#trying to pull a fast one thinking that he can stand up to geralt in a fight if it comes down to it

[wren-of-the-woods]

Geralt pulls over to help a man whose car has broken down and finds that he has accidentally rescued his daughter's favorite musician. A few days later, Ciri gets a wonderful birthday surprise.

Geraskier, 5k. Also on AO3!

Geralt was, as usual, thinking about Ciri.

There was not much else to do as he drove down the highway; the trip to pick his daughter up from her friend's house was long and dull. At the moment, Geralt had an excellent reason to think about Ciri even more than he usually did. Her birthday approaching at a terrifyingly fast pace. It was the first birthday she would have as Geralt's adopted daughter, and he desperately wanted it to be as happy as possible.

Ciri had already lost so much in her short almost-fourteen years of life. Geralt knew she loved him, but he couldn't help but feel that he was not doing enough for her. He did not know if he could ever be an adequate parent for a such bright and lively young girl. He knew, though, that he would do almost anything to make her happy. The realization thrilled him as much as it terrified him.

Ciri often spoke with fond longing of the extravagant birthday celebrations her grandmother had thrown for her, so Geralt wanted her to experience joy like that again. He had to figure out how to give her the best birthday he could.

Geralt thought the best way to achieve this would be to ask what his daughter wanted. Unfortunately, it seemed that his question had been far too open-ended.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” he had asked.

“Can it be anything?” she said, eyes widening in that way Geralt could never resist.

“Anything.”

“I want to meet Dandelion!” she said with a grin. Geralt suppressed a groan.

Dandelion was her favorite musician. She listened to him constantly, while doing everything from reading to homework to drawing to staring out the window. She asked to play his songs nearly every time she was in the car with Geralt. Hardly a day went by without one of his songs getting stuck in Geralt’s head.

Geralt would go to the ends of the earth for his daughter, but he didn’t think any amount of dedication could get Ciri a private meeting with a quickly-rising pop star.

He tried his very best but had no luck. All of Dandelion’s concert cost so much more than Geralt could afford that it was ridiculous to even contemplate going, in addition to at least being several days’ drive away. Geralt went as far as finding Dandelion’s manager’s Twitter account in the hopes he could somehow ask for the singer to call her briefly, but nothing looked promising. None of Dandleion’s PR team seemed like they would respond to a message from a single father who couldn’t pay them. After a long evening’s research, he was forced to give up the idea.

So now Geralt was here, whiling away the long drive to pick Ciri up from her friend’s house by trying to think of anything he could do for her birthday that might live up to both her hopes and his ideals of parenthood. He was so distracted, in fact, that he nearly didn’t notice the man waving his arms on the side of the road.

The man was standing beside a car that was pulled over. His colorful, once-neat outfit was thoroughly disheveled, and he looked desperate as he shouted something Geralt couldn’t hear.

Geralt slowed, pulled over, and rolled down his window. “What’s wrong?”

“Thank you so much,” the man said the moment Geralt’s window opened. “Nobody else would stop for me. I just fought with my best friend and my phone is dead and my car broke down and I’m running late to an important appointment and I would really, really appreciate it if you could give me a lift? It can just be to the next town, or maybe until my phone is charged if you have something I can use?”

Geralt thought about refusing. It was probably unwise to let a total stranger into his car, and he was already almost late to pick Ciri up. On the other hand, the man looked so desperate and sad and earnest that it seemed cruel to even think about turning him away.

After so many months of raising a thirteen-year-old girl, Geralt should have been immune to the power of enormous, pleading eyes. He was not.

He opened his car door. “Get in.”

The stranger blinked. “Wait, really?”

Geralt huffed. “Do you want me to change my mind?”

“Please don’t!” The man darted back to his own car for a moment to grab a backpack and presumably dead phone from the passengers’ seat.

“Don’t worry,” said Geralt, somewhat amused at the way the colorful man nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get his things. He clambered in next to Geralt and pulled the door shut quickly, as though afraid Geralt might actually change his mind and throw him bodily out of the car.

“Thank you so, so much,” gushed Geralt’s new companion. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped. This means the world.”

Geralt grunted. The praise made him feel strangely uncomfortable. “It’s fine.”

He pulled back onto the highway and continued driving.  

“What’s your name, by the way?” said his passenger. “It’s fine if you’d rather I didn’t know. I understand. I’m just curious about the man who completely saved my day, is all.”

Geralt frowned a little. The man’s voice sounded oddly familiar when he spoke like this. He was sure he’d never seen his face before, though, so Geralt put the thought out of his mind.

“Geralt,” he said after a moment, answering the question.

“Ah, perfect! A wonderfully heroic name for my wonderful hero.” The man was grinning now, looking frankly too happy for someone who was recently stranded on the side of the road. “I’m Jaskier!”

Geralt grunted, unable to figure out how to respond, grunted. He didn’t think he’d ever received so many compliments per minute in his life.

“Where were you going?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

The man — Jaskier — replied with the name of a town. Geralt frowned. Taking Jaskier there would add half an hour to Geralt’s drive, but based on the state Jaskier had managed to end up in earlier, Geralt had a feeling he might somehow get himself killed on the way if Geralt simply left him at a bus station. He sighed. He didn’t particularly want murder on his conscience, nor did he want to worry about this strange man any more than he had to.

"I'll drop you off there," he said before he could change his mind.

Jaskier's grin widened. He looked genuinely delighted. "Oh my god, you really are a superhero in disguise, aren't you?"

"No,” said Geralt, feeling oddly defensive. “Just a decent human being."

"Tell that to all the people who drove right past me without stopping," said Jaskier. "I was there for nearly half an hour."

Geralt didn't know what to say to that. True to form, he therefore said nothing.

“I should call a tow truck for you,” he said after a moment.

“Oh, yes. That would probably be wise.”

Eventually, Geralt arranged everything so that Jaskier’s car would be repaired. He sighed in relief. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments before Jaskier cleared his throat and spoke up.

“So, what is a handsome fellow like you doing out here?”

Geralt held back a sigh. He hated small talk. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore Jaskier after the day he must have had, though, so he forced himself to answer the question.

"I'm going to pick up my daughter. She's at a friend's house."

“Oh god, you have a daughter? I was just thinking you couldn’t get any more perfect. It seems I was wrong. How old is she?”

Geralt was suddenly grateful that he was driving and had an excuse not to meet Jaskier’s eyes. Such enthusiastic praise made him feel wrong-footed.

“Almost fourteen,” he grunted, ignoring the rest of Jaskier’s words.

“Oh, a teenager! What fun. I hope she’s more well-behaved than I was at that age,” Jaskier said with a laugh.

“She’s much better than I was,” said Geralt. He couldn’t help but sound fond; Ciri was the brightest part of his life, after all. “I’m very lucky to have her.”

“I’m sure she thinks the same,” said Jaskier. “You seem like an excellent father.”

“Hmm. Thank you.” Geralt winced internally at his own awkwardness. Why did one person being nice to him throw him so off-balance?

Jaskier seemed to notice something of Geralt’s discomfort, because the car descended into slightly awkward, silence for the next several minutes. Geralt kept his eyes on the road, trying to recenter himself after this whole exchange.

Once again, Jaskier spoke first.

“You’re doing me a huge favor, you know,” he said earnestly. “Let me repay you for this.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I insist.”

“No.”

“You just took hours out of your day to help some random stranger you found on the side of the road. The least I can do is give you something in return.”

“I don’t want your money. What else could you give me?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Silence fell again.  Jaskier leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes with a small sigh. When Geralt glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, he looked so tired and worn all of a sudden that Geralt felt a little ache in his chest. He spoke before he had time to think it through.

“You fought with a friend?”

Jaskier’s eyes opened.

“Yeah,” he said, and Geralt discovered that he did not like hearing sadness in this man’s voice.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Geralt held back a grimace at his own awkwardness.

Jaskier sighed again. For a moment, Geralt thought he was going to ignore the question, but Jaskier took a deep breath and started to speak.

“I thought we were good,” he murmured. “I thought we were close. I thought we would be friends forever. Then he stopped returning my calls unless I happened to try the exact right time, and before I knew it I hadn’t seen him in person for months. I know he’s busy with his own projects, but he could have at least tried to find time for me. I did it for him.” He huffed in frustration. “So I went to his place to try to talk to him, but he didn’t like me showing up with no warning even though he used to do that to me all the time. He yelled at me. Said some things I don’t know if I can forget.”

Geralt, once again, had no idea what to say. He hoped his silence did not feel insulting. Jaskier didn’t seem to mind.

“I hate this,” Jaskier continued. “I put so much effort into that relationship, and he blew me off like it was nothing. I was still trying to collaborate with him. I have projects that I need to figure out how to do without him now. I tried so hard and it didn’t work. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I did.”

Geralt was very out of his depth. He hummed, hoping it at least sounded sympathetic. Jaskier closed his eyes again.

“I feel so small, sometimes. Like nothing I do will ever matter. The world is big and cruel and I’m so insignificant. All I want to do is make someone happy. Is that too much to ask?” Jaskier’s voice was hardly more than a whisper by the end. Then he seemed to realize what he’d said and he blushed. “But you don’t want to hear a stranger ramble about all his problems. I’ll be quiet now. Better stay out of sight.” He chuckled humorlessly, turning to look out the window.

Something the way Jaskier said those last words snagged Geralt’s memory. Better stay out of sight. Geralt recognized the phrase.

He had heard Ciri hum it while she helped him wash the dishes. He’d heard her shouting it from her bedroom, singing so loud that Geralt could hear perfectly well from across the house. He’d heard it played in the car when Ciri asked to listen to her favorite band, sung by a strong voice full of feeling.

No wonder Jaskier sounded familiar.

“You’re Dandelion,” he said. “The singer.”

Jaskier drew in a surprised breath. “Yes, I am. That���s my stage name.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” said Geralt without thinking, caught off guard by the sudden swell of hope rising in his chest.

Jaskier blinked. “What?”

“I think I know a way you can repay me.”

“That was an ominously sudden change of opinion.”

“Come visit my daughter.”

Whatever Jaskeir had been about to say vanished abruptly. He looked at Geralt with wide eyes.

“She’s… a fan of yours,” said Geralt. “She asked to see you. For her birthday. But I can’t afford to take her to a show, so I told her it wouldn’t work. Didn’t think I’d end up rescuing you off the side of the road.”

“Oh! Really? That’s adorable! Of course I’ll come to visit your daughter! I’m always glad to meet a fan.” Jaskier sounded genuinely delighted.

A small smile spread unbidden across Geralt’s face. “Thank you. She’ll be thrilled.”

"Of course! When do you want to meet? I'll have to check my schedule and such but I'm sure I can make time for such a sweet request."

Geralt paused. He could, in theory, suggest bringing Jaskier with him to meet Ciri now, but Jaskier said he had somewhere important to be and Geralt didn't want to make him any later than he already was. Besides, waiting would give him time to warn Ciri ahead of time. That way, she would have time to plan what she wanted to say.

"How about next week?” Ciri’s birthday was in two weeks. Scheduling their meeting for a week before would give Geralt room to plan if anything went wrong.

“Next week is good!” said Jaskier, and that was that.

They arrived at Jaskier’s destination not long afterward, and Jaskier left after a quick exchange of contact information and a promise to text Geralt soon with scheduling details.

Geralt passed the remaining forty-five minutes of the drive feeling happier than he had in days.

~~~

“Really?” Ciri squealed. The volume and pitch that she managed to achieve was, quite frankly, a show of impressive vocal talent.

“Yeah,” said Geralt, grinning at her. “You get to meet Dandelion.”

“I can’t believe this. You found Dandelion on the side of the road? That’s insane!”

“It was very lucky.”

“That’s the understatement of the century.”

Ciri was grinning so hard that Geralt wondered if it was making her cheeks hurt. Her joy was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in months.

“I’m glad you’re excited,” he said genuinely. Ciri tackled him in a hug.

After some texting back and forth with Jaskier (it made Ciri incredibly excited to discover that Geralt had Jaskier’s contact information), the time was set for the coming Saturday. All that remained was to wait.

~~~

“Geralt! Hello!” said Jaskier as soon as Geralt opened the door. He looked almost nervous, rubbing his thumb against his fingers as he shifted his weight on Geralt’s doorstep.

“Come in,” said Geralt, stepping aside to let the musician enter the house. “Thank you again for doing this.”

“You’re more than welcome!” said Jaskier, looking around Geralt’s house curiously. Geralt did his best not to feel embarrassed. He and Ciri worked hard this morning to make the place look presentable (“It has to be perfect, Dad!”) but nothing they did could hide the fact that the place was small, the furniture was rather mismatched, and the shelves were cluttered in an attempt to fit all their belongings into what space there was.

“So, where is the lovely person I’ve come to meet?” asked Jaskier, shaking Geralt out of his thoughts.

“In her room,” said Geralt. “I’ll go get her.”

Geralt fetched Ciri, watched fondly as she jumped up and down a little in nervous excitement, and accompanied her back to their living room. Jaskier visibly perked up at the sight of her.

“Hello, darling!” he said, bounding forward and holding a hand out for her to shake. “You must be Cirilla.”

“Ciri,” she said shyly, taking the offered hand and shaking it.

“Ciri,” Jaskier repeated, looking for all the world like he was trying to commit it to memory. “It’s a beautiful name!”

Ciri’s small smile grew wider. “Thank you!”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” said Geralt with a small smile. He and Ciri had planned this out beforehand — Geralt would wait in the kitchen while they spoke, letting her and Jaskier have privacy while still being able to hear most of the conversation and come back if necessary. “Would anyone like tea or coffee?”

Jaskier declined, but Ciri requested tea, so Geralt went to prepare it.

For a moment, the other room was silent. Then Jaskier spoke up.

“So, I’m told you’ve heard my caterwauling?”

“I love your music. I listen to it all the time.”

“Thank you so much! I’m honored,” said Jaskier. Geralt could hear his grin even without being able to see his face.

“I wanted to thank you, actually,” said Ciri nervously. Geralt listened closer from the other room, prepared to intervene if necessary. Ciri had been wanting to say this to Jaskier ever since she learned she would get to meet him, and if something went wrong there was potential for an emotional disaster.

“Oh? What for?” said Jaskier.

Ciri took a deep breath. “So, um, my grandmother died a little over a year ago. She raised me. It’s been a rough year. Geralt adopted me, and he’s great! I love him, and he loves me, and I’m really glad I get to have him in my life but things have still been hard. I found your music about a month after my grandmother died and it’s helped me a lot. There’s so much life and hope to it, you know? Even when I was having a really bad day, I could listen to it and feel like maybe things might get better. There are so many bad things in the world, but there is also some good, and you helped me remember that. So. That’s why I wanted to meet you. To say thank you for everything.” She shifted awkwardly. “Um. Sorry if that was weird. You don’t know me and that might have been a lot to dump on a stranger.”

“Ciri, darling,” said Jaskier in a voice that sounded choked with emotion. “May I hug you?”

Geralt peeked into the room just in time to see Ciri nod and Jaskier envelop her in a crushing embrace. Ciri made a startled sound before hugging him back. She was hesitant at first, but her confidence grew quickly. Geralt smiled. Ciri gave good hugs.

“That was… possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Jaskiersaid quietly without breaking the embrace. “I’m so glad I could make a difference in your life. I always hope I might, but I’m never sure I manage. It means the world for you to tell me that. Thank you.” He let out a shaky breath. “And I’m truly sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

“Thank you,” said Ciri. “It’s… better, now. Time helps. Geralt helps, too.”

“I get the feeling that he’s a wonderful father,” said Jaskier with a smile.

“He really is,” said Ciri, her voice filled with what sounded like pride. Geralt was suddenly glad that no one could see him, because he was sure that whatever expression he was making was unbearably sappy.

Jaskier and Ciri moved on to talking about less serious matters, making jokes and small talk and discussing Jaskier’s music. Geralt delivered tea to Ciri and settled in the kitchen with a book, only half-listening to them now that the most emotionally difficult moments had passed.

After an hour, Jaskier reluctantly informed them that he had to leave. Ciri was disappointed, of course, but handled it gracefully. Geralt watched her say her goodbyes and walked Jaskier to the door.

“You must be proud to have such a wonderful daughter,” Jaskier said to Geralt as he stepped outside, turning back to smile at him.

Geralt smiled. “I am. Always.”

“Good. It was wonderful to meet her,” said Jaskier. “Would you tell her that? I said so earlier, but I’m not sure if she believed me.”

“I will,” said Geralt. He wondered if Jaskier knew that he was digging further into Geralt’s heart with every kindness he showed Ciri. “Thank you.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” said Jaskier with a smile. “I had an excellent time.”

“I’m glad,” said Geralt. They stood in companionable silence for a moment.

“I should probably get going before someone starts calling me,” said Jaskier with a sigh. “Thank you again for inviting me over.”

“Thank you for coming,” Geralt said. “Ciri and I appreciate it.”

Jaskier grinned. “You’re very welcome, dear heart.”

Then, with a wave and a shouted farewell, he was gone.

~~~

Geralt thought that was the last he would see of Jaskier.

For the next several weeks, the only contact he had with Jaskier was through Ciri playing his music. Geralt found himself oddly disappointed by the idea of not seeing Jaskier again, but told himself to stop being ridiculous. The fact that he was funny and kind and genuinely good with Ciri didn’t necessarily mean they could have been friends, even if the up-and-coming pop star had decided to keep in touch with a single father of limited means and even more limited social skills.

His attempts at putting Jaskier out of his mind were not as successful as he would have liked. He hoped that if he ignored this, it would go away eventually.

Then, over a month later, Geralt woke up to a text from a very familiar number.

Jaskier: hi geralt! so i know this is kind of out of nowhere, but i wrote a thing that may or may not be inspired by you and ciri and i was wondering if the two of you could listen to it and tell me if you’re all right with me showing it to anyone else and maybe putting it out there for the public? Jaskier: it’s totally fine if not, of course. i can absolutely keep it between the three of us indefinitely. Jaskier: believe it or not, i am actually capable of shutting up about some things Jaskier: though i’m not giving you very good evidence of that with all this rambling Jaskier: i’m just gonna send the files now

The next two messages were audio files. Geralt fumbled for his earbuds and started the first track.

Thirty seconds into the song, Geralt already liked it. It was in Jaskier’s normal pop-adjacent style, upbeat and energetic, but the lyrics were more poetic than was usual. It was about unexpected kindness, he thought, and he could easily see the connection to their acquaintance despite the lack of direct reference. The idea of having played a part in inspiring someone to write a song — Ciri’s favorite musician, no less — made something startlingly warm blossom in his chest.

He paused the music, stood, and went to find Ciri. She would certainly want to hear this.

Many delighted exclamations later, Geralt and Ciri sat side by side in front of the speaker Geralt had plugged into his phone. Geralt went back to the beginning of the first song and let it play, this time watching the expression on Ciri’s face as she listened. Her glee was contagious, and Geralt found himself enjoying the song even more than the first time. The song continued in a similar vein to what Geralt had already heard, complete with a cheery chorus that was certainly going to get stuck in Geralt’s head.

“Oh my god,” Ciri squealed when the song was done. “He really wrote a song about you. Dandelion wrote a song about you!”

“It’s not about me,” Geralt protested. “It’s just indirectly inspired by something I did.”

Ciri ignored him. “Can we listen to the next one?”

Geralt wordlessly pulled up the next file and pressed play, smiling at the excited noise Ciri made.

Immediately, Geralt could tell this one was different. It started with strumming on a lone guitar, and Jaskier’s voice was tender and full of emotion when he started to sing. The lyrics, as far as Geralt could make out, told of grief. It was unclear who or what the singer had lost, but the sadness in Jaskier’s voice made whatever it was feel all too real. Ciri’s eyes widened in shock, and Geralt had a feeling that his own expression was similar. This was definitely not what he had expected.

The chorus of the song started, and suddenly Geralt could think of nothing but the music. Other instruments joined the guitar as the tone of the song shifted. Jaskier began to sing of hope.

He sang of starlight shining through clouds on dark nights, of flowers growing through cracks in concrete, of song staving off the silence of hopeless midnight. Jaskier’s voice was filled with emotion, with light and dark and fear and hope.

By the time the song was over, Ciri’s cheeks were stained with tears

“That was beautiful,” she whispered. Geralt couldn’t help but agree.

“He wrote a song for you,” Geralt said in disbelief. “After your conversation when he came over, he wrote a song for you.”

“Fuck,” said Ciri emphatically. Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to chastise her for the language.

Geralt was grateful that this had happened on a Saturday. He and Ciri might need all day to process.

~~~

Geralt did not respond to Jaskier until much later that day, after he and Ciri had time to discuss their thoughts on Jaskier’s question. It wasn’t until after dinner that night that Geralt finally felt ready. He settled in on the sofa with Ciri sitting next to him, gathered his courage, and sent a response before he had time to overthink it.

Geralt: They’re beautiful. Geralt: You made Ciri cry, but she says it was in a good way. Geralt: She also says I shouldn’t have said that, because now you might worry about having made her cry. Geralt: She says not to worry. Geralt: She says thank you. She loved them. Geralt: I liked them too. Thank you. Geralt: You can do what you want with them, as long as there’s no personal information shared about Ciri or me.

Jaskier responded within five minutes of Geralt’s last message.

Jaskier: i’d apologize for having made your daughter cry, but i get the feeling she wouldn’t appreciate that Jaskier: i hope she’s all right, though?

Geralt: She will be. It was just more emotional than we expected.

Jaskier: ah. mission accomplished, maybe?

Geralt: Yes.

Jaskier: thank you for your permission!! I’ll keep you up to date on what’s going on, of course. and yes, definitely no personal information will be shared! Jaskier: by the way, have i thanked you yet? i was having a terrible week plus songwriters’ block and you and ciri were absolute lifesavers. Jaskier: you made me remember why I started doing this in the first place.

Geralt: I’m glad. You made our week better, too. Thank you.

Jaskier: you’re very welcome!

Thinking the conversation over, Ciri grinned up at Geralt.

“That went well!” she said.

“Yes. Do you think you can get ready for bed now?” asked Geralt.

Ciri sighed. “Fine.”

She stood and left the room, and so, fortunately for Geralt, missed the ridiculous expression on his face when he glanced at his phone to see another message waiting for him from Jaskier.

Jaskier: oh, and before i chicken out, i have something i want to ask you

Geralt was undeniably curious.

Geralt: What is it?

Jaskier: do you want to meet for dinner sometime?

Geralt drew in a surprised breath. That was unexpected.

Geralt: To talk about the songs?

Jaskier: yeah

The three dots that indicated whether Jaskier was typing appeared, disappeared, then reappeared again. Geralt was about to stop waiting and come up with his own response when, finally, another message appeared.

Jaskier: and maybe more, if you want?

Geralt’s heart stuttered a little. He sent back a reply before he could second-guess himself, nerves afire.

Geralt: Like what?

Jaskier: whatever you want Jaskier: i’d like to get to know you better if that’s all right Jaskier: i know we haven’t talked for very long but i really like you Jaskier: and ciri. she’s an absolute darling, obviously Jaskier: and so are you Jaskier: obviously Jaskier: feel free to tell me to shut up. i ramble a lot.

Geralt looked at his phone with wide eyes. Was Jaskier — his daughter’s favorite musician, and possibly the kindest and happiest man of his recent acquaintance — really interested in talking to him again? It seemed too good to be true.

Geralt: I don’t mind.

Jaskier: oh, good. Jaskier: the rambling, or the dinner?

Geralt: Both. Geralt: Neither Geralt: I mean, you’re good.

Jaskier: great!! Jaskier: maybe sometime next week?

Geralt: Okay. Geralt: My place?

Geralt knew he would feel more confident on his home turf.

Geralt: You haven’t met my dog yet.

Jaskier: aslkdjfalsdfj YOU HAVE A DOG?? Jaskier: I MUST SEE THIS Jaskier: WHY DIDN’T I KNOW ABOUT THIS

Geralt: My brother was taking her for a walk last time you were over. We didn’t want her to get in the way.

Jaskier: YOU HAVE A BROTHER?!? Jaskier: that does it. i most certainly must visit and meet your dog. Jaskier: the brother is optional but embarrassing stories are more than welcome Jaskier: sound good?

Geralt chuckled quietly at his phone screen, somehow unable to stop smiling.

Geralt: Sounds good.

They settled on a time and date. Geralt felt warm. Their acquaintance was no longer so temporary — they were, perhaps, friends. Perhaps, if they were lucky, they could become even more.

The thought made Geralt frown a little. What did Jaskier want from this? Would it be worth asking for clarification? It would likely be best to clear up any potential misunderstandings now things went very far.

Geralt hummed nervously to himself before gathering his courage and sending his next question.

Geralt: By the way, is this a date?

For a moment, there was no response. The dots indicating that Jaskier was typing appeared and stayed there for a very, very long moment.

Jaskier: It can be whatever you want it to be.

Geralt stared at the message for a moment. Jaskier was using proper punctuation and capitalization, for once. It seemed he was serious.

Geralt: First dates don’t usually involve someone’s daughter

Jaskier: eh, “usually” is boring anyway Jaskier: Unless her presence would make you or her uncomfortable, of course

Geralt thought for a few moments, then made up his mind.

Geralt: I think it’s fine. She’ll be more than happy to see you again.

Jaskier: so… it’s a date?

Geralt: Yes.

Jaskier: excellent!! see you then! <3

Geralt stared at the little heart on the screen for a moment with a silly little smile on his face. He was going to see Jaskier again. Jaskier wanted to see him again.

Geralt found himself humming as he went to find Ciri and tell her the good news. After a few moments, he realized that he was humming one of Jaskier’s new songs. His smile widened.

Perhaps that Ciri would not be the only one getting a gift next week.

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #ciri #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #geralt x jaskier #i should make a writing tag shouldn't i? #wren writes #there we go

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Closer

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Pairing: barista!Mike (Hellraiser) x reader (you)

Summary: Mike makes good on a promise to take you somewhere nice for the weekend.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Fluff, some cheesy lines, the story behind that kiss people were curious about, a back rub, nudity... I don't think I have to tag anything 18+ yet.... hm...

A/N: Well... I'd say I'm sorry but I'd be lying... (But we're getting there, I promise.)

If you like this fic, please let me know 🥰 and reblog so that others may see it too! <3

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @mayloma @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @peyton-warren @livisss @ylva-syverson @sweetandgentlecreature

“So,” Mike continues his story as he pours the last of the bottle of wine you’d shared over dinner, “my mom tried to throw a chair at his head when she found out, but it turned out to be a really heavy chair she couldn’t lift, so that plan went down the drain real fast… In the end, she just kicked him out and had the locks changed the same night.”

“Wait, so your dad had several side pieces and your mom still stayed with him?” you ask in disbelief, stressing that if Mike tried to pull that shit on you, you’d at least castrate him. “And I’d find a lighter chair to throw.”

First, he laughs, but then his face turns serious again: “She didn’t stay with him. They were actually divorced for nearly ten years.”

“And they got back together?”

Mike nods. “Yeah – which mom didn’t tell me about, so I just about strangled dad when I saw him in the kitchen somewhere halfway through my second year of college… I’m still not completely used to living with the guy again.”

“So your mom kissing Sy was… when they were still split up?”

“Yeah…” It’s immediately obvious that Mike doesn’t really like to talk about this. “There was this guy, Dave, she was with him for a while. He tried really hard to be my dad, which I didn’t like, so I was glad to see him go. I had just started college when he broke it off, and it left my mom in a bad place, because things had been getting serious and whatnot.” Mike sighs as he remembers the story. “Then one night she’s been drinking and Sy shows up because he’d promised her to take a look at her car or some shit… She kissed him. And then me, Will and Evan walked in on that.”

“I can’t even imagine what the worst part of that must have been,” you say as you stare at Mike wide-eyed.

“Oh, that’s easy!” he says immediately. “The worst was by far the fact that Will and Evan – for the next six months – wouldn’t shut up about Sy becoming my new step daddy.” The way he says it is so amusing that you almost spit your wine over the table.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing,” you say.

“No, that’s pretty much the only thing that works,” he laughs. “We still joke about it. I don’t always appreciate it, but… My dad was even worse about it than I was, he couldn’t look at Sy for a while after he heard about what had happened. They’re cool now though.”

Mike downs the last of his wine right when you take your last sip, and as soon as you put your empty glasses on the table, the atmosphere in the room changes. You look at Mike, and he stares back at you, but neither of you says anything.

Finally, Mike breaks the silence: “I’m, eh… I’m going to take a shower. You can hang on the couch while I’m gone, if you want…”

“Mike,” you say, one eyebrow raised. He looks up at you and hums. “I’m going to wait for you in bed.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush anything…” Oh for fuck’s sake! You cut him off immediately.

“Mike! We’ve been trying to hook up for nearly two months now! We’re a solid six weeks past rushing anything.” You get up and walk over to him. As soon as you’re standing behind his chair, you throw your arms around his neck and bend down to put your head on his shoulder. “I can’t wait any longer.” Mike shivers and swallows hard when you put your lips on his neck. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me right now?”

“Eh…” He looks embarrassed when he speaks again. “I really need that shower…” Oh? Oh. Right. You’re not the only one who’s been waiting for this for weeks.

Your heart flutters when you hear the water turn off, and it doesn’t take Mike long to appear in the doorway. He’s wearing those goddamn grey sweatpants from that thirst trap with the turtles – and the legion of shameless pics after that. It’s annoying how good he looks in those sweats.

The night of the campfire had already shown you his hair gets adorably curly when wet, but it somehow looks even better today. You swallow hard when he walks towards the bed and climbs in. With a remote you hadn’t noticed, he turns off the big ceiling light of the room, and strings of fairy lights come on that are wrapped around the posts of the bed.

“Safer than candles,” Mike says, “ask my mom how they came to that conclusion.”

“I don’t want to talk or think about your parents right now, Mike,” you laugh. “Had a nice shower?”

“Very,” he says with a big grin on his face, “did you enjoy yourself in the meantime?” The real answer is ‘no’, but you’re not going to tell him that. Every second he spent in that shower, you spent getting worked up over whatever is going to happen now that he’s out of the shower – which means you’re both horny and terrified right now. What if those past weeks have sent your expectations soaring, and everything is going to be a major disappointment?

With great difficulty, you push away those thoughts, taking a deep breath before leaning over to kiss Mike. Unfortunately, he’s already picked up on your nerves.

“You look a little tense, baby,” he mutters after giving you a small peck on your lips. Something in his tone tells you that he knows just the thing to get you to relax. He reaches for the drawer of the nightstand and pulls out a bottle you can’t read the label of. “Turn around, lose the top,” he commands. Shit.

“Eh…” You had a plan. That plan included a new set of lingerie that cost you half of your last paycheck, and you had planned on actually showing that to him… but not like this. On another note: Why does he have to pick up on your distress immediately?

“Ooooh, what are you wearing underneath those pajamas?” he muses, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pulling you close. Curious hands slip underneath the satiny fabric of your babydoll, exploring the lace of the one-piece you have on. “Lemme see, lemme see, lemme see, lemme see…”

“Mikey!” you shriek when he pulls you down onto the mattress and practically rips your pajamas off your body.

“This is very nice, Sweetcheeks,” he says when he’s finally looking at you in the black body you’d picked out for the occasion. He’s trying really hard not to let you know how impatient he is to get you out of it, but he fails miserably, because he’s incredibly impatient to get you out of it.

“All of this is wasted on you, isn’t it?” you ask.

He smiles apologetically. “It’s covering up what I like best about your body,” he pouts. “Boobies shouldn’t be confined to uncomfortable lace and underwire contraptions! They should be free!”

“A big feminist and supporter of the ‘Free the Nipple’-movement, I see,” you tease.

He smirks down at you and shrugs. “Listen, that has nothing to do with this. I like this thing, I appreciate the effort, but I still want to take it off. Is that wrong?”

You shake your head and pull him in for a kiss. “It’s not.”

“I’m happy I got to see it. It looks really good on you, and it’s going to look even better on the floor.”

“Oh! Cheesy cliché, no boobies for Mikey!” you push him off and turn around. Wrong move. His hands are at the back immediately where he undoes the clasp of your underwear and somehow pulls it down seemingly effortlessly, and flings it somewhere.

“I was, like, super disappointed about the ‘no boobies’ thing, but now that I see your ass…” You shriek in surprise when Mike somehow manages to bite your butt.

“Don’t bite me!” The hand you throw back towards where you know his head must be hits Mike right in the forehead.

“Don’t hit me!” he retorts, wrapping his arms around you. He’s on top of you now, you’re both laughing, neither of you is in a comfortable position, you’re naked – he’s not, and the whole situation is silly to the point where it’s almost ridiculous. Mike pretend-attacks your neck, playfully growling and sort of tickling you…

“Unhand me, you deeply unserious man!” you laugh, and Mike stops – it makes you sad, even though it’s exactly what you asked for.

“What kind of an insult is that?” he asks, and you shrug. It wasn’t meant as an insult, per se. Mike rolls off you again and lies down next to you. “Am I ruining the mood?” he asks sincerely.

“Not at all!” you answer. “I like when you’re like this! You’re funny and sweet. And – correct me if I’m wrong – you’re silly like this with your cats, too. And with your friends. With all the people you care about. I like that I’m one of them.”

Mike looks at you as if you just lit a block of ice on fire. “I’ve heard ‘obnoxious’, ‘annoying’, ‘immature’, ‘weird’… all kinds of shit. But never ‘funny and sweet’.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve been dating the wrong girls.” You know for a fact he’s been dating the wrong girls, because until now, none of the girls were, well… you.

“Yeah,” Mike sighs before propping himself up on his elbow. “If I remember correctly, I was on my way to giving you a back rub when you annoyingly put nice lingerie in my way. You still want in on that?”

Would ‘I want you to rub the inside of my pussy with your cock’ be too crude a reply to that? You quickly decide against the answer and just respond to his question with a decisive nod. As impatient as you are to get laid… That back rub does sound nice.

Mike’s hands are absolute magic; they’re big and strong and putting pressure in all the right places. Of course, he’s also relentlessly teasing you with soft touches, trailing his fingers down your spine, making you shiver. Soon, his tongue follows suit, trailing your shoulder, and you’re left wondering… “Don’t you have a mouth full of disgusting massage oil now?”

“Sweetcheeks, puh-lease,” he says, and you can hear the eyeroll in his voice, “I came prepared! This stuff is edible.” Of course it is!

“Can I try it?” Zero style points for your reaction – it’s a little too enthusiastic. As you turn slightly, you feel Mike’s hips grinding into your ass, and for the first time you notice he’s hard. How did he do such a good job at hiding that when he was literally sitting right on top of you?

Without thinking you stick your tongue out when his thumb comes within reach of it, and equally thoughtlessly, you suck it into your mouth, leaving Mike sitting there, wide-eyed and with open mouth, groaning softly as you swirl your tongue around his finger. He was right, the oil is edible. It tastes sweet, fruity… Like mango?

“Fuck, Sweetcheeks,” he moans, “do those skills transfer?” You can’t get mad at that – in fact, you have to try really hard not to laugh. When he pulls his hand back, you’re disappointed – which gets even worse when he turns you back onto your stomach, pressing his lips to your neck and whispers: “I wasn’t done with you.”

He continues where he left off, and just when you’re about ready to melt into the mattress under his touch, he moves down…

“Mike, this is not a back rub anymore,” you laugh when his hands move over your ass, squeezing everywhere they can reach. It still feels nice, but… No, just that. Feels nice, that’s all.

“I never said I was going to stop there.” His voice comes from further down than you think, and then he sinks his teeth into your ass cheek again. You moan loudly as Mike keeps working your lower back and ass. When he eventually moves even lower, to the back of your thighs, you clench your legs together. “Let me touch you,” he moans as he slowly kisses a trail over your ass and up your lower back.

“Are you going to tease me?” you ask softly.

“Relentlessly, I promise,” Mike chuckles while making his way back up. From there, he pays attention to your arms and hands – interesting and very relaxing to the point where…

“Mike, I’m going to doze off if you keep going,” you sigh, when it becomes obvious that your legs are getting the same treatment. Without thinking, you turn around when he sits at the foot of the bed, and he pulls both of your feet into his lap. The backrub was great, but this? “Wow,” you moan – loudly.

Mike takes his time with every part of your body, and you silently curse yourself for teasing him for being impatient. Nothing about him right now is even slightly impatient. Well. One thing about him is impatient… His girlfriend.

Finally – fucking finally – he lifts one of your legs onto his shoulder, placing soft, teasing kisses on your skin, from your ankle all the way to your thigh and then… He makes his way up your stomach and chest, until his lips are on yours again.

“No, Mike, this is unfair, go back down,” you whine in between kisses.

“Eh,” he mutters, “I – eh – I don’t…”

“You don’t what?” you ask. “Go down?” Slightly disappointing, but not a complete disaster, why is he acting so… shy and insecure?

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m sorry.” For a moment, you think that’s it, but then he lies down next to you, burying his face in your neck. “Remember the horrible bitch ex? She told me I was no good at it and shouldn’t bother doing it again, and I’ve never… I’m scared to fuck it up now, and also scared to tell anyone, so whenever I got with a girl after that, she thought I was an asshole for not eating her out and… Please don’t think I’m a jerk, please?”

“Mikey,” you say sternly, “I don’t think you’re a jerk. I want to punch that whore in the face, though.” He hums softly when you circle your fingers over his scalp. “If you ever want to try again, I’ll tell you what I like?”

#mike hellraiser #mike hellraiser fic #mike (hellraiser) #hellraiser mike #mike (hellraiser) x reader #hellraiser mike x reader #mikey x reader #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters

[ecoamerica]

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[vesemirsexual]

What are your thoughts on different Geralt relationships? Shani Essi Triss etcetc

I’m a Yennefer girlie through and through so keep in mind that likely shapes my thoughts on this! Also, I don’t have my laptop in front of me or I’d be pulling text excerpts to illustrate some of what I’m going to say, but I will endeavour to reliably try and remember what I’m talking about lmao

(Also, now I’ve summarised some quick thoughts, this is kinda the relationships/kinda the women he has them with? A rare time you might see me bashing a woman character rip. Warning below that I may have shat on your faves a little, and for mentions of sexual assault/rape.)

• Iola - This is such a one night stand to me. This is Geralt is injured and moping and honestly just takes the opportunity there. It’s pretty clear from his reaction the next morning too. This comes up in the well-referenced Geralt and Sexual Assaults post as dubcon, which admittedly I hadn’t even considered at first, but considering that Geralt is fucked up and barely even remember what Iola looks like the next morning, yeah I can see that. This is such a non-thing to me.

• Triss - People can argue until the sun comes up but I’m willing to die on the hill that this instance was sexual assault/rape. The way she talks about hitting on a “propitious moment”, the use of magic, the fact that Geralt rebuffs her with every attempt at a follow up…This entire moment really changes the overall persona of Triss for me, and shows something really ugly under that sweet helpful girl-next-door exterior. I do not enjoy this ship, at all. And even in the CDPR land where this is endgame, I genuinely could not ever see it lasting. I think the entire “Triss died at Sodden Hill” and symbolism holds true to an extent: Triss is genuinely just chasing anything that makes her feel alive and emotion. I think she’d get bored of Geralt very, very quickly and she’d be onto the next, chasing the thrill and emotional highs. Triss, to me, gives the vibe of the woman who cheats with a married man, gets him to leave his wife, and then ditches him for the next one. It’s not about him; it’s about how it all makes her feel, and escapism from her own damage.

(I actually have said fucked up passage on my phone! This…did not do wonders for my perception of Triss.)

• Shani - Again, I don’t get the hype here. Shani is 17 when Geralt hooks up with her, and quite frankly, that old man is weird as hell for that one. I also don’t see Shani ever seeing Geralt as relationship material. I think her attraction rose from a) attention from an older experienced man and b) fascination about him being a Witcher (I hesitate to say fetishism, but definitely in the same vein). This is one I cannot ever see as a relationship: I genuinely think Shani would get tired of his shit real fast.

• Essi - My unpopular opinion is I hate this entire arc. I hate it, I’m sorry. Essi starts off as this amazing character, who devolves into a teenage girl throwing a tantrum and demanding sex. Sex between Geralt and Essi is incredibly uncomfortable because it takes wearing Geralt down, peer pressure and guilt-tripping to get there, he doesn’t want to, and this is another one I agree is dubcon. I am frankly, surprised more people aren’t icked out by this one. This relationship is one of the reasons A Little Sacrifice isn’t one of my favoured short stories.

• Coral - Complex feelings. I wanted to deck Coral when she’s winding Yennefer up about being pregnant, and Yennefer is quiet and sad. Geralt, stop banging Yennefers mean and manipulative coworkers who are absolutely going to use this knowledge to hurt her whenever works. Coral is such a dick, but at the same time, considering how her story ultimately ends, I find it difficult to really hate upon her, because if that isn’t punishment enough. I do like how we see Geralt draw a line when he realises Coral is not going to help those people, and I like how this relationship characterises him further.

• Fringilla - Fringilla drives me fucking insane. I despise the library scene with every fibre of my being. If Sapkowski had included the Fringilla/Geralt baby from the drafts, as I have repeated many times, I would’ve lost my shit. Fringilla blinds Yennefer at Sodden Hill (leaving her blind for a year and with massive mental scarring) and then has the audacity to be fucking her boyfriend while she knows Yen is being held and likely tortured somewhere, and then has the audacity to actually fall in love with him. Even though it’s her job and ploy for the Lodge, even though Geralt is also playing her, god. Fuck these two for this one.

• Sword delivery girl who’s name I’ve forgotten - Geralt, you’re honestly such a bitch.

#salt warning tbh #like this is messy brain dump on post #and I didn’t end for it to be salty but fuck it we ball #katie txt #asks

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

Posting this because it's a perfect segment to a fic that will likely never be finished or published. Part of the very long and involved prequel to my VDL Verse.

1930s au Geralt and Eskel as children feat badly translated Polish, vague allusions to the rest of the fic.

June 10th 1932 - Vesmir 

“... no papers, no one waiting for ‘em” Harlow is saying, leading Vesmir through the rabbit warren passages of the Ellis Island detention center “We were gonna send ‘em back but I remembered you mentioning wanting to see any orphans we got and thought of you” Vesmir winces at the implications of the sentence; here in the concrete and tiled hall voices carry and Harlow is about as quiet as a fog horn. 

“Send them back where?” Vesemir asks instead. He’s sweating beneath the brim of his stetson, in the June sun the hallways of Ellis Island become an oven, fit to bake people alive. 

Harlow shrugs “No idea. Neither of ‘em speak a word of English. The towhead is Polak I think but I’ve got nothing on the other - speaks no language I’ve ever heard before”

"If you take one you have to take 'em both" Harlow continues, taking out his ring of keys to open up one of the steel doors lining the hallway "had to take the older one for lice treatment a few weeks ago and the towhead nearly scratched my orderly's eyes out. Screamed themselves hoarse both of 'em poor mites" 

The cell is spartan, bare walls, two empty wire bedframes, a single barred window out of which Vesemir can make out the glitter of Manhattan Bay. The boys have built themselves a nest in the corner; mattresses pulled from the bedframes, blankets piled into a wall. They're sitting on it when the door opens, all wide eyes and terrified frowns, pressed together close despite the oppressive heat. 

The younger boy is less towhead than albino; hair a silvery-wite rats nest and eyes an odd sun-bleached brown, nearly yellow. He hisses at Vesemir and Harlow, curls close against his companion’s side. 

His companion is closer to double digits in age, face angular with starvation and dehydration, olive skin stretched thin over the fine bones. He has dark hair, closer to black than brown, and eyes like deer’s eyes; deep brown and soulful. He doesn’t make a sound at their approach, just maneuvers himself so his companion is at his back; a shield, a protector. 

Vesemir loves them both already. 

He kneels down to get closer to their eye level, takes off his hat to show more of his face. They flinch from him. He tries not to take it personally.

“I’m a friend” he says “I’m here to take you somewhere safe”

The boys look at him blankly. 

“Told you” Harlow says “not a word of english between the two of ‘em” 

“Aby zabrać Cię w bezpieczne miejsce” he tries, the language of his childhood feeling awkward on his tongue “pomogę Ci” 

The albino perks up at the familiar words, a sudden wash of understanding and relief crossing his face. His companion remains baffled; wide eyes darting between Vesemir and Harlow and back again as though searching for a threat.

“Jak się nazywasz?” he asks him. 

“Geralt” the child replies, voice whisper quiet, small fingers going white-knuckled around his companion’s wrist as though afraid someone will try and separate them. 

“And who is your friend?” he continues in Polish, gesturing to Geralt’s protector who, as though realizing he’s being spoken about stands a little taller and glares a little harder. 

“Eskel” 

"Tell Eskel it's going to be alright. I'm here to take you boys to a new home, a new family. I'm not going to hurt you" 

Geralt nods solemnly and taps at Eskel’s cheek. When the other boy looks he begins speaking in gestures, nearly too fast for Vesemir to follow. He wonders if the other - Eskel - is deaf or if this is just the way the two of them have figured out how to breach the language barrier. 

Back in the present Vesemir watches from the doorway of Eskel’s hospital room as Geralt's hand moves against Eskel’s limp palm. Signing in that old familiar language they'd shared before the spoken word "safe" he signs "You're safe. You're safe"

Smart he thinks resourceful. They're perfect. 

------------------------‐-------------------------

Eskel doesn't respond, doesn't move. 

Geralt’s eyes when they meet Vesemir’s are red-rimmed and exhausted, full of the sucking emptiness of a pain too great to bear. 

#vdl verse #geralt of rivia #Eskel #my fic #my writing

[spencer-reid-in-a-pool]

It Was You All Along (Part 7)

Author’s note: So that wasn’t much of a break, but I couldn’t resist! Here is the next installment of the series, featuring a meme I made myself to reflect the vibes of the first half of this part! And yes, it is supposed to be that pixely. It adds spice. Also, I tried to be as vague as possible describing reader’s outfit towards the end so that you could imagine it the way you wanted! As always, feedback is appreciated, and I hope you all enjoy! Link to my ask box! 

Tags: @ayyyyitswednesdaymydoods @blackjay04 @weaselbee04​ @bravelittlesunflower​ @mxsmwndr​ 

A voice called for me, but I didn’t quite process it. I was too busy trying to fix this gigantic, gaping hole in Geralt’s trousers. Melitele knows if I don’t do it, he would just walk around with it decorating his attire. 

The voice called for me again, but this time I ignored it on purpose. If I lost concentration, I would prick myself with the needle...again. And I didn’t really want to turn my fingers into more of a bloody mess than they already were. 

I heard footsteps beside me, but I didn’t realize how close they were until a rush of coldness surrounded my body. Not only coldness, but wetness. A bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on me, causing me to scream and drop what I was doing as I stood up in shock. 

“Julian!” 

His real name still felt unfamiliar on my lips. I had taken to calling him that every so often, usually when I was angry with him, or when I was messing with him. It was for that reason, I think, that he froze so suddenly when I spoke. He wasn’t used to it either, even though he was the one that suggested I start using it more. 

The bucket made a small thump sound as it hit the ground beneath us, and Jaskier raised his hands up in an apology. But he also backed away like a scared animal. I almost felt bad for him. Almost, but not quite. 

“Now, (Y/N)...I was just trying to get your attention is all. It’s quite important, you see.”

I gathered my skirts in my hands and stomped towards him, scowling and shivering the whole way. 

“What could possibly be so important that you couldn’t wait until I was finished? And what made you think dumping cold water on me was a good idea?”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I starting running towards him, my clothes making a sloshing noise against my skin. A string of curse words left his mouth as he took off trying to get away from me. He could be quite fast when he wanted to be. But no way was I going to let him get away from me that easily. 

As soon as he picked up speed, so did I. He wove through the trees surrounding our campsite, going in between them like a maze. Eventually we made it back to where we started. My spot was near a tree and the pants I had been working on were visibly in a bunch on the ground. But behind that was the river that I’m assuming the idiot got the water in the first place. I wonder if I could lead him back there... and “accidentally” knock him in.

As luck would have it, I didn’t even have to put that thought into action. He had made his way to the edge of the river, and turned quickly on his heel trying to run away from me again. But he slipped on the muddy bank, and fell right into the water himself. 

Coming to a stop, a sharp laugh came from my chest suddenly. And I laughed even harder when he bobbed above the surface, hair sticking to his forehead and his fancy doublet soaked. 

“That’s what you get!” I yelled to him between bouts of laughter. 

While Jaskier pulled himself out of the water unceremoniously, I heard more footsteps behind me followed by a thud. Geralt must be back. Only one man I know could walk and sit down that heavily. 

I turned towards the sound, and sure enough, Geralt was sitting down on the log he had claimed as his earlier. He took one look at me and one look at Jaskier who was now standing on the bank of the river, shivering like his life depended on it. 

“I don’t even want to know,” said Geralt with a twitch of his eyebrow and a roll of his eyes. 

~

Night had fallen now. I couldn’t help but reflect on the past few months since that attack at our camp. Things had been pretty boring since then honestly. But I guess I couldn’t complain. Being bored was better than being in danger. 

Geralt was asleep and snoring at an unholy volume. This of course caused a glance between Jaskier and I, and sent us into a fit of silent laughter together. The kind of laughter that had your stomach hurting and your mouth open with no sound. The kind that had you grabbing onto your friend for dear life. Which is precisely what the two of us were doing right now. I had such a grip on Jaskier’s arm, I thought he surely must be in pain. But if he was, he made no mention of it and kept laughing with me. 

However much time had passed, it seemed to only be a few minutes. And I still had my hand on his arm, although my grip definitely lessened. He didn’t notice this either, and simply looked into the dying flames with dried tears from his laughter on his cheeks. My gaze lingered a moment too long on his cheeks, and I began to think about how gentle his eyelashes looked against his skin as he blinked. 

Heat rose in my cheeks and I silently withdrew my hand from his arm. This seemed to catch his attention though. 

“Composed yourself now? Don’t need to steady yourself from anymore laughter?”

There was a glint in his eye as he asked me the questions. I had to keep from smiling. 

“That depends. Got any jokes?”

He stood suddenly and rested a hand on his chin, making it seem like he was deep in thought. 

“You look as if you are composing a new song, Julian.”

“I’m a musician, my dear, I am always composing.” 

He paced around the fire, which was even lower than before. The way he took everything so seriously was something that entertained me, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself because of it. 

Suddenly, he opened his mouth in a silent “Aha!”

“(Y/N), why must you never use a broken pen?”

I paused for a moment and scrunched my face in thought, trying to come up with an answer. But before I could, he delivered the punch line. 

“It’s pointless, darling.”

I snorted at the same time Geralt groaned. The fucker was awake. 

Jaskier almost jumped out of his boots at the sudden noise, which only caused me to laugh again. The pain in my stomach from earlier was back, but I couldn’t keep from laughing. 

“Have you been awake this whole time, Geralt?” Jaskier yelled in surprise. 

“Long enough. Don’t you have anything better to do? Like sleep?”

Jaskier open and closed his mouth a few times before settling on a simple, “Right,” in response. He then took his spot a few feet away from Geralt and laid down for the night. 

“Goodnight, Geralt.” Jaskier said with a stifled yawn.

Geralt simply grunted in return, rolling over so his back was facing Jaskier. 

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” Jaskier called in my direction. 

“Goodnight, Jaskier. And goodnight Geralt!” 

“Hmph,” was all I got in response. 

There was a silence over our camp now. But it was too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like it would be broken at any moment now. Jaskier’s voice was what broke it, of course.

“Goodnight, Roach.”

“Oh, yeah! Goodnight, Roach and Lily!” I called out excitedly. 

“How could I forget Lily? Goodnight, Lily!” Jaskier parroted. 

“Oh, for the love of-” Geralt groaned loudly, sitting up and gathering his things. He promptly moved farther and farther away from us, settling on a spot under the cover of darkness in the trees. 

I snickered to myself as I got my things ready to lay down. Annoying Geralt had become one of our favorite things to do together over the past few months. 

It became silent again, and I could hear Jaskier’s even breathing now, signalling that he was asleep. I had the feeling I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Call it instinct, I guess. 

I laid down on my back and stared up at the sky. Jaskier and I were closer than ever, and it was so nice. But I needed more. I craved more. They say time heals all wounds, but my heart was still shattered after all these months had gone by. I was still so in love with my best friend that it hurt. Even more than it did before. 

Jaskier had been acting differently lately though. He called me more nicknames, and he was even more of a flamboyant disaster than when I first met him. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him with any random women in bars or taverns anymore. Could he-? No. No way. I must be out of my mind. 

My fingers instinctively went to the dagger Geralt had given me a while ago. Sometimes I would run my hands along the inscription, trying to remind myself to be brave like it said. I could almost laugh at myself right now. I was being anything but brave when it came to Jaskier. 

“Could you please calm your nerves down? I can feel them from over here,” a gruff voice said in the distance. Geralt. Of course.

“Sorry to disturb you. Maybe you should move to another new spot, even farther away. Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask. How is Yennefer?”

I didn’t have to have Witcher senses to feel how that comment landed. 

~

Morning came much more quickly than I was hoping it would. It meant today was the day we had to get moving, which meant we would be moving closer to the situation I had been trying to avoid thinking about. The ball. 

I seemed to be the last one awake, and I could feel the energy as soon as I had rubbed the sleepiness from my reluctant eyes. Geralt sad brooding in the corner of our camp, and Jaskier was flitting about getting everyone’s things together. It was easy to see who was excited and who was not. 

“Today is the day, you sad sack of...sadness,” Jaskier vocalized in regards to Geralt. 

“I know. Don’t remind me.”

I almost laughed as I sat up from my spot on the ground. Geralt wasn’t looking forward to this, and truth be told, I wasn’t either. At least part of me wasn’t. The other part couldn’t help being excited in a childlike way. I had never been in a castle before, let alone a ballroom. Although I couldn’t help but feel like I would be out of place, and painfully so. 

“Don’t look so excited, Geralt.” 

“You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened at the last one.”

I winced and realized that he was right. Although Jaskier had told me some of what happened, I was almost certain that he watered down the events of Pavetta’s betrothal ball in doing so. 

The man in question turned to look at me, apparently just now realizing I was awake. 

“There you are! Come on, we are losing daylight!”

“Jaskier, do I even really need to come? Geralt is only going to be your body guard, so I don’t really have a purpose.”

“Don’t be silly. You must come! We couldn’t just leave you by yourself for hours at a time. These things do tend to take a while.”

I rolled my eyes and stood, stretching as I did so. 

“I am a grown up, you know. I can take care of myself. Afraid I might get kidnapped?” 

Jaskier scoffed and continued packing, mostly ignoring my comment. But it was true, I could take care of myself. Geralt had taught me some things with the dagger over the past few weeks, and I felt confident in my abilities. 

“Well if I must go, at least be careful with my dress and things. I’m sure Yennefer paid good money for them.” 

“The witch probably stole them, more like.”

I watched as Jaskier carefully started packing my things, and tried not to cackle when Geralt made a comment about shoving his foot somewhere it didn’t belong in reference to Jaskier. 

Today was going to be quite...something. 

~

Since we had done most of the travelling yesterday, what was left for today didn’t take long. We made it to the castle in no time it seemed. 

Lily and Roach were tied up in the stables, in the same stall actually. I was quite happy that the stable master was willing to do that. They always seemed to enjoy each other’s company. 

I sat in my borrowed room getting ready, and I was assuming that Geralt and Jaskier were in their own rooms doing the same thing. But that thought was at the back of my mind now as I looked at myself in the mirror. Or at least, what I think was myself. I didn’t really recognize the woman staring back at me. 

Yennefer had picked out the most beautiful, elegant, and intricate floor-length ballgown I could ever imagine. It was sleeved as well, with lace adorning them to match the bodice. The skirt was made of layers on layers, it seemed, and with every move I made it swished gently to follow. It was even in my favorite color. I wonder how she knew? I don’t remember telling her...

She had also gotten me some jewelry to match, and the metals and gems complimented my skin tone perfectly. How did she know all this? I had only met her once, and it was very briefly. I would have to thank her for all this later. 

Not long after I had finished getting dressed, jeweled, and made up, a knock sounded at my door. 

“Come in,” I called. 

Jaskier entered in his outfit for the night. It was a dark, silky purple with golden accents along the doublet’s center, and my breath hitched in my throat when I saw him in the reflection of the mirror I sat in front of. 

“You look breathtaking, darling,” he said in a whisper as he approached me. 

Hopefully he didn’t notice the blush creeping up the sides of my neck. I don’t think I would ever get used to his names for me. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself. Compare that to when you fell into the water yesterday and looked like a dying animal, you basically are a different person.”

Jaskier feigned anger, but I could tell he was amused. 

“Do you like your clothes? I made sure to tell Yennefer all your favorite colors and shiny things.”

My heart skipped a beat. He had told her all of that? I didn’t even know that he knew those things about me.

I stood before really thinking about what I was doing, and turned to face him, the shock evident on my face.

“You told her all that? I didn’t know that you knew such trivial facts about me...Thank you.”

He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Of course I know. And it was no problem. I had to make sure she didn’t dress you in an unflattering way.”

I tilted my head in thought, almost as a reflex, and it caught his attention. 

“What are you thinking about, (Y/N)?” Jaskier asked me quietly with a crooked smile. 

“I seem to be thinking about everything and nothing at once...but I am mostly wondering how you convinced the people hosting this ball to let me in. Geralt is your security, of course, I get that. But how did you get me in? I’m no one special.”

He was silent for a moment and stared at a spot past me, for almost so long I didn’t think he would reply. But then he did, with an odd look on his face that showed happiness and some other emotion I didn’t recognize. 

“I told them you were my muse. A musician cannot perform without their muse.”

My mouth twitched as if to fall open in shock. but I didn’t let it. I didn’t want him to see how this affected me.

“I’m your what?”

“My muse. You know, inspiration?”

I shook my head furiously, matching the speed at which my heart was beating.

“I know what it means. But why did you tell them that? You couldn’t have come up with a better excuse to get me in here? You didn’t have to lie to them.” 

You couldn’t have come up with a better excuse in order to keep me from getting my hopes up?

He looked at me with a smile. But it was a pained smile. Then for a second, it looked like he might speak. Until Geralt passed by the open door way and told Jaskier it was time to go. The crowd was waiting on him. 

I stood frozen in the same spot I had been in, and I watched them leave. First Geralt, then Jaskier following behind him. At the last second before leaving the doorway, he stopped, placing a hand on the frame. 

Finally he turned to me, and looking over his shoulder, he simply said:

“I didn’t lie.” 

#Jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier fluff #jaskier angst #julian alfred pankratz #witcher #the witcher #geralt #geralt of rivia #roach #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #angst #fluff #smut #series #chapter #part #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #ficlet #blurb #oneshot #x reader #reader insert #insert #imagine #scenario

[samstree]

36 for kiss prompts and/or 23 from touch prompts?? i'm so happy for your dynamic return!! 😌

Lean on Me

36. “kissing away tears” + 23. “carrying the other one in their arms” from the touch asks. Thanks for the prompt, my dear! <3

In which Jaskier is a stubborn idiot. Geralt is there for him.

(1.4k, aftermath of torture, mentions of blood and injury, panic attacks, vomiting, read on AO3)

---

“Oh, finally!” Jaskier lets out a sigh, his ribs aching at the exhale. “My dear, you don’t know how I’ve longed to see your beautiful face! These two gentlemen—on top of being the rudest persons in the entirety of the Nilfgaardian empire—have the most hideous complexions I’ve seen! Seriously, does being a royal torturer suck away your soul along with your good looks?”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

Geralt fumbles with the shackles around Jaskier’s wrists, refusing to look up. The motion pulls at the flayed skin a little. Jaskier gasps when one of the restraints falls to the floor. He uses the air to resume his rambling.

“Dull as fuck, they are. It’s always ‘tell me where they are, or we’ll beat you to death’ as if I didn’t infer from their mean faces on the first day. Urgh! So unimaginative! You’d think an army that swept through the continent could hire someone more competent. Professionals, maybe—”

The other wrist comes out and Jaskier abruptly tips forward, his knees giving way. Luckily, strong arms catch him around the waist without a moment of doubt, and Jaskier finds himself face to face with the prettiest amber eyes in the world.

“Hey,” Jaskier says, realizing that he’s bitten his lower lip in a panic. The old wound reopens and he tastes blood. “Did I ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are?”

A gentle hand comes up to push back the hair in Jaskier’s eyes, revealing his forehead and, undoubtfully, the gash there and all the dried blood. He feels exposed like this.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes, the whisper too careful for Jaskier to handle after all these days. “You are in shock.”

“What? No, I’m not!”

Jaskier frowns, and struggles on his feet to prove the point. If only his legs would cooperate and stop feeling like jelly. Geralt trails his fingers down to cup Jaskier’s jaw, a thumb hovering over what must be a patch of bruises by his lips. He presses down with the barest touch and Jaskier hisses, which tugs at his ribs again.

Geralt’s brows are knitted together with worry. “I need to get you out of here fast.”

“There’s no need to look so constipated, Geralt dear. I told you I’m fine. This—” he gestures to the tiny torture chamber. “—is nothing!”

With that, Jaskier takes a step towards the door—well, what’s left of it after Geralt smashed through the poor thing. Each step feels like he’s walking on a cloud. His arm rests on Geralt’s shoulder but refuses to lean into his witcher’s solid strength. Geralt doesn’t seem convinced, with a hand still at Jaskier’s waist, just shy of touching his throbbing side.

“Let me tell you, they couldn’t even follow through on most promises. Apparently, the emperor himself gave orders to keep me alive. I’m a valuable asset! So, you see, all the talks of opening me up with those colorful gadgets were nothing but empty threats. I could laugh at those idiots!”

As they stumble out of the room, Jaskier can’t help but get another glimpse of the table full of devices—pliers, knives, a chainsaw, and something that looks like a stack of thick needles, except every five of them are attached to make the perfect shape to go into someone’s fingers.

A shudder runs down his back—not from fear, of course. It’s a draft in the hallway.

“Hmm. And they are the idiots.”

“For messing with me and not finishing the job—Oh, there they are.” Two mangled bodies are barely visible in the dark corner, with blood seeping into the floor. “Did you give them hell? I bet you did. The White Wolf’s wrath is no joke, not when his bard is taken. Not that it was too much of a bother for me, mind you. I’m fine.”

The urge to repeat the word is overwhelming despite the crack in his voice. Jaskier licks at the cut on his lip just like he’s done in the past few days. It was the only soothing motion he could manage while being bound in metal. The warmth of Geralt’s body is miles better, so much so that a disorienting fog is forming before Jaskier’s eyes, darkening the edges of his vision.

“Sure you are. Just…hang on, just a little longer,” Geralt pleads, a bit desperately. For what, Jaskier isn’t sure.

Geralt takes Jaskier’s elbow with his other hand, guiding him forward toward the exit. He’s acting like that again, like he’s around a spooked horse or scared children. Jaskier turns in confusion and rests his temple against Geralt’s cheek, but he’s rudely dislodged quickly.

“Portal,” Geralt warns.

Before Jaskier has time to react, cold wind is cutting into his cheeks and his bare feet sink into thick snow. Kaer Morhen stands tall as always, and Jaskier wants to sag with relief—

Before a spell of nausea hits him in full force, turning his insides into a swirling mess. Jaskier can barely push Geralt away before crumbling onto the icy ground and heaves out whatever little content in his stomach. There’s not much. It’s not like a prisoner’s diet is on top of Nilfgaard’s priorities.

“Portals… Can’t complain when we are in a hurry, right?”

Jaskier chokes out a laugh while trying to wipe away the bile at his lips. The coldness is creeping up on him, making him tremble like a leaf. He hugs the hollow of his stomach, but the involuntary spasms jostle his sensitive ribs again, drawing out a whimper. Everything hurts. His mouth is filled with cotton, his head pounding like fireworks exploding inside his skull.

The next attempt to stand fails, and he ends up in a heap of misery with nothing but the raggedy shirt on his back. Jaskier takes in gulps of air but can’t find any release. His lungs are burning with the aftershock of panic.

It’s like a dam breaking. The reality sinks in, of what could have happened. Of what did happen.

Jaskier knows he’s crying. Tears are rolling down his cheeks with abandon and freezing in the cold air. He can’t hide them, not when he doesn’t even have the strength to lift a hand.

A coat wraps around his shoulders, and Jaskier shudders into the contact. Geralt lowers into his vision, his head tilted so their gazes can meet. Amber eyes are flowing with patience, so much patience.

“All right,” Jaskier finally croaks, “perhaps…there’s a chance that I’m, um, I’m not quite fine.”

Geralt’s palm finds Jaskier’s cheek again, careful not to aggravate the bruises and the broken skin. Their foreheads rest together, and the only thing left in the snowy world is the sound of Geralt’s breathing. The grip on Jaskier’s airway loosens, allowing him to match the achingly unhurried rise and fall of Geralt’s chest. The familiar scent of leather and sweat is in the background, the best soothing balm for his frayed nerves, always.

Slowly, the storm calms.

“That’s it. Breathe with me, just like this. You are safe. I have you now. I have you.” Geralt murmurs into his ear, repeating the last sentence like a mantra. “I have you, Jask…”

There are more tears, but soft lips catch them in a lover’s caress. Jaskier lets himself melt into his witcher’s presence, lets his tears be kissed away.

“What should—” His teeth chatters. The snow is numbing his toes, the tingling bordering on pain. “What should I do?”

The world spins again, but this time upward. Geralt’s arms are so steady as he lifts Jaskier in one swift motion and carries him toward the keep.

“Lean on me. For now.” The corners of Geralt’s lips quirk up into something akin to a smile, but not yet. It looks physically impossible for Geralt to smile right now. “Lean on me, and don’t worry a thing.”

And Jaskier does. He leans into Geralt’s neck and rubs his damp cheek into the scent there. The sniffles don’t go away for a long time. His breaths are still shuddering, but for the first time, there’s nothing Jaskier wants to say.

For the first time, Jaskier only wants to bury himself into Geralt’s coat, into the quiet safety of his favorite witcher, and ease his mind into oblivion.

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #hurt jaskier #jaskier whump #cw: blood #cw: panic attack #cw: vomiting #cw: torture #geralt x jaskier #soft geralt #protective geralt #jaskier being a brat #kissing away tears #hurt/comfort #chrysa your prompt was so soft #but i was in a hurt the bard mood again #oh well #there's nothing i can do #might as well lean into it

[witcher-and-his-bard]

Winter Prompts Day 15: Bonfire 🌲

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): hurt/comfort, mention of child death (trials) Rating: general

Fic Summary: Geralt has a bad reaction to a holiday tradition. 

🌲 Doing this thing  🌲

Geralt knows it's a tradition for Jaskier's family to have a bonfire at the holidays, he just didn't expect it to be quite so large. The bonfire takes up half the square and the rest of the place is taken up by the spectators and it's reminiscent of the funeral pyres he remembers from his childhood. There were so many of them and they were lit after nearly every new set of trials. Even after Geralt's cohort had finished the final trials and no more of his friends were at risk of dying, he'd still cringe every time he saw the smoke over the walls of the keep. 

And this isn't any different. Except it is. He knows it is, but it doesn't stop him from thinking back to those days, to remember the scent of smoke that he only associated with the loss of his friends and the anxiousness of more upcoming trials. 

Geralt grits his teeth and takes a deep breath, trying to steady him but he can't keep his breath from coming too quick or his heart from beating too fast. He feels so overwhelmed, like he's ten years old all over again and awaiting an unknown pain. He doesn't even realize he's got his hands balled into fists until Jaskier's gentle fingers curl around his hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the top of Geralt's hand. 

"Hey," he whispers, "what's wrong?"

Geralt can't speak, can't do anything but shake his head but Jaskier understands. Without another word, he gently unfurls Geralt's fingers and takes his hand, leading him through the crowd of people and down one of the side streets. Geralt doesn't breathe easily until they're well away from the main square and he can no longer clearly hear the crackling of the fire. 

"I'm okay," he mumbles and Jaskier sits him down on a crate. 

"It's okay if you're not," he says quietly, "you can talk to me about it."

"It's fine."

"Okay. Do you want a drink? Maybe some tea and a bath?" Geralt nods and Jaskier smiles encouragingly at him. "Okay then, let's go back to the inn and you can relax."

Geralt lets himself be led back to the inn, his head still cloudy with memories and an old fear. When they get back to their room, Jaskier has a bath poured and tea brought up and while Geralt is sipping his tea, Jaskier moves to light the fire. 

"Don't," Geralt snaps, then softer, "I'm sorry just… please don't.

"Okay," Jaskier says, stepping away from the fire and back toward Geralt, "no fire. Anything else I can get for you?"

"I'm alright."

Jaskier obviously doesn't believe him, but he respects Geralt's resistance and continues getting their room ready for bed. Shortly, the chambermaids come up to fill the tub and as soon as their gone, Jaskier strips out of his clothes and comes to stand in front of Geralt. 

"Do you want to join me?" he asks, and Geralt shrugs. "Come and relax, my love."

Jaskier holds a hand out to him and Geralt takes it gently, once again letting Jaskier pull him to his feet and lead him over to the tub. Standing next to the tub, Jaskier unbuttons Geralt's shirt and trousers, softly slipping them off his body and leaving them in a pile. He climbs into the tub first, then gestures for Geralt to join him. 

"I'll crush you," Geralt mumbles but Jaskier just shakes his head. 

"You won't, love, come sit with me."

When Geralt sits down, Jaskier winds his arms around Geralt's middle, tugging him back into a firm embrace. The warm water is settling and feels good against his skin and Geralt lets himself relax, leaning back against Jaskier's shoulder. 

"See?" Jaskier says, "doesn't that feel better?" 

Geralt hums in approval as Jaskier's palms slide over his stomach. 

"Now, you don't have to, but please know you can always talk to me if something is bothering you, that's what I'm here for. When I told you I loved you, I meant all of it, everything. Even on your bad days."\

Something warm blooms in Geralt's chest at the reminder and he nuzzles into Jaskier's chest. They're both quiet for a moment, then Geralt sighs and speaks.

"The fire," he breathes, "it reminded me of the funeral pyres for the boys who didn't make it." He hears the sharp intake of Jaskier's breath, but to Jaskier's credit, he doesn't make a big deal of it. 

"The boys at the keep?"

"Yeah. We lost so many of them." Geralt squeezes his eyes shut and he can feel the heavy weight of that anxiety creeping back up on him again. 

"I'm so sorry, darling, I didn't even think of it." Jaskier presses a kiss to the top of his head, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Geralt's body and sliding their fingers together. "You're safe now with me and you honour those boys every day by going out there and helping people. Everything that happened to you was a tragedy and I hate everyone who was involved in it, but none of it was your fault."

"I know," Geralt breathes, "but they were my friends."

"Oh, my love, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"This helps," Geralt hums, "just… stay here? With me?"

"Of course."

Jaskier presses his nose into Geralt's neck and holds him tight and for the first time in a long time, Geralt doesn't have to suffer alone. 

#winterprompts2k21 #the witcher #rex writes #geraskier

[rebrandedbard]

3 for Jaskier×Geralt please

3. “Please, don’t leave.”

tw: heat stroke

wc: 1706

Rain Rain Go Away

Geralt takes on a contract to resolve tensions between an angry nymph and the farmers who insulted her. Jaskier doesn’t do well in the heatwave she sends in retribution. Light angst ensues as Geralt learns why Jaskier hid his struggle.

-

Above them, the sun blistered. Geralt had walked astride Jaskier, the sleeves of his shirt rolled above his elbows. Though he ran hotter than humans, his body adjusted well to heat, and a bit of sweat went a long way to keeping him cool. As usual, Jaskier had elected to accompany him. He carried with him only his notebook, tucked in the hem of his trousers. This contract required no fighting and Geralt had been happy enough to leave his armour behind at the inn. Despite his initial reservations, he knew it would have been more uncomfortable to wear it in this weather, and if things took a wrong turn, his signs would be enough for such a simple confrontation. The humans hadn’t angered anything particularly powerful.

“Can this heatwave really be the work of a nymph?” Jaskier quietly complained. He tugged at the front of his shirt, fanning air inside. The hair stuck to his forehead was almost black, being so saturated with sweat. The bottom of his shirt had long come untucked and hung loose around him. He was talking to himself, the words breathy. Even now he was beginning to lag behind.

“They complained of the rain,” Geralt replied. “She sent it as a blessing for their crops. Until I can make their apology formally known, this is how things will be.”

Jaskier grunted and said no more. His feet dragged on the dirt path. Now and then he took a deeper breath and paused, braced on his knees. He would then compensate by jogging up to Geralt, though in a matter of minutes he would fall behind again.

The third time, Geralt turned back and said, “You’re slowing me down.”

“Nonsense!” Jaskier said, perking up performatively. He straightened his back and fluttered a careless hand in the air. “You just keep pace and I’ll catch up when I catch up. In the past you’ve made your position perfectly clear on the subject—you don’t have to wait for me. Besides, it can’t be much farther. Then again, ah, how far is it to this nymph’s hideout exactly?”

“It’s there,” Geralt said. He pointed to a small grove beyond the last farmer’s field.

Jaskier slumped, following his finger. “That’s … not so very far. Except that it is. Quite far. I thought you said that was the last hill just now and here we are, about to climb another. I may walk everywhere we go but—phew!” He paused to pant. Talking only seemed to make his face redder with effort. He sighed and sat in the dirt, head lolling forward. “Fuck, Geralt. It’s bloody hot. I’ll get blisters in this heat.”

“Go back and wait it out.”

“It’ll be twice as long going back as going forward. Besides, I doubt the nymph is keeping her grove as hot as the village. My blood would boil in the deepest basement there, but the grove … it’s probably … very cool.” He groaned and lay back on the ground, one arm over his eyes. “Damn heat. Can barely—well, you know. The thing I do.”

He flapped a hand above his head like a little mouth, opening and closing.

“Talk?” Geralt surmised.

Jaskier pointed a finger at him. “That, yes, thank you.”

Geralt sighed and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come on. We’ll be there in ten minutes if you keep walking.”

“Right. I’m up. I’m—oh.” He wobbled on his feet, pitching forward. Geralt caught him with one arm, but found he needed two to keep Jaskier upright, taking the full weight of him. Jaskier groped at his shoulder, his eyes unfocused. “Stood too quickly,” he said. “Just give me a moment, I’ll … I’m alright.”

He pulled out of Geralt’s arms and marched deliberately forward, following the path downhill. He made it two steps before swaying once more and stumbling to his knees. The momentum carried him and he rolled sideways, sliding on his back in the dust.

“Jaskier!” Geralt rushed down the hill and held him upright. He could hear his heart racing unnaturally. “Jaskier, how long have you been pushing yourself?”

Jaskier looked at him, confused. He patted his ear, brow furrowed as he focused. “I can’t hear you,” he whispered. He looked at Geralt in alarm, patting his ear still. “I—I can’t … can’t hear … what … ” His eyes lost focus once more, then his eyes rolled back and he went slack.

“Jas—Jaskier? Hey!” Geralt snapped in front of his face, but Jaskier made no response. “Fuck,” he hissed. He ought to have been more concerned when Jaskier stopped talking before. He scooped Jaskier up, draped over his shoulders, and hurried along the road. They needed to get somewhere cool fast. He only hoped Jaskier would be right about the grove.

“Idiot complains about a pebble between his toes but never thinks to take off his boot,” Geralt grumbled. Jaskier wasn’t the most pragmatic when it came to problem solving, preferring vocalization to action. “Now he keeps his mouth shut. Still doesn’t take off the boot.”

It was a struggle to jog without jostling Jaskier. He made for an awkward bulk, tipping Geralt’s balance on a few steps. Geralt had carried him before, but it was always a surprise to him how much more Jaskier weighed than expected. He was no easy burden.

It troubled Geralt that Jaskier had not taken steps to keep himself cool, or even to give any hint of his condition. He’d never been one to suffer in silence. Surely he would have noticed that something was wrong; he could not be so blind to his own circumstances.

When he reached the grove, he was relieved to find it was cool. He carried Jaskier into the center and set him under the dark shadow of a tree to keep him out of the sun. Carefully, he stripped him of his shirt and trousers. To help him cool off, Geralt wet the hem of Jaskier’s shirt with his water-skin and dabbed it on his face and chest, letting the air do the rest. Tilting Jaskier’s head back, he poured water down his throat, then left the remainder with him, just beside his hand.

The nymph found Geralt not long after he started his search. It was just as well that Jaskier had fainted, for he likely would have fainted had he been awake to learn that the nymph recognized him. She had heard his songs from the men who passed through her grove, humming and singing on their way to work, and from the children who sat in its shade. It happened that she was quite the fan of his music, and she was horrified that he’d become a consequential victim of her ire.

As the hot winds died down, the clouds were once more permitted to gather. The sun was hidden away and a light drizzle rained down over them. She wove Jaskier a fan of grass and twig, tending to him until his skin returned to its usual color. Geralt sat with her and made the apology as promised, though she’d long forgotten her anger in her distress over the famed bard. She lingered until he had sufficiently cooled, then went to inspect the villagers’ fields.

By the end of the hour, Jaskier began to stir. Geralt helped him sit up against the tree and would not allow him to try his feet. He passed him the water-skin, made him drink, and folded the shirt behind his head to keep him off the bark. When he was sure Jaskier had recovered enough, it was time for his scolding.

“What did you think you were doing?” Geralt quietly demanded. He saw the way Jaskier started and adjusted his voice. He sighed and took to folding Jaskier’s trousers more neatly, keeping his eyes lowered, giving him space. “If you were struggling, you should have said.”

Jaskier twisted the cork of the water-skin nervously. “I … didn’t want to be left behind,” he replied. His voice was weak, no more than a huff of air with each word. “I thought if I just kept going, I would learn to adjust. I would just get used to it. And I did, up to a point.”

“Why would you think—” but Geralt stopped himself. Jaskier had every right to believe it. Geralt had threatened to leave him behind if he ever lagged behind when they first met. Jaskier had been slow at the start, and over the years he had adjusted well to life on the road. Until now, he’d kept up. But Geralt had never slowed down.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” Jaskier concluded.

Geralt placed the trousers in Jaskier’s lap. The movement startled Jaskier and he seemed to notice for the first time where he was, and under what circumstances. While he struggled with mixed feelings toward his current state of modesty, Geralt switched the empty water-skin with a second. He picked up the fan and waved it between them.

“You’ll always be a burden,” Geralt said. He handed Jaskier the fan and leaned over to adjust the shirt behind his head before it could slip down. “You’re a burden,” he explained, “but I don’t mind carrying you. You’re not so heavy. And even if you were, I’d … if you were, I’d adjust.” Though it was not as eloquent as the feeling he meant, it was the best Geralt could do to say it.

Jaskier stared at him in astonishment, the water-skin limp in his hands. Geralt opened it for him, helped him to drink it, then made him lie down once more. The contract was complete, but Jaskier needed rest still.

Geralt retrieved the empty water-skin and turned. A river ran nearby, and Jaskier would need more water when he rose. But as he turned to stand, Jaskier caught his arm. He looked up at Geralt with uncertainty in his eyes.

“Please, don’t leave,” he whispered.

And Geralt sat down once more. He put a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll stay, Jaskier.” He would always stay, as long as Jaskier asked it of him.

-

Send me drabble prompts!

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #heat stroke is NOT fun #I've had it #all the blood rushed to my legs and I swore they would explode #I fainted every few steps I took trying to get to the bathroom so I could strip off as many layers as possible sitting on a public toilet #I passed out so many times in under an hour #drenched in sweat #I honestly felt like I was dying #now I get dizzy in under 15 minutes of strong sunlight #wear a hat and drink lots of water kids heat stroke doesn't fuck around

[jaskierswolf]

A birthday gift for the ever lovely @the-blondey! 🥳

Geraskier featuring courting gifts and a side helping of friends to lovers! (1.8k)

_____

Geralt hated shopping. He usually only bothered for ingredients that he hadn’t been able to find in between towns, or to drop into the blacksmith. He picked up supplies at the inns he stayed in, or ate what he could hunt or forage in the woods. He certainly never browsed the market like this, not without Jaskier at least.

But Jaskier wasn’t there.

Jaskier was still teaching a lecture at the university, and he probably had no idea that Geralt was even in town. This whole shopping business would be a lot better if he could ask Jaskier for help, but Jaskier was the one person that he couldn’t ask for help. He sighed, pressing his fingers to his forehead. He couldn’t even talk to Roach. She was safely stabled back at the inn.

“This shouldn’t be so hard,” he grumbled to himself. “It’s Jaskier. He likes pretty things and expensive trinkets.”

The only problem was there were a lot of pretty things and expensive trinkets on the tables, and the merchants were all claiming their goods were the best. There was so much noise, so many people. He growled under his breath and clenched his fists. It was too much. It needed to be perfect. Jaskier was too important for anything less than perfect.

He closed his eyes. Jaskier. His eyes, his scent, the wind blowing through his hair, the soft warmth of his smile. He took a deep breath. His head was still spinning but it was manageable. He glanced back at the table in front of him and then up at the merchant. The poor man was white as a sheet and he reeked of fear. Geralt hummed and then pushed through the crowd to the next stall.

Daggers.

“Hmm,” Geralt scrutinised the wares. They wouldn’t be up to the standards of witchers but they looked sturdy enough to kill a bandit or two. Most importantly, they were ornate, beautiful and glittering in the light of the sun.  The blades themselves were a variety of shapes and sizes, but Geralt’s eyes were drawn to a waved silver blade with Elder engraved along the length. His Elder speech wasn’t perfect, and he struggled to read the elven language but he understood enough to know the dagger was intended as a betrothal gift.

His fingers hovered over the hilt, eyes glancing up to meet the merchant’s gaze. Unless the previous merchant, they had a gentle smile on their face. Their posture was relaxed and their scent wasn’t soured with fear. He already liked them more than the first merchant.

“May I?”

They nodded. “Of course, but I’ll warn you witcher, it’s not cheap and hardly suited for your trade.”

“It’s not for me,” he grunted.

Light dawned in their eyes and their smile widened. “Oh well, in that case you ought to know the implications—”

“I know.”

He picked up the dagger and weighed it in his hands. The balance of the blade was good. He ran a finger along the edge, hissing as it cut into his skin. Blood seeped from the small wound before it healed without a trace.

The merchant’s slight hitch in breath gave away their astonishment. “Impressive.”

“A necessity in my line of work. How much?” he asked, praying to all the gods that he didn’t believe in that he could afford it. The dagger was perfect. Anything else he found now would be a disappointment.

“More than you can afford, witcher,” they admitted with a sad smile “but I might be able to strike a deal. I have work for you, if you’re willing.”

Geralt glanced down at the blade in his hands and then back at them. “I’m in.”

____________

Jaskier was scribbling away at his desk when the doors flew open. Larissa, was standing in the doorway, out of breath and red in the face. Their hair falling from the bun at the back of their head. Jaskier looked up from his notebook, tongue still stuck between his teeth. He scratched his cheek with his quill and smiled brightly at them.

“Larissa!” he greeted warmly and placed his quill on the desk, leaving the notebook open so the ink could dry. “What can I do for you, my dear?”

“You have a visitor, professor,” they gasped, wrapping their arms around their stomach as they tried to catch their breath.

Jaskier frowned. He hadn’t been expecting anyone and his open office hours weren’t until that afternoon. His students were normally better at giving him fair warning should they require him. He pulled on his doublet buttoning it up to his chin, just in case. He had been told off by the dean on more than one occasion and he was currently on thin ice. It didn’t matter how well his lectures did, one had to wear appropriate clothing. It was all incredibly dull. It made him yearn for the road, for Geralt.

He waved at Larissa, a flamboyant flick of his wrist. “Yes yes, please, show them in.”

Larissa nodded and left the room, leaving Jaskier to ponder who his guest could be. He tried not to hope, but his love was a burning fire that couldn’t be controlled and even the smallest chance that Geralt was here set his heart fluttering in his chest.

“Oh stop it, Jask,” he muttered to himself. “He’s not here.”

“Who’s not here?” came the gruff reply.

Jaskier felt his face light up and he bounded across the room just as the witcher appeared in the doorway. “Geralt!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt greeted him, a fond smile on his lips, his eyes softer than the velvet pillows that adorned Jaskier’s bed.

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon, witcher,” Jaskier laughed, putting one hand on his hip and cocking his head. “Did you miss me, darling?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and pulled Geralt into a hug. “Well, I missed you and your grunting.”  He pulled away all too soon and licked his lips, trying to still his beating heart. It was racing far too fast and he knew that Geralt could hear it. It was a miracle that Geralt hadn’t realised why already. “What brings you to Oxenfurt, Geralt?”

“I have something for you,” Geralt grumbled, not meeting Jaskier’s gaze. He pulled on the straps that held his sword on his back, and Jaskier would almost say that the witcher looked… nervous?

That couldn’t be right?

He’d seen Geralt take down all manner of monsters and men… why would he be nervous of him?

“Riiight, well… here I am, at your disposal!” Jaskier gestured widely and gave a little bow, winking at his witcher, trying to make light of the situation before his own nerves could get the best of him.

“It’s umm… well… fuck,” Geralt growled and pinched the bridge of his nose, then he pulled a bundle of cloth from his pocket and handed it to Jaskier.

Jaskier tentatively took the packet. It was heavier than he expected, solid under his fingers. He narrowed his eyes and glanced at Geralt. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

Jaskier nodded. That would make sense. It was a gift after all, but why would Geralt be giving him a present? It wasn’t even his birthday. He wasn’t sure that Geralt even knew when that was. “It’s not going to kill me is it?” he teased gently.

Geralt rolled his eyes and scoffed. “It might if you don’t hurry up and open it.”

Jaskier gaped. “Well now! That’s just rude! Impatient brute.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned with a low snarl.

“Ok ok!”  he snapped, his hands shaking as he pulled back the cloth. His heart would stop pounding and his legs felt weak. He gasped quietly as he saw the bejewelled dagger resting in the fabric. “Geralt?”

“Look closer,” Geralt muttered, his golden eyes were watching Jaskier with such intensity that he wanted to melt into the floor. It was almost too much. Whatever was sparking between them was about to change Jaskier’s life, he was sure of it. It felt too momental to be simply a gift.

He passed the cloth bundle back to Geralt and slowly unsheathed the dagger. The silvery blade glittered in the candlelight. Jaskier stopped breathing as he traced the inscription with his fingers. It was written in Elder but Jaskier had had the best education Lettenhove could offer, and with the rumours going around about his mother’s fidelity and the elves, no one was surprised that Elder Speech was one of the languages he’d been forced to learn.

He swallowed and finally sucked in a shaky breath. “Geralt… Is this? Do you know…” he trailed off, tears were welling up in his eyes and his voice failed him, too thick with emotion.

“I know,” Geralt said softly, bringing a hand up to cup Jaskier’s cheek.

Jaskier whimpered, leaning into the touch. “It’s. It’s not a proposal,” Geralt said quickly but continued before Jaskier heart could break. “More of a proposal… to propose?”

Jaskier felt like crying, honestly it was a miracle that he wasn’t already. He’d loved Geralt for years, decades even. He’d given up on Geralt ever loving him back a long time ago, and now Geralt was… courting him?

It was archaic, a tradition found only in the depth of the library of Lettenhove and Oxenfurt. He felt like he’d stepped into a fairytale.

“Am. Am I dreaming?” he stammered. It felt like the only logical explanation.

“Don’t think so,” Geralt said with a shake of his head.

Jaskier nodded, then spun round on his heels with his hand buried into his hair. When he met Geralt’s gaze once again he narrowed his eyes. “And you’re not joking?” he asked, waving the point of the dagger in Geralt’s face.

Geralt chuckled and gently lowered the dagger with his hand. “No, Jaskier.”

“Oh cock!” Jaskier swore and then clapped his hand over his mouth. “You really mean it?”

Oh praise Melitele! Fuck it, praise bloody Lilit too. Praise any good that was listening in.

“I mean it,” Geralt reassured him with a heavy sigh. “and I’d really appreciate an answer?”

“Fuck, bollocks, shit!” Jaskier whined. “I mean. Yes, on all the gods, Geralt. Of course, it’s yes! Do you have any idea how long I’ve loved you?”

Geralt winced, his smile faltering. “Sorry, it takes me more time. Never even thought I could, not until you.”

Jaskier giggled, fucking giggled, and placed his hand on Geralt’s cheek. “Oh darling, you have nothing to be sorry for. I would have stayed by your side and loved you in whatever way you allowed me to, even without shiny trinkets and nearly proposal.”

“Hmm,” Geralt smirked “shall I take them back?”

“Don’t you dare!” Jaskier shrieked and ran from his witcher, keeping his new engagement dagger safe and sound. “It’s mine now, Geralt!”

Geralt laughed and ran after him, only stopping when he had Jaskier trapped against a wall. The dagger remained in Jaskier’s firm grip, forgotten as their lips crashed together.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing

[egg2k16]

“Please don’t make me say it again.” Geraskier? 🥺

From this prompt list! Anything for u, darling 💛

~°☆°~

They’re huddled under the wooden roof of a shack that a woman is selling hot bread under. The rain is pouring hard against it. They see how the rain turns the road into a muddy ruin. The water splashes around, plants bend at their weight.

Jaskier points to a squirrel that’s sitting underneath a particularly large leaf, protecting it from the rain, and in doing so, accidentally flings his bread out into the rain. The three of them watch it fall into a particularly muddy patch. The rain quickly makes it soggy, and it starts to disintegrate underneath its weight.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, “My bread.”

Geralt sees the woman sigh, and chuckles to himself. He taps Jaskier’s arm, and hands him his own bread. Jaskier lights up at that, and keeps smiling as he takes a bite, moaning happily at the warm taste.

I love you, Geralt thinks.

He pays for both of their breads when the rain finally stops.

They’re in a clearing in the woods. It’s late at night, and the fire has started to die down. It’s not the steady fire it had been, but still alive.

Geralt had planned on staying awake, keeping guard. But his eyelids are so heavy now, his head keeps listing and jolting him back into wakefulness. He looks over at Jaskier across the fire, and he doesn’t seem to be faring any better.

Their eyes meet, and the fire crackles on.

Jaskier gets up, blearily reaches for his bag, and pulls his blanket out.

“‘M getting to bed now, Ger,” he announces, voice thick with sleepiness. Geralt nods.

“I’ll keep watch,” he says, and sees Jaskier weakly smile. Jaskier grabs his bag, and walks over to Geralt’s side. He squats by Geralt’s bag, and pulls out his blanket, which he gently throws over to him.

“Roach can keep guard, that lady never sleeps,” Jaskier says. He sits down next to Geralt, and pulls his bag to use as a makeshift pillow. Geralt watches as he makes himself comfortable, pulling the blanket up under his chin. He cracks his eyes open to look up at him, and pats the patch of dirt next to him.

Geralt makes his own makeshift pillow and lies down. He only pulls his blanket up to his midchest, but he feels Jaskier reach over to pull it up so that it also reaches his chin. Jaskier props himself up a bit to properly tuck the blanket around Geralt, and smiles at him when he finishes before plopping back down on the ground.

I love you, Geralt thinks before swiftly drifting off to sleep.

They’re at a half-rate inn, eating half-rate food, with a half-rate band playing up at the front. Geralt’s barely picked at his beans, because these beans aren’t good. Their texture...he’s eaten this type of bean before, but today, his body isn’t having any of it. The rice is fine, but a bit too wet for his tastes, and the meat is much too chewy.

Jaskier comes back with their beers, and starts off with, “Can you believe the talent they have playing? Talent,” he scoffs, shaking his head. When he sits down, he finally notices how disgusted Geralt is, and furrows his brow.

“Everything alright?”

“No.”

“For?”

“The food. I don’t like it.”

“I’ve seen you eat raw carcasses before.”

Geralt’s frown deepens. “Well today isn’t a day for that, then.”

Jaskier hums, purses his lips. He looks around the room, taps his hands against the table. He seems to find whatever he was looking for, and gets up to get it. Geralt watches as he weaves his way between the tables to finally stop at one. Jaskier seems to be talking to the couple sitting there, and they exchange a few words before Jaskier seems to be thanking them. He walks back to Geralt, newly acquired things in tow.

When he comes back, he sets a torn loaf of bread, few apples, and jerky on the table before them, along with an assortment of nuts. He snags a glass of water off the tray of a passing waiter, and waves him off as he sets it down on the table.

Geralt stares at him, trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. Jaskier merely grins at him, and flourishes his hand over the foodstuffs.

“Eat!” he says.

Geralt blinks, and looks back down to the food. It’s all...neutral. It’s basic food. No odd textures or tastes or anything. This is the driest assortment that’s available in the inn.

He looks back up at Jaskier, who has taken the plate with Geralt’s previous food, and placed it on his side. He picks at it with his fork, bringing the mushy beans and rice to his mouth. He takes a bite, and squinches his face at the taste.

“This really is bad,” he announces. Geralt snaps out of his reverie, and takes a jerky, biting into it and relishing its saltiness.

“Why are you eating it, then?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier shrugs, then winks at him, a smile lighting up his face despite the clearly foul food still in his mouth.

I love you, Geralt thinks. He takes another bite, and knows that he’ll eventually share his small horde with Jaskier.

They’re in a swamp, with water up to their waists, and contending with an otyugh that has risen from its slumber. Geralt had warned Jaskier to not listen to the voice from deep in the woods, but that lovestruck fool had gone anyhow. Now they're in the territory of this creature, its two tentacles swiping through the air, sensory stalk quivering about, and Jaskier all but three feet away from it.

Jaskier looks like he’s struggling against its call, and when he opens his eyes to look at Geralt, he’s terrified. He’s clutching tightly to his lute, making a few of its strings twing. The otyugh stalks closer at its sound.

Geralt holds his sword steady before him, and quietly rounds the creature, doing his best not to disturb the water. He nods to Jaskier to get to the other side as he gets closer. Jaskier hurriedly nods, and wades away, but a high-rising mangrove root smacks against his lute. The strings sing loudly and markedly. The otyugh snarls, and starts to charge towards Jaskier. Jaskier yelps and tries to quiet his lute, but to no avail: he keeps making noise, and the otyugh gets closer and closer. Geralt groans, and tries to make noise on his side of the swamp to attract it, but Jaskier suddenly starts strumming his lute, and Geralt wants to kill him, how can he not understand–?

Jaskier changes the tune from a fast-paced one to a softer one, and the otyugh...stops in its tracks? When Geralt cranes his neck to see, Jaskier’s face is pale white, his grip on his lute strong. His strumming hand trembles, and he opens his mouth to sing. His voice cracks on the first syllable, which disturbs the creature, but he somehow gets his nerves under control and softens his voice. The otyugh seems entranced, its tentacles swaying gently above its head.

Geralt waves at Jaskier to start wading away, and he nods, carefully making his way back to the edge. Jaskier doesn’t stop performing, though, his music bouncing oddly off the branches and roots in the swamp. Geralt swims towards the otyugh, and plunges his sword right through its body just as Jaskier’s song ends. Its squeal fills the swamp now, a sharp noise against the low backdrop of the ambient noises.

Later that evening, Geralt hands Jaskier a hot cup of tea. He’s wrapped up in their blankets, and had wet clothes switched out for dry ones. It’s less flashy than his usual wardrobe, but Geralt doesn’t think he cares about that now.

As Geralt takes a seat next to him on the dry ground, Jaskier takes a hesitant sip of his tea. He weakly smiles, and looks at Geralt.

“I don’t think I’ll play again, for a little while,” he says.

Geralt nods, and places a hand on his shoulder, squeezes it. “That’s alright,” he promises.

Jaskier gives him another small smile before getting back to his tea.

I love you, Geralt thinks, and thinks about buying a new studded jacket for Jaskier in whatever new town they come across. That might cheer him up.

They accidentally stumbled upon a town’s festival, and Jaskier looked at Geralt with big wide eyes, holding onto his sleeve intently.

Geralt sighs. “Fine,” he grumbles, and Jaskier happily pulls him into the festivities. They stop at various shops, looking at the collections and sundries. Jaskier buys a few gemstone necklaces, bracelets, pamphlets, snacks. Geralt lets himself get hauled around, lets Jaskier put flower crowns on his head, eats anything that Jaskier shoves into his hands.

Towards the late noon, Geralt finds Jaskier leaning against a stand. Geralt comes to stand next to him, and follows his gaze. He grins to himself. Jaskier is looking longingly at a quartet that’s been playing music for the entirety of the festival. Geralt had noticed that they kept switching out players as the day went on, and thinks that Jaskier had been waiting for a turn.

“Why don’t you go over?” Geralt suggests. Jaskier looks up at him, and shakes his head.

“Oh, no, no, that’s not, I’m, I wasn’t thinking about the band, I was just,” Jaskier says, trailing off. He looks off to the people still milling about, sharing food, dancing in the square.

“What is it?”

“I’m...embarrassed to say!” Jaskier says, looking back at Geralt. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but he’s trying so hard to keep a nonchalant air.

Geralt furrows his brow. What the hell? “What?”

Jaskier’s cheeks turn pink, and Geralt’s heart beats quicker. What could possibly be eating him up inside?

“Would you mind...if we danced?” Jaskier asks.

Oh.

“Oh,” Geralt says.

“See, it’s dumb, don’t worry, you’ve put up with me and the festival all day, I don’t want to push you into anything that you don’t want to do–” Jaskier says, rambling on. Geralt watches him get more obfuscated, and then reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder, effectively stopping his verbal volley. Jaskier looks from his hand to his face.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Jaskier beams at that. He grabs the hand on his shoulder, and pulls them onto the courtyard, where they join the other dancers. Geralt isn’t used to this, but does his best to follow the others. Jaskier seems a natural, weaving between the other dancers as they move to the beat of the music.

The dance makes them switch partners every eight bars, and it takes a good while until Geralt and Jaskier face each other again. Geralt takes Jaskier’s hands in his, and interlaces their fingers as they move up, an arm over the head, their hands sliding down to their shoulders, whence they twirl in place.

Jaskier laughs, giddy with happiness, and Geralt’s entire body feels aglow.

I love you, he thinks, as he crosses arms with Jaskier again, spinning them around their own center point.

They’re next to a lake, sun high in the sky. Geralt is fishing, while Jaskier has decided to attend to Roach. Geralt smiles to himself as he hears Jaskier coo at her, and chuckles at his babytalk. He swings his line out again.

“We’re gonna get your coat nice and shiny again,” Jaskier promises. Geralt can hear the slosh of the soapy water as Jaskier wets his rag again. Geralt’s line moves in the water.

Roach whinnies. Geralt turns his head to see Jaskier brushing the excess water out of her coat with a thickly bristled brush. He then bends to the bucket to wet it, and grabs some of her mane, presses it against his hand as he brushes her hair with it.

“You’re so pretty,” Jaskier tells her, with a wide smile on his face. “I bet all the other horses think you are, too. You must be the envy of every town we visit, seeing as how you’re such a rugged warrior.”

Roach’s tail flicks out happily, and she snorts, dipping her head as if in affirmative. Jaskier chuckles at her, and presses a kiss to her neck.

“Do the other mares get jealous when they see you? Or what about stallions, is that attractive, for them?” Jaskier wonders, twirling the brush in his hand. “Oh! What if it’s the mares that find it attractive? Do you have a lot of girlfriends, Roachy lady?”

Roach walks away a bit, flicking Jaskier with her tail as she does a slow spin. Jaskier just laughs at her, swatting her hind with the brush.

Geralt shakes his head, and gets back to fishing.

A few hours later, Geralt finally comes back to camp with a few fish on his hooks. He skins them, cooks them well, and serves them each a plate. Jaskier eats his filet with much relish, and when he finishes, he gets up to feed Roach. He pulls out a few apples from his bag, and smiles as Roach bites them out of his hand. He nuzzles her muzzle as she chews.

Geralt watches them a bit as he cleans their plates, dumping any leftover into the fire. He feels so content and satisfied in this moment.

“I love you,” he says, getting up from the fire to put away the plates and forks. He looks up at Jaskier when he feels his gaze on his back. “What?”

“What did you say?” Jaskier asks, hand still on Roach’s snout.

Geralt furrows his brow. He didn’t say anything, did he?

Roach flicks her gaze to him and snorts. He. No. Did?

Oh.

Oh no.

He did.

Geralt gets up quickly from where he was squatting. “Uh,” he says eloquently.

Jaskier’s eyes are wide, and he takes a tentative step to Geralt. Geralt’s surprised he didn’t take a step back himself.

“Geralt,” Jaskier begins, “Did you just say that you love me?”

“No,” Geralt says. “Yes,” he amends. He feels his face on fire, and fuck, what’s he supposed to do with his hands now?

“Really?” Jaskier asks, and hell, when did he get so close? Geralt looks into his bright blue eyes, full of happiness, and feels his heart tighten at the sight.

“Please don’t make me say it again,” Geralt asks. His heart’s beating much too fast right now, and he’s nearly feeling faint.

“Aww,” Jaskier coos, and shyly reaches for him. Seeing that Geralt hasn’t reacted in either way, he slowly wraps his arms around his torso, carefully laying his head against Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt’s hands jump up to wrap around him as well, holding him tightly. He can feel Jaskier’s smile against his shirt.

“I love you too,” he says, and Geralt melts.

“I love you,” Geralt says.

Roach whinnies as if in chime, and they both chuckle into their embrace.

#question #the witcher #geraskier #lurkerviolin #my writing #I cranked this out in a blaze of love for my friend!

[valdomarx]

Anon requested: Could you possibly write something with Jaskier finding out he’s half incubus and having no clue what to do?

His horns don’t start growing in until he's 30.

Jaskier had heard rumours throughout his childhood of his mother's infidelity and her penchant for bedding magical creatures, but he'd thought that was typical malicious court gossip. His father's coldness toward him he'd assumed to be the way of nobility and due to his own failures as a son.

And sure, he's always attracted attention from men and women alike, but he'd believed that was due to the charisma he worked hard to exude. People often wanted to sleep with him, but he was young and handsome and talented, so why wouldn’t they?

He certainly does like sex, though that's hardly unusual. And he does feels better afterwards: sated, fulfilled, more energetic. But wasn’t that the point?

And then one day he’s washing his hair and feels prominent bumps on his head. He thinks he must have hit his head when he was drunk, not an unprecedented occurrence. But within days a hideous mass of bone is pushing out from his skull and he realises something is terribly wrong.

He locks himself in his rooms at Oxenfurt Academy and tells everyone he has a fever. The students leave food outside his door and he spends three weeks in isolation, watching in horror as horns sprout and grow terrifyingly fast until they form neat curls on either side of his head.

He stares into a polished metal plate at his newly monstrous countenance, and knows that the path of his life stands at a precipice.

No, he decides. He has worked too hard to get away from his hateful upbringing and to become his own person to allow his family to drag him down once again.

Taking a knife to his own head to remove the horns is the most painful thing he has ever experienced, but he will not let the life he has built be destroyed by this thing inside him. He stands alone in his room, blood dripping down his face, and stares in horror at the curled mass of horn in his hand, gory and vile.

Even after that, the horns continue to grow back. He assiduously files them down, though it hurts every time.

When spring arrives he heads out to meet Geralt as usual. If Geralt notices anything amiss, he doesn’t mention it. They travel together and it’s blessedly normal - at least until Jaskier gets kidnapped.

He’s snatched by a band of ruffians, thrown in a dank underground cell and left there. Things could be worse, on balance. At least he’s marked as a hostage so he’s fed and not tortured. A few days in he overhears the bandits discussing how he’s the perfect bait for a much greater prize, the White Wolf himself.

Jaskier oscillates between hoping Geralt stays the hell away from this obvious trap and fantasising about being rescued. It’s cold and dark here, but most of all it’s lonely. And he can feel his horns growing back in, inch by terrible inch. He has never been comfortable being alone.

After two interminable weeks, he hears the distant sound of fighting from above, clashing swords and yells of pain. That has to be Geralt, and he knows that afraid or not, he has to help before Geralt ends up locked in here too.

So Jaskier does what he does best. One of the guards has been staring at his horns with obvious interest, and it’s laughably easy to attract his attention and seduce him. When Jaskier backs him up against a damp wall and swallows down his seed he feels a zing of energy and the man drops to the cold stone floor, unconscious.

Jaskier feels strong. He pushes open the door to his cell and faces three armed men between him and the door. He picks up a nearby oak table like it weighs nothing and tosses it at them, smashing it into two of them who go down immediately. The third is knocked to the floor and scrambles for his sword, but Jaskier is on him in moments, foot pressed against his chest.

“Give me the keys,” he says, voice vibrating deep in his chest. The man squirms but doesn’t answer and Jaskier pushes down with his foot, feeling the man’s ribs crack and buckle beneath him. “I won’t ask again.”

“Okay, okay,” the man croaks, coughing up flecks of blood. “In my pocket.”

Jaskier snatches the keys, unlocks the steel door to the dungeon, and magnanimously leaves the man alive. He hasn’t the time to stop and kill him anyway, Geralt must be nearby and he needs Jaskier’s help.

As he hurries up the stairs and away from the rank dungeon, the sounds of battle increase and he hears a familiar voice raised in an unfamiliar shout.

“Where is he?” the voice yells. The clashing of blades rings through the fort. “Where is he?”

Jaskier rounds the corner to a courtyard to find Geralt spattered in blood and surrounded by the corpses of bandits, their leader on his knees with Geralt’s hand around his throat and Geralt’s sword pointed between his eyes.

He should have known that this rough bunch would be no match for a witcher in full swing.

“I’m here,” he says, and his voice comes out scratchy. He’s been dreaming of this moment, but now he finds himself poleaxed by the reality of Geralt seeing him in his true, hideous form.

Geralt looks at him, and his eyes widen in shock for just a second. He slits the throat of the man in front of him and pushes his body to the side without ever tearing his eyes from Jaskier.

He steps toward him, sword still raised, and for a moment Jaskier truly thinks that Geralt will run him through with his blade, just another monster to be slain.

But then Geralt tosses his sword aside and races over to Jaskier to wrap him in a hug so tight it’s stifling.

“Jaskier,” he breathes. “You’re alive.”

Oh. He pats Geralt awkwardly on the back. Even in this most dire of situations, he enjoys having strong arms around him more than he should.

“I'm okay,” he says, and Geralt buries his face into Jaskier’s hair and inhales, as if despite the rank state of his unwashed hair, Geralt has truly missed him.

Geralt pulls back and his eyes flick ever so briefly to Jaskier’s horns.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier blurts out. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I can only imagine what you must think of me. I won’t be any trouble. I’ll go. I’ll leave you be. But please don’t turn me in.”

Geralt frowns. Well, frowns more than unusual. “You being half incubus has never bothered me before. Why would it bother me now?”

Jaskier‘s mouth drops open in disbelief. “You knew? All this time?”

Geralt huffs, but there’s an undeniable edge of fondness to it. “Jaskier, I’m a witcher. Of course I knew. I could tell the minute I met you.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

Now it’s Geralt turn to look shocked. “You didn’t know? Hells, Jaskier. I thought you were trying to be circumspect.”

“Circumspect?” Jaskier laughs hysterically. “Right, because that’s just my style. Do you think I, a monster, would have rocked up in Posada and imposed myself on you, a monster hunter, if I had known? Does that seem sensible to you?”

“Not sensible, no.” The corner of Geralt’s mouth flicks up. “But it does sound exactly like something you’d do.”

Jaskier intends to pout but instead feels himself smiling for the first time in weeks, because Geralt has him there.

Geralt runs the back of his fingers down Jaskier’s cheek, and the leather of his gloves is warm and smooth against his skin. “You’re not a monster,” he says, like it’s that simple. “People might think you monstrous, but their ignorance is no reflection on you.”

He moves to brush his fingers delicately along the edge of one of Jaskier’s horns. Jaskier can’t feel it, not directly, but the vibrations of his touch send tingles racing across his scalp, making him weak at the knees. “And you don’t have to hide yourself from me.”

Jaskier looks at the floor, because he can’t look at Geralt right now, he just can’t. “Even like this, I can stay? You won’t send me away?” His voice sounds so small and pathetic.

Geralt’s fingers slot under his chin and lift his head until their eyes are locked. “You can stay,” he says, certain and sure; Jaskier‘s rock as always. “We can be monstrous together.”

#me: haha imagine jaskier is a sex demon who files down his horns #also me: ... unless ... #geraskier #the witcher #my writing #tw body horror #incubus!jaskier

[ecoamerica]

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[babylooneytoonz]

monster

part two of bear

Ft. Geralt of Rivia x Reader

summary: when Geralt loves the monster inside of you, you think you have nothing to worry about. But what happens when someone frames you when you are innocent and poisons your lover's mind, turning him against you?

warnings: angst

*Please reblog if you like it, do not repost, copy or claim my work as yours.

[My Masterlist]

The smouldering heat from the fire warmed your blood and bones to no extent, but what was the point of it? You looked at the blanket of the stars above you, but the brittle tears in your eyes made your vision blurry and difficult. Bringing your fingers gingerly to the side of your blood stained face, you pinched the bridge of your nose, waiting for the midnight to strike once more and your wretched curse to take over you.

He was your respite, in this cruel world of harshness. He, in his own different way, his outer shell hard and impossible to crack; used to be soft and gentle just for your eyes. He was like your little flicker of fire, that reflected in your eyes, warming up the cold in your heart. Geralt of Rivia. Fucking White Wolf. The bloody bastard that did this to you, and now you were out here, in the middle of nowhere, hunched underneath the canopy of the trees, warming yourself up by the little fire that you had lit, afraid of being caught.

The deeper you stared into the sizzling embers, your chin resting unceremoniously against your knees, that you had pulled up, and had an arm locked around, the more the thoughts and the memories plagued you, of the countless times the Witcher had shown you how he wasn't like the others.

The way he made love to you that night he found out about your curse. It was gentle, and raw. He held you close to his chest after that, the heat radiating from his body warming up your frame, as his lips tenderly explored your shoulders, and your lips. He held you to his chest, his thick, beefy fingers stroking through your course sweaty locks, his firm body pressed to you as he shared your bed, night after night, except for the days he was out on a monster hunt.

Geralt of Rivia looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. His fingers delicately traced the line of your lips, down your neck, over the valley of your breasts, and his breathing hitched, his lips pursing together, his golden orbs radiating with a warmth every time he was around you.

After midnight struck, and you turned into the bear you turned every single night into, Geralt didn't run away. Instead, you did. The first three nights of being with him, you ran away every single night the second you transformed, and it was a more a feeling of disgust on yourself, than a fear that you would end up hurting Geralt.

Then, from the fourth night, and the fifth, he began following you; his adept, athletic form running after you, jumping over the hedges and the thorns, just to make you stop running from him.

The sixth night, he finally stopped you, cornering you to a stone hill, his hands raised slightly, on either of his side, his chest heaving up and down, "It's me, my love." You knew it was him, but he was trying to make sure. You turned your animalistic front away from him, turning your back towards him. Geralt didn't go away, instead he took a step closer until you felt him place a hand on your back, the first touch barely grazing you, but it was as if he was waiting for your reaction. When you didn't flinch or try to attack him, he began stroking your fur tenderly and a growl emancipated from your snoot.

He was taming the monster in you, slowly yes but he sure was. You didn't run away from him this time.

That night, or the few nights after that, Geralt didn't leave your side even as you turned into that bear again. He stayed, nuzzling the side of your massive face with his nose, his fingers gently scratching your neck, just beneath your snout.

Your mornings with him were the best, especially when you changed back into your own human form upon the touch of the first sunlight, Geralt was with you, holding your hands in his as he watched your bear form melt away. He smiled, as though welcoming you back after a long journey, pulling your tiny, naked form against his chest to give you the warmth as he took his shirt off and let it slide over your frame. Holding you close to his side, he walked you back to the shared shack the two of you now lived in.

What had gone wrong so terribly that you were forced to hide in the thick woods, away from the humanity and away from Geralt?

Geralt didn't know what to believe. He didn't want to believe. There was blood everywhere the smell of it so strong, it was making him sick. Little children, young adults, women, no one was spared. The entire shack now lay abandoned, with bodies lined to the front door with massive claw marks that looked like that of a bear. His heart sank.

She was never like this; she was never a monster but he wasn't so sure anymore.

The stench was unbearable, the whispers of the villagers growing louder and louder into Geralt's ears. He could feel their hatred piercing through his flesh, their fingers pointing at him, blaming him for sheltering the monster they should have dealt with a long time ago. Was it a mistake saving her? Was she actually a monster hiding her true self under a blanket of kindness? For the first time, Geralt of Rivia had no answers.

Dejected, his head hung low, his mind dazed, not with the amount of ale he had had to drink, but rather the plague of his unrelentless morbid thoughts, Geralt walked back to the shack he shared with you, dreading coming face to face with you for the first time.

As he stepped into the shack, he could hear the utensils cracking against each other as you hunched over the sink, cleaning the brass vessels under the running water, your palms scrubbing the oil off them. You were humming to yourself in a low voice, and usually Geralt melted at the sight, wrapping his thick, veiny arms around your waist as he pulled you to him and kissed all the knots and the stress from his body away. But this time, things were different. You were the cause of his stress.

"You're home, love," you whispered, finally aware of his presence. Geralt wasn't specifically silent, with his heavy, burly frame and the armour that was in the least extremely noisy, "I'll get your bath. And the broth is almost on the last boil."

Geralt didn't respond, instead he began stripping down his armour until he was dressed in just his underwear. By that time, you had warmed some water in a metal tub for him, and Geralt stepped into it, hissing slightly as some old healing wounds on his feet came in contact with the warm water; as he sunk in comfortably, placing both his hands on either of the sides. He had a lot to think about.

You regarded him carefully. His shoulders were tense; his body hunched slightly and the old scars on his back were glistening under your candle that lit the room. You strolled towards him, pulling up a stool behind him and came to sit down, your fingers gently trailing over his back until you were scrubbing his back. He stiffened to your touch, and your touch suddenly felt foreign to him.

"Geralt, what's wrong?" Your lip quivered, and your heart sank, at how distant he was being. Yes, Geralt had always been a man of few to no words, but where his words fell short, his actions told you how he cared for you. But today, it was like you had been left to stand in a cold winter night, and Geralt had locked himself away, with the only source of warmth with him.

Suddenly, he stood up, splashing water all around the tub, soiling the flooring and you stood up too, frowning as to what had come over him. He leapt out of the bathtub, his naked form flashing in front of your eyes as he turned his bum towards you and began drying himself off with the cloth you had laid out for him. Once done, he pulled his tights up his toned legs and turned briefly towards you and started wearing his shirt, "Leaving."

"But Geralt, you just –"

"I need a fucking drink. I'll be at the tavern. Don't wait for me," He cut you off, brutally tearing through the soft coating of your tender heart, and you couldn't help but swallow his rudeness, and nodded. You grabbed a mop, and began cleaning the mess he had made on the floor, only to glare at him as he sat down against the side of the bed and began throwing his boots on.

"Leave, and don't even think of coming back into bed in the middle of the night, shit drunk and stinking like a pig," you snarled taking a sharp breath through your nose as you turned away from him and began mopping with your back turned towards him, your shoulders rigid and tense, your arm movements fast and angry.

"I sleep with a fucking bear, can me stinking like a pig be worse?"

You dropped the mop unceremoniously to the floor with a loud clash and turned towards him, your eyes narrowed down and you felt an unrelentless rage inside of you, and this rage was mixed with hurt.

"Get the fuck out, Witcher," your voice was low pitched and dangerous, and with one glare in your direction, the steps of the Witcher faded into nothingness.

That night, as you laid in bed, waiting for that cruel minute when you would turn into an animal, you couldn't help but let your eyes bleed with hot , salty tears, running down your cheeks, soiling your bedding. You whimpered and curled into a ball, burying your face into your hands as you began crying.

You pressed your fisted palm to your mouth, pressing it tight against it so your cries subsided, for you could suddenly hear the sounds of footsteps outside your home. Of course it wasn't Geralt, you were sure of that; the footsteps weren't of a single person, and it felt like an entire army was marching down on you.

You sat up in bed and slid to the edge, standing up as you ran to the window. The villagers were all heading your way, holding lit torches, their faces angry and most of them were yelling.

You cried in pain, looking down at your bleeding thigh were a villager's dagger had managed to cut you. They had found you hiding in the forest, and since you hadn't transitioned into your animal form yet, they had tied you up in chains and were dragging you along the muddy path, their movements fast and calculated. They had to reach the prison before midnight.

The walk to the prison didn't take more than a few minutes, and soon you were pushed face first into one of the empty prison cells. It stank of piss and blood, and you weren't sure which smell was stronger and you couldn't help but crouch into a corner as they tied you up and let your head rest against your knees.

The villagers gawked at you like you were a specimen on display as you turned into that bear, but the restrains that were holding you still were stronger than your bear form, and you couldn't break them, no matter how hard you tried to free yourself.

Geralt hated the tavern, he hated the village and the villagers that lived in it, but when he needed the ale, his hatred was forgotten. He had a lot running through his mind as he drank the last of his ale, and turned towards one of the windows in the tavern. The sky had turned a pale orange, and within the next few minutes to an hour, the sun would be gracing the world. He wondered if you were still in the shack, or you were out running in the forest somewhere. The images of the impaled and clawed out corpses came spiralling into his mind, and his grip on the pitcher almost tightened in reflex.

He was almost about to leave, when Jaskier pushed open the door, his panic stricken eyes scanning the interiors of the tavern until his eyes spotted the white haired man. He pushed a man aside, making his way towards him.

"Geralt, listen–"

"Not now, Jaskier," Geralt growled at him, his eyes glowing with anger.

Jaskier lowered himself into the chair opposite the Witcher and just looked at him, exasperated.

"Aren't you just one bit concerned on [Y/N]'s wellbeing? You're getting yourself drunk, and the villagers are planning to kill her for something she hasn't even done–" Jaskier added.

"the villagers know what they are doing," Geralt took a deep breath, shifting his gaze from Jaskier, and staring idly at the sun that was now rising.

"You what? You–" Jaskier fumbled; he couldn't believe his ears. "They poisoned you too, didn't they?"

"I saw those bodies, Jaskier," Geralt stood up, his chair noisily clattering against the cold floor of the tavern. Ignoring Jaskier, who was now sitting with his palms curled into tight fists, he made his way to the tavern owner, shelling out his pouch of coins. He pulled out the coins and placed them on the counter, and without glancing back at Jaskier, he began walking out when Jaskier came running towards him, and began following him.

"I don't want to be a part of this, Jaskier."

"Listen to yourself, Geralt. That's [Y/N]. She is being framed. I know it in my heart, she cannot do this, please Geralt. They will kill her and once you come back to your senses, it will kill you."

Geralt grunted under his breath as his palm swiped over his jaw. He stiffened as he heard a few villagers began speed walking towards the right, and Geralt frowned, grabbing one of them by their collar.

"Get your hands off me, Witcher. What the fuck–"

"Where are the villagers going?" Geralt grumbled.

"Why? To the market of course. That cursed bitch is to be publicly killed for the murders of our children–" he pulled his shirt off the Witcher's grip, and without giving him another glance, he joined the other villagers and they walked off.

"Wake the fuck up, you monster, and get your tits off the floor," someone threw you an old looking dress, and you opened your eyes to the commotion around you, only to realize that the villagers were all standing outside your cell. You sat up, hurriedly pushing yourself to the wall as you brought your knees up to cover your breasts. You hurriedly reached for that torn dress they had given you; for something was better than nothing, and your own dress was now nothing but pieces of torn fabric strewn here and there. You pulled it over your head, bringing it down to your body, when someone grabbed your arm and pulled you up.

"Can't wait to finally get rid of you, you Satan's spawn," one of them spat on the floor just next to your feet, as one of them began walking out, your chain in his hands. The other one held you by your arm, yanking you to move out and you had no choice.

"Why?" You whispered, your eyes already beginning to cloud with your tears, your eyes widened in fear as you stepped out of your cell and the men began walking out.

Outside, it felt like the entire village had gathered just to watch what was going to happen to you. The looks on their faces were far from sympathetic, there was hate in their eyes and you closed your eyes and let out a cry, as a stone hit the side of your face, just beneath your temple and blood started oozing out of the cut the stone had given you. The villagers were now chanting the words 'kill the beast' again and again, as you were being pushed through the crowds.

The realization was beginning to sink in, as blood trickled down your temple; your heart raced mercilessly. This was the end, it finally was. You couldn't help but think of Geralt as you walked with them, you wondered where he was and if he cared enough. The fight last night had been strange but even stranger was the fact that he wasn't here to save you from these people today.

Even bigger was the realization and the hurt that arose as a result of it; that Geralt too thought of you as a monster. Maybe you deserved this.

"fucking bitch," someone yelled from the crowd, and just then, a massive stone was hurled at you, right at your face, hitting you square in the jaw. Your body twisted when it hit you, your face falling to your right as the pain grew. Your face felt like it was on fire. When you looked up, you realized that you were standing alone; so hopelessly alone, and the villagers all stared at you with venom laced in their eyes. Their leader or whoever this man in the front was, had his sword drawn out as he spat, "any last wishes, you monster?"

You closed your eyes, your body giving up, when you heard the galloping of a horse. When you opened your eyes again, you saw Roach pushing her way through the crowd; though technically the people were moving out of her way , for they didn't want to get crushed under its legs. Geralt's white hair flew due to the wind, and his lips were pressed together, as Roach galloped towards you. When Geralt was close enough, he suddenly flung himself to his side, his legs still secured by the saddle as he grabbed you by your waist and flung you up onto the moving mare.

Angry cries of disdains and yells sounded from behind you, but you weren't looking. Your eyes were fixed on Geralt, as you were clinging on him for life, but he was looking straight ahead, as Roach galloped away.

The air hit your face like ice lollies, and Geralt's body felt nothing like the warmth it always gave you. Although you were now sat in front of him on the mare, the distance between you two felt like two ends of a river bank.

Finally, the mare lowered it's pace as it came to a halt and you squinted your eyes only to realise that you were now on the outskirts of the city, on the other side of the forest.

"Get down," Geralt's cold voice said.

Without a word, you got down, and following you, Geralt hopped off Roach.

"Geralt," you mumbled.

"Leave this village. Go anywhere. I won't be around to always save you from them."

You looked at the man's sublime face. The sun shone down on him, making him look even radiant than he already was. You bit your lip, your face contorted in hurt as you nodded and ran your hand across the side of your face to straighten your ruffled up hair.

Geralt turned away without saying another word ad he began climbing on Roach's back once more but your words stopped him,"Just why Geralt? What did I do wrong?"

He turned but not completely. It was like he couldn't bear the sight of you any longer.

"You're a monster, and the next time, I don't think I will be the one saving you."

You blinked, watching him ride away, his fiery white hair flowing with the wind, his shoulders tense, until he was out of sight.

Henry Cavill All Characters Taglist + Bear Taglist:

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#geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia works #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x reader #the witcher #henry cavill x reader

[sunflowersteves]

always home || g.r.

summary || you don’t know how much longer you can take geralt’s dangerous life. 

author’s note || i know i have requests to do still but i needed some comfort rn🥺also jesus christ his aRMS

warnings || angst, hurt/comfort, some gore, crying, fluff

masterlist

Your whole body shook with pure dread, the sensation reaching from the top of your head and all the way down to your toes. You couldn’t even look away, eyes glued to the scene before you. You couldn’t do anything either, it was like your brain had come to a standstill--trying to grasp what had just happened.

Your heart had stopped when a Kikimora had swallowed Geralt whole, devouring him like he was just a small snack to eat. The pain rose to the tip of your throat like bile, resting there as a whimper escaped your mouth.

You knew that he would probably be fine, perfectly healthy as he slashed through the monster's insides. You knew that Witcher’s were almost indestructible; they weren’t easy beings to kill.

But there was always that slim chance, that logical side of your brain that knew what could happen. You knew that monster hunting would most likely seal Geralt’s fate; what life he had left in his eyes would fade and become dim.

Which is what terrified you to no end, the thoughts caving in--almost as if they were laughing at you for getting attached to somebody who can’t. You knew you shouldn’t have. You should have let those little butterflies turn into large waves of feelings that crashed down on you at every glance he gave your way.

And yet here you are, tears rolling down your cheeks as it has now been ten minutes and there’s no sign of him anywhere. You had to hide behind a tree to be able to escape from the monsters.

Your chest heaved up and down and your eyes snapped shut as you tried to think of a plan--anything that would help the situation. But in every scenario you could think of, there wasn’t a good outcome.

You clutch the sword in your hand a bit tighter now; the thoughts that surged through your brain were much more crowded now. Your eyes began to sting from the saltiness of the tears, dread overflowing to the brink in your body.

You try to calm yourself down by taking deep breaths, letting your mind try to ease the searing despair that rested upon your heart. You slowly and quietly take your sword out of its sheath, trying to prepare yourself for the battle to come.

And then you heard it, which all the more made you stop dead in your tracks.

You heard the groaning of the monster, misery, and pain screeching through the air. You hear the slicing and cutting of a sword, the sound of guts and fluids flooding across the ground.

You peak slightly from where you were on the tree, eyes wide at Geralt’s figure standing there perfectly fine as he waits for the monster to die in front of him. He looked almost annoyed that the monster wouldn’t die faster, as if he wasn’t just eaten whole by a giant monster.

Geralt’s eyes linger on the Kikimora before they try and find yours, wanting to know if you were okay. His eyes trail up to the tree and then meet yours, relief immediately skating across them.

Normally after a fight like this one, you would always run up to him and envelop him in a hug, completely disregarding the fact that there was monster blood and guts on him.

So he was quite surprised when you just stood there, mouth agape slightly and eyes as wide as ever. He became even more flustered as your eyebrows started to furrow, and a fire ignited in your eyes.

You were livid.

“y/n-”

You ignored him, abruptly turned around and headed straight back to where the town was. You could hear Geralt’s large footsteps follow you but you tried your utmost best to ignore them. You have had enough with this shit, your heart and mind can only take so much. You knew that Geralt couldn’t help it. This was his life. This was his normal. But you weren’t a Witcher. You were just a knight that was supposed to follow the orders of whoever was queen or king.

“y/n, dove-”

Geralt stopped with a halt when you whipped around; the pure venom in your voice was the third thing that caught him by surprise.

“Do not call me that.”

You continued to walk towards the town, your stomps becoming harder as the rage built up and up.

“This is my life, y/n. This is what I do-”

You interrupted him yet again with a scoff, your fast walking pace was slower now, but you did not dare stop. You wanted out of here and away from him until you cooled down. However, Geralt was too stubborn to let you go.

“You don’t think I know that? I know this is your life, Geralt. I don’t want you to change anything.”

All you want to do is leave it like that and enclose yourself off in some pub for the rest of the night. You start walking again; Geralt has other plans as he grips your shoulder, pulling you back to a halt. Your eyes still looked a fiery ablaze as he stared straight into them.

“What is it then, dove? talk to me, please.”

His eyebrows furrowed at the whimper that left your mouth, tears flowing out freely against your cheek and rolling down your chin. Your anger was gone, only agony and apprehension were left between your beautiful orbs.

Geralt’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping softly back and forth against your cheekbone. You opened your mouth to speak, but the only sound that escaped were your hiccups. The action had made Geralt’s heart constrict; to know that he was the reason you were in so much grief.

He watched with some relief as you calmed down; the tears he wiped away were coming to a stop.

“I-I’m sorry.” You take a deep breath before you continue. Geralt was watching your every move, his glowing eyes clouded with concern. “When I d-didn’t see you come out of the kikimora, I-I thought that you had... Geralt, I don’t know what I’d do if-”

Geralt had brought you into his arms as more tears sprung to your eyes. You couldn’t help the sobs that wrecked over your body, your throat enclosing from the thought of losing the one person you can’t live without.

Geralt moved you out of his arms as his hands went to cup your cheeks again, making sure that you were looking right at his face.

“I want you to know that I will always come home to you. I will always find you, dove.”

“But-”

He shook his head, white hair falling slightly amongst his cheeks. “A dragon could burn me to bits, and I’d make my way back to you. The most fearsome monster could pierce through my heart, and I’d get up and come find you. Queens and Kings could create armies to defeat me, making sure nothing of me was left, and I’d run to your arms. I’m not going anywhere, sweet girl, not unless you say so.”

You jump on him immediately, lips attached to his in a passionate dance. Your hands gripped the softness of his hair, still somewhat wet from the monster just a few moments before. His arms immediately wrapped around your waist, the soft pillows of your lips making his heart soar.

Your body felt ignited, tingling sensations flowed throughout your nerves and veins. Your lips were desperately molded, devouring each other with desire and adoration. Your hands moved down, so they rested on his chest, gently gripping the fabric of his tunic.

His lips left yours swiftly, his forehead coming to rest on yours. His eyes bore straight into yours, the normal grumpy Witcher was practically glowing with happiness.

“Promise?”

You let out a yelp as he abruptly picks you up, legs resting in his arms and your head laid on his chest.

“I promise you, dove. I’ll always come back to you.”

~~

witcher: @angelinathebook​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @borkingbarnes​

geralt: @harrysthiccthighss​ @borkingbarnes​

permanent: @captainchrisstan​ @angstysebfan​ @teenagereadersciencenerd​ @rebekahdawkins​ @hailmary-yramliah​

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x you #the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #henry cavill #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x reader #geralt fanfic #geralt fluff #soft!geralt #witcher fanfiction #witcher fluff #geralt of rivia x female reader #henry cavill characters #witcher imagine

[samstree]

Hug a Witcher Day (3/4)

In which Jaskier goes missing in the spring. Can Geralt finally realize his feelings for the bard in the middle of a crisis?

(hurt/comfort, soft geraskier, 3k, rated T, cw: mentions of a canon-era plague, sick children, and a citywide lockdown.)

part 1, part 2, read on AO3

The third year since Jaskier invented Hug a Witcher Day, Geralt all but forgets about it completely.

He steps into the Two Weatherfish, where they agreed to meet, and realizes that the bard isn’t here. Or in the entire city of Ard Carraigh. No one has seen any trace of the famous bard who won’t quit singing praises for witchers.

Geralt pushes down the slight panic in his chest as he steps out of the last tavern in the city, and decides to just head for Oxenfurt.

It’s not like Jaskier has been the most reliable companion in the past, often distracted by dalliances or even anything shiny and new. One time he wandered off to watch a local celebration and Geralt found him hours later next to a lake, with thousands of lanterns floating above the water, illuminating the night sky like burning stars peppered on a dark canvas.

The soft, orange light spilled over Jaskier’s features, his eyes gleaming like the stars too.

Geralt snorts despite himself. There’s no doubt the bard is just delayed by someone who caught his eye and decided that a promise to a witcher isn’t all that important—the same witcher who he keeps claiming to be his best friend.

Geralt isn’t sure how to feel about that, or how to react when he finally sees Jaskier. Perhaps he will cease to talk about hunts for a while, leave the bard hanging, just so he can get a taste of the same frustration.

The pettiness remains in Geralt’s mind up until he steps into the academy and rampant fear licks up his chest.

Essi is the one who meets him at the gates, worry deep between her brows and rambling about how Jaskier never made it to the yule ball like he should. In her hands are two letters, clearly Jaskier’s handiwork judging from the neat curves and flourish, talking about his excitement to see his ‘Little Eye’ perform again, and how unfortunately his travel would be delayed due to an unexpected ailment.

Don’t you fret, poppet, for I am sure to beat this sickness within days. The promise of listening to your new ballad is already doing wonders for my health! It is a shame that my stay in Vizima is soured thus. The city, so beautifully rich in culture…

“Vizima,” Essi says frantically. “A plague broke out in the city last winter. Smallpox.”

A buzz begins to ring by Geralt’s ear, muffling out Essi’s voice and leaving only the thundering of his own heartbeat.

“They told me King Foltest sealed the gate to stop the spread, and…and no one has heard from anyone inside since then. Geralt, please, you are a witcher. Aren’t you immune to human sickness? That’s what Jaskier told me, isn’t that right?”

“I…yes.” The lump in Geralt’s throat stops any other words from getting out. His blood runs cold in the warm breeze of Oxenfurt’s spring.

“Please, Geralt, you must find him. I need to know. The university won’t allow me to go, but I…I must know. No matter what happened to him.”

The implication hangs in the air.

Tears well up in blues eyes too similar to Jaskier’s. Essi would be my sister in another life, Jaskier once commented adoringly and it’s only standing right here that Geralt can truly see the identical fierceness in her eyes.

As if Geralt needs her to ask. As if he isn’t willing to charge into the land of the dead if it means Jaskier gets out of it unscathed.

“Of course, Essi,” he promises solemnly. Her clutch on his forearm is so tight that any other man would be bruised by the force. “I promise.”

“Keep him safe, if it’s not too late.”

In his near-century long life, Geralt has rarely felt cold, unrelenting fear as he does when Essi breaks into sobs.

 *

The sickness in Vizima casts a gloomy cloud over the sky, choking Geralt’s breaths. The streets are eerily empty. Only a few people will pass through in a frenzy every now and then.

Geralt’s legs take him right through the main streets, to the far corner of the city, where countless makeshift tents are set up and stretching towards the edge of the woods. If anyone has indeed fallen to the disease, that’s the most likely place they will be sent to. If anyone passes, that’s also where they keep the records so friends and families can look for their names.

Bile rises in his throat at the idea of looking through stacks of books for Jaskier’s name.

Geralt walks between hundreds of beds of one tent after another. Some healers throw him an odd look but carry on with their work, the flash of their white scrubs weaving through the busy establishment.

Against all odds, a pang of relief hits Geralt when he notices how the patients are well-treated by healers who seem to know what they are doing. The fever is brought down with a soaked cloth and a minty salve is applied for the irritation on the skin.

He searches and searches, until the sun is almost down, when—

A soft tune is carried over by the gentle breeze of spring.

And there Jaskier is, kneeling next to a little boy on a bed and humming a lullaby that Geralt only remembers vaguely. The bard is wearing the same white scrub like every carer at this camp, his brown hair slightly ruffled, and dark circles are hanging under his eyes. Geralt can see how tired he is by the hunch of his shoulders and the barely-there quiver in his singing, by his unkept stubble and the smile that’s dangerously close to falling.

And yet, he makes the most beautiful sight in the world.

Geralt stands there, drinking in the presence of his bard. The languid heartbeat of a witcher picks up, fluttering and almost bursting out of his chest.

Jaskier runs his fingers through the boy’s hair when the lullaby comes to an end. He tucks in the blanket and slowly pulls himself up, his knees creaking from the strain.

Blue eyes meet Geralt and Jaskier’s shock morphs into unbridled, blazing joy. Within the blink of an eye, the bard is standing right in front of Geralt.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes oh so carefully like he’s scared of waking from a dream. “What are you doing here? Wait, you don’t have any protec—oh right! Witcher biology. Can’t catch anything from us.” The bard lets out a sigh and his shoulders drop in relief. “How did you get through the gate? Punched another guard, didn’t—”

“You are okay,” Geralt says, dumbly.

“I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Jaskier frowns. “Geralt, why did you come to Vizima in the middle of a plague? Not that I’m complaining about seeing you, but how exactly did you find me?”

Geralt doesn’t want to look away from Jaskier’s face—ideally for a long time to come, but he needs to rummage through his pack for the crumpled letters.

“You sent these to Essi last winter.”

Jaskier takes the letters, flattens the frayed edges before reading his own words.

“Yes, I did tell her…” Cold horror takes Jaskier aback. “Shit. She must think—Oh, Geralt, that wasn’t it! I only caught a stomach bug. It was never the pox! But then…they locked the city gate so fast and everything was in chaos for weeks. I couldn’t get more letters out. Oh, I wish I could take it back! I didn’t think—”

“You damn well didn’t.”

The words come out a lot harsher than Geralt intended, and Jaskier flinches back. Geralt pinches at the bridge of his nose, feeling contrite at his untimely outburst.

“No, Jask—I’m not…” he heaves out a sigh. “She didn’t even know if you were alive for months.”

Neither did I.

“I’m so sorry.” Jaskier is close to tears. “She must be worried sick.”

“She is.”

I was.

“And you too, Geralt. Please forgive me.” Jaskier’s chin wobbles, his arms hovering between the two of them as if he wants to put them around Geralt. “I want to ask you not to be cross with me again, but that seems to be all I do.”

“Jaskier…”

Geralt calls out when he finds not even an ounce of anger in his heart, not when he just spent weeks fearing the worst, not when Jaskier is standing right in front of him, safe and hale, his eyes flowing with guilt.

Jaskier might just be the death of him.

“Fuck. Just don’t pull this again.” Geralt softens his tone, knowing how unfair the request is when such things are out of Jaskier’s control, but the bard replies in earnest.

“I won’t. I swear.”

Exhaustion washes over the bard once again, making him look a lot older than he is. From the looks of it, Jaskier has been working in these camps for months and the last thing he needs is an unsupportive friend.

And Geralt doesn’t intend to become one.

“And you are dressed like this because?” Geralt nudges Jaskier in the shoulder to ease the apprehension on his face.

“Funny you should ask.” The bard presses his lips into a thin line before continuing. “I may have lied—nay, implied—that the seven degrees I acquired at Oxenfurt included…medicine. Hold on! Before you judge, I do know how to care for pox patients. I caught it as a child too and that’s why I’ve been fine this whole time.”

“Hmm. But you don’t have the—”

“The scars. No thanks to my grandmother’s secret healing salve that she insisted on keeping secret. It worked like a charm back then, almost like magic. We’ve been trying to replicate from whatever I remember. The mint is helping a little but something is still missing. Oh, well.” The bard rubs his fingers at the hem of his scrub. “Perhaps that explains all these crazy rumors about her heritage, with all her herbs and teas that always miraculously cured everybody. Honestly, I don’t even blame them.”

Geralt muses the possibility of Jaskier’s grandmother not being completely human and makes a silent decision to unpack it later.

“Then I guess your personal experience should come in handy if we are going to stay here for a while.”

“We? You are staying?”

“The exits are still closed.” Geralt tilts his head in nonchalance. “Might as well lend them a hand.”

And never take his eyes off of Jaskier again.

“That’s…wonderful, in a terrible, terrible way. Being trapped in the same place during a plague. Gods, that sounds like something out of the cheesiest romance novel.” Jaskier gasps as soon as the words are out. The smile on his face blossoms into a heated blush.

“Just promise me one thing, Jask.”

“What?” The cornflower blue eyes uncharacteristically avoid Geralt in a vain attempt to hide how flustered he is.

Don’t scare me like this again.

Don’t get taken from me.

Don’t leave me.

“Read less romance novels. Once this blows over,” Geralt answers, finally.

The fluttering in his chest returns, although this time for a completely different reason. The reason not being how adorable Jaskier looks embarrassed and rosy-cheeked.

No. Definitely not.

 *

“Little Simon asleep?”

Geralt asks as he stokes the fire, watching Jaskier struggle out of the sweat-soaked scrub and throw it into the laundry pile. The bard sits down next to him on the log with a groan and leans into his arm.

“As flattered as I am that he can’t fall asleep without my songs, it does get a bit taxing to sing every night while kneeling on the floor.”

“The kid is sick. Can’t blame him for having bad taste in music.”

The jab would have landed better if he isn’t wrapping his arm around Jaskier so that he can rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder. The days are too long even with most of the patients released home, and it’s been taking a toll on Jaskier.

“Cruel to me when I’m down, huh?”

Under Geralt’s palm, it’s unmistakable that Jaskier’s arm isn’t as thick as it once was, and he really doesn’t want to think about how the sharp of Jaskier’s jaw is becoming more prominent by the day.

Geralt rubs gently up and down Jaskier’s bicep to draw a contented purr out of him.

“Hmm. Now you’re forgiven.” Jaskier nuzzles into the crook of Geralt’s neck so his muscles loosen under the ministration. “It’s so unfair that a shift never wears you out like the rest of us, my dear. So unfair that you don’t need as much food too. I’d kill for some witcher superpowers these days.”

“Trust me, you won’t like what they cost.”

The late summer heat, mixed with the smell of sweat in Jaskier’s hair, should make it extremely uncomfortable to be sitting so close, but Geralt only finds it calming to have Jaskier sagging against him.

Jaskier’s thinning shoulder is too worrisome. Geralt will have to leave him most of the dinner rations again. Excuses are so easy to find, once Geralt realized that Jaskier never questions what he’s told about witcher biology, trusting every word from Geralt’s mouth. It’s just a little lie, a little exaggeration.

The bard is rubbing off on him.

“Simon is among the last ones here,” Jaskier says tiredly into Geralt’s neck. “It will soon be over. They are saying everyone can go in a month or so.”

“We can go even now.”

The prospect of traveling again stirs up something hopeful under Geralt’s skin, prickling with excitement, but he knows more patience is required for now.

“Nah, I should at least see little Simon home. You were right that the boy has suffered enough. The fever is terrible. Even I still have nightmares about it after so many years. It’s excruciating, almost like death is trying to mock you. One moment a fire burns through your whole body, the next it swallows you whole into this…nothingness, cold and alone.”

Geralt tightens his hold and breathes in the melancholic scent emanating from Jaskier’s skin.

“It was my grandmother, again. She sang the same lullaby to me every night, kept me sane. It’s helping little Simon too.”

“It’s in elvish,” Geralt murmurs absently when Jaskier is close to drifting off. The bard’s leveled breathing fans over the collar of Geralt’s neck.

“…hmm?”

“Nothing. Maybe for later.”

Geralt’s fingers reach the side of Jaskier’s head and thread between the soft brown locks, keeping his drooping head in place for the nap. When he looks down to where Jaskier casually drapes over half of his body, the two of them almost melding into one, Geralt is suddenly hit with how much their relationship has changed over the past few years, and at the same time, how it feels completely natural like puzzles fitting into place.

This newfound intimacy should scare Geralt, but strangely, it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because the witcher has learned long ago to treasure his bard as a companion and friend, to protect him and care for him, even without ever admitting it out loud.

Maybe he should.

And what would he even say? Geralt is equally elated and stumped at the thought of the two of them growing into something more. If the fluttering in his chest is a result of loving Jaskier, the bard deserves to know, and he deserves the best words.

Geralt scoffs softly when he realizes that he’d kill for something completely opposite. Not the strength of a witcher, but the silver tongue of a bard, the ability to weave the most beautiful prose to describe what Jaskier means to him.

The summer cicadas are singing with renewed vigor, the sizzling sound disrupting his train of thought. For now, Geralt will need to content himself in simply being with Jaskier.

And, perhaps, in pressing a tiny kiss into his soft brown hair as well. Under the night sky, only the stars will know.

--

I didn't know plague doctor Jaskier could be a thing until I started writing this chapter, and the ending just had to make way for it. Sorry that the chapter count has gone up. I promise hugs are cuddles are on the way!  <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @birdsflyhome @dapandapod @artisanbaguette

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #soft geralt #hug a witcher day #soft jaskier #cw: plague #guess this should be a warning #protective geralt #essi daven #jaskier sings to children