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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

Note

I just reached the bottom of your writings and felt the need to say that i appreciate you. You’re really cool and im happy I stumbled upon you.

You are far far too sweet. This has been sat in my inbox for so long because I don't think anyone has called me cool before and I wanted to bask in that. I really appreciate you too and I'm really happy you stumbled upon my blog. So I hope you're still in the fandom and enjoy this little bit of odd zombie AU.

CW: Zombies, apocalypse, Resdent Evil/Last of Us inspired AU.

Last Hope

Nobody expected the Continent to turn to shit. War had been on the horizon, Nilfgaard was advancing but not once did anyone expect them to have been experimenting with creating superior soldiers to fight for them. Allegedly the idea had been to harvest some of the Continent's monsters' attributes and imbue them into soldiers, creating a new class of warriors. It hadn't worked. But what Nilfgaard did manage to create was a virus like no other before. It turned humans and animals into mindless, violent creatures whose sole purpose was to feed, preferably on human flesh. The virus spread like no other, bringing the whole Continent to its knees.

Pockets of survivors remained, walled up in thick stone keeps. Kaer Morhen was one such sanctuary. Witchers, it turned out, weren't immune to the virus. Letho had watched Serrit and Auckes succumb to it, had put them down before setting light to where they'd been trying to stay safe and he set off to find somewhere, anywhere, that would accept him. The cold didn't impact much on the undead, they still moved just as deadly fast, unencumbered by things like fatigue, hunger or frostbite. Still, he made it up to the keep and was welcomed in. It was probably the most full Kaer Morhen had been in a long time. There were witchers, sorceresses, humans, dwarves, vampires and who knew what else, all coexisting and trying to make the best of their lives.

"I heard rumours," Letho said over dinner. "There's someone immune to this whole wretched thing down South."

"And I heard a rumour that taking a shit over the parapets cures piles," Lambert shot back with a snort. Being cooped up with so many people didn't exactly suit him, even when Aiden was there along with Eskel too.

Yennefer sat up straighter. "I've heard that rumour too. Sent word out that if it's true, we're probably best placed to try and find what makes the person so special. Maybe derive a cure from them."

Not long after, Gaetan arrived with Guxart. And with some news.

"There's a man and a girl travelling North. Allegedly with the hope of a cure."

The others exchanged looks, not wanting to believe rumours. Hope was a dangerous thing, but they could all use a dose of it. Things had been bleak to say the least.

Guxart picked up the story. "There's a lot of people gunning for them. So far they've evaded being captured, left quite a bloody trail too. We saw what remained of a tavern. Allegedly the group living there had been luring in weary travellers with the promise of safety, only to throw them into a fighting ring." Unfortunately such stories weren't unusual, humans had the most disdainful ideas of entertainment at times. Guxart pressed on, "If it was those two then I hope they're not headed here. They left no survivors, cleared out the place of humans and undead alike. It was a massacre."

There was nothing to do but wait. A week passed, then another. The hope they'd felt at the mention of a possible path to a cure dwindled and turned into bitter disappointment at the backs of their minds. It was almost three weeks later that there was a commotion on the path to the old keep. The undead who lurked in the trees were snarling and howling as two figures broke into a sprint on the last stretch of the path, pursued by quite a hoard of hungry zombies.

"Get the gate!" Vesemir bellowed and it was a mad dash to open the gates while armed. They weren't quick enough and a scuffle broke out as the two travellers were up against the gates, the undead descending upon them. A sharp scream went up from what sounded like a young girl. The gate opened and Eskel reached out, pulling her in first before Lambert gruffly yanked her protector in too. The others pushed to slam the gates shut, bolting it once more.

"Cahir! Are you okay?" The girl ignored them all in favour of checking over her guardian, wisps of blonde hair sticking to her sweaty face.

"I'm fine." A gruff answer and the so called Cahir looked up at them with an exhausted, hollow gaze. "This is Kaer Morhen, right? We were told this is where we had to come. She's Ciri, I'm Cahir."

Vesemir stepped forward with a brisk nod. "Welcome. Let's get you settled. From what I hear, you had quite the journey."

Yennefer ushered Ciri away and the others trailed after her, curious to see what someone immune to the virus looked like, acted like. The left Eskel to lead Cahir to a room of his own.

"Nilfgaard's quite a way," he said by way of conversation, ignoring the way Cahir rubbed his wrist under his cloak.

"Vicovaro is even further." The answer was a little prim and offended. "I'm not Nilfgaardian."

"My apologies. If you want to clean up, we have a communal bath in the lower levels. You're welcome to join us."

The offer seemed to go ignored as Cahir simply flopped on the bed and closed his eyes without even kicking off his worn boots. Eskel couldn't begrudge him, such a journey was long and tiring even before the world went to shit. To then have to cross the Continent while chased by who knew how many people wanting his precious charge and the unending masses of undead no doubt made the whole thing exhausting.

Dinner was bubbling away in a large cauldron over a fire and the chores for the day were done. It was quite common for most of the residents of Kaer Morhen to settle in the baths, one of the few remaining luxuries left for them. To everyone's surprise Cahir bumbled in a little while later, still sleep rumpled but without his cloak. It left his ragged and torn shirt in full view, including where one sleeve had been ripped off at the elbow. On his lower arm was a freshly applied bandage with blood that had seeped through in an all too telling pattern. Cries of alarm went up as they spotted the bite.

"You've been bitten!"

"How could you endanger us like this?"

"You idiot!"

It was a cacophony as various witchers jumped out of the baths, reaching for their swords and heedless of their nudity. There was a very real danger in their midst that needed to be taken care of. Cahir held up his hands in a placating manner, surrendering without a fight.

"If I may?" He pulled his shirt over his head and the others tried to make sense of what they were seeing. His body was littered with scars from bites. Some were healed, others still scabbed over. When the trousers slid down, Cahir's legs were no different.

"What the-?" Lambert scowled.

It was the exact moment Yennefer arrived, Ciri in tow. She gave Cahir a once over. "It would seem we made some assumptions. Cahir, when you're rested and fed, I'd like to take a sample of your blood and hair please."

Next to her, Ciri giggled and tucked a strand of hair out of her face. She walked up to Cahir and took his bandaged arm in hand, inspecting his handiwork.

"You're getting better at this," she announced. "Hopefully it's the last one you've taken for me or anyone else though."

Her words were followed by an eerie silence in the baths as the others mulled over everything.

"So-" Eskel rubbed the back of his neck with a small frown, "-is Ciri your daughter?"

A bright laugh bubbled out of Ciri at that. "If only I was so lucky. I was his escort and bodyguard. Our pursuers often assumed that me being so young looking meant I was the immune one and Cahir was protecting me. That deception worked well for us."

Guxart cleared his throat. "We saw a tavern that was a fighting ring."

Both Ciri's and Cahir's faces darkened at that. It was Cahir who answered.

"We survived. But barely." His hand rubbed over his shoulder where a large chunk had been torn out, leaving a visible dent. "Had to lay low and recover for a while after that. Ciri injured her throat."

"And you got a bitch of a fever. You're the worst patient ever, always fidgeting and poking. It's a miracle only that bite got infected so bad."

Cahir stuck his tongue out at Ciri and she poked him in the stomach. In turn Cahir ruffled her hair and danced away. Taking it as a challenge, she dashed after him and gave him a shove that sent him flying, landing with a big splash in one of the baths. Spluttering and laughing, he surfaced.

"Oh you little bitch!" He playfully splashed water in her direction but Ciri let out a scream and the water froze mid arc before dropping into a sad little puddle on the ground.

The others stared at her in awe and horror. She grinned at them with a shrug. "You didn't really think they'd send some random, helpless girl as a bodyguard, did you?"

A hand landed on Ciri's shoulder as Yennefer smiled down at her. "You and I have a lot to discuss. How would you feel about learning how to control your powers even better?"

For the first time since the news that there might be a solution to the virus, hope trickled back into the lives of the residents of Kaer Morhen. It wasn't going to be an overnight solution, they knew it wasn't going to be easy. But they were one small step closer to a safer, happier life and that was more than enough for them after years of despair.

#geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla fiona elen riannon #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #the witcher #letho of gulet #gaetan #guxart #vesemir #lambert #eskel #zombie apocalype au #tldr: ciri and cahir arrive at kaer morhen as the immune one and the bodyguard

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Text

In My Dreams Tonight

for @chaotic-bard who asked me for some fluff!

have a soulmates that dream about each other au featuring both a modern au and the canon universe!

brought to you by “Dreams Tonite” by Alvvays

---

“You’re nothing but trouble, bard,” the tall man glared from atop his horse. He always seemed to be glaring or glowering or huffing, the man in Jaskier’s dreams. The familiar stranger wore his long white hair pulled halfway back and he had golden eyes, the pupils of which were slit up the center like a cat’s. His name, Jaskier had learned after the third straight week of seeing him every night, was Geralt of Rivia. A Witcher, apparently, whose job it was to hunt down monsters.

“Ah, but what a lovely piece of trouble I am!” Jaskier replies. And he’s rather sassy himself in these dreams. Far more clever and ready to fight than he is when he’s awake. “You would miss me if I left, wouldn’t you, Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

The stranger hums a lot. He glares and he hums. Jaskier’s heart stutters frightfully in his chest whenever the man smiles, though. The sight is rare. Geralt has smiled perhaps three times in the past two months.

“Where are we going today?”

“Werewolf outside of town. You’re staying at the inn, where I know you can’t get into… nevermind. You can get into trouble anywhere.”

There’s a lightly teasing tone to the stranger’s voice that Jaskier hasn’t really heard before. He likes it. He craves more of it. He tosses and turns in his sleep, his skin damp with sweat. The dream goes on.

“Geralt, please,” he whines, “I can’t write ballads about monsters I haven’t seen! Or fights I did not attend! That’s lying to my audience, Geralt, and I simply won’t do it. I must go with you.”

“Drop it, Jaskier,” the man snarls. Jaskier feels sad. Incredibly sad.

Rejected?

“Gera-”

“I said drop it, bard.”

Jaskier wakes up feeling a little heartbroken and he yearns to be held. His pillow holds the fading scents of leather and wood-smoke. The sight of a pine sapling at the dog park makes him tear up.

He starts to wear the color yellow out of nowhere and his taste in jewelry switches from gold to silver.

When his best friend asks him about the recent changes, he cannot answer.

---

Geralt pours himself a mug of tea and shakes his hair out of his face. He’s been having odd dreams lately, things that feel familiar but manage to stay just out of his conscious grasp. Someone important is waiting for him. Someone he love and cares about and needs.

Geralt doesn’t really buy into the concept of soulmates, but he does understand instinct. He knows to trust his gut. He knows to listen and start paying attention when the same haunting blue eyes creep into his dreams every night for six months, plaguing him in the waking hours by refusing to give up their owners’ identity.

He wipes a hand down his face and sighs loudly into the otherwise empty studio apartment. “Fuck me, I gotta figure this shit out. I gotta talk to Yen.”

Talking to himself has always helped him calm down. He does it again, just to hear his own low voice scraping through the silence.

“I gotta see what’s going on with my head. These dreams are… getting to be a bit much, even for me.”

He nods to no one in particular and goes to text his best friend and coworker.

---

Jaskier hops off the bus and carries his guitar case down to the coffee shop on the corner. Finally, he’s managed to get a gig that wasn’t through the university.

He sets up his stuff in the tiny alcove the shop treats as a stage and watches as a few customers stroll around near the counter, waiting for their drinks or reading through the menu, hovering just far away enough from the line to keep others from growing confused.

He loves people watching.

Once everything is ready to go and the light outside the window has dimmed a bit, indicating early evening has finally arrived, he pulls his guitar onto his lap and strums through a few quick chords.

“Rode here on the bus,

Now you're one of us.

It was magic hour,

Counting motorbikes on the turnpike;

One of Eisenhower's.”

“Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who starts a fire just to let it go out?”

He watches a particularly handsome man with broad shoulders and a vintage denim jacket approach the counter. Jaskier adds a haunting, well-practiced lilt to his voice as he goes into the chorus, hoping to get his attention:

“If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight?

If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight, tonight?”

An equally beautiful woman with long, curly black hair approaches the denim-clad angel and whisks him towards a table nearby. She settles with her back to Jaskier, leaving him with a decent view of the man’s sharp, lightly stubbled jaw, glittering eyes, and severe white ponytail. He’s gorgeous.

He’s also uncomfortably familiar.

Jaskier continues to perform, trying to identify his attractive mystery man the whole time and failing miserably.

---

“He’s everywhere, Yen. I feel like I could identify him by scent if I got close enough. I can’t remember his name, though. Or the color of his hair. I don’t know his face, only his eyes. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Have you talked to Dr. deStael about it?”

“Yeah, but she said this kind of thing is normal. Recurring dreams often help us sort out our trauma or something like that. I don’t know. I don’t feel traumatized by this guy I feel… protective of him. Maybe even like I love him?”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, that’s my line.”

“Shut up for a minute, this live music actually slaps and I want to listen to it. Then we can discuss your weird possessive tendencies towards your dream boyfriend.”

Geralt takes a slow sip of his coffee and glances up at the singer off to their left, perched on a barstool with his guitar held carefully on his lap. His voice is soft but somehow bright. Geralt finds himself utterly entranced.

“On the weird guitar;

Said you'd go to work

In the waking hour.

In fluorescent light,

Antisocialites watch a wilting flower.”

“Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who builds a wall just to let it fall down?”

The lyrics are strange and hold a dream-like quality to them. They draw a picture in Geralt’s head, something dark and heavy and oddly hollow. He has another sip of coffee and tries to ignore the feeling of panic welling up inside him. He glances at Yennefer to see if she’s picked up on his mood, but her violet eyes are focused on the singer and his nimble fingers as he continues to play and sing.

When he glances up towards their table and their eyes meet, Geralt loses the ability to breathe.

That shade of cornflower blue was…

Couldn’t be…

Had to be…

The gorgeous, feathery tenor continues to fill the air, whirling pleasant notes past his ears and deep into his subconscious. Geralt knows that voice. He’s heard this man laugh and sing and cry and scream a thousand different times. Through a handful of different lives. Geralt knows that face, those hands, those strong legs and long arms and blue fucking eyes. He’s held this singer in his arms every night for centuries, feeling his breathing as they both drift off to sleep.

He has protected this man and been protected by him in return. He has kissed and been kissed, caressed and been caressed. The two men sitting across from each other in the coffee shop physically embody an endless cycle of love. It has been bound up in the souls of two no-longer strangers. Geralt knows that he knows this man.

He knows Jaskier.

Petal pink lips continue to form soft words and slender hands keep plucking at vibrating guitar strings:

“Don't sit by the phone for me,

Wait at home for me, all alone for me.

Your face was supposed to be

Hanging over me, like a rosary.”

Geralt stands suddenly, startling Yennefer but not the performer, even though he’s clearly just as shocked as Geralt about this recent development.

Their mutual realization.

“So morose for me,

Seeing ghosts of me,

Writing oaths to me,

Is it so naïve to wonder…”

Geralt crosses the room to the edge of the stage in three quick strides. Yennefer is close behind him, her latte just as abandoned as his coffee at their table. She grabs her friend’s arm as if to stop him from doing something violent, but when he doesn’t struggle against her grip she lets it go again easily.

“Geralt?” the musician asks.

“Jaskier?” Geralt replies. The guitar is placed quickly to the side and a pair of incredibly familiar arms are thrown around the taller man’s neck. Geralt hugs back just as firmly, his arms flung low around the brunette’s waist. Geralt knows that this is Jaskier’s favorite way to be embraced; he doesn’t know how he’s aware of that fact, but it comes to the front of his mind clear as day.

“Holy shit,” Jaskier breathes, leaning back to stare Geralt in the face. One of his string-calloused fingers traces down over Geralt’s eyelid and cheek and he cocks his head to the side. “No scar?”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. “Not this lifetime, I guess.”

“Were we? Are we- are we, you know...?”

“Yeah,” Yen beams, adding her two cents from the sidelines. “I think so. Congrats, boys. This is one of those one in a million chances and you’ve gone and done it.”

“Done what?” Geralt asks. Jaskier tosses his head back and laughs. His happiness rings out through the cafe like a struck bell and Geralt’s heart stutters frantically. He really does love this man already. Wholeheartedly and without fear. “What have we done, Yen?”

“As obtuse now as you were then,” Jaskier chides affectionately. “Soulmates, my love. We’ve been bound by the red string of fate and ta-da! Here we are. Again, apparently.”

“Yes, okay,” Geralt breathes, nosing his way along Jaskier’s jaw with giddy determination. He presses a quick and wholly welcome kiss to the bard’s lips. “That makes sense.”

“Do you... do you want me again? This time around?” Jaskier asks, fingers fiddling with one of the ties on Geralt’s hoodie. A pair of chapped lips press against his again and he sighs into it, melting against his no-longer-Witcher.

“Yes. And the next one, as well.”

#bouncey's sappy hours #geraskier #geraskier fluff #yen #yennefer #yenerference kinda #getting together #soulmate au #prophetic dreams #geraskier soulmate au #geraskier soulmates #shared dreams #modern au #geraskier modern au #kissing #first kiss #magically getting together #prompt fill

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

Note

Heyo! 💖I just wanted to say that I completely ADORE your works and I was wondering if you could maybe give us some dad!Witcher reactions to when the reader goes into labor? Totally up to you, only if you want to and if your comfortable with this!☺️ again, I love your work so much and I really love seeing the boys being included in amazing fics and hcs💕

A/N: This has also been sitting in my box for a while, and many people have asked about this, so I’m glad it’s finally done. You can all thank @pressedinthepages for helping me out with Geralt cause he’s the reason y’all haven’t gotten this sooner. Thank you again baby!!!

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, labor, pregnant lady going into labor but not the actual birth part, just labor pains and water breaking :)

***

Lambert

You sucked in a sharp breath, your hand coming to hold your side.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Lambert sat up in his chair, brows drawing together as he looked across the table at you.

“I-I’m okay.” You told him, rubbing your ribcage. “The baby just kicked me.”

“Doesn’t seem like they’ve stopped moving at all today.” Ciri commented. She sat next to you, talking to you about different names for your unborn child.

“They haven’t. I think they’ve gotten too big. There isn’t enough room in there for the little thing.” You rubbed the side of your stomach. “Anytime they stretch, they bruise one of my organs.”

You started to stand up, needing to stretch your legs.

“Where are you going?” Lambert followed you with his gaze.

“Just for a little walk.”

“Thought you couldn’t walk too far ‘cause your ankles hurt.”

“They do, but sitting hasn’t helped my back at all. It's making my legs hurt even more.”

Lambert stood to his feet, a mug of ale in one hand, and moved to your side.

“The baby needs room to move. They can’t do that if I’m sitting down.”

He placed his free hand on the small of your back, offering what little support he could.

“They need to get a move on and get here soon.” Lambert thought out loud. He used his shoulder to push open a door that would take you out to the courtyard.

“Can’t rush a pregnancy, love.” You sighed gently, though you agreed with him.

“Just don’t like seeing you hurting knowing I can’t do anything to make it better.”

“I’ll be okay.” You looked over to him to meet his gaze, offering him a little smile.

“But what if you aren't?” He stopped, his hand slipping from your back to your hand. “What if…. What if you don't make it through this? Through having the baby? What if…. I-I’ve heard stories-,”

“Lambert, I’m giving birth to our child here at Kaer Morhen with Yennefer and Triss. Should anything happen, I trust them to do what's needed to save both myself and the baby. So stop with all that nonsense.”

Lambert nodded, knowing what you said was true. The safest place you could possibly be was Kaer Morhen where some of the best mages in the world were.

“I just can't help worrying.” The witcher muttered shyly, putting his hand on your back once more to lead you through the courtyard.

“I know.” You smiled softly. It was a rare sight to see the young witcher look so anxious and worrisome. “You’ve been worrying a lot recently.”

“‘Cause I know you're getting closer to having the baby. We’re…. I'm gonna be a father.” He shook his head like the mere thought was too good to be true. “Don't want to turn out like my old man. Damn bastard wasn't worth shit.”

“You'd never be like him, Lambert.” You assured him, looking over to admire his side profile. “You're too kind of a man.”

He scoffed.

“Don't hurt my feelings like that, bug.”

You grinned.

“Besides, if you need to be put in your place, Eskel and Geralt would gladly kick your ass. Though I know it will never be needed.”

“What about us kicking Lambert’s ass?” Geralt asked as he and Eskel moved towards you two.

“Y/N said she doesn't think you two could beat me.”

You elbowed Lambert in the side.

“How are you feeling today, Y/N?” Eskel asked you.

“Not too great, if I'm honest. Though today it doesn't feel like a rib has been kicked out of place.”

The three boys began to chat about something Vesemir was asking them to work on together. It was a fallen wall on the west side of the keep.

You weren't paying too much attention, shifting your weight from one foot to the other every now and again. You slipped your arm around Lambert’s holding the inside of his elbow. You didn't want to just excuse yourself and walk away. Lambert would follow you and not even finish talking to Eskel and Geralt. You figured you could endure standing just a little longer.

But then the pain between your hips sharpened and took your breath away. Your grip on Lambert tightened. There was a wetness between your legs that made you furrow your brows.

“Oh gods.” You whispered.

“What?” Eskel asked you. Lambert was in the middle of taking a sip of his ale and hadn't had the chance to ask first.

“I think the baby’s coming.”

The father-to-be choked on his ale, coughing and sputtering. He hit his fist against his chest, struggling to speak.

“What?!”

“I’m going into labor, Lambert.”

“The fuck you are.” His voice nearly cracked.

“Eskel, give me a hand, please.” You weren't too sure how Lambert would react so you needed someone you knew wouldn't freak out.

Eskel moved to your side, holding his arm out to allow you to use him for support. Lambert remained on the other side of you, one hand on your lower back and the other on your arm. His ale had been discarded, no longer important to the witcher.

“How-How do you-I mean, how do you know they’re coming?” Lambert stumbled over his words worse than you'd ever seen.

“I do believe my water just broke, love.” You met his gaze, smiling softly. Though you wanted to scream and curse at the gods for the pain you were feeling, you needed to stay calm for him.

With Eskel’s help, Lambert’s rambling promises that everything would be okay, and Geralt’s moral support from right behind you, you were able to make it to the room designated for this very occasion. You knew it would be wise to have a room on the main level just in case you weren't up in your room when the time came to deliver.

Geralt went to gather Yennefer and Triss while you carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. Eskel went to stand just outside of the doorway so that he was far enough away to give you both some privacy but close enough that if you needed anything, he'd be there.

“Should-Should you lay back?” Lambert asked you, brushing your hair back out of your face.

“No, love. I’m fine. I’m-I’m fine.” Your voice cracked as you softly shook your head, tears filling your eyes and blurring your vision.

“Why are you crying? Are-Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Is something wro-,”

“Lambert, I love you but please breathe.”

“I am breathing! Are you breathing?”

Your head fell forward, hands gripping your knees as the tears left your eyes. A surge of pain tore through your pelvis.

Lambert saw the way your strong facade was crumbling. He needed to be strong for you. He needed to swallow his fears and be there for you. You were doing all of the hard work. He was just there to watch and encourage you. He had no right to freak out.

It took the witcher a few minutes to gather himself, to tell himself over and over that you would be okay. Then he was able to elevate his heartbeat and focus on you.

“Hey, hey, bug.” His tone softened. He turned your head to him, his thumb stroking your flushed cheek. “I'm right here, okay?”

“Lambert, it-it hurts.” You whispered, turning your head to bury your face in his neck.

“I know, bug. ‘M sorry.” He rubbed your back, pressing kisses to the side of your head the best he could. “But you know what?”

He pulled back and you had no choice but to pull your head away from him.

“If there is anyone here in this keep that could do this, that could go through this, it's you.”

“That's-That’s not true.” You shook your head. “You-You’re strong. You survived the trials. You're a witcher for crying out loud!”

“And he's the biggest cry baby you’ll ever see.” Geralt spoke from the doorway. You smiled a little, wiping your cheeks.

“That’s debatable.” Lambert muttered.

Triss and Yennefer entered the room. Yennefer stayed off to the side while Triss came to you. Yenn was there for backup if Triss needed it.

“You ready for this, bug?” Lambert asked you, rubbing your knee.

You bit your bottom lip, nodding your head.

Eskel

You slammed one of the cabinets in the kitchen shut and turned to gather the rest of the clean dishes from the woven basket on the table.

“Y/N, you really should let someone else take care of that.” Eskel said.

“No one else knows how to put them away the right way.” You told him. There was no kindness in your voice, no peaceful tone to your words. You sounded bitter and angry.

“I don’t think there’s really any wrong way to put away dishes.” Lambert thought out loud.

“And that’s exactly why I’m putting them away.”

“Y/N, let me help-,”

“No!” You cut Eskel off, turning to face him. “Just let me do this! Let me put these away so they are done right.”

Eskel stopped walking towards you, brows drawn together.

“Eskel.” Geralt said his brother’s name and beckoned for Eskel to join him and Lambert at the table.

Eskel looked back at you once more before going to his brothers. He sat down next to Geralt, arms resting on the table.

“What is up her ass?” Lambert whispered low enough so you couldn’t hear.

“I don’t know.” Eskel shook his head, eyes finding you. “She’s been like this since she woke up.”

“Yeah, I know. She’s made the whole keep feel like hell today.”

“Is something wrong with her?” Geralt asked.

“She won’t tell me if anything is wrong. She’s just been an entirely different person all day.”

The witchers fell silent as Jaskier entered the room.

“Good evening, Y/N!” The bard chirped.

You were reaching a shelf that was probably a little too high up for you, so he decided to offer a hand.

“Let me help you, darling-,”

“Fuck off, bard!” You snapped at him, placing the plate down on the counter with enough force to nearly break it. “Just-Just leave me alone! What is with you men not understanding a gods damned word coming out of my mouth today?”

You stormed across the room, jaw locked and eyes set on the door you wanted to leave through. Well, to say you stormed through was a little bit of an exaggeration. With your enormous pregnant belly, the most you could do was angrily waddle.

The witchers and the bard watched you leave the room, the door slamming shut behind you.

“That was absolutely terrifying.” Jaskier put his hand over his heart. “What did I say to make her so explosive?”

“It’s not you, Jaskier.” Eskel shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m sorry about that. She’s…. She’s never like this.”

“I’ve faced bloodthirsty alps and I can honestly say I’d rather deal with them than an angry Y/N.” Lambert shook his head. “Good luck, brother.”

Eskel felt as though he’d need more than luck to deal with you.

He found you in the courtyard, resting on a stool by the goats’ enclosure. Your legs were parted and you braced your hands on your knees. Your eyes were closed tightly.

“Are you okay, doll?”

You didn’t answer him. This worried the witcher. He moved to kneel down in front of you. His hand slipped around your stomach, holding you tenderly.

“Y/N, my love, please answer me.” He begged quietly, brows drawn together.

Your eyes opened, glossy and red. You shook your head gently. You knew that if you spoke, you’d lose what control you had over the situation.

“Please, Y/N. Just-Just tell me what’s wrong.” Eskel reached up to brush a few pieces of hair out of your eyes.

“Nothing.” You shook your head, pulling his hand away from your face. You rubbed your face and tried to stand up but he wouldn’t let you.

“It’s obviously not nothing. You’ve been acting weird all morning. Is everything okay with you? With the baby?”

“I’m fine, Eskel.” You spoke through your teeth as a surge of pain drove through your hips. You removed his hand from your stomach, his touch burning in a way that made the pain worse.

“No, you aren’t. You’ve been avoiding me all day, Y/N, and-and you’ve been mad at everyone who talks to you.” He placed his hands on his thighs, feeling hurt that you’d push his hand off of you. So many thoughts ran through his mind and his stomach churned. Why had you pushed him away? Why were you avoiding him? Why were you angry at him and at everyone else?

“Did I do something?” His voice was weak and timid.

“No, Eskel.” You shook your head, rubbing your eyes once more.

“Then please, Y/N.” He begged, heart racing in his chest. “Please just tell me what is wrong so I can make it better. I-I-I feel so helpless. You’re angry and you’ve been harsh with everyone. You’ve never raised your voice at me, let alone the others. Something is wrong, Y/N, and I-I can’t leave you alone until you tell me what it is.”

Your head hung and your eyes squeezed shut tightly. He could hear how furiously your heart was pounding. Tears fell from your eyes as you brought your hands up to cover your face. You shook your head.

“I-I can’t- Eskel, I can’t do this. Everything hurts so bad.” You cried, finally leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder.

“What hurts, my love?” He pressed kisses to the side of your head, one hand coming up to embrace you in a careful hug while the other rubbed the outside of your thigh.

“I’m so scared, Eskel. I-I can’t-I can’t do this. I can’t.” Your tears dampened his neck but he didn’t mind. Your breath was hot and your fingers dug into him so tightly he thought for sure he’d have bruises.

“You have to explain to me what is hurting, doll.” He pulled away just enough to cup your face and brush his thumbs over your flushed cheeks. “If I don’t know what’s wrong, I can’t help you.”

“I-I’m-I’m sorry I’ve been so angry and so mean.” You leaned into his touch. “The baby- It’s coming.”

Eskel’s brows drew together and he looked down at your stomach for a moment.

“What?”

“My-My water broke this morning.” You shook your head. “But I-I-I can’t do this, Eskel! I can’t do this! I’m-I’m so scared! I can’t!”

“Y/N, look at me.” He held your face between his large hands, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him. “Why didn’t you let me know when it happened? You’ve been moving around so much today. You should’ve been sitting down and resting until the baby comes.”

“I can’t do it, Eskel.”

“Yes, you can.”

Even though you were freaking out and crying, he was calm. He took your hand in his and tucked your hand underneath the neck of his shirt. He placed your hand directly over his heart and applied a little pressure, wanting you to feel his heart beating steadily.

“You need to calm down, doll.” His voice was gentle and tender, matching his eyes and his touch. “Everything will be okay. I know you’re hurting right now but it will be over soon. Okay?”

You nodded. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips and then your forehead.

“Let’s get you inside and to a bed.” He stood to his feet and held his arm out for you.

Geralt

You shivered a little, pulling one of the numerous cloaks you wore tighter around your body.

“Are you cold, dove?” He asked, his hand immediately finding the small of your back.

“Just my nose.” You explained. “The wind is terrible today.”

You had wanted to go on a walk around the grounds of the keep, feeling the need to stretch your legs. You walked alongside him, your arms weaved together.

“Do you need my cloak?” Geralt asked, starting to take his off.

“No, no, Geralt.” You shook your head, almost laughing at him. “I’ve got plenty of layers on. I don’t need anymore.”

The White Wolf had made sure you were wearing at least six layers before you both ventured outside. You were sure you had on one of his cloaks and maybe even Lambert’s or Eskel’s. You didn’t mind though. The cloaks were nice and cozy, and they smelled like Geralt, all musk and fire and steel.

Geralt’s arm slipped out of yours so he could go down the steps first. He held his hand out for you, eyes carefully watching your footing to make sure you wouldn’t fall down the four stone steps.

“Why thank you, good sir.” You grinned just a little, placing your hand in his.

“My pleasure.” His grin was a little less prominent than yours, but it still warmed your heart.

You began to lead the way to the little area the goats were kept. You wanted to check on them and make sure they’d be warm enough for the evening.

Before you could reach the goat enclosure, a sudden wave of heat came over you. You stopped walking and started desperately tearing at the cloaks in an attempt to take them off.

“Y/N?” Geralt furrowed his brows together. “What are you doing?”

“I’m-I’m just too hot.” You handed him the top cloak and then the next one.

“It’s far too cold for you to be in such little-,”

“Geralt, I am too hot for all those layers.” You told him firmly. Your heart started racing and a thin layer of sweat covered your skin. With the wind, this chilled you but at the same time, you felt like you were on fire.

You were down to your last cloak when you finally felt a little comfortable. The wind shifted and suddenly Geralt knew what was happening. He could sense the changes in your body, the chemical ones no one else would have been able to detect.

“Are you hurting?” He asked, furrowing his brows together.

Before you had a chance to answer him, you sucked in a sharp breath and put your hand on the side of your stomach. It was as if your body had waited for the perfect moment to start having contractions.

“We need to get you to the bedroom.” Geralt spoke mostly to himself. He handed you the cloaks and then, before you could object, he very carefully picked you up bridal style.

***

Geralt placed you carefully down on the bed.

You stayed sitting up, one leg hanging off while the other was bent. Your head hung as you tried to focus on your breathing, to listen to what your body was telling you.

The pressure between your hips didn’t seem to be growing, but it was there and it was bothersome.

You looked up to see where your dear husband had gone.

He was moving around the room almost frantically. He checked the windows to make sure there wasn’t a draft coming in. He checked all of the candles lit around the room for when the sun went down. He didn’t want them to run out and leave him in the dark with you in labor. He could see just fine without light, but you wouldn’t be able to see. He checked the chest at the foot of the bed to make sure clean blankets and linens were there should they be needed.

As he was moving across the room to check the fire in the hearth, you called his name. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face you.

Your eyes were squeezed shut and you were leaning forward, one hand on the bed in front of you and the other on your stomach.

“Y/N?” He wanted to move towards you but his boots seemed stuck to the wooden floor beneath him.

You didn’t realize until then that his eyes were glossy and he was fighting back tears.

“Why are you crying, my love?”

He looked away from you for a moment, trying to gain control of his emotions.

“I don’t like seeing you in pain.” He explained, clearing his throat. “I-I’m the reason why you’re hurting and there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it.”

Your heart melted hearing him sound so upset and concerned.

“Oh, Geralt.” You murmured his name. “Come here. Come sit with me. Please.”

Geralt didn’t hesitate to move to your side. Before getting on to the bed, he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. The mattress dipped beneath his weight behind you.

“Lean on me, dove.” He kissed the side of your head, his hands slipping around your sides.

You sunk back against him, eyes fluttering shut as the pain seemed to ease up. The new position didn’t put so much pressure on your back.

His hands, large and warm, rubbed the sides of your stomach. He tucked his nose into your hair, eyes closing as he breathed in and out, listening to your heartbeat and the one inside of you.

Whenever a contraction came around, you’d tense up and he’d rub your stomach. He’d whisper in your ear how strong you were, how much he loved you, and how happy he was.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, you spoke.

“Geralt? Tell me a story.” You rubbed his hand that rested on your stomach.

“What kind of story?”

“Of your time with Jaskier before I met you. I miss him, Geralt.”

“I know.” Geralt kept his lips against the side of your head. “He’ll be here soon.”

Geralt began to tell you of one of the many times Jaskier was the reason they were run out of town. He’d pause for a moment when a contraction came, hesitating to make sure you were okay.

It killed him that there wasn’t anything he could do to stop the pain or lessen it. This had to happen. Yes, it wasn’t fun and yes, he felt so useless, but soon, his child would be in his arms with you at his side.

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handwrittenhello · 3 years

Text

(edit made by the wonderful @ghostinthelibrarywrites!)

Summary:

Yennefer stops, sinking into a crouch so that they’re on eye level. “Jaskier. You have a spell placed on you and I need to break it,” she explains.

“A spell?” Contrary to what any sane person would think when told they’ve been bespelled, Jaskier is wide-eyed and excited, the same look he gets as an adult whenever he senses a good story coming on. “What kind?”

“A dangerous one.” She hates to squash that light in his eyes, but it’s true—she doesn’t know what other side effects it might have. She needs to reverse it sooner rather than later—gods forbid it becomes permanent. “Now will you please come here? I’m a sorceress, and I can help.”

Spell after spell after spell she casts, getting more and more complex as she goes, but none work. “Fuck!” she roars as her latest attempt fails, once again.

“Madame Sorceress?” Jaskier asks, brow creasing, worry creeping in. “Is it—did it work?”

“No,” Yennefer replies, and sighs, because she knows what she has to do. Who better to break a curse, after all, than a witcher?

My entry for quick fic this week! Geraskefer, 3k, featuring deaged jaskier—read it here on ao3 or below!

It happens like this: Geralt so rudely decides he’s better off without the company of his very best friend in the whole wide world, and Jaskier thinks, well, fuck this, and goes to find the nearest tavern.

And then—because the gods love to hate him, it seems—he sets one foot inside, sees raven curls and expensive clothing, and immediately turns around and leaves. He’s had enough rejection for one day, thanks, and he’s not sure his poor, sensitive, bardic heart can handle any more barbed words, be they in unlikely jest or not.

“Where are you going, bard?” Yennefer calls, and every eye in the place turns to him. Shit. Well, he knows how to play a crowd, at least.

“Well, you see, I—I’m due a visit to my, um, my elderly grandmother, she—she needs my help, um, corralling her chickens—”

Or not. Why do his stunning intellect and quick tongue always disappear when she’s around?

Yennefer snorts. “Sure you are, and then I assume there’s a cat on a stove somewhere that you need to go save?”

Were it not for years of barding training every and all sense of embarrassment out of him, he’s sure his face would be aflame by now.

“Come have a drink. You’re better company than anyone else in this shit town,” she grumbles, and it’s then that Jaskier spies the numerous empty wine glasses on the table before her.

Misery loves two things—company and copious amounts of alcohol. And if she’s offering…

“You’re buying. I left my coin pouch with G—well. You’re buying,” he says, but he’s already sliding into the chair across from her and flagging down the barman.

A drink turns into two turns into ten, and shit, he can’t even remember why he ever thought maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Yennefer turns out to be much more tolerable when her inhibitions are lowered by drink, uncharitable though it is to think, but really, she’s so much more open, and her cheeks flush so prettily in the candlelight, and she even laughs—not the mean, bitter laugh she does whenever she’s mocking him (which is frequently), but a small flash of teeth, a breathy thing that turns into full-on cackling as it goes.

“I never knew—is this what Geralt sees in you?” Jaskier muses, running a finger along the rim of his glass. Then he pales, realizing what he's just said, and looks up to see that every trace of amusement in her face is gone.

“Whatever he felt for me, it wasn’t real,” Yennefer says harshly, pushing her chair back so fast that it tips backwards and falls to the floor with an audible THUD. She starts towards the stairs, presumably to her room.

Jaskier winces and follows after her, still a bit unsteady, but sobering up quickly in the wake of his gaffe. “Yennefer, wait—”

She’s too fast, and he only barely manages to stick his foot in the doorway before she can slam the door in his face. “Ouch,” he complains, and knows he’ll be feeling it much worse in the morning.

“Go away,” Yennefer hisses. “Don’t you know when a woman has had enough of your company? Or is that why Geralt had to scream it from a mountaintop, to get rid of you?”

Ouch. He flounders, every possible retort dying on his lips. “That’s not fair,” he almost wants to say, except that hurts even worse, so he says nothing. He does withdraw his foot, though, and she’s quick to slam the door, the lock clicking audibly into place moments later.

He thunks his head against the door. Why does he do this? Every time he thinks that someone might tolerate him, might actually want him around, he sticks his foot in his mouth and fucks it up.

“Fuck me,” he mutters to himself, then gathers the strength to peel himself away from the door. He debates for a moment just sleeping right here in the hallway, curled up in front of her door, rather than facing the mortifying ordeal of begging for a room with no coin to promise. But he's just as likely to get hexed as he is thrown out, and, well, at least if he’s thrown out he can sneak into the stables or something. He shudders to think what sort of nasty spells Yennefer could cast on him if she were to trip over him on her way out in the morning.

He sighs and turns to leave, only to hear the lock click again, followed shortly by the knob turning. The door swings open on its own, and, half fearing for his life, Jaskier peeks inside. Yennefer is sitting at a vanity, taking her makeup off, her back to the door.

Her eyes meet his in the mirror, and he yelps, tripping over himself in his haste to retreat. Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Are you going to come in, or are you going to flail around like an idiot?”

“Are you going to harvest my organs and use them for your magicks?”

“No.” He feels a bit better at that, only for her to immediately follow up with, “Your organs aren’t anywhere near good enough.”

He pouts, but edges inside, the door shutting itself behind him. “My organs are perfectly harvestable,” he argues, and then feels quite ridiculous, and shuts up before she actually does harvest them.

“Gods, this was a mistake,” Yennefer mutters under her breath, finishing with her makeup and pulling back the covers on the bed. “You can have the floor. Don’t touch my stuff.”

He gleefully sets his lute case down to claim a space before she can change her mind. He’s touched, really, that she cares enough to offer him this. “Can I have a pillo—” he starts to ask, sneaking a hand up towards the bed, only to yank it away when she smacks it.

“No. Good night, bard.”

Never mind, he’s not as touched.

He sighs and lies down, curling around his lute case like he does on the road. It’s warm, at least, the heat from the kitchen below rising up to warm the floor beneath him. He falls into a deep sleep, hastened by the alcohol, and stays that way for several hours, before his bladder makes its needs known.

Upon waking to see the moon still high in the sky, he groans, reaching a hand up onto the vanity to pull himself up. His questing fingers brush against a vial—whoops—and in his blind fumbling to catch and right it, he ends up knocking over several more bottles. Fuck.

“Sorry, sorry,” he hisses, when Yennefer stirs in bed. Gods, if he's just spilled something important, she really will hex him.

Something important begins to drip onto his hand. Gods fucking damn it. He tries to scrub it away, only for it to begin tingling and burning, quickly spreading up his arm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

It’s encompassing his entire body, now, itching and prickling like his skin is too small. “Bard? What are you doing?” Yennefer asks sleepily, sitting bolt upright when she spots the overturned bottle and him scratching frantically as if that will make the sensation go away.

“I didn’t mean to,” he pleads, suddenly very scared, and not just of her. Whatever this enchantment is, it’s spreading fast—will he survive it?

“Is that my fucking anti-aging serum?” Yennefer demands. Jaskier, who has no idea what an anti-aging serum looks like, continues to panic. Even his insides feel weird, guts writhing and bones aching. It’s becoming more and more painful, too, until he can’t stand it anymore, and his vision narrows and darkens and his back hits the floor and then he knows no more.

That fucking idiot. That stupid, fumbling imbecile! Yennefer should have known better, really, should have known that the blundering, blithering bard would immediately find the only potentially dangerous thing in the room and spill it all over himself. Really.

She rolled out of bed, a headache already pounding behind her eyes—partially the wine’s influence, yes, but more at the sight in front of her: Jaskier, no longer a long-limbed adult, instead a small, slight child, swimming in silks.

“For the love of fuck,” she sighs, pinching her brow. Her anti-aging serum—which is meant to be used in small doses, one or two drops at the most—she never knew it would have this kind of effect. And now she has to play babysitter to the most annoying person on the Continent, all because he couldn’t keep his hands to his fucking self.

“Wake up,” she orders, refraining from kicking him like she might if he were an adult. She’s mean, but not mean enough to kick a child.

“Hm?” he hums, eyes blinking open, only to freeze when he sees her towering over him. “You’re not Mama,” he says, voice trembling.

Oh, shit. It’s taken his mind as well. For a brief moment, she dares to hope that perhaps he’ll be less trouble like this.

Then he scrambles to his feet and tries to dive out the window.

“Oh no you don’t, you little shit,” she curses, and sends a small spell to trip him up before he can escape. “Stop that.” He stumbles, little palms meeting the wooden floor when he tries to catch himself. She finishes by flicking a finger and latching the window shut, same with the door. The last thing she needs is a de-aged, runaway bard.

Well, if he were to run away, technically he wouldn’t be her problem anymore…

But that’s too heartless, leaving a child on his own like that—and Yennefer can’t deny that her hardened heart has always held a soft spot for children.

That soft spot grows a little softer when Jaskier scoots back against the wall and bursts into loud, messy tears.

She doesn’t know what to do, really, doesn’t know how to comfort him—she can’t remember when she last comforted anyone. “Stop crying,” she orders instead. “Those tears won’t get you anything.”

Incredibly, it works. Whether it’s the shock of being spoken to so harshly, or they were only crocodile tears, she doesn’t know, and doesn’t care. What matters is that he’s finally stopped, and she can actually try and fix this mess now.

“Where’s my mama?” he demands, glaring at her distrustfully. Good, that’s an instinct that will keep him alive someday. “If you want a ransom, then—then Papa says that he won’t pay. Says I’m too much trouble, so you should—you should really just take me home, or else—or else he’ll come here and he’ll kill you.” He lifts his chin defiantly to punctuate his statement.

Well. That’s a lot to unpack, but she’s going to go ahead and shelve that for now. “I haven’t kidnapped you,” she says irritably, then considers the best way to break it to him.

…There is no best way, so she decides not to.

“Then where am I? And who are you?”

“That’s not important. Now come here,” she says, advancing on him and readying a spell that will hopefully reverse the effects of the serum.

He shakes his head, shrinking back further against the wall. His eyes flick between her and the door, and she’s guessing he’s about to make a run for it.

She stops, sinking into a crouch so that they’re on eye level. “Jaskier. It’s very important that I do this. You have a spell placed on you and I need to break it,” she explains.

He nods, pushing away from the wall and coming to sit in front of her, legs crossed.

“You might feel a tingling, or even a bit of hurt,” she warns, and he nods again, his face creasing in worry and determination.

She’s just about to start when—“Can I hold your hand?” he blurts out. “Mama lets me hold her hand when I—”

She takes his hand before he can launch into some inane explanation. His hand is warm and delicate in hers, no trace of lute callouses to be found. He brightens immediately, gently squeezing their fingers together.

Her eyes, traitors, are getting misty. She angrily clears her throat and begins to cast—the sooner she can reverse this, the better.

Yennefer tries a simple reversal, first. Generic, easy, and evidently not likely to work. No matter. She lets it go and pulls forth another—a spell of speed, to hasten his aging. It fights against her, like drawing a bow, getting more and more difficult as she progresses—she lets that one go, too, lest it snap in her hands like a bowstring rebounding.

Spell after spell after spell, getting more and more complex as she goes, but none work. “Fuck!” she roars as her latest attempt fails, once again.

“Madame Sorceress?” Jaskier asks, brow creasing, worry creeping in. “Is it—did it work?”

“No,” Yennefer replies, and sighs, because she knows what she has to do. Who better to break a curse, after all, than a witcher?

“You’re shitting me,” is the first thing Geralt says after Yennefer explains the situation.

“Does it look like I’m kidding?” Yennefer yells, while Jaskier cringes behind her skirts. Despite his excitement at getting to meet a real life witcher, the actual experience has since proven to be a bit much for him. “I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice, believe me,” she bites out, and Geralt winces, but wisely chooses not to comment.

“De-aged, then?” Geralt asks, sinking down onto his heels. “You can call me Geralt,” he says, and Jaskier peeks out at him.

“Julian,” Jaskier answers, and Yennefer remembers him introducing himself as such to the dwarves. “You’re a witcher?”

“I am,” Geralt nods. “I’m here to help. Did Yennefer explain what’s going on?”

“She said I had a spell on me. But I don’t feel spelled.”

“Mhmm. They can be tricky like that,” Geralt offers.

“Can we get on with it?” Yennefer asks. “This is all very nice, but we still don’t know what the side effects may be.”

“Fine,” Geralt says, standing up and holding out a hand to Jaskier. “Julian, why don’t you come meet my horse.” Jaskier lights up, latching onto Geralt immediately. Yennefer tries not to mourn the loss—why would she? She’s glad to be rid of the annoying little shit, she tells herself.

Geralt gets him situated with Roach, petting gently over her neck and mane, before returning to Yennefer. “I’ve only ever heard of this happening once before,” he begins. “Woman walked into the woods on An Skellig, came out a little girl.”

“And what happened to her?”

“Locals were stumped, until they remembered the old songs. Tír na nÓg.”

Yennefer scoffs. “Skellige fairy tales? That’s all you’ve got?”

“It’s not just a tale. They took her to the bridge during fog season, let her walk across, and she returned three days later all grown up, and no memory of it.”

Yennefer closes her eyes. It’s the only lead they’ve got, and they both know it. “Skellige it is, then. I can’t portal us all and Roach there, though.”

“Good. I hate portals. We’ll head to Novigrad, catch a merchant ship.”

Setting out on the road together is surprisingly easy. Though the fiery passion between them has simmered down, Yennefer still finds she enjoys Geralt’s company, when she forgets to be angry at him. It helps to have Jaskier there as a buffer, oddly enough—Geralt seems to sense her moods keenly, and often makes himself scarce, taking Jaskier with him to identify herbs as they walk, or carrying him on his shoulders as Jaskier tries to reach the lowest branches of the fruit trees they pass.

And sometimes she finds herself alone with Jaskier when Geralt is off hunting, or tending to Roach, or doing whatever the fuck it is he does when he’s alone. He proves to be, if not a scintillating conversational partner, very eager to learn, especially when she explains magical theories to him.

“When I grow up, I want to be a sorceress!” he proclaims one night, and she can’t help but smile.

“What about a witcher? Last I recall, you wanted to be a witcher yesterday,” she teases.

“I can do both!” Jaskier insists. “A witcher-sorceress. They’ll write songs about me!”

He never really has changed, has he?

The journey to An Skellig is largely uneventful—there’s one exciting moment, when they spot a blue whale off the bow of the ship, but other than that, it’s a monotony of rolling waves and bouts of seasickness for Jaskier.

They’re all glad to set foot on dry land when they finally do. They’re so close that Yennefer can taste it—though she can’t deny that young Julian has grown on her, and she’ll almost be sad to see him gone.

She swallows her feeling and continues on, trekking through the woods as Geralt leads them to the bridge to Tír na nÓg. The temperature drops as they go, until Jaskier is shivering atop Roach. Yennefer conjures a cloak for him with hardly a thought, and he throws a grateful smile at her.

They keep on, the forest growing darker, and just when she’s about to demand that they stop for the night and continue on tomorrow, the trees before them break, revealing a breathtaking view.

An arched bridge spans a perfectly placid lake ringed by trees, a fine mist overlaying the whole scene. This must be it—the bridge to Tír na nÓg, the land of youth.

Geralt has instructed Jaskier on what to do over the course of their journey, of course—for neither of them can accompany him. He has to face this trial alone. “Are you ready?” Geralt asks, helping Jaskier down from Roach. Jaskier nods, little face screwed in determination.

Anxiety flutters at Yennefer’s throat as she watches him cross the bridge, and she’s about ready to call it off, but Geralt holds her back. “Let him go,” he says quietly.

Jaskier disappears into the mist, and they begin their wait.

It turns out to be not very long at all. The sun is just only beginning to rise when Geralt rouses from his meditation, waking Yennefer as well. He looks out across the bridge, witcher senses focused on something Yennefer can’t.

And then Jaskier appears, back to his normal, adult self, grinning brightly. “Geralt! Yennefer!” he shouts, and breaks into a run. Geralt catches him as he leaps, drawing the witcher into a tight hug. It only lasts a few seconds, and then Jaskier is turning to Yennefer and pulling her into a hug as well. She stiffens, but doesn’t pull away.

“Thank you both for taking care of me. I know I couldn’t have been the easiest child,” he says wryly.

“You were fine,” Geralt says, at the same time Yennefer replies, “I don’t know, you might have been preferable as a child.”

“Rude,” Jaskier pouts, but he’s still hugging her.

There’s still so much they need to talk about—that damned mountain, for one—but right now, it doesn’t feel nearly so important. It’s enough to have this moment of peace, the three of them all reunited and as they should be.

#the witcher #geraskefer #geraskier #yenskier #yenralt #jaskier #yennefer #geralt #witcher fanfiction #mine

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

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Lost/Found chapter three

chapter one || chapter two || chapter four || chapter five complete fic on ao3

They continue on in the morning, but Jaskier's mood doesn't improve. He never should have sung that song in public, nor even in private, because now Geralt is on his mind all hours. He wonders if he and Yennefer reunited, if she would even have him if they did. It's not that he really wants to know, but he doesn't like not knowing about Geralt.

It's another week or so before they find an inn that will take them, and Jaskier spends the time between considering his music. He tries and fails to write anything worth performing, although when he sings his songs to the darkness, Eskel seems to approve. The night they spend at the inn, Jaskier makes no attempt to seek out employment.

The next time, he does and it's a mistake. He barely gets through the first set; he's worked himself up again about Geralt and all anyone wants to hear is Toss a Coin tonight. At least news hasn't travelled of Her Sweet Kiss because he doesn't think he could bear to play that again. He's a good showman and that's all that gets him through the first few songs; a smile here and a well-placed wink and no one would suspect anything.

No one but the Witcher sitting at the back of the room.

He comes to see Jaskier while he's putting his lute away, snapping the clasps shut and rests a hand between Jaskier's shoulder blades. Jaskier shuts his eyes and presses back into the warmth of his touch. It's one thing he doesn't realize he'd been missing, just the touch of someone else. And when Eskel sits down and pulls him into his lap, Jaskier goes easily.

He lets himself be drawn in even as he can hear the distaste of people who were singing his praises only moments ago. It doesn't matter, he doesn't care what they think right now because Eskel is the only one who's worried about him.

"Let me take care of you," he breathes and Jaskier nods.

He lets himself be bundled up and Eskel takes him upstairs and lays him down on the bed. It's an act of desperation that has him reaching out when Eskel walks away, pulling him back.

When Eskel kisses him, it's soft and sweet and not at all what Jaskier wants. He pushes and pulls and Eskel gives him what he needs.

In the morning, Jaskier feels awful, but Eskel silences him with a rough kiss, assuring him that he has nothing to feel bad about. It's fine. Eskel goes about his morning, but Jaskier is still dwelling. As they make to leave the inn, Jaskier steps between Eskel and the door, turning to face him.

"I can't-" he starts and it's as far as he gets before he doesn't know how to continue. This isn't a relationship and they both know it, but he feels like he's using Eskel and he doesn't know how to explain it without assuming things are more than they are. "I can't do it again, what I had with him. If we travel together, I can't-"

"I don't want anything from you." Eskel lifts his chin and smiles at him. "I just like your company."

It's an agreement that suits them both and Jaskier finds having someone nearby at all times makes him feel better. It's not a desperate need for touch when they come together and there's nothing expected of either of them afterward. He doesn't like to admit it, but having Eskel around and in his bed helps him to keep his mind off other things and Jaskier starts to move on.

But the weather turns quickly and Jaskier starts to worry about what happens when it gets too cold. In the past, he'd go back to Oxenfurt and spend the colder months there, but he's never had a travelling companion in the winter before. Geralt, presumably, also spent the winters tucked up somewhere nice and warm.

It's a bitterly cold day when Eskel approaches him about his winter plans. They haven't been able to find an inn and Jaskier's taken back to the early days he travelled with Geralt. He'd forgotten the sheer hatred of Witchers that people still hold and Eskel doesn't have the notoriety to speak for him that Geralt does. It's better than it used to be, he says and Jaskier can't imagine how bad it was before if this is better.

Jaskier's huddled under both their blankets, barely inches from the fire and he's still shivering. He tries not to let it show because he doesn't want Eskel to know how bad it is, but he's a Witcher and Jaskier knows better than to try and keep things from a Witcher. Eskel comes back with a pair of rabbits and sits next to Jaskier.

"I can't keep you out in this weather any longer. You'll freeze."

"I'm alright," Jaskier shrugs, but his fingers are too cold to play and he can't feel his toes.

"I'm going to Kaer Morhen for the winter. It's a Witcher stronghold in the North. I'd like you to come with me."

It's a bad idea. Going to Kaer Morhen means almost certainly running into Geralt and he doesn't want to see him and he's been doing better. But on the other hand, they're nowhere close to Oxenfurt and Jaskier's only other viable option is Cintra, which is further. Kaer Morhen is the closest, it's likely the safest and he'll be with Eskel so he won't be alone.

"All winter with a bunch of Witchers? What could possibly go wrong?"

Everything, as far as he's concerned, but Eskel seems happy with his answer and they head out early the next morning. They're two weeks out from Kaer Morhen and Jaskier can only hope he lasts that long.

Eskel tries to keep close to the few cities along the way and tries to keep Jaskier housed whenever they can, but they reach a point where there's nothing left between them and the keep. It becomes a decision of whether to keep on and walk as much as they can to get there quickly or to stop more often and risk taking longer. Most days, it depends on how Jaskier is feeling and they stop to make camp when he gets too cold.

He feels like a burden and tries to keep going as long as he can. He's not going to complain more than the goat. But when they finally make it to the mountains, Jaskier presses on longer than maybe he should, eager to finally get out of the cold.

When they reach the keep, Jaskier nearly collapses at the front gate, relieved and exhausted and desperate to be warm. Eskel takes him inside and briefly, introduces him to the only other people there at the moment; Vesemir and a younger man named Leo. It's strange to meet Vesemir after hearing about him from Geralt but he seems kind enough, as far as Witcher's go. Leo is different. He doesn't seem like a Witcher and Jaskier isn't quite sure how to react to him. He's quite happy when Eskel takes him away to get settled.

The rooms are large and comfortable and Jaskier drops onto the bed. There's only one, but Eskel assures him it's not going to be a problem. Presumably, that means he's going to sleep on the floor or something otherwise ridiculous. Jaskier has better plans; they've shared smaller, less comfortable beds.

For the first time in weeks, Jaskier is hot and he revels in it, sprawling on the fur in front of the fire. He grins up at Eskel. "We don't really have to leave again in the spring, do we?"

"We'll see how the spring turns out."

Jaskier spends three whole, glorious days lazing around the keep and playing for the Witchers in the evenings. They're all much more appreciative of his music than Geralt ever was and he savours it while he can. Then, on the fourth day, Geralt arrives. And he's not alone, which is the only thing that makes his appearance slightly bearable.

Eskel goes out first when he arrives and Jaskier holds back. He has no reason to follow Eskel; as far as any of the others know, Jaskier knows no one but him. He sits back and listens though, as Eskel goes forward.

"Ah, the Great White Wolf returns."

"That's still not funny."

Jaskier's stomach turns and he considers escaping up to their room. It's the first thing he's heard Geralt say since the day they parted and he shuts his eyes, inhaling deeply.

"You look like shit."

"Hmm."

"And who's this?"

"Princess Cirilla-" is all Jaskier catches because oh, Geralt went back for her. He wonders what could have happened to get Geralt back to Cintra. Gods know he wouldn't listen to Jaskier when he suggested it. Ciri talks a little more and Eskel is quiet while he listens and then-

"There's someone I want you to meet too, actually." And Jaskier's stomach clenches.

"I thought you smelled different," Geralt hums. Eskel scoffs in response.

"Julian?" he calls and Jaskier knows he can't delay any longer. He's going to have to face Geralt sooner or later, it might as well be now.

He gets up and forces his feet to move, pushing himself through the archway to where Eskel is standing. He slips up next to him, standing maybe just a little too closely. He can hear Eskel introduce him, but he sounds far away and Jaskier can't manage to speak for himself. Instead, he looks at Ciri and she gives him a huge smile which helps to calm him significantly. Even if that's going to be another thing he'll have to admit to Geralt.

When he finally looks up to meet Geralt’s eyes, he’s frowning. "Who the fuck is Julian?"

"I'm Julian,” Jaskier admits. He doesn't even know how he gets the words out, but the look he gets from Geralt is nearly enough to render him mute for the rest of his life. Geralt looks from him to Eskel like he's expecting an explanation and Jaskier realizes he does look like shit.

And Jaskier feels terrible about it. He would have thought he'd feel better knowing that Geralt was suffering, too, but he doesn't. He just feels worse. Geralt takes Ciri and leaves the room and Jaskier's heart sinks. He didn't think things could be worse between them than they were and yet.

"Geralt-" he calls, but the Witcher shows no indication that he even heard him. Jaskier knows better and that knowledge makes him ache. He's left standing alone with Eskel, who looks thoroughly confused and Jaskier drops his arms to his sides, aiming for comical. "Well," he says, "that could have been worse."

Eskel doesn't say anything and Jaskier can't blame him. There's no way he doesn't understand what just happened or at least a part of it. And Jaskier can't just sit here and look at him. He makes an excuse and heads up to their room to avoid seeing Geralt. Jaskier feels like he's shaking so hard he's going to fall apart and it's obvious that not much has changed. Geralt still wants nothing to do with him and all he can hope is that his feelings don't rub off on Ciri.

The fire is out in the room when he gets there and he piles logs in but struggles to get them lit. He’s fumbling with bits of kindling when the door opens behind him and footsteps cross the room toward him. When a warm hand presses down on his shoulder, Jaskier relents, dropping the sticks and slumping back against Eskel's legs. Eskel gently pulls him aside and kneels down, forming a sign with his hands and lighting the fire with ease.

"Thanks," Jaskier mumbles and Eskel takes a seat next to him.

"Geralt," Eskel says quietly. "He's the one who hurt you? He looks terrible."

"Good," Jaskier says instinctively.

"I mean, it doesn't seem like he's been handling it well. Whatever happened between you."

"That's his own fault. He had a choice, I didn't."

"I'm not defending him,” Eskel says gently. “I did wonder why you didn't run away when you met me. It wouldn't be the first time someone took off when they saw me." It's supposed to be a joke, but Jaskier leans into him.

"I think you're lovely." Eskel snorts and Jaskier looks up at the fire. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I knew you and Geralt knew each other and I didn't want to get involved. I know he's your friend, but he hurt me."

"I don't blame you for being upset. It's not my fight," Eskel says. Jaskier nods and he understands. Right now, he just wants to go to sleep and Eskel doesn't try to stop him. He finds Jaskier an extra blanket and wraps him up in it, leaving him in front of the fire.

When Jaskier wakes, he aches from sitting in the same position for so long and when he stretches out, a chill runs through him. The fire is burning low and he wonders how long he's been sleeping for. Getting up and holding the blanket around his shoulders he adds another log to the fire and hopes not to stifle it.

He moves from the floor to the bed, leaning back against the wall. Of all the messes he's landed in, this one is without question, his own fault. He thinks back to Geralt's words on the mountain and squeezes his eyes shut.

It's late when Eskel comes back to the room and Jaskier shuffles over to make space for him. Eskel sits down next to him, but faces out into the room, not climbing into bed as Jaskier expected him to.

"Geralt told me what he said to you. I don't blame you for not wanting to talk to him."

"It's not-" he tries, but Eskel turns to look at him.

"Geralt is an idiot," he says and it's the first time Jaskier realizes he's upset about the situation. But he's not mad at Jaskier, he's mad for him.

"I know," Jaskier agrees, "but the worst part is I want to but he obviously still wants nothing to do with me."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

Jaskier doesn't sleep well and he wakes up early. Eskel is still asleep and Jaskier creeps around him, determined not to wake him as he slips from their room out into the cool morning. He sneaks out onto the balcony and wanders down into the yard, the blanket still wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

He likes it out in the yard because he likes the snow and it's peaceful enough that he can hear himself think. Only this morning, thinking doesn't go very well because he's only alone for a few minutes. He turns at the sound of footsteps, expecting to see Eskel coming up behind him, but it's not Eskel. Jaskier's heart leaps into his throat at the sight of Geralt walking across the balcony and he turns back, staring directly ahead.

"You smell like him," is all he says and Jaskier doesn't scoff, but it's a close call.

"I don't think it's relevant to you who I smell like."

"Jaskier-"

"No," Jaskier turns, heart pounding and stares at him. "You have no right to comment on anything I do. You left me Geralt. You told me you didn't want me anymore and so I left. I spent more of my life with you than without you and that still wasn't enough for you. You hurt me, Geralt, it's none of your business who I smell like." His voice comes out shakier than he means it to and he looks up above Geralt's head to keep from saying something stupid.

Geralt comes closer and Jaskier can't do anything to stop him because he knows if he tries, he'll break. And when Geralt's arms wind around his waist, Jaskier does nothing to stop him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, and Jaskier, because he's weak and desperate, clings to him.

"I'm still mad at you."

"Okay," Geralt says but he doesn't let him go and Jaskier doesn't make him.

#jaskier x eskel #eskel x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #the witcher #rex writes #lost/found

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intricate-oeuvre · 4 years

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On how to be deadly || Geralt of Rivia || part VII

Word count: 3.5k+ a thiccc one

Summary: Axelia is Witcher experiment herself and has gone through same harsh Trials as Geralt, but she wasn’t so lucky with the outcome. Her vision didn’t become better. Therefore, she was rendered blind in the end. And because of that, she solely uses her Witcher senses to make her ways. Only potions can give her false sense of sight for limited time.Somewhere along the way she meets the Rivian. Who’s interested to know how she’s been killing monsters and hasn’t been killed herself yet.

Warnings: heavy angst, fighting.

A/N: I HAVE HEARD YOUR VOICE, DEAR READERS, SO THE JASKIER ANGST CAN START IN NEXT CHAPTER!!!

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

A wolf is a wolf. Even in a cage. Even dressed in silk.

Both of them still were on the ground, fighting each other, when Axelia had landed a gut wrenching kick right between Geralt’s legs. Thus, sending him down on one knee.

“Oh, sweet Lord!” Jaskier winced at that, his own hands flying to cover himself.

“Should I help him?” Ciri asked as she did too wince at the unfair kick from Axelia.

“Who is she, Jaskier?” Yennefer asked before the bard could answer the first question. Yen’s eyes glued to girl’s precise movements.

“I…um… I have sworn to keep my mouth shut.” He glanced at the sorceress. Yennefer didn’t question anything else, for now, and just continued to watch.

That kick at Geralt had given Axelia window of time to recollect herself. Staying few steps in front of him, she leaned down and rested her hands on her knees. She felt angry, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She was angry at everything, more so at the witcher in front of her. She was angry at whole fucking Continent. She was done fighting with grace, ready to get hands on dirty.

“You want to go again?!” she screamed at him, flailing her hands at her sides up.

“What are you trying to prove?” Geralt grunted as he spat out some blood to his side. With a slight wince he stood up, smearing the blood off of his lips onto the back of his hand.

“That I don’t need you!” Axelia continued to scream, as she started to round him helical. The sweat that had gathered on the back of her neck, made her feel cold every time when gust of wind caught on her skin.

“Yet, here you are.” Geralt stated as he regained his fighting stance and started the rounding too.

How could he say such things? Did he not know that she couldn’t do anything about it? That whatever she chose to do, she’ll always end up wherever he is? Has he forgotten that they are soulmates? Had all these years with Yennefer, really made him forget about such things?

Axelia’s eyes turned feral and with animalistic snarl she charged at him once again. This time he had expected her action. They had trained together, after all. With step to the side in very last second, Geralt got out of her way, making her miss him entirely. But with instantaneous turn Geralt reached for her high ponytail that seemed half messy now. And with a yank back and irritated scream that was almost on boarder of painful, she was wrenched back. Her body completely thrown out of balance as her head was yanked too far back, making her land on her back on the ground with a heavy thud. Jolting all breath out of her lungs. More tears gathering in her eyes. She was sure Geralt could break her, and he will if she won’t ask him to stop. He walked closer to her, leaning over.

“Are you done?” He spat with tilt of his head, same irritation on his face as on hers. Axelia bared her bloody teeth at his upside-down form.

“Why did you follow me?!” she seethed, her nails digging in the dirt besides her.

“It works both ways, you know.” Geralt said, resting his elbow on his knee, thus leaning closer down at her. He was breathing heavily while Axelia was still trying to regain her breath which had been knocked out of her just seconds ago.

“That is: why you were drawn here is the explanation why I followed you.” He said, as his eyes glanced at his own hand that Axelia had sunk her teeth into. With painful gulp she continued staring daggers at him. Which reminded her of the knife she kept in her right boots. Planting both of her feet on the ground and bending her legs at knees she seemed done with the fight.

“I assumed that you-” Geralt caught movement with corner of his eyes. Axelia’s hand was slowly creeping along the dirt towards her boot. Geralt moved swiftly and with a stomp, firmly planted his foot on her wrist. The sudden application of force and pressure making her hand crack. Axelia hissed at him, not sure if he had broken her wrist or not.

Geralt sent her a glare and then reached for her boot to pull out the dagger hiding in there. With that ‘are you for real’ look he raised eyebrow at her.

“What? You always told to have some contingency plan.” She rolled her eyes at him. Throwing the dagger to the side, he continued on whatever he wanted to tell her before:

“As I said, before you interrupted me so vulgarly,” he applied a little bit more pressure on her wrist, making his point clear: “I believed that you knew how that soulmate banter went.” He sighed.

“I don’t know two shits about soulmates!” Axelia spat, blood flying out of her mouth as she raised head higher. Geralt narrowed his eyes at her and stepped off of her hand. With huff she cradled her hand to her chest and sat up. Her face smeared with dirt and blood, only two lines seemed clear on her face- where the tears had streamed down her cheeks from frustration. Her hair in similar state with dirt and grass in her white strands. Geralt looked matching, his hair messy with dirt and stems of grass. His face sporting similar look with all the dirt and his bloody nose.

“You’re like a savage beast.” Geralt grunted out as he looked at his bitten hand again, turning it one way and then another.

“Yeah, and you almost broke my wrist.” She grumbled and moved her hand.

“Hm.” Geralt hummed gravely.

“You’re always running. Why?” witcher asked her after brief moment of silence.

“We have spectators.” Axelia said, turning to look over her shoulder, and letting out a small hiss of pain. Her ribs most likely were bruised. For a second Geralt turned to look on their audience, but didn’t heed any more attention than that.

“Axelia.” Geralt stated her name, still waiting for her answer.

“What? What do you want me to say? Why wouldn’t I run from something that I can’t really have? From something that could have been mine, but now it isn’t? The… The… All this, whatever.” She said looking at her dirty hands.

“It’s easier to run away from you, than to be reminded of all the what ifs.” She sighed looking up at him.

“I really am a failed experiment.” She groaned laying back on the ground and staring in the grey clouds, still holding her wrist to her chest.

“Stop that.” Geralt advised. Her eyes briefly flickered to him, questioning burning in her eyes.

“You’re doubting yourself again, stop that.” Geralt explained to her. She just let out half-amused chuckled at that, seeing no true humour in it. Truth be told, Geralt was and still is the only one who ever believed in her, in all the things she did, all the things she pursued. Maybe the only thing he didn’t believe, was her pursuit in soulmates.

“Aren’t you in the position to talk.” Axelia started cynically. “You have love of your life, and she has you… Odd triangle, if you ask me.” She rolled her eyes and finally pulled herself up.

“I must leave, Geralt.” She said turning to him, her eyes momentarily jumping behind him, where one in the distance could see those three on-watchers.

“That’s her. With the dark hair, isn’t it?” she asked, slightly distracted.

“Yes.”

“And that’s… law of surprise child, Ciri…” she trailed off in her observations.

“Yes, and the third is the bard.” Geralt said with slight annoyance in his voice. Axelia’s eyes flickered back to Geralt’s face, her eyebrows furrowing. Without any other words, she turned and started to walk away. Feeling that she should finally give up on her love life. Even if it meant to lie to her own heart every time, she’ll ever stumble upon the witcher. It’s taking toll on her, nor her body, nor her mind and nor her heart could take any more damage.

“To whom are you trying to prove that?” Geralt asked in reminiscence on previous talk, when he didn’t find anything else to say to her to stop her from leaving. Axelia stopped and turned around to look at him.

“Myself.” She said determined about her answer, but it soon that feling disappeared: “I thought that I will prove it today. But then you decided to follow me. And ruin my self-restrain.”

“You have no idea how hard it is to stay away from you, whenever I learn that you are near. It’s like you have this magnetic pull that I can’t resist. My body is ready to go through such dreadful lengths just to bask in your presence. Does that make me clingy or weak? It does, but in that moment, I do not give a single flying fuck. Because that’s how soulmates work, Geralt. You asked me if I know. And I do. I have visited too many mages and sorcerers, just to get rid of all these connections and feelings. Even tried to find a fucking djinn, can you believe?” Axelia started her monologue. Back in Kaer Morhen she always was the one who felt most emotions.

“I want to start o'er so much.” She said quietly to herself, tears of desperation gathering in her eyes. Looking up at the sky, she tried to will them away.

“See? You always have my emotions fucked up.” She smiled at him through tears in her eyes. She was so deep in woods of emotions, and right now, all she wanted was to get into the clear and get rid of everything.

Geralt stood up straighter, about to take a step closer to her. But at the moment she seemed like scared animal, and with shake of her head, she took a step back. Geralt hated to see her cry. She was such of strong woman, such a fierce warrior that could be broken and beaten to the pulp, but she still would stand up and fight, and when she was crying, it meant that she was truly and utterly broken. Not only physically but also mentally.

“Axelia.” Geralt said quietly, cautiously stretching one hand in front of him, showing that he didn’t mean harm.

“Geralt.” Axelia chocked out in same manner. How did she turn from blood spitting fighter into this soft, trembling creature, was beyond Geralt’s apprehension? Did all these years, so far and yet so close to each other, left her in this state of half breaking? This reminded him when they both went through Trials of Dreams where they were going through mutations to improve their vision. He remembered all the screams, grunts and moans of pain as mutations took effect. And when the pain had ended came the clairvoyance. This epiphany type of feeling when one could see in the clearest way, catching every single dust particle in air. He had smelled that velvet rose and sandalwood in the air, signifying that he was still alive. But the utmost silence coming from besides him, where on the other table was supposedly Axelia, made dread settle deep in his gut

“Axelia?” he had questioned her silence as his eyes fell upon her face, the first thing he had the chance to see when he reopened his eyes after all that agonizing pain. And her face had looked like it did now. Full with cruel hurt, tears streaming down her face, as her mouth was half-open in silent scream.

“Geralt?” she had asked, voice trembling, her whole being shaking. The first thing he saw with his new eyes that he had gained through pain, was even more pain. On the face of a girl that was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen; on a person he loves and cares for.

“Geralt? Is everything alright?” Both of them could hear Yennefer’s voice closer. Geralt looked over his shoulder and Axelia looked past him, both of them noticing that all three of them had advanced closer. Yennefer and Ciri quite bravely walking closer, while Jaskier walked behind them – latter knowing better than to interfere.

“I’m dying a little every time I see you with her.” Axelia dried her nose in her sleeve as her eyes turned back to him. But she couldn’t stop them from flicking back to Yennefer and Ciri who still came closer, wanting to know what was going on.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Ciri looked from Geralt to the girl that was in front of them- crying, trembling and holding her injured wrist in her hand close to her heart.

Axelia’s eyes were skipping from one person to another. Too many eyes looking at her, while she was crying and being weak. She was witcher, Geralt never was like that. Her eyes stopped at the sword and dagger that were now in Ciri’s hands. Fuck that, she’ll live without that silver sword for some time. It was very expensive, but she’ll manage. Then her eyes flickered to Yennefer, who was looking at her with confusion. Then to Geralt who’s expression she couldn’t read. Back to Ciri who looked upon the crying girl with sympathy and concern. And in the end her eyes caught on her cloak that Jaskier was holding and her blindfold that was wrapped around his other arm in nonchalant way. It was such contrast, the black fabric with his dark blueish outfit. Axelia’s teary eyes flashed up to meet his. Only apologetic look gracing his features. She-witcher felt so bad and useless at the moment. She awkwardly looked down at the ground and with sob looked up. At no one in particular, somewhere above everybody’s heads. With her tongue running along the front of her teeth, Axelia turned around and went into the forest. Her only escape.

And she run.

And run. The only thing that she knew how to do.

No one followed her, but their eyes collectively turned to Geralt, who was still staring at the forest trees.

“Really, Geralt?” Jaskier questioned, his brows furrowing.

“What did you do?” Ciri asked, her eyes flickering to the woods for a second until returning to Geralt.

“Which time is it? The fourth or something, that you just let her leave like that?” Jaskier continued.

Witcher didn’t answer. And Yennefer didn’t seem happy either.

“I do hope someone will explain all of this.” She said tad annoyed. With slight anger bubbling in her eyes she looked at Jaskier then at Ciri and finally at Geralt. With a grunt witcher turned around and went back to the city, Yennefer hot on his heels and not shutting up about this whole ordeal.

“Dandelion, are you coming?” Ciri asked as she was already walking towards the forest. Jaskier looked at the cloak and tulle fabric in his hands and then looked up at Ciri.

“Are you sure, you can find her?” Jaskier furrowed his brows while catching up with Ciri.

“Geralt thought me, of course I can.” Ciri rolled her eyes playfully and walked along the road that led into the forest.

They had been walking for some time.

“So, who is she?” Ciri asked.

“To me or to Geralt?” Jaskier asked, rearranging his grip on the dark cloak.

“Oh, so she is something to you too?!” Ciri stopped for a second. Geralt once or twice had mentioned something about soulmates and the fact the he had one too. And Ciri today had made a bet with herself that the girl from earlier must have some connections to Geralt, mostly likely this all soulmates thing.

“She is his soulmate, right?” Ciri guessed, glancing down at the sword in her hands.

“Yep.” Jaskier popped the p. Then he explained everything that Geralt had let him know about Axelia, but keeping the details that she herself had told him, to himself.

Meanwhile Axelia was running on the road, hair already fallen out of that messed up ponytail. Her ears catching the sound of stream somewhere on her right. Deep in the woods, off the road. Everything was closing in and she needed to escape. Taking a sharp turn, she dodged into the woods, not following road anymore. She was running, trees scratching her face, her feet stumbling on the fallen tree branches. Her lungs were burning, and her hands started to claw at her corset. With scream of anger she pulled open the string that laced it together at the front. With half-revealed hiss, she threw corset away, her hands latching onto her forearm braces and ridding herself from them too. Unbuttoning first four buttons from the top of her shirt, she leaned against nearby tree. Tears choking her and not letting her take a deep breath of air. She sunk to the ground. Letting out a silent scream as her hands clawed at ground, her nails digging through dead leaves and dirt. She was drowning in her own tears. Breathes just coming out in broken sobs as she tried to pull in new air with choked wheezes. Everything hurt so much, that she couldn’t even stand up anymore. Her mind was worsening her, playing sweet and cherished memories before her blind eyes. She didn’t want to remember anything! She just wanted to be swallowed up by the sound of the stream that was couple feet in front of her.

“No! Stop!” she screamed at herself, her dirty nails now digging in her long hair, and pulling at the tress with such force that her face was pulled up in even more agony. Her thoughts were running circles with unwanted memories. At times, at such quantity that she was ready to run in a tree head first, and just bash her head against it until she won’t feel a thing anymore. She broke, bruised and completely alone.

***

“Why aren’t we staying on the road?” Jaskier asked, as he and Ciri were now in middle of woods and not on a trusty path anymore.

“Because she went this way.” Ciri noted as she looked at all the freshly broken branches and footprints left from Axelia’s stumbles.

“Is this hers?” Ciri asked picking up Axelia’s corset.

“And those are her vambraces...?” Jaskier nodded towards the dark forearm braces that were thrown on the ground further ahead. One further than the other. Beckoning towards Axelia’s whereabouts.

“She mostly likely is at the river.” Ciri concluded.

“Let’s hope she’s not trying to drown herself.” Jaskier mumbled walking onward.

Axelia heard them before anything else. Silent whispers flowing in the wind. And part of her told her to get up and run. But all she could manage to do was sit up against the big tree.

“Oh, please, no…” She mumbled as her tears now were silent. Occasional sob escaping her. She clumped her mouth shut, to shut herself up. Her legs were drawn to her torso, and her chin tilted down towards her chest. With fear she was waiting for the scent to finally reach her. And when she felt it, more panic settled in. At first, she felt rich fragrance, something akin to wild berries, very refined. But her panic subsided a little, when a familiar scent hit her senses. Her head immediately snapped up, her eyes welling up even more. It was familiar, but not familiar in a way that could make her run away again. It was scent that reminded her of the times when she needed someone to resort in, someone she could rely on and talk freely to. Not hiding her emotions, not keeping up the perfect witcher image. She had needed trusty ears, who would listen and not judge her. Someone who could give her false shelter from outside world and her own emotions. Even if it was for a little moment.

Then she heard the sound of two pairs of feet stepping through the dry leaves. The sound of crunching making her feel like scared animal, who is waiting for the predator to finally strike. The gentle breeze of wind, made the two scents more prominent. The second scent making her risk all of it and glance around the big tree trunk. She carefully putted her hand on the ground and with one eye she peered behind the tree. Her eyes scanned over the trees, firstly catching on the white-haired girl, that was saying something, her eyes glued on the ground in front of her feet. Then her eyes zeroed onto the second person.

Jaskier was the first of two who noticed Axelia hiding behind a tree. With small gasp he slowed his steps. Trying to show to the hurt girl, that he meant no harm. At that Ciri noticed her too, and stopped all together, not wanting to make the girl feel threatened.

“Axelia?” Jaskier questioned her, still slowly approaching her. Axelia’s eyes locked with his at the call of her name.

“Jaskier…” Axelia choked as she quickly pushed herself up. Pushing off of a tree she run to him, crushing in his chest as tears stared falling down her cheeks again, staining his shirt. Praying that she could just wish all this away.

“I’m here.” He mumbled in her hair, his eyes briefly flicking to Ciri, who only held all the sympathy for the girl in Jaskier’s arms.

~~~~

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

tags:

@boiled-onionrings @fandomwithnolifesblog @901seconds @kingniazx @shesakillerkween @your-dreams-are-strong @stitchattacks @ayamenimthiriel @stormfire6 @mr-illegal-king @stretchkingblog97 @mikariell95 @geralt-of-motherfucking-rivia @martian-m @republicansithlord @notso-fetch @lizliz3107 @godlydolans @arsaky-lou @eternallyvenus @le-reina-asesina @alwayshave-faith @writingmi @staringmoony @kenai731 @holychic @dramaticturnaway @ihopeyousteponarosepetal @seouldesire @runs-with-sciss0rs @yes-captainstark @fandomhell97 @newtdisneywho

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potrix-the-queerschlaeger · 4 years

Text

not a goodbye, a thank you

For @daphne--blue, who gave me this heartbreaking prompt I just couldn't resist: "Geralt facing the one monster he can’t fight. The passage of time, and losing Jaskier to it."

As mentioned in the tags, there is no actual character death in this fic. There is talk about future death, however, after one character suffers a near death experience. The fic ends on a bittersweet, happy-ish note.

Let the feels happen, folks. Embrace them!

You can also go and check this story out on AO3.

- - -

▪ This is not a goodbye, my darling, this is a thank you. Thank you for coming into my life and giving me joy, thank you for loving me and receiving my love in return. Thank you for the memories I will cherish forever. But most of all, thank you for showing me that there will come a time when I can eventually let you go. ▪

The cool breeze carries the scent of early spring with it, fresh and cleansing and full of life, and Geralt closes his eyes as it ruffles his hair and caresses his cheeks. His head is tipped back against the wall of the stables, hands lying loose and relaxed in his lap as he breathes, slowly, in and out in a steady rhythm.

Not many places grant him the safety to act and be this careless, this free, and he’s determined to bask in the pleasure of it for as long as he can. They’ll leave Kaer Morhen soon, all of them returning to their tasks and duties for the year; Yennefer will take Ciri with her to Aretuza for the season, Eskel and Lambert will set out to travel the Path again, as will Geralt after escorting Jaskier across the Continent to the Academy.

In the late summer, Ciri will find Geralt wherever he might have ended up, and together they’ll travel to Oxenfurt to join Jaskier for the end of term festivities. The three of them will make the journey back to Kaer Morhen together come fall, where Vesemir and his brothers will be waiting for them, and Yennefer will turn up whenever she’s grown bored with life in whatever court she’d decided to grace with her presence and services.

And Geralt will feel whole again, he will be home once more, and the thought alone makes him smile softly to himself.

Somewhere further in the courtyard, Lambert yells out a colourful curse while Ciri cackles maniacally. Eskel is taunting the former through his laughter, and Vesemir’s voice joins in with barked commands and corrections once the clang of steel against steel continues. Somewhere above them, on one of the balconies overlooking the yard, Geralt can hear the scratch of quill against parchment as Yennefer works on her correspondence, interrupted every now and again by the tapping of nails against an inkpot.

He realises what’s wrong an instant before everyone else grows suddenly, eerily still; Jaskier is quiet.

Geralt’s eyes snap open and immediately find Jaskier in the same spot he’s been in for most of the afternoon, sitting perched atop a few old crates with his lute in hand and a tune on his lips. Only now the lute has been set aside so Jaskier can press his hands to his chest, a frown pulling at his brows as his face twists and turns ashen.

He begins to gasp as Geralt springs to his feet, coughing harshly before that turns into breathless wheezing. His hands are shaking when they reach for Geralt, their grip weak and feeble where they curl into Geralt’s tunic, and his heart stutters.

Jaskier’s eyes are wide and shining, and his heart stutters, stutters, stutters, and then it doesn’t anymore because it stays silent.

Silent. Silent. Silent—

“Geralt, move!” Yennefer hisses sharply as she shoves between them. “Move and help!”

It’s overwhelming, as everything comes rushing back in; the sound of raised voices, the smell of worry and fear, the feel of his brothers flanking him closely, the taste of his own panic in the back of Geralt’s throat.

“Yenn,” is all Geralt manages to choke out, but Yennefer knows him well enough to simply, brusquely instruct, “Lift him, carefully. Follow me.”

His mind is blank apart from a frantic, terrified repetition of Jaskier’s name as they step through a portal into their rooms. He gently arranges Jaskier on the bed and begins to undress him as ordered while Yennefer vanishes for a long, torturous moment. She returns with her bag of herbs and salves, and Geralt has to bite the inside of his cheek bloody to keep himself from snarling at her when she tells him to give her space to work.

Jaskier is quiet. Silent. Still.

“Is he going to be—” Geralt’s voice breaks off halfway through the question when bile rises up his throat. He swallows convulsively against the sting of it, vision swimming. “Yenn, will he—”

The hand Yennefer’s got splayed across Jaskier’s chest turns purple with magic, glowing brightly, and Jaskier’s whole body jerks before going limp again. Yennefer waits, watches, holds her free hand over his mouth and nose. Her expression grows pinched, her hand glowing bright for another moment, Jaskier convulsing more violently than before.

Geralt can hear himself growling, low and hurt, though he can’t seem to stop. But then Jaskier sucks in a painful sounding breath, twitching under Yennefer’s hands as she smooths them down his torso, murmuring quiet spells that Geralt doesn’t hear over the sound of the renewed beat of Jaskier’s heart.

Slow. Weak. Too slow, too weak, but there once more.

Yennefer sits back with a shuddering sigh, eyes squeezed shut and mouth pressed into a thin line. Somehow, despite his legs feeling weak like he’d just run for hours, Geralt makes it over to the bed to perch down next to her, laying a hand on her back.

“He’s stable, for now,” she says quietly as she tips her head to rest against Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt moves to wrap an arm around her, holding her close. Yennefer leans into it and pats Geralt’s thigh. “He’ll be in the clear, I believe, if he makes it through the night, although I do highly recommend a visit with a human healer. Good thing your little lark is as stubborn as they come.”

He is, proudly so, and were the circumstances different, Geralt would see the humour in the situation. He can't find it in himself to do so, now. “What happened, Yenn?”

Yennefer gives a delicate shrug. “It's near impossible to tell. Whatever it was, it put a strain on his heart which proved to be too much.”

Geralt's own heart clenches at that. “I didn't—”

“Oh, please, Geralt, get over yourself,” Yennefer cuts in sharply. She moves back a little, and Geralt pretends he doesn't notice her wipe discreetly at her eyes. “Trained healers and physicians find it impossible to predict and prevent these things, how could you have?”

It's illogical, Geralt knows, but he wants to argue anyway. It's him who knows Jaskier, inside and out, better than any other living soul. It's him who cares for Jaskier, who loves Jaskier, who is supposed to protect Jaskier when Jaskier can't protect himself.

It's him who has failed, spectacularly so.

Some of what he's thinking must show on his face, despite his best efforts, because Yennefer's features soften again. “Geralt,” she says, too gentle for Geralt's comfort, “he's human. He's growing older—”

“Don't,” Geralt snaps, harsh enough to make Yennefer's face close off entirely. Geralt swallows hard, looking back at Jaskier and away from Yennefer’s eyes. “I know he—I know, Yenn, fuck. I know. Just. Don't.”

They're quiet for a while, after that. Yennefer pulls several pouches of herbs and vials of liquids out of her bag, setting them out on the desk in the corner. Geralt takes one of Jaskier's hands, pressing his lips to his pulse, head bent over their clasped hands while he listens to Jaskier's shallow breathing.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Yennefer who speaks first again. “Spring water and aether,” she demands, still bent over her equipment. “Honey, if there’s still some left, for the taste.”

“If you think I’m leaving him right now,” Geralt grunts out, not bothering to finish the sentence.

“He’ll be asleep for hours, yet, the healing spell I’ve put him under will make sure of that. You, on the other hand,” Yennefer turns to raise an eyebrow at him, “can go and make yourself useful.” Geralt opens his mouth to protest again, but Yennefer talks over him, “And go see how your daughter is handling all of this.”

That’s enough to make Geralt shut his mouth, sudden guilt churning in his gut. Reluctantly, after kissing his palm, Geralt releases Jaskier’s hand, laying it back down gently. He ghosts his lips over Jaskier’s forehead before getting up, moving towards the door without glancing back at Yennefer.

Before he lets the door fall closed behind him, though, he murmurs a quiet, “Thank you.”

He gets as far as the end of the corridor, where Vesemir is leaning against the wall. He straightens up as Geralt approaches, watching him without saying a word when Geralt stops in front of him, unsure of what to say. Eventually, he settles on, “He’s alive.”

Vesemir nods, once, and then he reaches out to cup Geralt’s face. Geralt melts into the touch, can’t not, and Vesemir breathes out, “Oh, my boy,” and tugs him closer, lets Geralt bury his face in his neck, and cling to his back as he shakes apart.

Geralt shakes, and shakes, and can’t seem to stop, eyes dry but burning terribly as Vesemir holds him, strong and tight and the only thing keeping Geralt from crumbling into tiny, shattered pieces of himself. He can’t tell how long they stay like that, but when Geralt feels like he can move again without losing himself, his throat feels parched and his head aches.

In a shocking display of tenderness, Vesemir tucks a strand of loose hair behind Geralt’s ear before he steps back, clapping him on the chest. “The others are on the sparring grounds,” he says, and the smallest of smiles tugs at one corner of his mouth. “The little menace was beating the ever-living shit out of your brothers before I left.”

Taking the dismissal for what it is, Geralt detours through the kitchen to gulp down some ale, splash some water on his face, and grab the ingredients requested by Yennefer before he makes his way outside. He hears grunting and swearing long before he sees them, Ciri sitting on Eskel’s chest with a dagger to his throat while Lambert is crouched close by, ready to pounce.

Their heads swivel around in almost eery synchronicity when they hear Geralt’s boots crunch along the gravel path, and then Ciri is on him in an instant, flinging herself at him hard enough to force a startled, “Oof,” out of him.

“Tell me he’s okay,” Ciri whispers against his cheek, her voice small like Geralt almost never hears it.

A brief glance over her shoulder reveals both Lambert and Eskel watching him intently, their faces creased in apparent concern. Geralt turns his face into Ciri’s hair before answering. “For now.”

Ciri makes a hurt noise, Eskel breathes in sharply, and Lambert mutters, “Fucking hell.”

“I want to see him,” Ciri says, pulling back just far enough to glare at Geralt with wet, shimmering eyes, as if he’d ever refused her a single thing in his life. “Right now, I need to see him. Please.”

“Oh, now we have manners, do we?” Lambert snorts, and it’s enough to effectively break the worst of the tension.

Vesemir has commandeered the comfy armchair by the hearth when they get back, a book in his lap that Geralt would bet he hasn’t read a single word of. Lambert plops down on the carpet by his feet, legs pulled against his chest and chin resting on his knees, while Eskel takes the potion ingredients from Geralt, and goes to help Yennefer with the brewing.

Ciri has no qualms about curling up next to Jaskier on the bed. She cautiously puts a hand on his ribs, making sure she can feel him breathe, presses her forehead against his shoulder, and closes her eyes, sniffling quietly every now and again.

Geralt settles on Jaskier’s other side and takes his hand again.

No one but Jaskier sleeps that night.

It’s shortly after dawn when Jaskier’s fingers twitch against Geralt’s palm.

“Geralt,” he hums quietly, blinking sluggishly for a moment. His eyes widen as he looks around at the people gathered in the room. And then he grins jauntily, tongue-in-cheek. “Well, now. To what do I owe this honour?”

“Jaskier,” Ciri hiccups, lower lip trembling, and Jaskier says, “Oh, my darling little lion cub,” as he wraps his arms around her, and tenderly kisses the crown of her head.

Eskel comes over to squeeze Jaskier’s ankle through the furs. “Fucking hell, Jaskier,” he grunts, but the relief is palpable on both his face and in his voice.

“Don’t fucking do that again, buttercup,” Lambert adds gruffly, then yelps when Vesemir none too gently cuffs the back of his head.

He herds Lambert and Eskel out of the room with a roll of his eyes, but not before promising Jaskier the last of the pickled cherries—his favourite, and a rare commodity by the end of the winter—to go with his morning meal.

“And once you've eaten,” Yennefer says as she sets a vial of swirling, pale blue liquid down on the small table by the bed, “this, and another after supper. Twice a day, for a week at least. Geralt forgot the honey, so, please, do feel free to nag at him when it tastes like unwashed feet.”

“Your bedside manner is atrocious,” Jaskier informs her, nose wrinkled, even as he frees one of his arms to beckon her closer. “The absolute worst, let me tell you.”

Yennefer sniffs at him haughtily, flicking her hair, but she does hug him tightly for a long moment, and kisses his cheek when Jaskier whispers, “Thank you, my dear.”

Ciri gets up when Yennefer tilts her head at her, though she's very obviously unhappy about it. Jaskier, of course, notices as well, reaching out to squeeze Ciri’s hand. “Go eat, little darling, and fetch me my food as well, would you?”

Once he and Geralt are alone, Jaskier slumps, and breathes out a tired, shaky sigh. Geralt helps him lie down more comfortably, arranging the pillows behind his head, and tucking the furs more snugly around him.

He looks up again when Jaskier grips his arm, a small smile playing on his lips. “You're fussing.”

“We're out of honey,” Geralt blurts nonsensically, then immediately winces at his bumbling. He opens his mouth to say something, anything else, then closes it again helplessly. When he tries again, all that comes out is a hoarse, broken, “Jaskier.”

Jaskier's eyes crinkle, turning almost impossibly fond, and he tugs at the arm he's still holding, urging Geralt to lie down with him, head on Jaskier's shoulder. One of Jaskier's hands finds Geralt's to twine their fingers together, and the other moves to Geralt's head to stroke through his hair.

“The thought of losing you,” Geralt murmurs, eyes shut firmly, “scares me more than I ever thought possible.”

“My love,” Jaskier's voice is brimming with just that, damn near overflowing with the emotion of it, “of course it does. As it does me, when I dare to think of a world without the wonder that is you in it.”

Geralt tightens the arm he has around Jaskier, swallowing hard around the sudden, painful lump in his throat.

Jaskier brushes a kiss over his temple, then lets his lips linger there. “Death will take all of us, human or not,” he says, and shushes Geralt when Geralt makes a choked sound of protest, gently tugging at a strand of Geralt's hair. “Not today, and damn well not any time soon, if I can help it. But it will, eventually.”

“Jaskier—”

“And should it come for me before it finds you, you will go on. You will hurt, and you will rage, and you won't believe that the pain could ever pass enough to let you breathe again, but it will. And you will go on living, Geralt, because you'll know it's what's right. You'll know it's what I wished for you; to heal, to live, to love—”

“No,” Geralt almost snarls, because it is unthinkable. His mind balks at it, his stomach churns; not after Jaskier, not without Jaskier. “Not that. I couldn't—”

“Don't be ridiculous, dearheart,” Jaskier chides. He nudges Geralt's chin until Geralt looks up at him, into his soft eyes and open, adoring face. “You'll continue to love your daughter, your brothers, Vesemir, Yennefer. You'll keep loving me, like you've kept loving everyone else you've had to let go. And you'll find new people to love in the most beautiful, wonderful of ways, people who'll care for you, and cherish you, and love you back with all that they have.”

Geralt can't recall the last time he cried. He knows he must have, as a child, and most likely during the worst of the trials as well, but he doesn't remember.

He won't forget this time, he knows.

Jaskier leans in to kiss the wetness away from his cheeks, and opens up like a flower in the sun when Geralt turns his head to bring their mouths together. He lets Geralt push him back, lets Geralt cover him, lets Geralt cry, and keeps kissing him.

Kissing, and kissing, and kissing until their lips are red and swollen, until Geralt has nothing else to give.

Until there's nothing left for Geralt to feel but exhaustion.

And love.

Always love, when he's with Jaskier.

Geralt lays his head down on Jaskier's chest.

He drifts off to the new yet familiar beat of Jaskier's heart.

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amatchforyourmadness · 4 years

Text

the way down the mountain

part of the Ladyhawke!Geraskier AU, being a work set before the main story the day the falcon dies.

words: 1884

it’s on the way down that it strikes for the first time. and, Melitele, of course that had to be day when the curse was set. of course he has to break his bones while nursing a broken heart.

( or the first time Jaskier turns into a falcon also happens to be the same afternoon his world fell apart around him; part of Geraskier! Ladyhawke AU )

Of all the people to fall in the arms of, it’s Yennefer that catches him when he falls to the ground, screaming in pain.

Geralt had made his feelings known, made his thoughts known, made his wish plenty well known and so Jaskier had given him the one thing he could: he had granted his wish and took himself away from his hands.

Of course, it was not a matter that had been gone over without tears, those bastard children of the ocean that every human had packed inside them to shed their sorrows with. The ocean. He should head to the coast, he should sing his songs, he should live a life worth of tales Geralt would dream to tell him.

He should have said ‘you are what pleases me ’.

He didn’t do it, though, because no part of it was what Geralt had asked for and, therefore, it wasn’t something he would give him.

It was only one wish.

Let him be in peace now Jaskier has taken the mess he is out of his life.

“Well, fuck.“ A familiar voice says ahead of him. “What did he do to you?”

And of course that he turns to find the sorceress to blame for this whole mess herself, leaning miserably against a tree: Yennefer of bloody Vengerberg, glorious even in the what should be the scrambles of her presumptious, reckless, greedy, nonsensical aftermath with the Djinn. He scoffs at his luck, looking around as if he could mock destiny as it mocks him, before he looks back at the violet eyes still inspecting him, a perfect brow arched at his direction. He merely laughs again before he raises his arm, every inch of him made of drama and theatrics.

“Easier to ask what didn’t he do. In fact, I’m just on my way to make do with his one wish.”

“Oh, my…” Her eyes steel themselves and her expression turns impossibly sour at that, standing a little bit straighter as if a change of posture could hide the effects of Geralt’s intervention in her matters. “We all know how good he is with those. What did he ask for this time?”

“Blessed silence.” Jaskier announces in a thunderous voice, shaking his hands on the air for added affect, and ignoring how his arms’ bones have started to ache, pulling them closer to cradle against his chest as he spits out the next words. “For me to be taken off his hand. I have decided to comply, I have put down my shovel, so my deepest congratulations, he’s all yours.”

He bows at his last words, exaggeratedly so, and stands ready to walk past her, saltwater in his eyes, but he rises to see she is now in the middle of his path, blocking it, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“Whatever would I want to have him for?” She asks, her nose twitching away in disgust, like he had just said a pile of rotting meat or a dying stallion or a state that’s crumbling is hers to have and to be glad for it.

His skin is suddenly on fire from the inside out, and he can’t help but scratch his palms, the back of his hands. He mus have brushed some plant he shouldn’t have touched if the itching is as hellish and sudden as it is.

“I’m sure you don’t need me to sing the wonders of carnal pleasure, you’ve enjoyed it plenty of times with him.” He hisses, and iif he coul dpour venom, that’d be the time. yet the buring itch has travelled up his wrists, under his sleeves, and he can’t helpp but to try to scratch it awar, forcing his hands up his doublet’s sleeve and dragging his nails so furiously over the reachable patch of arm that his nails have skin he’s peeling from himself under them and it keeps burning and his back, his neck, his legs, everything itches and burns. “Or does the mighty sorceress need me to drop the ‘L’ word that regards feelings?” He’s no longer even bothering to look at her, instead reaching under his jacket to scratch at his nape and his neck and his shoulders until he can see spots of blood against the calloused pads of his fingers and be has to keep his hands balled at his sides and even that does not help, because he’s carving his nails on his pants in hopes he can claw at the skin underneath instead. Melitele, did he poison himself? Is he going to die? “You don’t have the Witcher excuse going for you, I’m afraid, Madam Witch, so don’t expect me to take you to be as emotionally constipatedd as him, even if you can be as much of a life wrecker!”

“Love him? I didn’t love him.” She scoffs and he can only muse bitterly at the comedic tragedy he’s part of; loving a man that doesn’t love him but is instead in love with a woman that does not love him. It’s almost enough to distract him from the burning, but not quite. His hands are on his knees now, and he looks up at her if only to take in the whole mockery of a love triangle they form in it’s fullness. “A bit of Djinn magic, that was all there was to it. I hardly wanted to keep him before, much less now. Speaking of which…” She approaches him, brows furrowed, taking in intently the rabid-dog like scratching and the way he draws in his breath with more difficulty by the minute until she’s standing barely a hair away from him, and holds his face to better inspect it right when he was about to double over in pain. “Geralt’s incredibly clever wish explains the Djinn magic surrounding you, but what else has he done? Or what have you done?”

Jaskier opens his mouth to protest something laong the lines of hi not taking kindly to that acusing tone she has to her words, bit all that comes from him is a raspy breathless voice he just can’t stand to pronounce more than a word with, so he shuts his mouth in shock. He blinks; once, twice, thrice. There are black spots to his vision and it doesn’t make sense. Why is Yennefer getting blurry? Oh, he feels lightheaded. There are stabs of sharp pain all over his body but nothing makes sense. He hitches a breath when he feels such a pain to his lungs.

“What?” He slurs slightly, and his voice is slightly better if not a little hitchy. He feels more and more disconnected to his body as a burning sensation starts to creep up his spine. “Why?”

His skin is on fire. He can barely keep himself from scratching his whole body but he’s barely holding himself as it is, and it’s mostly due to her hand on his chin than anything else.

“I feel on you a curse of Aretuza.” She says, mysterious and full of finality to her words as if she’s telling him he’s been sentenced to death.

His lute falls from his grip and he cannot apologize mentally enough for that as he doubles over himself in pain and agony that comes from inside him. Now, he’s known for being dramatic and he knows he can feels intensely, with all his heart and probably still some more from all the other organs. He tries to hold it back as it comes from the depths of his being, but it’s no help: he screams.

Yennefer’s eyes shine with realization and recognition. He doesn’t need words to understand what she has figured out: he has been cursed. She had said he had reeked of magic, and given the growing distress to her features and her body language, she is not unfamiliar to this particular stench. Probably knows the mage. Probably knows whatever Jaskier is about to go though. It doesn’t make him feel any better.

‘What’s wrong with me?’ Four words. That’s all he means to ask her. ‘What’s wrong with me?’, simple, easy to do.

Yet he can’t.

Because the pain is no longer dull or the occasional pointed sharp stab, it’s expanding and taking over his throat and lungs and stomachs and he fights all of himself to keep standing, to keep looking at her.

This feels worse than the djinn and that cannot be a good sign. He clings to Yennefer’s arms and throws back his head in a scream as his legs break and he can no longer support his own weight. Still, the pain has not stopped. It feels like someone is pulling the bones of his his toes to stretch impossibly long and thin while shoving his other toes back into his legs.

He looks up to the witch’s face — and, Melitele, could it be possible that in the heights of his misery she could not look just a little bit disheveled in her horrified concern?! At least she looks tired, at the very least that. — as she holds him, cradling him on her lap, glancing over him in a panic and laying her hands over his legs as she whispers words in the acient tongue and seeps violet magic onto him to no avail. She’s weak from the mountain, and even though he knows shit all about magic outside his songs and what Geralt has grunted his way, but this one here is strong. Too strong for a weakened Yennefer. Too strong for—

— Geralt.

His arms breaks next and he sobs out screams of pain as his shoulder shift painfully backwards until his arm start where his backblades used to be, and his fingers stretch as his arms are pulled into his body. His skin itches all over, there’s something being pushed out of it, thousands of somethings. He wants to roll through the ground, scratch himself to the bone, jump in a bath of boiling water, but all he does is scream as his ribcage expands and expands and his broken legs are pulled into him and his jaw pushes up while his nose sinks into his face, teeth merging together and eyes growing and this is worse this is worse than the djinn it’s worse than anything and Yennefer holds his hand and she looks exhausted, the mountain wasn’t kind to her yet she holds him and tries to sooth him.

He should have told Geralt. He should have told him that he loved him. He should have thought to stay.

But the pain doesn’t fade. Nothing fades.

But then it would be Geralt, and not his lover (ex-lover? witch fling? lady love? does he really have it in him to care right now?) holding him through this last torture to an early grave.

Is he dying?

The pain doesn’t fade.

Oh, he hopes he’s far enough that his Witcher can’t hear his wailing.

He keeps thinking about Geralt and his heart breaks and there are feathers growing from under his skin, his bones are broken and his body is rearranging itself in the most painful of manners and the pain doesn’t fade.

So Jaskier just keeps screaming and screaming and screaming, until a falcon’s call cuts the air where his voice had been.

He screams every sunrise and sunset that follows.

—

understand the AU / check out the series on ao3 / buy me a coffe?

#geraskier #the way down the mountain #always together (eternally apart verse)#jaskier #dandelion #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #geralt x jaskier #archive of our own #Ladyhawke AU #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer z vengerbergu #cursed jaskier #cursed Geralt

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sennextheassasinkingoflight · 4 years

Text

Hauntober Day 18 Toad

Witches

Geralt gets turned into a toad. Jaskier has to save him. Cross posted on Ao3. Gerlion/Geraskier rated T for implied sexual content and language. Enjoy!

Geralt had agreed to take on one final contract before returning to Kaer Morhen for the winter. The village had informed him that there was a creature wreaking havoc on travelers coming to and from the village, local villagers, and even the local farms. Unfortunately none of the villagers had enough information for him to piece together what it was he was hunting.

“Humanoid. Feminine. Lives deep in the woods. Possibly in a cave. What do you think it is Geralt?” Jaskier asked, pulling his travel cloak tighter. The wind was blowing wild and cold around them. It whipped their hair into their faces. The rain stung like bees.

“The description is too vague. You should have stayed in the village.”

“M’fine Geralt.” Jaskier said, glaring at the white haired man. Geralt didn’t even spare him a glance. He watched as glove clothed hands gripped Roaches reigns tighter. The forest was too dense to ride.

As they drew further into the woods the darkness seemed to encroach upon them. Geralt's eyes glinted in the darkness. Jaskier moved closer, the dark unsettling him. Geralt stopped abruptly and turned carefully. He cast an arm out in front of Jaskier and paused, eyes searching the darkness. His other hand came up to grasp the jolt of his sword.

“Geralt, what is—“

“Shut up.” He growled.

The next thing Jaskier knew he was flat in his back and Geralt was nowhere to be seen.

“Geralt?” His voice was pitched far too high.

“Geralt!?” He looked around the darkness. Roach was standing there looking at him and instinctively he grasped her reigns.

“Not funny Geralt. Where the fuck did you go.”

“Quew quew”

Jaskier stopped. What the hell was that noise.

“Quew Quew. Quew.”

He looked down in the failing light to see a toad sitting upon a pile of leather and Geralts swords.

“Shit. Geralt? Is, is that you?”

“Qurew, qurew, qurew”

“What the fuck?”

“Hahahaha.” A loud cackling pulled him from his fear induced staring. He looked up and locked eyes with a decrepit old woman dressed in animal skins and stained linen.

“Oh, uh, hello. Who. Who are you?” He licked his lips and glanced at the toad.

“My name be not of import, lad.”

“Okay… Uhm why are you out here?” He glanced around , subconsciously tightening his grip on Roach.

“Qurew, Qrew, qurew.” The chirping continued as the toad moved towards Jaskiers feet.

He glanced down and then back up at the woman with the wild hair.

“Are you a witch?”

“That I am.”

“Do you know what happened to my friend?” He swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. The toad turned around and hopped toward the witch.

“Quew. Quew, quew!” It threw it’s tounge out at her aggressively.

“Well then Toad, perchance I deem thee friend unworthy of my secret.” She turned to go.

“No wait!” Jaskier stepped forward, arm outstretched, “wait. Please. Did you, uh,” he swallowed hard,” turn my friend into a toad?”

“I did.” She said over her shoulder.

“Why? Will you turn him back.”

“Alas poor fool, I cannot return thee friend to his true form. The spell may only be broke by true loves kiss.” She winked at him, “good luck.”

He took a breath. “Wait!” But the witch was gone.

“Damnit.” He slid to his knees and looked at the toad, Geralt.

“Okay, this is fine. Jaskier you can do this. Well just fine Yennefer. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Okay. Roach, we're going to find Yennefer.” He leaned forward and gathered Geralt's clothing into a bundle with his swords. He attached them to Roach, all the while listening to Geralt chirp away.

He took another deep breath and knelt to pick up the toad. He hesitated, how gross. He pulled out a handkerchief and picked up the toad. Geralt chirped louder and burrowed closer to Jaskiers palm. He sighed and looked at Roach.

It took him a long time to navigate his way back to the road. When he did he looked at Roach again. She whinnied and nudged his shoulder. He sighed and whispered, “Thank you. Dear Melitele thank you.” He mounted her and headed back towards the the villiage.

Three days later Jaskier had not slept at all. Geralt was insufferably loud. He chirpped and quewd insesintly. Jaskier was exhausted and had no idea where Yennefer even was. He felt like crying and screaming and he get gross, Geralt insisted on sleeping on some part of of him. He shivered against the cold and the memory of toad skin against his. Then there was the worst he was concerned about contracting. Things just couldn’t get worse.

It snowed.

“Oh sweet Meliteles tits it’s cold.”

Geralt was flush against his stomach and it was everything he could do not to grimace as he inflated his gullet and exhaled with a croak. It was odd but he didn’t need Geralt to freeze to death. He grit his teeth and pulled his gloves back on. How the hell dod Geralt ever find Yennefer. She always seemed to show up when he didn’t want her around but now he needs her for Geralt and the woman is no where to be found.

Finally he came across an inn. He payed well for Roach to be tended and went to find a room and meal for himself. He was half way through a bowl of soup when he heard a familiar voice drawl,

“Is Geralt with you, poet?”

“Oh thank the Gods!” She stared at him.

“Jaskier?”

“I have been looking everywhere for you! There was a contract and it turned out to be a witch and she turned Getalt into a toad!” He thrust said toad out towards her face and she recoiled, all sound in the inn stopped as everyone turned to look at them.

“Qurew, qurew, qurew. Qurew!”

“So she did. I can see the curse. Did she say how to break the curse or am I going to have to figure it out myself.” She quit led and eyebrow to match her amused smile.

“True loves kiss. Which is ridiculous. I know I’m a huge fan of the romantic but come on!”

“Let’s go up to your room we’re getting stared at.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, “grab my ale.”

“Cranky much, bard.”

“Yes actually! I’ve been traveling with a toad for weeks looking for you. In the snow Yennefer. I could get warts! And he won’t shut up. Do you know the last time I slept?!?”

He stomped up the stairs,

“And my lute please!!!” He called back to her.

She blinked and obeyed. Alright then. Jaskier was pissed off not just cranky. She followed more slowly, the embodiment of grace.

“So why were you looking for me?”

“Uh you too love each other don’t you? And even if not your a sorceress you can figure out how to change him back. Can’t you?” Desperation colored his voice as he yelled Geralt back towards the mage. She took him, gently, from Jaskiers chilled hands.

“So you want me to kiss the toad.”

“Geralt.” He corrected.

“Qurew, qurew, qurew.” He chirpped between the two of them.

“This chirp is the sound he’s been making the whole time?”

“Uhm yes with me but not with other people. It was different with the witch and Roach and other people.”

The toad turned towards her and

“Quew, quew, quew!”

“That’s the one he used with everyone else.”

She laughed, “I’ll kiss him but it won’t break the spell. Also, Jaskier, you don’t get warts from touching toads.”

He glared.

“Kiss the fucking toad.”

She rolled her eyes and did so. There was no change.

“Have you tried?”

“Me!” He stammered, “wha- why- me.” She stared at him.

“One brain cell.” She muttered exasperation tainting her features.

“Just kiss the toad. I know you love him Jaskier. You don’t just follow a man around for buisness as long as you have.”

He flushed and took a large swig of his ale.

“You think I’ll turn him back.”

“I think you should try. Or, he may be stuck this way for some time.” She frowned looking down at Geralt. “Curses like this take some time to figure out.”

“Fine.” He grumbled and took Geralt back. He stared with a frown.

“Here goes nothing.” He breathed, “Just my dignity. Not a word to anyone Yennefer!”

“Not a word.” She nodded. “Kiss the toad.”

Jaskier made several face before quickly pressing his lips to Geralts head. He quickly thrust him away and reached for a rag.

“Ewwwww ohhhh.” He flushed Geralt, returned to his human form stood between them. Naked and glaring.

“Took you long enough.” He turned towards Yennefer and smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, now I’m going to go get some supper and leave you two to each other. I have a feeling you’ve got something to discuss.” With that she swept out of the room glancing between them with a smirk and a shake of her head.

“Jaskier. Where are my clothes?”

Jaskier blinked rapidly. He couldn’t get his head wrapped around what had just happened.

“You turned back.”

Geralt nodded.

“Because I kissed your warty little toad head.”

“Don’t say that again.”

“You love me?”

“Obviously. Do you think I’d tolerate you otherwise.”

“Hey! I’m good company!” Jaskier smiled and approached him with a gleam in his eyes.

Geralt tilted his head eyes soft.

“You. Love. Me.” He looked up at the Witcher and smiled.

“Want me to prove it?”

“ I won’t tell you where your clothes are other wise.” Jaskier smirked up at him and stepped closer. “ Tell me something first? How’d she know?”

“One of those sounds was a mating call.” Jaskiers eyes went wide and Gerar kissed him.

#hauntober #hauntober prompt #day 18 #geraskier #jaskier #the witcher #gerlion #toad

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Text

Fuck Indeed - 1 of 4

Rating: E

Chapter WC: 2720

Summary: Jaskier scrolled through the terms and conditions of the website he was planning on selling his soul to. It seemed simple enough, and he really needed the money. His music career hadn’t exactly gotten off to a flying start and he was tired of sponging off his friends and they were, quite frankly, tired of him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be allowed to sofa surf and he really needed his own space.

So, he was starting an OnlyFans account. - On AO3

CW (for whole story): 18+ only, anal sex, masturbation, exhibition kink, sex work, rimming, sex toys, talks of blow jobs, Geralt bottoms but it’s mentioned they switch, biting (but no blood), Jaskier wearing lingerie and makeup.

Jaskier scrolled through the terms and conditions of the website he was planning on selling his soul to. It seemed simple enough, and he really needed the money. His music career hadn’t exactly gotten off to a flying start and he was tired of sponging off his friends and they were, quite frankly, tired of him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be allowed to sofa surf and he really needed his own space.

So, he was starting an OnlyFans account.

The only thing he was good at outside of his music and poetry was sex. So why not make some money off of it. He’d already done a shit ton of research on stats, marketing, and the types of audiences he was looking to attract… and yes that potentially meant that he’d spent more money than he could afford on subscriptions to porn but, well, it was an investment.

He was going to be good at this, nay, he was going to be fucking brilliant; pun intended.

He smirked as he clicked to register his account.

Phase one complete.

Phase two… commencing.

He quickly adjusted his photograph to the incredibly alluring photo he’d picked out. Essi had helped him stage a photoshoot after he’d promised to only film his videos when he was staying with Priscilla or Valdo. The photo showed him sitting backwards on a chair, stockings pulled up to his thighs and attached by turquoise lace garters. He was wearing a gorgeous matching lingerie set that was barely visible from behind the chair, a tease for the sort of content he would be putting out. He was also wearing a pair of killer heels.

Heels he absolutely couldn’t walk in yet, but they’d been so pretty and he’d always wanted to learn so he’d bought them on a whim, again more money that he didn’t have…. thank fuck for credit cards.

He wasn’t looking at the camera, his fringe covering his eyes, but he was clearly laughing at something, blood red lipstick staining his lips.

He was rather impressed with how it had turned out.

Now he just needed to get up some content. He glanced at the clock, he had probably missed the best time to post a video today, but he had a few photos from his shoot with Essi. He flicked through his camera roll until he found his second favourite, one where he was looking up just past the camera, eyes catching the light perfectly so they shone a sparkling bright blue.

Not to be narcissistic, but he looked fucking gorgeous.

He grinned and typed out a teasing caption to introduce himself, then hit post. Afterwards, he locked his phone and threw it across the room, not wanting to think about the comments and reactions.

He stared at it as it bounced on the mattress.

The only sounds were his breath and his heartbeat in his ears.

“Bollocks,” he muttered after what felt like a lifetime, and scrambled after his phone, unlocking it quickly with a few nimble taps of his finger.

If he spent the next two hours refreshing his page to see what people thought then… well, no one needed to know. It wasn’t an instant hit, but he was new and it was expected, and he was thrilled at the couple of messages he received and he already had a couple of subscribers.

He could do this, the fluttering anxiety in his stomach beginning to settle slightly as he repeated the words aloud a few times. He sighed heavily and decided to be productive. He still needed to set up his Twitter page and link it, perhaps an Instagram account as well, one that his parents didn’t have to know about, and fuck he needed to sleep.

His clock, glowing in the now dark of his room, was telling him more time had passed than he’d realised.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

He still needed to get to the studio early this morning. He’d practically begged the owner to let him record a demo, promising that it would be worth it, that he was good. Luckily for him, there had been a short break very early in the morning before any decent musician worth a damn was awake. He plugged his phone in to charge and made sure he put it down out of reach from the bed. He’d just wake up in the middle of the night and check it otherwise. He just needed to know he wasn’t terrible, was that really so bad?

“Come on, Jask,” he mumbled “you can check after you record your demo. It’s not that long.”

It felt like fucking forever.

Geralt was busy working at the garage when Yennefer messaged him. He huffed and pocketed his phone, giving his customer an apologetic hum before gesturing for them to continue. Yennefer hadn’t started the text with “Ciri!” so he could ignore it for now, that was their deal. He’d only check his texts from Yennefer at work if there was a problem with their daughter, but that never stopped her from trying. Yennefer got bored easily at work. Her mind was too brilliant and even working in a top law firm wasn’t enough to keep her mind from wondering, the monotony of paperwork getting the better of her.

It didn’t help that she had assistants to take care of the worst shit for her. Geralt wasn’t exactly sure what Yennefer did all day. He was pretty sure she just organised her minions and planned to take over the world, in between bothering him at work, of course.

He shook his head with a fond smile, as he watched the young blonde leave her precious Volkswagen Beetle behind. It was an old banged up thing, and she’d clearly bought it for the looks rather than practicality, and the engine had given out after only a month of her buying it.

“Kids,” he scoffed.

Business was business though, it brought in sorely needed cash.

Not as much as his other job… but that was a more lucrative role, one that only Yennefer knew about. He was careful to keep his face hidden, but so far he’d been lucky. No one else in his physical life knew about his OnlyFans account, probably because he was still just starting out. He’d only been at it a couple of months and he was, admittedly, not the best at having an online presence, which was why he’d begrudgingly asked Yennefer for her help.

- New kid on the block, he’s just your type.

Yennefer’s message read, blunt as ever. He rolled his eyes and clicked the link. Sure enough there was a photograph of a young brunet straddling a chair, wearing fucking lingerie. He swallowed, staring at the photograph just a little too long.

He growled and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. He should have known better than to open the link at work.

But that smile haunted him for the rest of the day, making every second drag, the world turning to a haze and every movement felt like he was wading through mud. He wanted to get home.

He wanted to know more about this Dandelion.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pressing his fingers to his forehead, hoping it would push the thoughts of the man from his mind.

It didn’t.

By the time he got back to his house he felt like he was on fire, his skin crawling, restless, burning. He showered as quickly as he could, just about managing to wash all the conditioner from his hair before stalking back to his room and firing up his laptop. He groaned as he finally had a chance to stalk Dandelion’s page.

The second photograph was even better than the first, bright blue eyes searing into his mind, and the smile of a fucking angel. He looked young, mid-twenties, only a few years younger than Geralt probably, and he was exactly the sort of man he would do well on this goddamn site. He looked charismatic, easy on the eye, definitely flirty judging by the cheeky grin on his face, and he was probably excellent at the marketing side of things.

Geralt glanced at his subscribers and cursed. Dandelion hadn’t even uploaded a video yet but his follower count was crawling up faster than Geralt’s ever had.

And that made him… angry?

Jealous perhaps, but there was a bitterness growing in his heart now.

He had to do better. He couldn’t allow this man to overtake him. He just couldn’t.

He growled and shut his laptop with a snap, pulling out his phone with more force than necessary. Yennefer would know what to do. She was good at this sort of thing. He just hoped that he didn’t need to explain himself. It was pathetic and irrational but… he wanted to win.

Jaskier stumbled upon the White Wolf’s page purely by accident. He’d been looking for inspiration before filming his first video. He knew what he wanted to film but he was tired and wasn’t really sure he was in the mood for it, so he began to scroll. He’d unsubscribed from a lot of accounts to save money but the silver-haired Adonis had caught his attention.

The leather strapped around his otherwise bare torso helped. Jaskier was weak for a man in leather.

Before he knew what he was doing, Jaskier was putting in his details to subscribe, sending off a silent apology to his bank account.

The White Wolf was the silent brooding type, never quite revealing his face, but that wasn’t uncommon. His long hair fell down past the man’s pecs, curling at the ends just above the black leather straps. Chest hairs trailed down the man’s torso, the photo cropped before revealing anything else. Jaskier let out a low whimper at the thought of what might be revealed.

He groaned and scrambled for his bottle of lube before letting out a curse.

He had a video to shoot.

He didn’t have time to jerk off to this god’s account. He grumbled and got changed into the turquoise lingerie from the photoshoot. He had decided to use the photos as a teaser for his first video, creating some continuity and helping to create a brand that he could build on. He hummed happily as he pulled up the stockings, they felt soft against his skin, bringing a fragility to his otherwise muscular frame.

Not quite as muscular as Wolf’s.

What wouldn’t he give to lick the lines of those abs?

Once he was dressed, he pulled out his makeup bag. He wasn’t quite as skilled with eyeliner as Essi yet so he settle for a smudged black look before adding the red to his lips. He gave himself a once over in the mirror, flashing a smile. It wasn’t perfect but it was only his first video. He’d get more practice as he worked. After one final check of the lighting in his room – well, his temporary room thanks to darling Priscilla – he made sure he had lube nearby. With shaking hands, he set up the camera and clicked record. He would edit both the start and the end of the video later.

He sighed and then let a seductive smile grace his lips as he winked at the camera, kneeling on the bed.

“Hello darling,” he purred in a low voice “I am so happy you could join me.”

He pictured the chiseled torso of his Wolf, mind filling in the blanks of his face, square jaw, soft warm brown eyes, perhaps stubble on his cheek. He felt the warmth of arousal pool in his core at that thought, his cock filling out in the lacy underwear. Definitely stubble then. He wanted to feel the scratch against his cheek, his neck… his arse.

His fingers had drifted down his chest and were toying with the hem of his panties without him even realising it. His eyes fluttered open as he remembered his audience.

“Oops,” he breathed “forgot where I was for a moment there, sweetheart. You don’t mind, do you?”

He paused.

It felt right.

God, he had no idea that he was doing, but the idea of people on the other end of that camera, watching him. Fuck, he hadn’t known he’d be into that. He palmed himself through the thin fabric, letting out a slightly exaggerated moan so the camera would pick it up.

He wondered if Wolf would see this, would he get hard watching Jaskier touching himself… would he touch his own cock?

Jaskier’s breath hitched and he bit his lip. He locked eyes with the camera as he let out a sigh. “I’ve just been feeling so lonely, it won’t take much tonight, just the thought of you.”

The words felt awkward, stunted but it was only his first video and blood was flowing away from his brain right now, making improv difficult. He’d need a script for next time.

“It’s my first video so I wanted to get dressed up, do you like it?” a pause “It feels so soft against my skin.”

His other hand reached up to stroke his nipples through the lace. He tilted his head back and rolled his hips forward to his cock brushed against his own hand, another moan escaping his lips, playing it up for the camera. “Shall I keep them on?” he asked the camera, voice huskier than he was expecting. Fuck this was affecting him more than he imagined.

He swallowed, and licked his lips, fingers pulling down his panties to reveal the tip of his cock already leaking onto the brightly coloured lace. “I might ruin them… but I think you’d like that…”

Would Wolf like that… watching Jaskier cum all over the pretty panties.

Jaskier whined, smearing the precum over his hand and then down the length of his cock under the lace. The touch sent waves of pleasure through his whole body, and he let out a low curse. His eyes fell shut as he slowly stroked himself, taking his time, teasing himself. He pictured his Wolf pulling the straps of his bra down off his shoulders, pressing kisses into his neck, biting on his shoulders as he touched him. God he really needed to watch his videos, if he could pull such vivid images of the man from just one photograph.

“Fuck, that feels so good…” he gasped, struggling to keep his movements slow. He forced his eyes open to look at the camera. He could only imagine how he looked right now, eyes dark, cheeks flushed, lips red from where he’d been biting them, one hand working on his cock, the other pinching at his nipples through sinfully see-through fabric.

“I want you to touch me so bad,” he gasped “would you fuck me, if I ask?”

He swallowed, imagining Wolf’s hands on his hips, pressing bruises into his skin… spreading his cheeks apart… fingers dripping with lube, ready to stretch him. He bit his lip again, almost hard enough to draw blood. He hadn’t noticed he was fucking into his own hand, thighs burning as he knelt on the fresh silk sheets. He was close, too close… not what he’d meant for this video but it was too late now… he couldn’t hold back.

He gripped his cock harder, stroking faster, the underwear pushed down by his efforts.

“I. I can’t…” he stammered through the haze “I need, please…”

He almost sobbed, begging his unseen audience. “Please.”

He pinched roughly on his nipple, the sharp pain tipping him over the edge, and he came all over his hand with a wordless cry.

He struggled not to collapse onto the bed, but he did rest back on his ankles as he gasped for breath. “Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely… surprised by the intensity of his orgasm. He glanced up at the camera with a smirk, flicking his tongue out to lick his lips. “Until next time, darling.”

He winked at the camera and then crawled forward so he could turn it off. Once that was done, he fell back on the bed with a contented sigh before remembering the state of his pants. He grimaced and reluctantly got up to go shower, the thought of the White Wolf still lingering in his mind.

________

Taglist (18+): @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @slythnerd @hailhailsatan @thecomfortofoldstorries @gelos @moonysourenza @frances-the-red @honeysuckletook @elliestormfound @sleepy-thief @artistsfuneral @kittynannygaming @stinastar @fontegagrilledcheese @baka-yu @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @kueble @justjess94 @kozkaboi @wherethewordsare Let me know if you want to be added for this story or in general!

#the witcher #geraskier #onlyfans au #enemies to lovers #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #geralt/jaskier #unrequited enemies #wolfie's witcher writing

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thealfanator · 7 years

Text

The Steel that Warmed Us in the Night-Time ~ Chapter 4

Ciri sat, bored at the tavern table. Although she is forever in Geralt’s debt, she cannot help but feel a little annoyed at his overprotectiveness. She sighed, eager to help Yennefer from wherever she might be. She tensed at the table; people wandered around it, minding their own business and building upon their own affairs. For a moment, she vented the frustration so much so, the table almost started shaking itself – more from terror than physical force. She relaxed, intaking the satisfaction of lost pressure. Ciri closed her bright, ambitious eyes and thought long and hard. One… Two… Three… equal breaths of meditation and calmness, which she learned from her father, brought tranquillity to her thoughts. After a few moments of peace, she took a fragile bit of paper out of her small, roughened black satchel which sat on the bench next to her. Whilst on the way to Velen, Ciri managed to sneakily pickpocket Geralt’s list of amulet locations to study for herself. She copied them and returned it; resulting in no sudden suspicions by the Witcher. Novigrad… tick. Velen… hopefully, tick – she thought. She studied the list further. From the amount of evidence that the contractor had gathered, they suspected that another amulet was located near a run-down temple or shrine a few miles west from the village she was located. She sighed again, using them sparingly. Ciri conjured guilt inside her as she pondered around the decision. Ciri wasn’t angry at Geralt; she just believed he might’ve needed some space. Besides, hunting down two amulets at a time seemed more time efficient… She double checked her decision and her possessions – sword, herbs and the such – and moved the creaky door aside.

“Come on, Roach.” She whispered, mounting the horse, “we are going on an adventure!” she chuckled with slight awkwardness. They rode off the main path into the transitioning sunset.

Geralt panted hard, sprinting towards the village. It became faded due to the falling Sun. The air became colder, merciless. Darkness overwhelmed it fiercely and confidently. His footsteps dashed with effort. As fast as he was running, they could not overtake the rate in which his heart was beating. Yennefer bobbled in his arms, fully unconscious now; blood leaking from her stomach and pasting itself on and through Geralt’s fingertips. Hunter ran beside him, bow drawn for unexpected movements. He suspected the wounds on the raven-haired woman were from the troll earlier on in the daytime - when he watched like an eagle in the distance. A part of him perhaps regrets intercepting to help. Nevertheless, he stood by the White Wolf to aid his next plans of action. They suddenly burst from dark to light through the tavern door, startling all the joyous people inside. He dashed to the nearby table and placed Yennefer on it, drawing stares from all directions. Blood immediately coated the table. With unbelievably speed, Geralt cursed whilst opening a small wooden box which he produced from his satchel. Oils and potions littered it. He took one out, then another, then a third. He made Yennefer drink some. Coated the wound in another. He rushed around like a madman before Yennefer woke a few minutes later. She groaned a little as a sign of awakening to Geralt. He took an opportunity with a quick, relieved kiss.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to drop it. I promise.” She expressed faintly.

“Don’t worry about that now, just rest.” Geralt replied more softly now. People around the room scattered in different directions. Some continued to their drinks whilst others gathered and watched.

“Where’s Ciri?” Yennefer noticed. Geralt’s heart sank and looked around.

“Shit. I knew this would happen.” He looked back at Yennefer, “don’t worry, I’ll sort it out…” Yennefer took a moment to greet Hunter and thank him for aiding Geralt in the matter. They exchanged calming smiles. Geralt left to go to the counter. He ordered some more blade oils and some fuel to burn to make a small fire. When he returned, he said farewell to Yennefer.

“Hunter,” he called, “look after her please. I need to go after the amulet, then for my daughter” he trailed, adding company of a heavy coin pouch to his chest which he supported a second later with his hand. The man swiftly nodded.

“You have my word.”

Geralt stood at the entrance to the cave. The Sun had set now and the chilling air had emulsified a thick layer above the muddy ground. He sighed above a bloodstain in front of him, where Yennefer had been moments before, before heading into the cave. He lit a torch and carefully proceeded to where he could no longer see the entrance. By using his Witcher senses, he made sure that there were no luring monsters nearby: trolls, necrophages, or anything else which may be purring in the darkness. Kneeling down and unstrapping his armour, he produced a small fire from the fragments which he bought earlier. Gulping down Swallow, Thunderbolts and other strangely coloured potions, he settled in a meditation position and settled to prepare himself for the retrieval of the amulet.

Ciri viewed the darkest temple ruin she had ever seen. The stone walls were cracked and chipped with unstoppable foliage growing between them – contrast to the usual emptiness of Velen. The pillars acted as thick, supportive legs for the whole building. Stones that had fallen covered the pavement surrounding the building, making splatters of hollowness as Ciri walked around it, taking in the sights and recording interesting things about the structure of the building. As she walked inside, a large set of stairs crumbled into the further black hole of darkness, almost persuading her to be absorbed into it. She gasped at the frightful thrill she received as she peered around the corners. Inside the ruin, claustrophobia echoed more than her footsteps as she squeezed past rubble and crushed gaps in the walls. She pulled away from the sunlight and tiptoed down the stairs so quietly that even the walls could not hear her steps. She eventually had to light a torch to satisfy her vision as she further progressed through the cave. She continued to walk down when suddenly a click from above emitted. In the panic, Ciri rapidly drew back before a sharp arrow pieced the air where her foot was present beforehand. With a narrow miss, Ciri shook off her adrenaline by giving off a slightly humorous laugh before a deep breath on anxiety which filled her more than she had liked. Careful of pressure plates, she advanced down the darkly lit, dusty corridor.

Geralt saw the amulet a few metres ahead of him. It glowed happily on the other end of the gloomy cave. Unfortunately, there was a fairly large, angry troll between him and it. Dropping his torch to the ground, he drew his recently oiled silver sword and slashed ferociously at the beast. It wailed as Geralt inflicted grunts of effort as more force pieced the creature. Luckily for him, the troll was quite slow. He waltzed around the beast, avoiding the heavy swings made at his body. Jumping around like a cat, he clambered on to its arms and stabbed at the veins, once more avoiding the heavy forces the creature tried to use. Geralt could see that the troll was much bigger and more experienced than the troll from earlier, so it would be near to impossible to kill it without aid from others. Instead, he tried to grab to amulet, dodge and escape as soon as possible without attracting too much peril. Casting Axii, he distracted the creature. In a smooth movement, he threw his sword like a javelin towards the troll’s neck and then dived for the amulet. As the sign faded away, the beast came to a swift realisation of the needle that pricked its throat. It used force to retreat the blade and used it to slash Geralt across the shoulder. Belching in pain, Geralt continued to hold the amulet. He grabbed his sword which had clattered to the floor and burst for the exit. He used his now free right hand to support his wounded shoulder. He climbed up the rocks he had come from and exited the cave.

Ciri came to an open clearing. It seemed empty. Wildlife fluttered through the large gap in a corner of it whilst roots reached for the ground. It didn’t seem like people had touched this place for an oddly long time. As she kept an eye out for any traps, she progressed with her flaming torch. The smell felt still and stale, making Ciri urge for fresh air. She turned; left, right – walking anywhere in search for the precious artefact. Suddenly she saw a glimmer in the darkest corner of the room. To be cautious, she threw the torch near the corner to further become aware of its presence. When it landed with a loud thump, she saw three figures, dressed in black. They were peering over the amulet, muttering away before reacting to the sudden movement before their feet. Immediately, Ciri felt a small prick to her neck as her weight shifted to the floor, eyes shutting without prevention.

“I’m sorry.” Somebody whispered in her ear. She became more relaxed, almost becoming one with the cold stone floor as her body pushed against it. Her senses transitioned to faint; the mutterings that came from the figures dulled and her vision blurred towards an everlasting darkness. She exhaled.

Geralt almost broke the inn door down as he smashed through it, retreating from the evening moon, panting and wounded. He grabbed a small chair and sat beside Yennefer, amulet in hand. With the other, he held his open shoulder wound. He inspected it; not too bad but needs bandaging. Yennefer showed concern when she saw the blood but seemed pleased when she caught glimpse of the amulet. They both giggled hysterically as they sat there hopelessly. The time was so late that everyone had exited the tavern now with the exception of the owner and Hunter, who had been looking after Yennefer for a few hours. The bartender allowed them to stay overnight – although against the rules of the building.

“You’ve got to find Ciri.” Yennefer exclaimed. At that moment, the closed inn door directly in front of them surged open, more powerful than Geralt had done moments before, to reveal a fatigued figure. As she walked in, Geralt’s eyes came into focus. It was Ciri. Geralt saw that she had an amulet which she immediately dropped as a result from her almost non-existent stamina. She barely acknowledged Geralt before she stumbled to the hard, wooden ground, passing out before the Witcher’s stance. He knelt immediately, trying to support her. Yennefer slowly stood up, secured the amulet in her hand and joined Geralt. He felt for her pulse. It slowed, and slowed some more before becoming so faint that he could not feel it any more.

All right, I hate cliffhangers too! I’m sorry! Don’t worry, everything will be fine, I hope! :) Thanks again so much for all the awesomeness and support. Although it’s not as much as some other people, I am still thrilled at the 9 or 10 notes and couple of reblogs I receive on each of these chapters - and it really motivates me to continue writing. Take care; watch out for Friday for a Chapter 5 sneak peek :)

Link to Chapter 1: https://thealfanator.tumblr.com/post/161443706234/the-steel-that-warmed-us-in-the-night-time

#the #steel #that #warmed #us #in #night #time #chapter #four #geralt #of #rivia #butcher #blaviken #yennefer #vengerberg #ciri #cirilla #hunter #witcher #rise #white #wolf #assassin #kings #wild #hunt

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Text

Fuck Indeed - Pt. 3/4

OnlyFans - Geraskier AU

Previous - AO3

CW (for whole story- Although this chapter is smutless!): 18+ only, anal sex, masturbation, exhibition kink, sex work, rimming, sex toys, talks of blow jobs, Geralt bottoms but it’s mentioned they switch, biting (but no blood), Jaskier wearing lingerie and makeup.

It was three months into Jaskier’s new job online and it was going well! He’d gained more subscribers than he’d ever thought was possible, and quickly too. He was proud of himself, if one was allowed to be proud about wanking in front of a camera, although he couldn’t help the niggle of doubt in the back of his mind. That annoying little voice that told him he wasn’t allowed to have that many subscribers and that he was a fraud. One day he’d wake up and they’d all be gone, but every morning he woke up and there were just…. more?

It was utter nonsense, but he was having the best time!

The White Wolf was still a favourite of his, and his videos were just getting better and better, which just wasn’t fair. Jaskier’s heart just couldn’t take it, and his dick wasn’t doing much better. Wolf was often the, umm, inspiration for Jaskier’s videos, which was blurring some lines that really shouldn’t be blurred.

Jaskier thought back to Wolf’s bottoming video. At one point it had sounded like he almost said “Dandelion” before the word was muffled by his hand. Jaskier must have watched that video a hundred times, before he’d told himself he was being silly. Yes, Wolf was also subscribed to his channel but they’d never spoken. Jaskier had thought about DMing him a couple of times, perhaps if they were local then they could film a video together.

It was nothing but a pipe dream, and it would never happen.

And anyway, tonight wasn’t about that. He had a gig! Like an actual, using a guitar not a dildo, gig. It wasn’t much, he wouldn’t even be getting paid. Ok so it was less of a gig, and more of an open mic night… but he was excited! It would be good to play again, to have an audience he could actually see.

He stepped into the bar, stinking of sweat and booze as they so often did, and he grinned. He loved bars, they were grimy in the best way! The atmosphere was just brilliant. You couldn’t get it anywhere else, and these were real people with real stories to tell. It was what kept him coming back. Honestly, the songs he’d written just from listening to people in these godforsaken places. It was a gold mine.

Last week, for example, he’d met a rather terrifying, gorgeous woman. She’d had violet eyes and smelled like lilac and gooseberries, with long raven black hair that fell down her back. She looked like something out of a fantasy game, Skyrim or the likes, so naturally Jaskier had strolled right up to her to get the details. She’d been utterly fascinating, a biting wit to match his own and he’d practically run home to write a song about her, well… after he’d been told that there was absolutely no chance in hell that they would sleep together, but one couldn’t blame him for trying.

He grinned, perhaps she would be here again tonight. He enjoyed a good flirt and she’d been fun to hang out with after his performance. She’d also had excellent taste in wine.

“Jaskier,” a silky smooth voice called and he spun round, gripping the straps of his guitar case.

“Yennefer,” he greeted “I wasn’t expecting to see you here again.”

Yennefer snorted. “I’m not here for you, buttercup. My friend, however…” she nodded to a booth to Jaskier’s left.

He frowned and followed his gaze. His jaw dropped when he saw the shock of silver hair. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

But it couldn’t possibly be him. No. No, no, no. Jaskier was just a little infatuated, seeing him in places where he simply wasn’t. He was sure lots of people had long silver hair and were built like fucking gods.

“Problem?” Yennefer asked, smirking at him, and fuck it was like she could read his fucking mind.

“Oh ho, no… no problem. There’s no problem. I just… I thought I recognised him, but I’m mistaken,” Jaskier rambled, tapping out fingerings on his guitar strap to try and calm himself down.

Shit.

Did he have a Pavlovian response to silver hair now?

No. It was more than that, it was in the way he was built, the line of his jaw. “What’s his name?” Jaskier asked, aiming for nonchalance but failing miserably.

“Ask him yourself,” Yennefer said with a laugh and then went off to the bar, leaving Jaskier alone in the middle of the room with just his guitar for company.

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Come on, Jask,” he muttered. “It’s not him, get over it.”

He nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet a couple of times before heading over to the stage instead. He was being a coward, but he needed a drink first and his performance was scheduled soon. If he played well, he’d get a drink on the house and he really could do with that right now, although his wallet wasn’t quite as empty as it once was.

He channeled his nerves into his performance, using that energy to pour his soul into every note. The audience were entranced, he could feel it, pride bubbling up in his chest, he was able to open his eyes and bask in the attention, letting the music flow from him like a river into the sea. His gaze drifted over to the booth where Yennefer’s friend had been sitting but it was empty.

His voice wavered slightly as he bit back the disappointment.

Fuck, another missed opportunity. He tore his gaze away and smiled at his audience, winking at a pretty blonde by the bar, and then smirking at Yennefer. She had her arms around a gorgeous brunette, almost a tall as he was, wearing red flannel and black jeans.

And then he saw him.

Standing right at the corner of the stage.

It was Wolf, it had to be. Jaskier knew those lips. He knew that jaw. He knew the soft wave of his hair. He almost dropped his guitar and he forgot to sing for a couple of beats but he was a professional, sort of, and managed to pick it up to finish the last few lines of the song. He quickly thanked the crowd, dropping his head in a barely visible bow and then he jumped off the stage. He grabbed Wolf’s arm and started to pull him back to the more isolated booth at the back of the bar.

“Get off!” Wolf growled in that low sexy voice that had Jaskier’s heart thumping in his chest.

“The booth is more private, Wolf,” Jaskier snapped back. “Or do you want the whole bar to know?”

That shut him up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. He should have known that Wolf was a man of very little words, he barely spoke to the camera when he was being paid to perform, why would he bother free of charge. “Eloquent as always, darling.”

Wolf stiffened at that word, skidding to a halt. Jaskier turned around, both hands on his hips. “Wolf, please, let us have a little privacy.”

“Right, yes,” he mumbled, and was he blushing?

Jaskier smirked and then licked his lips, he supposed he did use that particular term of endearment in his videos quite a lot… and Wolf did watch his videos. Jaskier filed that information away for later, perhaps his dream of a collaboration could actually become a reality. He willed that glow of hope to go away. He didn’t want to set himself up for disappointment, but fuck… Wolf was even prettier in real life.

Were his eyes honestly that golden, or was it just a trick of the light?

Jaskier could write sonnets about those eyes, like honey, like molten gold, gorgeous amber eyes…

Oh fuck… perhaps it was a little more than an infatuation. He had always fallen in love a little quickly, but this was really taking the biscuit. Wolf grunted as he fell into his seat. Jaskier slid in opposite him, planting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands.

“You watch my videos,” he purred, his eyes dropping to Wolf’s lips.

“It’s research,” Wolf growled.

Jaskier laughed, “Oh really?”

“Yes.”

“So that’s why you were watching my performance so intently?” Jaskier asked, tilting his head.

“You have more subscribers than I do,” Wolf leant in, in a way that was probably supposed to be threatening but Jaskier… well… he was getting hard already. It probably didn’t help that he’d seen this man cum in so many ways already. “Do you know how frustrating that is? I’ve been doing this for longer than you, and then you just swan in looking all pretty.”

Jaskier frowned. Wolf seemed angry at him? Of all the things he’d imagined… this hadn’t been one of them. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and sat back at little. “Well I’d have one less if you unsubscribed,” he muttered, the words sounding bitter on his tongue. “Fuck you, Wolf.”

“Geralt.”

“What?”

“My name. Is Geralt,” Geralt growled. “Not Wolf.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “You do know I watch your videos?” Geralt nodded. “And you don’t even show us your quite frankly gorgeous face?”

“So?”

“Is Geralt your real name?” Jaskier said, biting his lip, not sure whether he was flirting or just anxious. It was probably both.

“Fuck.”

“I’m Jaskier,” Jaskier said softly, a peace offering of sorts “A name for a name?”

“Jaskier?” Geralt snorted.

“Oh fine!” Jaskier through his hands up. “You got me, it’s Julian, but no one calls me that. So Jaskier is my name, Dandelion is my stage name.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier pouted and leant back forward onto the table, catching a lock of Geralt’s hair in his fingers. “I recognised your hair first, it’s really quite unique.”

“Don’t touch me,” Geralt grumbled but didn’t move away, face still flushed.

“Are you really mad that I have more subscribers?” Jaskier asked, licking his lips as he dropped his hand away from Geralt’s hair. “Perhaps I could help?”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at him. “How?”

“Well, individually we are good, right?” Geralt nodded. “So together… we could be unstoppable.”

He watched Geralt’s face carefully as he processed Jaskier’s suggestion. At one point Geralt seemed like he was about to decline, and Jaskier steeled himself, ready for rejection, but it never came. “Alright.”

Jaskier sat back, surprised by his success. “Wait, what? Really?”

“It’s a good idea.”

“Well, yeah, it’s a fantastic idea! but I didn’t think you’d agree. Honestly, I was just hoping for a quickie in the bathroom at the very least,” Jaskier admitted, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t like losing.”  “Right, yes well… Do you want my number? Easier to umm.. well. You know, organise this…” he gestured between them.

Holy mother of fuck, they were actually doing this. Jaskier was actually doing this… and Geralt, his Wolf, had agreed. Now Jaskier just had to keep his pesky feelings in check and everything would be Dandy!

Fuck.

_______

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier smut #the witcher fanfiction #onlyfans au #wolfie's witcher writing

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Text

Born to Make History Pt.2/3

A Geraskier Ice Skating Fic (with Yuri on Ice Influences) - On AO3

____________

Geralt couldn’t seem to calm his heart and it was fucking annoying. He’d managed to watch Jaskier in secret for years, ever since Yen had become his coach. He wasn’t sure why today had been any different. He couldn’t be angry at Ciri for letting slip that they’d been to a few of Jaskier’s performances when their schedule allowed. With any luck Jaskier would assume it was for Yennefer.

But it was Jaskier.

It had always been Jaskier.

He’d first seen Jaskier skate three years ago when Yen took over as his coach. He’d popped into the rink to collect Ciri. The rink had become a neutral spot to handover without Ciri getting upset as she loved to watch the skaters, even as a baby. So he’d snuck into the end of Yennefer’s session to find the most beautiful man gliding around the ice. He was in training gear but it was still tight enough that Geralt’s could see the firm muscles of the figure skater. Geralt’s mouth had gone dry and he’d been completely entranced. There was no music in the rink but Geralt could hear it anyway as the man had glided and danced and leapt around the rink.

Until he’d seen Geralt watching him. At that point he’d tripped over his toe-picks and fallen flat on his face. Geralt had been so embarrassed that he’d grabbed the two year old in her pram and fled from the rink before the skater could regain his composure.

It happened almost every time after that. If Jaskier spotted Geralt whilst he was skating then he would trip or mess up. So Geralt tried to keep his distance. He didn’t want to be responsible for Jaskier injuring himself. He couldn’t have that on his conscience not when Jaskier clearly had a glittering career in front of him.

Except for today Jaskier hadn’t spotted him until the end of the routine and Geralt hadn’t run away. They’d had a conversation, they’d even skated together with Ciri acting as a sort of buffer between them. Geralt still kept his distance, preferring to watch as Jaskier taught his daughter the basics of figure skating.

Geralt almost wish he’d brought his old figure skates with him instead of his hockey ones. He reckoned he could still do a double toe loop maybe even a triple. He doubted that he would have as much grace as Jaskier whilst doing it though. He was built for hockey and he was out of practice. He could lift Jaskier though, the figure skater was almost as tall as him and well built but Geralt was strong enough that, if given the chance, he could definitely lift him.

Not that he’d thought about it.

Much.

And now they were getting coffee. It wasn’t a date. Geralt kept telling himself that but Jaskier’s hand was gripping his arm as he laughed at some joke he’d told that Geralt’s hadn’t heard. Ciri was holding Geralt’s other hand and chattering happily with the figure skater. Geralt was stuck between the two of them feeling like he’d walked out of one of his dreams, a dream he hadn’t even allowed himself to imagine.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s hand squeezed his arm and he looked up to find Jaskier’s beautiful cornflower blue eyes looking at him.

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?” Jaskier frowned and licked his lips.

God, Geralt wanted to kiss him.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Jaskier flicked his fringe from his eyes and chewed on his lips again. It was fucking distracting. Did he even realised how much Geralt wanted him? Geralt would have to get him some lip balm to try and stop the never ending lip licking. Otherwise they would never get through a conversation without Geralt’s brain cutting out.

“How do you have your coffee?” Jaskier sang as they entered the rink’s coffee shop. Geralt noted his often sang random sentences. He recalled that Yen had said Jaskier had composed his own free skate music.

His free stake music was ridiculous but catchy. Geralt had caught himself humming it more than once during practice. The song just wriggled its way into your head a refused to leave. By the end of the first week of the figure skating season, the whole hockey team were singing it. Jaskier could have easily become a musician if he hadn’t fallen in love with skating.

“Black.” He grunted.

Jaskier made a face and wrinkled up his nose. “Oh god, really?”

Geralt chuckled. “No but that’s what people assume.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “That is not the question I asked. Come on, let me get you coffee, as a thank you for catching me earlier.”

“Caramel latte.” Geralt mumbled. “I need the sugar for training.”

Jaskier laughed and god even that was beautiful. “You and me both!” He strutted up to the counter to order whilst Geralt found a table with Ciri.

She sat opposite him and watched him intently, her chin resting on her hands.

“What?”

“You like him.” Ciri stated. It wasn’t even a question.

“Hmm.” He hummed nonchalantly. His daughter was perceptive but he wasn’t ready to admit it just yet, not aloud, not where Jaskier could potentially hear him. He glanced over at Jaskier who was busy flirting with the barista and Geralt’s heart sank.

Definitely not a date then.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Why had he let his hopes get up? What would Jaskier see in him? His grey hair made him look decades older than he really was, his eyes were a weird yellow colour, nothing like Jaskier’s gorgeous cornflower blue eyes. He had less grace than a new born giraffe and little to no musicality. He was in so many ways, Jaskier’s opposite, but then again, they did say opposites attract and fuck was he attracted to Jaskier.

The object of his desire laughed at something the barista said and then he turned to face Geralt with a dazzling smile. Geralt returned the smile weakly, still feeling a little nauseous from having his crush to close to him and yet so unobtainable.

“Why don’t you tell him?” Ciri asked, her nose scrunched up as she tried to figure out why Geralt was being a coward with his feelings.

“It’s more complicated than that.” He muttered and ruffled her hair.

She shook his hand off and pouted. “Why?”

“Just is.”

“Yeah but why?”

Geralt sighed. “He won’t like me back.”

“How do you know?”

Geralt groaned. Bloody children and their endless curiosity. “I just know.”

“Know what?” Jaskier asked as he passed Geralt a large coffee cup. He put the coffee carrier down on the table and carefully handed Ciri the smaller of the two. “Careful, sweetheart, it’ll be hot.”

Ciri rolled her eyes and gripped the cup between her little hands. “Duh.” She muttered.

“So know what, Geralt?” Jaskier asked again as he bit his lip. They was chapped from too much time spent at the rink and Geralt couldn’t stop himself from staring.

“Hmm?” He replied, blinking as he vaguely registered Jaskier’s question.

“Dad said he knows that you won’t like him.” Ciri stated matter-of-factly and Geralt’s brain suddenly snapped into gear.

Shit!

Jaskier choked on his drink and Geralt almost knocked his all over the table. “I’m sorry what?!” Jaskier shrieked.

Geralt groaned and hid his face in his hands. “Ciri!”

“What?” She snapped. “He asked!”

“Go find your mother.” Geralt muttered sharply. His hands were shaking and Jaskier was just staring at him with his radiant blue eyes. “Now. Ciri.”

“But—”

“Now.” Geralt insisted and pulled out his phone to send Yennefer a quick heads up before sighing and turning towards Jaskier. “Sorry. She’s just a kid.”

“Geralt, I—”

“No, it’s fine. I understand. I’m just sorry you found out.” He cut Jaskier off before he could hear the words that would break his heart.

“No but Geralt I—”

“It’s fine, Jaskier.” Geralt reassured the skater. “I can stop coming to your performances.”

Jaskier stood up with a wave of his arms. “Geralt, would you just listen to me, you emotionally constipated himbo?!” Jaskier yelled and Geralt’s mouth snapped shut.

Fuck.

Jaskier put both hands on his hips and glared at him. “You’ve seen my routine?” Geralt nodded but didn’t say anything. “Have you worked out the story yet?”

Geralt frowned. “Eros, sexual love?” He grumbled.

Jaskier chimed a laugh. “The story of seduction, Geralt. I am the seductress trying to woo my playboy lover.”

“Playboy lover?” Geralt repeated.

Jaskier tossed his fringe from his eyes. “Famous hockey player who could have anyone he wants, formerly married to the most successful and most beautiful female skater of our generation?”

Geralt felt his cheeks heat up. “I’m no playboy.”

“No. Perhaps not, but my story was better.” Jaskier shrugged and licked his lips. His cheeks were as red as Geralt’s felt.

He furrowed his brow. “You were trying to seduce…me?”

Jaskier scratched the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. “Well I didn’t think it would ever work. God, Geralt you are way out of my league!”

Geralt laughed. Out of Jaskier’s league. It was Jaskier who was out of Geralt’s league. The way he skated was absolutely breath taking, if he good just manage to land all of his jumps and maybe increase the difficult of his routines he would be dominating men’s skating. There wasn’t a single skater in the Grand Prix final that could out perform Jaskier. Yennefer would and had disagreed but none of the others were able to enchant Geralt the way that Jaskier could, and fuck, his Eros routine plagued Geralt’s dreams.

How many times had he dreamed about peeling off the sequinned black outfit? The skirt that flick up to reveal that little tease of blood red. Fuck. It was hot. It drove Geralt mad and the way Jaskier licked his lips at the start of routine and winked at the audience.

Out of his league.

It must be a joke. How could Geralt even begin to compete with his beauty?

“Geralt!” Jaskier whined, snapping him out of his Eros fuelled daydream. He refocussed on the real Jaskier’s face. The skater was pouting at him and it took every ounce of Geralt’s self control not to kiss him.

“You think you’re out of my league?”

Jaskier nodded and Geralt just laughed again.

“God, I’ve wanted you for years, Jask.” He admitted with a shake of his head.

Jaskier’s jaw dropped. “No.”

“Yes.”

“You mean we could have been…?”

Geralt nodded. “Yes.”

Jaskier groaned and flopped back into his seat. “Fuck me.”

Geralt took a long sip of his caramel latte as he watched Jaskier despairing over the potentially lost time. He hummed. “Normally I would ask you to dinner first.”

Jaskier’s eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. “Geralt!” He was blushing brightly but a playful smile danced on his lips. “How about I ask you to dinner?”

Geralt smiled and nodded, today was suddenly seeming a lot brighter. “Dinner it is.”

Jaskier reached across the table and Geralt took his hand. It was warm from where Jaskier had been holding onto his coffee, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Geralt was still reeling over the fact he was allowed to hold Jaskier’s hand, after so many years of watching him on the ice. He’d always seemed so far away. A joyful presence in both Yen and Ciri’s life but never his, and for some unknown reason Jaskier had wanted him.

“Why?” He asked.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “Why?” He repeated the question.

“Why did you think I was out of your league?” It wasn’t exactly what he’d meant but repeating Jaskier’s earlier words were easier than trying to think of his own.

Jaskier laughed and squeezed Geralt’s hand. “Because look at you!” He gestured with his free hand. “You’re bloody gorgeous.”

“So are you.” Geralt mumbled.

That seemed to give Jaskier pause as his mouth opened and shut a couple of times. “Yeah. Well. You’re more gorgeous, and you’re this famous ice hockey player, Captain of the Kaer Morhen Wolves, ex-husband to the Yennefer Vengerberg, the Ice Queen. Father to the sweetest most adorable little five year old. You have everything. Why would you want me?”

Geralt felt his expression soften as Jaskier’s gaze fell to the table. “Because you make me hear the music even when there’s none playing.” Jaskier frowned and chewed on his lip. Geralt sighed and ran his thumb along Jaskier’s bottom lip, pulling it free from his teeth. “You keep doing that. It’ll start bleeding.”

“Yeah well.” Jaskier muttered breathlessly.

“Being famous means shit all.” He sighed as he pulled away from Jaskier’s face. “No one gives a fuck about the person underneath. I’m just the ice hockey hero.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Well, then, Mr Ice Hockey Hero. Who is Geralt Rivia?”

Geralt chuckled. “You sound like press.”

“You don’t mind if I record this do you?” Jaskier teased and moved the small pepper pot to sit in the middle of them. “It’s easier than taking notes. I’d rather this just be you and me, without a notebook.”

“Jaskier!” He growled.

“Now, we’ve all heard about your skills on the ice, tell me…” Jaskier paused dramatically and licked his lips. “do those skills transfer to the bedroom?”

Geralt barked a laugh. “I wish I could say I’ve never been asked that in an interview before.” He groaned.

“No!” Jaskier giggled.

“Hmm.” He agreed. It had been just after his divorce with Yen and the press were trying to market him as the next playboy bachelor.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you dodged the question, Geralt.” Jaskier teased.

Geralt tilted his head and smirked. “If you win the Grand Prix final, maybe you’ll find out.”

Jaskier gaped. “Geralt!” He groaned. “That’s just not fair. I’ll never win.”

Geralt just shrugged.

“You’re joking right. God please tell me you’re joking.”

Geralt didn’t answer.

“Geralt!!” ______________

#the witcher #geraskier #ice skating au #figure skater!Jaskier #ice hockey player!Geralt #modern au #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #born to make history #wolfie's witcher writing

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

Text

Who Protects The Protector?

A/N: Hi guys!! I am so tired but I literally can’t write for shit so I wanna just *screams in the void* aaaaaanyways requests are open and yes I have some a lot sitting in my box but sometimes when people send in new requests it gives me inspiration to write and I really just want to write :( help a hoe out and send in requests or something you want a headcanon of!!! I write for a long list but to sum it up, I do Marvel, The Witcher, and a few other handfuls of random ass people. I mostly do x female!reader but I am open to x male!reader or nonbinary!reader or anything really!! Also I write cute lesbian fluff and I’m willing to do some lesbian smut especially with my babes Yennefer and Natasha Romanoff and even Wanda Maximoff cause hot damn Don’t mind me. Just self promoting :)

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: mentions of fight but other than that there really aren’t any warnings :)

Summary: You slip up and make a mistake on your first mission with the team and Steve is angry with you.

Blood trailed out of your ringing ears. Your eyes were closed tightly as you took careful breaths in and out. You were sure you cracked a rib or two and maybe even lost a tooth. Blood trailed from a wound on your thigh - a bullet - and you did a shit job at trying to stop the bleeding. The gauze you held to your leg was held there poorly.

The sound of heavy boots coming towards you made you open your eyes. You lifted your head to see Steve approaching you. You locked your jaw and tried to swallow the pain in your abdomen.

You were sitting at the back of the jet, away from everyone else. You isolated yourself because you felt guilty and you were upset. Your actions almost cost the lives of a handful of your teammates.

He stopped in front of you, keeping his hands at his sides as he thought of what to say first.

“What were you thinking back there, Y/L/N?” Steve’s tone was harsh and cold. He was angry. Of course he was. You almost killed your teammates, the very ones you called family.

“I-I wasn’t-,” You stumbled over your words, your voice weak and quiet.

“That’s exactly why we almost lost Barton, Sam, and Romanoff. You weren’t thinking.” He shook his head, running his hand over his face. His eyes shot over to Tony, who was sitting towards the front of the jet with the others. “I told you she wasn’t ready for this.”

“All do respect, Capsicle, I think she was ready.” Tony said, tentatively touching the wound on his temple. “She did good. Take it easy on her.”

“Accidents happen, Steve, especially with a newcomer. It’s okay-,”

“No, it’s not okay, Thor!” Steve cut him off. “We almost lost three of our own, including Y/L/N!”

You didn’t dare to look away from your hands. Your whole body was trembling with shame and embarrassment. How could you be so stupid? You had one chance to prove to Steve and the others that you were meant for this team and you blew it.

“Hey, kid?”

Instinctively, you reacted to the nickname given to you by the Avengers. It was Bucky who had spoken to you.

“Don’t mind Steve.” He spoke quietly but his voice could still be heard by everyone on the jet - including the Captain himself. “Mistakes happen. Don’t let it bother you but don’t let it happen again. You gotta learn from the mistakes.”

You nodded softly, not trusting your voice to work properly.

“Listen to you.” Sam looked to the Winter Soldier sitting next to him. “Sounding all inspirational and shit.”

“Eat me, Wilson.”

“Barnes is right, Y/N.” Natasha sat back in her seat from where she had been leaning forward. “Making mistakes is the only way you’ll learn. You did a hell of a job out there.”

“Don’t encourage her behavior, Romanoff! We made a plan and I was going to go in. She didn’t follow that plan and almost got you killed.”

“I was only protecting you!” You were frustrated but with yourself.

“I don’t need you protecting me!” He was furious that you were hurt and terrified that he almost lost you and his best friends. Anger and adrenaline coursed through his veins, fueling his rage.

Steve sighed heavily, running his hand over his face before moving to the front of the jet. He needed time to calm down.

You watched him, brows drawn together and tears still pooling in your eyes.

What if he decided he didn’t want to be with you anymore? What if he decided you weren’t meant for the team? What if he talked everyone else into getting rid of you? Surely that wouldn’t be too hard. You and Steve were still fairly new to the whole relationship thing but you were keeping things on the down low. No one knew about the relationship.

Hell, it didn’t matter now. You were probably gone the second you touched down in New York.

You hastily wiped the tears from your cheeks.

***

Thirty minutes had passed since Steve yelled at you and chastised you in front of everyone else. You’d spent the entire time staring at your hands, thinking of a thousand different ways you could have handled the situation.

Natasha, Clint, and Sam all had been held at gunpoint, their lives threatened by a hostile enemy in a room full of explosives. You had heard the rest of your teammates conversing over the earpieces that you communicated through. Steve was going to come in and take care of the gunman. The second you heard he was going to go into the room filled with bombs, you made a move. You threw a gas bomb into the room, disorienting the gunman. You didn’t think the idea through so you also managed to disorient your teammates. All of you coughed and struggled to see much. The gunman and you engaged in a fight until he managed to set one of the bombs off. Natasha was the one to save you from the gunman, taking him out with one of her Widow’s Bites. Then, the three of you made your hasty getaway, just barely making it out of the building before it exploded.

As you replayed the scene in your head, you didn’t notice Steve approaching you again until he knelt down in front of you. You blinked and took in a breath, leaning back off of your knees at the sight of him.

He was silent for a few heartbeats, worry filled blue eyes focused on you. His hands clasped yours and he closed his eyes, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut and a little relief flooded your veins.

“I-I’m sorry.” You whispered, your voice trembling. He pulled away from you so that he could look at you. One of his hands left yours to cradle your head, his thumb brushing across a bruise on your cheek. “I didn’t want you-I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“It’s a part of my job, baby.” He murmured, wiping the tear from your cheek as it fell from your eyes. “But what you did was reckless.”

“I know.” You hung your head. His hand left your face to go to your thigh. He carefully lifted the gauze from your thigh and sighed softly. You were bleeding still. It had slowed down but you should’ve stopped.

“Have you been applying pressure?” He asked. You sniffled pitifully and shook your head. “I’ll be right back.”

You watched him leave, afraid to let him out of your sight. You didn’t realize that your teammates had nosily been watching you both, some giggling and others whispering to each other.

Steve retrieved one of the first-aid kits and returned to his spot kneeling in front of you.

He was silent as he pulled out a pair of scissors and cut the pant leg of your suit enough so he could reach the wound. Then he opened up one of the alcohol wipes and started to carefully clean the wound.

You hissed at the pain, your eyes squeezing shut at the burning sensation.

“I know, babe.” He spoke softly. “M’sorry.”

You said nothing as you focused on ignoring the pain. Your hand found his shoulder and you squeezed gently.

“I hate seeing you hurt.” You whispered. His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours. “I’ve-I’ve sort of grown used to seeing you come home with bruises and cuts and damage done to you but it still makes me sick. I-I wanted to stop it. I wanted to keep you safe.”

A little smile came to his lips and a crinkle formed between his brows. He felt guilty for yelling at you. You had good intentions, granted, but they didn’t excuse what had almost happened.

“I appreciate the sentiment, baby.” He leaned forward to kiss your forehead. You smiled softly. Then he returned his attention to your thigh. He placed gauze over the wound and instructed you to lift your leg so he could wrap your thigh with medical bandages.

You had to use him for support as you lifted your leg, clenching your teeth together tightly. Your toes felt a little numb and your leg ached all way up to your hip.

When he was finished, he helped you ease your leg down.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” He breathed out, moving in to kiss your lips very softly. “I just…. I can’t lose you.”

“I know.” You leaned your forehead against his lips. “I’m sorry too.”

His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers gently rubbing your scalp.

Taglist: @isothetic @jennylovelyheart @romancebibliophilia @wayward-dream

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america #chris evans #marvel #the avengers #marvel's avengers #oneshots #oneshot #steve rogers oneshot #captain america oneshot #queenxxxsupreme

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