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bloodycassian · 3 years

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COLD NIGHTS - Cassian x Azriel x Reader - Prompt:

hi i love your work so much!!! I was thinking a cassian x azriel x reader (i just love them sm, why have one when you can have two ) where the reader is sister of a high lord maybe day or winter court, and reader goes missing (kinda angsty) and her brother (a high lord) panics and goes to the night court for help (bc if her two bat boys can’t find her who will) and az and cassian go full on panic mode and search for the reader, i was also thinking a fluffy cute ending where reader is just cuddling with azriel and cassian while her wounds heal take as much time as you need to write this, don’t pressure yourself. Take care lovely

Kallis would never forget the screams. The terror and panic that rushed through him when he realised that you were gone. He sent half the city to search for you. He called upon Helion to inspect the magic. He was frantic in finding you. But it was like you had just disappeared out of nowhere. No sign of struggle, not a drop of blood spilled. The offender was sloppy in their ways, but their magic was strong. Helion could sense it. They had a deathwish from Kallis himself if he ever found them. + The first thing you saw were your cracked and bloody hands. They were split open from the dry cold wind. Sea air drifted into the cave. The cold brutal howling outside mixed with the roar of waves breaking confirmed your nightmares. Cape Tragedy.

The islands off the coast of winter were known for their unforgiving nature to ships. Hence their name, Cape Tragedy. Also known as the Tragic coast, no stories were ever heard of any survivors of those crashes. If they had managed to survive the churning water, then the false salvation of the islands would kill them. It happened often enough that there were lighthouses set atop many of the bigger islands for ships to avoid on stormy days.

You coughed from the dry air, earning a pair of yellow eyes to dart to you. One of the three lesser fae males noticed you were awake and clapped. "She wakes! We've been waiting for you, sweetheart." His green skin was pale in the overcast light streaming in from the mouth of the cave. Snow Bear pelts lay all around. A disgrace in your culture. No citizen of Winter court would do such a thing. You looked to the walls to find weapons, and strange markings along the stone. Sailors from far away lands.

Not even sailors. Pirates. A chill ran through you.

"We're going to get your weight in gold, pretty one." The scaled male curled a piece of your hair behind you ear. Your stomach turned, and you tried to scoot away. "My brother will kill you first. And he'll take a long time doing it." You promised, trying to make your voice sound strong. Terror had you by it's grip though, and it was hard to do anything other than panic

. "Your brother? The pretty one that shears the Elk?" The green one asked. You laughed, and then were hissing in pain when the scaled male yanked on your hair. "What's so funny?"

"You think my brother is an elk herder?" You spat "You must be dumber than you look." The males glanced between each other, then to the one who hadn't said anything yet.

"Who ye think you are then?" The male holding your hair stammered, trying to keep his panic under wraps.

"Kallis' sister." You said with deadly calm. "And the high lord does not negotiate."

"If you're so noble why you got such a mouth on ye?" The third male finally spoke.

They laughed.

"Maybe we will see just how much of a mouth-" He started again. He didnt have a chance to finish his disgusting words. You kicked, bending an ice spear straight up from the rocky ice floor and through the third male's body. Then the beating from the other two came.

They bound your wrists and ankles in rope and tar. Their hands shook when they did it. It gave you a small bit of satisfaction. The potion they gave you to knock you out was just barely strong enough. You fought it as best you could, but it won. You could only hear the faint sounds of arguing then a crash of glass, then the cold winds whipping around you. And when you woke, your body ached. The cold bit into your limbs. Your fingers were pale. Far too pale to be healthy. You knew frostbite when you saw it. Your body refused to move under your own power. Your blood was frozen to the icy ground. They had used a potion and transported you to a peninsula, and you could only faintly hear the ocean below. You could feel the potion wearing off, but you knew you weren't healing. Not yet. You reached down into your own mind, picking up the fading tendrils of power. Of your bond to the two you knew could save you. And you pulled as hard as you could manage. --- "Fuck." The roaring thought shook Cassian awake. Bleary eyed, he glanced about the room as if there was someone actually shouting at him. Then he felt it. The weak tug that had been silent for so long. And he knew it was nothing good. Frenzied, he met Azriel at the dining area. Where they spent the rest of the night planning, deducing a probable reason for you to be calling so weakly. They sent their worries to Rhys, but they were shooed away. "I'm researching. Meet me in the library at dawn." The two males tried to comfort each other. But the worry pulsating through the bond was too much to focus on. So they waited. Kallis appeared that morning. He spat his story and begged for help, practically in tears as he spoke to the three Illyrians. Cassian and Az knew something was wrong the moment you were attacked. Court laws forbade them interfering on Winter Court territory though. As soon as the approval was given, the brothers winnowed to the border of Winter and started flying. + You were coming to terms that you would die in the cold. You had imagined death differently. Battle was the primary way you thought you'd die. Or at the end of a High Lord's magic for being too much of an advisor. Smiling at the memory of putting Tamlin in his place, you gave another tug down the bonds to your mates. And like a snap, they both tugged back. Almost in unison. It was hard to tell. You closed your eyes, listening to the soft waves below. They lulled you into a cold sleep yet again. + Despite the cold, the Illyrians flew as fast as they could. They could sense your light fading, and chased it for mile after mile. Their wings cut through the harsh winter winds, fueled by rage and desperation. Then they spotted the dark figure frozen to the snow below. Cassian landed first, a few feet away. The ice cracked beneath him. "Get us out of here." He growled to Azriel. "We need to make sure she's okay before we move." Cassian growled, but didn't protest. Azriel understood. He felt the anguish and frustration through the shared bond. Az's hands pressed gently to your neck, checking your pulse. He swore. "Baby, we need you to wake up for us. We're here. We got you." Cassian put a hand to your cheek and fought back the tears that threatened. You groaned in response. They both sighed in relief, their breath making clouds in front of them. "I'm stuck..." You managed through your stiff jaw. Cassian stroked a thumb over your cheek. "Stuck? Honey you're-" "Cas..." Azriel nodded to your side, to the ice that crept its way up your damp clothes. Azriel could have taken a very very long time torturing the beasts that did this to his mate. The rage coiled in his gut at the sight of your injuries. The only reason you hadn't bled out was the blood and water mix turning your wounds to ice. Cassian pulled at the ice web that encapsulated you. Under the heat of his rage it broke, and broke and broke. Azriel placed small patches of his shield over your frostbitten fingers. "We're gonna get you out of here. Just stay still." Azriel smoothed back your hair, and darkness swirled over you. The change from the harsh overcast light of Winter court to the soft sun of Night court was jarring. Madja put her hands on you and you were asleep in an instant. Her warm hands were a blessing from the Mother. + "She's lucky she has that Winter blood in her or she'd be dead." Madja wiped her hands off and handed both the Illyrians a small vial. "That is the scrap from a poisoned sword that broke off in her shoulder. I got all the pieces out, but the poison lingers. It may heal slowly, but it should get better." Anguish burned both of their stomachs. Azriel's throat tightened and he looked away, but gripped the vial tightly. Cassian stared at it, his eyes murderous. Madja left without another word. "She was almost killed. And we couldn't do anything." Cassians' voice was low, with violence dripping from it. "We need her here. In Velaris where we can... watch her." He didn't know what he was saying, but the instinct to protect was overriding every other logical thought he had. Anger burned and burned in his stomach, swallowing him with rage. He could feel Az mirroring the same feeling, but with a cold deadliness that begged to simmer out of him. "You know she wont go for that. She loves her home too much. Her brother." Azriel whispered back. "We're her mates. She should be with us." Cassian was looking for a fight. All the tension and anger of the day had to be worked out. Azriel felt it too. His shadows ran anxiously through the room.

The wind outside howled. It shifted the dark clouds that covered the moon. It seemed to be a cold day in all of Prythian. A cold day in your mates hearts to the pirates that had taken you. They spoke their rage mind to mind, imagining the ways to torture the bastards.

How to find them would be the first priority. Azriel kept circling back to that part. + The healer cleared his throat at the door. "She's asking for you." He nodded to Rhys' brothers. They left Rhys behind in unison, walking in perfect step with each other. Their minds hummed together over that bond they shared with you. "Protect protect protect." They both seemed to demand. Azriel knocked softly, his heart flipping when he heard your voice again. "Get in here." You demanded, giving them a broad smile when they practically shoved each other out of the way.

"Come keep me warm." You weakly folded the blanket back, exposing some of the bruising on your skin.

They complied with enthusiasm. Azriel's hands were cold at first, but they got better when he reached around you to hold Cassian closer. They worked in tandem to keep you covered, making sure that you weren't too crowded or too warm. Azriel summoned his cool shadows when you got too warm and had to kick the blankets off. Cassian's warm breath would keep you warm when they became too much. You traced Azriel's cheekbones, the sharp edge of his jaw while falling alseep. Cassian's muscled forearms hugging you from behind were like a heavy pillow.

"Rest now, we can have more fun later." Az winked, making your stomach flutter. Cassian groaned and pulled you further to his lap. You tried not to think of the hardness that pressed to you now. "Goodnight." The shadowsinger kissed your forehead and like a light, you were out. Finally resting peacefully wrapped between your two mates and their warm bond you all shared.

#acotar fic #azriel x reader #cassian x reader

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littlesniggy · 3 years

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Hayho Sniggy! I would love to request a scenario or Headcanons for Izo and his female partner, some romantic fluff please! How would there relationship look like? Or maybe you want to add something with promt idea "(heavy) make out"?

Thanks a lot!! (◍•ᴗ•◍)

Hey! Thank you so much for requesting again! I've never put too much thought into Izo and honestly I'm not quite sure if I portrayed him correctly but here it is anyway....😶 hope you like it!

Warning: none, just some making out...

Pairing: Izo x female reader

Word count: 1.2k

Izo was standing on deck of the Moby Dick, hands resting against the railing and his eyes looking into the distance, nothing in particular in sight. He was thinking about the war that was soon to begin. Once they made it to the Marine Headquarters there was no going back. He wasn’t particularly nervous about the fight itself; he was more afraid what might happen if they couldn’t save Ace. He was more than willing to die in battle if it meant protecting one of his family but this didn’t mean he would run into battle headless and without a plan. Saving Ace was the priority, fighting came secondary.

You watched him from the distance; by now, you could read him like an open book. And you knew he was tense because of what probably would go down in a couple of days from now. Slowly, you stepped closer, approaching him from behind and loosely wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your head against his back.

“Y/n.” he said, not sounding surprised. He probably already knew you’ve been there the whole time. “I know it sounds stupid but you shouldn’t stress too much over the war right now. Worrying will only make you more tense and once the time comes and we have to fight you will be lacking concentration.” You said, quietly inhaling his scent.

“It is a stupid thing to say but I guess you’re right.” He chuckled. You felt how some of his tension slowly wore off but not entirely. Izo turned around in your embrace and wrapped his arms around your body in return, looking down at you with a small smile. “I think you need to focus your mind on something else.” You smiled back, resting your head against his shoulder now. He started stroking your back, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“What were you thinking about?” you heard him ask and the smile turned a little bit wider though he couldn’t see it. “You could give me a massage…” you giggled and now he had to laugh. “I massage you? I thought I was supposed to take my mind off this coming war.” He complained half-heartedly. “ You lifted your head, looking at him with a cheeky smile. “Well, this way you can focus on massaging me and I can tell you some nice stories….” You tried to coax him into agreeing.

He sighed but didn’t sound annoyed or anything. Maybe, this was exactly what he needed. After all, you always managed to make him feel more at ease. So, he followed you to the bedroom (you were lucky enough that you had a room for just the two of you and didn’t have to share), you took off your shirt and laid down on your stomach on the bed, arms already crossed underneath your chin.

Izo slowly got closer, taking his sandals off, lifting his kimono a little and sitting down on your butt in a straddling position. “So,” he put his hands on your shoulders and started massaging them expertly, looking down at your content form. “what story can you tell me?” he asked, enjoying how your skin felt under his touch.

“Well…I could tell you this one time where I accidentally pushed this old man into the ocean and ran away. Or maybe about this one time, in summer camp, where I punched this kid who dared me to do it. Or maybe this one time where I mistook this homeless, fat, and drunk grandpa for Blackbeard….” You tensed, realizing that Blackbeard was a sensitive topic but apparently Izo didn’t seem to mind too much, even chuckling at this story. Maybe he liked hearing you rant about this man since he was nothing more than a rat….

“Tell me the story about how you fell in love with me.” He said instead, his hands moving down your back, pressing down on one of your knots. “Again? But I’ve already told you multiple times. But you’ve never told me how you fell in love with me!” you complained. “Oh, so now I have to massage you and tell you a story?” he chuckled but complied anyway.

“Fine.” You closed your eyes, enjoying how his hands worked your back, making you feel all relaxed and good.

“Ever since you asked Whitebeard to join out crew I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” He started, caressing your sides, making you sigh. “You looked so self-assured and had this aura around you that made everybody be drawn towards you. Even though you were always center of attention you didn’t actually seek it. You don’t exploit the people around you; rather on the contrary. You make everybody around you feel good and I couldn’t help but be enticed by your whole demeanor.

But when I really realized that I might be more into you than just admiration was the moment you asked me to help you improve your sword skills and how passionate you were about it. I like people with a strong sense of commitment and the way you committed to our training and the crew in general really got to me.” He told you and you bit your lip at his confession. This was way before he actually confessed to you and the realization that he’s been into you this whole time made the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

“And then you waited this whole time to actually confess?” you whispered, feeling moved by his story. “Well, I had to make sure you were feeling the same…” he replied, his hands coming back up to your neck. “And I had to make sure weren’t just pretending. You can never be careful enough…” he admitted, probably referring to Blackbeard.

You moved underneath him, making him lift his body a little in surprise and turned around, now facing him. You eyes were looking straight into his wonderful ones and you gently grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him closer to your face.

“I love you.” You whispered, looking at him in earnest. “And I couldn’t be happier to be with you.” You added, making Izo smile at your words. “I love you too, Y/n.”

His lips captured yours in a gentle kiss, his hands placed on either side of your face, holding it while stroking your skin with his thumbs. You reciprocate the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck completely and pulling him closer, enjoying the way he made you feel. Over time, the kiss turned a little more heated, his tongue asking for permission to ravish your mouth and you granted, letting him explore your wet cave after rubbing your tongue against his.

You pressed your hips up against his, slowly but surely getting aroused by just this kiss and he seemed to feel the same. Panting, you broke the kiss, looking each other into the eyes and without uttering another single word, your lips crashed again and your hands wandered over each other’s bodies. You’ve accomplished your mission – Izo was not thinking about the coming war anymore. And you wanted to keep it this way for as long as possible.

#one piece #op #op izo #izo x reader #op imagine #izo imagine #fluff #romantic imagine #scenario #op scenario #izo scenario #female reader #izo x female reader #izo x you #op x you #one piece imagine

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bittydragon · 3 years

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Surprise Ore

Notes: I have decided to partake in the bingo event by @aslitheryprinx and here is my submission! I may do more in the future, so this may just be my first one! I have written for the letter O with the prompt Ore. I hope y’all enjoy! It’s my favorite boys!

Bad whistled to himself as he twirled his pickaxe in his hand, searching for resources in the mines. He and his friends had recently found an abandoned mineshaft deep underground and once they realized it was deep enough to find precious ores such as diamonds, they all hastily packed up their mining supplies and went underground.

They all ended up splitting up to cover the most ground and to quickly clear out the mineshaft of any precious materials. Dream and Sapnap had taken the northern pathways and Bad and George took the southern pathways. It was the fastest way to clear the area out, so they didn’t mind. Plus, all four could take care of themselves so it wasn’t a big deal.

Bad squinted as he thought he saw a strange object in front of him and lit a torch. He was elated to find a minecart with a chest inside of it. Opening the chest, Bad was pleased to find an enchanted book, an emerald, some extra iron, and two golden apples. The rest were unlaid tracks that the group had no need for, so Bad let it be and stored the treasures in his inventory.

He continued to twirl his pickaxe around, whistling his small tune to himself, until he came upon a small vein of diamond ore. He grinned and quickly got to work, mining the ores until each one popped out a small diamond. Five diamonds in total, not a bad vein!

He carefully set the diamonds into his inventory and was about to continue his search for more ores and treasures when his eyes landed on another diamond ore, just a few steps away. He grinned, his tail thrashing excitedly behind him.

This must be his lucky day to find two veins so close to one another! The others were going to be so jealous of his haul. He noticed with only slight confusion that this piece of diamond ore looked slightly different than normal, but Bad brushed it off as a trick of the light. There was lava nearby and Bad hadn’t placed a torch recently, opting to use the calm glow of the lava instead, so it could just be the lighter lighting in the area.

With that thought in mind, he brought his pickaxe down onto the ore. In just a few swings the ore shattered, revealing it’s shiny treasure. Bad was a tad disappointed that no more ores were hidden behind it, but his disappointment was quickly covered with confusion as he glanced at what he just unearthed.

Instead of a small diamond in the newly carved out hole, there laid a small creature barely bigger than Bad’s hand. It’s skin seemed to be covered in the familiar precious gem and it was curled around itself almost like it was trying to hide.

Bad quietly slipped his pickaxe into his inventory and knelt down to investigate the creature. Carefully, he reached out and scooped it up, wincing at how cold the diamond skin felt against his hand. He stood back up at full height and examined the creature in his hand.

They seemed to be asleep for the time being, their little eyes shut tightly as they repositioned themselves to be more comfortable in the hand. Bad couldn’t help but awe as the little creature snuggled into his fingers like they were craving the warmth he gave off.

The sudden rattling of bones nearby startled Bad out of his trance. He protectively curled his fingers around the little diamond creature and held them closer to his chest. Right, he was still in an abandoned mineshaft and those were normally littered with monsters. He wasn’t supposed to head back home for a few hours still, how was he supposed to protect himself and this little creature? He destroyed the ore they were sleeping in, so he had no safe place to set them.

After a few moments of thought Bad sighed. He only thought of one good place to put them, hopefully they would be okay if they woke up. He opened up his inventory and settled the creature inside of one of the little cubes, sighing in relief when the creature went in with ease.

They barely even stirred as Bad settled them inside and closed his inventory. It was only a few more hours and he could get home. Hopefully everything went well.

He pulled out his sword and shield and prepared to face the skeleton that was slowly approaching, it’s bow already drawn.

---

Skeppy yawned before cracking his eyes open, expecting to see the familiar stone of the cave he was abandoned in. His eyes shot open in surprise as he was met with completely white surroundings.

Did he die? Did some monster find him in his sleep?

He shakily stood up and tried to explore, but only made it a step before he ran into a wall. It only took a few seconds for him to realize he was stuck inside of a strange white box. It was cold and reminded him of the stone he always slept on, but it was most definitely not.

He pressed his face against one of the walls, trying to see if he could get a glimpse of outside his new box. He didn’t mind the box as he was used to small spaces, but he wanted to see if there was anything to explore if he ever got out.

Sure enough, when he pressed his face against the wall he could see the vague shape of something else next to him. It looked like one of those golden apples he’s seen in the chests littered around the mineshaft. As he looked around through the other walls, he noticed different objects in every direction.

Where in the world could he possibly be then?

If only the world answered his question. Instead, nothing changed and he was left in the blank white cube. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground with a huff.

Maybe he would get answers eventually. As long as he was patient.

…

Oh god that better not be too long.

Thankfully, it seemed like only an hour had passed before something finally changed. Skeppy yelped as suddenly real light flooded into his box and the ceiling disappeared. Now he could see what looked to be wood in a few different colors above him.

He stood up in awe and tried looking further out of the box, completely oblivious to the much larger beings watching him with similar feelings of awe.

“They’re so small… you said you found them while mining a piece of diamond ore?”

“Mhm! They were sleeping and I didn’t want to take them, but I couldn’t leave the little guy alone with the monsters!”

“Smart idea. They probably would’ve been killed without their ore surrounding them. Though maybe you should take them out of your inventory now?”

“Oh yeah! Good thinking Sap!”

Skeppy didn’t notice anything was wrong until large clawed fingers wrapped around him and lifted him into the air. Oh. Oh. He was caught by giants.

Skeppy immediately began thrashing around, frantically trying to escape the grasp of whatever giant creature had grabbed him. His struggles were futile as another clawed hand came up from under him and gently eased him into a sitting position on the hand.

He wanted to struggle as he was brought upwards but couldn’t bring himself to continue struggling as he relaxed into the warmth the hand gave out. Why was this person’s hand so warm?

He nervously grabbed onto a finger and winced as they chuckled. Skeppy risked a glance upwards to see the person who grabbed him and gasped in shock.

“Holy shit…” They were terrifying. They looked like a literal demon. Their face was hidden under the shadows of their hood and all Skeppy could see were their brightly glowing eyes and horns jutting out from under the hood.

“Language!” But they seemed harmless, especially if they were gonna tell him off for the fact that he cursed. He let out a shaky sigh, if he played his cards right maybe he won’t die today.

As he studied the demon’s face, he quickly realized the demon was studying him right back. If their wide eyes were anything to go off of they were surprised that he could speak to begin with. As much as Skeppy wanted to feel offended by that fact, he also knew that most creatures smaller than a human, or demon, were non sentient and could barely even form a thought other than survive or kill.

Skeppy flinched back as a clawed finger wormed its way under his chin and lifted his head up just a tad more. He quickly reached up with his own hands and grabbed the finger. It didn’t hurt but if the finger tried to suddenly snap his neck he was ready to provide some sort of resistance.

His fears seemed to be unneeded though, as proved by the high pitched “awwwwww” that followed as soon as he grabbed the finger. His eyes widened as he heard a few different voices awe at the sight as well.

He whipped his gaze around and found there were three, three, other giant beings here. He paled at the sight and tried hiding in the clawed hands that currently held him. At least he was fairly certain the demon wasn’t going to hurt him.

The masked human was most definitely the scariest, Skeppy couldn’t read any of their expressions and could only see the crudely painted smiley face. He did not like that.

The other two he could thankfully deduce were humans, but it surprisingly didn’t mean anything to Skeppy at the moment. This demon still seemed like a far better choice.

Skeppy was thankful when the demon’s fingers curled around his form and hid him from the others’ sights. He was extremely glad that they seemed to realize he was uncomfortable, even more reason for Skeppy to trust them.

He heard the demon talking to the others but couldn’t make out the words. All he was focused on was how warm and comfortable the hands were and how happy he was that these hands were the ones protecting him.

The diamond sighed and got comfortable against the fingers. Maybe once they were all done talking they could do some proper introductions. Until then, Skeppy was just going to wait their conversation out.

#mcyt #mcyt gt #tiny!skeppy #giant!bad #giant!sapnap #giant!dream #giant!george #skeppy #badboyhalo #sapnap #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #bitty writes #i enjoyed writing this one!#best boys!#happy duo is favorite duo #but a lot of you have probably figured that out about me by now

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

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on ao3

All his life, Jaskier has only wanted to be enough. In forty years, he’s found a lot of people he can't please no matter how hard he tries, but never any who are willing to try in return. He's too loud, too annoying, too much. There are also a startling number of people who want him only as a placeholder - a bed warmer, an entertainer - before quickly ushering him from their lives once they've had their fill. As a child, it was devastating every time he was told to be quiet or to find someone else to talk to. As an adult, he thought he'd grown numb to disinterest or fleeting interest, but then he'd met Geralt.

With Geralt, he thought he had finally found someone who might keep him. Even if it wasn't perfect, even if Jaskier still found himself longing for more, Geralt allowed him to stay. His jabs didn't hurt the way others did and after some time they even started to sound fond coming from his Witcher. And he was truly happy for the first time in a long time.

But good things are not meant to last. Not at least, for Jaskier. And on the top of a mountain north of Barefield, Geralt had proved without a doubt that Jaskier wasn't numb to heartbreak.

But that seems like a lifetime ago, now.

When their paths had crossed again, it was by complete accident. Jaskier had been in Oxenfurt over the winter to regroup after a difficult autumn and he'd headed back out into the wilderness late. It was a routine of sorts, setting out on the road after winter, and he'd followed the Pontar east, heading nowhere in particular. The last person he had been expecting to come across was his Witcher.

But there they both were; Geralt with his child surprise in tow and Jaskier with nothing but the lute on his back and a notebook overflowing with verse after verse of heartbreak. Ciri, at least, had been happy to see him, but it was plain to see Geralt didn't share her enthusiasm. She is the reason for their (somewhat forced) reconciliation, not some change of heart or some grand apology; just a lost little girl clinging to whatever sense of normalcy she can find. And an unwilling father trying to give it to her.

Lucky for him, Jaskier is a familiar face to the young princess and Geralt had agreed when Ciri had asked for him to come along with them. And it's not all bad; travelling with companions is much less lonely than travelling alone and he and Geralt have made things work between them, enough at least, for Ciri's wellbeing.

But there's a feeling Jaskier gets right before he's ousted from someone's life, a tingling sort of ache right in the pit of his stomach, and he's been feeling that for months now.

Spring has faded into summer and their little group carries on. They keep to the path most nights, camping amongst the trees or tucked away under a shelf of rock or in an abandoned cave. Jaskier doesn't know the whole story, but he knows Nilfgaard is looking for Ciri and as good a protector as Geralt is, he's unlikely to defeat an entire Nilgaardian troop should they run into one. So he keeps them away from town unless they need to replenish their supplies or the weather is too bad to allow for sleeping outside. On those occasions, they prepare in advance. Geralt will go ahead and ensure the room is ready and whatever else they need, while Jaskier will wait behind and do what he can to disguise Ciri. She's the most important thing in Geralt's life now and if he can't make amends with the man himself, he'll do what he can to help Ciri. At the very least, it gives him a sense of purpose and keeps him from feeling quite so out of place with them.

Tonight is a camping night. Geralt is asleep already and Ciri appears to be if she isn't, but the grass is damp and cool beneath them and Jaskier can't get comfortable. In the morning, their bedding will be damp at best and that means packing damp bedding and sleeping on it again tomorrow night. He's mulling over the idea of hanging his bedroll over a tree branch and lying directly on the grass - at least it will save him one night of discomfort - when Geralt stirs across from him.

Jaskier looks up, instinctively alert, but Ciri is still peacefully asleep and there doesn't appear to be any sign of danger. Geralt's face is twisted though, pinched tight in pain or fear and Jaskier recognizes the expression. For years, he'd been there to soothe Geralt’s discomfort, to curl up against him and run a hand up his chest until his breathing evened out again and the pain eased from his face. Geralt’s nightmares have never been uncommon, but since joining up with him again, Jaskier has noticed a marked increase of uneasy nights for the Witcher.

But he's no longer in a place to soothe him and so he watches regretfully as Ciri blinks awake and props herself up to look at him. She crawls from her own bedroll and in a practiced motion, slips between Geralt's arms, pressing herself up against his chest. She whispers something that Jaskier can't hear and he squeezes his eyes shut as Geralt hums sleepily against her hair.

He aches to fill that space against him once more, to be able to soothe the turmoil in Geralt’s heart, to give Geralt anything. He used to be the one who could ease his pain, but he's been replaced. And he can't blame Geralt for it; he was never a very good travel companion, but he did try and he'd like to be able to try again, but that doesn't seem to be the way things are going for him.

"Who is she?" Ciri asks, only just loud enough to Jaskier to hear her. "Who's Renfri?"

"I don't know," he breathes, low to keep his voice steady, "Geralt met her before me and he doesn't talk about it."

Ciri makes a disappointed sound and Jaskier doesn't have to be able to see her face to know she's scowling at the man wrapped around her. He would be too. Geralt does so much to protect the ones he loves and yet refuses to accept anything in return. Jaskier understands the frustration and once upon a time, he'd developed a method of tricking Geralt into doing things for himself, making it seem like it was for the good of someone else. He makes a mental note to tell Ciri about it.

Once Ciri and Geralt are settled once more, Jaskier slips from his bedroll, picking it up and hanging it in the hopes that it will dry some before morning. He's awake now, his head swimming with things unsaid and what ifs and he knows he won't sleep any time soon, so there's no point in trying.

He crosses the camp as silently as he can to where the horses are tethered and he settles himself between the thick roots of a tree, leaning back against the trunk. Roach leans down to him, nudging his shoulder and Jaskier looks up to find both of them looking at him, Jaskier's own horse with her head over Roach's back to see what he's doing. She gives a snort of confusion and Jaskier just looks up at her with a forced smile that does apparently nothing to appease her curiosity.

For some time, he just sits there, wondering where exactly he went wrong in his life until eventually, cold and emotionally exhausted, sleep overtakes him.

At first, Jaskier had hoped that this distance between them was just a side-effect of Geralt adjusting to parenthood and he tried to help in any way he could. But he can't teach Ciri to fight and Geralt knows more about herbs and how to use them than he does, and otherwise, Ciri is mostly self-sufficient. Other than her magic, which Jaskier soon learns, she's being trained in as well.

Yennefer blows back into his life in a big way on a sunny afternoon in mid-summer. She seems softer than the last time they'd seen each other and she smiles when she spots Ciri practicing with a wooden sword next to the river. Jaskier has learned well enough in the past not to disturb her, so he keeps quiet and continues with his task of gathering firewood. He hadn't understood at the time, why Geralt had wanted to make camp so early in the day, but it seems clear now that this was an arranged meeting place and he doesn't suspect they'll be leaving again before morning.

So while Geralt is busy with Yen and Ciri, Jaskier may as well make himself useful. Maybe he can't be emotionally available to Geralt the way he used to, but he can still help. So he sets off deeper into the trees, intent on finding enough wood to keep them going for the evening. But when he returns to the smell of smoke and a crackling fire, his heart sinks. As he sets his gathered firewood down, his only solace is that no one seems to have noticed him and he's able to slip away again quietly.

Yen travels with them after that. She doesn't seem concerned about Jaskier's presence and, on occasion, she'll even speak to him without sounding inconvenienced. It's more than she's ever offered in the past and considering his tenuous position with them, Jaskier's almost pleased about it.

But with Yen comes more training for Ciri, this time in magic, which means she has less time to listen to Jaskier play or tell him about her adventures with Geralt. Which is fine; she's still young and she needs to be able to understand her power as much as she needs to be able to fight with a sword. So Jaskier takes another step back.

After the mountain incident, Jaskier had hoped someday that things might go back to normal for him and Geralt. Now, despite Yennefer's improved attitude toward him, their relationship seems tenser than ever. And after a couple of weeks travelling with Yen, Jaskier starts to wonder if he really fits with them anymore.

But he can barely complain, what with Ciri having lost everyone she ever knew and loved. And Yen's history. And Geralt's inability to enter certain towns without being shouted at and called a monster. In relation, Jaskier's problems are not that bad. It doesn't stop it from hurting, but it stops him from talking about it because he doesn't really have a good enough reason to be upset. And his relationship with Geralt is already strained at best, he doesn't want to make things more complicated between them and end up losing Geralt again, maybe for good this time.

Only keeping things to himself is harder than it seems because Jaskier constantly feels unwanted and unneeded. Because Geralt has Yen and Ciri, Ciri has her training with both of them, and Yen never really much cared for him to begin with. So where is he supposed to fit in with that? What can he do for them that someone else isn't already doing? Everything he used to do for Geralt has been taken over by someone new and as the days drag on, Jaskier begins to wonder if he's not just hindering them by tagging along.

But where would he go without him?

They're all sitting around the fire one night after Ciri's gone to bed and Jaskier's writing in his notebook, trying to force the lyrics to a ballad that just doesn't want to come. He has the tune, but he can't quite get the words right, so he hums under his breath, trying to work through it as Geralt pokes at the fire.

"Jaskier," Geralt grunts and Jaskier looks up at him, surprised and a little nervous. "Be quiet, Ciri's asleep."

"Oh," he says, "right."

He shuts his notebook and measures his breathing, trying to keep from getting too upset. It makes perfect sense that Geralt would ask him to be quiet, Ciri doesn't sleep well a lot of the time and he shouldn't disturb her when she does. It still hurts, but he packs his things back up and turns in for the night.

Geralt seems unfazed but Jaskier lays out his bedroll right at the edge of their camp and settles in. He doesn't know what else to do with himself; whatever he and Geralt once has is clearly gone now, everything is about Geralt and Ciri now or just about Geralt, off on his own to provide for a child he never wanted. There’s no room in his life for Jaskier now that he has Ciri.

As he lies down, he tries to think back to before Geralt, but he doesn't remember what he did with himself back then. He was young and foolish and a very different person than he is now. And even after, when he and Geralt were separated but still friendly, Jaskier would write about him or sing about him and tell stories about their adventures together. But it was all about Geralt. For two decades of his life, everything centred around Geralt and now he's faced with the prospect of losing him completely.

Geralt is a simple man; he needs food and coin and sex - most nights he won't even blink at sleeping out in the rain. Jaskier can offer him none of those things when they're staying away from towns, so why is he still here? He wants what they used to have when he could at least keep Geralt company during the long nights. Now, he can't even offer him that. Things can't go back to the way they used to be because Geralt has Ciri now and Yen is back in his life and Jaskier just... is.

And every time he tries to think about what he did wrong, he can only picture Geralt's face on the top of that mountain, how angry he sounded when he told Jaskier he wanted him gone.

Jaskier looks at Ciri, curled under Geralt's spare blanket, and he knows Geralt blames him for this responsibility that he never wanted. And maybe it is his fault because Geralt never would have been at the banquet otherwise. And maybe Yen leaving was his fault, too because Geralt never would have met her if Jaskier had just left the damn djinn bottle alone. Maybe all of this is his own fault. Jaskier lays his head down, fighting back tears as he wonders how he could have single-handedly ruined the one good thing that life ever gave him.

Summer fades into autumn and things only get worse.

Yen joins them again when the air starts to cool and Jaskier finds the only thing left for him to do is to distract Ciri when Yen and Geralt disappear off on their own. He doesn't want to think about what they get up to and he's certain Ciri doesn't want to know. The pair of them share a tent, which Jaskier is thankful for only because it means he shares with Ciri and he would prefer that to sharing with either Geralt or Yen. Ciri trusts him and when they're alone she still likes to sit and listen to him sing, plus the one perk of travelling with a sorceress is extravagant magic tents.

When it starts to get really cold, Jaskier's thoughts turn back to Oxenfurt. If he's going to go back for the winter, he needs to leave soon before it gets too cold to travel. He knows Geralt is taking Yen and Ciri to Kaer Morhen with him and he doesn't think he could stand spending the entire winter with them, even if he was invited.

He gives it a couple days' consideration before deciding he can't bear this any longer. He'll go to Oxenfurt for the winter and come spring he'll just have to figure out how to move on with his life because all of this is too much. Ciri has both Yen and Geralt now, and if he thought being in love with Geralt was hard before, it's nothing compared to how it feels now.

He's in the middle of organizing his things for the long ride out to the coast when Ciri finds him. She comes up and plops herself next to him, peeking over to see what he's doing.

"We're not leaving yet," she says, "why are you packing?"

"I have to go."

"You aren't coming to Kaer Morhen with us?"

"No."

He doesn't elaborate because he can already feel his chest contract and he has to be able to hold it together for a little longer. Ciri huffs and as she walks away, Jakier's hands still on his pack. He doesn't want to leave her and he feels bad about it, but it will be better for all of them in the long run.

Jaskier finishes packing and getting Buttercup saddled and he's just about ready to leave when Geralt approaches him. Jaskier hasn't spoken to him about leaving, but since he and Yen rarely talk to him, he didn't think he had to. But Geralt rests a hand on his forearm and when Jaskier turns to look at him, he seems conflicted.

"Ciri wants you to come with us," is all he says and Jaskier deflates a little. He was so close to making a clean break, but Ciri has lost so much and if she wants him there, who is he to deny her a little familiarity? He doesn't say anything to Geralt, but he unslings his lute from his back and leans it up against the tree and it seems to be enough.

But they travel to Kaer Morhen and once Jaskier is over the stunning scenery, it's just more of the same only warmer. The guest room in the keep is spacious and the fireplace is more than enough to keep him warm, but he stands at the top of the stairs and as he looks around, his shoulders slump. He and Geralt have always shared a room, even when an abundance of coin would have made it easy to rent two rooms. Jaskier didn't really expect to be sharing with Geralt after everything but knowing it wasn't even a thought hurts.

He reminds himself that he's doing this because Ciri wanted it and urges his feet to move, crossing to the bed in the centre of the room. At least when he needs a place to escape to, he can come here and not want for warmth or inspiration. His balcony has a beautiful view of the valley and so long as he's willing to fill it himself, there's a large tub to one side of the room. He's stayed in much worse places all in all, and he's grown accustomed to spending a lot of time alone. Maybe it won't be so bad.

But once everyone has arrived, he realizes he was wrong. The Witchers are friendly enough, even the two from other schools who Jaskier has never heard of before. Ciri tells him one of them is Lambert's boyfriend and it was a big scandal last year when he showed up. Jaskier's heart just sinks, realizing even Ciri is included in all of this and he knows nothing of them. He's not even sure which one Lambert is because Geralt has never been a very descriptive person. It’s just another reminder of what he’s lost and he forces a smile to keep from showing his feelings.

Watching them all finally gathered together in the main hall, Jaskier realizes he's made a mistake in coming. He felt like an outsider with their little group travelling the wilderness, but it's nothing to the way he feels now. Like an intruder, an interloper who's snuck his way in when no one wanted him. Even the reminder that Ciri asked for him doesn't help now because Geralt has his old family and his new family and what could a bunch of Witchers and a sorceress possibly want with a bard?

He has enough rations left in his pack that he skips supper the first night. He can't bear to listen to Geralt talking to everyone when Jaskier can barely get a few words out of him these days. Some things just aren't destined to be. Sometimes it's better to let something die than it is to suffer meaninglessly.

Jaskier slips away up to his room and goes to sit on the balcony. The weather is still fairly decent, warm enough that the cold doesn't get to him until after dark. It's only when he returns inside that he realizes he only has one lit candle and it's too dark to look around now. So he strips out of his clothes and climbs into the cold bed, blowing out his single candle before curling in on himself and shutting his eyes.

In the morning, Geralt and Eskel set out to clear some mine or other of kikimores. Jaskier doesn't come down from his room until later that evening and the only joy he gets from it is catching the tail end of Eskel's story about the mine. But that doesn't last long, so he makes his way down the halls because if he's going to be staying here a while, he might as well get to know the place.

But barely half an hour into his exploration and just as his nerves are starting to settle, Jaskier comes upon a room with an open door. He doesn't look in, but he hears Geralt's voice, grumbling about something or other and then Yen mumbling, just get in the damn bath so I can wash this shit out of your hair and something inside him that was just barely holding on shatters.

That one hurts more than anything. It had taken him years for Geralt to be comfortable enough to let him stick around while he was in the bath. Longer, even, to let Jaskier take care of him the way Yen apparently does now. Something sticks in his throat and as soon as he rounds the corner, he slumps against the wall, choking back a sob.

All he ever wanted was to love him, in whatever way Geralt would let him, but this is almost worse than being told to leave. This time, Geralt won't even do him the service of telling him he wants him gone, this time he'll just replace him slowly but surely, finding someone new to do all the things Jaskier once did for him. This time, Jaskier doesn't need to be told to leave; he can tell when he's not wanted.

He waits three days, ensuring he has enough supplies, before seeking out Yen. She won't care enough to tell anyone right away, but she cares for Ciri, so if Ciri asks after him, she'll know. Plus, if he tells Geralt he’s leaving, he'd have to see the utter lack of emotion on his face, and he couldn't bear that.

Jaskier makes his way down through the courtyard without interruption, stopping at the stables to bid farewell to his horse. He hasn't had her long, but she's been good to him and he hopes she'll be just as good for Ciri.

For hours, Jaskier walks, recalling the path from memory, then just as it gets dark, it starts to snow. And once it starts, it doesn't stop and he's forced to take shelter in the first place he can find. It's cold and hard to trudge through the deepening snow and he didn't consider how hard it would be to find food up in the mountains. But none of that matters because the only place he can find to sleep is a cave, the entrance just barely visible to him in the dark, and when its resident comes home, he's liable to be eaten before he has to set out again.

He tries to build a fire, but the only wood he can find are the small trees just outside the mouth of the cave and they're soaked from the snow. Bitterly, he thinks that it's never this difficult for Geralt and at once, something clicks into place.

This isn't his life. The reason he doesn't fit is because he doesn’t belong. He tried to make it work and maybe for a little while he did, but he belongs in the city, not out in the wilderness. The reason he doesn't fit is because he's trying to be something that he's not. He's a bard, not an adventurer.

With a sigh, he sinks to his knees and wonders if he'll make it through the night. Maybe he should have waited at the keep until spring. He's never been out on his own like this - not so far north in unfamiliar territory -, but even now the thought of staying up there with Geralt and Yen makes his stomach turn. So he pulls his knees up against his chest and wraps his blanket around him. He tries to sleep, but the wind howls and snow blows in through the mouth of the cave and he just ends up damp and cold and miserable.

Jaskier hadn't realized he was asleep until a sound near the mouth of the cave wakes him. Assuming it's whatever lives here, he's thankful that at least the cold will no longer be a problem for him. He doesn't want to die, but being eaten by a monster is better than slowly freezing to death. But when he opens his eyes, there's a person at the mouth of the cave, not a monster. The first thing he thinks is who the hell is out in this storm? but it doesn't take long before he has an answer.

"Jaskier?" Fuck. "Jaskier, are you in there?" He wonders if he's quiet if the monster might come back and eat him after all.

"Yeah," he mumbles and it's all he can manage, but he knows Geralt will hear. And he does. And he pushes through the snowdrift, breathing heavily as he drops to his knees before Jaskier and hauls him into his arms.

"What were fucking thinking?" he growls and Jaskier winces at the anger in his voice, but then he's being pulled forward against Geralt's chest. "Idiot. You're frozen."

"Snow," Jaskier mumbles, not quite sure what to do with his arms. He doesn't know what's happening, but it ages before Geralt moves again, though he never stops telling Jaskier he's an idiot. That much, at least, feels familiar.

When he does finally pull away, Jaskier can barely see him in the dark but he knows Geralt can see him. Which means he can see his puffy eyes and he probably knows how scared and confused he is right now. And he hates it. He wants to push him away, but Geralt is warm and Jaskier is freezing and he finds himself swaying back toward his body. And after a quick once-over, Geralt lets him.

Once he's apparently satisfied that Jaskier isn't in immediate danger, he settles against the wall of the cave and pulls him into his lap.

"Why didn't you light a fire?" he asks and most of the anger has left his voice, replaced with soft concern.

"Couldn't get it lit," Jaskier shrugs, "wet wood."

For a while, Geralt is quiet again, tugging Jaskier's blanket up around him and just holding him. It doesn't occur to him until much later that Geralt is trying to get his body temperature up.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Hmm?" Jaskier had nearly drifted off, wrapped in the warmth of Geralt's body, but the question startles him awake again.

"Why did you leave without telling anyone?"

"I told Yen," he offers, but he knows it's weak.

"You told-" Geralt scoffs, exasperated and Jaskier can't figure out what the big deal is. No one wanted him there, anyway.

"Why are you here?" he counters, "why didn't you just stay in the keep?"

Geralt stills and Jaskier turns to look at him, knowing he won't be able to see much in the dark, but it feels better having this conversation face-to-face.

"Why the fuck do you think, Jaskier?" And Jaskier just looks at him because he doesn't know. He can't fathom what brought Geralt out here in the storm. Because even if he did come to retrieve him out of some kind of sense of responsibility, surely he wouldn't risk leaving Ciri without a caretaker. When he doesn't answer, Geralt gets very quiet.

"Where were you going?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Oxenfurt."

"You'd die before you got there," Geralt exclaims, the anger returning to his voice with a vengeance.

"I brought provisions. Where's Ciri?"

"With Eskel and Lambert. Why would you just leave without telling anyone?" Geralt asks and Jaskier realizes in this context, that anyone means me.

Jaskier pulls away from him, irritation winning out over the desire to be warm. "Because I didn't really think anyone would care," he says "I don't belong anymore, not since-" he sighs and readjusts so he's sitting across from Geralt. "What happened on the mountain can't be fixed, Geralt. And I told Yen, I figured she'd pass the message along."

Geralt lets out an exasperated laugh and Jaskier wants to slap him for it. He never should have come up here in the first place.

"Jaskier, if anything from that day is irreparable, it's my relationship with Yen. We only travel together because of Ciri, because it's beneficial for both of us."

"So why do you keep me around then? What good am I?" He doesn't mean for it to come out, but it does and he holds his ground, hoping he looks more determined than he feels.

"You're my friend, Jaskier. And Ciri loves you. You're the only one who feeds Roach those little sugar cubes she likes so much. You know, she gets snippy with me now if I don't have them for her. I even think Yen is beginning to enjoy your company." Geralt's voice softens and he reaches out, tentatively brushing Jaskier's hair away from his face.

"What about you?" Jaskier asks, trying to keep the unsteadiness from his voice.

"Do you really think if I didn't want you around I would have let you follow me out of Posada? Roach could easily have outrun you if I wanted to." His hand slips to cup his cheek and Jaskier barely resists shutting his eyes. It feels too close to intimacy, but he knows Geralt better than to think this is anything real. But he's forgotten what it feels like to be touched so softly and when Geralt bundles him back into his arms, Jaskier sinks into it despite his reservations.

"Jaskier," he breathes right next to his ear. "That day on the mountain, I was angry because Yen was right about me and I didn't want to face it. I had to take responsibility and then you-" he exhales deeply, tucking his head into the crook of Jaskier's neck. "I was struggling with my… feelings. I felt like I'd somehow forced you to stay with me the way I did with Yen. I couldn't bear to hear the same things from you so I-"

"Pushed me away?" Jaskier asks.

"Hmm,” Geralt says and his voice is tense with understanding. “You left tonight because of me."

"I didn't think you wanted me around anymore," he mumbles and it's not until Geralt shifts that Jaskier realizes he's got both hands fisted in his cloak. "I thought I'd save myself having to hear it from you. I didn't want anyone's pity."

Geralt hauls him up into his lap so the only way for him to sit comfortably is to wrap his legs around Geralt's waist. For a moment, that ferocity is back, but then Geralt tugs the blanket tighter around him, holds him closer.

"Why wouldn't I want you around?"

"You have Yen and Ciri and the other Witchers, what could you possibly want me for? Everything I used to do for you-" he chokes on a sob and curses himself for it before burying his face in Geralt's shoulder. "Everything I did for you, someone else does now."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just... everything. All the things I used to do for you. When you don't sleep because of your nightmares, Ciri goes to you. When I tried to get wood for the fire it was already done when I got back-" he sighs and shifts away from Geralt a little. "The other night in the bath, Yen-"

"Yen?"

"I heard you," Jaskier says, "you don't have to hide it now. I know. It doesn't matter that much I just... I don't know what I can do for you when everyone else is doing what I used to do."

"Jaskier you don't need to do anything. You're my friend. And Yen- that's not what you thought it was. "

Jaskier isn't quite sure what to do with any of that, but when Geralt tugs him close again, he lets himself be held and buries his face in his shoulder. Geralt allows it, letting one hand slip up between his shoulder blades and bringing him closer. They stay like that for some time and Jaskier's heart aches for more than he should want. This is so much more than he ever expected but now with Geralt wrapped around him, he wants more.

When Geralt finally pulls himself away, he regards Jaskier for a moment before running a hand down his arm.

"Are you warm enough," he asks and Jaskier nods because even if he wasn't, he can't take much more of this before he breaks and says or does something he'll regret. "We should get you back to the keep and into a warm bath."

The idea of a bath is tempting, but more so is the idea of staying here in Geralt's arms for as long as he's allowed. Stil, Jaskier lets himself be pulled to his feet and led toward the mouth of the cave.

Their return to the keep is quiet and Jaskier isn't sure anyone else even realized he was gone until Geralt pauses and doubles back on himself, heading toward his own room rather than the guest room.

"Eskel's got a bath ready," he says by way of explanation.

"How did he-" Jaskier starts but he realizes the answer before he can finish. They were probably keeping watch, waiting for Geralt to return.

"I told him to," Geralt says, approaching the door and stepping back so Jaskier can enter the room first. It's darker than the room he's staying in, but there's a balcony off the far wall that lets in a little light, and candles placed on every surface. The bath is at the right side of the room and Geralt guides him toward it.

"It shouldn't be too hot," he says, "so it doesn't shock your body, but there's more water boiling by the fire if you need to warm it up."

"Thank you," Jaskier whispers. Guilt curdles in his gut and he pulls the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. He's still cold and eager to get into the tub, but more than anything he's dreading having to get undressed in front of Geralt. Luckily, he's spared that embarrassment.

Geralt claps a hand on his shoulder, lingering just a moment too long. "I'll find you something to eat," he says, "try to warm up."

Jaskier nods dumbly, waiting until Geralt has left the room to let the blanket slip from his shoulders. To say he doesn't understand would be an understatement. He's never seen Geralt like this, not even with Ciri, and a part of him wonders if he didn't freeze to death in that cave and this is some sort of weird afterlife. But the water is hot against his skin, a little too hot to begin with and his skin tingles as he slips into the bath and shuts his eyes. And Geralt's hands felt real, right down to the callouses. But it all seems a bit off.

Jaskier has been hypothermic before, more than once, and it wasn't like this. He's left Geralt in much worse ways than this and it's never ended with him in a bath drawn especially for him. But Jaskier isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he warms himself up without even having to use the extra water and upon getting out of the tub, realizes all his clothes are cold and soaked.

Frowning, he looks around the room and spots Geralt's pack dumped on a chair in the corner. Surely, Geralt wouldn't mind if he just borrowed some of his clothes. Just for a little while. Jaskier is the one who washes them anyway - or he used to be. His heart sinks again, but he pushes away the feeling, crossing to pull clean clothes out of the pack.

They fit him surprisingly well and they smell like Geralt which is both comforting and nerve-wracking all at once. The blanket is wet now too, so he hangs that with his clothes where they won't drip on anything important and heads down to the kitchen.

Geralt isn't there, but he can hear him shuffling around on the opposite side of the fire, so Jaskier settles himself at one of the tables to wait patiently. He doesn't hear Eskel approach, so he must already have been there, talking to Geralt, but their conversation suddenly gets louder before something crashes to the floor.

Jaskier keeps quiet, trying not to listen in because he knows it's not his place, but they're arguing in earnest now and Geralt sounds passive and ashamed in a way that's very unlike him. Then there's a grunt from Geralt and Eskel says, "you didn't fucking tell him," like he’s only just realizing this. Jaskier focuses very hard on a knot in the tabletop.

It's an accusation, not a question and it's followed by heavy footsteps coming toward him. He tenses up, not prepared to deal with an angry Geralt, but it's Eskel who comes through the door. He pauses when he sees Jaskier, gives him a sympathetic sort of look and mumbles something that sounds like goodnight before continuing onward up the stairs.

Jaskier sits and waits and eventually, Geralt appears through the doorway with two bowls of stew and rolls. He sits next to him, pushing one of the bowls toward him and Jaskier tries not to show just how hungry he is. They sit in companionable silence, which is more than he can say for the last few weeks and Jaskier settles. When they're finished, Geralt is the one to speak first, angling his body so he's facing Jaskier but not looking directly at him.

"It's getting late," is all he says but Jaskier understands. He moves to take their bowls away but Geralt rests a hand on his wrist and takes the bowls from him. "I'll meet you upstairs."

Jaskier nods slowly, not quite understanding. He makes for his own room, climbing up as far as the staircase goes and pushing the door open. He's quite frankly exhausted and doesn't even think to get changed before climbing up onto the bed. The snow on the balcony lights the room well enough, but he fumbles with a candle for a few minutes anyway before giving up on that idea. He's alone in the dim room for a few minutes before Geralt knocks on the door and Jaskier mumbles for him to come in.

Geralt comes to sit on the side of the bed and Jaskier's heart feels like it's pounding out of his chest. He doesn't know what to say or even how to process what they've already said, but in his need to fill the silence, he blurts out, "why do you and Yen share a tent?" And it's the last thing he means to say and he does want to know, but this is not at all the time.

Only Geralt smiles. It's a small thing, barely a quirk of his lips, but it's there and for the first time in forever, Jaskier feels comfortable in his presence.

"Because Ciri asked to share with you. You're a good memory for her, one of the few she has of home."

"Oh."

"Before you came back, she shared with Yen." Geralt looks down at him and the almost-smile turns to confusion. "You're wearing my clothes."

"Mine were wet, I can change if-"

"No," Geralt interrupts and Jaskier can feel his eyes on him, taking him in, "it's fine."

"Oh. Right. I'll wash them in the morning then."

"You don't have to, they look good on you. You should sleep now, though. Goodnight, Jaskier."

Jaskier's heart thuds. He doesn't want to let Geralt go before he gets a chance to finish their conversation from earlier. "Geralt?" he asks and the Witcher turns back to him in the dark. "If it's not too much to ask, could you stay? Just for a little bit?"

Geralt doesn't say anything, but he comes back, pulling off his boots before climbing up onto the bed next to him. He lays still and Jaskier doesn't reach out and touch, as much as he wants to.

Geralt is the first to move, shifting onto his side and reaching into the space between them.

"Can I-?" he asks and Jaskier nods without hesitation, unsure of what's being requested. Seemingly pleased with his consent, Geralt's hand slips over his side and around his back, nudging him a little closer as he gets comfortable. Jaskier doesn't know what to do with himself.

It's too much and not enough all at once and he wants to pull away, but he doesn't want to break this moment of trust. So he pushes through, presses into the touch and tips his head down to keep Geralt from seeing the mess of emotions that are sure to be plain on his face. Not that he wouldn't be able to feel them anyway, but still.

"I'm sorry things have been different since you came back," he breathes. "Sorry if I made you feel..."

"Unwanted?" Jaskier offers and Geralt winces at the word, his arm pulling just a little tighter around Jaskier's back.

"Mmm."

"Are we... okay?" Jaskier asks tentatively, finally risking a glance up at Geralt's face.

"As long as you don't do that again," Geraly mumbles, "you... scared me tonight. I've been thinking so much about how to protect Ciri that I didn't consider losing you."

"You won't," Jaskier promises. "I won't." He moves closer, testing Geralt's limits, but his guard seems to be down tonight; Jaskier presses right up against him before Geralt so much as moves. And then, it's only to hold him closer.

He must have been genuinely worried, Jaskier thinks, to allow this right now. Which is the only reason he says the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

"I didn't mean to worry you," he says softly, slipping one hand up to cautiously rest against Geralt's chest. "I didn't think-" he shakes his head, pushing away the thoughts, "well, I didn't think you would come out after me. I'm sorry."

"Maybe..." Geralt starts then turns his head away like the words are difficult for him. Jaskier braces himself for something he doesn't want to hear, trying hard not to pull away defensively, but Geralt surprises him. "Maybe we both need to be better at saying what we mean."

Instead of drawing away, Jaskier slips his hand up to rest against the side of Geralt's neck. This is absolutely uncharted territory for them and he's not quite sure what to do here. What do you do when the least communicative person you know says you should talk about things more. But he's not wrong and Jaskier's touch seems to relax him a little, so armed with that information, Jaskier presses forward.

"You're right," he says. "So if we're going to... say what we mean, I should tell you that all of this with Ciri and Yen and everyone up here - it scares me, Geralt." Geralt opens his mouth to speak, but Jaskier just shakes his head. "Please just let me finish. Yen is a sorceress. Even if your relationship with her is over, she will always be a part of your life. Ciri has powers I can't even begin to comprehend. Your brothers and the others- they're Witchers, Geralt. All of them will be with you for years to come and all of them have been with you - barring, Ciri - for years. How can I live up to that? How can I possibly find a place in your life when soon I'll be gone and they'll just-" he chokes on the last word and can't bring himself to continue.

Words are his livelihood and yet when he needs them the most, they seem to fail him entirely. Luckily for him, Geralt is accustomed to non-verbal communication and understands. But in the faint light of the room, he looks like he wants to retreat, to pull away and forget everything he said before. He doesn't and Jaskier realizes this is just as difficult for Geralt as it is for him.

"Jaskier," he shuts his eyes and Jaskier holds his breath. For one awful moment, everything is silent, then Geralt speaks again, quiet and soft. "Everyone else in my life has been brought to me by forces outside of my control. I never chose to become a Witcher, to be brought here as a child as raised with dozens of other boys who would never make it to adulthood. I never intended to bind myself to Yen - Djinn are tricky and bend wishes to their own amusement. And Ciri- how was I to know Pavetta was already with child when I claimed the law of surprise?"

Jaskier wants to remind him of the multiple other occasions in which the law of surprise has gifted someone a child, but he doubts this is the place to bring up Geralt's mistakes.

"But you," Geralt continues, speaking slower like each word is pulled unwillingly from his lips. "You came to me on a whim. I could have left you in Posada, ridden away and left you in the tavern." He sighs, tips his head up so his forehead presses against Jaskier's. "But I chose not to. I chose to let you come with me. And I regretted it, in the beginning."

"I certainly hope you said nicer things to Yen when you found each other again."

Geralt huffs a laugh, just the fainted sound in the dark, but his breath is warm against Jaskier's cheek. "Let me finish."

"Do you promise you'll say nicer things about me?"

"Hmm, maybe."

"Fine then, finish your story."

"I regretted it, in the beginning, but it was still my own choice, mine to regret. Over time I grew... attached. That first time you left me was the first time I really felt lonely since undergoing the trials."

"You leave your brothers every spring," Jaskier says, an attempt to mask the hammering of his heart.

"I do, but so is the life of a Witcher. It's the way it's supposed to be. There's no room for loneliness. There were no rules attached to you and so when you left it seemed too quiet."

"Are you... are you saying you like having me around?" Jaskier asks, the hopeful tone in his voice a backdrop to the thudding in his chest.

"Yes," Geralt replies, "I dread the winters when I come up here alone."

"Then why do you? And why did you say Ciri wanted me to come?"

Geralt makes a noise that sounds something like embarrassment and Jaskier's sure if he could see properly, he would be blushing.

"I'm sorry," he says again, "I couldn't ask because if you said no I- but I knew you'd never say no to her. She told me you were leaving and I knew if I let you go I wouldn't see you again."

"You idiot, you could have just asked me. I follow you into swamps and monster dens and worse- why would I say no to spending the winter here?" He shifts to run his fingers along Geralt's jaw and sighs. "You're my-"

"Friend?" Geralt offers and the sound of that word on his lips makes something warm swell in Jaskier's chest, but he remembers his promise to speak plainly.

"More than that" he admits. He ducks his chin, unable to look at Geralt while he speaks, this time. "I tried so hard to just be a good friend to you, but it's always been more than that. I don't expect anything from you, of course, but you said we should-" He's cut off by gentle fingers tracing the line of his jaw and he shuts his eyes, waiting for the inevitable downfall. But it doesn't come.

"Jaskier," he breathes, "if you're worried about your place in my life, this is it." Geralt tips his head up and their lips brush against each other just for a second, but Jaskier is certain his heart stops beating altogether.

"Geralt?" he whispers but it comes out as an uncertain whimper. Geralt hums in response, shifting to cradle Jaskier's head in one hand, and he presses in again.

This time Jaskier knows it's intentional. The lips against his own are warm and soft, whispering silent promises and asking for the same in return. Jaskier responds tentatively, but as soon as he does, Geralt is gathering him up against him and his uncertainty vanishes.

He's seen Geralt kiss before, but this is nothing like that. Geralt kisses him with a passion that speaks of years of repression and guilt, begging for forgiveness for something Jaskier hadn't realized he was even doing. And Jaskier forgives, tangling his fingers in Geralt's hair and submitting readily when Geralt rolls him onto his back.

Geralt gets a knee between his thighs and Jaskier's breath catches as Geralt's hand slips under the hem of his borrowed shirt. He'd be more than happy to lay here and let Geralt kiss him senseless, but when Geralt's teeth graze against his lip, Jaskier groans, effectively shattering the moment.

Geralt draws back, looking down on him and Jaskier slips his hands around the back of his neck. "Do you mean that?" Jaskier asks, “about me belonging with you?” Geralt nods.

"Of course, if you want to leave, I'll take you back to Oxenfurt, but I'd prefer if you stayed here."

"Right here?" Jaskier asks, sprawling under him against the mattress.

"Right here," Geralt confirms with a soft smile. "With me."

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #rex writes

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an-ambivalent · 3 years

Text

Sukuna x Uchiha! Reader

A/N: This is purely for my own self-indulgent purposes -- expanding on this scenario I was daydreaming about. You are invited along to read about my cringefest scenario but only I’m allowed to call it cringe.

Headcanon synopsis: You are amidst fighting Kabuto with Sasuke and Itachi in the Fourth Great Ninja War when the strangest thing happens. Between struggling to stay conscious from the poison that’s slowly eating you alive to trying to focus on the lengthy explanations of never-heard-before jutsus’ between the two emo brothers, the clash of such jutsus teleports you to another world during another fight. There, the line between enemies and comrades is nonexistent. However, one thing is certain: apparently you wear the same face as of a thousand-years-old demon’s deceased lover.

For clarification, you are not related to Sasuke and Itachi because that would mean this “reader” insert has fixed looks of black hair and black eyes. You are from the same clan with abilities like the Sharingan and affiliation to fire chakra nature. But fill in your blanks of whatever you want to look like.

Warnings: This has very minor spoilers about the JJK manga, specifically Sukuna’s abilities. So read at your own risk. It’s just a bunch of OP assholes trying to one up each other ig :P

~***~

The rustic smell of blood is present profoundly in the atmosphere. The heavy rain that is suddenly drenching you, and increasing the heaviness and wetness of your clothes and making them stick disgustingly to your grime skin, does nothing to waft away the awful smell. It washes off some of the dried blood from minor cuts and other injuries you had acquired during your fight with Kabuto, triggering your pain receptors in response and causing stinging and burning of pain. But for someone like you who has already been traumatised from the blood shed you have experienced as a ninja, the revolting smell of blood and the burning pain is nothing new. However, the thing that is new is the rain. It had abruptly replaced the mid-day sun that shone horribly bright. During the war, the clear and sunny weather felt like it was nature’s way to laugh at everyone’s face when they were fighting and barely hanging onto their life. The sudden darkness of the night and the open space you find yourself in, instead of the dark cave you were in just mere moments ago, has your shoulders becoming tensed and your blood flow and heart-beat going faster.

Instantly, your eyes are their notorious deep red colour presented with three black tomes. Your refined shinobi instincts kick in, and you catch the lean and spikey black-haired male that was thrown your way. There is blood trickling down his mouth, and as you held him momentarily, it was easy to deduce that some of his ribcages and other bones were broken, in addition to more serious injuries. Like how milliseconds decisions were required as a shinobi because they determined life or death, the abrupt situation you were thrown into also required it. You carelessly threw him aside as a half-naked pink-haired teen with black markings on his skin, a hole in his chest and blood dripping down his abdomen charged at you.

He aimed a vicious and strong punch to your face, which you avoided by side-stepping. When he repeated the gesture with his other arm, you blocked it with your forearm, before twisting your body at an angle, and delivering a strong kick to his stomach and sending him flying away. Using the new created distance to your advantage, you quickly made the necessary hand-signs with practiced ease, before taking a deep breath in.

“Fire Style: Great Fire Dragon Jutsu,” You exclaimed, as you exhaled a vicious and high temperature dragon head-shaped flame towards your attacker.

Sukuna, currently in possession of Itadori’s body, was internally questioning whether the very few hits that Megumi had landed previously had damaged his brain because there was absolutely no way he had seen her face. There was absolutely no way in hell that a mere human would be strong enough to land a painful kick on him. Evidently, the thought that he had seen her face had made him falter in his concentration so it was probably a lucky hit. But the giant dragon fireball that was currently heading towards his way was not going to be a lucky or a pleasant hit, if he did not counter or dodge it. Attacks with fire meant play-time for Sukuna. So, he simply waited until your attack was mere inches away from him, before he easily manipulated the flames and extinguished them. Then, without any current motivation for more fighting, he started to walk towards you.

Your eyes widened when you saw your jutsu disappear in thin air. Then, when you saw the pink-haired male began walking towards you nonchalantly, your hand automatically went to your back and you unsheathed your sword slightly. Cracks of lightning sparked through it. You stayed grounded on your fighting stance and narrowed your eyes at him, ready to strike should he attack.

The intense cold expression you wore on your face with her familiar features was so strange to see; and usually, Sukuna enjoyed fighting and taunting seemingly stuck-up people like you. Overpowering such humans before burning them to their demise -- it was such a great way to pass his time. But right now, right now, he was infuriated. He was surprised, and somewhere deep down in his dead demonic heart, was a small sense of longing and hope to regain what used to be.

His red magenta eyes dug through you in a fierce glare as he stopped just a small distance in front of you.

“Oi, who are you?”

The corner of your lips twitched up into a smirk.

“It’s customary to introduce yourself before asking for someone else’s name. Surely, you have that much manners?”

Your reply evoked an eyebrow twitch from Sukuna.

“You’re unnecessarily cocky, aren’t you? If you knew who I was, you would know what was good for you. It’s no wonder it’s so tempting to kill you humans.” He remarked easily, and took a step closer towards you.

You raised an eyebrow in question. “Me, a human? You’re talking as if you aren’t one.”

His lips stretched into a wide grin. “Huh, so you can see me and you’re attacking me, seemingly a fellow human without mercy and not actually knowing who I am or what’s going on?”

It was something about the way he was questioning and taunting you like you were a three-years-old kid that made you glare at him. But, there were no hints of deception or lies in his words. And the nagging feeling you felt churning in the pit of your stomach made you know that something was seriously wrong.

“So what are you then, a monster? That’s quite subjective though isn’t it; I kill another to protect myself or my loved one, I’m a human in their eyes. The loved ones of the one I killed in order to protect myself, I’m a monster in their eyes. There’s no difference. Although, why I’m suddenly here and not where I am meant to be... maybe only you can answer that. And if you know who I am, you would know what’s good for you. Answer me or you will regret even having the nerve to look in my eyes.” You warned, and just then, the black tomes in your crimson irises started spinning.

Your cold threats, your body bent in the certain angle it was, ready and just waiting to kill something, and the power radiating off of you -- especially your brilliant blood eyes, it sent unanticipated shivers down Sukuna’s spine. His grin widened until his canine were visible, and just before he could respond, Megumi’s shouts were heard from the distance, interrupting his intense stare off with you.

“What the hell are you doing?! Get out here civilian before he kills you!”

Your gaze switched to him and the moment your cold red eyes met Megumi’s eyes, they widened in surprise. Then, finally, the poison that was still in your bloodstream sent sharp waves of pain to your head, causing you to wince and hiss out in pain. This was not missed by the two men around you, especially Sukuna, who was watching you like a hawk.

He smirked. “Reaching your human limits already?”

You scoffed. “Hardly. But looks like our chat will need to end here.” You responded easily. Then, with a single hand-sign and your Sharingan tomes spinning more fiercely, you triggered a low-level genjutsu. Both males, who did not know better than to not look into your eyes, were easily swept into it. It was solely for a moment; however, that moment was enough time that when the world around them stopped spinning, there was not even a single clue of you ever being there was even left.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfiction #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #jjk x you #ambivalent writes #uchiha x reader #sukuna scenarios

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liquid-luck-00 · 3 years

Text

Connections 9

Chapter 9

this is based on @thepeacetea daminette soulmate au

Masterlist *** First *** Previous *** Next

Warning ⚠️ Character death

~~~~~~~~~~

Mari always thought her soul bond was curious. She never heard or activated the bond on purpose. She doubted her soulmate did either, because of what Bruce had told her about the league of Assassins. But everything seemed just off. Apart from that one switch she never had contact again. The only thing she has to gleam of her soulmate are the abilities she learned through him. She settled into bed after biding her papa goodnight.

That might not be a bad thing. As soon as that thought crossed her mind was she pulled again, but this was different.

---

Time seemed frozen for Damian.

His mother came for him again. She brought an army and him, an older version a clone of himself. She brought his clone Heretic, who was pulling the sword from Damian's chest.

I lost, he thought as the sword fell from his hand.

Father, Batman, rushed towards him when two orbs of light circled above him, one red and one green.

The red light morphed into a girl with a high ponytail and a red mask covered her eyes, her eyes emanated a red light. She was dressed in a basic suit that resembled a cross of Nightwing and Red Robin's uniforms, just all red with black spots, gloves, and boots.

The green orb turned into a boy a short cloak covered his torso, the hood covered his head and face, two cat ears were part of the hood, his eyes were glowing green. A tail flicked around under the armor set around his waist.

The girl looked at him now in his father's arms.

"No!" she yelled everything fell silent to him as he watched about a dozen more orbs appeared each forming a figure in either red or green. All except the first two moved and quickly dispatched the clone, the army of assassins, and pushed mother back.

His vision faded to black.

He could no longer feel his father's arms under him.

---

Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin were now around Batman and the fallen Robin. The past holders of the miraculous formed a ring around them, linking hands. They moved them all to the Bat-cave.

"Come back little one." Hippolyta, if she remembers what Tikki told her, cupped her face as she faded away.

"Tikki," she whispered out.

"What's wrong?" the little goddess rubbed her eyes.

"I... We... Cave... Now." She managed. She transformed and swung through Gotham unnoticed until she reached the cave under the manor.

The past holders and her cat were still there. She dropped her transformation and ran to her extended family.

"Pixie how?" Jason had taken off his helmet and hugged her.

"You were there weren't you." Tim stated, so she nodded confirming his theory.

“He is neither alive nor dead he is in a plane between the two." A cat, Hei Mao, dressed in a long sleeved black gi, armor plates on his right upper arm and a cat mask on top of his head, eyes like the other cat apparitions were glowing green a black domino mask covered his eyes.

"How is that possible?" Bruce coaxed himself to whisper, cowl down and holding back tears.

"He is your bonded. You are tethering and maintaining his soul whole." A ladybug in knightly armor, red glowing eyes like all the other ladybugs spoke, Joan of Arc.

"My bonded," Marinette breathed under her breath.

"The magic which flows through your veins flows through him. He is your..." the only male ladybug, a red feathered headdress and red cape, red warrior paint covered his eyes and stained his hands, Micazoyolin, added only to be interrupted by Dick.

"Soul mate." Dick gasped from next to her.

"It is possible to revive him." a woman in a loose black dress and a Jaguar patterned cape with green under the cape. A black Jaguar headdress with long green feathers sat on her head green warrior paint on her face and hands, Ocelome, drawled looking between Damian's lifeless body and the green soul of her cat. "By using the waters of the Lazarus."

A gasp was heard from the bats and birds in the cave, Mari flinched further into her big brother Jay. Mari began to sag from exhaustion and the visages of the past holders began to flicker.

"Perhaps this conversation is best held elsewhere," Hippolyta broke the silence. "I, Queen Hippolyta of the Amazons, invite all of you to Themiscyra. Until we meet in the flesh my child."

Two by two each pair of ladybugs and their cats disappeared, all but the solitary cat, her cat, remained. Everything was still and silent within the cave. No one knowing how to proceed, so they stayed as they were.

None of them could tell you how long they stayed like that, but a new voice started.

"Bruce care to explain why my mother told me to bring all of you to Themiscyra." Wonder Woman appeared on the Bat-computer. "By Zeus. The apparition of the cat. Do you know what this means?" Bruce’s back was to the computer, Damian’s body still in his arms protected by his cape from Wonder Woman’s sight.

"Yes we do. Come by around noon everything should be sorted by then." Bruce brought himself to say, Tim ending the call after a nod from Wonder Woman.

"Come on pixie let's get you home before the sun rises." Jason put on his helmet. She nodded, transformed , and let Jason pick her up as they left the cave.

Jay-Jay stopped a few blocks away, she moved and clung on his back like a baby koala. As Red Hood swung and ran across the roof tops. He tucked in his little sister and left.

---

One moment he was dying in his father's arms. No he did die in his father's arms. But what was odd was the tug after a moment in the darkness.

The next he was standing in the Bat-cave next to his father and his body. The first girl in red was gone, but the others were here still. About 10 minutes later a red figure of a girl swings into the cave. If he could move or speak he would have. Or maybe not. The figure was engulfed in pink light and there stood Marinette Stone. She ran into a hug from Todd.

"Pixie how?"

"You were there weren't you." Drake stated, Marinette must have understood the statement as she nodded her head. It was silent until one of the green and black figures spoke.

"He is neither alive nor dead he is in a plane between the two." Hei Mao, the other voice in his mind supplied.

How am I not dead?!

He could still not move or speak so he stood and listened.

"How is that possible?" he heard his Father.

"He is your bonded. You are tethering and maintaining his soul whole." Joan of Arc, the voice again supplied.

"My bonded," Marinette, the voice supplied but now he placed it, the voice is Marinette.

"The magic which flows through your veins flows through him. He is your..." the only man in red, Micazoyolin, Marinette corrected his thought.

"Soul mate." Grayson shrieked.

"It is possible to revive him." Ocelome, she supplied and he took the intonation, without our analyzing now. "By using the waters of the Lazarus."

He heard his family suck in a breath and seem to become stone still, Marinette flinched further into Todd who was hugging and seemingly guarding her.

"Perhaps this conversation is best held elsewhere," Hippolyta broke the silence. "I, Queen Hippolyta of the Amazons, invite all of you to Themiscyra. Until we meet in the flesh my child."

Two by two each pair of ladybugs and their cats disappeared, all abut him. He still could not move, he could not speak either, but his mind raced.

I am dead.

Actually I am apparently not alive or dead.

My best friend is my soulmate.

My soulmate does not hate me.

She knows. She knows me. She knows my aggravating family.

She is stuck with us, with me.

Marinette is my best friend who happens to be my soulmate.

His thoughts would have continued had it not been for the voice coming from the Bat-computer.

"Bruce care to explain why my mother told me to bring all of you to Themyscira." Wonder Woman, "By Zeus. The apparition of the cat. Do you know what this means?"

"Yes we do. Come by around noon everything should be sorted by then."Father spoke his back to the screen shielding his body from vein.

"Come on pixie let's get you home before the sun rises." Todd finally spoke taking Marinette home.

Father finally stood, for a moment he looked at him and then his body before moving to place his body in a portable cyro-chamber in the Bat-plane.

Then the darkness returned.

---

The next morning she woke up with a resolve that everything would turn out fine.

Okay sure I just found out my best friend is my soulmate. the was killed by his clone, but he is in a state of limbo. Okay this was a lot but this is not the end of the story.

So as she, her papa, and Penny were having breakfast a knock sounded at the door.

"I'll get it." Penny excused herself. "Tim what a surprise come in." Tim was promptly sat at the table a mug of coffee and pancakes were placed in front of him.

"What brings you here so early mate?" Papa chuckled after watching Tim chug the coffee.

"Well, we were planning on a family trip for the week but..." he started. "B locked himself in his office and Damian won't budge, so" he looked at Jagged. "We were hoping that we could steal little bean for the week since both of them can't say no to her." he rushed barely stopping to breathe.

"Whatcha say little rock star," Papa turned to her smiling, "want to spend the week with your brothers?"

"Yes." She jumped up and hugged her dad and ran to her room to pack. Tim-Tam joined her a minute later as he asked Diana about the climate of the island.

"Why can't we go too, Lucky Penny?" Mari heard her papa ask.

'Sigh' "You've got a full schedule, why don't we plan something for the following week, your clear then." they heard Penny compromise.

"Rock 'n hear that little star," Papa poked his head in as they finished packing. "Maybe we'll steal one of Bruce's birds next week for our trip." He semi whispered the end.

Tim seemed surprised at the comment but schooled his features quickly, he picked up the suitcase and Mari pulled her papa out of the penthouse suite, gave him a hug as she went with Tim.

Less than an hour later she was sitting in the Bat-cave having loaded the bags in the Bat-plane, with the three eldest Wayne children and Bruce, waiting for Wonder Woman.

"Hey Mari can I ask something?" Tim sat down next to her.

"What is it Tim Tam?"

"What did Jagged mean when he said one of Bruce's birds?" Everyone was now watching the two and listening to the response that was to follow.

"Oh, um papa might have figured out that Uncle Bruce is Batman." She was now fiddling with her fingers in her lap. When no one answered she continued. "Remember a couple of months ago when the Sirens crashed Papa's concert. Well when Uncle Bruce and Jay Jay moved me and Papa away and into his dressing room, B didn't make his voice gruff and gravelly as Batman's usual voice. So papa thought maybe his voice isn't usually as gruff and the new voice is actually his real voice, and once papa hears a voice, he never forgets it. I promise I never told him and I never told him he was right but he is pretty sure and I don’t think he’ll even believe you if you tell him he’s wrong." Mari scrambled to say, ending it with a small sad smile looking up through her lashes at everyone.

"Father like Daughter," Bruce was the first to speak. "Everyone is getting a permanent voice modifier installed in their suits." This resulted in every one laughing. Effectively breaking the tension previously in the room.

"Smart idea B." Jason answered making Mari smile wider.

That was when Wonder Woman decided to arrive. Ending the conversation as they boarded the Bat-plane leaving for Themyscira.

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist🐺🐾: @itsmeevie01 @miraculouspenta

Taglist🐞🦇: @thanks-captain-obvious @mandy989 @our-preciousss @readingismyoxygen @birdy912 @shifty-lesbian-retro-goblin @todaylillypads @laurcad123 @demonangel27 @be-happy-every-day-please @fandom-trapped-03 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @t1dwarrior-of-earth @saays-bitch @k-poplunardreams @animegirlweeb @weird-pale-blonde-person @myazael @toodaloo-kangaroo @moonlightstar64 @miraculous-simmer7 @wannajointhecrabcult @blackmagicforever @iamabrownfox @justcourttee @consumeconstantly @abrx2002 @livelifeauthorstyle @certifiedbidisaster @dreamykitty25 @ironspiderstark @fantasyislive @dast218 @susiej1118 @sassakitty @lilyreadbooks12 @dawnwave16 @mochegato @galla02006 @nathleigh @trippingovermyfeet @promiswords @rosep16 @officiallydarkgeek @inarachi02 @justafanwarrior @emimar7

#maribat #dc x miraculous #dc x mlb #miraculous x dc #mlb x dc #past holders #daminette #maridami #damimari #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #soulmate au #Connections AU

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drowningbydegrees · 3 years

Text

This started as a pwp praise kink idea. The praise stayed, but the pwp did not. Perhaps I will give it another go, but in the meantime, have 4,000 words of emotional hurt/comfort instead I guess. 😅

Read on AO3

Geralt is what Jaskier cheerfully describes as "forever years old" when he discovers that okay, maybe he is just the littlest bit affected by… actually he’s not sure what one would call this. He’s not even sure if it’s specifically what was said or just the act of being spoken to like a person in a vulnerable moment. Either way, it’s more than a little unexpected, but that’s not actually the problem. After all, everyone finds themselves unraveled by something a little unorthodox now and again, and in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t really all that weird.

No. The problem is that he learns it at exactly the same time Jaskier does, and it would be embarrassing enough if the bard were just some accidental bystander. But no, Geralt couldn’t get that lucky either. It’s very definitely in response to Jaskier and that is nothing short of mortifying. Whatever longing Geralt might privately harbor, Jaskier has never given any indication that it might be a mutual feeling, and so their companionship is very definitely not Like That.

It's a perfect storm that leads to this discovery.

The contract is a disaster in every sense of the word. Somehow, after all these years, there’s still some tiny part of him that allows for optimism, that remembers a time when he thought he could be a hero. There’s no room to be an idealist in his line of work, but the opportunity was right there. The monster was just an unfortunate curse to break. There were people who might be still alive to save. Stupidly, he let himself believe that this is the kind of contract he always hopes for, where just this once no one has to die.

But of course, that isn’t how it goes. The creature is worse for his meddling, leaving the man underneath tortured by a few seconds of horrified lucidity before the curse consumes him again. The creature dies by Geralt’s sword and as its blood drips from the blade, the witcher takes in his surroundings. It’s dark, but Geralt does not need to see to recognize a graveyard made up of all the people he failed.

Even Jaskier is subdued, largely silent on the walk back to the village. He’d had the good sense to stay out of the cave, or else maybe it was just too dark. Whatever the reason, if Geralt is granted any small mercy in this whole debacle, it’s that Jaskier is not in there among the dead, that he did not become another life the witcher couldn’t preserve.

The villagers are understandably as dismayed as Geralt is, and he makes for an easy target. He tolerates the shouting and cruel accusations. He stays Jaskier’s hand when the bard tries to come to his defense. They’re grieving people, desperate to shed the weight of their loss, and he can bear it.

The innkeeper does not turn him away at least, though Geralt suspects it has something to do with the very pointed look Jaskier is giving the man. It matters little if it means he can bathe in peace and fall into a miserable sleep and just… start over again tomorrow.

Death clings to Geralt like a film he can never quite wash from his skin, but oh how he tries. There’s an echo of blood and ichor that he just can’t shake, and by the time Jaskier comes to bring him clean clothes, he’s rubbed his forearms red.

Whatever scene he’s expecting, whatever reproach he anticipates, it never comes. He’s too strung out to put up much of a fight when Jaskier eases the washrag from his clenched fist. Jaskier gives him an uncomfortable smile that would be hilarious in some other context, waving awkwardly at Geralt’s head. “I’m just going to, ehm, your hair is sort of-”

“Covered in blood. I know,” Geralt fills in the gap in that sentence tersely. It’s not pity, not from Jaskier, but it drifts too close for comfort and the witcher doesn’t know what else to do but lash out. That’s not fair either though, and once Geralt has taken a breath he relents. “Get on with it.”

Jaskier does. Quietly even, which would seem suspicious or worrisome under normal circumstances. Geralt just happens to be too worn down to do anything but count his blessings and appreciate the silence as Jaskier works the tangles (and who knows what else) from his hair. He tries to close his eyes, but every time he does, it plays out behind his eyelids, forcing him to wrench them back open again.

“It’s not your fault. You do know that, right?” Jaskier’s voice is soft, and really, Geralt must look truly miserable for him to forgo their usual playfully scathing banter. “You did everything they asked of you and then some. There was nothing else left.”

Geralt doesn’t reply because what can he say? What could possibly wipe the memory of this colossal failure from his mind? It’s a gift of some sort that Jaskier doesn’t press Geralt to respond. He just hums a quiet tune while he painstakingly washes the mess out of the witcher’s hair.

“It wasn’t enough,” Geralt says very softly when he dredges up the will to speak. Jaskier’s thumbs rub down the nape of his neck, and he bows his head to it in silent surrender. The comfort is unearned, but he’s blank enough to crave it anyway.

“That’s not on you, Geralt. It’s like you genuinely don’t have a clue how... good you are. I mean, you’re a grumpy pain in the ass for sure, but still. You were good to the villagers even if they didn’t do a damned thing to earn it. You’re sweet to children and pets and...to me.” Jaskier suddenly seems very close, so near that when he speaks, his warm breath flits along the shell of Geralt’s ear. “I know I get on your every last nerve, and you haven’t turned me away. You might do it with a lot of scowling and insults, but you… are still very good to me.”

Geralt’s breath catches on what is definitely not a whimper, but what he’d probably classify as one if literally anyone else had made that sound. He’s been brought so low and Jaskier sounds so honest. He could have maybe gotten by without notice, but in the bath with Jaskier's hands in his hair and on his skin, there’s really no passing off the sound he makes as anything other than the desperate, needy thing it is.

“I punched you the first time we met,” Geralt points out, because he’s right on the precipice of something and urgently needs to back away from the edge. He tries glowering at Jaskier over his shoulder, but it turns out to be a grave mistake. Geralt is used to weariness and disappointment in the muted way he feels them. But this is a fragility he doesn’t know how to contend with, the brittle surface cracking when Jaskier gazes back at him like he’s anything other than a monster.

“I… probably had that coming,” Jaskier mumbles. Though Geralt has stopped looking, he can feel the shift in Jaskier’s posture suggesting that he’s sheepishly ducking his head. It’s an out of the ordinary thing, Jaskier owning his foibles, but Geralt doesn’t even get the opportunity to wrap his head around that before the bard swings a hammer at whatever defenses the witcher has left. “You’re good to me when it counts.”

Geralt doesn’t believe a word of it, but here and now he wishes quite desperately that he could. He longs to trust the warmth that slides like honey down his spine and settles at the base of it. He wants so badly to be what Jaskier names him as.

In retrospect, it’d probably be less humiliating if it were a sex thing. Jaskier has a penchant for oversharing and probably wouldn’t bat an eye. But it’s not as straightforward as that, even if the praise Jaskier wraps Geralt up in leaves him wanting. This is more, a bone deep sort of yearning that sits like a brick behind his breastbone, heavy and terribly misplaced.

The notion sneaks in that Jaskier just might see through him. He might recognize that despite the veneer of indifference Geralt puts out into the world, tonight the witcher is one stray thought away from a breakdown. He protects himself the only way he knows how, shrugging out from under where Jaskier’s hands have come to rest on his shoulders. “I don’t need help. Get out.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s brows furrow with concern. Frustratingly, the bard’s hand smooths over Geralt’s hair. Even more frustratingly, it’s a fight not to lean into the touch despite everything.

He snarls because it’s safer than the shaky thing in his chest, the thing that clings to the idea that there’s a version of the world where he is worthwhile. “Get. Out.”

Jaskier holds his hands up in surrender, but he doesn’t even have the decency to look surprised and that’s all the more maddening.

Jaskier gives him space, to bathe in peace and then to irritably crawl into bed. It’s only when Jaskier must think he’s fallen asleep that the bard curls up around his back, nose pressed to the nape of his neck. He hasn’t earned the comfort he’s being offered, but cannot help himself taking it anyway.

They do not speak of that night again.

*****

They do not speak of it, but Jaskier thinks about it an amount that is probably just a bit inappropriate. He recounts the punched out sound Geralt made at something so simple as a little well deserved absolution. He commits the little shudder of Geralt’s shoulders under his hands to memory. But most of all, Jaskier aches at the way Geralt had snarled about it, so convinced of his own unworthiness. This bridge isn’t Jaskier’s to cross though, so he secrets away the desire to do so and satisfies himself with whatever small kindnesses Geralt will tolerate.

But tragedy is rarely a one time occurence, even in an easy life. And Geralt’s life is anything but easy. It’s only a matter of time before everything comes down around his ears again.

It’s not even a hunt this time, not a monster but a mage. It’s just a spell gone wrong, and there was nothing Geralt could’ve done to contain it. They were too close, and Jaskier is pretty sure the only reason he even made it out in one piece was that Geralt shielded him with some sign that protected him from the worst of the blast.

Now, spotting Geralt’s still form among the rubble, it’s clear to Jaskier what his safety cost the witcher. He picks his way across the rubble as quickly as he dares, fighting to keep the fear from his voice. “Geralt?”

“Ngh.” It’s a reply, if not much of one, but it’s only Geralt when blinks blearily at him a couple of times and scowls that the terror Jaskier feels begins to settle.

He doesn’t know what to say. Jaskier is tempted to crack a joke and make light of the situation. It’s how he copes. It’s just that, they weren’t alone in this building, and judging from the quietly defeated look on Geralt’s face, the witcher is already thinking about that.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal.” Jaskier holds out a hand to Geralt, but he ignores it as he staggers to his feet. “But it’s not all hopeless. Because of you, they can’t ever harm anyone else again.”

“Shut up, Jaskier.” Geralt’s expression shutters, but Jaskier doesn’t need to be able to read the witcher’s emotions to know he’s thinking about all the people that outcome isn’t good enough for. As hyper sensitive as Geralt’s senses are, Jaskier can’t help but suspect that the rocks aren’t enough to hide what’s buried within the ruins, so he tries to steer Geralt back towards their camp. There’s nothing else they can do in this place but mourn.

“Are you okay to walk?” Jaskier doesn’t like the idea of leaving Geralt here to get help, but he also doesn’t want to inadvertently make things worse.

“I’m fine.” Geralt takes a step and then another. They’re wobbly, but he does manage to stay upright.

“You sure? A building exploded with you, you know, in it.” Jaskier is sort of sorry for pressing even before Geralt glowers at him.

“I said I’m fine.” Geralt repeats himself, and there’s no progress to be made pressing any further about it.

Jaskier knows better than to offer his support despite the fact that Geralt is limping at his side. If the witcher is not actively falling over, his attempts to help are likely to be ill received. He tries very hard to ignore it, even if it makes his heart twist up in his chest, but that all flies out the window when they finally come to a stop at camp, where the ground beneath them is dry dirt rather than grass and leaves, and there’s no missing the blood sluggishly pooling at Geralt’s feet.

“Geralt. For the love of- You’re bleeding. Sit down.” Jaskier grouses, more irritated at himself for not noticing than anything else.

To his shock, Geralt sits without complaint, though Jaskier suspects that is more out of exhaustion than any sudden desire to be cooperative. With a pained hiss, Geralt works to rid himself of his armor while Jaskier gathers supplies, so maybe he means to cooperate after all. That’s either very good or very bad.

Very bad, Jaskier decides, grimacing at the deep gash in Geralt’s side beneath where his rib cage ends. It’s not a clean cut the way a claw or a blade might be, probably a product of part of a building dropping on him.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes out, kneeling to try and staunch the bleeding enough to properly stitch it back up.

“I’m okay Jaskier,” Geralt insists. That he’s gritting his teeth on a low moan when Jaskier presses on his wounded flank is… not really helping his case.

“Great. You can continue to be okay while you sit there and let me stitch this up.” It comes out a little more tartly than Jaskier had meant, but Geralt doesn’t even seem to notice.

He does, however, sit still. That Geralt is quiet while Jaskier threads a needle isn’t out of the ordinary. But Jaskier looks at the witcher’s face and finds a great deal more than weariness there.

Jaskier lets it go at first, the task at hand more pressing. It’s only when he’s on his third stitch and Geralt is still staring miserably out towards the trees that he gently chastises the witcher. The expression isn’t an unfamiliar one, and Jaskier hates it every time. “Stop it.”

Geralt’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t look at Jaskier. “Stop what?”

“Insisting on taking on burdens that aren’t yours to carry.” There’s a needle in one hand and blood on both of them, so the tactile methods he’d usually use to soothe are no good. Jaskier tries words instead, already knowing they’ll be rejected. “It wasn’t your fault. If anything, it was a great deal less awful than it might have been because of you.”

On the bright side, Geralt doesn’t immediately snap at him. It might have something to do with the fact that he’s actively stitching the witcher up. Geralt doesn’t even look at Jaskier, but his expression is stormy and tense. Jaskier bites his tongue for another couple of stitches before he decides this is a sort of misery he can’t leave alone. So, he tries again. “When we first met, you really didn’t like me. And I know you’re making a face. Stop it. Just because I ignored the fact that you found me aggravating doesn’t mean I didn’t recognize it.”

“I’m making a face because you said that all past tense.” There’s a note of what might be humor there, and Jaskier doesn’t even care if the joke is at his expense under the circumstances.

Jaskier huffs out a fondly exasperated breath. “That’s very rude, but I’m going to let it go this time because you’re bleeding all over my hands. My point is that you gave me - someone you actively disliked - coin you didn’t have to spare.”

Geralt is quiet for so long that Jaskier thinks he might actually be listening. He probably is even, but his reply is too close to their usual banter, like he can’t stomach the idea of having a conversation that matters. “With songs like that, it seemed like you could use all the help you could get.”

“Oh, haha. Very funny. I realize it wasn’t my best work.” He’s trying, really, and it’s hard not to deflate in the face of Geralt’s resistance. Jaskier stares down at his current task and that could be the end of it. But the last time they went down this road still haunts him, and Jaskier is determined to try again, hopefully without being run off this time around. “Okay, if you’re going to be like that. In the last village, you let a little girl hire you to check her closet for monsters.”

There’s a clear sense of suspicion in the way Geralt narrows his eyes at Jaskier, but all the witcher says is, “Why would I turn down a paying contract?”

“Geralt.” Despite everything, Jaskier is pretty certain he’s never loved anyone in his life as much as he does Geralt right now. “She paid you in rocks.”

“They had value to her.” It’s endearingly defensive, but Geralt is justifying himself rather than running Jaskier off, so the bard counts it as an improvement.

Regardless, it’s not the message Jaskier is trying to get across. “I know. But you can’t exactly get provisions or a room at an inn with a pocketful of pebbles. And then there was Goose Hollow. You snuck that woman’s payment back into her kitchen.”

The witcher’s nose crinkles in distaste. Jaskier knows why he did it, but Geralt seems to feel the need to remind him anyway. “She’d just lost her husband to that kikimore and she had a baby on the way. I could make do without. Not sure she could’ve.”

“Right. You’re absolutely right, and that’s what I’m getting at,” Jaskier says, giving up on the idea that Geralt might have at least enough sense of self worth to reach this conclusion on his own. That’s clearly not the case, so Jaskier opts to connect the dots. “These are things you acknowledge, things you act on, because you are kind.”

Annnnnnnd there it is, the point at which Geralt can’t pretend he doesn’t understand what Jaskier is trying to communicate. He growls, shifting like he means to get up. “Fuck off.”

Jaskier pinches Geralt’s hip, well below where the bruising from the wound stops. “Do. Not. I have a needle literally stuck through you. You’re a good person whether you acknowledge it or not, so stop being dramatic and trying to flounce off just because someone said something that clashes with your self loathing.”

The scowl doesn’t leave Geralt’s face, but by some miracle, he does settle. “Oh, I’m dramatic?”

Bowing his head to hide a smile, Jaskier goes back to work. He wishes he could stay made for even a moment, but there’s just nothing for it. “What with the growling and glaring and stalking needlessly off into the trees or whatever nonsense you were planning? As someone who is personally very well versed in dramatics, yes.”

There’s no scathing or witty retort so it would be easy to assume Geralt is ignoring him when Jaskier is met with silence, but the bard knows better. It’s subtle things, an evening out of Geralt’s breathing, a shift in his posture, and though the seconds drag out, stretched like taffy, he’s not surprised when the witcher says very softly. “I didn’t know you’d noticed.”

And oh, that hurts. Not for the sake of Jaskier’s own feelings, but for the fact that Geralt could share shitty tavern food and too small inn beds and miles of open road for so long and still not recognize that he matters. “Of course I noticed. I always notice you.”

“I don’t think the rocks are going to make for a very interesting song,” Geralt says, and while his tone is clearly meant to convey sarcasm, his gaze is soft and searching, and oh to hell with it all.

“For fuck’s sake. It’s not for a song. I notice because I love you, you absolute twit.” There’s that strange, wounded sound again. The one that makes Jaskier want to wind his arms around Geralt’s shoulders and draw him close. Last time, that had been the preface to Geralt shutting him out entirely, but it doesn’t happen this time. Geralt hardly seems to notice when Jaskier rises after tying off the thread. His whole body goes stiff when Jaskier succumbs to the urge to embrace him, but somehow this time Geralt doesn’t immediately pull away.

With bated breath, Jaskier waits for the awkward stiffness to become a full blown retreat, because surely Geralt does not want his feelings, but the demand to be let go of never comes. Surrender is a quieter, subtler thing than any resistance Geralt put up. It’s a gradual release of the tension holding him bow string taut in Jaskier’s arms, a furtive embrace as Geralt’s hands find their way to curl loosely in the back of Jaskier’s chemise. With a sigh Geralt’s head drops to rest against Jaskier’s shoulder.

Jaskier is prepared, he thinks, for that to be the end of it. There are no strings attached, no conditions riding the tails of his affection. That Geralt didn’t immediately turn him away, that the witcher relents enough to let Jaskier be a source of comfort is enough. Geralt sags a little bit against him and Jaskier commits the feeling to memory, idly smoothing his hand over Geralt’s hair.

It’s still there when Geralt pulls back to look at him, eyes wide with something Jaskier might describe as wonderment.

“What?” Jaskier doesn’t give himself permission to hope because that’s not what this is about, but his heart takes off anyway, hammering away in his chest.

“You weren’t afraid of me, even though the only point of reference you had was the stories.” There’s a question in the quiet words Geralt speaks. And Jaskier does know what he means. Rumors of the Butcher of Blaviken were far reaching, and Jaskier had no way of knowing the accuracy of them. So why?

“Well, you’re not nearly as scary as you think you are,” Jaskier says lightly, and then, because the question is there, but Geralt looks afraid of the answer, he adds with a sheepish smile. “Also, you were the one person not throwing food at me, so that was a point in your favor automatically.”

Geralt says nothing at first, but his mouth turns unhappily downward. Jaskier expects annoyance or anger, is used to those things, but this is more akin to grief and he doesn’t know what to do with it. In the wake of it, Jaskier is almost relieved when Geralt speaks again.

“You learned how to do this because we travel together.” Geralt gingerly pries one of Jaskier’s hands from his back, laying it delicately over his wounded side, and no. No, that last point was definitely easier to address. They should go back to things he can make jokes about.

“So what?” Jaskier says, though it comes out more like a croak. And his chest might as well be split open on the faint smile that coaxes from Geralt.

Curious. Jaskier can feel Geralt’s thumb sweep back and forth across his chemise, almost like the witcher is nervous. “You hate blood.”

He’s already said the most terrifying part, and he doesn’t know what Geralt thinks, but the witcher hasn’t left. So really, Jaskier wonders, what is there to be frightened of? “It would be very unfortunate for the both of us if something happened to you.”

“That’s not… I don’t think you’re hearing me,” Geralt mutters, mouth slanted off to the side.

It won’t do. Jaskier has no wish to be a source of frustration when he’s trying to be a comfort, so he lets himself smile and brushes Geralt’s cheek with his knuckles. “I’m sorry. Would you tell me again?”

Jaskier barely gets the words out before Geralt’s lips are brushing, feather light, against his. It’s over as abruptly as it started though Geralt lingers with his forehead pressed to Jaskier’s and his hand cradling the bard’s cheek. “I notice you, too.”

He could live in this moment, Jaskier thinks, just sat here knowing he’s not alone in the things he wants. The circle of Geralt’s arms is a lovely place to linger, so Jaskier lets himself have it even as he says, “In case you missed it, I’m done if you’re still feeling the need to go stomping off in the woods to fume.”

Geralt rarely laughs at anything, but the amused snort Jaskier gets for his trouble is close enough. Even better is the kiss that follows, slow and sweet and full of promise. “Well, someone very obnoxious and very... dear told me it was dramatic, so I thought I’d maybe stay here with you instead.”

You can find the rest of my Witcher fanworks here. <3

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #geralt whump #emotional hurt/comfort #Guest starring Geralt's egregious lack of self-worth #mentions of blood and injury #In which life is hard and Geralt would very much benefit from a hug #conveniently Jaskier would also like to give him one #my fic

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samstree · 3 years

Text

splash of the waves, and the sand castle crumbles (1/?)

Geraskier, Prince!Jaskier, fairy tale elements but with a twist, fluff and angst, 6.9k, rated T

Read on AO3

Geralt finds himself drawn to the prince despite himself. As he and Jaskier grow closer, war also looms on the horizon. It's the stuff of fairy tales, but can a witcher find his happily ever after in the time of heartbreaks and deaths?

“Ma?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened next?”

“The farm girl became a princess and married the prince. They lived happily ever after,” she smiled, her eyes so warm in the candlelight.

“But what next?”

“Happily ever after, sweetie. It means there will only be happiness for the rest of their lives.”

She places a kiss on the top of his head and blows out the candle. Her hands are soft and gentle when she tucks him in.

“Ma?”

“Yes?”

“Will we live happily ever after?”

She pauses in the darkness.

“Of course, my darling. Now you need to close your eyes—”

“Like the prince and the girl?”

“Even better.”

“But she married the prince. How can it be better?”

She sighs. The warmth of her palm brushes across his forehead, making his eyelids droop heavily.

“Your future holds much more, my sweet boy. You will find out tomorrow when you wake up.”

Sleep overcomes him. Indeed, he dreams of fairy tales and royal balls, magic spells and grand weddings.

The next morning, he wakes up believing in those happy ever afters.

Sometimes, when stones are thrown and pitchforks raised, Geralt regrets ever doing so.

The crown prince of Aedirn is a beautiful thing.

His pale blue doublet shines under the bright morning sun, the silvery embroidery sparkling in the light. A big smile —that ever-so-friendly smile that Prince Julian is known for— spreads across his face as a man with blond hair riding next to him speaks. Windswept brown hair brushes over his eyes, obscuring his youthful features.

Everything about him screams royalty. Privilege.

Even his horse is the most nicely-groomed white stallion Geralt has ever laid eyes on.

Prince Charming needs the whole get-up. The witcher snorts behind the bush, observing the royal convoy. It’s too small and moving way too slowly. They must have let down their guard because of the proximity to the castle. If Geralt were to assassinate a royal, he would choose to do it here as well.

It doesn’t take long for the first one to approach from the side of the road, hiding behind the shrub just like Geralt. The man in black works silently and quickly, but not as quickly as a witcher.

Geralt strangles him from behind, gripping tightly until the man passes out. A crossbow falls to the ground. The convoy travels ahead, unaware of the witcher disposing of a deadly threat to their prince’s life.

The swoosh of an arrow pierces the air.

“Protect the prince!”

Two dozen assassins in the same black suit appear out of thin air, charging into the royal guards’ formation. In an instant, the heap of pale-blue is tackled to the ground. Swords clash as more men start yelling.

“Fuck.”

Dodging a stray arrow, the witcher rushes into the chaos. The small convoy being overwhelmed by the incoming force, they hardly notice one of the assassins circling around the battle and moving directly to the prince. With a few long strides, Geralt stops the man with a clean strike.

“What—” the prince scrambles back at the sight of blood, looking at the witcher’s towering form with disbelief.

“You need to come with me,” Geralt says, before hauling him up by the collar of his doublet.

He half drags the prince to the hide-out. It’s only a cave where he left Roach earlier, but it should be enough. The young man slumps down against the wall, breathing heavily.

“Why are you—”

“Shh.” The witcher quickly crouches on the ground and presses his palm over the prince’s mouth. Distant footsteps disappear in another direction, before he slowly lets go. “We should be safe for now.”

In the quiet of the cave, he can hear the prince’s pounding heart, his eyes blown wide like a startled deer. Specks of blood smear across his cheeks, making him appear even younger.

“My men?”

“These are hired assassins. They will disperse once you are gone.” Geralt is surprised at how gentle his voice comes out. “Are you all right?”

“I—” the prince swallows, and looks down to his bicep where the flesh is grazed by an arrow. The wound is shallow and slowly seeping blood into the torn fabric. Geralt reckons that it should be fine left alone. “I’m fine. I—I’m…fine, yes. I’m alive.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, both in shock and relief. The prince tries to appear unaffected but the overwhelming panic in his scent betrays his seemingly neutral expression.

“You are lucky it didn’t go through your heart.” The witcher leaves him to check on Roach. Sensing the danger in the air, the mare has stayed quiet this whole time. He pats her mane in thanks. “Didn’t think the prince of Aedirn was this careless.”

“I didn’t think witchers got themselves involved in political squabbles either.” Cornflower blues meet Geralt piercingly, despite his shakiness. “I know who you are,” he chuckles tightly. “The witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt grunts.

“I didn’t get involved.”

The prince only gestures to himself, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve saved your ass. Now you can return to your castle and pretend we’ve never met, your highness.”

“Please, call me Jaskier.” The prince stands, patting the blue silk to get off the dirt and wincing when the movement tugs at his arm. “Aren’t you curious as to how I learned about you? Your fame precedes you, witcher.”

The young man meets his gaze assuredly. There’s no trace of fear in his scent.

People usually learn about Geralt one way—his moniker is not something to be escaped. But the prince doesn’t act like everyone else who meets the Butcher. Or at least, he hides it well.

“Are you not scared for your life, prince?”

“It’s Jaskier. And no, I’m not scared by the Butcher, if that’s what you mean.” There’s a knowing glint in his eyes. “I know you from a… mutual acquaintance, let’s say.”

“Oh?”

“Filavandrel mentioned you.”

“The elf king who hides in the mountains?” Geralt frowns. “I never really knew him. Not for more than a day.”

“No? He spoke of a white-haired witcher who was paid to hunt his people. Only that witcher left his own coin purse to them upon finding out about their circumstances. It showed compassion that no human had ever shown them, witcher. From his description, I thought the elven king and you shared a moment that day, or rather, an understanding.”

“Only of men.” He pauses. “Haven’t you come to the same understanding? Or why else would the prince of Aedirn make a target of himself by providing shelter to elven refugees?”

Geralt remembers his encounter with the elf king vividly, his anger and despair. The path took him back to Lower Posada years after that day. His curiosity drove him back to Dol Blathanna, only to find a much larger settlement and an exploding population of elves and other non-humans. Not only that, everyone there spoke of the kindness of the prince, who gave equal status to all sentient creatures on Aedirn soil.

“I see someone did homework on me.”

“People here sing your praises on the street day and night. It seems half the country has fallen in love with you,” Great admits begrudgingly.

“And the other half dislikes that I’m giving land away. Land that could have been providing for humans. The other half of my country believes I’m crazy just like all the other kings and queens in the north.”

The prince steps into Geralt’s space.

“You see, Geralt of Rivia, I cannot change the war that others deem just. I cannot stop the Lioness of Cintra from slaughtering elves and non-humans alike on the other side of the Yaruga. All I have is a piece of land in the Blue Mountains and, perhaps, I can provide them the means to rebuild. Those settlements are only a start.”

“It sounds like a noble cause, prince, but I’m not sure how much you can achieve.”

“Sometimes,” the prince’s attention shifts to Roach. “I wonder the same thing. The continent won’t change overnight just because one kingdom decides to show them a little bit of decency. The same decency that we humans are treated with all along.”

The young prince falls silent, his hand reaching out to touch Roach’s mane but retreats when she snorts anxiously. Geralt shushes the mare with a carrot from the pack.

“And I think, my friend,” the young prince continues. “Despite your claim of neutrality, you are on my side.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“No? But I wish to become yours. After all, you just saved my life so selflessly and gallantly,” he proclaims dramatically. “You should have seen yourself, Geralt. So brave with a sword, like a knight from the stories! If we were in a fairy tale, this is where I offer myself to you in eternal gratitude.”

“Are all princes this cheeky?”

“I don’t know. Are all witchers this heroic and beautiful?” Blue eyes roam up and down the witcher’s body, before meeting his gaze with clear interest.

Geralt grunts, ducking away from direct eye contact with the prince. Suddenly the air in the cave feels too warm. He clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Are you being shy, Geralt the witcher?”

The teasing comes so naturally for the prince. Gods, is that why all the maidens out there are so enamored with him? With those easy smiles and dreamy blue eyes, as soon as he throws in some flirtatious words, any inexperienced country girl would swoon upon meeting with him.

What fools they all are.

“We are not in a fairy tale,” Geralt says, palming his face. “Don’t expect a happy ending from this, my prince.”

“Jaskier,” the prince repeats insistently. “Although I do like the way you call me ‘my prince’. I’d certainly like it more if we were in a… different situation.”

He raises an eyebrow suggestively, and Geralt wonders if he can un-save this ridiculous man’s life.

“Fine then. Jaskier.”

The prince, who insists his name is a flower, smiles smugly for having gotten his way.

“But why?” he then faces Geralt head-on, his voice steady. “Why help me? If you don’t seek the favor of a prince, and the conflict never concerns you?”

Geralt blinks.

He’s not sure what drove him to the decision. The only emotion he had upon hearing about a price on the head of the crown prince was unease. The witcher has seen the war and how all the non-humans were killed with little reason, their corpses a feast for ghouls. The prince of Aedirn made himself an enemy to many realms by taking in all the refugees.

It wouldn’t sit right to let him die.

“I was in Cintra a month ago,” Geralt answers.

Jaskier tilts his head.

“So was I. I went to negotiate the relocation of the defeated elves with Queen Calanthe.” Something dawns on him. “You heard something, didn’t you? Was this assassination ordered by her? The negotiation ended up a complete waste of time, but never have I thought she could resort to such a dishonorable way of killing. No matter how much she must want to get rid of me permanently… Oh, I—I never thought…”

The prince—Jaskier trails off, his face drained of blood.

“I only learned about the bounty on your head,” Geralt explains, confused by the prince’s sudden show of weakness. “Hired swords get quite loose-lipped after a few drinks. As to where the order came from—"

“Wait, I…"

A pained grunt escapes the prince’s throat. He sways on his feet ever so slightly, but steadies himself with a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. They both look down to where the wound is still trickling slowly, soaking his sleeve with a patch of dark crimson.

“Wait, I thought…” Geralt reaches out to hold Jaskier’s arm. His palm comes away covered in blood. “Shit, it shouldn’t be bleeding this much.”

“You followed all the way from Cintra, just to stop them from killing m—" Jaskier breaks off for air as Geralt rummages through his pack for bandages. The prince clenches the fabric over his chest, as if something is hurting him from within. “So much for… n—not getting involved.”

“Shut up, prince.” Geralt’s fingers reach the bandage. “Or Jaskier, or whatever flower you prefer.”

A strained smile contorts into a grimace on the prince’s face, his knees buckling.

“Shit.” The witcher barely manages to catch his limp body before his head hits the ground. Blue eyes become unfocused as his head sags against Geralt’s shoulder. “Jaskier? Prince? Can you hear me?”

Geralt inspects the wound on his arm closely for the first time, and that’s when his witcher senses pick up on the faint trail of bitterness.

“It’s poison,” he mutters and curses under his breath.

Jaskier whimpers weakly upon hearing the words, his eyes filled with full-blown panic. For the first time that day, the witcher senses potent fear in the prince’s scent.

Or is it his own?

Geralt can’t tell.

Roach is almost at her limits. The weight of two grown men puts a lot of tires her way too quickly, but Geralt doesn’t dare to slow down, not until he can see the castle walls.

“Don’t die now,” the witcher murmurs into the prince’s ear, who is slumped against his chest, half-delirious and slurring nonsense. The make-shift tourniquet on his arm is soaked through with specks of blood.

The poison is attacking his heart, Geralt notices. It’s also speeding it up, disrupting its rhythm. It’s the vicious kind, one that is designed to make the victim suffer before they die.

Jaskier’s face is white as a sheet, and his lips are turning a sickening purple. The trembling comes and goes, making it harder to keep him in place. His blue eyes roll back, and for a moment, Geralt thinks he’s lost him.

“We are here, prince. Do you hear me?” The gate opens when the guards realize that their prince is brought back injured. A lot of people are shouting but it’s all a blur when Geralt carries the prince down from the mare’s back. “Just hang on, Jaskier.”

Jaskier clings, his heartbeat fluttering dangerously.

They take Jaskier away with force, his limp hand slipping from Geralt’s grip. Someone kicks the witcher behind the knees, sending him to the ground. Weapons suddenly appear at his throat, stopping him from going any further.

“G’ralt…” Jaskier protests, his hands grabbing blindly.

“He needs a healer!” he shouts at those guards who only seem to be interested in restraining him.

Cornflower blues are fixed on golden yellow. The prince’s skin is covered in sweat, his lips quivering, struggling to form words. It takes a second for the witcher to realize that he’s talking to the guards.

“He saved my life. Don’t… He saved…me,” Jaskier chokes out a breath, and Geralt feels those guards release him.

The witcher is left kneeling as more men surround the prince and rush him inside. They’re either fussing over Jaskier or calling for help. His faint heartbeat gets lost in the commotion.

“Wait, is he going to—"

The gate shuts in his face. The last thing he sees is Jaskier collapsing in someone’s arms.

No word about the prince comes out for months. Not about the assassination. Not about his poisoning.

Rumor says that he was gravely injured during the attack, and that he has been bed-ridden since returning from Cintra. Some even suspect that he’s already dead.

“…I opened the envelope and it was an invitation from the prince!”

“It was magical, wasn’t it? He doesn’t show up for ages and suddenly we are all invited to a ball! In his castle! A royal ball where anyone can attend, no less! I heard he will choose one to marry tonight.”

“Although I heard he’s sick for quite some time…”

Geralt ducks his head while listening in on the two women’s conversation. They are each dressed in a luxurious ball gown, their faces powered and lips painted. Like everyone else in the room, they are trying to impress the prince at his first outing in months.

But that is not why he is here.

Geralt has been lingering in Aedirn since that day, when he sent Jaskier back to the castle with poison coursing through his veins, not knowing what would become of him. Months of dead silence only make his stomach sink further.

A chance presented itself when news came out that the prince will hold a ball to the public.

It only makes sense that he should go and check, just to make sure Jaskier is all right. After all, he doesn’t want to put in all the effort to save someone only to never know if he will end up fine.

He will see for himself that Jaskier is well, and then he will leave.

He will not get involved.

Of course not.

Geralt takes another sip of the wine, surprised at the buzz it gives to his temporarily human body. When the mage sold him the potion that could hide all visible witcher traits, she did not mention it would also slow his metabolism to an ordinary human’s.

“The disguise will expire at midnight, when the bell strikes twelve.” Luckily she didn’t forget about this.

What a cliché.

It seems that no mage can resist a touch of dramatics.

For now, he looks like another random lord with dark hair and brown eyes. She also threw in a spell to turn his clothes into a silky ensemble in a muted black color.

“His royal highness, Prince Julian!” someone announces.

The crowd turns their eyes to the top of the stairs, where the heavy wooden doors open in everyone’s anticipation. One of the two women lets out an audible gasp as the prince steps out.

And there he is, Jaskier.

Those blue eyes are bright as the sky, those cheeks rosy-pink. He’s a picture of health compared to the last time Geralt held him in his arms. The witcher lets out a relieved sigh he never knew he was holding.

A smile spreads across the prince’s face. Suddenly the wine isn’t the only thing making Geralt all warm and fuzzy inside.

The prince descends the stairs with such elegance, his doublet a pristine ivory color under the chandelier’s sparkling light. The clothes sit perfectly on his frame, but with a heavy heart, Geralt realizes that he’s also lost weight.

It’s minuscule, and the puffy sleeves hide it well, but it’s there. Bed-ridden for a long time, they say. The witcher swallows the lump in his throat.

The crowd parts for the prince, retreating to the edge of the dance floor. No one dares to breathe as they await his invitation to the first dance. Once the dancing starts, the music will be too loud and the people too busy, giving the witcher a window to easily disappear into the night. But Jaskier continues to search through the crowd as if he has a specific someone to look for.

Before Geralt can even react, blue eyes have locked with his. The piercing blue makes him instinctively want to hide, but the witcher is frozen to the spot. The prince walks directly towards him, the grin spreading even wider if that is possible.

“May I have the first dance?” Jaskier reaches out, his palm facing up.

Countless eyes fall on Geralt, making his skin prickle, but he pays no mind. All he can focus on is the prince’s expectant look. Even now, without his witcher hearing to know Jaskier’s heartbeat, he can see the tentative hope in the way Jaskier seems to hold his breath.

Geralt takes his hand.

The royal garden is quiet under the night sky. The cool breeze is nice on Geralt’s skin, the faint hum of cicadas a soothing balm to his ear after hours of music and dance.

“Apologies. I was getting a little… uncomfortable in there.” The prince leads the witcher to a bench. His hand rubs at his heart like it’s bothering him.

“Are you well, my prince?” Geralt helps him sit down.

“Please, call me Jaskier.”

Geralt pauses. Does Jaskier tell his preferred name to anyone? Even a stranger he just met at a ball?

“Why Jaskier?”

“It’s the person I dream to be,” he answers wistfully but adds nothing to explain. Geralt wonders why a prince could possibly dream to be another person.

“I see.” He nods. “Are you feeling alright, Jaskier?”

The prince’s eyes soften as he reaches out to tuck a lock of curly brown hair out of Geralt’s face. The movement is so gentle that the witcher can’t help but catch his hand, holding those slender fingers in his palm.

They are way too slender, he thinks. Repressed worry bubbles up in his throat again.

“I’m fine now.” Jaskier squeezes his hand reassuringly. “Although I haven’t been for a few months, as you already know.”

“Uh…yes.” Geralt splutters. This closeness, combined with the touch of skin, seems to be slowing his brain. “There are rumors, from outside the castle. It was an attack, wasn’t it? At least that’s what I heard.”

“It was. They used poison, no less. The healers told me that it weakened my heart, even stopped it for a few seconds.” He chuckles sadly, threading their fingers together and pressing both their hands over his chest. “The pain still comes and goes these days, but I cope.”

The thumping underneath Geralt’s hand is rhythmic. Calming. It feels so fragile, especially now that he knows how little it takes to stop it. To snuff out the light in those cornflower-blue eyes along with it. And yet, this heart keeps beating.

“I’m glad you survived, Jaskier.”

The name comes out reverent, like a prayer.

“So am I, my friend.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

Moonlight frames Jaskier’s fond expression, giving it a soft glow. Long lashes cast a shadow on his faint blush. A grin spreads across the prince’s face when he answers.

“I hope? Or maybe I can hope for more. After all, this ball is held so I can find my future intended in the crowd.”

The implication makes Geralt’s breath hitch. He blinks.

“You don’t even know my name.”

Jaskier’s eyes darken as he leans in. His hand comes up to cradle Geralt’s chin. “Somehow, I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

The crisp night air is mixed with the fresh smell of grass, but on top of it is a floral scent that reminds him of spring and hope. Geralt lets his senses be overwhelmed by the prince, by his soft breaths ghosting over his skin and those enchanting lips well within reach.

Not getting involved, the back of his mind screams.

Despite himself, Geralt meets Jaskier halfway, their lips a hair’s breadth away when—

The bell strikes. Once, twice…

The noise is the loudest wake-up call, turning Geralt’s blood to ice. What is he doing? Is it midnight already? Fuck… he needs to get out of here before the magic expires.

“I need to go,” Geralt blurts out. “I have to leave right now. Ah… I’m so sorry.”

Jaskier’s brows knit together in confusion. “What is wrong? I thought you—”

“I came here to make sure you are all right, Prince Julian. Nothing more. It was never my intention to let you believe there could be anything else.”

The prince’s face dims at his apology. The dejection on his face tugs at something in Geralt’s chest. It leaves him wanting, but there’s no time. The bell counts down his sentence.

He takes Jaskier’s hand and places a simple kiss there, and turns to leave, only to be halted by the prince’s tightening hold.

“Wait, you don’t have to go."

“You don’t understand,” Geralt’s voice quivers with urgency. “It’s important that I leave.”

Those gentle fingers wrap around Geralt’s steadily, Jaskier’s skin cool against his. The prince continues to ignore his plea. If anything, he steps closer.

“Stay. Please.” Jaskier whispers, and it’s all it takes.

The witcher can break free easily, but for some reason he is unable. For some reason, he feels the weakest he has ever been under the intensity of Jaskier’s pleading gaze.

To his horror, the magic fades. Geralt can feel his hair change and grow longer, his teeth sharpening. The flow of chaos stings his eyes that are certainly turning back to yellow. His face crumbles.

And yet, Jaskier never wavers.

If anything, the adoration in those stormy blues only grows, ever so beautifully, as the swirl of magic circles around Geralt, revealing plain clothes instead of silk.

The bell strikes twelve.

The sound still echoes in the air. Slowly, with the utmost determination, Jaskier’s fingers thread through what is now silver-white hair. Tears glisten in his eyes.

“You told me we were not in a fairy tale, and yet, you try to leave me at midnight. You tried to leave me here under the stars. Alone and heartbroken.” The prince lets out a wet chuckle. “Because you think I wouldn’t recognize the man who saved my life. You think I wouldn’t know the witcher who’s risking everything right now just to see that I am well. I’d know you anywhere, Geralt of Rivia.”

Jaskier’s feather-light touch continues to trace the shell of Geralt’s ear, the tiny scar under his eye, and then finally, the corner of his mouth. It’s not often, in his long life, that Geralt gets his breath taken away, least of all by a prince.

“How?”

“I suspected,” Jaskier whispers. “Or rather I hoped when I saw you in the ballroom. I prayed. That it’s you.”

“You danced with me because—”

“Because I wanted to thank you properly. We were kind of in a hurry last time.” The prince teases, his palm tilting Geralt’s chin. “May I?”

He nods.

As if in a dream, soft lips press against his, tasting of salt and moonlight. Geralt lets out a tiny gasp as Jaskier opens him up patiently and draws it out like they have all the time in the world. Like he’s something to be treated with gentleness. Something to be treasured.

He pulls away panting, only to realize that tears are rolling down Jaskier’s cheeks freely, so he catches them with the pad of his thumb.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Geralt shushes him, but Jaskier sniffles with a smile.

“I’m not upset. Trust me when I say these are tears of joy.” Red-rimmed eyes sparkle like the stars. “But Geralt…”

“Yes?”

“Will I see you again?”

Geralt blinks. He only sneaked into a royal court with one goal. Now that he has achieved it and more, there’s nothing that should bring him back to Jaskier again. His heart twists painfully at the idea, and words tumble out of his mouth. The last of his sanity screams against it, and yet his heart has made the decision.

“I hope, Jaskier. I can only hope to see you again.”

Jaskier beams as he presses another kiss to Geralt’s wrist.

“That is enough for me.”

“Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh…”

Jaskier’s voice echoes hauntingly. In front of him, the elven family sits huddled together, listening intently. The two children are concentrating so hard that they are almost falling off their parents’ laps. Finally, as the soft strumming of the lute comes to an end, they start clapping with passion.

From a distance, Geralt can only see the prince from behind, but somehow he can sense the big smile Jaskier returns to those excited children. The wind in the Blue Mountains ruffles his brown hair. Jaskier continues to take off the strap and carefully hands the lute to the elven woman.

The witcher approaches quietly.

“…thank you so much! It is such a beautiful instrument.” Jaskier’s voice is warm and welcoming. She’s certainly charmed when they keep talking about music and folk songs.

Geralt stands there and lets Jaskier’s presence wash over him. In the end, it’s the other woman who notices him and gestures in his direction.

Jaskier turns his head and beams.

“Geralt! What brings you here?”

With a few long strides, the prince rushes over and slams their bodies into a bear hug. Anyone who’s not a witcher might have been knocked over by the force, but Geralt catches Jaskier steadily.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” Jaskier exclaims as he presses a chaste pack to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “I haven’t seen you since the manticore hunt.”

“It was still weird that you would want to come with me on hunts.”

“What is life if not to see your favorite witcher in action?” Jaskier waves it off as if a prince getting monster gut all over himself is a common occurrence. He checks Geralt all over. “Anyway, how’s the path treating you, my dear? Any injuries? Exciting stories?”

“The path is fine.” His excitement is too contagious that Geralt feels his lips tug upwards. “And it hasn’t been long. Two months at most.”

“Nonsense. Any amount of time not seeing you feels like ages.”

The parents lead their children away, the girl still humming the song from Jaskier’s private performance.

“I didn’t know the prince could play the lute. Or sing,” he teases.

“Ha! I’m full of surprises, you shall see! Besides, I always thought—” Jaskier cuts himself off, ducks his head before continuing. “I always thought that in another life, I would have been a bard.”

“Would you?”

“Mm-hmm. I would travel the continent, write songs about heroes and adventures. With a lute on my back, I could go to the edge of the world and beyond. Maybe even meet some interesting people, find my muse, or… fall in love.”

He winks at Geralt cheekily when the witcher realizes something.

“So is Jaskier the stage name you picked? For this bard life?”

“Why yes.” Jaskier sounds so surprised. “How do you know? Oh, my dear witcher, you do understand me like no one else! Not even Valdo is a match to you, no matter how well he claims to know me.”

The mention of Valdo Marx’s name sends a pang of bitterness through Geralt, though he has learned long ago that it’s irrational. The prince’s life-long friend, now an important right-hand man, is the most devoted advisor in Jaskier’s council. He’s supported Jaskier in everything throughout his life, having done nothing wrong by the prince, and yet, Geralt can’t bring himself to like the man.

Maybe it’s because of his too-shiny blonde hair. It gives him a headache if he stares at it for too long. Maybe it’s his all-knowing eyes that tend to judge the witcher silently every time they meet. The distrust is too typical for politicians such as him.

Or maybe, it’s because anyone with eyes can see how Valdo is desperately in love with Jaskier, but apparently, it’s not that obvious to the prince himself.

“I know because only you will have a tacky name like Buttercup for your professional career.” The words come out more sour than Geralt expected.

Jaskier squawks with rightful indignation, and Geralt can’t help but snort out a laugh. It’s truly too easy to rile him up.

“It’s just hard to picture.” The witcher continues, while taking Jaskier’s hand. “Someone like you, with soft hands like these. It would take a lot of hard work if you want to make it as a musician. I’m not sure if my prince is up for that job.”

Jaskier slaps him on the arm offendedly. “I’ll have you know, Geralt of Rivia! I am perfectly capable of enduring hardship for the right cause! Now that was truly rude of you to assume that I am spoiled just because I’m a prince! Really, it’s very unbecoming of you!”

“Hmm.” Geralt tilts his head, amused. “And what is a right cause in your book?”

All jokes dissipate after that question.

The prince looks around to the new camps and make-shift houses, everything illuminated by the setting sun. Bonfires are lit where families are gathered after dinner, laughing and dancing together, despite the hardship that brought them here.

“I want everyone on my land to live happily, no matter how they came to Aedirn. I wish they could all see it as a home,” Jaskier says sadly. “That is the most important cause in my life, Geralt. Although I’m not sure if that’s just a fantasy.”

Geralt squeezes the prince’s hands gently. They are exceedingly soft, and cold to the touch. The witcher used to assume that Jaskier just runs a little colder than the average person. But later, to his dismay, he found out that it’s yet another result of the poisoning.

He never wants to see Jaskier’s chest pain flare up again. He never wants to see Jaskier bend over in agony, his hands turning into blocks of ice from the lack of blood flow, his face skin covered in sweat in an instant. Just witnessing it happen almost gives Geralt phantom pain. What’s worse is that there’s nothing he can do but wait it out, holding Jaskier close and rocking him back and forth slowly.

At least he’s now feeling contrite. Teasing Jaskier about not being strong enough was a low blow, when in fact, the young prince is the furthest from deserving such an accusation.

He doesn’t need swords or muscles to be strong.

Jaskier is strong for his stubbornness and his unwavering faith. The elven settlement around them is the best testament. He carried on despite being hated by all other kingdoms, despite the attempt on his life, one that was nearly fatal. One that still hurts him in the quiet of the night.

“Fantasy or not,” Geralt’s insides melt at the way Jaskier looks at him expectantly. “I’d like to see it through with you, if you allow me to.”

Blue eyes suddenly sparkle with renewed excitement.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Geralt?” Jaskier asks carefully as if he could spook the witcher. “Are you finally saying yes to my proposal?”

“I’m considering it.”

“You’ve been considering it since the first time I asked!”

“You asked on our third ever meeting, Jaskier.” Geralt chuckles in exasperation. “And you’ve been asking every time we see each other.”

“And you’ve been giving me the same response every time.” His pout is too adorable Geralt wants to kiss it away. “One might suggest it’s rude to string a prince along like this.”

Geralt hums while cupping Jaskier’s jaw in his palm, tilting it so their gazes meet.

“One might also suggest that our beloved Prince Julian is too good for a witcher like me.”

Ho only means to joke but the smile on Jaskier’s face falls, hurt immediately replacing the earlier chirpiness.

“Shit, Jask… Forget I said that.” Geralt closes his eyes, regretting having ruined the moment.

“Darling, we talked about this.”

“No, you’re right. Of course…”

Jaskier takes the witcher’s hand and places a kiss in his palm. “I won’t allow terrible things to be said about the man I love, and that includes you, my dear. I’d hate it if you joined those senseless folk who can’t see you for the good man you are.” He bites into his lower lip. “Now, I understand if you have reservations about us. I mean, what I am… or what I do, is a lot. I won’t rush you into a decision anymore. I never meant to pressure you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Jaskier.” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “We are from completely different worlds. Anyone who has eyes will tell you we’re not compatible.”

“Did Valdo say something to you again? Or is that truly what you believe?” Jaskier takes a step back. “Do you wish to end things with me? I—I’ll understand if you want to—"

“No, Jask.”

“—I know how much I’m keeping you in Aedirn, and maybe you wish to be free of court rules and politics and—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt interjects, and cornflower blues meet him in earnest. He knows too well how the prince could spiral out of control, dredging up all the terrible scenarios hidden in the dark corner of his mind. Jaskier looks so lost right now and all Geralt wants to do is make it better, so he does it with action, as always.

He kisses Jaskier with a bruising force. It’s too rushed, too clumsy compared to the gentle caress they normally share, but it conveys everything Geralt cannot promise yet. Not out loud. Not right now.

Geralt threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, playing with the soft locks. He lets Jaskier lean against his shoulder when they break off the kiss.

“I’m yours, my prince,” he whispers.

“Have I told you how much I love it when you call me that.”

Geralt hides his amusement in soft brown hair.

“Many times, my prince,” he indulges Jaskier. “And yet I cannot help but worry. I fear that things will not work because of our differences. I am a witcher. I am the Butcher of Blaviken, no matter how noble you believe me to be. I will never become someone else. Not like in fairy tales, where a farm girl can transform into a princess and suddenly become worthy of her prince. I fear you’ll make too many compromises because of who I am, bear too many scrutinies, and you will end up resenting me.”

Jaskier shakes his head at those words, his hair ticking Geralt’s ear.

“You speak of my sacrifices, but what about you?” His hand rests between Geralt’s shoulder blades. “You’ve walked the continent for so long. Will you resent me for caging you in a castle because of who I am?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes the name solemnly. “You promised to never trap me in the drudgery of court life. You promised that no matter what we become, I can always return to my path when my heart desires. I trust you on that.”

“And I trust you in return, that you won’t dishonor me. Not in ways that matter.”

They pull away. The sun is hanging just on the horizon, drawing a golden line around Jaskier’s hair.

“I will ask one thing of you, my prince,” Geralt says. “Allow me more time to be sure. Of myself and of our future.”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkle at the corners, taking the witcher’s hand and presses it over his heart, where the doublet is left wide open. The warmth of his skin seeps through the thin chemise and into Geralt’s calloused palm.

“Don’t you see, my darling? I’d give you the stars if you asked. What is a little more time?” His chest rises and falls. “Although I need you to promise something as well.”

“What is it?”

The last of the sunlight fades, darkening Jaskier’s eyes like a stormy night.

“Don’t break my heart in the meantime.”

The plea comes out desperate, vulnerable. Under his palm, Geralt feels the soft thumping that he knows to be fragile.

“I won’t,” he breathes the words reverently. “I promise.”

Jaskier’s heart is so full of the world and its sufferings, so full that there’s hardly room left for himself. So full that the witcher should build a shrine for whatever gods out there that it gives him any attention. To think that he has any power over it, that he can hurt it easily, makes his stomach turn.

He’d live out his life fulfilling that promise if allowed.

The witcher walks the path just like he’s done for the past decades. Temeria’s wind is as freezing as ever, and its secrets even more so.

Another dangerous contract is nothing new, and yet, something in him shifts. Somehow, the days ahead are no longer painted with monotonous black and white, but an unpredictable mixture of colors—orange like the setting sun on Jaskier’s long lashes, or rosy-pink like the too-easy blush that dusts over his cheeks when he’s pretending to be unaffected by Geralt’s attention.

More often than not, he sees in his future the blue of Jaskier’s eyes, deep and vast like the sea.

The same blue is what flashes across Geralt’s eyes as the striga’s teeth bury into his neck. With the crypt cold and hard against his back, the witcher would laugh at the irony of it if not for the blood choking in his throat.

Funny how the moment of revelation does not come in a whirlwind of poetry, one that is befitting to Jaskier. The moment Geralt realizes that he is finally ready to take Jaskier’s hand might just be his last moment.

He drifts into bottomless darkness and wakes to cool fingers on his forehead.

And here Jaskier is, sitting by his bedside, his frame so lonely in the Temple of Melitele. A relieved sigh by his lips and tired bruises under his eyes. Gone is his composed regality. Jaskier looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he just rode all the way here with wind still in the tousled mess of his hair.

“Yes,” Geralt croaks.

The prince rushes forward to fuss over his bandages and splints, cooing with the most distressed frown. “What do you need, my dear?”

“Yes.” Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand, caressing those cool fingers. The stitches in his neck tug uncomfortably.

“Yes, I’ll marry you, my prince.”

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @theultimatenerdd

Are the tags working? Anyway feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #prince!jaskier #fairy tale elements #hurt/comfort #i can't believe this became a full story #hurt jaskier #jaskier whump #geralt doesn't see himself as a heroic knight #and jaskier is hardly a traditional prince charming #knight and prince dynamic with a twist

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jojoandthejobros · 2 years

Text

TW: CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF BODY HORROR

So I have an idea for the DnD campaign that I will be DMing.

Chthon the god of chaos, intrusive thoughts, and insanity can bring other things, people, etc. into the universe that campaign is in. Seeing into different universes and pulling different things, people, etc. from them requires to you to go completely insane to where it breaks the forth wall, etc. Only the highest leveled characters that serve Chthon could do that stuff. Chthon's goal in the campaign is to raise Romulus (the god of rage and destruction) to life and wreck as much havock as possible.

Chthon is taken from my current DM's campaign and he OKed the fact that I could have my campaign basically be an alternate universe from his. Chthon canonically has brought people, things, etc. from different universes (Darth Vader, Dr. Strange, the Borg) into the campaign.

One of the things that I plan on having Chthon bringing over is basically multiple horror themed Spiderlings (Spider-Man, Spider Gwen, etc.). They have most of the same abilities as regular Spiderlings, such as walking on the ceiling and walls, web shooting, and Spidey Sense. What makes them different is the way that they look, walk, etc.

Example:

You enter a dark cave to escape the rain for a while. It was raining ever since 10 minutes ago and it was raining really hard. Your clothes are soaked and you didn't want to get sick, so you went to the closest thing that could protect you from it. You decide to look for something to start a fire. Maybe if you were lucky, you could find some flint. You already have some bits of steel from your broken sword (you decided to save the pieces to mend it back together if it was possible, you're sure because you're not a blacksmith. But it would save you some money and the sword itself meant a lot to you)

As you search for some flint, you hear the cracking and popping of joints all around you, you turn and look with your torch as something or someone scurrying away from the light. You eventually are able to get a glance of one on the ceiling. It's pale hairless skin stretched over it's bones and very little muscles. It would have been less unsettling if the creature had hair on it until you hear something right behind you. You instantly turn to see what looks like to be a human, or what used to be a human crawling on the ground, limbs bent unnaturally to look like a spider. It looks similar to the bald one, but covered in dirty, straggly body hair that made you want to puke. It screeches at you and shoots sticky webbing at you and you are stuck to the nearest wall. You wiggle and writhe, desperate to escape. You would have rather been outside in the rain if you had known that this would happen.

If you use this idea, please give me credit. Reblogs are welcomed and very much appreciated.

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c-r-ash-crash · 3 years

Text

New Life Ch 3

Bdubs’ communicator exploded with vibrations as messages flooded into the chat. Most of them were some variation of demanding to know exactly what the Boogeyman was. Bdubs was curious too, but he noticed that the server had sent him a private message. Quietly, he checked it and his eyes scanned over what it said.

“You are the boogeyman. You must by any means kill a green or yellow life by direct action to be cured of the curse. If you fail, next session, you will become a red name. All loyalties and friendships are removed while you are the boogeyman.”

Bdubs ran his tongue over his lips nervously. Oh. As subtely as he could, he glanced down at his wrist. Four hearts were still there, marked in dark green ink. He tilted his comm slightly to check the color of his eyes. They were still dark brown as always. He blew out a breath. The bloodlust hadn’t started yet. He had a few hours at most to get away from everyone else on the server. To warn them.

Then, he read over the message again. “If you fail, next session, you will become a red name.” Slowly, the meaning sunk in. Unless he killed someone within the next nine days, he would kill everyone. Then, he glanced up at Etho. He was so, so screwed.

Scott trailed behind Pearl as she clambered over the hill, looking for a good place to set up their base. He rubbed at the skin on his wrist, but stopped once he realized what he was doing. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the sight of Jimmy’s smiling face, hands rubbing over his palm. Jimmy had always rubbed at his wrist like that whenever he was stressed. He had promised Scott that he himself would die before he let anyone take a single life from Scott. Guess he had been right.

Scott missed him. He missed the sunshine that would come with the blonde as soon as he entered the room. He missed the bright smile and bubbly laughter. He missed being able to smile, missed those fleeting moments where he thought everything might be okay. As long as he had Jimmy by his side, nothing could go wrong. His crown sat heavy against his brows.

Suddenly, a voice startled him out of his thoughts. “Scott?” Pearl called out from the top of the hill. “You alright?” Scott’s eyes snapped open, and he met Pearl’s concerned expression. “Oh, yes, I’m fine,” he replied, plastering a small smile onto his own face. Pearl didn’t buy it. “Scott, if you need a moment, we can stop for a bit.” “No, no,” Scott assured her. “Really, Pearl. I’m fine.”

Then, his eyes caught on a small smudge of bright red against the green grass. He cupped the flower gently in his hand. Then he plucked it and tucked the poppy behind his ear. “Let’s go,” he said, marching on.

Bdubs’ pick dug into the iron ore, pulling the metal free. He picked up the item drops and tucked them into his bag. “Oh, so I figured out what that boogeyman thing was about,” Etho said from the other end of the cave, startling Bdubs into dropping his pick. “Oh, sorry,” Etho said. “Anyways, that boogeyman thing. Basically, we have to kill someone else or else we get down to our red life.” “Wow,” Bdubs said, voice even. “Glad neither of us got that then.” “Well, you can’t be sure of that,” Etho said. “For all you know, the server could have chosen me.” Bdubs chuckled lightly. “C’mon, don’t joke about that. Sounds like you basically have to act like a red life or else you actually become one. If you ask me, that sounds like some pretty serious pain.”

“Yeah, no doubt,” Etho said, pocketing more coal drops. “But if I were the boogeyman, I could kill you right now if I wanted to.” Bdubs’ heart skipped a beat. He was the boogeyman. Etho didn’t have to kill anyone. Besides, he was still on his green life, or rather his dark green life. The bloodlust wouldn’t have started yet.

Suddenly, a pickaxe embedded itself into the stone next to Bdubs’ head. He whirled around to see Etho’s hand on the hilt. “What the heck, Etho?” he exploded. “You almost hit me!” “But I didn’t,” Etho said with a shrug. “Wasn’t planning too anyways. Just wanted to scare you.” “W-well you did a great job of that,” Bdubs spluttered.

Suddenly, he realized how close at hand his sword was, how close Etho’s unarmored chest was. He shoved the thought down. He wasn’t on his red life yet. He couldn’t kill anyone yet. He wouldn’t kill anyone. His stomach began to turn in knots, and he turned his attention back to mining, trying to quiet the pounding headache that had sprung up. He wouldn’t kill anyone. He wouldn’t. Then his hands began shaking.

“I think I’m gonna go get some food,” he mumbled, stumbling back up the mineshaft he and Etho had made. Once he reached the little shelter they had made for themselves, he slid down against the wall, grateful for the feeling of cool stone against his feverish skin. Shakily, he pulled out his comm and re-read the boogeyman message for the thousandth time. A single word jumped out at him. “Cured.” Unless he killed someone, he would die.

Grian slipped through the dark trees, watching for a zombie and listening for the telltale hiss of a creeper or a bow being drawn. The forest was quiet, and any hint of monsters was far off. He still didn’t remove the cloth covering his small lantern. Then, from in front of him came the sound of loud cheerful singing.

He picked up his pace as he recognized the sound of the voice. “Scar!” he called. The singing stopped. “Grian?” Scar asked nervously, as the light of a small lantern flooded the forest. Grian uncovered his own lantern just a smidge, and caught a flash of light blue. He froze. “Is that diamond armor?” he asked, stunned. “You like it?” Scar asked, spreading his arms wide once Grian came into sight. “How did you of all people end up the first in diamond armor?” Grian asked incredulously. “Just lucky I guess,” Scar said with a shrug. Then Grian noticed the six pack etched into the diamond.

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “That’s not diamond armor is it?” “What?” Scar said exaggeratedly. “Of course it is!” “Armor doesn’t have six packs engraved into it.” Scar’s brow furrowed in disappointment. “Is it really that obvious?” he pouted. “Only ‘cause of the obviously fake muscles,” Grian teased. “What is that made out of anyways?” Scar shrugged. “Cloth. Had some tailor make it for me before we moved to Season eight.” “So you mean if I hit you, it won’t give you any protection?” “Of course it will,” Scar said. “No need to test it out.” Grian punched him in the chest.

Scar stumbled back, winded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Grian muttered to himself. “How do you hit so hard, dude?” Scar wheezed. “You have like no muscle on those arms.” “Says the man with a fake six pack engraved into his armor,” Grian shot back. “But seriously, don’t underestimate me.” “I don’t,” Scar said, recovering somewhat. “I only survived the game because I had you on my side.”

Grian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What is it?” Scar asked, mood plummeting instantly. “Scar,” Grian began, tone dead serious. “Everything that happened last time, it’s all null and void. Our old alliance...it’s dead.” “So you mean I can’t put you on a llama and take you to the desert?” Scar joked. Grian didn’t smile. “You really mean that?” Scar asked, crestfallen. Grian nodded tightly. “New round, new rules.” Then he perked up. “Which speaking of, have you tried the give life command?”

“The what command?” Scar said, slightly startled by the sudden change in topics. “Yeah,” Grian said excitedly. “Apparently we can give each other lives, this round. Which, when you think about it, explains why we all got a random amount of lives. And it explains why some of us even got four lives.” “That actually makes a lot of sense,” Scar mused. “But who would I even try the command on?” he asked. “Well, you’ve got me,” Grian suggested. “I’ll give it right back, I promise. I just want to see how it works.”

Scar hesitated for a moment, searching Grian’s face. But then he said: “Alright, how do I do this give life command.” “Say this,” Grian said, typing something into his communicator. Scar’s own comm buzzed. “Why can’t I just repeat after you?” Scar asked. “Because then I’d give you a life,” Grian explained. “And if I did that, I’d be on my red life. And I really, really don’t want that.” “That makes sense,” Scar said with a nod. Then, he began reading off the comm.

“ᓭꖎᔑᓭ⍑ ⊣╎⍊ᒷ ꖎ╎⎓ᒷ”

Golden light enveloped Grian and Scar, and their feet lifted off the ground. The light drifted from Scar, wrapping itself around Grian, settling in his bones, and etching another heart into his wrist. The ink turned a vibrant lime green, and suddenly both Grian and Scar dropped to the ground.

Grian stumbled for a moment, then he regained his bearings. “That was something,” Scar muttered, still trying to regain his balance. Then, Grian glanced down at his communicator. He reached to turn it off, but glanced down at the list of player names. His hands stopped as he realized Scar’s name was dark green. “Scar, it’s still saying you have four lives here.” “No, I have five left,” Scar said, proffering his wrist for Grian to see. There were indeed five dark green hearts there. Grian’s brow furrowed. “Wait, but that would mean...you started with six lives?” he asked, jaw dropping. Scar nodded. “Like I said, I’m just lucky.” Grian shook his head, clearing the whirlwind of questions that had sprung up.

“Yeah, I’m not giving this back,” he said. “What-no!” Scar exclaimed, reaching for Grian, but he was already sprinting away through the forest, laughter echoing off the trees.

Jimmy bounced along, skipping over the grass, tossing his spyglass between his hands. He reached the peak of the hill, and stretched. He hadn’t exactly gotten a good night’s sleep last night, worrying about what it meant that he was back in the game, and trying to figure out what this new boogeyman thing was. Besides, a small hole in the side of a mountain never made for a great shelter.

Suddenly, he heard voices drifting up the hill. He stopped, tucking his spyglass into his pocket, just in case. Two faces appeared over the top of the hill. He recognized Pearl’s dark colored hoodie and Scott’s bright blue hair. “Hey!” he called out, waving. Pearl returned it. Scott was a bit more hesitant, but his eyes lit up when he recognized Jimmy. “Hey!” he called back. A bolt of joy shot through Jimmy, but he ignored it. He and Scott couldn’t ally this round. He didn’t want to risk another incarnation of Dogwarts deciding the two of them were a threat.

“How are you?” Pearl asked, smile bright and enthusiastic. Scott was smiling too, the one he reserved just for Jimmy. Jimmy squashed down the butterflies in his stomach. He couldn’t think of Scott like that. Not anymore.

“Pretty good,” Jimmy replied, nonchalantly. “Were you guys able to find shelter last night?” Pearl nodded. “I actually found something else this morning,” Scott said, reaching behind his ear. It was just now that Jimmy noticed the crown tucked over Scott’s hair. He wondered where it had come from. He certainly hadn’t had it on Empires.

“Figured you’d like it,” Scott continued, proffering something to Jimmy. It was a bright red poppy. A pang of longing shot through Jimmy’s heart. He ignored it. Scott’s expression fell slightly when he saw that Jimmy wasn’t taking the flower. “It’s a poppy!” he said. “Just like last time, when you-” “I know,” Jimmy said gently, cutting him off. He pushed Scott’s hand down, and Scott’s smile fell. “I know, Scott. But I can’t do this. Not again.” “But-but...” Scott protested.

“New round, new rules,” Jimmy said sadly. “Besides I can’t...I can’t risk losing you again. And I don’t want you to have to lose me. We’re both on our yellow lives. I can’t go through that again. And it’s not fair to ask you to.” He hesitated for a moment, but then he gathered himself and marched past Scott and Pearl.

Scott watched him go, staring dumbly at Jimmy’s retreating form, hand curled tightly around the poppy. Then, his heart shattered.

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