around covered in guts or something. What he's not expecting is to open the door to the man himself.

Immediately, he shuts it again. Geralt pushes it open and steps into the room.

"No, no, no, no, no, I am not getting mixed up in whatever this is.

"There's nothing to get mixed up in," Geralt says and despite his best efforts, something inside Jaskier crumbles. It aches to reach out to him, to stand beside him again. Jaskier holds his ground.

"Good," he says, "then you can go." It takes every ounce of his strength, but he crosses to the door, brushing past Geralt and holding the door open for him.

Something in Geralt's face softens and Jaskier pretends not to notice, doing his very best to remain stoic. Geralt steps toward him and as Jaskier's breath catches in his chest, the door is pulled from his hands and Geralt shuts it behind them.

"I was passing through and I heard you were here," he says. Jaskier wants to ask where he's coming from and to where he's going that Oxenfurt just happened to land neatly between them, but he doesn't trust himself to speak. And while he's not trying to remain civil, calling Geralt out on a lie might not be the best course of action.

Geralt sighs, resigning himself to the lack of reciprocation and his shoulders slump. "I knew you were here," he admits. "I've been looking for you for months until I ran into a bard who recognized me and asked why I wasn't with you."

"Did you tell him it was because you decided you'd had enough of me?" Jaskier asks bitterly and Geralt shuts his eyes, breathing sharply.

"No. And that's not true."

"Right," Jaskier scoffs, "because that's why you tell people to leave. If life could give you one blessing, that's what you said."

"I know and I'm sorry." Jaskier's heart is pounding now, beating so quickly he's afraid it might burst, but he doesn't move, even when Geralt takes a step toward him. "Come back," Geralt says and Jaskier can feel every fibre of his being pulling him toward Geralt, but he won't give in so easily.

"You don't want me," he says, "you just don't want to be alone."

"I do. I was wrong when I said those things. I was angry and I took it out on you." Geralt looks at him, but Jaskier refuses to meet his eyes. They're both silent for a moment before Geralt reaches out, hesitating before pulling his arm back. "I miss you."

"Hm," Jaskier responds, not trusting himself with actual words.

"I think about you every day. When someone sings that god awful song or when it's too quiet in the dark at night. I miss having you around, I miss listening to you sing. I want you to come back."

Jaskier shuts his eyes and listens. Geralt has moved closer and if he was to reach out, even to just move his hand forward, he could touch him. He's been dreaming of this moment for a long time but it doesn't feel like he expected it to. He thought he would feel good, that everything would suddenly be fine, but he almost feels more hurt now than he did before.

"I'm sorry I never told you before. I'm leaving in the morning. If you want to come with me, meet me at the stables. If you're not there, I'll know you've made your choice." He turns and pulls the door, disappearing out into the hall and leaving Jaskier alone in the room.

He's overwhelmed and it takes a few minutes for him to even remember how to breathe. In his time alone, he'd forgotten the effect Geralt has on him, and worse, he seemed genuine about his offer. Geralt never says that much at once unless he's mad and he definitely didn't seem mad. He considers it for a moment because maybe he does want him back.

Alone in his room, he realizes there's only one option and he sighs, letting his arms fall limp at his sides.

"Fuck."

- - - - -

The sun is just rising over the horizon and Jaskier is anxious, wondering if he made the right decision. It's a matter of the rest of his life and finding somewhere he can belong and he doesn't know whether he has. He's quiet as the sun rises and down the road and he hears footsteps approaching and the familiar whinny of a horse. Jaskier sucks in a deep breath and one last time and cements his decision in his mind, just as a familiar figure approaches up the hill.

Geralt smiles at him, and Jaskier's heart melts despite himself. Next to him, Roach leans over the gate of her stall, nibbling at his hair and he thinks maybe he chose right.

"Did you really miss me?" he asks as Geralt comes closer.

"Yes," Geralt says, not slowing his stride as he approaches. He wraps strong arms around Jaskier's shoulders and pulls him close, resting his head against his. Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, returning the embrace and inhaling the Geralt's scent.

As he pulls back, he looks up at him and the faintest sliver of doubt creeps into his mind again. "Prove it," he says, stepping back and without a moment's hesitation, Geralt takes his face in his hands, closing the gap between them again and kissing him more tenderly than Jaskier thinks he's ever been kissed in his life.

His knees are weak and his eyes sting with unshed tears as he lets himself be bundled up into loving arms. When Geralt breaks away again, he presses his face into Jaskier's neck, breathing softly.

"Forgive me," he pleads and Jaskier couldn't deny him if he wanted to.

#geraskier #post ep6 #first kiss #rex writes #The witcher #Jaskier #Geralt

[andyet-here-we-are]

I Would Get Into Millions of Accidents Just to See You, Chapter 1

For @wolfgeralt as a little ‘thank you’ for his stunning art -which I really adore, you can see it here: (x)

and for @hecky-heckicravedeath (x) who gave me inspiration for this fanfiction. Also Thanks @3tothe1 for being my beta. (You’re such a sweetheart, and I love you so much)

Anyway,  I hope you like it, my dear Witchlings! 💛

I present you: NURSE GERALT!  

Chapter 1 Word Count: 2461

ao3: (x) 

Chapter 2 Tumblr link: (x) Chapter 3 Tumblr link: (x) Chapter 4 Tumblr Link: (x)

When Geralt arrives for his shift, still feeling exhausted from yesterday, he has no idea what’s waiting for him at the hospital. His days are never too ordinary because you never know what you’ll come across.

That’s a part of being a nurse.

But he could never think that one of the not-so-famous musicians, his daughter, Ciri adores, was going to have a terrible traffic accident—which somehow isn’t on the news—and end up in the hospital he works at.

He already knows his name since Ciri just can’t stop talking about how nice he is and how he sounds like an angel. To the point where sometimes Geralt wants to say “Okay he is wonderful, so kind and lovely and you really love him, I get it. Can you please just keep eating your pasta? Yes Ciri, yes, I know that pasta is his favorite food, you say that every time we’re having pasta. ”

Geralt isn’t there for his intake, apparently, the accident happened last night, and the musician was badly injured.

Jaskier has a ruptured spleen that caused internal hemorrhaging, which the doctors were able to repair. He also has a mild concussion, a couple of broken ribs, along with some cuts and a broken leg which he is probably going to need another surgery for.

Since the other nurse who was responsible for Jaskier last night,  is having some family issues and has to take his annual leave, Jaskier is in Geralt’s care now, they let Geralt know.

When Geralt is home, Ciri starts talking about how Jaskier hadn’t posted anything in two days, and how worried she is since Jaskier had promised them a new song, “He never breaks his promises,” she says.

Geralt thinks that keeping the fact that the young man was in a traffic accident to himself is a better idea.

***

Three days later, when Geralt cracks open the door to Jaskier’s room, the man still sounds asleep, his chest rising and falling with every slow breath he takes as the morphine keeps dripping into his system. It’s enough to keep him subdued, if not completely pain-free.

He checks his IV, and takes a few notes onto his clipboard, right before the musician comes to, his eyelids fluttering.

And damn if he hasn’t got the most breathtaking eyes he has ever seen in his whole life. Even when they lack the spark Geralt is sure they normally hold in them.

Jaskier is confused, of course. So he tells him about what has happened and clears his throat before speaking.

“Mr. Pankratz, I need to take your vitals and then give you some medicines for the pain, may I have your arm?”

“Hell you can, might as well take my poor heart that seems to be beating for—”  Jaskier flirts and coughs before he has the chance to finish, his voice is low and hoarse from lack of use.

Geralt makes no comments, and fills a cup of water for him instead, helping him to drink it. He is surprised by the musician’s flattering words, and he is also glad that he is good at keeping a neutral expression on his face.  

“…you.” He finishes. “Well, I would normally use the ‘am I dead and in Heaven?’ cliché, but, see,” Jaskier keeps talking after sipping some water “I’m in too much pain to think that I’m in heaven. You sure look like a sexy angel or something though.  Ohoho, are you gonna give me a sponge bath, too? Just wondering. If so, I’m totally down for it. Just so you know.”

Geralt can’t help but snort at that a bit, “Do you always talk that much?”

“Maybe it’s you who doesn’t talk enough, you ever considered that?” Jaskier teases, and then suddenly his whole playful expression changes like he remembered that he had left his cat on the stone, and he frowns to himself, “Oh God, three days you said? Shitshitshit,” he drops his head back onto his pillows in a way too dramatic manner, covering his eyes with one hand “I had promised them a new song,” the nurse hears him mumbling “I am such an idiot.”

Jaskier truly seems so disappointed in himself that Geralt feels the need of comforting him. The man had a traffic accident, for crying out loud!

And yet, he is concerned for his fans because he couldn’t keep his promise, rather than being worried for himself.

Not even an hour has passed since he had the chance to talk to the man, but he already can see why Ciri likes this guy that much.

“It’s not your fault that some idiot decided that running a red light and colliding with your car was a good idea,” Geralt says “don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Jaskier still seems disappointed, but he mumbles a silent 'thank you’ before he says “ you may be right, but I promised them.”

***

Days go like this: Jaskier keeps flirting with him every time Geralt steps into his room to check on him and give him his medicines. Geralt never flirts back because of obvious reasons, but he never tells him to stop either, even though he does judge him with his eyes now and then.

The moments Geralt can spend with the man is the most he feels happy at work.

He can’t even deny that at this point.

Ciri keeps asking him why he looks happier nowadays, and why he suddenly became clumsy all of a sudden because he loses his focus easily.

“Who is the reason behind your smile? I gotta know! C’mon, it’s not fair! Don’t leave me hanging like this!”  She insists, being the stubborn girl she is, and after a second she grins like cheshire cat “You’ve finally met someone special?”

“…I might have, pumpkin”  is his answer. “I might have.”

***

He doesn’t know why, but Geralt doesn’t like Thursdays. Well, it’s probably because everything bad has ever happened to him seemed to happen on Thursdays, usually.

And sadly, this Thursday is no exception.

Hank, a seventy years old man who has been here for more than a month, and who has been very ill passes away. Who he had become really close with and really cared about.

Jaskier catches his change of mood when he goes to check on him and simply says, “Talk to me. I mean, you don’t have to. But you look like you could use a friend. And I’m so bored of watching television anyway.”

So Geralt talks to him.

He talks about Hank, about how wise he was. He talks about how he has been working here for years but how it still affects him so much when someone passes away. How he doesn’t suppose to feel a connection with his patients, how terrible of a nurse that makes him.

“That makes you human, not a terrible nurse.” Jaskier assures him, his voice as gentle as always. “Believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Geralt isn’t sure when Jaskier’s hand finds his hand as they talk, and when his dainty looking, long fingers link with his; but the intimate gesture feels so natural, so right that he just lets him.

***

Jaskier has surgery for his right leg the next day, and it’s not the first time that Geralt hears his patients saying the most ridiculous things after their surgery, thanks to the sedation.

But oh boy, if Jaskier doesn’t take it to a whole new level.

“Maaarry meee, my dear nurse!” the musician yells, “we could make the most adorable babies together! One of them would have my voice, one of them would have your weirdly sexy brooding or something. One of them would have my…. my tongue?  Or eyes? Cheeks! Yes, cheeks. And the other would have your lips while the other would have your… DIMPLE! I love that cute dimple you have on your jaw! ”

Geralt laughs, because how can he not?

“That’s biologically impossible.” the nurse says. “Also how many kids you have in mind? That was awfully a lot.”

“Hmm, let’s see. Marie, Duchess,” Jaskier starts to count with his fingers, and he looks so damn adorable that Geralt finds it extremely hard to not just reach out and ruffle his hair. “Thomas O'Malley, Toulouse, and Berlioz. So, six!”

“It’s five, actually,” Geralt tilts his head to the side slightly and corrects him with a fond, little smile. “So… you’re planning to name your kids after The Aristocats?”

“Our kids, mind you. And I’m not straight, love. You can’t expect me to do the math, I don’t make the rules.”

Love.

He just called Geralt ‘love’

“He probably calls ‘love’ everyone,” the nurse reminds himself and swallows, not being able to focus on what Jaskier says for a minute or so. “You’re no special.”

But the way Jaskier utters that one word, makes him feel like he is lying to himself.

When he can finally focus on what he is saying,  Jaskier is still talking about the same topic.

“…and you should be grateful that I’m not planning to name them after Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! If we’re gonna have more than six, I’m totally doing that though.”

“Why Mr. Pankratz, we’re not even married yet. But I already don’t have a say in anything, it seems.” Geralt can’t help but tease with the young man in return.

Jaskier waves one hand weakly: “Don’t take this as my marriage proposal though, I’m better than that. If I were to propose to you I would do that in the most wonderful way. Roses, candles, and everything. Even fireworks.”

Geralt remains silent, so Jaskier talks again: “And ya know, joking aside, actually we couldn’t name them unless we adopted them when they were babies.”

“Why do you want so many kids?” the nurse wonders, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, growing up in a foster care system will do that to you,” Jaskier lets out a loud and somehow cute yawn.

Geralt knows that he wasn’t even supposed to ask that, and he shouldn’t even listen to Jaskier rambling about his life, which he won’t even remember after the sedative effect wears off.

But he can’t suppress his need of knowing more about him.

He just can’t.

“Wanna adopt as many kids as I can, so I can provide ’em a life filled full of love and everything they deserve. All the beautiful things in the universe. All the things I couldn’t have when I was a kid.” Jaskier admits, and his words make Geralt’s heart clench in his chest.

At that moment, Geralt is sure that he is falling so hard for the musician.

Maybe he already did.

“Don’t think that I’m not gonna name our dogs after them though. Or cats.” Jaskier mumbles. He looks like he is just two seconds away from falling into a deep sleep.

Right when he moves to leave, Jaskier grabs his hand as he softly, sweetly whispers, “Geralt, don’t leave me.” And he sounds so vulnerable, so weak that the nurse’s heart skips a beat in his chest.

Geralt would love to say that he doesn’t leave all night, but he has other patients he needs to check on, so he leaves.

But not before staying for five minutes as he holds the musician’s hand, and watches him fall asleep. Nobody needs to know, right?

***

The next day, Jaskier doesn’t remember most of the things he had said last night, but somehow he remembers that Geralt had stayed for a while.

That day, feeling guilty about yesterday, Geralt talks about his life.

“It’s only fair,” he thinks.

He talks about Ciri, and he lets the musician know how crazy his daughter is about him. That makes Jaskier smile at him warmly, but then again, his smile is always like this.

Warmer than the sun on a hot summer day.

Blushing, Jaskier hesitantly says that he would love to meet her. His big, baby blue eyes seem to be searching for something in Geralt’s eyes.

And Geralt understands that he finds whatever he was searching for when Geralt nods and says: “We would love that, too.”

***

“Look! Jaskier finally posted something!” Ciri says one morning while they are having breakfast, well, more like Ciri is having breakfast, and Geralt is just busy with his coffee since he is in a hurry.

“Hmm?”

“Wait, was this an ‘I’m Actually Curious About What You Have To Say’ type of ‘hmm’? Because it definitely didn’t sound like your usual ‘I Don’t Care’ type of ‘hmm’. Nice! That might be the first time you actually seem curious about what I have to say about him.” Ciri smiles, and lets out a sad, little “Oh.” After reading whatever Jaskier had posted.

“He says that he is having some minor health issues…”

Geralt huffs at that.

‘Minor health issues’

If what he had gone through is “minor” to Jaskier, Geralt doesn’t even want to imagine what “major health issues”  mean in his dictionary.

But he is sure that the only reason why the musician says “minor” is because he doesn’t want to worry his fans.

“‘I am in good hands though—I mean it, really really good hands—so no need to worry. Love you all, xoxo’ Hmm… I hope it’s nothing serious.”

The nurse looks at his daughter’s phone screen and the excessive amount of winking face emojis after ‘really really good hands’ part catches his attention.

He tries to hide his smile behind his black coffee mug.

And luckily, he succeeds.

***

A few days later, it’s time for Jaskier to be discharged from the hospital. And Geralt feels a bit sad about it, to be honest. Because he is already used to having the young man around.

To his never-ending flirting and jokes, to his smile, to his everything.

But the good thing is, that means that he will be no longer his patient.

Jaskier gives him his number before he leaves, and tells Geralt to call him whenever he is free.

“I’m totally getting into another accident and make sure they bring me here if you don’t call, Mr. Handsome Nurse,” the musician jokes in a low voice.

“We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Geralt smiles. “You can be sure that I’ll call, Jaskier. And we can even have some pasta maybe.”

It’s the first time that Geralt calls him by his first name, and the nurse can see how the other man’s smile widens when he does that, eyes sparkling.

“Wow. Now I have no doubt about how much Ciri talks about me,“ scratching the back of his head, Jaskier chuckles shyly, and it’s music to his ears. Ciri is right. He does sound like an angel.

"Till we meet again, Geralt. Till we meet again.”

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #jaskier x geralt #dandelion #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #the witcher fanfiction #nurse geralt au #I Would Get Into Millions Of Accidents Just To See You #my writing

[mordoriscalling]

The Shrike and the Lark (pt. 2)

Jaskier and Renfri are disaster twins ruling Creyden. When the Warlord of the North knocks at their door, Queen Renfri and King Julian are at an advantage - they know him. As in, they know him. (Inspired by the Warlord AU and “the heart is a winged beast”). 

(Pt. 1) 

Creyden, 1237

It does not start as a usual feast. Although all the elements of a good celebration have been provided – food, drink, music – the mood is anxious rather than festive. The court of Creyden is apprehensive of the witchers and one sorceress seated at the high table; no one but the King and the Queen talks to them.

King Julian chatters with the witcher sitting at his left, whose face bears terrible scars. His name is Eskel, of the Wolf School. The White Wolf’s right hand and second-in-command has an agreeable countenance; King Julian seems to be perfectly at ease as he speaks to him. The two are, in fact, so engrossed in their conversation that they scarcely take note of what is happening around them.

Julian and Eskel do not pay attention when Queen Renfri addresses the White Wolf – who is seated at her right and has been silent thus far – loud enough for many to hear.

“I must say,” she begins, “to the naked eye, you don’t seem to have changed at all since we last met, yet they're many things that are different about you now.”

“Is that so?” the Warlord inquires.  

“Oh indeed,” the Queen answers, “The last time I saw you, you were a man who adamantly refused to choose between evils. No evil was greater or lesser to you.” She regards the witcher closely and he watches her in the same manner. “And yet,” she goes on, “choosing what you deem the lesser evil is all you do now. Killing those in power to free the oppressed. A noble cause in a way, I admit –”

“But it’s still evil,” the White wolf finishes the thought.

Many ears are now listening in, and the white-haired witcher seems to be aware of it. He looks around, yet no one but Lady Yennefer sitting at his right dares to return his gaze.

Finally, he replies, “I must say I never expected to hear criticism of killing from the mouth of the Shrike. You seem to have changed your ways too.”  

“Only slightly,” Queen Renfri retorts, “I’ve never stopped seeking revenge, but now I find that reclaiming my birthright is a much sweeter way. I triumph every day, not just once.”

The Warlord considers these words for some time. When he speaks, he remarks, “Your Majesty leads an empty life, then. If revenge is all you breathe for.”

The Queen’s eyes flash with icy ire. “I am not some kind of monstrous creature that finds fulfilment in vengeance. Though the blessings of my life have been few and far in between, it is they that give me the most joy.”

The White Wolf inclines his head but does not say anything to this. Queen Renfri’s anger appears to have lessened now; as she reaches for her goblet of wine and lifts it up, her lips are quirked up in a gentle smile.

“Shall we raise a toast?” she asks. “To life’s blessings. To the good moments we experience, to the good people we meet.” She looks to her brother, who is now listening to her with a soft smile of his own. “To friends and family.”

“To life’s blessings,” King Julian toasts.

After everyone drinks to that, the Kings raises from his seat, which causes the musicians to stop playing. Eventually, the whole room hushes, waiting for him to speak.

“The Queen, in her wisdom, reminded us all of what we should cherish,” he says. “Following her advice, I would like to count my blessings. Thus, I wish to honour her... with a song.”

The court of Creyden raises a loud cheer. King Julian grins and leaves the high table, a skip in his step. As he joins the musicians to be given a lute, the White Wolf’s entourage looks upon him with bemusement.

It is not a fact well-known that King Julian used to go by another name. Even his own subjects can only guess what person he passed as, although to some, it is not a challenging riddle. Around the time Jaskier – a winner of the annual bardic competition, a troubadour renowned in all Northen Kingdoms for his craft – mysteriously disappeared, King Julian was crowned. Seeing the mastery with which the King wields his words, voice and lute, the puzzle is not hard to solve for those who know all the pieces of it. The Lark simply has never stopped singing; the difference is that now, he does so for fewer people.

When King Julian begins playing The Ballad of the Black Sun Princess, he quickly has his audience captivated. All eyes are on him as he dances around the tables, smiling and winking, telling the story of how Queen Renfri defeated the mage Stregobor.

With everybody’s attention on the King, no one takes note of how the Warlord leans in close to the Queen.

“That’s not how it happened,” he grunts.

Queen Renfri chuckles. “Jaskier has the advantage of being the author of the ballad. He likes making use of it.”

“That he does,” the White Wolf grumbles.

After the song ends and the applause dies down, King Julian asks, “Shall I sing another?”

A chorus of eager ayes answers him.

“All right then,” he decides, playfully surprised. “I’d like to dedicate this next song to our honourable witcher guests. They are, after all, friends of humanity. Though I think that we should refrain from tossing some coins.”

At this, the court of Creyden cheers uproariously. With a delighted laugh, the King starts singing Toss A Coin. Simultaneously, the White Wolf curses under his breath.

“Fuck,” he spats, with quiet despair.

The reaction draws a laugh from Lady Yennefer. “Don’t be so grumpy, Geralt,” the sorceress tells him, “the song is not that bad.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” Geralt replies, “it’s fucking terrible.”

Lady Yennefer shakes her head but does not chide her lord any more.

“I’d advise you not to insult my brother’s work,” Renfri warns, “not when it’s not deserved.”

“My criticism is not unfounded,” Geralt retorts, “Jaskier chose to portray the elves in an unfairly negative light.”

Renfri does not deny that. Instead, she says, “Now I understand why he called you his harshest critic.”

The White Wolf only hums in response. After a moment, the Queen fills the silence, “My brother talked about you. He mentioned your shared travels... and more.”

“I see,” Geralt replies.

“To be fully transparent,” Renri carries on, her tone hushed, “I also told him of our past... relation.”

Upon hearing that, Geralt’s gaze snaps to her, his eyes wide and his mouth parted. Renfri bursts into delighted, whole-hearted laughter.

“Don’t worry,” she reassures the witcher once her giggles do not take her breath away, “you’re in no trouble. It caused no quarrel between us. In truth, we only find it entertaining. Really, Geralt, you should see yourself! It’s a joy to tease you.”

“I’d appreciate if you stopped with your jest,” Geralt grumbles.

“We shall see about that,” Renfri answers.

“Renfri,” Geralt grits out, “let the past stay in the past.”

The Queen and the Warlord stare each other down for a moment. Neither seems willing to yield but in the end, Renfri relents.

"Very well," she agrees, and they speak no more of it.

King Julian’s performance does not end with Toss A Coin. The audience wants him to continue, so he goes on to play some jigs. A few pairs begin dancing to the music, and many others soon follow in their footsteps. Eskel and Lady Yennefer join the dancefloor, and so does Queen Renfri. The White Wolf remains seated, watching everyone make merry, his golden gaze often straying to the singing Lark.

When King Julian tires of playing, he leaves the musicians to provide entertainment while he himself rejoins the high table. Since his sister is still dancing, the seat next to the White Wols is empty, and Julian seizes that opportunity.

“Hello, the Warlord of the North,” he greets as he sits down at the witcher’s side.

The White Wolf grunts but does not deign the King with a reaction. Julian gives a disbelieving chuckle.

“You, a warlord,” he says, “I still find it hard to believe. You used to be such a peace-loving creature. One of the most passive, pensive men I’ve ever met.”

“And you, a king,” the Warlord counters, “You used to be a bird who fled at the slightest mention of taking any kind of responsibility. One of the most selfish, reckless men I’ve ever met.”

“Well, look at us now.” The King smiles wryly. The White Wolf does not respond to that. King Julian heaves a sigh. “What happened, Geralt?” he asks quietly.

For some time, Geralt is quiet, not sparing Julian a glance. When he answers, at last, he only says, “It’s a long story.”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Julian inquires.

Geralt seizes him with a heated look, as unforgiving as the surface of the sun.

“You know enough of my stories, Jaskier,” he growls.

Not waiting for a reply, Geralt gets up and goes to take part in the dances, partnering with Lady Yennefer. Hurt twists Jaskier’s features but he masks it quickly. When his sister returns to his side a few minutes later, he greets her with a smile that clearly has no humour in it. Renfri does not comment on it.

Read the rest on AO3

#myfic #geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #the accidental warlord and his pack #renfri & jaskier are disaster twins

[headtothecoast]

buzzfeed unsolved!geraskier

monsters do very much exist and geralt is still a witcher who is approached during the winter to join buzzfeed after their recent hire jaskier suggested he wanted to look at mysterious historical disappearances and monster lore and do a series on it. the problem is a lot of the information is false and they need help debunking online rumors. so jaskier finds geralts witcher service online (yen dealt with that, basically twisted his arm into having a website) and calls him asking if he’d be interested in doing the series.

hunting isn’t reliable work and having fairly steady income would be nice, even if the guy is a little annoying so geralt agrees to fact check except then jaskiers cohost gets sick (not what really happened to the guy before shane) and he asks him if he could please film an episode or two they were so close to finishing the first season for release and no one else knows the material so geralt agrees to that to.

and when he meets the guy face to face he’s wearing heels and looks a little embarrassed saysing sorry, one of the other series needed a guy to wear heels for a day and i’d already agree to the filming for their episode. hope you don’t mind.

and geralt definitely doesn’t mind because the guy looks good in heels and then geralt is being pestered about being a witcher and wow your hair and eyes, you look like a -

and geralt waits for the word monster with clenched teeth but it doesn’t come

- model! seriously, i’m surprised no ones tried to scout you before...

and while geralt doesn’t exactly listen to the rest of that, he is relieved that the guy isn’t scared of him.

so they get mic’d up and jaskier is explaining how it’ll go and that usually there’s some banter back and forth so if geralt has any thoughts on what he’s talking about to please interrupt him because it’ll lighten what they’re talking about for audience you know and geralt nods and they’re ready to begin.

so jaskier is setting the scene and doing a voice over that is downright lyrical and he’s talking about information on vampires and that the family thought to have gone missing because of one bought several pounds of garlic and geralt snorts quite loudly and jaskiers like what, not enough garlic?

and before he knows it geralt is saying, no it’s just i know who started that rumor, friend of mine knew a guy who was allergic so when he went around complaining about vampires trying to find him by friend told him to fill his house with garlic.

were there actually vampires after him? jaskier asked, smiling.

oh hell no, the guy was anemic. vampires and witcher’s can smell that from miles away, he was having us on and lambert decided to give him a taste of his own medicine.

and the rest of the episode goes like that, geralt reading stories and jaskier commentating and asking questions and between takes geralt asks jaskier why he was so interested in monsters.

well, originally it was because of the songs. you know, the factually inaccurate but beautifully written ballads about werewolves and vampires and harpies and i wondered how much was true? buzzfeed didn’t like that so instead we changed it to more disappearance type stuff because apparently i get too sucked into musical theory... and geralt has no doubt that’s the case.

little by little they become friends. jaskier invites geralt out for drinks and geralt invites jaskier to his house to see the remains of recent kills so jaskier can make the episode more real.

when the first season is released jaskiers cohost quits for unrelated reasons and jaskier is heartbroken, going to geralts house unannounced and crying because he had thought it was good and now no one else would do it with him and before he’s aware of what he’s doing geralt is agreeing to do the series with him. so long as it doesn’t interfere with hunts and jaskier is hugging him and geralt offers to make dinner and that’s that for the night.

except people love the series and it has an almost overnight following and yes some youtube comments are mean but most people love geralt and his dry humor and jaskier for his bright personality. and sure, sometimes jaskier will read a comment about being over talkative or geralt will find the comments calling him terrifying and monsterous but they always make sure to send each other the good ones.

and maybe during the off season of shooting jaskier has plans to visit geralt but is a little early and doesn’t think he’d mind but when he lets himself in geralt is shirtless and has a nasty wound in his shoulder and is just continuing to bleed so of course jaskier rushes over panicked and helps him stitch himself up and lays him out on the couch because there’s no way he could carry him upstairs so he sleeps on the other couch and prays for geralt to be alright.

and in the morning someone opens geralts front door and it’s a woman with bright blonde hair who’s smiling as she lets herself in and says sorry didn’t mean to wake you, i forgot my laptop and i have a group project later. tell dad to call me when he wakes up so i know he’s alright. thanks for patching him up, when i was over last weekend he told me all about you so it was nice to meet you jaskier and then she’s gone and jaskier is sitting dumbfounded because he didn’t know geralt had a daughter

and geralt is sitting up and looks confused but relaxes when he sees jaskier and says you know i meant to tell you about ciri but it really never came up. i don’t see her mother very often and she spends most of her time there. thank you for fixing me up last night, didn’t realize there’d be two and then he’s standing and jaskier is rushing to sit him back down you could have died did you know that? and geralt is smiling lightly as jaskier talks about how worried he was and oh goodness you must be hungry i’ll bring you something but melitele above don’t you dare stand up again until after breakfast

and then that’s just how things are with them spending the night at each other’s places between prep work for the show and jaskier patching geralt up on hunts until one day jaskier brings up the next topic of the show and geralt freezes.

see, there’s this story about someone called the butcher of blaviken, killed almost 40 men and there’s rumors about what type of monster it was but - geralt? are you okay? geralt!?

and geralt doesn’t realize he’s leaving until he’s in his car and jaskier is calling him but he shuts his phone off and just he couldn’t handle hearing jaskier call him a monster or reliving what had happened.

and thankfully jaskier gives him a day all to himself and doesn’t call him or show up at his place or anything and geralt tries to push those memories out of his head but fails and decides to sleep it off and when he wakes up he can smell something cooking and goes downstairs to see yennefer making breakfast like she had when they were married and his chest feels tight but he sits down and waits for the explanation.

so ciri called me last night saying that a friend of yours, glad you have one of those by the way, had called her crying and saying you had left his place looking upset and you wouldn’t answer your phone and it was maybe something he said about blaviken so she called me. i know you’ve got that little youtube show going and i can only imagine that what this is about but geralt, you can’t keep running from it forever. and her smile is soft like it used to be before they just stopped talking like they used to and he lets himself remember how he’d loved her and he gets up from the table and says thank you yen, for breakfast and gives her a hug which startles her and when she leaves it’s only after geralt texted jaskier to come over to talk

and jaskier comes over anxious and sad and geralt tells him everything about renfri and blaviken and stregobor and jaskier listens quietly and at the end geralt’s face is tucked into jaskiers shoulder and he’s crying and jaskier is telling him they don’t have to do that episode ever and he’ll throw out the file and oh geralt i am so sorry, you’re not a monster sweetheart, it’ll be okay i promise

and whenever people tweet out mean things about geralt on social media jaskier goes feral and doesn’t care about the ramifications and geralt starts to lighten just a little and then one night they’re at a bar and someone sneers at him and jaskier lays the guy out, breaks his nose and geralt is hauling him out of the bar saying what the hell were you thinking you could’ve been arrested jaskier and jaskier isn’t even listening he’s still shouting at the man but he looks and geralt and says serves him right the bastard - i’m not letting people say that shit to you anymore, melitele knows you don’t deserve it. you’re the best man i know geralt you don’t deserve to be treated like shit if i want to punch someone i’ll damn well punch them because no one gets to -

and geralt cuts him off with a kiss because never has someone cared this much, to be angry over the words of others and to resolutely stick with him and defend him. and when jaskier kisses back geralt knows he’ll do anything to keep this man at his side.

#geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #jaskier #the witcher #yennefer #cirilla of cintra #buzzfeed unsolved #buzzfeed unsolved!geraskier

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

oh, but you’re good to me

the wench and the witcher

"oh, but you’re good to me”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Black!OFC - Zahra Auberel. Platonic!Jaskier x Zahra.

Summary:  Midaëte brings the height of summer, and a reconciliation. 

Warnings: Rated Mature due to brief mention of sex. Please don’t interact if you are under the age of 18.

A/N: Well, what started as a simple reader insert character grew into a fully-formed OC through the course of this series. And now we have reached the end! Well, mostly. I have some random outtakes and drabbles that I’m sure will crop up, but my (eventual) multi-chapter will feature Geralt and Zahra as they navigate some... interesting magical developments. 

But, for now, I call this the end of The Wench and The Witcher. Thank you guys so much for your kind words, reblogs, likes - this is honestly the most I’ve written in years and knowing that y’all have enjoyed it warms the cockles of my heart. Title and lyrics under the cut from Hozier’s “Would That I” which I think might be my favorite Hozier song full-stop, hands down. 

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @owillofthewisps​ - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty​ - @wastingmypotential​ - @inber​

With each love I cut loose, I was never the same Watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame I was fixed on your hand of gold Layin' waste to my lovin' long ago

“Contracts from the butcher and the miller,” Lucja rattles off. “And Jaskier returned your message – says he’s very much looking forward to performing for the solstice festival.”

 She gives a hum as she thumbs through the stack of papers on the desk. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you, as well,” she teases.

 Lucja’s pretty round face goes pink, making her employer grin. The older woman pauses when she finds an unfamiliar piece of folded parchment among the stack of invoices. Slim brown fingers unfold the sharply folded letter and suddenly her heart is in her throat. “Lucja… where did this come from?”

 “Oh… it, ah, came with Jaskier’s reply. Do you want me to get rid of it?”

 Though half-tempted to let Lucja burn the letter, she bites her lip and shakes her head. “No,” she murmurs. “Thank you, Lu’ – that will be all.”

 Her young barmaid flashes a sympathetic smile and closes the door behind her. The neatly looped scrawl of the letter makes something around her heart ache. She’d always been surprised by how tidy the Witcher’s handwriting was:

 I don’t

 This isn’t what

 I’m not – fucking shit fuck 

 The first time I saw you, it was like walking into the light of the sun after half a lifetime in the cold. And it was so fucking cold that night.

 You were like summer.

 It’s cold again now, without you. I don’t know what I’m doing

 Two weeks later:

I wanted want wanted to bring you to see Kaer Mohren. I know you said you like the ocean more than the mountains, but I think this place could change your mind. You would get on with Eskel like a house on fire. He’s more of a southerner, like you.

 I told him about the time you tried to teach me to cook and he nearly pissed himself laughing.

 Lambert’s a shit. Vesemir already likes you.

 You’d like it here. The kitchen is nearly as big as the whole front room of the tavern. Library’s bigger.

 Garden’s a fucking nightmare, though.

 We could go to the ocean, too. Anywhere you want.

 The missives don’t come with any real regularity. A few at a time, a week-long gap, but they never stop. She thinks about writing back, at first, but deciphering where the Witcher is would likely be impossible and… gods, she’s still so damned angry. The White Wolf receives no reply.

Regardless, the letters keep coming.

 The thing is, I don’t know what else there is besides The Path - this life of slaying monsters and getting paid in coin. I was told that was all I needed and I believed it for a very long time. There was nothing to challenge that, not until I met you.

 You were are so fucking beautiful. And warm, and bright, and vulgar, and kind, and a pain in my ass and I should have told you how much you meant to me, but I couldn’t parse it out until just now, and I am an idiot. And a coward. I thought that telling myself you were an amusement would be enough, that I would be content with warming your bed, but I can’t do that anymore. I can’t keep lying about how much I need you.

 I need you, Zee. It feels like I’m missing my fucking sword arm.

 The words on the page blur together. She brushes them with her fingertips, almost smiling even as the tears catch in her lashes:

 I miss the way you laugh at Jaskier’s dirty songs.

 I miss the way you used my legs to keep your feet warm at night.

 I miss that fucking rabbit stew.

 I miss the way you’d look at me when I walked in the door.

 I miss the sounds you make when I’m inside of you. The way you taste.

 I miss your eyes. And your smile.

 Your voice. Your terrible fucking singing.

 You are my home. You’re my harbor and my safe haven.

 I love you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.

   ---

Midaëte approaches. With it, a week’s worth of festivities, and food and drink, leading up to the day of the solstice. It means early mornings in the kitchen and late nights in the tavern. The evenings are balmy, windows and doors thrown open to allow the scent of summer air and night-blooming flowers to drift through.

 For a time, she is so busy that she forgets to be heartsore. Geralt’s letters – page after yellowing page – sit tied with a gold ribbon in her desk drawer. Confessions and apologies, promises and rambling stories that she keeps picking up to read again and again. It’s a veritable book, more than he’d ever seen fit to say in person and she’s not sure whether to be infuriated or hopeful, but there’s barely time. Thank the gods.

  Business booms, between trades-folk coming in for the market day, then musicians, then families. She drinks a little, dances when there is time; she lets Lucja weave tiny yellow purple flowers into her hair for Midaëte Eve and dresses in white and yellow to enjoy the evening. Or try to, at least. The main room is full almost to bursting, patrons laughing, carousing, and eventually spilling out into the courtyard to dance in the falling dusk.

 Zahra watches from the doorway. A few try to tempt her into the circle for a reel and they receive a grateful smile with her refusal. Jaskier, however, will not be deterred.

 “You, dear lady,” he croons. “Look too lovely to be hiding in the shadows.”

 “Jas…”

 “One dance. Just one – you might even have fun by mistake.”

 She rolls her eyes, but the bard just grins and lifts her hand for a kiss. He leads her, hand-in-hand out to the courtyard; Jaskier gives a nod to his fellow players and they begin with a sharp beat that eases into a lovely, familiar melody.

 “You know this one, ducky?” Jaskier queries with a smile. She nods and he takes the lead.

 It’s a simple step, to start with. A sweet back and forth to match the sweet, flowing verse of the song. The touch of Jaskier’s hand on her low back offers guidance, keeps her moving in gentle circles around him until the real movement begins. Swinging, agile steps carry Zahra and her partner around in wide loops. The mingle with other dancers, threading hands to spin back together and then apart.

 Jaskier grips her waist across the front, and she follows suit. The dizzying spin turns the world into a wash of summer colors for a moment and she can’t help but laugh. It feels good to be light again.

 The bard turns her under his arm and into the hands of the next man. There’s a moment of hesitation, a moment where she considers bowing out and going back to her corner, but the tabor still thrums in her blood and it’s such a beautiful night.

 Still smiling, she curtsies, and is lead back through the steps again. Her partner leads easily, light of foot and loose of tongue – from her ale, more like than not – but he’s kind, and sweet, and so funny that she’s nearly in tears when she’s suddenly spun away to her next partner. She catches the fabric of her skirts to add a flourish to the spin; the soft yellow cotton dances with her.

 When spins to a stop, she sees black, at first. Matte black buttons, black tunic shirt – worn, but cleaner than it usually is. The silver wolf’s head medallion sparks in the torchlight.

 Zahra looks up into the face of Geralt of Rivia and the music goes dull behind the roar of blood in her ears. It feels a bit like standing on a ledge cliff and looking down to gauge the fall. She feels dizzy, and terrified, and wonderfully breathless. Heart in her mouth, she spies Jaskier out of the corner of her eye.

 The bard grins. Bastard.

 “Zahra…”

 The Witcher’s voice rumbles through her like soft summer thunder. Strong fingers grip hers, and he lifts her knuckles to his lips. His honey-gold eyes are more earnest and honest than she’s ever seen them – he asks the question without moving his lips. Zahra nods.

 Geralt leads her in the dance and everything falls away.

  She hears the music, feels it sing through her, but her focus remains on the white-haired mutant at her side. His hand spans her back, warm through her dress and stays; the lightest pressure of his fingertips, or palm, guides her to turn, or step, or pivot in time with him. It shouldn’t be surprising to her, how well he moves – she’s seen him fight, and his grace with a sword, and how would dancing be any different?  He doesn’t look away from her once and the heat of his gaze flushes over her. The Witcher very nearly smiles.

 Geralt turns her under his arm, guides her through the last few measures of the song. He steps away, takes his warmth with him, and bows. Zahra curtsies in return.

 The crowd, the rest of the world, rushes back over them. The townsfolk whistle, and stomp, for a moment determined to swarm in and start up another country dance, and Geralt grips her hand tight for a moment. She sees him hesitate before he asks, simply, “Can we talk?”

 Most of the party has spilled into the streets, leaving the tavern itself practically empty. Lucja still keeps to her spot behind the bar, green eyes going wide when she spies Zahra and her guest in tow. The girl’s pretty face splits into a knowing smile that makes Zahra’s face go hot.

 It’s mostly dark in her study. The small hearth fire has gone to smoldering embers, and it gives her the opportunity to light a few candles and collect her utterly scattered thoughts. She flicks out the last taper and finally looks up at Geralt. He stands just inside the closed door, just as he used to. It’s familiar – it feels like it’s been years, or decades, or maybe just a few hours. His honey-colored gaze still holds a heat that sings over her skin. She drops her eyes to the desk.

 The last letter sits there, creased and folded from how many times she’s read it. Zahra picks at the parchment. Keeping her focus on Geralt’s neat lettering seems easier than looking at the Witcher himself. “Did Jaskier put you up to this?” she teases half-heartedly.

 Geralt exhales on a chuckle. “Something like. Threatened to garrote me with a lute string.”

 She smiles, in spite of herself. When she lifts her head and meets his eyes, it takes a moment to catch her breath. For a few heartbeats, she simply stares. Gods, he is still so beautiful. She swallows hard and feels her throat go dry.

 “Did you mean what you wrote?” she asks.

 “You know I did, Zee.”

Gold eyes go guarded again. He doesn’t go totally cold, but she can see the way he builds up his walls to prepare for the worst. He steps forward. Second-guesses – stops.

 “What I do – what I am – I can’t change it,” he rumbles. “I’m still a Witcher, Zahra. A mutant. I can’t… I can’t give you normal, sweetheart – ”

 “Gods, Geralt - fuck normal.”

 ---

 “Fuck normal.”

 She says it with such passionate certainty that it startles a laugh out of him. The soft yellow of her skirt floats like woven sunlight around her legs. Like the sun, it almost hurts to look at her, but fuck all, that’s all he wants to do. He watches her face, watches her chew her lip; feels his slow pulse try to speed up when she steps closer. His fingers itch to curl around her waist.

 “I never asked for normal, Geralt,” she whispers. The way her voice cracks pulls tight around his heart. “I don’t want normal. I want you. That’s it. Can… can you give me that, or no?”

 The Witcher’s footfalls carry him to her. He studies her face; re-acquaints himself with the curve of her cheek and the dimple that presses there. She all but melts into his touch when his thumb brushes her cheek. He pulls her into the circle of his arms. She’s still soft, and warm; he closes his eyes, feels his muscles go lax with relief when she holds fast, locking her arms around his back. Geralt presses his face against the smooth curve of her shoulder.

 It feels like stepping into the light of the sun after ages in cold and rain. “I love you, Zahra,” he breathes.

 Her soft, tearful laugh settles warm into his heart. “I love you, Geralt.”

 He gives a pleased murmur, lets the tip of his nose trail lazy circles over her shoulder. When he inhales, the warm, soft smell of her skin eases back into his lungs. From shoulder to neck, the Witcher draws in slow breaths and ghosts his lips over the exposed skin he finds until Zahra shivers. “What are you doing, Witcher?” she whispers, breathless.

 “Hmm… taking your scent back,” he mumbles. “I missed this smell.”

 His lips ease along the shell of her ear. She still gasps when he nips at the crux of her jaw. “I missed you, love,” he growls.

 Geralt takes his time. He savors the smell and the taste of her skin, humming lowly when Zahra’s hands grip at his back. The sweetness of her begins to bloom with heat, with the richness of desire – want – and when he sets his teeth gently against her pulse point, she moans delicately.  Insistent fingers tangle in his hair; she whispers his name and pulls him to her lips. She kisses him like a woman starved and it feels like his heart might thunder its way free of his chest. He lifts her onto the edge of the desk and comes to stand between her parted thighs, gathering the soft yellow cotton of her skirts up. Her fingers yank at the buttons on his trousers.

  It’s a quick, desperate of coupling. Mingled breath and bitten off sighs – greedy kisses with fingers gripped in the front of his shirt. She flutters hotly around his cock with a whimper and a curse. He groans against her mouth when he comes. Zahra drinks down the noise with a grin on her lips.

 Geralt stays put for more than a year. It’s good.

 The Path still calls, and he still follows, but she finds she’s able to let go of the fear. It’s no longer a question of ‘if’ but ‘when’ in terms of Geralt’s return. And if he knows it’s going to be a long journey, or if the mood simply strikes him, he writes -

 I miss you.

 I love you.

 Sometimes no more than a line, sometimes full paragraphs – even pages –  but he always tells her when he plans to return. When he’ll be home.

 It’s nearly spring next time he rides back in, market day in full swing as he passes through the township gate with Roach at his side. Vendors call their wares, families and merchants wander the stalls as he peers out from the shadow of his cloak. He finds the trail of Zahra’s scent past the cloying smell of cut flowers and rounds to corner to find her chatting with the butcher’s daughter.

 The younger woman catches his gaze. Geralt watches the girl grin and give his woman – his woman – a nudge, nodding in his direction. Zahra is already smiling when she turns, and the Witcher has the pleasure of watching her face flash from surprise to joy in the space of a heartbeat. She moves to him, a walk that becomes a jog, and then a final sprint that launches her into his arms. He curls his free arm tight around her waist. Immediately, he has his face pressed to her hair. Zahra’s laughter rings softly in his ears when she draws back, just enough to look up into his face.

 At her throat, the polished wolf’s tooth is bright against her brown skin. “Welcome home, my love,” she murmurs.

 The greeting settles warm over him like the sunlight. Geralt pulls her close again, kissing her in full view of half the town. She shivers sweetly in his arms and pulls her fingers through his hair. He hears a wolf-whistle, and a smattering of applause that makes Zahra giggle against his mouth.

 “People are staring,” she teases softly.

 He smirks. “Let them,” he tells her before kissing her once more. She tastes of clover honey.

 She smells of sunshine.

 She feels like home.

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