#there is nothing geralt *would* or *could* do to ever push him away

[hanzajesthanza]

“what does geralt get from that friendship…”

another post examining the weight of geralt and dandelion’s friendship… because i don’t think people recognize how painful and debilitating loneliness can become.

the witcher as a deconstruction of the genre takes fantasy tropes to their most logical ends—it asks us to consider what The Lone Swordsman feels, looks into the humanity in a Cold-Blooded Killer. and it turns out he’s not cold-blooded at all.

that despite some superhuman abilities, he laments and worries and curses himself, just like any other worker of any other profession. just as the farmer is scorched by the sun, the washerwoman’s back aches, and the scholar goes half-blind studying, a witcher deals with all of the pains and annoyances and dangers of his job in a mundanely human way.

but the farmer, the washerwoman, and the scholar have something the witcher does not have—they’ll always be seen as human and part of their society. at the end of the day after enduring all of their labor, they have their wife to caress, festivities to attend, and taverns to frequent. but for a witcher? after the killing is over, what does he have? no one and nothing. not even a thank you. he is met with fear and hatred everywhere he goes, baseless bigotry and dislike.

I did my job. I quickly learned how. I’d ride up to village enclosures or town pickets and wait. If they spat, cursed and threw stones, I rode away. If someone came out to give me a commission, I’d carry it out.

so he faces not just loneliness, but being deliberately ostracized and cast out from society. geralt can’t even find a polite word in most settlements, much less a friend.

‘(…) Tell me, where should I go? And for what? At least here some people have gathered with whom I have something to talk about. People who don’t break off their conversations when I approach. People who, though they may not like me, say it to my face, and don’t throw stones from behind a fence. (…)’

this kind of loneliness is not a mere inconvenience. it’s completely altering to your self-perception and ability to see the positive in the world.

each day is not lived, but endured.

day in, and day out—forced to the most difficult and lowest labor in order to survive, and knowing that were you to die, no one would search for your body, few would miss you, hell, they might even spit “good riddance”.

in this situation, to find a friend, is not only friendship, but a rescue.

without dandelion, geralt may have drowned—drowned in solitude, amidst a sea of strangeness.

‘(…) And I’m alone, completely alone, endlessly alone among the strange and hostile elements. Solitude amid a sea of strangeness. Don’t you dream of that?’

No, I don’t, he thought. I have it every day.

because dandelion is not only a bright soul, characteristic rippling laughter and the strum of a lute, but someone who will intently listen to geralt, someone who mutually enjoys his company.

‘(…) you almost jumped out of your pants with joy to have a companion. Until then, you only had your horse for company.’

someone who doesn’t see him as strange and at the fringes of society at all, but as an utterly normal man.

and doesn’t impose demeaning, sappy sympathy onto him, but sobering and realistic “quit your bullshit” which ridicules the very thought that he should internalize societal hatred.

Do you know what your problem is, Geralt? You think you’re different. (…) [You don’t understand that] for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everybody was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells? Big deal.

dandelion isn’t “willing” to accept geralt for himself—he already has accepted him. and to him, it’s no difficulty, it’s nothing worth discussing, because he sees no abnormality and no strangeness in him.

while others “prefer the company of lepers to witchers,” dandelion has already offered geralt to share his room and board. not out of sympathetic pity, not out of fetishizing curiosity. because… they’re friends.

and what else does this friendship save him from?

not only from others, but from himself.

worse than enduring others’ apathy and hatred is one’s own thoughts—the darkness and negativity which builds from witnessing and experiencing such behavior.

dandelion’s ability to counter and dispel geralt’s pessimism and self-flagellating tendencies—again, not out of pity, but out of friendship—is undeniably invaluable. someone to rescue you from your darkest thoughts, when you begin to spiral.

and in this darkness, all you can do is cry. you cry, beg for someone to help you, please—

Help! Why doesn't anyone help me? Alone, weak, helpless – I can't move, can't force a sound from my constricted throat. Why does no one come to help me? I'm terrified!

to be alone, the saga reminds us, is worse than a death sentence. to be alone is to “perish; stabbed, beaten or kicked to death, defiled, like a toy passed from hand to hand.” to be alone is to suffer, and to be with someone is to save them from that suffering.

'(…) I wouldn't like anything bad to happen to you. I like you too much, owe you too much-'

'You've said that already. What do you owe me, Yennefer?'

The sorceress turned her head away, did not say anything for a while.

'You travelled with him,' she said finally. 'Thanks to you he was not alone. You were a friend to him. You were with him.'

it is true that geralt has saved dandelion countless times, helped him, gotten him out of some scrape… but to ask what did geralt get in return? are you kidding me?

did you ever consider that it is dandelion who saved geralt?

by being with him. by being by his side. by being his friend.

indeed, dandelion has rescued geralt, countless times, from the yawning jaws of endless loneliness. he’s helped him, chased away the danger of geralt’s own rumination. and he’s gotten him out of scrapes, his own insecurities and bitter helplessness.

so what does dandelion give geralt? what does geralt get from their friendship?

an amusing question. what one gets from friendship is the friendship itself. and that is more than enough.

#the witcher books #gerlion #geralt of rivia #dandelion #jaskier #the parallels with ciri’s story makes me so emotional like… #ciri is just geralt but younger and alone. and thus she suffers so immensely #i included ciri’s nightmare because i think that’s how it feels to be alone #you just cry out ‘help! why won’t someone help me?’ and no one answers #and the funny bit is that everyone is like ‘ugh you cannot get RID of dandelion’ like #i think that’s the most comforting and relieving thing about him. he will never leave and abandon geralt. #there is nothing geralt *would* or *could* do to ever push him away #the kind of friendship where you never worry about being too ‘weird’ for them because they straight up dont care if youre weird #honestly idk how more people dont see them like this because i feel like loneliness is so pervasive right now #does everyone else just have this kind of best friend and for that reason take dandelion’s presence for granted #s: i want to be by your side #c: geralt #c: dandelion #excerpt #analysis #like. this is how it is: #the entire world: ‘you’re nothing you’re worthless and you’re inhuman’ #dandelion is NOT like ‘omgggg of course you are something 🥺🥺 pwease don’t think badly like that’ #no. he’s like ‘the hell? that’s the stupidest thing ive ever heard. why the hell are you even listening to that’ #dandelion has a kind of masculine energy that the fandom does not like lmao

[transholmes]

A small fic inspired by this tweet, but from Geralt's pov.

-

“I’ll sleep with you, but I won’t ever love you.” 

The words fell from Geralt’s lips, ringing with finality in the tiny inn room he and Jaskier shared this night. 

They sounded wrong, not what he intended to say. Not, “I cannot love because I don’t know how to love.” Nor, “My body will have to suffice, I have nothing else to give you.” 

Jaskier flinched at the words and his bright smile and soft look faltered for a moment. Geralt might have flitched too at the wrongness of his words had that primal reflex not been beaten out of him decades ago. But before he could find the right words and speak again the smile and the softness was back. 

Jaskier raised his hand and caressed Geralt’s cheek. His palm was surprisingly soft and Geralt could feel the calluses on his fingertips. 

“Thank you for being honest, my dear witcher. But I shall accept your offer.” 

He stepped closer, so close their chests were almost touching and Geralt could feel the warmth pouring off Jaskier’s body. 

There was a pause, a brief yet eternal moment where Jaskier did not move and Geralt wondered if he would recant if the bard's words had only been an instance of madness and he had now seen sense. Then Jaskier tilted his head and pressed his lips against Geralt’s, his hands resting on Geralt’s shoulders and Geralt’s hopes were dashed. 

Jaskier kissed the way he did most things, passionately and with all his heart and Geralt was all too willing to take advantage of the bard’s willingness to give. 

He shouldn’t, he knew he shouldn’t. It was wrong, selfish, and greedy to accept Jaskier’s affection, his love when he had so little to offer in return. But he was selfish and greedy, and when the bard had reached for him yet again tonight, yet again flirted in the most obvious manner, yet again let his touch linger on Geralt’s body, Geralt had known that this time he wouldn’t refuse like he had before. That this time, which should never have happened because he should have left Jaskier behind, but he couldn’t even do that much right, he would accept what his friend offered. 

But he also gave him the truth. It was the least he could do, not to lie to him, not to pretend that Jaskier would ever be loved by him the way he clearly wanted to be. He had thought that would dissuade the poet from making any further advances but it was clear now that he had underestimated how desperate the bard was. 

Had Geralt been a better man, the man Jaskier thought he was, he’d have put a stop to it right now. But he wasn’t and he wouldn’t. Instead, he would greedily accept every shred of warmth, affection, and tenderness that Jaskier would give him, for as long as it took for the bard to realize that Geralt had been telling him the truth, that he would never love him. 

He knew that once that realization dawned on him, it would leave the bard crushed and broken hearted. Geralt could only hope that some day, someone else would come along and mend the damage he would bring on his friend. 

Yes, a better man would push Jaskier away, but Geralt pulled him closer, wrapping one arm around his waist, his other hand cupping the back of Jaskier’s head as he drowned his shame in Jaskier’s soft, desperate sighs. 

#geraskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #willow writing

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 11

Chapter 10

"COME OUT AND FACE ME, WITCHER!" Daemon shouts from outside the castle, "Or are you too much of a coward to face the dragon?!"

"I'm just going to go out on a limb here," Jaskier speaks up, "but I think he's talking about you, Geralt."

"What the fuck does he want Geralt for?" Lambert asks.

"I, uh, may have mentioned my past lover's relationship with Geralt when I was with Daemon," you point out, nervous smile on your face.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Lambert frowns.

"Yeah, (y/n), why?" Jaskier agrees.

"I thought if Daemon knew I wasn't a virgin, he'd leave me alone!" you exasperate, "at least I thought that was why he was trying to seduce me in the first place, he does have a reputation for deflowering maidens. I was wrong."

 "Anyway," you continue, "it's not really Geralt he wants. It's me. He's come to take me and Aemma away."

"...I won't let him," Geralt says, placing a hand on your shoulder, "you made me make a promise. And I intend to keep it."

"Come out and face me, Witcher!" Daemon calls out once more.

"I'll handle this," Geralt tells the others.

"But...what if that dragon appears?" Coen asks. "If we have to, we'll all take the beast head on," Vesemir answers, placing a hand on Geralt's shoulder, "we'll be waiting." 

Geralt nods and open the doors to the keep slightly.

He slowly walks out, approaching the prince.

Once face-to-face, Daemon and Geralt stare at each other, almost as if sizing one another up.

Geralt was the first to speak, "You wanted to see me?"

"So, you're the witcher," Daemon says, head tilted lightly like he was curious, "the famous White Wolf from the Continental minstrels' ballads. I must admit, you're not at all what I expected. I'd thought you'd have fangs or horns or something like that."

"I've heard that joke before," Geralt says with a faux smile, "I had them filed down. What do you want? I know you didn't come all this way just to admire me, Daemon Targaryen."

"You know who I am?" Daemon asks. "I know enough," Geralt deadpans, "now answer my question." 

"You have something that belongs to me," Daemon states in a threatening way, drawing his Dark Sister from its sheath and pointing it at Geralt, "I've come to take it back."

Geralt stares at the sword, fascinated by the metal that was used to create it. He turned his gaze towards the prince again, "there is nothing here that belongs to you," the witcher states with confidence, "I suggest you leave. Go back to your homeland."

"I'm not leaving," Daemon stubbornly sneers, "not until I have what I have come for. I don't care what special powers you possess from that mutant body of yours, I will cut you down if you don't stand out of my way."

"Leave. Now," Geralt warns, drawing his silver sword, taking a fighting stance, "I won't ask again. Prince or not, this is my home, and you are trespassing." 

The standoff continued for a few more moments.

The the impulsive Daemon charged at Geralt and the two soon clashed swords. Daemon may be faster, but Geralt was the older and more experienced out of the two. He parried each blow from the prince's swords, getting the upper hand with each pirouette and lunge.

At one point, Daemon managed to get the upper hand and push Geralt to the ground.

The prince was about to stab Geralt through the head, but the witcher dodged and got back on his feet.

The two clashed swords in a stalemate.

"Tell me, witcher, how does it feel?" Daemon taunts, "to have (y/n) in your arms every night, knowing you could never give her what I could?"

Geralt only grunted in response.

"Maybe that's why you took her away from me, is that it? Are you planning to turn my child into a mutant freak, like yourself?"

Geralt jumped back and kicked Daemon in the chest, pushing him back slightly, "did it ever occur to you that (y/n) left of her own volition?" the witcher sneers, "that she was trying to get away from you? That she didn't want you to find out?"

"She wouldn't do that," Daemon insists, wiping the blood from his mouth, "not after everything I ever provided for her, both in and out of the bed. After I kill you, witcher, I'll take that trinket of yours as my trophy," he points his sword to Geralt's medallion, "I'll have her wear it every night while I fuck her until my seed grows inside her womb once more. A further testament that the blood of the dragon cannot be matched by that of the impotent white wolf."

Geralt only chuckled at that statement, knowing full well Daemon was only trying to provoke the witcher by insulting his manhood in an immature fashion. "You find this amusing?"

"Not at all," Geralt answers, though in a tone that suggests that he did, "the way you carry on in this manner, prince, I'd say you're the one who is overcompensating."

As expected, this angered the prince, and he charged at Geralt once again.

Geralt then cast the Aard sign, forcing Daemon onto his back.

"Do you think we should go in there and help him?" Ciri asks as you, her, and Jaskier watch the fight from inside the keep.

"Does Geralt really look like he needs help?" Jaskier points out, "he just knocked the man to his feet. He's got this."

The silver medallions from the witcher memorial started to hum along with the ones around the witches' necks.

"Maybe don't speak too soon, brother," you say, nervousness creeping up from knowing what was about to happen.

Daemon groaned, disoriented from the impact. He was about to reach for his sword, but Geralt step on his arm to stop him.

The witcher pointed his sword at Daemon's neck.

"You've overstayed your welcome, prince," Geralt speaks, "yield now. Leave and return to where you came from."

Daemon only chuckles in amusement as a response.

Geralt was confused by the prince's reaction, but the moment his medallion started humming, the moment he heard the high pitched shriek, he looked up and knew what was coming.

"Shit!" Geralt backs away.

Right on cue, Caraxes climbed up the mountain, his long slender neck reaching out till his head was right under Daemon, who was smiling from in victory from the tables being turned.

The red dragon faced Geralt and roared in anger.

In this moment, the witcher only had one word to say...

"Fuck."

Chapter 11.5

Masterlist

#geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #ciri #daemon #daemon targaryen #geralt x reader #hotd #the witcher #vesemir #eskel #lambert #coen

[dapandapod]

To trust and to hold

For the @thepassifloradiscord a/b/o event, I chose the “I have to bond with you to save your life, sorry.” prompt. MUCH fun was had! Geralt bonds Jaskier to save his life from ouchies.

Warnings: Major character injury, hurt/comfort, Geralt is bad at emotions TM, recovery, angst? i guess? Because they are idiots in love who just doesn’t understand the other’s feelings. Also mostly Jaskier being very hurt, poor boy.

Betaread by my ever bestest @kuripon​, whomst deserves all the love on this planet. all of it.

Please enjoy!                 On Ao3 here

“Fuck, Jaskier, stay with me!”

Jaskier can barely make out the words. His entire body hurts, his blood burning in his veins. The world comes and goes, always dark around the edges.

“We are losing him,” someone says from the side. Jaskier doesn’t understand what that means, but something is hurting like the fucking seven hells in his abdomen. He tries to curl in on himself, but his arms are too heavy, and all he can manage is a weak whimper.

“You have to do it, Geralt. He will die if you don’t.”

Is that what this is? Dying?

Jaskier had always thought dying would be peaceful. He should have known better, living a life on the path, realizing the brutality of life by the side of a witcher. 

Death has taken many forms on their travels; sometimes as mercy, sometimes of necessity, sometimes cruelty.

It just never occurred to Jaskier that the cruelty of death would happen to him.

But evidently it was. A spasm passes through him, sending new spikes of pain through his body. Crying out hurts even more, and he gasps for air, fingers curling around nothing.

“Geralt!”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier.”

Hot hands cradle the side of his face, a breath next to his ear.

“Please forgive me.”

Teeth sink into his neck, and for some reason it hurts more than anything he’s experienced so far. 

But soon, the excruciating pain overpowers anything else, making him blissfully numb, and Jaskier falls into darkness.

-

The first thing he registers is the throbbing pain in his stomach. From there it is only downhill, when every hurt and ache makes itself known and grabs at his attention.

Opening his eyes takes most of what little energy Jaskier has, and the world is blurry around him still. It is hard to concentrate, eyes roving across the room, trying to find something clear or familiar enough to focus on, but it just makes him dizzy.

Jaskier fades again, unconsciousness and blissful numbness calling him away. He imagines he can hear Geralt’s voice, feel his hand against his cheek.

Jaskier smiles faintly at the thought before he passes out again.

-

Waking up is less terrible this time. Jaskier’s lips feel so dry they could crack at the slightest movement, but breathing doesn’t hurt as much anymore. 

Upon opening his eyes, he finds the world is slightly clearer, but not by much.

Jaskier doesn’t recognize the room. The wooden beams have grayed with time, the paintings are unfamiliar, and the rough patchwork blanket around his legs and hips a stranger’s work.

Frowning and smacking his lips, Jaskier flexes his fingers, but the ache is almost gone. He seems to be alone in the room, but a chair is pushed up next to his bed, and on the bedside table is a bowl of water and some clothes. There is blood staining them.

Jaskier finally dares to look down at his chest.

He’s heavily bandaged around his abdomen, angry dark bruises peeking out where the bandages end just under his solar plexus.

Fuck.

His arms are not much better off, but it doesn’t seem as if any bones are broken. 

There are some nasty marks on his left bicep, and Jaskier can’t really recall what may have caused them. All he remembers is the stabbing pain, his insides feeling like they’d been torn out, and then the numbing bite-

Oh.

Gingerly, Jaskier raises a hand to his neck.

Bandages block his touch, and when Jaskier presses his fingers into it, he finds the covered skin tender, but surprisingly soothing to touch.

Of course, that is when Geralt enters the room, amber eyes quickly darting over Jaskier’s form, lingering on his hand over the bite.

“You are awake,” he breathes, and then yells over his shoulder, “HE IS AWAKE!” In less than a minute, Jaskier is surrounded by people. He recognizes none of them, but there is a familiar voice in the crowd. A voice belonging to the woman who is currently making him follow her finger with his eyes.

“You were there,” he croaks, and she tuts and helps him sip from a glass of water before letting him speak again. “You were there,” he repeats.

“I was. You almost died. You are very fucking lucky that Geralt was there to bond you.”

Jaskier’s eyes snap to Geralt, who stays back, hovering restlessly by the wall.

“What do you mean?” Jaskier feels dizzy all over again, especially as Geralt looks so damn sad. He senses it too, the guilt and self loathing trickling towards him through their bond. “Geralt, what does she mean?”

Strong hands angle his face towards the woman again, and Jaskier must tear his eyes away from the witcher.

“Look at me. Deep breaths. No, look at me. Breathe through the panic. You are alright, you are safe.”

No, this is not alright.

Geralt bit him, Geralt bonded him, tied them together.

‘I need no one, and the last thing I need is someone needing me.’

Fuck.

Jaskier gasps sharply, tears pricking his eyes, and the woman tries to keep his focus on her. Then her hands are replaced with hot, familiar hands as Geralt takes her place.

Geralt cradles Jaskier’s face, their eyes locked together.

“Slow breaths. Follow me.”

Geralt leans down, knocking their foreheads together. It is hard to force the air to stay in his lungs, but he tries, Jaskier tries so fucking hard for Geralt.

Soothing hums calms him down slowly, worry and guilt and affection still running through the bond.

The fucking bond.

But eventually, Jaskier breathes evenly again, the world coming back to focus. Geralt keeps his hands on Jaskier, but now his hands are resting on his shoulders, inches from where the bandage covering the bite.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted. But I couldn’t let you die, couldn’t let you leave me, Jask. We’ll talk about it later. You need to rest now. Heal.”

Jaskier looks up confused at Geralt, but he says nothing more. The woman moves Geralt to the chair next to the bed, so she can keep examining him, another two women at the edge of the bed returning to the task of changing bandages and checking him over.

Geralt holds his hand, thumb tracing back and forth over the back of his hand.

The woman makes him drink more, but Jaskier belatedly realizes that it’s not water.

It pulls him under, dreams dragging him down, Geralt’s hand in his the only thing anchoring him to reality.

-

It was an Arachas, they tell him. A big, spider-like creature with pincers, sharp teeth, and venom glands. Jaskier has no recollection of it, but there had been a contract. A temple in dire need of rescue from what apparently was the Arachas.

It had pierced Jaskier’s stomach, the venom killing him in minutes. The woman, who he now knows as Landina, told him he got lucky.

They had found his suppressants and realized what he was, and then the bond burned through everything in its way.

The puncture wound in his stomach aches, a painful reminder of what he cost Geralt.

It feels unreal. Bittersweet.

Jaskier had long accepted Geralt’s need for independence. As soon as it was clear to him that Geralt would not form any bond with any omega for any reasons, Jaskier started taking suppressants. Took efforts to hide who he is.

“They say witchers are unfeeling. But no such bond can form where there are no attachments,” Landina tells him the next day. “You are lucky to be alive.”

When he is alone again, Jaskier touches the bite once more.

Lucky, she says. Tied to a man who wants no one, who doesn’t want him, who despite saving him feels guilt and remorse. It’s there, clear as day. Jaskier is not sure what he is sending through their bond, but Geralt has not returned to his room yet.

The loneliness aches in him, the empty chair mocking him for his hope. Geralt doesn’t want him. Geralt just didn’t want him to die. Geralt is kind and caring and good, and not once has he shown a sign that he wants them to become more.

That’s not entirely true, he admits quietly to himself.

Two years ago, Geralt had kissed him. The memory burns at the back of his mind, a perfect picture of torture when Jaskier is left alone during the winter.

It was just a kiss. They had been at a wedding, the liquor had been flowing and the spirits had been high. Together they had stumbled into the barn wall, laughing and smiling, and then Geralt had pressed himself against Jaskier and captured his lips, slow and searing, his hands on Jaskier’s hips gripping him tightly.

The night had ended and they had never spoken of it since. And Jaskier never pushed. He tries to tamp down the longing, the loneliness, but Jaskier realizes that he has no secrets now. And Geralt is nowhere to be seen.

The fever creeps in during the night.

His body shivers with cold as he burns up, tossing and turning as much as his aching body allows. His skin feels too tight, and he whimpers when Landina lays a hand on his forehead.

“Hurts,” he pants, squirming to get away from her. “Geralt.”

But Geralt isn’t here. Why would he be? Landina was wrong, only the threat to his life got Geralt close to him.

“What’s wrong with him? He was healing.” One of the apprentices asks quietly by the door.

“He is rejecting the bond. It is incomplete, and his body is fighting it.”

Jaskier doesn’t understand what they are saying, but when they say rejection, pain lances through his body, and he gasps sharply.

“Get Geralt,”Landina orders.

-

Geralt feels it even before the apprentice can depart the room.

The sense of wrongness wracking through him, unsettling him. He is about to burst through the door to Jaskier when he hears Landina.

“He is rejecting the bond. It is incomplete.”

Heart plummeting, Geralt’s hand freezes on the handle.

“Get Geralt.” The head priestess instructs, and the door is flung open to reveal him standing there frozen. 

There is a brief pause where the young apprentice stares up at him, and then Geralt’s eyes catch on Jaskier, sickly pale with deep red patches on his chest and cheek.

“Leave us,” Landina tells the others, and they hurry out of the room around him. “Geralt. You have to make a decision.”

“About what?”

“If you want to keep your claim on him, or if you will let it burn away. He thinks your bond is one of duty, not affection, and he is trying to set you free.”

“... He can do that?”

“It is not uncommon in arranged marriages, when one part thinks the other indifferent. Usually caused by a distance between the two newly bonded, and usually mended by proximity. If that is something you want.”

Geralt hesitates. It is selfish of him, wanting to keep the bond. It was a one sided decision born of desperation. Geralt hadn’t even been trusted with the knowledge of Jaskier’s presentation, and the second he had known, he had bit him.

“What happens if it burns out?”

Landine studies his face before replying, hand clasped over her apron.

“Then the fever will run its course. If it doesn’t get worse, he should be fine, but his strength is already depleted. The bond would be severed and you would be free to go your separate ways.”

“We couldn’t be together?”

“You could. But remember, witcher, this is because he thinks you don't want him, not the other way around.”

“If I reinforce the bond, what then?”

Landina tilts her head and smiles up at him.

“That, master witcher, is up to you and your bard. He loves you dearly, that one. I think his heart has been breaking for many years.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. The priestess nods her goodbyes, then she leaves him with a feverish Jaskier.

Even from here, Geralt can smell his misery. Through the bond, there is strangely little.

Before he even knows what he is doing, Geralt is moving towards the bed. There is a lonely candle lit by the bedside table, the flickering light deepening the shadows.

“Jask,” he murmurs, sitting down next to him. The bed dips down, and Jaskier’s body presses against his leg.

Jaskier opens his eyes, watery with fever, but they focus on him anyway. Geralt can’t help but reach out, touching his clammy cheek, stroking it soothingly.

“Hi,” Geralt whispers, and Jaskier holds his wrist, looking up at him.

“You came,” Jaskier whispers, and oh. Geralt fucked up, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry. I know it is the wrong time to ask this, Jask, but I can’t decide this on my own, not again.”

“Are you staying?” Jaskier asks, fingers twitching as if he wants to hold on, but he doesn’t hold any tighter.

“If you want the bond, I will.”

“But you don’t want it,” Jaskier says, and he sounds so heartbroken and sure as he pushes Geralt’s hand away.

“What?” Geralt blinks.

“You don’t want a bond, and not with me. I’m sorry I forced you to bond with me.”

“Jaskier, what are you talking about? I was the one who bit you.” Geralt wants to touch him again, but Jaskier is still holding his wrist away from his face, grasping it if he has forgotten he is holding it.

“But I forced your hand. You are so good, so kind. You don’t want this bond.”

“Jaskier. Do you want this bond?”

Jaskier doesn’t respond, and Geralt aches, a trickle of emotion making its way through the bond now that they are touching.

“Jask. Do you?”

With the smallest voice, looking anywhere but at Geralt, Jaskier replies.

“I do.”

Fuck.

Geralt shifts, moving Jaskier so that they both fit in the bed. It is tight, but Geralt arranges them so that Jaskier is tucked under his chin, their legs tangled together.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier whispers, even as he nuzzles closer, seeking comfort where Geralt’s scent is the strongest.

“I didn’t want to force this on you. But if you really want this, we will keep it.”

“You noble idiot,” Jaskier mutters, his eyelids getting heavy. “I will only hold you back.”

“Being with you is not a burden, Jask. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

They don’t talk much after that. The fever pulls Jaskier under again, squirming against Geralt’s chest as shivers wrack his body. 

Geralt is not sure what he expected would happen, a miraculous recovery or something, but he surely didn’t expect Jaskier to be sweating and whining through the night as fever dreams plague him.

More than once, Jaskier says his name, clinging hard when Geralt reaches for the cloth to wipe Jaskier’s brow. It’s a long night, and come morning, the fever has yet to break.

Landina enters the room, noticing Geralt holding Jaskier and nods. Swiftly she takes control of the situation, ordering her apprentices around, making them fetch ointments and soup and some breakfast for the witcher. 

With her bustling around, Jaskier wakes up enough to accept medicine and soup. As soon as he is done, he tucks back in against Geralt, sighing contently as sleep claims him again.

It is… a strange feeling for Geralt. To be trusted like this, for Jaskier to so obviously find comfort in him. The bard has always been tactile, always leaning into Geralt, touching him, smiling at him, but this experience is on another level.

Geralt has a vague memory that tastes more like a dream, where they had danced, and Jaskier had smiled at him so sweetly and Geralt couldn’t help but kiss him.

It replays in his mind now, as he watches Jaskier sleep. It’s not the first time he has done that.

Sleeping always is a fickle thing for him, and to get any rest at all, meditation is what has kept him sane. During those times, it is soothing to listen to Roach chewing, the forest singing its night time song, and Jaskier’s easy breaths.

Geralt tucks a strand of hair behind Jaskier’s ear. Allows himself to think of what Landina said. About how Jaskier’s heart had been breaking for years. About how Jaskier blames himself for them bonding, as if that is not something selfishly wants.

While Geralt is waiting for Jaskier to recover, he plans. There are things he needs to tell his bard.

-

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Jaskier croaks to Landina, who chuckles when she checks his temperature.

“Someone is feeling better,” she remarks, sending Geralt a look. When Jaskier woke up, Geralt had still been in bed with him, which had been an… experience. For now, the witcher sits next to his bed, but still holding his hand.

Most of his body is very much bruised up still, and his muscles are sore from shivering and cramping through most of the night, but his head feels clearer. He has a feeling Geralt asked him something important last night, but he doesn’t feel like asking with everybody else around them.

It takes almost half an hour before Landina is satisfied, feeding him with more soup and medicine and sitting him up properly in bed.

When the door finally closes behind her, Jaskier sneaks a peek at Geralt, who is already watching him.

“Do you remember what I asked you yesterday?” the witcher asks, always straightforward when he has a goal.

“Not really? I remember you asking something, and that it felt important.”

Geralt grips his hand a little tighter, gathering his thoughts a moment before he speaks.

“I asked if you wanted this bond.”

Ah. Shit.

“And I realize I have not been a very good friend to you.”

This makes Jaskier look up in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“It seems I have made you think I don’t care about you. That I loathe being bonded to you.”

Jaskier looks down. Wants to pull back his hand. Whatever this is, Jaskier isn’t sure he wants to hear it.

What is strange though, is what he senses through their bond.

“I bit you, because I can’t face a future without you. And it was selfish of me, and I bound you to me because of it.”

Opening and closing his mouth, Jaskier is stunned. He is sure he looks like a gaping fish, but he can’t think of one good thing to say right now. His heart is hammering in his chest, and his mind is racing.

“Why did you ask me if I wanted the bond last night, Geralt?”

“Because your body was rejecting it. Landina said it can happen when part of the bond feels rejected. I bit you once without your consent, Jaskier. I didn’t want to take that choice from you a second time.”

“Oh, you noble idiot,” Jaskier mutters, and for some reason Geralt chuckles and sits a bit closer. Jaskier finds himself leaning forward too, their hands trapped between them, fingers dancing over each other.

“I know we have a long way yet to go, but there is something that I can’t get out of my head.”

“Yes?” Jaskier breathes, eyes caught on the way Geralt’s lips move when he speaks.

“May I kiss you?”

Of all the things, this is not what Jaskier expected. 

Meeting Geralt’s eyes again, Jaskier nods. He can’t move forward, the angle is harsh for his bandaged stomach, but Geralt doesn’t mind. He moves so he sits opposite Jaskier on the bed, and with a gentle hand he tilts Jaskier’s jaw up.

Geralt’s lips are dry on his, careful in a way he wasn’t two years ago.

Taking a moment to read Jaskier’s face, Geralt decides to lean in again, guiding Jaskier back towards the mattress, leaning over him to kiss him more, like once wasn’t enough.

There is indeed a long way to go still. Jaskier needs to heal, and Geralt needs to deal with the surviving endrega nest not far from where Jaskier was hurt.

They have time. 

And for once, Jaskier feels like Geralt wants to spend that time with him.

#geraskier #hurt/comfort #whump #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #major character injury #recovery #a/b/o #bonding #and geralt is feeling things about that #dapanda writes #getting together #idiots in love

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Hiii can I get a 47. “Trust me.” from the Angst/fluff Prompt List with Aiden/Lambert? Ty! 💖

You most certainly can!!

47 - "Trust me" Lambert isn't used to being anyone's favourite and is, in true emotionally constipated Wolf style, super mature about it.

Lambert was never anyone’s favourite. Geralt was once again The Golden Boy thanks to his bard’s songs; Geralt himself had his sorceress who only had to click her fingers for him to come running and Lambert knew that Vesemir favoured Eskel, however much the old man tried to hide it. It was fine, honestly. If anything his life both before and after he was claimed by the Witchers had proven that being the centre of anyone’s attention only led to trouble and pain.

And then Aiden had happened. Aiden, who would give Lambert his full attention when he was speaking, no matter whether he was ranting about something inconsequential or telling a particularly funny anecdote. Aiden, who had surprised him with a bag of candied nuts and a casual “You said once that they were your favourites.” Just because ( fuck, even his brothers would forget that small fact and he’d grown up with them). Aiden, who would see to Lambert’s swords and armour if Lambert was ever too exhausted or too injured to do it himself (although to be fair, he’d returned the favour a few times with that one).

Aiden, who had thrown him for a loop by being the first person in his entire adult life who wanted to know about him. Not his ‘famous’ brother, not Lambert The Witcher, just... Lambert.

He found himself unexpectedly sympathising with Geralt about his bard as he waited for the other shoe to drop - no wonder Geralt was constantly trying to chase him away! How long before Aiden got bored, before he decided Lambert wasn’t actually worth knowing?

And so, he’d done what Vesemir had tried to encourage him to do since he was wet behind the ears – he’d taken a leaf out of his older brothers book.

At first Aiden was gracious enough to not push Lambert on his sudden, constant surliness, just reassuring him that he was there if Lambert ever decided to talk about whatever was bothering him. The Cat had been more persistent than Lambert had given him credit for (causing him to once again sympathise with Geralt about stubborn traveling companions), however, after weeks of this Aiden’s reassurance had finally turned to annoyance, which Lambert had latched onto like a leech and had resulted in a shouting match in the middle of the woods with language that would have gotten them thrown out of any respectable Inn. After several insults towards each others mothers and respective Schools, things finally came to a head.

“Just fuck off, Aiden!” Lambert yelled, jabbing a finger towards the surrounding trees.

“Oh believe me, I’ll be glad to see the back of you at this point but first you’re going to tell me what I did to piss you off!”

“Fucking nothing!”

“Then why are you-“ Aiden gave a frustrated, bordering on dangerous snarl before tackling Lambert to the ground and having him pinned and immobile before Lambert even knew what was happening (fucking underhanded Cat training), “I’m not going to keep going in God’s damned circles about this and I’m tired of you acting like someone’s pissed in your porridge. Talk to me, damnit.” Aiden growled, visibly forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths from where he was perched on top of Lambert.

“Just fuck off, Aiden.” Lambert repeated with far less bite, “You’re going to leave anyway so may as well do it now.”

Aiden blinked, “What – what ? Why would I leave?”

“Because people only ever want my brothers.”

“Lambert-“

“It’s fine.” Lambert bit out, “I’m used to it.”

“Lambert,” Aiden shifted slightly to allow Lambert to sit up if he chose to, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I couldn’t give two shits about your brothers. Frankly, I think Geralt could stand to be knocked down a peg or two. I much prefer you.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you.”

Aiden made it sound so simple...

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m not in the habit of traveling for weeks at a time with people I hate, Lambert. I want to be with you, I like being with you.”

Aiden stood, offering Lambert a hand, “Trust me.”

Lambert took hold and allowed Aiden to pull him up.

#the witcher #witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #laiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

[whataboutthefish]

Day 31

Prompt 31 Combination of any of the above, or free day,  Aftercare

Geralt/Reader - Aftercare, praise, slight subdrop, soft, fluff, non-gendered reader

It’s been a kinky ride my friends so it would be amiss of me if I were to leave you all without a little aftercare. Thanks for joining me for my very first completed kinktober, it’s been a trip!

Words 789

Your eyes flutter as you come back to yourself. Still floating, you can feel the soft touches from calloused fingers stroking over your cheek.

“There you are,” Geralt’s warm voice drifts through your hazy thoughts,wrapping  themselves around your heart. 

As you slowly open your eyes, peering through your lashes up to Geralt’s intense yellow gaze, you realise your head is cradled against his strong warm chest. You don’t want to move, you know Geralt will look after you, so it’s easy when he murmurs into your ear “Just lay back, I’ve got you,” to do as he says. 

Your body feels tired, wrung out in the best possible way. It’s obvious how sensitive you still feel as Geralt wipes over you face, down your neck and over your chest with a soft towel. He wipes away the sweat and tears, the mess you have both made cooling on your skin. Every swipe is followed by a kiss, to your head, your temple, and one placed on the tip of your nose that has you giggling.

When he moves down your body running the towel between your legs, you bury your head into his chest, hiding from the world. His laugh feels devine, his chest rumbles, the hairs there tickle your nose. 

“Always so shy, what are you hiding from, baby?” His words make you bury yourself further, finding a place under his arm until you are surrounded by his warm skin and the scent that is purely Geralt, safety and love. 

You whine when Geralt finishes cleaning you, his touch disappearing makes you panic for just a moment before he’s wrapping you in the softest blanket you’ve ever felt. He shifts beneath you, pulling away, and your stomach sinks. Suddenly the world feels untethered and a sob gets caught in your throat. 

“Shh, baby I’m just fetching some food, it’s just on the table, see? I’m not leaving you.” Geralt explains.

He always knows just what to say to put you at ease, even though it feels wrong not to be touching, you nod your head and watch him as he does exactly as he says. 

He brings a mug of cool water to your lips first, cupping your chin just so, making sure you don’t choke as you guzzle it down. You didn’t realise how thirsty you were and now that you’ve drunk your fill you can feel the slight headache that had started gently push away. 

“Here, baby, you need to eat,” Geralt pulls you into his lap so you are leaning back against his chest, a plate of cold meats and fruit sits beside you and he has a piece of apple in his hand. 

You lean forward to take the morsel from his fingers, the flavour dances across your tongue like you’ve never tasted anything so fresh before. Bite after bite is lovingly fed to you, the sugar helps more than you would realise, your thoughts are coming quicker now.

It’s not long before the silence seems to weigh down on you, you mind reeling at the things you have done. You can’t explain why your stomach plummets and your world seems to fall away, a small whimper leaves you unbidden and Geralt is there, guiding your gaze to look at him. 

“Hey hey, baby, talk to me” He urges you, nothing but concern and love written over his face.

“You- you don’t,” You gasp, unable to catch your breath. Geralt waits patiently, sweeping a large thumb over your cheek as you find your words, “What we did, I- do you still love me?” It seems stupid now you say it out loud but you need to hear the words come from Geralt’s lips.

“Oh baby, I love you more than life itself, I’m so very proud of you. You were so good for me, the best.” He whispers the words straight into your soul, placing the softest kisses to your lips which you drink up along with the praise. “You could never do anything to change the way I feel, I promise.” 

It takes a moment of coaxing hands, soft touches, but they ground you. The sweet words Geralt always finds for you and his warm, strong arms surrounding you help the world return to its axis. Your heartbeat calms and the tension that came so quickly leaves just as fast. 

It’s easy for you to drift off to sleep like this, your strong, beautiful Witcher keeping you safe. He whispers praise and poetry into your ear, stroking a hand through your hair with a promise to watch over you while you sleep. You know he will be there when you wake, just like he says, waiting to tell you he loves you.

Read this and the rest of the months fills over on Ao3 for 20k of kinky fun

#Kinktober #Kinktober 2022 #A very witcher Kinktober #my writing #Geralt x reader #non-gendered reader

[sachiko1309]

The treasure of my heart

This story of a sweet Haldir taking care of Visha his soon to be wife was written at the request of: @wareagleofthemountain

Sumary: Visha gets overwhelmed and Haldir takes care of her. Hurt/comfort a lot of soft smut and fluff

Word count: 4621

Warnings: taking care of a wound, smut, Minors DNI

This is part of a fanfiction I write on Wattpad. Its called "the prophecy of the elven warrior" A fanfiction dealing with Visha the main character drawn between the Commander of the marchwardens and the prince of Mirkwood. Feel free to check it out, as I am almost finished with updating it. 😉🥰

I was walking through the woods of Lórien, letting my thoughts wander. My leg still hurt from time to time, leaving me with a visible limp. The healers assured me it would fade over time, but that’s not what I worried about the most. My thoughts were occupied with Geralt, Jaskier and Yennifer. Since I have been told I could never go back to my world, I wondered what my chosen family would think happened to me.

Would they think I got killed during my fight with the drowned dead?

Would they search for my body?

I was sure Jaskier would be openly devastated, while Geralt would try to push his feelings away. He would probably overthrow himself with the responsibility of my death, searching for release in alcohol and Yennifer.

Thinking of how destroyed I let them behind I couldn’t help but sink to my knees. A choked up whimper made its way through my throat initiating tears to spring from my eyes. The whole weight of my situation just came crushing down in that moment, pressing the air out of my lungs, leaving me shaking on the ground, having a full-on panic attack.

Due to me dropping to the floor without further care the wound on my leg started to bleed again. I didn’t care. I was curled to the side, arms hugging my legs, tears running down my cheeks, dropping to the damp forest floor. This was how Haldir found me. He tried to speak to me, snap me out of my psychotic state, but I didn’t react to him. So he picked me up, carrying me towards the little house I was sorted to stay in.

The closer we got, the more agitated I became. I didn’t want to be in the house that had me in a tight grip during my nightmares in the night. Although I wasn’t a prisoner, being left in a world I didn’t know, with people I didn’t understand, with nothing left to do, than lay in bed or wander through the realm I certainly felt like one.

I clinged to his tall frame, seeking stability from the only one I trusted enough. He wasn’t around often, due to his duties protecting the realm from the ever-growing packs of orcs. But when he was, he would sit with me in silence. Eat a meal he brought around, sharpen his weapons alongside me or just watch the birds and insects flying over the river in front of my house.

Without any further instructions he turned around walking down a path I didn’t recognize through the veil of my tears. What I could make out, were several elves standing aside, bowing their head in respect of Haldir, once we passed them. They tried their best to not stare, but I could feel their eyes upon me. Ever so often giving a slight shake of the head whispering in their language.

I learned rather quickly that it was seen as inappropriate for elves that didn’t court to touch, so me being carried in Haldirs arms, crying and holding on for dear life, while also ruining his marchwarden uniform, was probably a capital offence. But I didn’t care. My mind was occupied with the pain of loosing family, the pain of my leg, the irritation from being held by the Lórien prince who always made sure to never get to close to me.

Once we reached a Talan, I believed to be his, in one of the tall mellow trees he sat me down on the floor in front of his bed. I curled up to a ball again, still sobbing into the soft carpet. I heard him rummage through the room, then he called for a servant, they talked and the servant ran of doing whatever Haldir told him. Shortly he came back with a bucket in his hands and a handful of other elves following him.

Haldir crouched down next to me. “You need to take a bath, and let me clean your wound.” I didn’t respond, so he pressed on: “Please, I need to inspect your wound.” When I didn’t answer him other than grabbing his hand, still shaking from crying he sat down next to me. Stroking my head, watching the servants to fill the bathtub in the other room. When they were finished, the last woman to leave gave him a slight nod and quietly closed the door behind her.

“Come, Visha.” Haldir got up and pulled me to my feet. With his assistance I made it to the bathroom, sitting down on the edge of the tub. He turned around and gave me a few things: “Here, a towel, some soap and fresh clothes for you to wear when you are finished.” Putting the things down on the shelf next to me, he walked to the door, but I stopped him from leaving: “Please don’t go.”

Hearing my voice laced with desperation and fear he stopped in his track, closing the door. “Okey. I will stay here.” He said, not turning around. His stoic demeanor, trying to keep my dignity by not looking at me had me slip a slight giggle. “You can turn around.” I said. “I have bathed next to man before. You know? Living among mercenaries and riding through the lands to find someone paying for your services leads to a simple nature bound life.”

He cleared his throat. “I understand your points, but where I am from, a lady’s honor and innocence must be protected.”

“But what if said lady told you to not maintain those standards?” I asked, wiping my tears away, once they stopped flowing. A shaky noise rumbled through his chest. “I am not quit certain of your words, my lady. Please repeat it in a different phrasing. I might have not understood the meaning correctly. Forgive me, but your language is not spoken often by me.”

“I think you understood very well, what I am asking of you.” I pressed on, starting to undress myself. Slowly he turned around, eyes trained on the floor.

I was now in underwear, walking up to him. “I think you might look at my wound now.” I said softly, putting my hands on his chest. Clearing his throat, he pointed towards a chair in the corner of the room. “Take a seat, while I collect the things I need.” He still wasn’t looking at me, while he rushed out the room, only to reappear minutes later. Kneeling in front of my and taking my thigh in his hand. Carefully he removed the bandages covering my wound. They were bled through, but when he reached the wound, we could see it was only a small reopening.

With delicate movements, to not hurt me, he coated the wound in the herbal mixtures the healers created for such occasions. He didn’t wrap my wound up again, standing up and taking a few steps back. “I will reapply the mixture and properly bandage you, once you have taken your bath.”

“Thank you.” I said walking over to the tub. Ridding me of my last clothes I stepped in fully naked, flinching at the heat of the water. But when I subsided my body into the heat, I moaned at the relaxing feeling. Holding out a hand to Haldir: “Join me, my prince. I believe you could need a hot bath to. Given the fact you work hard to protect all of us.”

“I cant, my lady. This is not appropriate.” He argued, eyes glued to the floor.

“Please.” I begged him. “I cant stand it anymore. Everyone is so distant to me. Nobody seems to understand my pain, or care for my physical well-being. I need someone to hug me, hold me, touch me. Please be the one to free my mind. I trust you and I need you.”

“Well fuck it.” I don’t know what brought him to throw all of his believes and values over board, but he did what I asked of him. Putting his long hair up in a bun and slowly stepping out his clothes while I watched him. Being the warrior he was, his built was much more muscular than typical for elves. His arms, chest and back were covered in scars ranging in size and healing states. I withheld myself from looking past his hipbones, hurrying to make room behind me in the bathtub. Carefully he stepped behind me, spreading his legs around me and pulling me into a tight hug. I could feel his chest rise and fall in a hectic state and I was unsure what got him so nervous.

But once I snuggled into his embrace, he visibly relaxed. Still unsure what to do with his hands he let them rest on the edge of the tub. I grabbed them both, sending him straight again into shock, when I wrapped them around my torso each hand landing on one of my breasts. “My lady!” He breathed out, instantly pulling back, but I held him in place firmly.

“Touch me!” I begged. Leaning my full weight on his body. His callused hands were tenderly gripping my breasts. Massaging them softly. I let my head fall onto his shoulder when his thumb stroked over my hardening nipple. Teeth biting down on my lips to prevent myself from moaning too loud. Cautiously his hands wandered over my body, mapping out every curve, every scar it possessed. When his hands reached the lower side of my body I spread my legs, inviting him in.

He didn’t give in to my silent begging, carrying on with stroking my thighs, ever so slightly brushing against my core, riling me up with anticipation. But he never gave in. Instead, he took the washing cloth from the floor and soaked it with the soapy water we were sitting in. He began to wash away any possible dirt on my body, always making sure to not put to much pressure on his movements. The lose strands that fell out of my bun, sorted themselves into the delicate touches of his hands. I let myself completely fall into his hands, giving him all the access, he needed, but never took advantage of, driving me mad.

“Haldir, please.” I breathed out, my voice dripping in need of his touches. He chuckled, pressing his hardening member against my lower back. “Such a needy little girl.” He teased. “I will take my time with you. Give you everything you deserve. There is no rush for us now.”

Hearing those words gave me some sort of relaxation, knowing, that my needs will be met. The cloth in his hand was regarded and now his fingers were again wandering over my body, taking the paths that were treated with the piece of fabric not long ago. But this time his touches were more intense, taking a hold of me.

The fingers of his right hand finally found my attention starved core. Tenderly stroking my outer folds, accidently brushing over my throbbing pearl. His other hand playing with my erect nipples, circling them, tugging on them. And when his lips sank down on my neck, the first moan rolled over my lips. His kisses were soft, sucking the skin between his teeth, licking the hot pain away his marks left behind. I was in heaven. My brain turned mushy and I was only reacting to his touches, how they deliberately played my body like a fine-tuned instrument.

Finally, his fingers went were I wanted them the most. Slowly he pushed one finger inside of my curling them against the spongy sweet spot in my core. My breath went irregular and I gasped, when his thumb pressed against my clit. He didn’t move it, just letting it sit there, putting light pressure in his sweetest touch. Soon a second finger followed, massaging me seductively. I couldn’t help myself but arch my back, to get more friction from his touch, but he kept me in place with his left arm, pressing me on his chest. “Uh uh… You are going to let me take care of you. Let yourself fall. I will catch you.”

And I did exactly as told. Letting go of my build up tension, fully trusting him. Once he realized I gave up my barriers, he started to move his fingers again. Still pressing me to him, he worked my pussy with the softest of touches I had ever felt. His thumb circling my clit, while his fingers massaged my inside. Creating a steady rhythm.

I closed my eyes, lips hanging open, not caring what sounds I let slip. A fire was starting in my stomach, burning its way down to my core. The longer he touched me the hotter the fire got, threatening to burn me alive. “You are doing so good for me.” His soft voice praising me, wrapping me up in silken ropes. My legs started to shake, the first indicator I was close to my release. I could feel the blood rush to my face, painting a light pink shade all over it. My walls started to flutter around his digits, trying to keep them inside of me. My head lulled back, his name a sweet prayer on my lips. I was now so close to the edge; I feared the abyss would swallow me whole. Grabbing onto his arm, that was holding me I unwillingly pierced his skin, when my orgasm washed over me.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, kissing my neck, my earlobes, and my chin. Slowly he pulled his fingers out, laying his hand on top of my throbbing core. My breathing was still irregular and I tried my best to steady it. Only then I realized I was still holding onto his arm, letting go immediately. “I am sorry.” I whispered, when I saw the indents in his skin.

“Don’t worry, meleth.” He reassured me, turning my head for our first kiss. His lips were soft and plump. I gasped at his boldness, which he shamelessly took advantage of, by slipping his tongue inside my mouth.

I don’t know how, but he was able to free himself under my bodyweight and stepped out of the bathtub, still leaning down for our kiss. He grabbed me under my arms pulling me out of the tub with the effortlessness I couldn’t comprehend. I shrieked at the sudden movement, clinging onto him. “I am sorry, meleth.” He apologized. “I forgot, that I am so much stronger than you. Comes with being an elf.” He tried to take the tension from me by joking.

“Meleth.” I repeated. “What does that mean?” He thought for a moment. “I would translate it to love. Its mostly used as a pet name.” Unsure how I would react he rowed back: “I can stop using it, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Meleth.” I let the word roll over my tongue. “It is beautiful. I like it.” Smiling down on him while I was still hanging in his arms. Only then I became painfully aware of the heat of his erect member only inches away from my core. I wriggled in his arms, causing him to let me slip a bit, now I was touching his cock with my wet entrance, forcing a low grunt from his lips.

Kissing him in anticipation I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist. He certainly got the hint, carrying me to the bedroom. Not without grabbing a towel and throwing it on the sheets first. Then he let our wet bodies sink into the mattress. Holding his bodyweight with his forearms, to prevent me from being crushed. He was radiating heat and lust, his body pressing me down. I spread my legs wider, inviting him in. “Please.” I begged. “I need to feel you. I want you.”

But he didn’t. He did the opposite. “I cant, Visha. You do not behold the consequences of this act.” Sinking back to his knees, face contorted between longing, desire and pain. “You humans might take sex lightly, but we elves don’t. Once we connect physically there is no turning back. I will not be able to withhold myself from you even if you chose to leave me. I will be bound to you for eternity. You need to know for sure you want to do this, because I will not force you to a bond you don’t want or cannot bring upon you.”

I scrunched my nose. “What do you mean ‘bound for eternity’?” He sighted: “Elves take a long time courting their partner, it can range from decades to centuries even. Because when we chose to be intimate with another person, our faes get bound together, leaving us in an unbreakable bond.”

“Faes?” I asked.

“Souls.” He answered. “When we do this, we are soul bound. Do you understand that?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“No Visha.” His voice became agitated. “Not okay. I need you full consent to do this, to give your soul, your life to me. Because I will. The day we met, my fae called out for you, forcing me to be around you. I love you with all my heart and I promise to protect you with everything I can. Elves don’t love easily, but when they do, they do it with their whole being. We will be partners for life until death do us apart. There will be no turning back, no loophole, nothing. Just me and you.”

“Until death does us apart?” I questioned. That part scarred me. He nodded. “Yes. When one of us dies. The other will fall into a constant state of sorrow until they go to Valinor. Our place of afterlife, where we met again with our loved ones.”

“Do I get to be there, when I die?”

“When you are bound to me, yes.” He answered.

“Okay.” I repeated, spreading my legs wider. “I love you and I trust you. You where there for me, when no one else was. Keeping me sane, caring for my well-being. I want to be your partner, to be your rock, protector, lover, friend. All of it. But…” I stopped.

“What?” He looked scarred.

“Do you see that scar on my body?” I pointed towards the z looking scar and the double-crossed x. He nodded, tracing its outlines.

“The two x above each other is inguz our symbol for fertility, the z is ihwaz the rune for eternity and immortality. As you know I was born a witch, raised by witchers. Those two scars mean, I sacrificed my fertility for immortality. I did it to stay with Geralt, the man who saved me. So, I will not be able to ever give you children. And I understand if you want children, or if you are expected to have them. I wont be disappointed if you would leave me now.” I turned my head to the side, fighting for the tears to stop forming, but I lost.

“Don’t cry, meleth.” He soothed me. “I don’t care about children and I am not expected to have them. I have brothers may this task be laid upon them.” He had a angered grin on his face. “I only care about being with you. If you still want me, I will be your seron, your amath your protector. Im mel cin, meleth nin. Im mel cin.” His voice was hoarse, fingers fluttering over my face, wiping away the tears.

“I don’t understand half of what you are saying, but I don’t care. I want you. I want you forever, so I can learn what you just said.” I answered laughing through my tears. Now he was laughing to. “Seron means lover, amath means shield or protector. Im mel cin, meleth nin means I will forever love you, my love.” He quickly translated.

“Im mel cin.” I repeated what he said, miserably stumbling over the words, disfiguring the beautiful sound they made in his mouth. But Haldir didn’t seem to mind at all. Instead, he pressed his lips on mine, kissing me with such passion, my head was spinning.

His hands were roaming over my body, stroking my sensitive sides, making me squirm under his touch. I felt the heat rise in my core again, when he kissed his way down to my breasts taking a hard nipple in his mouth, while toying with the other. My hands wandered to his hair pulling the rod he used to secure it out of his bun. Once his hair fell around his face I intertwined my fingers with his silvern locks, pulling on the roots. His free hand was between my legs, collecting my arousal. “By Valar, you are so fucking wet.”

It was a rare occurrence for the elven prince to curse, but holy did it sound hot. Impatiently, I hooked my legs around his waist, pulling him in, eliciting a chuckle from his lips. “So needy.” He mused.

“Stop your antics and please fuck me.” My voice was laced with hunger, desire and anticipation.

“At your orders, my lady.” He grabbed his member with one hand while propping himself up on one arm. He looked at me one last time, waiting for my approval, before lining himself with my entrance. Slowly he eased his way into my core. His thick shaft was stretching me painfully, pulling a quiet scream from my lips.

“I am sorry, meleth.” He apologized, retorting back, but I held him in place with my legs. “Its alright. I just… I never… Its my first time.” I spilled, stumbling over my words once he bottomed me out.

“I thought you already had…” He was taking by surprise. “Back in the tub it sounded like you knew what was ahead of us.”

“No. I wanted to save myself for a 1000 year old elf from another world.” I joked, grinning at him. He raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I am 3126 years old. And to be correct you are the one from the other world.” I shrugged my shoulders at his statement. “Still in the range of datable.”

Shaking his head, he slowly began to move, setting a deep, sensual pace. It was driving me insane. Every time he pulled out and pushed back in, he stretched my walls, massaging me heavenly. Eyes rolling back in my head, I held on to his shoulders. A soft moan was slipping through my lips. “Do it again.” He spurred me on, breathing into my neck. “I want to hear, what pleasure I bring to you.”

“Who would have thought the prince of Lòrien was such a filthy tease in bed?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but his vicious pounding made me loose my mind, another moan ringing through the room. My sentence had him smiling devilishly: “You will learn over time, what it means to be the treasure of my love, but now I will be nothing else than the willing servant to your pleasure.”

His words were venom on my patience. My core aching for his member, savoring every inch of his marvelous cock. Taking one leg in his hand he threw it over his shoulder, now being able to push deeper inside me. Still keeping his slow, sensual pace he locked eyes with me. Edging me. “My pretty little meleth.” He whispered. “All mine to have. All mine to please.” I kind of expected him to be a possessive man, coming from the caring actions towards me, the way he protected me from the stares of other elves, but hearing him say those words, struck my core on another level.

“Haldir!” I moaned his name, watching his eyes flew shut. His hands trembling over my body. “Fuck, Visha…” he growled at me moaning his name.

“I need more, Haldir, please.” I whined grabbing everything of him I could get in my hands.

“You need what, meleth? Use your words. Tell me what you want.” He ordered slightly slipping in his commander side, but directly pulling back, once he realized.

“I need you to go harder, please.” I begged. “I want to feel you, I want you to take me.”

Dropping my leg from his shoulder he leaned down on me, pinning my wrists down on the mattress with his big hands. His long silvern hair framed both of our faces, separating us from the outside world. He picked up his pace, going faster and harder than before, slowly raising the speed in which he fucked me. Eyes not leaving mine, in case I was pulling back. But I didn’t. There was no way on earth I would stop him right now. Digging my nails in his back, I clawed onto him, arching my back to take him at a better angle.

His cock was now brushing my sweet spot every time he entered or pulled out. Mewled sounds fell from my lips, the heat in my core rising. I could see he was holding back at his strength and I swore at that moment, that one day I would tease him until he would go all mad about me. But now was not the time. Being way to fixated on the burning feeling washing over my body. My walls fluttered around him, dragging a string of curses from him.

“I am close.” I whimpered close to his ear.

“I know. Me too.” He groaned in my neck, kissing and sucking on the sweet spot behind my ear. “Hold out for me, meleth. Just a little longer.”

My legs were shaking and I could not help myself as the abyss of my orgasm drew me over the edge. I arched my back, closing my legs around his waist and clawing my nails into his back leaving red marks behind. His breathing became rigid, as my pulsating core pulled him over into the free fall of his orgasm. I could feel his cock twitch inside me, as he filled me with his hot seed.

Slowing down his movement he let us ride out our orgasms, before collapsing on me. He caught himself far enough to not crush me, but I could feel the weight of his body press me down. I closed my eyes and snuggled into his embrace. “I love you.” He whispered over and over in my ear, pulling out of me. Then he started to kiss my body everywhere he could, stroking me, holding me, always making sure I felt save.

“You did so good. Took me so well.” His warm breath fanned over my stomach, giving me goosebumps. “I swear I will always cherish you, for giving yourself to me. This means everything to me and I want everyone to know you are mine to behold.” He said kissing the two scars marking my immortality. “I will love you to the end of time. And whatever challenge life will throw at us, I am going to protect and guide you through it. You are now the sole reason for my existence, the treasure of my heart, the light to my eyes, the air in my lungs. Everything you are is mine to adore.”

I listened to his sweet ramblings, this time not fighting my tears. With every word he said I fell for him more, the pull towards him growing visibly stronger within the seconds.

“I love you.” Was all I could muster, before my throat was closed of by my tears. He took me into his warm embrace, head tucked under his chin, leg pulled over his waist and covering us with the warm blanket of his bed. “Nin gilgalad. My starlight.” Was the last thing I heard from him, before I felt into a deep slumber. The first deep sleep I had in weeks.

#haldir #hurt/comfort #haldir smut #smut #fluff #haldir x reader #fem reader #lotr #haldir of lorien

[whereplotbunniesgotodie]

Here's your blessing Geralt

Geralt said his blessing would be to not have the bard around anymore? So be it. Jaskier would do just that, he would take himself off the witcher's hands... But apparently the mountains and her more monstrous inhabitants have other plans for the bard.

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries from a monster attack. I mean nothing more than canon, in fact probably less so than canon but still.

Angst with a happy ending

Cross posted here and on ao3

'If life could give me one blessing…' 

Jaskier let out a shaking breath as he picked his way down the slope. So Geralt wanted him gone?  Well fine... Jaskier would just go ahead and take himself off Geralt's hands then. 

His lute jostled on his back with each step and he did his best to steady it, it wouldn't be good to have the instrument damaged.

Blue eyes glanced back up the slope, searching for movement, for a sign of Geralt on his way down. When Jaskier saw nothing and his heart sank further to his stomach, he looked away. Of course he wouldn't come. The witcher had made it perfectly clear how little he thought of the bard, how little Jaskier meant. Jaskier wanted to be angry, to storm back up the mountain and yell at the Witcher, but instead he felt nearly numb. 

Jaskier was trying to be careful as the path narrowed even more than he remembered from the way up and he briefly wondered if he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, he should have hit their campsite by now.  He was heading towards the sunset though and he was sure they had headed away from it on the way up.  Too distracted by his thoughts, and the ever growing hole that seemed to be taking over his entire chest, the bard didn't hear the step behind him until a growl alerted him to how close whatever it was, well, was. 

He turned just in time to catch a sharp claw across his cheek, pulling a pained yelp from his throat. He hit the ground with a crash, his lute splintering beneath him. He reached up a shaking hand and ran it over his cheek, frowning when it came away slick with blood. He looked up as the creature lowered itself towards the ground in a crouch. He realized too late what it was doing, though he tried to back away. His hand shot to his hip, where a dagger lay hidden; gifted to him by Geralt 

The breath was knocked from his lungs when the creature lunged and set all its weight on him, laying him flat on his back, his hand yanking the dagger from its sheath in his pained flailing. It took a moment but he gasped desperately to get the air back into his lungs before he pushed at the creature as hard as he could and swung his other hand, the knife slicing a sizable gash in its chest. It growled in pain as it fell away, it's legs kicking wildly as it attempted to right itself, and Jaskier immediately scrambled to his feet. 

He didn't hesitate a moment longer, turning on his heel and bolting. He could hear whatever it was getting back to its feet and, before he knew it was chasing him, gaining on him. He cried out when it leapt onto his back and both of them collapsed into a heap. He registered the knife slipping from his grip and sliding down the path and he could feel the white hot pain as claws dug into his shoulders and his lower back. He tried to struggle, to shove it off again but the pain as it sunk its teeth into his flesh pulled a scream from his throat. He felt them moving, sliding, but he didn't know where exactly they ended up. 

  He didn't mean to do it. Didn't mean to call out for him but his mind latched onto the vain hope that the Witcher would hear him.

"G...Geralt! Geralt Hel-" The creature putting its weight on the back of his neck cut off any sound he could make and he gasped desperately. Black spots began to swirl in his vision as the pain began to fade, though he could still hear the growling. Oh… he just couldn't feel it anymore. That probably wasn't good. 

He couldn't move his arms and his eyelids were too heavy to keep open. He tried though, and managed one last look at the pink of the setting sun over the horizon. 

He couldn't breathe but the pain of claws dug into his back seemed to have vanished. He wondered briefly if Geralt had come and gotten rid of the monster but he cursed himself for hoping. 

"Geralt…" he said, though he had no way of knowing if he even made a sound. His vision swam and faded to black. 

~~

Geralt stood, fists clenched and shoulders tensed as he took in the empty camp. Jaskier was nowhere to be found, though his bedroll and small pack still lay in the remains of the camp. The sun was setting and darkness was creeping over the pink horizon.

He let out a sharp breath through his nose as he realized that any scent or trace of Jaskier was old. The bard hadn't been in camp since that morning. That wasn't normal and Geralt tried to ignore the concern he could feel rising in his chest. The bard, no matter how upset he had been, surely knew not to run off down the mountain alone. 

Geralt swallowed the concern and converted it into anger. 

"Jaskier!" He yelled. "Jaskier get up here!" He knew he was loud enough for the bard to hear no matter where he had stopped for the night.  "Jaskier!"

He heard no movement, no mumbled curses; not even a distant call of 'fuck off!' Any of which he expected. 

He glanced around before he shook his head. It was far too late to go out tonight and when the bard had left he'd been angry. He was probably just ignoring Geralt and the Witcher would come across him in the morning, cold and complaining. He sat down by the corpse of the fire from the night before to meditate. Closing his eyes he almost swore he heard a sound in the distance but when it didn't come again he ignored the urge to check it out, brushing it off as an animal.

The sun rose and Geralt arose with it. He couldn't help the frown that took to his lips when he saw the bard hadn't come back. The lingering scent from the day before had faded and now it was as if the bard hadn't been to the camp at all.  He quickly packed up the few things that had been left at the camp, including Jaskier's bedroll, which he hefted over his shoulder with his own and started down the path. 

It was at least a few hours of walking before he saw splinters of wood staggered around the path and thought little of them. Whatever it was looked to be destroyed and it was no concern of his that some traveler had been unlucky enough to break some possession of theirs. 

He glanced around as he walked, eyes searching for any sign of the bard, ears straining for the sounds he constantly made. Neither sight or sound alerted him to anything abnormal. In fact it was the sticky, iron scent of blood that pulled his attention down a nearby slope. He peered down and caught sight of a creature laying dead at the bottom of the small but steep incline. 

He almost walked away, almost turned his back to the corpse before he caught a glimpse of something just up the path, the silver blade glinting in the sunlight. That was the knife he had given Jaskier, the knife that was no longer in his possession and was tinted copper at the tip. He looked back down the incline with a start and finally noticed something red just beneath the creature. It was too bright and solid to be blood and too textured to be a trick of the light. 

No. No! 

He started down, trying to keep his expression from morphing into distress. He slid most of the way and stopped just a foot from the body… no. Bodies, it was bodies. He could see now, the lithe form of the bard curled beneath the monster. He didn't hesitate to throw the monster body off of Jaskier's limp form, not caring as it slid away down a steeper incline to the left. 

"Jaskier!?" Geralt felt his legs give out and he hit the ground with a thud. He reached out, hands hovering over Jaskier's cheeks, his shoulders. Finally Geralt steadied himself enough to grasp the bard by his shoulders, pointedly ignoring the ripped and shredded fabric that he felt beneath his palms, and hauled him up to lean against Geralt's chest.  The bard, limp in his grasp, with eyes closed, could too easily be confused with a doll or a corpse.

 One arm slid to wrap around Jaskier's back to hold him and Geralt's other hand cupped Jaskier's cheek to tilt his head towards him. The witcher almost yanked his hand away as his heart fell to his stomach. The bard was so cold, his skin sickly pale. A deep cut marred his cheek, dried blood crusted across his skin. A gash, no, a bite, where his shoulder and neck met stood out in angry blistered red. Geralt laid a hand over it shakily. The wound should have been bleeding! Why wasn't it bleeding? Not that Geralt wanted Jaskier to be bleeding, but bleeding meant his blood still flowed, his heart still beat… He still lived.

"Jaskier!" Geralt hissed as he gave the bard a small jostle. The bard didn't react, didn't respond and Geralt growled. He had to stay under control; had to calm down. The blood rushing in his ears and the growl low in his throat kept him from hearing Jaskier's heartbeat. The shaking of his hands, that had to be why he couldn't find a pulse. 

"Jaskier, wake up!" He couldn't let the bard die, not when he was the cause of it. He had sent him away, sent him waltzing down the mountain on his own… and he had been the one not to go looking after dark. 

"Jaskier!" Geralt tried again, his hand cupping nearly Jaskier's entire neck. He tried to calm down, to relax enough to be useful again. Finally, he managed to quell the blood roaring in his ears and the shaking of his hands. Then, blooming just beneath his fingertips was a pulse. It was nearly as sluggish as his own and did little to give Jaskier the appearance of life, but it was still there. Jaskier's heart still beat in his chest and Geralt still had a chance to make this all right.

He frowned as he eyed the bite on Jaskier's neck. He didn't have anything for it, not at the moment; but he could make something if he got to roach. He looked up the incline, he couldn't climb it with Jaskier in tow, not completely comatose anyway.

"Jaskier, come on. You've got to wake up just a little." He tried, voice quiet and far too soft. He tapped gently at the bard's cheek in an attempt to rouse him. "Jaskier, please." He said, voice nearly a whisper. He couldn't help but lower his head, pulling Jaskier closer until his nose was buried in brunette hair. Beneath the smell of blood and old fear was the overly familiar scent of cinnamon, blueberries and summer flowers, with the softest of vanilla undertones lingering beneath them all. Geralt found the scent terrifyingly comforting.

The scent gave the distinct feeling of…Home… One that so very few places and people gave him. It was warm and familiar, and caused Geralt to realize he might never get that again. Geralt had sent Jaskier away, told him that his absence would be a blessing. Now… Now, Jaskier was barely clinging to life and Geralt could do little to help him. 

His grip on the bard tightened slightly and he felt, for the first time since he was in training, truly overwhelmed. He couldn't carry the bard up the steep incline, couldn't leave him and come back, couldn't wake him. He closed his eyes and let out a deep, stuttering breath. Geralt felt useless and the feeling was so overwhelming he didn't notice the Bard's pulse get slightly stronger as he kept the other close. He didn't feel the heat slowly returning and the color bleeding into pale cheeks.  

He did hear the sharp, sudden and deep intake of breath from his arms and his eyes snapped open. Lowering his gaze, he found himself looking into open but glassy blue eyes. 

"Jaskier!"

"...Ger't?" 

The Witcher couldn't find the words he wanted, not surprising really, but he didn't really try too hard to find them either. He instead pulled Jaskier close, resting the bard's head against his shoulder as one hand curled tighter around Jaskier's back and the other cupped the back of his head, tangled gently in his hair, nose buried in Jaskier's neck. 

"You're alive..." He breathed, so quietly it took him a moment to realize he had said it out loud. 

The bard didn't respond and for a moment Geralt feared he had passed back out, but when he leaned back enough to see Jaskier's face, he saw the still glazed blue eyes wide in shock. 

"Jaskier." He said again, his tone sharper than he meant for it to be, but he couldn't let Jaskier fall back into shock. Especially now he could see the bite had started bleeding sluggishly.

"Geralt…" Jaskier said slowly, reaching up and running his fingers down Geralt's cheek, the touch feather light. "You're… Really here." He cringed as the move caused the bite to pull, bleeding more steadily and a hiss escaped his clenched teeth. 

"Don't move your arm. You'll hurt yourself worse." Geralt murmured, watching Jaskier's expression curl in confusion. 

"So I am dead?" The bard questioned quietly. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You're worried about me…Telling me how not to get hurt worse…But Geralt said he didn't care so I must be dead and you must be a figment of my imagination." His voice was strained, as if stringing so many words together was hard.

Geralt didn't answer him, didn't immediately assure the bard that he didn't hate him, because Geralt couldn't put into words what he was slowly realizing  the other meant to him. 

"I need you to stay awake so we can get back to Roach, alright?" 

Jaskier frowned but gave a small curt nod, eyes closing. Geralt maneuvered him to his feet and, though he had to do most of the work in pulling him along, Jaskier was able to follow his lead when the pair headed to the incline. The bard opened his eyes a few times but seemed unable to keep them that way for long.

"Stay awake." Geralt snapped when he felt the bard start to sag against him. "You have to stay awake, Jaskier."

Jaskier mumbled an apology as he tried to straighten up. Geralt looked up the incline and then at the nearly unconscious Jaskier and thought. He had an idea but knew he would have to be quick about it.

"Jaskier." He said, pushing the bard to face him and hold him at arm's length. "Listen. You need to stay awake enough to hold onto me. Can you do that?"

Jaskier swayed in his feet but nodded, eyes still closed. "Think so…" he muttered.  Geralt eyed the bite again, it had started bleeding in earnest now, worryingly so.

Geralt let go and quickly turned his back to the other and just as he'd thought, Jaskier sagged weakly against him. Geralt knelt and used the momentum to get Jaskier onto his back. As if by instinct, Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt's neck and held on.

The witcher brought Jaskier's legs to wrap around his waist before he released him. Trusting the bard to hang on, and keeping in mind the shallow but steady breaths against his neck, he started to climb. 

It was slow going, Geralt mumbling to Jaskier to keep holding onto him and Jaskier trying to do just that. At least once, Geralt was sure the bard had passed back out fully, but his grip didn't slacken. It took three sharp calls of the bard's name to get a mumbled response. 

They reached the top of the incline and, with a small amount of aid from Jaskier, Geralt pushed the bard to lay on solid ground and then followed up himself. As soon as he was no longer clinging to Geralt, Jaskier let his body fall limp. Geralt sat for just a second, just long enough to calculate how far from roach they were before he shuffled to Jaskier's side. 

"One more time Jask, wake up and stay awake." Geralt said sharply, the only tone that seemed to really snap Jaskier to attention.

Jaskier made a small noise, possibly an objection, in the back of his throat but his eyes did blink open blearily. Geralt glanced up towards the path and then back at Jaskier. Decision made, he stood and then leaned down to scoop up the bard quickly. Holding him in a bridal carry, he jostled the bard only enough to secure his grip on him. Jaskier, despite the manhandling, stayed worryingly silent. He glanced down and saw that, while Jaskier did indeed still have his eyes open, he was far too busy staring intently, or as intently as he could seeing as his eyes were still glassy and far away, at Geralt's face. 

Geralt decided he would question that later, they didn't have time now, and started down the mountain at a pace that couldn't be called a run, but only because of how careful the Witcher had to be.

He reached Roach even quicker than he anticipated, and quickly laid Jaskier into the grass beside her before immediately digging through the nearest saddle bag. 

Roach, for her part, seemed to sense Geralt's unease, as she nickered softly at him. As he searched she leaned her head down towards Jaskier and nosed at, and then gently lipped his cheek, pulling a soft, worryingly wet laugh from the bard that had Geralt freezing in place for a second. 

"Roach?" Jaskier murmured. "Hello darling girl. When did you get here?"

Geralt couldn't help but feel his chest lighten slightly. Jaskier was talking, he was laughing, he was staying far more awake than he had for Geralt, and even if it was because of Roach, Geralt found he couldn't be upset. Roach huffed a breath at the bard before looking back at Geralt, almost as if to say 'Hurry up you absolute buffoon! He's hurt!"

Geralt decided the other thing he would question later would be how the hell his horse had given him such a look, shelving that particular question in the back of his mind. 

Once he had gotten what he needed from his bag, he knelt beside Jaskier, on his other side seeing as Roach nipped and refused adamantly to move when he'd tried to ease her aside. With Jaskier still talking to the horse, even if it had at some point careened into less talking and more absently mumbling about Roach's lovely coat, Geralt got to work. 

The first application of salve,enchanted thanks to a very smug Yennefer last time they'd met, had Jaskier hissing through his teeth, eyes clenched shut and all playful mirth about his ode to Roach immediately vanishing from him. 

"I know…" Geralt found himself murmuring. "I know. But it'll help Jaskier. It's going to help." 

Hurts…" he hissed, bleary eyes opening for only a moment before he clenched them shut again. They didn't open the rest of the time that Geralt worked. 

Once the bite and gashes on his cheek and lower back, he had to turn him to his side for that, much to Roach's apparent disapproval, were covered in salve and then bandages, Geralt laid Jaskier gently on his back again. The bard, having passed out again, looked too worryingly close to how Geralt had found him earlier and Geralt couldn't help but reach out and run his fingers through the bard's hair, down his unmarred cheek, coming to a stop over his pulse point. Roach, for her part in this strange happening, slowly knelt and then huffed as she laid down beside the bard and her Witcher, laying her head gently across Jaskier's stomach.

Sitting there, the sun now high in the sky, Geralt couldn't help but fall into a light meditation, his hand never leaving Jaskier's neck, never leaving the steadying heartbeat beneath his fingertips. 

That's how Jaskier awoke, with a gentle press of fingers at his throat, a tightness from the skin where bandages were wrapped tightly, and the feeling of something warm and heavy across his stomach. Opening his eyes, he couldn't help the look of shock that crossed his face as he saw both Roach, and then Geralt, sitting so close to him. 

The uptick in his heartbeat had Geralt snapping his eyes open only seconds after the bard and when honey met cornflower, he all but shoved Roach's head aside and pulled the bard to him in a hug, blatantly ignoring the horse as she let out an angry nicker and climbed slowly to her feet. He buried his nose against Jaskier's throat, taking the place of his fingers, and his hands wrapped around the bard's shoulders and tangled in his hair. 

Jaskier was so taken aback that he didn't even have the state of mind to question what Geralt was doing, instead, raising his arms to wrap them back around the Witcher. 

"Jaskier… You're alright.." he heard Geralt murmur against his neck, the movement of his lips and the warmness of his breath pulling a gasping shiver from Jaskier, despite the uncalled-forness of the timing. 

"Geralt?" 

Geralt tightened his grip slightly, cutting Jaskier off before he could speak again. "I'm sorry. Gods Jaskier I'm so fucking sorry." His tone was tight, angry, and Jaskier tensed at it. Geralt was quick to smell the change in his bard's emotions, the strangely citrus scent of confusion giving way to the sickly sweet scent of fear. 

He leaned back, golden eyes wide as he looked Jaskier over, and then met his eyes. "I'm sorry." He repeated, using as much willpower as he could to keep the self hatred and anger from his voice, leaving it instead soft and broken. "I never should have let you leave like that…What I said was just…" 

Jaskier watched him struggle to find the words, to speak more than three at a time and felt his lips curling into a soft, tentative smile. 

"You've so rarely apologized that I have half a mind to test you with silver." He said, attempting to joke with Geralt, but frowned when the statement pulled a look of hurt across Geralt's face. "Geralt… No, I know it's you…" he amended quickly, reaching out to cup Geralt's cheek. 

Geralt absently leaned into the touch, keeping his eyes on Jaskier as he did. Gods, the surprise on the others face at the movement, the soft smile that slowly returned, made Geralt's heart skip a beat. " I'm sorry." He repeated instead of doing what he wanted to do and pressing a kiss to Jaskier's lips. 

Roach, apparently having had enough of whatever it was her two men were doing and the dancing around each other, huffed and stomped her foot before slowly circling around to stand behind Geralt and pressing at the back of his head with her nose, leaning him closer to the bard. 

"Geralt?" Jaskier asked, tone soft, as if he didn't want to disturb the other. 

"Jaskier… Can you say you forgive me… please?" He found himself whispering. 

Jaskier's eyes widened and he fumbled over his words. "What? Of course I… I mean you apologized and… I knew you didn't mean what you said, but I mean I'm still a little upset at you and…" the bard was stumbling over his words and Geralt had the urge to quiet him. Realizing that Jaskier was continuing to try and fumble out an acceptance, Geralt took a deep breath and leaned forward, capturing the bard's lips with his own and silencing the other man. 

Pulling back a moment later Geralt couldn't help but smile at the soft 'oh' the other let out. He had half a mind to say something else, something more, but didn't have a chance as Jaskier surged back to him and pulled him into another kiss. 

Geralt had the feeling it would still take some time for him to fully apologize to Jaskier, even if Jaskier himself denied the need, and he was already attempting to plan out more apologies for the future. For now though, he simply pulled Jaskier close, deepened the kiss, and for once, didn't ignore the spicy scent of arousal that surged from the bard. He did, subconsciously take note of the sweet, honey scent that lingered below the arousal. 

Love, he realized belatedly, the soft vanilla scent was love. 

#angst #geraskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher #witcher geralt #witcher jaskier #jaskier

[sayafics]

Soul-bonds & Heartaches

A.N.// reposting this onto a new blog, but hey guys this is a fanfiction I've started writing and I am very excited about it. Let me know if you want the rest of this draft!

Geralt made two claims many years ago. One he did not believe he would ever have to face. And the other he spent years running from. It seemed that fate had made it so he could avoid neither.

Accepting Cirilia's presence in his life has been easy enough, but her? She was too much. A burden.

Andromeda was Cirilia's aunt, although not biological - taken in at a young age by Queen Calanthe she grew up alongside Pavetta, her youth seemingly never fading. See what most of Cintra did not know was Andromeda was an elf, her scarred ears from where her own father hacked off the abominations were proof enough of that. Hoping the pain was worth the safety his daughter would get in return as he sent her towards villages and kingdoms.

It was.

That is until the night of Pavetta's banquet. Geralt made a claim, a claim he hoped with all his heart would not bind itself to another - Pavetta was bound to another so surely claiming the one dearest to Calanthe's heart would result in nothing.

Except it seemed Andromeda had weaseled her way into the heart of the woman who had taken her in, had found comfort in her arms and love in her heart. If destiny would not give him Pavetta, they could give him Andromeda.

Calanthe, Pavetta and Andromeda knew the consequences of his words, as he spoke his claims - their fears worsening as Pavetta's pregant state became public knowledge. They would now face the consequences of their gratitude it seemed.

---

Andromeda had escaped Geralt's existence for almost thirteen years, as far as Geralt was concerned his second claim had no effect and Fate had given him a pass. The only surprise he had to worry about was his Child Surprise. A secret vow, bounding him to the person Calanathe held close to her heart and considered a daughter? That was not his concern at all.

And so, Geralt remained oblivious of her existence until it became too hard to deny.

---

When Geralt had bedded Yennefer, Andromeda felt it, how it tore at her heart and how her soul roiled and burned in its place inside her. The betrayal to the bond and vow he made tying them together punished her for the actions of a man she wanted nothing to do with.

But she was used to it. It would not be the first time she had experienced such pain. So she sat, with Cirilla on one side and Jaskier on the other, her heart sinking in her chest as she forced herself to keep up her cheery charade knowing what was happening behind the closed doors of the inn they were resting at.

Geralt was betraying a woman he had no clue he belonged to.

The pain had subsided, but the feeling of misery only strengthened as she watched Geralt come down the inn stairs with Yennefer at his tail. The two looked perfect together, both warriors in their own image - strong and brave, nothing like she was. She could feel jealousy begin to claw at her throat, the tears slowly beginning to burn her eyes.

Andromeda composed herself, turning away from the duo to face Cirilla instead - "I think I'm going to head to bed."

Cirilla looked up at her in curiosity, knowing Andromeda rarely slept at all, especially during the night. Her fears of the dark outweighed her need to sleep, but as she looked over her shoulders towards Yennefer and Geralt - the two leaning on eachother, engaged in a bout of flirtatious commentary- she nodded her acceptance before agreeing to join her soon. Her aunt needed a moment to herself, and so Cirilla would give her atleast that.

Andromeda pushed herself to her feet, stood there for a moment as she took in a deep breath from her nose, careful to not change her expression. She avoided Jaskier's questioning eyes and breezed passed the distracted duo, unaware of Geralt's trailing eyes and flared nostrils as he scented her - he could hear her heartbeat, it was fast and harsh, but she smelt of the sky when it was about to rain.

As Andromeda made her way up the stairs she made eye contact with a rather slender man who was walking in the opposite direction, he had blue eyes and ginger hair that reached his shoulders, a thick beard decorated his face and scars lined his eyes - one blind and one seeing. But most of all, what caught her attention was the gentle aura about him, his clothes were simple tunics and despite his lumbering size he seemed to be a humble man - everything Geralt was not.

She found herself slowing down in front of him - after all the pain Geralt has caused her seeking his own pleasure, why can she not grant herself this one moment of gratification. Why wait, why save herself for a man who had no care of his own purity or sanctity. Why should she reserve herself, when she could be free like he acted. When she could cause him the pain he had been feeding her for years since he had made his proclamation.

"Hello there," Andromeda's voice had dipped, taking on a sultry tone as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. The coy expression that slid across her face had immediately caught the man's attention, his face heating to match the colour of his hair as he turned to face her - Andromeda's attention only bolstered his confidence as he leaned towards her unconsciously.

"Now who might you be, little lady."

"The best thing that may happen to you tonight," Andromeda laid her hand on his arm, her fingers unconsciously tightening around it as she felt the the muscle that outlined his lean figure. She felt her heart race for a reason that was completely different to jealousy - this was the first time she had given into her desires, and Fortunes did it feel good.

The two continued to flirt, exchanging subtle brushes of skin-on-skin, the man - who she now knew as Elias - tucked hair hair back for her, his fingers trailing her jawline. Until finally, his hand dragged down her shoulder, down her arm until he intertwined his fingers with her own - his head jutted in the direction of the stairs and just like that Andromeda followed his lead.

Unbeknownst to her, and much to the dislike of Yennefer, Geralt had been watching the two ever since she had approached the man, his heart began to thump harshly in agony and anger at the sight of her with another man, at the sound of their hearts whispering to one another, of the smell of his arousal and her excitement. But why?

It did not matter, Geralt gave into Yennefer's pestering and turned her way - accepting the fretted petting and flirtations that came along with it, trying to force his mind off the giggling pair who had escaped to the confines of an inn room.

#geralt x yennefer #geralt of rivera #geralt x you #geralt x ofc #geralt x reader #jaskier #cirilla of cintra #geralt smut #jealousy #pining

[a-case-of-attachment]

Rating: T

Pairings: Geralt x Jaskier

Warnings: people treating Witchers like dirt ~ protective Jaskier ~ swearing ~ mentions of blood and injuries

The Lover ->

<- The Hunter

Geralt gritted his jaw, hands curling into fists on the bar top as he tried to keep his anger in check but it was getting hard and harder with every word that was coming out of the inn keeper’s mouth. “We ain’t got room for your kind freak,” he spat out, arms folded across his chest and looking at Geralt like he was the scum of the earth.

Geralt was used to this or he had been used to it but travelling with Jaskier had made him soft, these sort of things happening so rarely now that he had almost forgotten that so many people still hated his kind. Almost but places like this reminded him quick enough. Jaskier wasn’t with him now, had gone running back to the countess de Stael just after the incident with the djinn with nothing more than an enthusiastic wave as he practically ran towards her awaiting carriage they had come across by chance and a promise to meet again soon but that had been months ago.

Not that Geralt cared.

It was better without the bard’s constant noise and habit of finding trouble when there shouldn’t even be any. It wasn’t like the silence was grating on him or that on the long and lonely days he missed Jaskier’s warm and ever optimistic presence or that he had started to talk to Roach more just to fill the silence. Geralt was doing fine on his own but in situations like this Jaskier and his flamboyant way of talking would have come in useful for once. He had a way with words that could either end up with him getting exactly what he wanted or a punch in the teeth. Either way he would probably have better luck then Geralt currently was.

He was tired, covered in monster guts and swamp water and had a gouge on his side that needed cleaning and then probably stitches. Geralt knew he looked a mess, like the monster people often called him but he had just freed the villagers of a Kikimore infestation that he had already been underpaid for by the alderman and his patience was beginning to wear thin. He didn’t want much just a hot bath and something to eat and drink. Sure a warm and dry place to sleep would have been a welcomed luxury but he would settle for the bath and food but the inn keeper wouldn’t even give him that.

“I just want…” he started but was cut off by the sound of several chairs scrapping across the floor, the gentle mummer of chatter dying. “You heard him freak, we ain’t got room for the likes of you here”. Geralt sighed at the gruff voice, able to tell that at least three men stood behind him. They all reeked of drink and anger, ready for a fight that Geralt didn’t want to have.

Resigned to his fate Geralt pushed away from the bar, mumbling a quiet thank you to the inn keeper as he went. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he left, hunching his shoulders and curling in on himself in an attempt to make himself seem smaller. He really wasn’t in the mood for a fight or to be chased from the town whilst being pelted with rocks so he would go quietly, using this as a good reminder as to why he shouldn’t let how Jaskier was with him cloud his judgment of other people.

Feeling dejected and stupid for it Geralt made his way back to the stable where he had left Roach. He had already paid for her lodging for the night but he didn’t want to have to come back for her in the morning and risk getting stoned for it. It was a shame, she could do with a good nights rest as much as he could but these things happen and thankfully the stable hand had already fed her. She wasn’t happy about it, huffing and nudging Geralt in the shoulder but she is a good horse and with a slight tug on her reigns she follows after him.

“That’s it girl. Next time I promise we’ll stay all night,” he mumbles, stroking down her snout as he leads her down the road and back towards the woods. It’s a lie, a promise he couldn’t keep and they both knew it, Roach huffing and nudging his shoulder again. This part of the continent wasn’t very friendly to Witcher’s though and Geralt doubted they would have any better luck at the neighbouring villages in the next few days.

That was fine.

He would manage.

Like always.

“Geralt?” He stopped at the familiar voice, head snapping up and in the direction it had come from. There in the middle of the dirt road stood Jaskier. The confusion on his face quickly morphed into excitement and even in the dark of night Geralt could see his blue eyes lighting up. “GERALT!” he exclaims loudly, throwing his arms wide and before Geralt really knew what was happening Jaskier was pulling him into a hug, arms squeezing tightly and patting him on the back.

Geralt grunted, not even having time to react before Jaskier was pulling away, clasping Geralt by the shoulders and smiling widely. “It has been to long my friend,” Jaskier beamed. “Not your friend,” he grunted back automatically, so used to giving that response after all these years despite it no longer being true. Jakier waved him off, stepping back and still smiling brightly as if he hadn’t heard Geralt. “Are you just on your way out or in my dearest Witcher? In I would assume looking like that but it doesn’t matter, regardless of what one it is I insist you join me for a drink. I simply must know what you have been up to these last few months,” Jaskier took Roche’s reigns he spoke, leading the mere back towards the stables they had just come from, the horse gladly following after him at the prospect of getting to return to the warmth and comfort she had been taken from.

“I don’t think…” Geralt started to protest, following behind the bard and eyes darting around the darkened streets, looking for any sign of villagers who would want chase him off with pitchforks and torches. “I simply must insist Geralt,” Jaskier cut him off as they walked back into the stables and towards the bemused stable hand. “You back already?” he grunted, eyeing them suspiciously. Jaskier looked between the two of them, frowning slightly before realisation seemed to dawn on him but Geralt would put money on him not coming to the correct conclusion.

“No rooms left at the inn?” he asked as he passed Roach off to the stable hand along with a couple of coins. Geralt would have told Jaskier not to bother, that Roach’s stay had already been paid for but the boy snatched the money up quickly and was leading the horse away before he could, only just giving Geralt enough time to slip his saddle bags off before she was gone. “No,” he growled, glaring at Jaskier but it didn’t seem to bother him.

Technically Geralt hadn’t lied. There had been no room for him at the inn, even if there had been empty rooms available.

“No bother. I already have a room and you my friend could do with a nice hot bath and something to eat, my treat for killing whatever it is that you are covered in,” Jaskier wrinkled up his nose in disgust as he gestured to Geralt, already on his way out of the stable and back up the road towards the inn. Geralt should say something, should warn the bard that he wasn’t welcomed here and he might find himself out on his ass for bring Geralt back with him but he was tired and sore and he had a small flicker of hope that Jaskier would do what he does best and use his face words to confuse the simple locals and get Geralt into his room without too much trouble.

Geralt trailed after Jaskier, listening to the man ramble on about how the countess had once again left him but this time it had been in Jaskier’s best interest because her cousin had shown up not long before his departure and the man had wandering hands that always seemed to have a fondness for Jaskier’s pert bottom, as the bard so eloquently put it. Geralt just grunted, barely listening to the words as he gripped his bags and tried to make himself look as small as he could.

Jaskier was still talking when he pushed the inn’s door open, the whole room going quiet when Geralt stepped through the door but Jaskier didn’t seem to notice, strutting right up to the bar and leaning against it, smiling brightly up at the man who was scowling at Geralt. “Evening kind sir, I would like a bath please and two bowls of hot stew sent up to my room along with two cups of your finest ale,” he tipped his head back slightly, his bright eyes finally looking up at the inn keeper, only for his smile to fall when he noticed the look on his face. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told ‘im-” he jerked his head towards Geralt, his scowl deepening, “-we ain’t got room for his kind”.

Jaskier stood up straighter, his frown deepening as he looked around the room and taking in the hostility that was directed all at Geralt. “Right,” he mumbled, something dark flashing behind his eyes as his frown twisted. Geralt knew that look, it was he same look he got every time someone insulted Geralt or implied he was less simply because he was a Witcher. It also normally ended up with him getting in a bar fight and Geralt was too tired to take on the ten men that filled the tavern.

‘Jask,” he sighed, every intention of telling him not to worry, that Geralt was fine but like always Jaskier was quicker with his words than Geralt would ever be. “Do you not require coin to run this establishment?” Jaskier turned his cold blue eyes back to the inn keeper, his voice just as cold and seemingly taking the man by surprise. “Yes but,” Jaskier cuts him off, talking over whatever he was going to say but Geralt suspected it would have been a slur on him and his kind. “And do you not rely on the patronage of passing travellers like myself and my friend to earn said coin?” Geralt could feel the tension in the room, could smell the anger and fear but just at the edges something else was starting to creep in, people already shifting in their sets as if they knew where Jaskier was going with his little rant.

The man crossed his arms over his chest, his beady eyes narrowing at Jaskier as he grunted his response, “what is your point bard?” Jaskier smiled slightly, something soft yet some how full of mischief that wouldn’t be out of place when he was in the middle of playing one of his more risqué little ditties. It seemed out of place here where no one was singing along, full of alcohol and joyous in spirit. “I don’t know if you know this but I’m quite famous, wrote a popular little ditty called Toss A Coin, maybe you have heard of it?” Jaskier paused for effect, his eyes sweeping across the room and taking in the uncomfortable look on more than a couple of the men’s faces. So that forsaken song had even made its way to this hell hole.

“It’s quite amazing the power a simple little song can have, so imagine the damage that could be done to an already nameless little shit hole that is nothing more that a mud stain on a map if a song started to circulate about how unwelcoming and vile the people there are. I hate to imagine how quickly said town would fall into ruin, wouldn’t you?” Jaskier said it all with a light and friendly voice, as if he was having a conversation about the weather with an old friend but his eyes stayed cold and angry, fixed on the inn keeper and almost daring him to assume Jaskier was lying about his prowess.

The smell in the room changed once more, anger spiking but the rancid smell of fear began to grow. Towns like this relied heavily on passing trade, selling their wears and skills to those who passed. Its what got them through the long and harsh winters, what kept their families fed and safe and Jaskier was threatening that safety, their livelihoods and all in the name of Geralt’s honour. Sometimes he thought that Jaskier was wrong in the head, making unnecessary enemies because they didn’t treat Geralt how Jaskier thought he should be treated but it also brought a warmth to his chest, his heart beating just that little bit faster for a second or two. Jaskier cared enough to defend him, wanted Geralt to have the luxury of walking the Path and not having to fear he would be turned away or chased by an angry mob. He wanted people to see Geralt how he saw him, a hero, a defender, a person and he wouldn’t settle for anything else.

“What do you want bard?” the inn keeper gritted out between clenched teeth, looking at Jaskier like he wished him dead. Jaskier smiled brightly, his cold anger disappearing as he went back to his normal, cheery self. “As I was saying, my friend here as kindly just rid you of a…” Jaskier looked at Geralt expectantly. “Kikimore,” he grunted, rolling his shoulders and standing a little straighter now that he could feel things shifting in his favour. “A Kikimore, how ghastly. How lucky of you poor, defenceless people that a helpful Witcher come along and got rid of the vile beast before it could eat you all,” he raised his voice, letting it carry across the room and his eyes quickly flickering around the room. The men shifted, an unease settling on them that Geralt would liken it to guilt if he thought the men of this town had it in them to feel anything other than contempt towards him.

“After all that hard and dangerous work you can see that my friend is in desperate need of a hot bath and food and some fine ale so if you could have two bowls of hot stew and two mugs of your finest ale sent up to my room that would be much obliged. Oh and the hot bath as well”. Jaskier looked at the man expectantly, that sickly sweet smile still on his lips. The inn keeper grunted, clearly annoyed by the whole situation. “Cost extra and it better stay in the room,” he jerked his head towards Geralt but didn’t look at him, keeping his angry glare on the bard. Jaskier rolled his eyes but took out his coin purse, laying a few down on the bar top that the man snatched up quickly.

Jaskier didn’t waste any time, getting behind Geralt and shoving him towards the stairs. He could stop him if he wanted to but Geralt allowed the weaker man to direct him to the stairs but Jaskier stopped half way up, he anger getting sharper again. “Oh and no extra bodily fluids, my friend here will know,” he patted Geralt’s shoulders as he spoke and Geralt turned his head to glare at the inn keeper, playing his part in Jaskier’s little intimidation. He would know, always knew when people spat or pissed in his food or drink. It was disgusting but it happened, though no one had yet been stupid enough to try it with Jaskier. Geralt would have made them regret it if they had.

Jaskier didn’t give the man a chance to answer, pushing Geralt back up the rest of the steps before slipping around him and heading towards his room at the end of the corridor. Geralt had only just gotten into the room before he started fussing over him, hands flittering about him but not touching all the gore that clung to him. “Jaskier,” he grumbled, his tone heavy with disapproval. He appreciated the other man’s efforts but Geralt really wasn’t worth the trouble he could get into.

Jaskier scoffed, rolling his eyes at Geralt as he headed to the door when a loud bang came. “Oh hush, they were being bigoted assholes and after you saved their ungrateful lives as well. They should truly be ashamed of themselves,” he didn’t even look at the three rather burly and angry looking men on the other side of the door as he yanked it open, holding it ajar as they brought in a bath tub and the first few buckets of what Geralt could already tell was tepid water.

They didn’t look at Geralt as they placed the tub in front of the already lit fire and then quickly disappeared. Jaskier left the door open, obviously optimistic that they would continue to fill the shallow tub and not leave it with the inch or two of water that was in it. “Still,” Geralt grunted, knowing that Jaskier would understand what he was trying to say without him having to use the unneeded amount of words that Jaskier was so fond of. Geralt could take care of himself but Jaskier was human and if anything happened to him because of Geralt, well he didn’t really know what he would do.

Jaskier sighed, heading towards Geralt as the men came back with multiple buckets and continued to fill the bath. He stopped in front of Geralt, looking up at him with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “Its nothing Geralt really. You know I hate how these people treat you, plus what are friends for if not to help each other out in difficult times,” he spoke softly, hands hovering above Geralt’s chest as if he was going to put his hands on him but seemed to have thought better of it.

“Not your friend,” Geralt grunted but he could feel a small smile tugging at his lips, no heat to his words. Jaskier smiled at him, understanding what Geralt was truly trying to say. “Of course, how silly of me to forget that Witcher’s don’t have friends,” Jaskier teased, any lingering anger subsiding as the smell of wild flowers and summer got stronger, Jaskier feeling happy. Geralt liked that smell, wished that he could bottle it for when the other man wasn’t there, for when he came to places like this with people who only saw a monster. It would be a good reminder that there was at least one person out there who cared, one person who he could make happy, who didn’t think him anything more than a man.

They stood there for a long moment, staring into the others eyes and smiling, neither of them really paying attention to the men filling the tub until someone slammed the door closed and Jaskier jumped back, clearly surprised by the sudden noise. The bard laughed nervously, stepping away from Geralt and towards the bed and his own bags, rifling through them in what Geralt thought was an obvious attempt to make himself seem busy. “Well? Come on now Geralt, into the tub before the water gets cold. When was the last time you had a proper bath any way, your hair looks like a rats nest. You need to start looking after yourself better Witcher or you will end up having to cut that precious hair of yours off and wouldn’t that be a travesty,” he called over his shoulder, brandishing a hand behind him towards the now filled tub.

Geralt smiled as he began to work on the buckles of his armour. Jaskier had started to hum, that same sad and wistful tune that he had been working on for a couple of years now. The tune was so familiar by now that Geralt instantly felt himself relax. He had missed this, Jaskier’s gentle nagging and soft humming though he would never admit it to the bard. It was rare to have someone show this much concern for him, even among his brothers and it made him feel warm and wanted to have such attention.

Geralt made quick work of stripping out of his armour and clothes, leaving them to the side to be dealt with latter. Jaskier truly was a good friend and Geralt knew he was lucky to have someone care about him the way Jaskier did. Not many Witcher’s got that and he should tell Jaskier how grateful he was for it but words were never his strong point and he didn’t want to fuck it up. He always felt actions were better than words anyway and he hoped that from his actions Jaskier knew how he felt.

“By the gods Geralt, why didn’t you say someone had tried to gut you like a fish,” Jaskier screeched loudly.

Fuck.

He had forgotten about the gouge in his side.

#the witcher #the witcher tv #netflix the witcher #jaskier #dandelion #geralt #geralt of rivera #geraskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt x dandelion

[cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness]

timeless light of his wide eyes

Geraskier, Different First Meeting, Nymph Jaskier, Size Difference, 5k, PWP, E

Thanks to @borealwrites for the Monster March prompt list!

Read on AO3

Geralt was in the midst of undressing when a bush shuffled behind him, and he turned to see a tall masculine humanoid staring at him from the treeline. He seemed curious of him rather than hostile. It might have been partially because he was standing half naked and bloodied.

He slowly finished removing his chest plate and put it down with the rest of his amour. He wasn't sure if he ever met this species before, but he was beautiful. Taller and bigger than humans, their skin was various hues of greens, going from mint to basil. They were much taller than an average human, well over two metres, with a wider face and more prominent features. 

A moment passed and neither moved. Perhaps they had intending on swimming in the pond, the day was warm enough for it. Sensing no hostility from them, Geralt removed his trousers and padded in the water. He would wash himself and then leave, no need to intrude longer than he needed to. He took his shirt to clean his face with, using the relative safety of the distance between them to momentarily block his vision. The friction hurt his head wound but nothing he couldn’t handle. He pulled the fabric away at footsteps coming closer. The creature was approaching slowly, his body language open. It could've been a subterfuge, Geralt’s dubious mind provided, nerves raw from today’s events.

He said something in Elder Speech, his voice flowing beautifully, to which Geralt could only understand "hurry ".

"I only want to clean up, and then I'll leave," he replied in Common, rubbing his hands into his shirt.

The creature frowned and shook his head, his brown hair catching the light. He was barely wearing anything, which was fairly distracting. The loincloth made out of leaves and tree roots wasn't leaving anything to the imagination. Encountering this gorgeous non-human wasn’t how Geralt had expected the day to go.

"You speak Common?" At Geralt's nod, he grinned. "Excellent. I haven't had the opportunity to practice in a long time, or to meet a human before, so do excuse my eagerness."

"Not a human, otherwise I wouldn't be standing here."

"Right, right. My name is Jaskier, and you are?" This sudden loss of mysticism calmed Geralt's suspicion as well as his ardour, and he turned back to his previous task.

"Not staying."

"What an odd name, but then again, I have an uncle whose chosen name is Dick. He always liked human names too much." When Geralt didn't reply, Jaskier continued, "My siblings and I saw you coming in and take care of your, uh, big pet. Is your hair naturally pink, or is there that much blood in it?"

Geralt continued to wash his chest, his head throbbing still. "Roach is a horse." 

"You say the oddest things." There was a pause when Geralt didn’t reply. Jaskier turned to Roach and started to make his way towards her, making Geralt suddenly alert and tense.

"Don't touch my horse," he warned him.

"Peace, friend. I only want to heal her," Jaskier gently said. “You can assist if you doubt me, but that you might distract me." He openly ogled his chest and down where the water hid his lower half.

Geralt pushed back his wet hair, the only sign he was getting agitated. He should've chosen a different spot, or lead Roach away as soon as the non-human stepped into the glade.

"Fine," he conceded with a small sigh. He walked out of the pond and joined him. Jaskier didn't deflect his large blue eyes, not that Geralt wasn't also taking his own fill of the tall tankard of ale that the creature was.

Read on AO3

#geraskier #gerlion #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #twn #monster march 2023 #my writing

[glwstic]

Rec List 5: The Witcher

-  i'm getting tired and i need somewhere to begin by intothefirewego

“I’m going to die,” Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt stopped moving the whetstone across his blade.

~

Jaskier doesn't know how he fits into Geralt's long life. Geralt doesn't understand.

Oneshot,  3,408 words

-  Tactile by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

When Geralt brings Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, the other Witchers take a shine to the bard.

Too much of a shine, if you ask Geralt. Not that anyone's asked. Or that Geralt really cares. Much. Or at all. Really, he doesn't. Nope.

Not in the slightest.

Oneshot,  2,900 words

-  we're looking out for angels (and something we can hold on) by staticpetrichor

when jaskier, accidentally, reveals the sort of propositions he's used to dealing with geralt is...concerned, to say the least.

maybe a little furious, and maybe a tad more invested in the bard's well-being than either of them realized.

2/2 Completed,  4,030 words

-  Sleeping Witcher by SailorChibi

Even after Geralt pushed him out of his life, Jaskier can't resist helping him. Even if it breaks his heart in the process.

2/2 Completed,  3,199 words

-  it's what's engraved upon my heart (in letters deeply worn) by margosfairyeye (Skittery)

How could he leave? How could he leave? After everything Geralt gave him? After giving him everything he ever wanted? After giving up his own solitude, and time, and freedom just to accommodate Jaskier? All of that, all of that time, and energy, and it only took a few words of frustration to chase him away?

Geralt scowls at nothing. He thought Jaskier was different, but he’d turned out just the same as everyone else.

Oneshot,  3,364 words

-  who made you smile again by Potrix for dls

Barely audible, hoarsely, Geralt grits out, “I hurt you.”

Jaskier frowns at that, moving one hand from Geralt’s face to poke at the bruise on his thigh. “This?” he asks with a disbelieving little chuckle. “Geralt, darling, I’ve hurt myself worse by walking into doors. Or roughhousing with my brothers, as a child. Or tripping over my own clumsy feet. It was in jest, I don’t mind. I like you teasing me, you know I do. And marking me, though I usually prefer your mouth to be doing the actual marking.”

Which Geralt knows, he really does, but it does little to reassure him right now. “Not this,” he forces out, then amends, “Not only this.”

Oneshot,  2,420 words

-  “What’s it like to love something that cannot love you back?“ by merthurlocked

It’s the Countess de Stael that whispers it to him, and he replies;

“Like you’ve stayed up all night to watch the sunrise but somewhere in between dusk falling and dawn breaking you fell asleep,

when you wake the sun is shining brightly at you, and the warmth is bittersweet because once again you’ve missed it rising but you’re still happy that it rose all the same.”

Or Jaskier thinks his love for Geralt is forever doomed to be onesided.

Oneshot,  3,222 words

-  If Life Could Give Me One Blessing (It'd Be You) by C4t1l1n4

Geralt's words do more damage than he thought they would

Or

As a Faery who mates for life, Jaskier's light starts to go out when Geralt yells at him on the mountain

Obligatory The Mountain TM fix-it fic

Oneshot, 1,651 words

-  I love you (you are my home) by Shadowmightwrite17

“Some,” Jaskier chokes for a moment. He swallows thickly, looking down at the bed. “Some people hate being called names in bed.”

“You hate being called names in bed,” Geralt says, putting all the pieces together.

Jaskier nods.

“What names?”

In the beginning of their relationship, Jaskier and Geralt have a conversation about sex, their boundaries, intimacy, trust.

“This, this is special. This is different. It matters more, to me, because it’s you. I don’t want to screw this up, don’t want to ever hurt you like that. I want this to be safe, for both of us. We deserve to feel safe.”

Oneshot, 1,447 words

-  Two Witchers Walk Into a Tavern by TheSupernova

When Eskel ventures into a town in search of a bed and a roof over his head, he doesn't expect to run into Geralt brooding in the corner of the tavern. He certainly doesn't expect the performing bard to wander over and sit in his brother's lap as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

Or, Eskel meets Jaskier.

Oneshot,  2,040 words

#the witcher #the witcher fic #the witcher fic rec #fic rec #the witcher fanfic #jaskier #jaskier x geralt #witcher geralt #geralt of rivera #fluff #angst #smut

[wetnoodle]

So I’ve been listening to music. And there are certain songs I listen to and I can just imagine jaskier singing them in taverns as more heartbreak songs. So I thought I’d write down which ones and why.

The night we met - lord Huron

“I've been searching for a trail to follow again. Take me back to the night we met. And then I can tell myself What the hell I'm supposed to do. And then I can tell myself. Not to ride along with you. I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you. Oh, take me back to the night we met”.

And I feel like this is him being lost after the mountain. And he’s wishing he could go back to that night in posada and tell himself not to approach Geralt. Tell himself to just leave. And that he thinks maybe his life would be better of that way. And he’s thinking about how he once had all of Geralt and now he’s lost all of that. And he just wants to go back. And I feel like the second “back to the night we met” is less regret and more knowing he’d do it all again. If he did it again he’d get to spend another decade with Geralt again.

Which reminds me of a second song. Again - sasha Alex Sloan

“I gave you everything and now I gotta give you up. And I know it's over But if it's any closure. Even if I knew it would end. Even if I knew we wouldn't walk away friends. I'd still do it again”

And I feel like that’s the same thing. He wants more time with Geralt. And he wants to do it over. Maybe see if he can be better for him. See if he can do it right the next time so he doesn’t get left behind.

“No matter where I’ll go you’ll be a part of me forever”

This is how he’s stuck with Geralt even when they’re no longer together. His career is built around him. His routine his habits. They all involved Geralt. And now that they are apart. Even if he wanted to he couldn’t lose 2 decades worth of friendship

Like you do - Joji

“If you ever go all the songs that we like. Will sound like bittersweet lullabies. Lost in the blue they don’t love me like you do. Those chills that I knew they were nothing without you. And everyone else they don’t matter now. You’re the one I can’t lose. No one loves me like you do”.

The first part is I feel jaskier worrying about geralt. He’s no longer near him to tend to him after a battle. To stitch him up comfort him. Bring him potions. So what if something happens to him. Jaskier will just have to sing all of Geralts favourite things across the continent.

I feel like the second part is jaskier saying he doesn’t want anyone else. Like the world is cold without geralt. And sure the people love him and his music. But it’s shallow and they don’t know the real him. Something he only showed geralt. And yes they love his music but only one person was his muse. And everyone else don’t matter because there is only one person who he was enough for. Until he wasn’t.

The worst of you - noah Cyrus

“Handed you another chance to disappoint me and again you did me wrong. Am I really waking up alone again. In your bed and you’ve already gone. Coexisting at its finest. Ye were barely even trying anymore. And it feels like all I ever do is pay for Your excuses to buy a little time. I don’t know why I even Entertain it. You’re never going to change hell you’re never going to try. So why am I still trying to prove that I can love the worst of you”.

I think this one’s more of an acceptance and moving on. But the pain still lingers. Like jaskier keeps giving and giving and disappoints every time. That he will never be enough for the man. And they would camp together or share a room and suddenly geralt is gone. Left on a contract or for the path. Who knows. And how he could feel the end coming long before it happened. And how he’s excusing Geralts lack of interest so that he can stay. How he doesn’t mean his shut ups and all of the pushing away. That’s just geralt for you. But it wasn’t. Jaskier just wanted to stay.

And then finally we have

Fair - the amazing devil

I feel like the whole song is from Jaskiers perspective. There no he and she. Only Jaskiers opinions and pining over geralt. I feel like it being like that really shows the heartbreak of it all. Like it was all one sided.

#jaskier #netflix witcher #the witcher #witcher #witcher jaskier #jaskier the bard #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #witcher netflix #witcher geralt #joey batey #the amazing devil

[sageclover61]

Sit by the Fire

Written with myself and @hyrulehearts1123​

@cake-shop-rarepair-bingo​​

Prompts: Campire / Fireplace

Fandom: The Witcher

Chapters: 1

Rating: M

Warnings: No Additional Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Geralt & Aubry

Additional Tags: Relationship discussions, fireplaces, platonic cuddling

Summary: Geralt wanted nothing more than to show Aubry that he could protect him. That the other witcher didn't need to work so hard to try and protect their little pack from a danger that had already passed.

Late one night, he finally got the chance to start showing him that.

Geralt's instincts had been going crazy for weeks around Aubry before he finally found the perfect opportunity to take him by surprise.

He was no longer a young pup who let his instincts control him, but he agreed with his instincts that it was time to show Aubry that he didn't have to try to be in charge of him and his mates any more. Not since Vesemir had taken control of Kaer Morhen, leaving no one left who would hurt Aubry or Gweld. These days, Geralt could protect him. And his instincts said it was time to show Aubry that.

It was late, nearly midnight, and the others had all gone to bed already, tired from the long day of chores it took to make sure that they were ready for the harsher freeze that was sure to come. And yet, Aubry was still awake, sitting in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames.

"Geralt? What're you still doing up?" Aubry asked, tilting his head in his direction when Geralt purposefully stepped on a board that would squeak. 

He plopped down on Aubry's lap, straddling his thighs and looking down at his face. "Wanted to check on you."

Aubry's face flushed a beautiful red, a moment before he ducked his head, looking away from Geralt. "I'm fine," he mumbled. "Just not that tired."

Geralt pressed a kiss to the corner of Aubry's mouth. His instincts were screaming at him to check his health, but he knew he needed to be patient. "Mind if I keep you company, then?" he asked, smiling warmly at Aubry. "I'm not feeling all that tired, either."

Aubry frowned at him, but he didn't move to try to push Geralt off his lap.

"'m not gonna fuck you, Geralt." 

"I'm not asking that of you," Geralt assured him, shifting to gently comb his fingers through Aubry's hair. "Just want to relax, promise."

Aubry's frown deepened for a moment, until Geralt couldn't stand it any longer and pressed a kiss to his lips. Just a quick chaste kiss.

"Haven't been able to just spend time with you in so long," Geralt whispered, his lips still brushing against Aubry's. "Is it so bad to want to relax for a little while, and just enjoy some time together?"

Aubry raised an eyebrow. "I don't want you to fuck me, either."

Geralt raised his own eyebrow. "Did I say that I wanted to fuck you?"

"Is that not what your instincts have been demanding for weeks?" Aubry asked, eyebrow still raised. 

"You're the one that taught us that not everything has to be about fucking, Aubry."

Aubry paused for a moment, before nodding slowly. "I did teach you that, didn't I?"

Geralt smiled. "You did. And I know it probably doesn't seem like it, but you also taught us that there was a time and a place to listen to our extra instincts."

Aubry stared at him for a long moment, searching him. But eventually he sighed, seeming to deflate a little. It wasn't quite curling into himself, but to Geralt's eyes he still somehow seemed smaller. "What do you want from me, Geralt?"

Geralt softened, slowly raising a hand, and gently resting it against Aubry's cheek, not missing the way that the other wolf ever so slightly leaned into the contact. "I want you to be able to relax," he murmured, his voice low, just for the two of them to hear. "I want you to feel safe, without needing to watch your back, even in your own home."

"I know that you've always been our pack leader by necessity, to keep us safe, but I also know you’ve never wanted it. I want you to let go, Aubry, and let me take the role from you. And I want you to want that."

Aubry started to tremble, even as he leaned further into Geralt. "I can't," he mumbled, after a moment. "I can't let go, I need to-" 

"Breathe, Aubry," Geralt gently instructed, carefully shifting his other arm, in order to rub Aubry's back. "You don't need to do anything, I promise. You've done everything you needed to."

Aubry shuddered, a quiet whine forming in the back of his throat, as he dropped his head to rest it against Geralt’s shoulder. He could feel the years of tension in Aubry's spine, and he wanted nothing more than to work out his knots.

But that would have to come later, after he'd earned Aubry's trust. For now, he would focus on helping his brother relax, to help him feel safe enough to be able to submit.

"I'm here," Geralt whispered. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not going to hurt you."

Ever so gently, Geralt carefully shifted himself and Aubry until they were laying in front of the fire, Aubry laying on top of him.

Slowly, Geralt started rubbing Aubry's back again, feeling small bits of tension ever so slowly fading. It would take time for Aubry to fully relax, but Geralt had forever to prove to him that it would be worth it.

And the results would be more than worth the time and effort that it took.

#cake shop rarepair bingo #witcher fic #Geralt & Aubry

[betterbards]

The Summer Knight 5/8

Read here on A03

Geralt had forgotten how truly horrible interplanar travel was. Lucky for him, it was all coming back up along with his lunch.

The world was spinning. No, it was twisting. Colors he couldn’t perceive, sounds and shapes with geometries unknown to the human mind needed to be packed down, wrangled, and reprocessed. It was too much too fast and Geralt dropped to his knees and retched like a dog.  

“Lovely,” Yenn regarded him with a dry voice, “It’s truly amazing how I ever succumbed to your charm.”

Achingly slow, Geralt’s vision began to focus. The contorting, twisting forms of the faeworld settled. His mind filled in the blanks so that again ground was dirt, and the grass was green.

“You approached me.” He huffed and wiped spit off his face. After a moment he pushed himself off the ground and adjusted to the new surroundings. The realm of Summer Court looked much like the old forests of his homeworld, though more inviting. Flowers bloomed on spiraling trees. The forest floor was clear of any brush, making it appear like a painting of a forest than reality. In many ways, this place was closer to a painting. Nothing was real and everything was designed to entice.

Geralt pulled his gaze away from the lush forest to regard the sorceress. Yennifer now stood eye level, the extra height added by her cloven hooves.

As much as he hated to admit it, Yennifer was more beautiful in her full fae form than her human one. Her heart shaped face was framed by a pair of twisting black antlers which spiraled backwards, creating sharp half circles. Vines grew upon them and it was impossible to distinguish where the fae ended and they began.  As a resident of the summer court, deep read Gooseberrys hung off the vines. Geralt knew that there was no fruit on earth that would taste as sweet—or kill him so quickly.

“Are you quite ready?” She said in huff. “Personally, I’m in no rush. Knowing Tissaia he probably already dead and, in that case, take your time. Your little bard isn’t going to get any less dead.”

Geralt didn’t respond.

“Oh come now, it was a joke.”

Geralt ignored her. “Where is your Queen?”

“Gods you are dull.” She searched the sky, shifting her weight from one hoof to the other. “They will be waiting for us, Her Majesty is eager to receive you.”

“Her Majesty? I didn’t think you would be one to bend the knee.”

Yennifer snorted. “Sadly it was a price I paid for freedom from Winter. I gave up her name and she got mine.”

“So you can’t say, ‘Calanthe Fiona Riannon’ anymore?”

Yennifer flinched, and spun to face Geralt. Her eyes were burning and Geralt was hit by a wave of cold. The air smelled of dying plants and sleeping trees, it smelled of fears of the approaching winter. Geralt’s hand went to his blade. “No, and if you know what’s good, you won’t either.” She turned away and continued walking while looking towards the sky.

They walked in silence after that. Any goodwill that had been built had vanished. Geralt knew better than to remind Yen of a weakness.  

Hours passed and he suppressed the urge to tell Yennifer to hurry. She was under no obligation to lead him the entire distance, and without a guide he was better off walking around blindfolded. At least he wouldn’t be tempted by the dripping syrup that clung to black trunks or large fruits that caused branches to droop down with their weight. Geralt was salivating and forced his attentions back to the road.

Do not stray, do not wander.

The trees began to grow taller, reaching towards each other like lovers long separated. Yen stopped in her tracks and peered into the space above them. Through the heavy summer haze, Geralt could just make out the silhouette of a palace, woven together with bark and vine. It sat suspended between four great trees hundreds of feet off the ground.

“How do we get up there?” Geralt grumbled, more to himself than to Yen.

He was answered by a great unfurling of raven’s wings.

“Please, Geralt. Have a little imagination.” Before he could react, Yen grabbed him by the armor straps and took off. Her powerful wings beat the air, launching them into the sky. He watched as the ground grew small below him. “Try not to squirm, I would hate to drop you.” Yen added gleefully.

After a truly humiliating experience, Yen dropped him gracelessly at the front doors. He landed on his feet and shot her a nasty look as she settled next to him, wings disappearing in her back.

“Warn me next time.”

“I’m not a carriage service. Besides, if you have the personality of a sack of potatoes, I’ll carry you like one.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and once again regretted his previous, and potential future, trysts with the harpy.

They were greeted by attendants at the front doors. The creatures looked like large flowers that had plucked themselves from the earth. The left attendant had the head of a dandelion and no discernable face or features, while the one on the right appeared as a poppy. The effect was disconcerting to say the least.

Greetings your Ladyship and guest. We are eager to welcome your arrival. Two voices swirled around Geralt’s head.

“The White Wolf, seeks an audience with the Lioness. He calls upon the court to seek aid in return for a favor.” Yen said, almost lazily.

What a joyous day indeed. Will the wolf surrender his irons before meeting our Lady? The dandelion held out a cloth between its leaves, waiting.

“I certainly will not,” Geralt snorted.

 Ah we see, then we will need your word that you will not harm our lady.

Yen cut in, “He will not give you that promise either. Geralt will abide by all hospitality rules afforded by the court. There is no need for further bargains.” The air grew cold and a sheen of frost danced over the attendants’ petals.

Of course your Ladyship. We have overstepped. You and the guest of the Queen are welcome in the hall. There was a thirst in their voices. The flowers stepped aside as the doors opened to the Summer Court. Geralt moved passed them wearily.

The great hall sprawled out before them. The walls were made of trees growing impossibly close together while their canopy allowed light to spill in, forming a skylight made of green stained glass. The tree trunk walls were intricately carved, each piece commemorated deals and bargains made. Geralt had his own here from his last encounter with the summer court.

Huge braziers hung from the walls off branches. Humid smoke poured out, and Geralt became increasingly aware of how his armor clung to his body. Looking around he was certainly overdressed for the weather. Two long tables were filled with ever manor of fae, from the human, to the beast, to the obscure. The humanoid ones were dressed in light gauzy robes which left little to the imagination. Creatures clad in fur and feathers forewent clothing entirely. Some of the fae had forms which Geralt could hardly picture clothing for. How would one cover and ooze’s modesty?

In the crowd, Geralt could make out a few humans who strayed too far from the path. There was a red headed man who sported a silver eye. A old woman whose long white hair appeared to be continuously dripping and a brunette woman with a hand made from thatch.

A third smaller table sat perpendicular to the other two. The fae here were different, more powerful and incredibly beautiful. Unlike the long tables, a few seats remained open. Yen took the one next to a beautiful curly-haired fae maiden and Geralt took a seat at the end.  The Lady fall greeted the other woman with a deep kiss on the lip, which he did not remember being a customary fae greeting. The center seat, with it’s back towards the queen, remained empty. It was reserved for the Summer Knight. The last knight had been a wicked sorcerer and Geralt wonder how the poor sod met his end.

Above them, sat a great stone throne on a raised dais. The Summer Queen looked radiant. Her hair cascaded around her to form a wild mane with a mind of its own. She wore a leather armor chest piece and a long draping skirt embroidered with shapes that seemed to move in the filtered canopy light.  Her face was cat like and covered in soft gold fur. An attendant stood beside her, a once human man who had come to serve the Court years before Geralt came into being.

Everyone in the hall was dining and laughing. Music from an unknown source mixed with the hot summer air and Geralt could feel himself relaxing against his instincts. He avoided looking too long at the suckling pig roast and sweet ripe figs laid out in front of him.

Other less appetizing foods filled the table. Yen wasted no time serving herself a wet red morsal from a porcelain bowl. She skewered two pieces with her knife and swallowed the first greedily. She turned and offered the other to the fae next to her. The woman closed her lips around the piece seemingly without care for the sharpness of Yens knife.  

Geralt looked away from the scene, fighting the urge to blush at the intimate gesture. Geralt wasn’t a prude, but years on The Path made him uncomfortable with others’ affection. A release was necessary, but intimacy was a distraction. He needed to get out of here and find Jaskier.

“Queen Calanthe, I request an audience.” Geralt called, using the Queen’s true name. The court seemed to shudder collectively and settled into stillness, waiting to follow their Queen.

If she took issue with her name being used, The Summer Queen didn’t show it. Instead the Lioness looked warm, almost friendly.

“Welcome to my Court Witcher. Are you enjoying your stay in the realms?”

“I assume you know why I am here.” He stated, ignoring her question.

“Yes.”

“One of your kind stole my bard”

“Your bard?” She raised an eyebrow, amused. “What claim do you have? Do you have papers, are you his parent, child or lover?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Geralt swallowed, garnering courage. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. No food, no fae shenanigans. “I agree to take up your mantle in exchange—“

“Come now, Wolf.” The Summer Queen interrupted. Her voice was clear and sharp, demanding like a general to an army. “We have had over 50 years to plan your welcome. Allow us to indulge before business.” She looked down at Geralt with a wry smile. The Lioness adjusted her position on her throne. Though subtle, Geralt could tell that the next words would be a decree.

“Please enjoy the hospitality of the summer court, I would hate to be made an ill host.” The Queen’s voice was laced with Chaos and a pang of compulsion ripped through humid room. At her words, a strange air settled around the court. One that Geralt recognized from whorehouses, and a few masquerades that Jaskier had dragged him to (which Geralt had promptly dragged the fool out of). The filtered light from the canopy dimmed as the smoke from the brassiers grew heavy and rich. Geralt could pick out the smell of smoke hitting summer rain, freshly oiled leather, and a familiar floral perfume.

Geralt knew too well what was about to happen. He also knew what accompanied trysts with the Fae—agreements made out of breath, destinies bought and shared with unknown currency.

Bodies began moving towards one another. Slowly at first, as if they were savoring the heaviness around them. The humid air of summer coaxed languid motion from the eager guests.  Geralt watched as the man standing at the right of the Lioness, Queen of the Summer Court, placed a kiss on her right palm. Then another. And another. There was a pause, as if all of the court was waiting for permission.

With a slow blink of her lashes, the lioness shifted in her throne. Her knees parted and her head tilted back waiting for what was to come. In reverence or in desperation, the man dropped to his knees and began to explore what lay beneath her skirts.

Geralt pulled his eyes away from the scene, but everywhere around him was much the same.  The floodgates were open and he was in need of dry land. Creatures of all manners and sorts began to entwine. Sounds echoed through the hall, bouncing off the great trees in a chorus teasing at the coming crescendo.

This was too much. Geralt had gotten involved with one fae sorceress, and that was plenty of a lifetime. Two lifetimes, even. He took a deep breath to slow his quickening heartbeat, though the smoke which hung in the air seemed to have the opposite effect. Sweat was beginning to collect on his brow. He scanned the room searching for something to focus on other than the growing warmth between his legs.

Big mistake. He locked eyes with Yennifer as she unclasped her neighbor’s dress. The beautiful fae woman was sitting on the Lady Fall’s lap with her forearms on the table to support her weight. Yen’s violet eyes stayed fixed on Geralt’s as she drew out the other woman’s breast. Her sharp black nails dimpled the soft skin as it spilled out of her palm.

He watched as Yen lowered her mouth to the breast and attended the nipple with her tongue. Without stopping, she broke eye contact to look up at the woman, who was now nodding enthusiastically. With that permission, Yen sank her fangs into the smooth flesh. The woman closed her eyes and rolled her neck as she began pleasuring herself on Yens other hand, her curls and breasts rocking as she gasped in pleasure sharpened by pain.

Geralt swallowed as he remembered Yen’s touch. Her cat’s rough tongue had explored his own body years back, and the memory of her ferocity and lust was consuming.   Electing to close his eyes than watch anymore of this farce, he found no relief. The witcher could almost feel her weigh straddling his thighs. A damp heat pressed into his groan and a pair of arms slid around his shoulder in an embrace.

He opened them to see an impossibly beautiful person.

“Hello, Witcher” A high voice jingled in his ears. The creature astride him had deep green skin covered in moving gold tattoos. Their amber eyes were like Geralt’s own. Instinctively, his hand went to the small of their back, supporting their weight so that they wouldn’t fall as they rocked over his lap.

They were so soft, though the tattoos were slightly raised as they moved under his hand. Gods above. He wanted to touch, to fuck, to experience the bounty this Court offered.

The Fae nipped at his ear with too sharp teeth. “Do you like this?” They enquired, their voice seeped in hunger. A dexterous hand untied the leather band that kept Geralt’s hair in place. He shuddered as the Fae grabbed a fist full of his hair, pulling his neck to one side, and breathed deeply.

Geralt grunted as non-committally as he could manage. He could feel his resolve slipping and again shut his eyes to block out the magics at work.

“Or would you prefer something more familiar?” The weight on him grew. Muscles under his hand filled, growing hard from years a life on the road. That floral smell was back, stronger than ever and Geralt drank deeply. Through his armor, he could feel the heat of a hard length push into his stomach.

And gods how he wanted it. The sounds of the Court grew louder as others began to find the pleasure they sought. Something in him snapped. His body acted with a will of its own, Geralt’s resolve crumbled to pieces.

Geralt leaned forward and kissed the Fae’s collarbone. Soft chest hair picked at his face as he traced a line of wet kisses to the sternal notch. The floral scent was dizzying as his brain attempted to recall its origin, while receiving minimal bloodflow. He ignored his minds warnings. He had a feast in front of him, and didn’t care where it came from. With his free hand Geralt grasped the creature’s member and began to pump with long lazy strokes. The back of his hand brushed against soft hair trailing upward.

The fae let out breathy gasp in a voice he knew too well.

A second too late, his brain suppled the answer.

Jaskier.

Geralt came to in a jolt and stood up, pushing the creature off of him. The thing looked like Jaskier but the eyes were still that unnatural amber. Jaskier’s usually soft face was almost unrecognizable with the Fae’s lustful expression.  The creature morphed back into its green form.

“We were just getting to the good part.” The Fae pouted.

“Enough!” Geralt roared at the Court, his voice ripping through the hall. He grabbed his iron blade and pushed his hair out of his face.  “I have come to the Summer Court seeking aid in freeing Jaskier the Bard from Lady Winter. I agree to take on your mantel—any more hospitality you show will put me further in your debt.”

Silence fell around him as the bodies seemingly froze in time. Only the Lioness regarded him with any understanding behind her fathomless eyes.

The Summer Queen snapped her hands the Court disappeared around her. The heavy air dissipated with a swift summer breeze and they were left completely alone.

“You agree to take my mantel? To be the summer knight and honor agreements beholden to the title?” The lioness eyes flashed, her mane swirled around her like a gorgon’s snakes.

“I agree to serve as your Knight so long as it guarantees the safety and freedom of my bard.”

The Lioness closed her eyes and smiled, breathing out deeply in a sigh of relief. “I accept.” With her words Geralt felt something snake inside his chest. The bond wrapped itself around his heart and settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

Geralt knelt down on one knee waiting the placement of the mantel. A moment passed, and another. Nothing was happening. He looked up to see the queen still lazing on her throne.

“I am waiting… My queen,” He added hastily.

“Oh I don’t have it. The mantel it is.”

Geralt stood up. “What do you mean you don’t have it.”

The queen looked amused. “The current summer knight has found a way out of our arrangement, he’s held up in a tower in the land between Summer and Winter. Kill him, take the mantel and I will fulfill my bargain.”

Geralt clenched his fists. “You didn’t say anything about retrieving the mantel.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Geralt truly hated dealing with the Fae.

#witcher #fanfiction #Geralt #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #fae #fairy

[littlefreya]

Not sure if this has been prompted yet, but watching season 2 of The Witcher can’t help but think about being on the horse with Henry and ‘accidentally’ making him hard and him going full Geralt and grunting in your ear 🤤🤤

Pairing: Henry Cavill x reader

Warning: 18+, RPF, unwanted erections, smutty situations.

A/N: not beta’d, I’ll die on my mistakes like August taking a hook to his face and falling into an exploding helicopter.

Plot twist.

It was supposed to be simple. Just one last scene and you’d be out of one another’s hair for good… or at least until filming for the next season would begin. Yet somehow, your dear co-star - the dream of every man and woman on earth, had the special skill of getting on your nerves.

To say Henry and you didn’t get along would have been the understatement of the century. You could never agree on anything, constantly quarrelled on set and in the last couple of days of filming, you did nothing but exchange spiteful glares.

Oddly, you hardly even remembered what started it, only that Henry was the sweetest person ever who got along with everyone, save for you.

‘At least we got the camera fooled,’ you thought for yourself as you sat on the horse, waiting for Henry to join so the crew could begin shooting the scene.

‘Any time now, Cavill…’

The broad man appeared before, every woven muscle in his tree-trunk thighs flexing as he made his way. You cursed him for that; if only he wasn’t such a fine specimen!

Henry gave you a stoic glare, the golden lenses making him appear even colder. With one easy bounce, he hauled himself onto the horse and pressed his torso right next to your spine.

‘Shit! Fuck!’

Too close, he was too freaking close.

The heat of his body enkindled a flame between your thighs, thickly the wetness caresses your nether lips at the sensation of his groin brushing into your ass.

Was he doing that on purpose?

Not making a sound, he reached his hands forward and caged your body amid his lengthy arms as he held onto the horse’s reins.

“Morning,” he finally spat, out of courtesy.

You shifted uncomfortably in return, trying to soothe the sudden clenching panic in your core. Unfortunately, this did nothing but serve for more friction, and just as you thought things couldn’t get any worst, you felt a little stir against the cleft of your ass.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you did your best to ignore it, but the sense of his big, warm body grinding against yours was nearly intoxicating.

‘God, I hate him, I hate him! I hate him!’

“Action!!“ The director yelled, and briefly Henry shifted his entire weight and urged the horse to gallop forward.

Every tread made you want to scream. The movement caused your bodies to writhe into one another, and now the stir you felt throbbing against your ass had grown into a rock-hard erection, and fuck, he felt huge. So big that even in your hatred, you couldn’t help but think of how he would spear you on his cock.

“Stop. doing. that”

You finally heard Henry groan between clenched teeth.

Avoiding a frown that begged to break on your brow, you whispered back, “I am not doing anything.”

Lowly he growled in your ear. “Yes, you are. Stop squirming…”

“You are squirming!” You immediately hissed back.

Henry rolled his eyes behind you and tried to move away, but as the horse suddenly jolted, his body pushed further into yours, causing a moan to sneak out of your mouth.

A low, rumbling growl boomed in his chest, prickling your skin with goosebumps and sending an icy shiver down your spine.

“I thought you hated me…” he whispered and flexed his chest against your back, now deliberately grinding his hardened cock against your ass.

You bit your bottom lip to muffle another moan. “I do. I hate you a lot.”

“Heh,” he growled again, his voice raspier than usual, “I think I’d like to see the extent of your hatred.”

His words made both your cheeks and ears burn. Was he actually implying that…

“Cut!!!”

The director yelled just then, causing both Henry and yourself to pause your banter and glance at him with guilt washed upon your faces. It reminded you of being a teenager, getting caught sneaking out at night.

“Something is off with the lightning, I think we need to take a break and fix it.”

‘Oh, thank god!’ You thought, preparing to jump off and escape this terrible ordeal when Henry’s palm gently slapped across your belly and held you in your place.

“Wait!” He begged.

You turned your head to look at him for a brief moment, only to find you could barely stare him in the eye.

“I can’t… I… umm, people will see…” he whispered gently and lowered his head.

It took you a moment before realisation struck, and the blood rushed to your head. Henry was still very much hard, and both of you knew very well that had you moved now, people would talk.

‘Ohn for fuck sake!’

Read part two

#henry cavill #Henry Cavill rpf #Henry Cavill x reader