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roughentumble · 11 months

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I know what classpecting is but I saw the witch of time Yen knight of blood Geralt post now I'm curious what Jaskier's would be

mostly i didnt add him because i was literally falling asleep as i made the post and didnt want to keep myself up, but also because im stuck at a bit of an impasse on what i'd classpect him as.

explanation of geralt yen and ciri classpecting for the next four paragraphs, jaskier explanation at the end, sorry its so long

im fairly sold on knight of blood for geralt, because not only does it just Sound very Him, knights are known to have a facade they show to the rest of the world to hide deeper inner turmoil, and blood is the aspect of connections, and he is literally at the center of a vast web of connections (the hansa, the witchers of kaer morhen, the family he creates with yen and ciri) which he has to work at various times to maintain and keep healthy, despite the way he thinks he's not suited for it, the way he expects to be hated, and in fact the times where he's genuinely in over his head. he's both challenged by, and inherently suited for this post, which is a very Homestuck Classpect thing. not to mention how deeply he feels bonds once they form, and how far he'll go to protect them.

i mostly made yen witch of time because while geralt is the much needed glue to hold their little family together, she is vital for the teaching and mentoring of ciri in a different way, she's a very powerful figure in her own right, and time is one of the two aspects that is absolutely necessary for a viable session. i don't know how much the classpect suits her personally, but it's a very necessary and powerful role, and i could easily see it being one of seclusion, where one thinks they know it all and so they'll make and guide through their plans and their timeloops, and the others ought to simply go where they lead, and yen making plans and not telling others the details seems to be a running theme. in fact that may make her even more suited to be the /mage/ of time, but, like i said, i was falling asleep, and a witch just sounded more right simply because she's a witch/sorceress in canon lol.

ciri as witch of space is most up in the air, i could see her being a lot of other classes, but space is the other aspect that a session literally cannot be viable without. even more important than time, without a space player to breed the genesis frog, your session will never give birth to life, and all of the game is doomed with no win conditions. this makes ciri a player that is incredibly important and sought after, but mostly due to the fact that she'll have a potent role in breeding-- something unfortunately true in canon as well, where she's sought after for the fact she's said to one day give birth to a fatedly important man. on top of that, some classes suffer from an abundance of their aspect, and one of the ways ciri suffers is through space; an abundance of it keeping her from the people she cares about, who care about her, who would want to keep her safe and loved and looked after. one who suffers from space and yet uses space to appear where needed, teleporting and yet never able to be near loved ones and always seeming to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, suffering and yet giving birth to something vital should she fulfill her destiny, or leaving a new world to rot as she shucks what the gods plan in order to live with those who really matter to her. seems very ciri to me, mostly i gave her witch as a way of inheriting the title from yennefer. a class that is somehow a middleground between yen and geralt while still being active, and one that inspires suffering through its aspect, would be more suited for her but again i was falling asleep.

the reason also that they three have these specific classpects is a way of making them viable as a small three-person session. time and space are needed, but if it were only yen and ciri they would be a lord and muse, and i dont want to leave geralt out. if it was literally them and only them in sburb, time and space are non-questionable. and geralt doesnt strike me much as either sort of player. ciri COULD transcend rules and be dual-aspected, i suppose, since canonically she's the lady of time AND space in the witcher universe, but that feels a little too fanon-y to me and im not into it. so in the case of a three person session, yen would have to be time while ciri would be space, and geralt just seems a blood player to me.

now. here we get to jaskier. first of all, introducing more players means that yen's classpect gets called into question. suddenly she doesnt HAVE to be a time player, since others are open for the role, others who personalities might be more suited for it. but also being a time player makes you Very Important, and im hesitant to remove that plot relevance from her character. onto jaskier himself: its actually tempting to make HIM the [class] of time, because time is often associated with music in homestuck. dave has his turntables, aradia her music boxes. time is the rhythm of reality, and when you're tuned into the beat, that's what gives you control of it. so a musician seems very leaning towards that role. you could even make him a bard! bard of time is a valid classpect. but bards in homestuck dont fit the same role as bards the career. and honestly i kind of agree with that one classpecting post i read that said bards are the author's puppets in homestuck. bards as we've seen them in the series kind of just do what's needed for plot contrivance, and i dont think jaskier is THAT useless. a bard of time almost makes sense for him based on other classpecting, where theyre a role of whimsey and joy, and time having musical associations. but i think it makes him too plot-central and leaves him with too little agency, it kind of reduces him in a way i dont think suits him. also, i dont think i want him to wear a codpiece and a cone-shaped hat! sorry, im bringing aesthetics into this

ignoring gendering the classes, i could see him as a rogue, page, or sylph. all classes generally thought of as passive. rogues steal [their aspect] to distribute to the rest of their team, while suffering from an abundance of [aspect], like roxy(rogue of void) suffering from blackouts due to her excessive reliance on alcohol. sylphs are thought of in fanon as a healing class, healing others through [aspect], like the sylph of light healing psychological wounds by helping people "See the light". and pages are thought of as weaklings who suffer from a total lack of [aspect], but who become the most powerful characters once they grow. the trouble is getting them to grow at all. like tavros, who couldve been powerful, but spent a lot of his time stagnant or lead astray, "growing" in ways that were actually regressive for him. (ive seen arguments about how to define a page but shhhhh ive already typed so many words).

rogue of heart might be a good classpect for him. he steals people's love though his wondrous lute playing, but suffers from a lack of ability to feel that love himself, whether because they dont return his feelings, or because he has difficulty actually feeling that love in return. but heart is also linked to personality, sense of self, etc, and jaskier doesnt strike me as one that deals with confusion about his sense of self.

a sylph of heart would potentially be similar to a rogue of it, healing others through love, but again, im not entirely convinced heart suits him. as a sylph of life he might live life to the fullest, and inspire those around him to do so as well!....sometimes to their own detriment.

i dont know what draws me to page. i certainly dont think he's the most strong or valued player on the field, which is what i like about him, and giving him a class that says "you'd kick everything's ass if only you unlocked your potential" doesnt do it for me, though i guess if we relegate him to being forever stunted, or make him highest "goal"/"best self" one who's incredible talents dont lie at the heart of getting ahead in the game, perhaps it would work better. tavros DID excel when vriska wasnt trying to make him something he wasnt, he just didnt excel at the parts that were, like, winning the game.

there's plenty of aspects, too, that i think could suit him. heart, in his ability to sway the hearts of others. life, for his vivacity, the way he starts with abundance(a viscount, being born into royalty is a very common life player thing), the way he suffers from rules and constraints.

but ultimately, i think breath would be an interesting aspect for him. breath is easygoing, blowing from place to place, with no interest in being tied down. breath is whats in your lungs when you tell a story, its what carries each note from your lute to someone's ears. its associated with protagonists and jokesters, and while he isnt the former he does have the plot armor of one, and he can most certainly be the latter. caught up in whims, letting himself be pulled by the force of the story, his deepest connections forged by the knight of blood who so quickly saw him and grew close to him, without asking him to compromise his flighty ways.

but at the same time, his flightiness sometimes hurts him. he gets into trouble when he blows things off, when he gets too full of hot air, when he cant seem to stop talking. he cant find just one love, darting from one partner to the next, too free to be pinned down like a butterfly on a board. he sometimes suffers from an abundance of freedom, though there's nowhere he'd rather be than the open road, on the next great adventure, sat beside his closest companions. i think he would be a rogue of breath.

#witcher tag #ogc tag #open to other classpects ofc!#but this is what i get from him #long post tag

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claracivry · 2 years

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Hello Clara! I've got a little question for you, since I'm very curious about it: what do you think of Eddie and Steve as a couple? Do you like them together? just wondering, I swear I come in peace, too many people fighting over silly stuff like this lately, I feel the need to clarify ahahahah

ps: I love your whump fics by the way, I had to tell you!!

Hi, anon!!

I'm glad you like my whump fics!! It's my favourite genre and brings me so much joy, I'm glad there's other people enjoying it :)

Now, my thoughts on Steddie 😬 I come in peace too! Please don't shoot! I hope I don't get cancelled and lose all of my readers but. When I first saw the show, I didn't see it. As a metalhead who doesn't date, I saw Eddie and was like "hell yeah why be into boys or girls when you can be into heavy metal 🤘🤘🤘🤘"

And there's absolutely nothing wrong with the ship, but there's something about the shipping community that bothers me, is almost aggressive? Like going "if you don't like this ship you're either blind or homophobic!!!" is something that I profoundly dislike, like it's okay to have your ships but don't step on other people?? I think the fact that you have to say "I come in peace" in this message perfectly illustrates that. There's a lot of discourse and I hate discourse so so much. So yeah, that bothers me.

If you read me, you probably see that I love gen more than any ship. I wrote that much about umbrella academy because it was a bunch of siblings and ships were never central to the story or the fics. I sometimes love a very popular ship (Geralt and Jaskier in the Witcher) and other times I don't see it/ship it (Johnlock from way back in superwholock times). Is very rare for me to get reeeeally into a ship, so when the whole majority of fics is eaten by ships, it kinda bothers me, too.

And this was a thing before Eddie in this fandom, too! I would go to try and find some Jonathan whump and it would be all Harringrove where Jonathan was mentioned in one line. If all the whump fics are about feelings and romance Imma be pissed, I can tell you that. And this happens a lot with Steddie, I will see a promising fic about Eddie being sick and it'll be all couples fluff and romantic feelings. Does everything have to be romantic?

Also, I am a little petty bitch. Seeing gen fics getting two kudos and something very similar get two hundred because it has Steddie bothers me. I don't think it's fair. And again, the discourse, like you said, the fighting, is annoying. We write content because we want to have fun, right? It's not supposed to be a lesson in morality, Jesus. (That's why I love rarepairs, there's usually zero discourse)

Without all the drama, I think Steve and Eddie could be cute. I like the notion of Steve never having thought of boys in that way but being unable to tear his eyes off Eddie. I like the poor guy x rich guy thing, and how they could idk explore what each other's lives have been like. And let's face it, they're hot. They're friendly. Could be nice but sadly, the whole... vibe around it just bothers me.

And also, the fact that there's so little whump without Steddie. Like I said, petty little bitch.

So yeah, them as couple? I don't ship it, but the couple is cute. But the actual shipping community has ruined it a bit for me. If there's anyone out there who feels this way too, I would love to chat!

Thanks for asking, hope you don't mind my long and non-shippy answer! And I sure hope people continue to read me despite this :/

Clara out ;)

#asks #this is like buck and Eddie in 911 #Like Buck being adopted by the captain and Athena is there why do I have to put up with so much romance #And I like romance occasionally #Went fucking crazy for Drukkari last year #But often times... J #ust don't care #And moral superiority will ruin something for me 100% of the time #And fighting #Rarepairs tho #Even in a conflictive fandom like Voltron the pidge x lance people were nothing but kind to me #And still sick Lance being taken care of was so much more important to me #I wish I shipped Steddie you know??#There's so much more content so many more people to enjoy it with #But alas #it doesn't jingle my bells #Steddies pls don't get angry with me I'm but a poor whump little girl 😭

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asweetprologue · 3 years

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me lámh le do lámh - Part I

Ahh I can’t believe it’s finally done! After a year of working on this beast, it’s finally ready for me to share. This is something I started way back last summer, and I decided to finish it as my project for this year’s @geraskierbigbang. It will be ten parts in total, and I will post one part per day until it is complete! There are several art pieces that were created by the wonderful @herostag and Miranda.draws for this story, which I will link when the appropriate section is posted. For a summary and further links, please see the masterpost.

Next | Ao3 | Masterpost

“Alright,” Geralt said. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Yennefer looked up at him with bright eyes, curious and already mirthful. She was sitting across from him in his quarters, reading through a tome she’d found in Kaer Morhen’s disheveled library. Geralt had just come from a bath after hours spent training Ciri in the yard, and the room was filled with the warm evening light, supplemented by the fire crackling in the hearth. Yennefer had insisted on carting dozens of tapestries and drapes to hang around the drafty keep, and the room was nearly stuffy with their bulk keeping the heat in.

Yennefer gave him an amused smirk. “I will make no such promises before I even know what you’re going to say.” The gentle teasing brought a fond smile to Geralt’s face. After the events of the mountain all those years ago, things had been understandably tense. Yennefer had been reluctant to join them when she had finally met up with Geralt after Sodden, but had eventually agreed to seek refuge in the witchers’ keep and teach Ciri to control her magic. Once she’d met the girl it had all been a wash; it was clear as soon as their eyes met across the room that Yennefer was as much a part of Ciri’s destiny as Geralt was.

Geralt had expected that to either mend the rift between them enough for things to go back to the way things were, or make things even more awkward. Instead, they found themselves in a sort of in-between. Over the years his affection for Yennefer had only grown, but he found himself looking to her more and more as a friend—maybe his best friend. After Jaskier, of course.

Speaking of. “I was thinking about Jaskier.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes obviously. “As you are so frequently wont to do. The thaw will come soon enough, dear, and you can run off in search of your bard.”

Geralt felt his ears grow warm. Witchers couldn’t blush, not truly, but he still felt the tingle of it as he fidgeted with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, absently tracing a finger against the grain of the wooden table. There were two goblets of wine sitting between them, but so far neither of them had begun to drink. “Do you know how many winters it’s been since I found Ciri?”

If she was confused by the odd turn in subject matter, Yennefer didn’t show it. Instead she looked thoughtful. “Two, perhaps three? You know I don’t follow the seasons with diligence.”

“Neither do I,” Geralt agreed. “I was thinking the same though, two or three years since the fall of Cintra. Which means Jaskier is…” He paused, trying to do the math. “He was a few years past forty, during the dragon hunt, I think. He must be closer to fifty now than not.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him. “I recall mentioning something about his crows feet. What of it? Humans age. Are you only just discovering this?”

Geralt forced himself not to grumble. In a way, he was only discovering it. He’d known humans across the years, of course, and knew that many that he’d once been acquainted with were no longer alive or were in their twilight years. For decades Geralt had wandered through the world, changing no more than a ghost would, touching the lives of regular mortals for a brief instance, maybe a few times if they were particularly unlucky. No one had stayed by his side, dedicated themselves to a relationship with him, the way that the bard had. The amount of devotion that Jaskier showed to him had made Geralt antsy, in earlier years, and then confused and angry by turn. He had hated the idea of someone needing him, had hated needing someone in return. The way his chest felt heavy when he and Jaskier parted ways had left him furious with himself and the bard.

And then Ciri came into his life, and everything had changed so quickly.

With Ciri, it didn’t matter whether Geralt felt like he should care for her, or if he wanted to. He needed to. Without him, the girl would die, or be kidnapped by Nilfgaard for who knows what purpose. He had to feed her, and clothe her, and teach her, and he had to love her for her to thrive.

She made it very easy. It was only afterwards that he realized how much of an idiot he’d been to Jaskier, and the thought of how he’d treated the bard over the years had plagued him. It had been months before he could find him to apologize, but Jaskier forgave him almost immediately—which Geralt found both relieving and infuriating at the same time. This was the first winter they’d spent apart since. Geralt left the keep more rarely now, heading out on the Path only when the months grew truly warm and returning at the first hint of falling leaves. Ciri was safe on her own, he knew, but he missed her when he was away. And he could admit now that one of the forces driving him back into the world over the last few years had been the itching desire to find Jaskier again and settle the yearning in his chest for another year. He was less inclined to venture forth when his bard, his daughter, Yennefer and his brothers were all in one place.

This winter Jaskier had begged off, saying that he had “work in the south,” which could mean anything from spending a decadent winter in the court of some noble or sludging through the front lines as a Redanian spy. Geralt had learned not to pry too deeply into Jaskier’s business when he wasn’t around. It was often either too explicit for him to stomach or too confidential for Jaskier to share freely.

It worried him, being away from the bard for so long. He could get hurt, or captured by Nilfgaard, or worse. But what really terrified Geralt was the idea that he would find Jaskier in a tavern along the Path and realize that the bard had grown old, to find silver in his hair and wrinkles beside his eyes. “He’s getting too old,” Geralt said to Yennefer, who looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

“You must have known when you started travelling with him that he would eventually leave you,” Yennefer said, not unkindly. “Humans are so short lived.”

“I didn’t exactly get a choice about becoming his muse,” Geralt said with a huff. Despite his improved relationship with Jaskier over the past few years, he still found it difficult to admit that he had always been more than willing to let the bard tag along. If he’d wanted to travel alone, he would have. But he never had. “I just didn’t realize…”

“It always comes sooner than you think it will,” Yennefer sighed. She set her book aside and picked up her goblet of wine, turning to look out the large window their table sat in front of. It faced west out of the keep wall, towards the mountains and the forest beyond. The sun had set below the craggy peaks, throwing the snow covered valley below into darkness. Geralt could just make out the ruins of the old tower, its stones dark against the white landscape. “You can’t cure his mortality, Geralt.”

“We did.”

The look that Yennefer gave him was sharp, almost angry. The firelight in the room turned her violet eyes darker, like mulberry wine. “At great cost,” she snapped. “I can’t imagine you would put him through the Trials.”

A stab of panic shot through his gut at the thought. “No. Of course not. He wouldn’t survive it anyways. Only children stand a chance at all.”

Yennefer nodded, apparently satisfied that Geralt hadn’t completely lost his mind. “The boy hasn’t got an ounce of Chaos in him, in spite of his rather chaotic nature, so I highly doubt they’ll accept him as a late trainee at Ban Ard.”

“There must be other ways,” Geralt said, feeling petulant. “Less conventional.”

“I cannot believe we are actually discussing this,” Yennefer said, rising to her feet. She picked up her book from the table as well as her glass. “There is no way to achieve immortality, especially not without sacrifice. You know that, Geralt. Drop this foolish line of thought.”

Geralt rose after her, reaching out to catch her retreating wrist. A grasp loose enough that she could break it, if she wanted, but Yennefer paused. “Please, Yen. Just… look into it for me? I can’t—the thought of—” He cut himself off, dropping his hand away from her arm. The look she gave him was more pitying than he would have liked.

“I’ll do some research, but nothing more. Don’t get your hopes up, Geralt. There’s a reason there are so few of us,” she said. Her face softened slightly, as much as it ever did. Despite Ciri, Yennefer was still made of more glass and fire than anything else. “I know you love him, even if you can’t admit it to yourself. I promise, I will do my best.”

Geralt nodded wordlessly as she left and wondered if Jaskier's eyes would be as bright next time he saw him.

For weeks Yennefer said nothing about his request, and Geralt refocused on spending time with Ciri and preparing to depart for the spring. Lambert and Eskel had already left a month before, as soon as the road down the mountain began to thaw, but Geralt had hung back. The roof needed repairs, a difficult job to do in the midst of winter, and it was a hard task to leave for Vesemir alone. It was always like this, now—him looking for odd jobs to keep him at Kaer Morhen, with Ciri, making excuses until Jaskier’s jitteriness or Vesemir’s raised eyebrows forced them on the road again. Some of that was mitigated this season by the silence he heard when he found himself listening for the sounds of lute strings strumming gently in the background, and Geralt’s increasing anxiety about Jaskier’s wellbeing. Even so, it was hard to leave Ciri behind.

The girl was progressing rapidly as she entered her teen years, the chubbiness of her youth morphing into lean if awkward muscle as she continued to work on her swordsmanship. When Geralt and his brothers weren’t pushing her through drills, she was studying monsters and alchemy with Vesemir, or practicing her magic with Yen. She never seemed to tire, eagerly absorbing any lessons passed on to her and desperate to prove her worth. The only person she seemed to let her guard down around was Geralt, who found himself often goading her into mock wrestling matches (which he refused to throw on principle) and humoring her when she became restless and wanted to explore beyond the keep. Kaer Morhen was dangerous in the winter, but as spring approached and the deep snows on the surrounding mountains began to thaw, the duo spent more and more time trekking through old ruins and sleeping beneath the stars.

He could put off his journey south no longer.

“I’m going to be fine, Geralt,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. He wondered if he’d been this petulant as a teenager. Certainly Lambert had. “I can take care of myself, and Yen will be with me.”

Geralt tapped her wooden training sword with his own, indicating that she should prepare to go again. When he was a boy he’d trained against the other foundlings, stumbling around like pups through drills and sparring matches. Ciri trained against full witchers, and only Eskel ever faked a misstep here or there to allow her to get in a good hit. When she won a fight for the first time, it would be on her own merit.

The girl raised her sword into a decent fighting stance, and Geralt moved to correct her footwork. Her sword work was exceptional above the belt, but she consistently forgot her stances, throwing herself off balance. They’d begun putting her on the pendulums to force her to focus, dancing between posts to attack the dummies. Geralt had spent many a night rubbing salve into her bruised shoulders, gained from taking fall after fall from the low poles. No one forced her, but if there was one thing Ciri hated, it was admitting to weakness in herself. “Sword up,” Geralt said, and launched into his attack.

He stayed on the offense, forcing her to practice the defensive drills they’d started going over recently. “I know you’ll be fine,” he said, continuing their conversation. His breathing was relaxed, almost meditative through the slow exchange of blows. “Just seems cruel to leave you with only the old man and Yennefer for company.”

Ciri giggled despite herself, and Geralt found himself grinning back before he smacked her lightly in the ribs with the training sword. She swore—Lambert, Geralt thought with chagrin—and danced back a few paces. “Gotta focus,” he said, still smirking at her.

She poked her tongue out at him childishly and reposted off of one of his blocked attacks. He easily swayed out of the way, but the movement was fluid and smooth, which meant someday it would be fast, faster than he could dodge. He gave an encouraging nod.

They continued to spar for another half an hour or so before breaking, heading to the well to fill their water pouches. Geralt sat on the short ring of stones and Ciri slumped on the ground beside him, leaning against his leg. The simple trust and familiarity she exhibited around him still took him by surprise, sometimes. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said, rubbing a hand over the top of her head. Her hair was almost as white as his.

She sighed, wiping dripping water from her chin as she tossed her water pouch down. “I figured,” she said. “Say hello to Jaskier for me, when you find him? I missed his songs this time.”

Geralt’s caress turned into a playful ruffle. “I will. Any requests for books?”

“Ones about Elves,” she said immediately, “and Skelligan alchemy. It’s different from ours, did you know? The Druids—”

Geralt chuckled. “I know. You’ve said half a dozen times. No fairytales this time?”

The girl hummed, reminding him for a brief and touching moment of himself. “Just bring Jaskier back. He tells about your adventures so much better than you do.”

“He’s certainly made a career out of it,” Geralt grumbled, feigning annoyance. “I’ll do my best. You know how he is.”

“You missed him too,” she said, hitting his knee with one closed fist. “I know you did. You get all…Well, more grumbly and mopey than usual, when he’s not around.” She wrinkled her nose up at him in exaggerated disgust. “It’s gross. But I do want you to be happy.”

Geralt knocked back against her gently with his knee, swallowing around the feelings that rose in his throat. “You just think I’m a boring old man who won’t help you put toads in Eskel’s bed. But you never even ask. I’m the expert, not Jaskier.”

Ciri laughed, bright and crisp in the morning air, and Geralt felt warm despite the fading winter chill. Tomorrow he would leave, and he would find Jaskier, and next winter he would tell Jaskier that he had to stay at Kaer Morhen. For Ciri, if nothing else. And if it was more for Geralt’s sake than anything, well, no one had to know.

Yennefer found him before he left, saddling Roach in the stables.

“Go to Triss,” she said by way of a greeting. Geralt knew what she meant by the gravity in her tone and the tension sitting in the corners of her mouth. “Ask after Ida. I don’t know where she is or if she’ll speak with you, but a Sage is the only one that might be able to give you anything.”

Geralt reached out to grasp her hand firmly in his own. “Thank you, Yen,” he said honestly.

The sorceress sniffed. “Well, you owe me one, I suppose. I hope you find what you're looking for. But be careful.”

“I won’t do anything that might put him in harm’s way,” he promised. “I swear it.”

“Good.” She gave him a slight smile before leaning in to brush a kiss over his rough cheek. The simple touch warmed him from inside out. “Say hello to the bard for me. Tell him I heard about that disastrous competition in Vizima. Ought to have him stewing for a good long while.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’ll give him your love as always.”

“Goodbye, Geralt,” she said, patting his arm lightly. “Be safe. You know how to reach me, if you have need.”

“I do,” he said. “I will. Take care of Ciri.”

“It’s more the other way around, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft smile, and Geralt understood exactly what she meant. Ciri had saved them both, in more ways than one. Every time he left her was more painful than the last. Someday, he knew, they might travel the Path together, a witcher, a sorceress and their daughter. Maybe even a bard, if he was extremely lucky.

Geralt hoped he would be.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #big bang #geraskier big bang 2021 #multichapter #fic #fanfic #the witcher #witcher #writing #my work #geraskierbigbang #me lamh

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

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Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.

In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.

Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.

Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.

"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."

That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.

"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."

"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.

Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.

Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.

"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.

"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."

Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.

"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."

That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.

"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."

"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.

"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."

The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"

To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.

"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."

"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."

Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.

"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."

"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."

Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.

He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.

Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.

Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.

Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.

"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.

The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.

"Luca?"

By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.

"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.

"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."

He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.

"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."

"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.

Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.

"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."

"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.

Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.

"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."

"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.

It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.

"You think that-"

"Mhm."

That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.

Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.

"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."

The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.

Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.

"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.

After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."

All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.

Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.

"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"

"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"

Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."

"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."

#geraskier #lambden #eskhir #geralt/jaskier #lambert/aiden #eskel/cahir #unhappy vesemir/guxart #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #aiden #eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #vesemir #daemon au #tldr: witchers' daemons are humans when the connection between them is severed

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thewitcheress2389 · 3 years

Note

Can I please request a third part of Secrets Are No Fun/The Most Beautiful Secret where Jaskier and the reader’s daughter is a little bit older, please? Thank you so much!!

Secret No More

Jaskier x F!Reader

Summary: You and Jaskier’s daughter is growing up so fast. Also, Uncle Geralt loves to visit but will never say that.

It’s been around three years since the birth of D/N. You and Jaskier live in a small cottage back in your own village. It was nice to be able to raise D/N is a familiar place with a lot of recognizable people, especially since she was beginning to move around more. Plus, it was nice to have some help nearby. Your village also paid Jaskier to play in the local tavern just so he wouldn’t have to leave you two for so long. You couldn’t have been more grateful.

You and Jaskier also got married.

It was nothing big. Just a small ceremony with some people who were close to you from your village. Even Geralt showed up. The witcher said it was “pure coincidence”, but you saw through him.

Geralt has actually shown up multiple times. The first time he did (since D/N’s birth), he had to do a contract for your ealdorman. It was nothing big, just some nekkers causing trouble for travelers. The witcher was going to stay at the inn, but you insisted he stay with you guys. Geralt (begrudgingly) agreed, after stating “it’s cheaper”. He’s been staying there ever since, if he had a job to do or just for “travel convenience”.

Can he ever just say that he WANTS to stay here? Nope, that’s not how the witcher works.

Anyway, the guest room practically became Geralt’s room. You would get him whatever he needed whether it be food, a bath, alcohol, etc.

You also learned that the witcher loves his privacy.

D/N was quick to learn how to walk. You and Jaskier were terrified because of how curious she is. You would help her learn when Jaskier wasn’t home (he just couldn’t watch if his poor baby got hurt). As soon as she figured it out, she tested her limits by trying to run.

So, of course, this lead to problems.

Once, when you were making dinner for everyone, D/N was running around. You weren’t too worried because there was nothing dangerous she could get ahold of. Geralt made sure to either lock his door or take his swords with him to avoid any accidents. However, one time he forgot to lock his door.

The witcher was doing what he loved; taking a relaxing warm bath after a tiresome day. Head back and eyes closed, he really did forget where he was.

Until he heard the door open.

One has never seen a witcher look so afraid...at the three-year old who was giggling innocently while holding the door handle. You rushed to the scene when you heard your daughter, but quickly apologized to Geralt for the intrusion while also snatching your child up. He brushed it off, but both of you couldn’t look each other in the eye for the rest of the day.

Now, Geralt doesn’t mind D/N coming to see him in his room (he just made sure he was out of the bath first). You and Jaskier weren’t worried. The witcher always kept a watchful eye on her.

She also loved to babble a lot. It was so close to actual words that Jaskier took it upon himself to help her out. Of course, you wanted her first word to be “mommy” and he wanted “daddy”. What was going to be a memorable time became a competition. You both spent a lot of time with her, encouraging her to say your desirable words. Geralt would shake his head and call you guys “immature”. One day, she did say her first word.

It was Roach. Or more like “woach”.

You and Jaskier were downtrodden at this, but Geralt on the other hand looked very smug at this. (Apparently, he also had spent a lot of time with D/N).

Another thing about your daughter, was her love for animals. She loved Roach so much. However, it wasn’t just her. All horses, cats, dogs, even birds, were fair game for your daughter’s affection. She became so attached to a stray cat once that she cried every time it left your porch. So, you and Jaskier made a wise decision.

Yeah, you guys have a cat now.

When she was a little older, Geralt would give her a ride on Roach. You’ve never seen a child look so happy (or a witcher so happy). D/N’s smile would be so wide as Geralt, who sat behind her, led Roach around in circles in your yard. She would constantly beg him to go faster.

“Faster Uncle Geralt!” She would beg with a huge smile. The witcher would smile and comply.

Jaskier also wanted her so badly to play an instrument.

“It runs in the family.” He says. You doubted him.

Anyway, D/N didn’t show much interest in that. She tried, just to make her father happy, but Jaskier told her she didn’t have to do something she didn’t love.

That was until he heard her sing. Her voice was like an angel’s.

When Jaskier told D/N he’s heard her singing, she got all embarrassed. He encouraged his daughter that she was fantastic and should think about sharing her gift with the world. She was scared, but trusted her father.

Father daughter duets are a thing now.

“I’m proud of you Jaskier.” The witcher once said to him. Before Geralt could react, Jaskier hugged him. The murderous intent in the witcher’s eyes actually concerned you.

However, that didn’t stop him from visiting.

You and Jaskier are happy, Geralt seems happy, D/N is happy, you have a cat, and might even add more children to your family.

You’ve been on a crazy journey to get to where you are today, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #Jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #geralt of rivia

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cas-kingdom · 4 years

Text

Dad

A/N: Thank you to my anons for helping me come up with some perfectly Geralt-like explanations of parenthood. <3

Despite the summary, Geralt doesn't outright call Akela his daughter in a couple of these, but the point of the story is to show how he can call her that without actually saying it, if that makes sense. Still fluffy and (dangerously) sweet! Also a nice little Yennefer-Geralt scene here.

While writing number 4, I listened to 'Scared' by Jeremy Zucker.

Title: Dad

Summary: Three times Geralt called you his daughter, and the one time you called him ‘Dad’.

Words: 4607

“I knocked it off the cart.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why would I try to steal something I have money to pay for?”

The old man’s face turned sourer, if that was at all possible. “Oh, you have money?” He expectantly stretched his hand out, palm up as his fingers twitched. “Pay me, then!”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m not buying them!”

“You tried to steal them!”

“I did not!”

“I saw you!”

“What you saw,” you spat out, leaning forward, face the picture of anger, “was me bumping against your cart and knocking a couple apples off—which I apologised for.”

A noise somewhere between frustration and rage spewed from the man’s mouth and he shot his arm forward like a snake striking to attack, grasping the front of your tunic and tugging you forward. “Listen here, girl—”

You clenched your fists and readied to bite back, but before you even had a chance, the man’s hands were ripped from you, and he was shoved away.

“Get your hands off her,” a stony voice ground out, voice brooking no argument. Geralt stood tall and menacing in front of the hunched old man, head tilted slightly to the side as he glared at him. He knew you were often capable of looking after yourself, proven clearly when you stepped beside him and a look of smugness appeared on your face, but he also knew that that would likely never change how much the anger flourished inside him when he saw someone lay their hands on his child in a way such as this.

The old man pointed a shaky finger at Geralt. “You stay out of this, Sir!”

You scoffed, and Geralt spared a glance down at you, briefly raising a brow. “What, exactly, am I supposed to be staying out of?”

“The little bitch tried to steal my produce!”

“I didn’t!”

“The little bitch,” Geralt said, holding out an arm to stop you from lunging, “is my daughter. And if you ever speak in that manner to her again, you won’t be able to speak another word.”

The man looked ready to respond with vigour, but at the last moment his eyes averted to the sword and the daggers at Geralt’s waist, and the cogs in his brain began to turn as his vision wandered up to the white hair and the amber eyes. He shut his mouth and stepped back, resigned.

“Forgive me,” he said. He appeared as though he was ready to run before he grabbed one of the apples you had knocked off his cart and pressed it into your hands, a forced and nervy smile showing on his lips. “Here, take this!”

Your eyes lit up and you smiled victoriously, taking a bite from it and turning to walk off as you called back a quick, “Thank you!”

Geralt sighed deeply and hummed, giving the man a final glare before following after you. “He was right. You are a little bitch,” he remarked.

You grinned and tossed the apple in the air, the sunlight glinting on the green fruit as though in triumph. You handed it to him and watched as he relented with a roll of his eyes and took a bite. “Waste not, want not!”

“What’s it like?”

Geralt lifted his head to look at Yennefer. She was lying on her side opposite the fire, her head resting in her hand, and she seemed contemplative. Curious, in a way, which was odd for her, though what could he really say about that? It wasn’t as though he’d known her long.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

Yennefer jerked her head in the direction he’d been staring in for the majority of the past ten minutes, where you were fast asleep, curled under blankets, head beside Jaskier’s, who was wandering in the land of dreams himself.

He looked at you a moment longer before turning back to the mage. A hint of his own confusion danced in his eyes, but she spoke before he could open his mouth to question what it was that she meant.

“Parenthood,” she clarified, her voice softening. “What’s it like?”

Geralt rose an eyebrow, briefly floundering for words at the, quite frankly, surprising question. For a woman who was all invulnerability and strength, it was something he hadn’t expected to come from her. Not to mention he didn’t often think about what she’d asked.

He glanced away and shook his head. “More trouble than it’s worth,” he told her with a short breath of a laugh.

The corners of Yennefer’s lips drew upwards. She fidgeted with a stone on the forest floor. “I’m serious.”

His other eyebrow shot up. “So am I,” he assured her. “She may seem sweet, but underneath it all is the monster I’m most afraid to go up against.” He offered her a rare smile, which she returned, and for the first time in a while both mage and witcher felt peaceful. It was blissfully quiet—the only sound being Jaskier’s snores and incoherent mumbles—and it was dark, giving the two the serenity they needed after the trials of the previous days.

“It’s… hard,” he said seriously, despite the fact he was admitting that he, the infamous Geralt of Rivia, found something difficult. “You learn new things every day.”

“What kind of things?”

“Everything. About yourself, about her, about the world in general… you make decisions you probably would never have thought about before. You have responsibilities you wouldn’t have believed would ever be associated with you.” He let his eyes wander over to your sleeping form. “You don’t know what the hell you’re doing most of the time. You can feel so… so lost at it, right until you start to realise the only thing that’s keeping you grounded is the same thing that gave you the title of father. It…” He paused, leaning forward to poke a stick into the dying fire. “It gives you something to live for, and at the time I found Y/N, that was what I needed most.”

Yennefer’s lips curled into a smile as she slowly sat up, tucking her legs underneath her. “It sounds tiring,” she said, glancing down for a moment, and Geralt nodded.

“It is. But the rewards outweigh the difficulties. It’s something you’d give up everything to keep.” He looked across at her, noticing her loosened shoulders, and realised for the first time that he took his title of father for granted. Yennefer’s mutations had made her sterile, and though he was the same, he’d still somehow found a way to get past that, even though he’d never once pondered on the possibilities of it before he’d found you. Yennefer hadn’t been so lucky, and as he looked at her, he found that that reflected perfectly in the eyes he now viewed as… sad.

“You’ll feel that someday,” he said without thinking, and when she glanced up, he nodded in your direction. “When you have your own.”

Yennefer gazed at him, violet eyes piercing the amber of his. They stared at each other for a moment, no words passing their lips but every meaningful word being said nonetheless, until Jaskier snorted in his sleep and the both of them ripped their eyes away, returning to their stone and their stick.

“Thank you, Witcher,” Yennefer spoke up a moment later, and Geralt nodded once.

“You’re welcome, Mage.”

Geralt turned his head down to look at you. You were standing beside him, absently tugging on the neckline of the dress you’d bought from a market that very morning. You were clearly irritated, sighing in annoyance and muttering under your breath every so often.

When you noticed him looking, you shook your head, face every bit unhappy. “I don’t want to be here,” you ground out.

He rose an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Why are we here again?”

“Lord Lyon invited us.”

“And how do you—” You scratched at the back of your neck, the foreign material rubbing it raw—“know Lord Lyon?”

Geralt glanced down again and frowned, slapping your hands away from your red neck. “I saved his sister from a werewolf,” he said, instinctively tucking a few strands of hair that hadn’t made it into your plait behind your ear, “and he insisted my attendance at his feast tonight.”

You rose an eyebrow at that, finally relenting in your fiddling and letting your arms hang loosely. “Your attendance,” you picked out. “I could have stayed at the inn.” He ignored that, as you expected, and you sighed, shoulders slacking. “You never usually care for extra repayment,” you said. And it was true. He didn’t. He preferred to do his duty as a witcher and not stick around to see the aftermath of his hunt, except to accept his money. He didn’t care for physical shows of thanks. It was better that way, for you and for him. But he’d, for once, genuinely been concerned for the lord’s sister, so he’d accepted the invitation with the intention of only staying long enough to gain information on her wellbeing before leaving.

Geralt lifted his chin as he noticed a familiar man enrobed in silk and jewels walking towards you. He took in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the conversation ahead of undoubtedly mindless babble about his life and anything else the lord wished to ask him.

“And you never usually say no to free food,” he remarked quietly to you before forcing a tight smile at the open-armed, freely grinning man when he stopped in front of him.

“Geralt of Rivia!” he greeted, and you turned your head to meet him, only just refraining from raising your brows at the sight that met your eyes. You weren’t used to seeing royalty or regality of any sort, so you were never one to shy from your overly dramatic opinions of how these people dressed and carried themselves. You were quite certain all the clothes on your body wouldn’t amount to the price of a single ring on his finger, even though you’d had to beg Geralt for weeks to buy you the new leather boots on your feet now, just about hidden by your long dress.

Geralt had made an attempt to dress nicely, too. He’d washed and brushed his hair—and made several mock lunges (and one actual one) for you when you’d continued to tease him about it—and was wearing clothes that, though giving him an extremely regal look of his own, seemed unfamiliar to you. You much preferred him in his loose tunics and trousers, hair muddy and tangled in knots that he wouldn’t give a shit about until he needed to (which was barely ever, unless you were counting surprise and sudden invites to feasts such as this).

“Lord Lyon,” Geralt said with a small nod. “How is your sister?”

The lord reached forward to clap him on the shoulder, and this time, you did raise a brow, knowing your witcher’s dislike for such actions. Sure enough, Geralt’s smile grew tighter, and you could see the lines on his forehead become more pronounced. Perhaps in different circumstances—definitely in different circumstances—you would have laughed at his predicament, despite his clear discomfort, nevertheless this time you had to do with quickly turning your head to the side and stifling a grin.

“My sister fares well!” Lyon told him, not removing his hand. “She’s been asleep since you returned her safely to me, but the healers assure me she will make a full recovery. Thank you again for your unforgettable help, my friend!”

“Thank you for inviting me here tonight.”

Lyon stepped back, finally letting his hand drop to his side, and the corners of your lips twitched when Geralt subconsciously rolled his shoulder. “Well, this is the only other way I could think of repaying you when coin did not seem enough. A good meal!” It was at this moment, when you were shuffling from foot to foot in boredom, almost reverting back to your scratching and tugging, that Lyon noticed you, and he rose both eyebrows, glancing between you and Geralt. “And who might this be?”

“Y/N,” Geralt introduced, stopping you with a firm hand to your shoulder. You looked up at the lord, offering a smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought her.”

Lyon tilted his head slightly to the side in obvious interest, disregarding Geralt’s last sentence with a wave of his hand. “You mean she’s yours? Your daughter?”

You continued to stare at the man in front of you, unbothered. You were well used to being called his daughter—it was easier for him to agree when people asked if you were, and you sometimes wondered when exactly he’d given up on correcting people. If he’d ever corrected people in the first place.

“Your daughter?” Lyon repeated at Geralt’s lack of response.

“Yes.”

“I thought… well.” He looked a little sheepish, but Geralt was all too aware of what was coming. “I was always told that the trials witchers underwent made them—”

Geralt interrupted him before he could continue. “They did. I am.” He squeezed your shoulder. “She’s not mine by blood. But she is mine.”

Lyon stared a while, thinking to himself, before he abruptly smiled in acceptance. “Very good. Though I would never have taken you for the parent type.”

“My apologies,” Geralt said, inclining his head, “but you don’t know me well enough to make that assumption.”

A soft smile graced your lips and you glanced down to the ground, your heart swelling with love you could only ever feel for him.

“Quite right.” Lyon was clearly apologetic. He opened an arm out and motioned for the two of you to follow him. “Come, let us eat. You can tell us all exactly how you killed that werewolf!”

The hilariously dismayed look Geralt sent you after that made you snort.

How had it come to this?

“Geralt?” you whispered, daring to edge closer. He looked so pale, even in the short rays of moonlight radiating down. His skin was pallid, white hair muddied and hanging in knots around his face. His eyes were shut, his lips were set in a straight line, and even as you shook his shoulder, he did not move.

He did not move.

Geralt always moved. He had long since trained himself to wake at the first sound or touch that did or didn’t come from you. And yet now, even as you doubled your attempts and shook him so hard you were sure he’d be disorientated were he awake… he remained still. Still and silent. Completely dead to the world.

Dead.

Your heart soared, not for the first time, and you sat back on your haunches for a moment, staring with eyes as wide as the yellow moon looming over head. It was almost as though your unconscious mind was waiting for him to wake up. Willing him to wake up. Because you knew good and fucking well that without him, the point of remaining in the living was completely lost on you.

Reluctantly, your mind swiftly hurled you back. Back into damn memories of the swings of his sword and his shouts of exertion and pain as he fought with the monster that had suddenly stormed where you’d been resting. You should have stayed behind the rocks as he’d ordered… you shouldn’t have listened to the clash of metal hitting sturdy skin and bone… and you certainly shouldn’t have jumped up from behind the rock and screamed his name, leading him to whirl around in panic and giving the beast time to throw him against a large boulder. You could still remember the sickening crack of his head hitting the solid stone. That would have been the perfect time to scream his name, but you’d found that no words had been able to escape your clenched throat. You’d felt like you were being strangled, and your heart had stopped beating for the longest second as you’d watched with absolute terror…

He’d been telling you a story. You’d been lying beside him, exhausted eyes staring up at the starry sky as his voice lulled you to sleep. You couldn’t even remember what the story had been about, all you’d been focused on was the comfort his voice offered, and for that reason you had not registered at all when he’d abruptly stopped speaking. He’d waited a moment, eyes narrowed, before quietly standing to his feet, picking up his sword as he went. All his senses had been alert, and were he an animal, his ears would have been pricked up and forwards, listening for any noise that sounded at all abnormal.

He’d taken calculated steps forward, hands tight around his sword’s hilt, boots making no sound as he stepped over fallen leaves and twigs. And then he’d stopped, standing completely still, save for his eyes, which roved the area in front of him. He’d turned his head the slightest bit and harshly whispered your name, but it had not been enough to rouse you, and you’d stayed sleeping until less than three seconds later when what you now believed to have been a kikimora burst from the cover of the trees, screaming raucously and lunging towards Geralt. You’d bolted upright and he’d yelled at you to hide yourself as his sword came clashing down on the thing, not waiting to see if you’d done as was asked before moving to attempt to lead the monster away.

That had been only three minutes ago. One and a half minutes ago, he’d been thrown against the boulder. One minute ago, he’d managed to use the last of his strength to pierce the beast’s hide with a cloying crunch, mixing with both his and the kikimora’s shrieks of agony. You had looked on with trembling hands as it fell to the side, completely unmoving, and watched, waited, for Geralt to stand to his feet.

When he hadn’t, you’d taken one trembling step forward, hands cold and in fists at your sides, before running the rest of the way, not caring in the least that there was a possibility the monster might still be alive. All you’d cared about was the possibility that Geralt might not be.

You stared at him now, hopefully waiting for his eyelids to flicker, or a finger to twitch… but there was no movement.

You shook him again, harder now, but it didn’t work, and with a desperation you had never felt before, and your breathing quicker than ever, you hurried closer towards him, grabbing the sides of his face and shaking him, slapping him, hitting him… anything that had a chance of waking him.

“Geralt!” you shouted, voice cracking. You slapped him again, pausing only when you felt something wet and sticky coat your right hand. When you pulled it back, the sight of red met your eyes.

You stared at it for a moment, hands shuddering, before the red and the blackness of everything else melded into one as tears filled your eyes. A tightening of your throat and a short intake of breath was all that was heard before gut-wrenching sobs tore through your chest and you fell forward, clutching your bloody hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut as your grief poured from you in an onslaught of irrepressible tears.

“Please, please, wake—wake up!” you choked out, your forehead resting against his chest, hands gripping his ragged tunic. “Please! I can’t—I can’t—Please! Geralt! You can’t die! You’re a witcher! Witchers don’t die! Wake up!”

But he didn’t.

You harshly breathed in with as much effort as you could muster, and the smell of blood overpowered your senses… yet, at the same time, there was still that hint of forest and greenery which made him Geralt. The scent that was often the only thing that could make you fall asleep. The scent that you only had to catch for a moment before you immediately calmed. The scent that, even now, amidst your hiccups and sobs, caused the briefest feeling of serenity to swirl through you before it vanished as the new, metallic aroma abruptly tickled at your nose.

Another sob racked your body when the scent disappeared and you shook your head. “Daddy…” It came out as a mewling whine, so broken and utterly devastating that it would have made even the heartless cry along with you, but there was no other sound… no other noise in the darkness of the forest around you except the guttural cries wrenching from your throat.

It was the feeling of being alone which scared you the most. The feeling of… being without the one person who’d ever made an ounce of sense to you. The one person you loved more than life itself and who probably loved you even more than that.

You would rather die alongside him than live in a world you knew he no longer walked in.

A moment passed, and you sat there, hunched over with your head on his chest and your tired hands slowly slacking in their hold on his tunic. Your eyes were red and swollen, cheeks wet and tracking the mud and blood which had inadvertently transferred from his clothing to your face, and you were shaking so much that when a slight tremor rippled beneath you, you took no notice of it whatsoever.

At an exhausted yet almost incoherent groan, you blinked, opening your eyes despite it doing nothing against the blackness of you face pressed to him. You tried to silence your cries as much as you could, holding your breath, not quite willing to believe it but hoping more than you’d ever hoped before all the same.

“Fuck…”

And you bolted upright, your eyes blinking against the blurriness. You wiped at them, your heart thumping, blood pulsing through your distraught and exhausted body, and looked on with shock as Geralt—yes, Geralt!—slowly raised his arm and brought his hand to the back of his head. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as his brows furrowed in obvious pain.

“My fucking head,” he rasped out, and you let loose a noise of relief, suddenly and without warning bursting into tears once again. You launched forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. He groaned and finally opened his eyes to peer down at the mop of hair in his line of vision.

He gulped down the sickly feeling in his gut as best he could, trying to make sense of his surroundings, and after a moment the memories returned to him, causing him to shut his eyes once more at the force of it. He returned his attention to you, lowering his hand to place it on the back of your head.

When your sobs grew, his frown deepened and he tried to lift his own head, swallowing back bile when the throbbing ache increased. He felt nauseatingly terrible and instead dropped his head back to the hard rock below him. “Hey…” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and he didn’t really trust the words coming from his mouth. “It’s alright.”

You shook your head. “N-no! It is-isn’t! I thought you were dead!”

He sighed unsteadily and moved his trembling fingers through your hair, trying his best to block out the discomfort (which was a nice word for agony). “I’m not dead,” he told you, and you finally lifted your head, showing him the extent of your hysteria. You looked as though you’d been bawling for years, and he shook his head softly, raising his other arm to wrap around you and pull you back towards him. His head was pounding, he knew he was bleeding in more places than one, but to be perfectly honest, he was simply happy to be alive, and to be holding his child in his arms, however much he would be covered in tears and snot by the time he finally gathered the strength to push himself up.

“I thought you were,” you croaked out, and he rubbed his thumb across your temple. You reached up, grasping his hand, and he narrowed his eyes, blinking at the sight of blood coating your own.

“Is th-that yours?” he asked, the words feeling funny on his tongue as he stumbled over them. You sniffed and glanced to where he had turned your hand over in his.

“No,” you said, “it’s yours.” At that open revelation and reminder, you lifted your eyes, haphazardly wiping your hair from your face and blinking against the tears that still didn’t seem to be stopping. “It’s from your head. Does it hurt?”

Geralt’s face contorted into one of pain yet again as he reached his hand to his head, bringing it back and intaking a sharp breath once he saw the blood. “Damn,” he grumbled. “Yes, it hurts. Like hell.”

You unconsciously bit at the inside of your cheeks and watched him as he lowered his arm and shut his eyes. Your heart continued to pound and every so often your ragged breaths were interrupted by a hiccup. “I’m sorry,” you muttered after a short while.

He blearily opened his eyes to look at you. “Why?”

“I called your name,” you told him, “and you turned around.”

He nodded faintly in remembrance. “Why?” he repeated.

“I don’t know.” You swallowed thickly, tears fogging your vision again. “I was stupid. I just… got so scared, and I didn’t—I didn’t want you to… to…”

At your rising distress, he pulled you down to his chest again, ensuring your ear was conveniently placed over the left side of his chest. His heart was slow—perhaps a little faster than normal yet still slow all the same—but in the silence of the forest he knew you would be able to hear it and let it soothe you.

It worked, and the two of you stayed there for a while. Geralt fixed his attention on his own breathing, trying to match yours as he felt your pulse through his hands. He wondered briefly how far the nearest village was and if he could risk asking for medical help. Perhaps he could reach Triss in Novigrad, and both he and you would have a safe place to recuperate.

His muddled mind was interrupted when he turned his head and noticed the kikimora for the first time, lying in a rotten clump on the ground a couple feet from him. He swallowed the knot in his throat and shut his eyes, remembering all too clearly what had happened and, more importantly, how close it had been to getting you. Unconsciously, his hands tightened around you, and he slowly breathed out, calming himself before he let his emotions reign over him. You didn’t need to see that.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, more to himself, but it assured your all the same.

“Next time, I want to fight with you. I don’t want to watch. I’ve been trained for these moments.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I thought you were going to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He shook his head. “No, no, never…”

He shut his eyes. He knew that the day he left you would be the day the stars burned out and the world became shrouded in darkness. To leave you would be to leave his heart, and that was the one thing that, no matter how battered and bruised, he would hold onto and keep safe with every fibre of his being.

It was his duty, after all.

As your father.

Witcher Masterpost

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bloodbuzz-smartypants · 2 years

Text

A promise made

I wrote a thing. Woke up at 3am and this came out. I kinda knew it was coming but jfc. It's been almost 8 years lmao. This is a testament to how much these 2 have invaded my brain as of late.

It's also on AO3

Fandom: The Witcher (TV) / Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Summary: “I know we haven’t talked much since we got here.”, he began. “In fact, since we… met again. I’d like us to talk. Now.”

No particular tags. Jaskier is sad. Geralt actually speaks. It gets better.

///

Geralt and Jaskier are standing in Geralt’s room in Kaer Morhen. It’s still cold but the sky is clear, and the sun is high and bright. It’s a lovely winter’s day.

They had breakfast in one of the large tables in the kitchens, the two of them, Ciri, Eskel, and Lambert. It was too early for Yennefer, and Vesemir was already done with his meal and out and about with his routine. Ciri was due to train with Eskel and Lambert today and was excited to see what they would teach her. She loved training with Geralt but they both knew a change of pace and different methods can be valuable. Besides, Geralt had explicitly asked them both to have a full day's program for her.

Jaskier planned to watch some of the morning training before going on with a routine of his own where he tried to be useful to whoever might need help, check on Yennefer, and be sure to annoy her until she threw him out of her sight, and then quietly resume to whatever he was reading in the library before dinner. He had found this pace to be the most suitable for him and for what he could bring to the current situation.

Ciri, Eskel, and Lambert were loudly leaving the kitchen towards the training grounds and Jaskier was meaning to follow them when Geralt called out to him. “Jaskier. Could you come with me, please?”. Jaskier was surprised and his face showed it for a second. He and Geralt saw each other daily but rarely spent time together alone. There was always someone else around and that was exactly the way Jaskier wanted it to be. He didn’t trust himself with all the emotions and words left unsaid when he was alone with Geralt. And he definitely didn’t trust that Geralt’s Witcher senses would not pick up on whatever emotion he decided to feel. A comfortable distance had been the plan. “Of course, dear Witcher. Is there anything I can help you with?”, he chirped. Geralt stood and said nothing, his expression neutral, and Jaskier followed.

They walked out of the kitchens and into the large corridor that led to the rooms. There was a seriousness to Geralt’s demeanour that made Jaskier fall uncharacteristically silent the whole way. He felt both curious and nervous. They passed the door to his room, walked a little further and he saw Geralt open the door to his own room, Jaskier knew, and let him walk in first. Jaskier had been to Geralt’s room before but those had been fleeting visits. He always wanted to come here and see all the little objects Geralt had spread around or his choices in comforts. The Path had no opportunities for such details.

Geralt shut the door behind him, and suddenly the air seemed to shift in the room. Geralt felt the sudden anxiety that came from Jaskier. He smiled gently, trying to reassure him that this was no trap of any kind. Jaskier smiled back, still curious but calmer.

Geralt was silent for a while, as if collecting his thoughts. The distinctive frown on his face informed Jaskier of such and he waited patiently for what was coming. Geralt was a bit surprised at the lack of chatter that would fill that silence but appreciated Jaskier’s effort for it. “I know we haven’t talked much since we got here.”, he began. “In fact, since we… met again. I’d like us to talk. Now.” Geralt peeked at Jaskier as he could sense him getting nervous with the direction this was taking.

“We seem to have settled into a new normal, here in Kaer Morhen, but I know you are straining to maintain this…”, he waved at the whole of Jaskier, “character.” Jaskier opened his mouth, ready to refute the statement but Gerald held his hand as to stop him. “Let me continue, please.” It was the second “please” in less than 15 minutes, and Jaskier was not sure he liked it yet.

“With what happened here and me being busy with Ciri’s training since, I haven’t been giving you enough of my time.” To think Geralt was even aware of this, that he measured the time they spent together blew Jaskier’s mind. He figured he was the only one over-analyzing the lack of interactions between them. Even if some of those were due to his avoiding him.

“But I know you, Jaskier.” Geralt smiles at him again and Jaskier hates him a little bit right now, because yes, he does know him, but he also doesn’t. This is why it’s hard to see what he means exactly. "And when I am near you, I can tell. You haven’t been yourself. You’re sad. Constantly. And I know the events here haven’t helped but I also know they are not what’s behind this.” Shit. He’s not ready for this. This feels like a trap after all. Jaskier starts to panic a little. His breathing comes a little faster.

“I spent the last few days thinking what I could do to understand this better, you better. But also, what you would need to make it better. I know that actions can speak louder than words, but you are a man that loves words and I want to give you what I sense is easier for you to take in. Really take in. So, words it is.”

Jaskier is both dumbfounded and ready to run for his life. He looks for the door but there’s a Geralt in his way, something he now knows is by design. His heart is trying to escape his rib cage and he is so not ready for this. He inhales sharply, preparing himself for what follows.

“I’m sorry.”, Geralt starts. “No amount of sorrys will ever be enough. But I am sorry.” He’s looking at Jaskier, and Jaskier feels the piercing of his gaze on him. “No words could possibly convey how much I regret that day in the mountain. All the shit that happened then and since.” Jaskier can see anger in Geralt’s eyes. He’s angry at himself but he’s trying to keep his voice calm. For his sake, he realizes.

“I know I hurt you. I know I broke your heart. I saw it then. In your face. Your eyes. What you felt at my words as I said them. I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t care back then. I was too hurt by my own grief so the entire Continent could go fuck itself as well and I didn’t give a fuck why. So, I lashed out at you, and you endured it for me.” Jaskier holds himself at that. One hand tight in his arm. A flashback of all that pain screaming at him over and over in his head, as it used to. As it still does.

Geralt senses Jaskier’s hurt at that but decides to continue instead of comforting him. He needs Jaskier to hear what he has to say. He’s pliant and quiet now, for a change, and Geralt wants no words left unsaid. Not again.

“It took me too long to move away from my own pain to consider yours.”, he continued. “Once I did, it struck me how unfair I’d been. How right you were. How much I must have hurt you. I hope you know… I hope you know I never meant to hurt you, not that way. And I regret I did, as I regret all I said that day.”

Geralt reaches out one hand, tentatively. Jaskier looks at it, looks at him. Geralt’s eyes pleading. He reaches out. Holds Geralt’s hand back and squeezes. Geralt smiles gently, thankful. Jaskier suddenly feels warm.

“I never wanted you out of my hands. You were… Are…” Geralt squeezes back. “The one that makes me better. Your presence in my life has been a balm I did not know I needed. All the wrong I believed I was, I am, and that you always denied on me, smothered by your care.” Jaskier, eyes bright, presses his lips and shakes his head in a short quick motion. Even now, defending Geralt’s true nature. Geralt steps closer. They are but a breath away. Jaskier tenses but doesn’t let go of Geralt’s hand.

“I now realize how I missed that presence. How I missed you. How much I miss you still.” Jaskier’s eyes are a bit wide, unbelieving, and fragile. But Geralt presses on: “I know I can’t take back all the heartbreak and hurt I caused you but I hope these words can help reduce the damage I made. To you. To us.” Geralt slowly brings his other hand to Jaskier’s nape.

“I know how lonely you’ve been. How you long for before. But before is behind us and I want, — need —, for things to get better, easier between us again.” Geralt can see Jaskier holding back his tears. Hears his heart beating fast.

“I would take your pain and make it mine if I could.” Jaskier sobs and his tears fall. “All the tears you have shed gone as I caress them away.” And Geralt does just that, sliding his hand from his nape into rubbing his cheek gently. Jaskier then brings his free hand to Geralt’s, over his cheek, and holds it there. He shuts his eyes and leans into it. Their other hand still holding tight.

“I want my friend back. And I’ll do what it takes to make you smile at me as you once did. Tell me what you want. What you need from me, Jaskier.”, Geralt pleads, want in his voice.

Jaskier opens his eyes. Tears rolled down his face in earnest, silently. And he lets go. Stepping close into an embrace, his arms go around Geralt’s neck, his face pressed there. He whimpers. He feels as if his pain is coming off in waves. And there’s relief and a little shame that he gets to share this with Geralt. Finally. Geralt holds him back immediately. Strong hands tight against him. Their bodies flushed together. He can feel Jaskier’s pounding heart almost as if his own, beating fast against the closeness of his chest. He feels an urge to protect it and squeezes tighter. He knows Jaskier is a fragile being. Emotions are on display for all to see, no matter how much he deflects from it, jokingly, an attempt at self-preservation. But that was never as clear to him as now. How what he had said to him at that mountain, and how all the snarky words thrown at Jaskier all those times for all those years, had weighted on his sensitive heart. It moved Geralt to realize then how this brave man had carried such a gaping wound with so little complaint for so long. It seems the talkative Jaskier kept his deeper feelings to himself except for some that came out in the way of song.

“Love me.”, he replied, voice raw, fearful, and a little desperate. “I can’t trust you won’t hurt me again but if you love me, I will bear it all.”

Geralt’s eyes widen, surprised with such a clear confession. He holds tight for a moment, then kisses Jaskier’s neck, his cheek, then looks at him. His eyes still wet but open and pleading. The vulnerability in his expression punches him speechless. How he admires this man. To see how much he endured. Alone. To be so open and true to his own feelings. Slowly, he closes in on him again, looks at his beautiful eyes, then his mouth. He’s a breath away from Jaskier’s lips when he feels his hands squeeze his shirt and he hears a small trembling “Please.” come out of them. Geralt kisses him then, softly, and Jaskier takes it as he gives it at first, but he then deepens the kiss as if grasping for air. He whines for more, his eyes shut tight, and Geralt gives him what he needs. He kisses back, groaning from sensing Jaskier’s desperate need for closeness, wet tongue caressing soft lips, bodies pushed together again. Jaskier is almost panting when he breaks the kiss and presses their foreheads together, breathing each other.

“I love you so much it hurts.” He says, smiling sadly. But there’s hope in his eyes. Hope that he too is loved. “Know that if you leave me again, I won’t survive it.”, he says matter-of-factly. “And I will haunt you for eternity. So don’t ever leave me.”

Geralt feels the responsibility of Jaskier’s love. Its weight. The sweetness and despair of it. He wants to bask in it, smell it on Jaskier’s skin every day. He will love this man until his dying breath, he knows that now.

“I promise.”, he says instead.

#the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt #sunshine in pain #fic #my fic #i had to get this out of my system #what am i doing jfc #and why is this not showing up in the tags?#le sigh #happy to get comments #or feedback etc #hope you enjoy!#fis fics

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hood-rat-gremlin · 2 years

Text

Chapter 3 - That Fucking Witcher

(Y/N) POV

After they had gotten home from the walk, they had made some food. After they had eaten they went into town to get some groceries.

After shopping, the Mage started their walk home. As they were walking home they ran into someone...

Not just any someone...

Another Mage...

But they were quick to apologize, "I am so sorry, I really should look where I'm going".

They look up and meet the gaze of a beautiful dark haired woman with beautiful purple eyes.

The woman spoke first, "I am so sorry. I need to watch where I'm going" She says with a chuckle.

They laughed with her and said, "It's okay you’re actually not the first person to bump into me since I've been here" right after they said that someone called their name.

Not just any someone, but the Bard they met at the Tavern.

"(Y/N)! Hey!" Jaskier shouted and ran over to the pair talking. Then the unknown Mage looked at them with realization and said, "wait, you're (Y/N)?" They looked at her quizzically, "Yeah, why?"

She chuckled again and said, "I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself yet, I'm Yennefer a friend of Geralt's." She extends her hand out to the smaller Mage, They shook her hand and said, "Yennefer, Geralt has told me so much about you" That was a damn lie he hasn't told them shit about this Mage, they just wanted to appear like he did. All Geralt has told them was that Yennefer was a past lover.

Yennefer and (Y/N) released each other’s hands and the purple-eyed Mage said, "Really?"

Poor Jaskier was looking back and forth between the two.

Jaskier chimed in and said, "I'm just going to leave you two alone. (Y/N), come find me later?"

(Y/N) nodded and smiled at him. Then they turned back to look at the dark-haired mage.

Yennefer smiled at the (Y/E/C)-eyed mage and said; "want some ale?"

The shorter of the two Mages agreed; "sure." The two walked over to the bar and Yennefer told the bar keep to pour two ales. Then they walked over to a table, (Y/N) knew the violet-eyed mage had something to say to them. So they asked her; "what's on your mind Yennefer? You've had this look in your eyes ever since I told you I knew Geralt."

She sighed and began to speak; "I don't have any negative feelings toward you if that's what you're thinking (Y/N), I'm just trying to figure you out is all. Also curious as to how you met dear Geralt." (Y/N) thought back on the memory of when they met Geralt.

~Flashback~

As they walk out of the wash room in the tavern of their home town of Cintra, they bump into a bard. they make eye contact with him and they are quick to apologize, "I am so sorry. I should really look where I'm going" they laugh and he chuckles.

"I'm Jaskier" he introduces himself.

I'm (Y/N)" they say back.

They smile at each other, then he says, "would you like to meet my friend Geralt?"

They look at him quizzically with a raised brow, "why?"

He gives them a cheeky smile and says, "because I think you're good company and Geralt could use someone else to bother him other than just me" he laughs at the end.

They look at him one last time but agree, he walks them over to his table. The man they saw there wasn't what they were expecting, he's muscular, has long white hair. They also noticed the medallion around his neck, he's a Witcher. Sure enough the first thing out of their mouth instead of their name was, "you're a Witcher?" And they immediately regretted it and clamped their hand over their mouth so fast.

When he looks at them he doesn't look shocked. He's probably so used to that question that he's unfazed by it now.

Then he says, "I'm Geralt, and you are?"

They look away from his intense amber eyes and say, "I'm (Y/N)". He looks them over as they introduce them self and they shift uncomfortably.

He seems to notice, then say, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable."

They smile, "It's okay, sir".

Geralt chuckles and looks at them, "please call me Geralt" then he gestures for them to sit. They do because he's an intimidating Witcher. They sit next to him. He looks at them and says, "So, what's a sweet little thing like you doing here?" They look at him and chuckle.

Then they say, "Honey, I'm far from sweet." Jaskier finally chimes into the conversation and chuckles at what (Y/N) said. They look at him and smile then say, "You think that's funny Dandelion?" Jaskier chuckles, "Wow, I haven't been called that in while. How did you know people used to call me that?"

(Y/N) looks at him while they laugh then say, "When I walked in I heard some folks saying it."

Jaskier just looks at them and smiles.

~ End of Flashback ~

Then they replied to the raven-haired women, "I met him through Jaskier actually. I bumped into the lovely bard when I was out at the shop, he asked if I wanted to meet his friend Geralt, I agreed because Jaskier seemed nice enough," they heard Yennefer scoff at that, but let them continue, "When I met him I was, to be completely honest, rather intimidated by him." They paused and pondered for a moment, "But I'm comfortable around him now, he's not as intimidating as he seems."

Then Yennefer speaks, "You like him." She simply stated after deducing that the (Y/H/C)-haired Mage's story matched what Geralt had told her about him meeting a Mage that drove him crazy. (Y/N) was speechless, then spoke, "What? Why do you say that?" The purple-eyed woman smiled and said, "I could tell by how deep in thought you were before you told me how you met him. You had a look of fondness in your eyes as you spoke about him, and your reaction right now just confirms it." She chuckled at the end.

(Y/N) broke eye contact with the older Mage, but didn't deny what was said. Then they spoke, "I don't know what to do with these...feelings. I don't do the whole love story thing." Yennefer just smiled and said, "Just see how it goes, don't rush anything. Tell him your feelings if you'd like, if you're sure about them, and sure you want something to happen." (Y/N) pondered on that a moment, then decided to tell him, hoping he feels the same.

Then they changed the subject, "So, why do you dislike Jaskier so much?" The Mage shifted in her seat then said, "That's a story for another time, I must go, I need to go to Aretuza. Good luck with Geralt. I hope we meet again." Then the raven-haired woman got up and left.

The (Y/H/C)-haired Mage sat there for a moment deep in thought, then remembered their meeting with the Bard and got up and left to find him. On their way to meet him, all they could think about was one thing...

How they were gonna confront Geralt.

They thought to themselves...

That Witcher will be the death of me one day,

That fucking Witcher..

A/N: Sorry for the wait. Life just short of took over lol

#geralt of rivera #the witcher #witcher yennefer #geralt x reader

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bamf-jaskier · 2 years

Note

for the shipping ask meme: geraskier

(i’m really curious, as someone who has a somewhat complex relationship with this ship and might answer differently depending on the day)

Shipping Ask Meme

the last part of this ask was a personal attack lol (ur so right tho I literally change my geraskier opinions day to day me and that ship have the on again off again relationship of the most chaotic celebrities ask me in a week and it will be different u can use it to call me out haha)

Ship It

What made you ship it?

I just thought it was super compelling and let's be honest it fits all the fandom tropes so nicely. I mean Geraskier really is the ship of the fandom, like no other ships even compare as far as popularity goes. And I also think that there is something so nice about this sheltered bard character getting to see the world for the first time running headlong into this gritty Witcher. And then over time they just become such essential parts of each other's lives. And also fandom has written such amazing meta and content for this ship, I can't help but ship it and enjoy it. Like the fanart alone...

What are your favorite things about the ship?

I love how at the end of the day, both Geralt and Jaskier believe in the good of people. They both believe that at their core, if you give people a chance they can do good. And that's so beautiful. I also love how they contrast to each other in the sense of Jaskier's impulsivity and Geralt's hesitation. Not to say that Jaskier can't be hesitant or Geralt impulsive but when they are together they take on those roles more. I also appreciate how the two of them are in each other's lives but their lives don't evolve around each other. Like Jaskier teaches at Oxenfurt, Geralt goes to Kaer Morhen. And while the show is giving Jaskier more of a connection to Ciri, she is still Geralt's daughter, not Jaskier's. And I think that Jaskier put so much energy into creating this extroverted front, this role for the audience that he has difficulty knowing when to be really himself. And I think Geralt gives him that space. Like in S2 when Jaskier was telling Geralt his worries about Ciri and Yennefer, Geralt was actually listening. And in return, Geralt has someone who doesn't have these preconceived notions of him that he can get honest ideas out of.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

Probably how I seen their relationship in the show. Like I said I am definitely way more chill about it now but there was a period of time when I just felt like season 1 unbalanced their relationship so much I had a hard time shipping it. Rewatching the show, I often felt like Jaskier gave so much energy which Geralt seemed to hate him at every turn. Because of the time jumps we never saw their relationship grow so it seemed like Geralt had known this guy for 20 years and still didn't want him around? And even though Geralt would sometimes give off micro-expressions of enjoyment we would analyze to high heaven, the majority of his words and actions degraded and disliked Jaskier. Their relationship felt transactional like Geralt was only putting up with him because he wanted a bard. And there were times when Jaskier seemed condescending and controlling. After season 2, I feel this a lot less now. Mostly because when they were together this past season, it felt more balanced. And Jaskier seemed to acknowledge this with Geralt too. Like I've had some intense fights with friends and a lot of times when there's so much other shit going on you just realize that you don't need a drawn out apology so much as an acknowledgement that you are moving forward together. This season made me feel more like their relationship is a choice, not fate alone and I liked that.

#oh no I'm falling down the geraskier rabbit hole whoops #asks #geraskier #ask meme #geralt #jaskier

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babylooneytoonz · 3 years

Text

The Vessel. [ Pt. 8 ]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Summary: Tissaia de Vries pays you a visit and you are met with a startling revelation that can change your life, and the Witcher's forever. How are the two of you going to act upon it?

Warnings: None

[My Masterlist] [My Witcher Masterlist - Read the other parts here!]

"Why won't this fucking spell let me in?" Jaskier whined; in frustration, having tried for perhaps the tenth time to step into your chambers, but the spell that Yennefer had placed, had not allowed him to enter. And even Geralt, for that matter. Geralt had already experienced it once, and his sensible self didn't try it again, but Jaskier was headstrong, not wanting to stop trying until he had found a way to break that spell.

"Jaskier, let it go. Will you let her rest? Yen's put the spell to protect [Y/N]." Geralt tried to intervene, but the bard threw out both his hands in the air; dramatically and glared at him.

"I mean her no harm, Geralt. I'm sure you are very much aware of that. I love that woman."

Although Geralt knew that Jaskier meant it entirely in a platonic way; given the fact that the two of you had developed a deep rooted friendship ever since the whole knock you up with the Witcher baby drama had begun; a part inside of him flared with jealousy.

Jaskier, on the other hand felt guilt pierce through his heart, ever since he had found out exactly what had happened through Geralt. A part of it was his fault— although the entire conversation in the celebration revolving around Henrik had been a sodden joke from his end, because he had seen Henrik's eyes on her; he had never thought he would go to this extent. He felt guilty, finding himself responsible to a limit for what you had gone through, and he had to talk to you, get it off his chest; but the damn spell.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier from the collar of his shirt and began dragging him away from your room, without muttering a word, when finally, you emerged from your chambers, your eyes sullen, sleep deprived and deep dark bags already formed under them.

"Geralt, [Y/N]—" Jaskier tried pulling his shirt off the Witcher's clutches, trying to bring to a halt to the Witcher's dragging, "—Gods, you're such a big grizzly bear, would you look? She is here."

Geralt's head turned towards you and he let Jaskier go, his facial expressions changing almost instantly, from cold and unemotional to soft, and concerned; the second his eyes landed on you. You looked like a wreck, and Geralt mentally cursed himself, and his inability in that minute to reach out and provide you with comfort, or anything that could make you feel better, made him feel worse.

Instead, he decided to keep quiet, and let the bard talk to you instead, as he was already hovering around you, like a mother hen, concerned.

"[Y/N], I'm really sorry, I didn't know, I had no idea he was such a pervert, I swear to the Gods, had I known, I wouldn't have made those jokes—" he began, and you gave him a weak smile, reaching out and letting your hand rest against the side of his arm, aware of Geralt's eyes fixed on the exchange between the two of you.

"You had no idea, Jaskier. Stop beating yourself up, I'm alright."

Jaskier looked visibly relaxed upon hearing those words although he still wasn't entirely convinced, but decided not to push you any further.

"Would you like some breakfast? I'll ask someone to bring something up here for you," Jaskier asked softly, to which you simply shook your head, and turned to Geralt.

"I want to go home, Geralt. If you don't mind, can you arrange for a horse for me?"

Geralt stiffened when he was addressed directly, and he immediately nodded swiping his palm over his jaw and looked at you, "Give me some time, I'll arrange it."

"Thank you, Geralt," you whispered, giving him a meagre smile, before the smile was overshadowed by a painful look in your eyes, and Geralt forced himself to look away as he left you alone with the bard.

The bard did leave you alone shortly, with a promise to come back with a plate full of bread and ham for you; and you conceded because, as much as it pained you to think of it, you did want to be left alone, and this was the only way to make the hovering bard leave.

You were thankful you didn't see the sorceress all day, for you weren't ready to deal with her. But, you were shocked to have a visitor on your door, and a person you had least expected to see— Tissaia de Vries. When she stepped into your bed chambers, Yennefer's spell being no barrier for her, you weren't surprised, because you knew who she was.

"My name is Tissaia de Vries—"

"I know who you are, you are a member of the Chapter of the Gift and the Art, you are a powerful sorceress who created Yennefer of Vengerberg," you stood up from the side of your bed, your palms reflexively fixing on your bump as you stepped closer to the woman, eyeing her carefully from the corner of your eye. You noticed her lips curl into a smile, and she nodded, bringing her palms together and rubbing them lightly.

"Indeed, but the girl grew her wings, and she flew away."

You watched, noting how her smile faltered for a bit, and her eyes grew distant, as though she was suddenly plagued by certain memories, before she blinked, and turned towards you again; smiling at the curiousity that laced the features of your face.

"You must have questions."

"Yes, what do you want?" You pointed out, bluntly, without leaving a room for any further blabbering.

"Straight to the point, I see. Which is good. Saves me the effort, and the time," she slowly stepped closer, her head turning slightly to look for any unwanted ears out in the hallway prying into the conversation. Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed your wrist, although the grip was light; as she pulled you towards her, so her lips were lined to your ears.

"Yennefer hasn't been entirely honest with you. There are a lot of things you don't know, and you must know," you blinked, listening to her as she continued, "Now this mansion has ears, but if you wish to know more come find me, child. I will be at the tavern in the village below, just until dawn tomorrow."

Sneaking out of the mansion in the death of the night was easier than you had thought it would. Your face was almost covered, the cloak wrapped around your body, covering your face partially as you hurried down the secluded street of the village. You had walked for over a kilometer, and hadn't experienced anything dangerous so far, and you were thankful for it.

The village lights were finally in sight, and you breathed a sigh of relief, when someone caught your arm and pulled you to the side of the road. He pulled off the cloak off your face; and you were met with the Witcher's golden orbs, his lips pressed together in a firm line, that only told you that he wasn't happy with the way you had sneaked out.

"You followed me. All the way."

His nose twitched, and he let go off your arm, your fingers feeling tingling due to the lack of his touch.

"I wanted to see how reckless or stupid you could get," he mumbled, his voice raspy.

"And?" You parted your lips to let out your breath, still looking at him.

"You like to play with fire."

You rolled your eyes, and turned away as you began walking towards the village once more, and Geralt cursed under his breath, before he began following you.

"You think you can just leave in the middle of the night? I am arranging for you to leave, but like a normal human being, in the light of the day."

You let out a snort; your pace slowing down a bit to let the Witcher catch up with you, but you didn't stop walking. You turned your head slightly to look at him, "I'm not leaving, Geralt. I knew you were following me. I saw you."

Geralt's lips twitched, almost faintly but you caught it before he looked at you with all seriousness again.

"I'm sure you didn't want to just go out for a walk."

"Well—" Your hand flew to the back of your head, as you scratched it lightly, and pulled your gaze away. The village was already upon you. "— You wouldn't exactly have let me if I had asked for your permission."

"Fair."

Your eyes spotted the tavern, and a rush of adrenaline surged through you. You wouldn't lie; you were curious as to what was it that Tissaia knew, and you didn't.

"It's funny, Witcher, you barely used to say words to me. Look at you now."

He grunted in response to you, his own eyes now having captured the destination where you were headed; the tavern.

"The tavern?"

You ignored him as you stepped into the tavern, and your nose immediately scrunched upwards, as the horrid smell of ale; too much of it, filled in your nostrils. Ignoring the pang to throw up, your eyes began looking for Tissaia until you spotted her, sitting at the back, at a farther end, smiling and watching you. It was as though she knew you were coming.

"Tissaia de Vries?" Geralt mumbled, and you nodded. Before he could even stop you, you were striding towards her. He decided to simply follow you, now that he was here with you. It was better to keep his eye on you, in case she decided to pull up an antic.

"I see you're not alone, [Y/N]. Witcher." The sorceress nodded her head in his direction and motioned for the two of you to sit down on a bench in front of her. You looked at Geralt, and he craned his neck slightly, his eyes darting around, scanning the tavern for anything unusual, while you sat down. In a minute, he sat down too, the bench now feeling cramped with his massive frame just next to yours.

"Tell me what you told me earlier. About what Yennefer hid from me."

Geralt tensed beside you and you chose deliberately not to look at him, at the mention of her name, keeping your eyes fixed on the sorceress in front of you.

"I think it's time, Geralt. Yennefer's been keeping things from you, I thought you would have understood, but unfortunately—"

"Tissaia, I don't understand what game you are playing," Geralt leaned forward, his palm placed on the table, his eyes narrowed at her, his shoulders tense.

"Geralt," you whispered, "let her speak."

The White Wolf grumbled under his breath, but didn't say anything else. His shoulders remained tense, heat radiating from his body; that you could feel but you were too curious to listen to the sorceress to feel any different.

"There are certain spells that can take a human's life," Tissaia began, her solemn eyes now fixed on you, "they are strong enough to destroy a human body. Because a human body isn't strong enough to take it." She leaned forward, letting her elbows rest against the table as she picked a piece of red meat and tossed it into her mouth, chewing on it and swallowing it. "The point is, the spell that Yennefer used, to grow his child within you wasn't an ordinary spell. No human can endure the power of that spell, and come out unscathed. You did."

You turned towards Geralt and shot him a look, before turning back to the sorceress again, "I don't get it. I survived the spell. Which is why this happened," your hand flew to your belly, and you looked down at your stomach, feeling Geralt's gaze on it too, before the two of you turned towards her again and she nodded.

"You think it was a mere coincidence that Yennefer picked you, out of all the women in the world, to carry that baby?" She pointed to your stomach.

"I needed the coin."

"The coin was a facade, child."

She turned towards the Witcher and he blinked, "You didn't know it too, Wolf. She never mentioned [Y/N] before, did she? I doubt it. Yennefer never betrays her own plans."

"Get to the fucking point, Tissaia," Geralt growled, and you shifted uncomfortably towards him, agreeing with him on this. Tissaia was making you uncomfortable.

"Twenty five years back, Queen Calanthe gave birth to a girl, this was before Pavetta was born. Someone stole the baby the night she was born, but they never found her."

"I think we should leave." Geralt intervened.

You turned towards Geralt, confused and helpless, before turning back to the sorceress again.

"That baby had the Elder Blood running through her veins. She had immense power, power that could disrupt everything around her by just one scream from her throat."

"What happened to the baby?" You asked; your heart thumping wildly against your chest.

"That baby grew up until Yennefer of Vengerberg found her in Redania, and a Witcher put his child in her."

Tissaia found herself a smile, you couldn't help but gasp, and Geralt just deadpanned, "Well, fuck."

"You're telling me that I'm the Princess of Cintra? Gods you must be mistaken, I don't know anything about magic. I'm just a commoner that got trapped by these two for coin." You turned towards him, giving him a glare, and he grunted in response.

"You were never trapped, you chose to do it."

"You think Yennefer wants to be a mother?" Tissaia spoke again, but this time, her eyes were on Geralt. You glanced from him to her, and then back, until you had your eyes fixed on his uncomfortable form. His fingers had clenched into a fist. "Combine the Elder blood, with a Witcher's blood. No sorceress is powerful enough against that baby." She pointed towards your stomach, and instinctively, your palm flew towards it, trying to shield your bump from the woman's eyes. You felt Geralt stiffen too; as he shifted towards you, his own protective side spilling out at those words as he glanced at you.

"If you knew your lover well, White Wolf, you would have known. Her lust for power would never end. She wants that baby because that baby is the key for her to slide to the top."

Geralt swallowed thickly. His palm came to rest against the table in front of him, his grip tightening over it, his knuckles almost turning white. He knew Yennefer was power hungry; but never had he realized that her hunger was now out of control. He felt stupid now, and more than stupid, he felt relentless rage, because she had played him. All this while, he thought that she wanted his child— but all she wanted was a Witcher's child, mixed with the Elder Blood, so she could have, for herself, the most powerful magic yielder in the form of a child.

"It wasn't a coincidence then, that Yennefer wanted me to carry this baby," you whispered to Geralt who just looked at you blankly. You then turned to Tissaia, who tossed a piece of red meat into her mouth once again, her eyes fixed on you, "What power does Yennefer have over me?"

She smirked slightly, as though she had thought about this quite a lot.

"Well, your powers need to be harnessed, which is why she has an edge over you. Once you do learn to harness your powers, Yennefer wouldn't be a problem." She suddenly closed her eyes, and her lips started moving as she began chanting something and your eyebrow shot up. Within seconds, she was already done. "She wouldn't be able to track you for a while. You can go wherever you want. The effect of the spell should last five to six days."

Somewhere outside, a rooster suddenly crowed, signalling that it was morning. Tissaia de Vries suddenly lowered her cloak so that it covered her face.

"It's dawn, I will take your leave, [Y/N]. Find me whenever you need me," You watched, numbly, only nodding your head at her as she stood up, and placed her hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly until she was already out of sight. You kept sitting there, bellowed in silence, both of you breathing laboured, lost in your own thoughts.

Geralt finally pulled you out of your thoughts, "A Princess? I need a fucking drink."

Geralt stood up and walked away, to get himself a drink. You just kept staring at him, too shocked to even react, or process anything. This was all too much to process in a single night. You were a Princess, and not just any Princess, you had Elder Blood running through your veins.

Your baby —

You pressed your palm to your mouth, rather abruptly and stood up, dashing towards the exit of the tavern.

Geralt's head shot towards you like missile as he watched you leave.

You ran outside, Geralt's heavy footsteps racing behind you as you bent over in a corner and began throwing up.

Geralt's warm palm fixed on your lower back; and you felt him pull your hair away from your face, holding them up for you while his other hand ran soothing circles over your lower back.

You weakly stood up straighter, but your legs suddenly felt weak which is why you held on to the wall for support, as you wiped the corners of your mouth with your sleeve.

"Too much information for one night," You muttered in a low voice, your eyes not meeting Geralt's.

"Not the only one," Geralt responded, his lips twitching with humour, but that immediately washed away when you tried taking a step towards him but found yourself unable to hold yourself on your feet. He reached out, grabbing you by your shoulders to steady you to your feet.

Finally, letting out a soft exhale, the Witcher bent, and lifted you up in his arms, almost effortlessly, his hand holding you from the base of your thighs. Your hand wrapped around the Witcher's neck almost reflexively, as he held you against his chest and began walking back.

The first few minutes were quiet, until you finally spoke— your fingers unknowingly playing with the Witcher's hair.

"This complicates things."

He hummed in response but chose to stay quiet; so you continued.

"Where does this leave you, Geralt? Because I have .. already made up my mind."

A silence took over the two of you, causing you to flick your gaze to the side of his face. His lips were pursed together, as though he was thinking. You didn't stop toying with the strands of his hair, and neither did he stop you. Finally, he exhaled, and craned his neck slightly lower so he could look at you.

"And what did you decide?"

You bit the insides of your cheeks nervously. Geralt had been nice to you, until today, if you were to ignore the first few weeks you had known him. You had seen the change in the man; having grown from cold to lukewarm towards you, but that didn't mean you didn't know what Yennefer meant to him. Now, would Geralt really let you go? Especially.. if you were carrying his baby?

"I .. I want to go home.. to Cintra.. I want to see my mother, I want to.. see my kingdom, and I want to learn to harness .. my magic.." You whispered.

Geralt nodded, but he didn't reply.

He slowly let you down, and you looked up to realize that you had been so distracted talking to Geralt, you hadn't realized that you were standing on the bottom most step that led to the sorceress' mansion.

"I won't stop you."

You abruptly stopped walking when you heard those words, your legs almost freezing when you felt that he wasn't behind you anymore. You turned back around to find him standing on the bottom most step while you had already made your way to the door.

"Thank you, Geralt. For everything."

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

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sserpente · 4 years

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A/N: Geralt smut was requested numerous times, so here we are! What would Halloween time be without Vampire Imagines, after all?

Words: 2562 Warnings: smut, vampire!Reader, prostitute!Reader

“Geralt of Rivia! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

The Witcher hummed with pursed lips. Julius was almost as bad as Jaskier in terms of liveliness and discretion. He had certainly not wanted the entire brothel to know he was here. Several pairs of curious eyes were resting on him now.

He shook his head in disbelief before he strutted towards the counter like he owned the place and handed a terrified young boy—a new waiter, he presumed, he was not familiar with his face—his swords. He only trusted Julius with storing away his weapons safely for the duration of his… stay.

“The usual I presume?” Julius barked in a loud voice. Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Danica is sick, I’m afraid. Nothing too serious, the healers say she’ll get through it.”

Couldn’t‘ve told me that earlier, he thought. He nodded when the young waiter offered him a mug of ale.

“Look, before you say anything—I know you only come here for Danica. But I have a new girl. Young, beautiful, cocky. You’ll like her. Her beauty is… elf-like, almost. Wouldn’t tell me where she’s from or who her parents are but she’s of age and she’s experienced. Interested?”

Geralt was about to say no. Quenching his thirst with the ale, he took a few greedy gulps when the creaking wooden door which led to a dark staircase into some more private rooms on the first floor revealed a clearly flustered man in his late thirties, maybe early forties—and one of the most beautiful women he had ever had the honour to lay his eyes upon.

Enamoured, he followed every single one of your movements. He could not deny that there was something about you that was not quite… human. You moved with too much grace, too much felicity and the way your dark red dress wrapped around your near-perfect curves and brought out your eye-colour was almost unnatural to look at.

With a cheeky smile, you waved your most recent customer goodbye who left weaving out of the brothel a little as if he was drunk. At least, the guests’ attention had now found another victim.

Your head spun around when Julius called your name. There was a strange man sitting at the bar. A man with blonde, almost white hair, a handsome face and mesmerising yellow eyes. You recognised him at once.

Julius took a deep breath. “This is…”

“Geralt of Rivia,” You completed, eyebrows raised in awe. “The infamous White Wolf. Danica told me a lot about you… and your adventures.”

Your eye-colour was unnatural too, he noticed up close. You were about as human as he was. Julius, on the other hand, had no clue who he had welcomed into his brothel, so it seemed.

“She’s not here today, I’m afraid.” Tilting your head in an innocent manner, you gave Julius a knowing look. Geralt hummed once more.

“I’ll be upstairs in a minute.” He said, directing his attention towards his beer again. A triumphant smile spread on your lips as you turned on your heel and headed back upstairs into your room.

The Witcher kept his promise. You had long lost your dark red dress when he entered after you. You glanced at him across your shoulder, giving him a mischievous smile and letting him take in your bare behind. Men liked your arse, of course but they liked your back too. Their lustful stares stirred the hot embers inside of you, making the experience about as pleasurable for you as it was for them.

“What are you waiting for, White Wolf? Take off your clothes.” You demanded with a soft voice, steering towards the bed with languid steps. You sprawled out on the mattress then, fully aware of how his yellow eyes followed you with an intimidating hunger in them. You suppressed a chuckle. He might have been a Witcher… but in the end he was just a man too.

Leaning back, you arched your back a little and watched him take off his armour. Piece by piece, the heavy metal and the dark leather came off his body, revealing a handsome, muscly young man covered in dozens of battle scars. They made him all the more beautiful and unique, his signature necklace shimmering in the candle light.

You were surprised he had not yet asked about the curtains being closed but then again, you were not wearing any clothes.

Geralt was already semi-hard when he peeled himself from his trousers—a bold reminder your naked body had the desired effect on him. Once he had ridded himself of his boots as well, he approached the bed so slowly you feared he’d get stuck. Curious, you watched him climb on the mattress until he hovered above you like a wolf about to devour its prey. You purred. He appeared to live up to his name.

Licking your lips, you brought your hands up to stroke his chest. His muscles danced underneath your fingertips, his necklace hanging down in an almost trance-inducing manner. Geralt leaned down to bury his face in your neck when all of a sudden, the heavy metal grazed your skin and a sharp burning sensation rippled through you. An ear-piercing scream escaped your lips, your eyes turning blood-red at once. You felt your fangs press against your gums, willing to grow for you to defend yourself against the pain.

“I fucking knew it…” Geralt mumbled alarmed. His white hair tickled your skin when he moved away, his hands wrapping around your throat, sensing the imminent danger you were radiating. Blinking rapidly, you tried your best to make those terrifying red eyes disappear—even if every fibre of your being screamed to taste him. A Witcher’s blood was sweet and empowering they said… what would it be like if you sank your fangs into his warm skin?

“What are you?” He spat. You lifted your chin as best as you could in your current position, responding to him with a frightful hiss revealing your fangs to him.

Great, Geralt thought. A vampire… just what I needed. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead forced himself to let go of your throat for you to breathe but kept his hands on your throat.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” You choked out, cracking a scornful smile. Geralt bared his teeth.

“What are you doing here? Seducing men to feed on them?”

“No,” You spat, glaring at him, “I do no such thing.” Tapping his strong hands with your own, it took him another moment to finally let go. You gasped. “The man you saw leaving earlier. He had no bite marks on him now, had he?”

The Witcher cocked his head. “Does Julius know?”

“Does Julius know?”

“No, Julius doesn’t know and it’ll stay that way, do you hear me?”

“Are you threatening me?” Geralt frowned, the dark tone in his voice not to be underestimated. Strangely, it sent a shiver through your entire body.

“Do you think me stupid enough to threaten a Witcher? No. Consider this a gentle warning.” You gave him a bitter-sweet smile. Once it faded from your face, you looked up at him with cold eyes.

“I don’t feed from anyone here.” It was only then the White Wolf finally relaxed. Sighing, albeit still cautious, he sank into the cushions to your left.

“Then what is a vampire doing in a brothel?”

“I could use the money and I like sex.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows in a seemingly unimpressed manner. “Who doesn’t…?” He mumbled.

“Exactly,” You shrugged your shoulders, “you’re not gonna kill me, are you?”

“No. I kill monsters.”

Amused, you raised an eyebrow and propped yourself on one elbow to look him in the eye, hoping that your irises had returned to their normal colour by now. “Am I not a monster?” You teased.

His smirk surprised you. “I have a feeling I will find out.”

“Well then, White Wolf… what is it you are going to do?” Geralt sat up straight, capturing your body with his. He had already paid Julius. Vampire or not, you were beautiful and willing. What more could he want after endless and boring days of travelling?

“Just make sure those fangs stay where they are.” He murmured darkly into your ear. You flinched yet again when his silver necklace came in contact with your bare skin.

“You should take it off.” You suggested.

Geralt shook his head. “I don’t take it off. Ever.”

“Fine,” you growled, “then let me get on top.” You did not leave him enough time to protest but rolled you both over so you came to straddle him.

“Have you been with a vampire before?” You asked, genuine curiosity swinging in your voice as you ran your fingers over his chest, careful not to touch his necklace again. His semi-hard manhood grazed against your pubic bone, making him groan when you rubbed against him and watched him grow fully hard before your eyes. You licked your lower lips. You would be wet in no time with this strong and handsome man underneath you—as long as you could ignore the urge to bite him that was.

“No…” He growled.

Fuck… who were you kidding? You were wet already. Humming contended, you positioned yourself above his length, standing proud now, and slowly—painfully slow—lowered yourself onto him. Inch by antagonising inch, you sheathed him inside of you, smiling at him digging his strong fingers into your hips to urge you on.

Geralt threw his head back in pleasure, revealing his neck to you. He realised his mistake only the fraction of a second after, his yellow eyes quickly fixating on your elegant and naked form above him again. Lust was sparkling in his bright irises when you began moving on top of him, your breasts bouncing with every time he bucked his hips to thrust up into you.

Circling your hips in a downright skilled manner, you held onto his muscly thighs for balance, riding him faster and faster. Leaning back like this, it would be nearly impossible for you to come as well but well—Julius paid well and having a man like Geralt of Rivia inside of you more than made up for your lack of orgasms at work.

His grunts fuelled your own desire for him to the point you longed for him to flip you over and rut into you from behind. Sweat was glistening on his forehead and his upper body in the flickering candle light, his chest heaving with every single breath and the room slowly filling with the smell of sex.

Geralt’s growl was animalistic when he emptied himself inside of you, his cock twitching against your walls as it coated them with his warm seed. With a smug expression, you let him ride out his orgasm before you let him slide out of you, lying down next to his exhausted body and feeling his sperm run down your inner thighs and stain the white bedsheets. Good thing it was impossible for a vampire to get pregnant.

Just one bite, a malicious voice in your head whispered. Just a few drops… You blinked. No. Geralt was a Witcher. Unlike your other clients, he would have overpowered you within the blinking of an eye. Sighing, you tore your gaze away from his neck, away from the delicious vein pulsating under his skin and instead stared at the dark ceiling, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

You were not as talkative as Danica after sex. He liked that. This was going to be a both satisfying and peaceful night. All the more surprised was he when, after what seemed like an eternity, you rose up from the bed and moved to put on your dress.

“What are you doing?”

“Come now,” you responded both mockingly and softly at the same time. “Are you that cuddly after sex? I stayed with you long enough, Julius must be waiting for me already. Go get your pants back on, White Wolf.” Geralt frowned.

“I paid Julius for the whole night.”

Your eyes widened. “Excuse me? I do not work at night, I have told him that. I go hunting at night.” You added sheepishly.

“Hmm…” Suspicious, he narrowed his eyes at you. “Hunting where?”

“Downtown. Don’t look at me like that! I don’t kill, not anymore. They usually don’t remember that I fed on them.”

“So you weaken them.” He concluded.

“I have to stay alive somehow, Witcher. What do you expect me to do? Hunt animals?”

“Does the village know there’s a vampire living among them then?”

“They have their suspicions. But I am smart about it. No one would ever expect it to be me.” You shrugged, ignoring his scrutinising gaze. Of course he was not okay with you feeding on humans, you should have expected it. Witcher or not, he had no right to keep you here just because he paid for you.

“There is nothing you can do to stop me, Witcher. I need sustenance just like you… unless you will let me feed on you?” You tilted your head in a provocative manner. “Your blood would keep me nurtured for a long time, I’m sure.”

Unbeknownst to you, Geralt actually considered it for a moment. Stopping you for a whole night from harming innocent humans in return for more sex with you… there was worse. The bite of a ghoul for example or that of a werewolf. Oddly enough, he actually trusted you when you said you had no desire to kill your victims.

“Get back on the bed.” He demanded surprisingly soft, offering you his wrist in the process. Your lips parted, mouth watering. Was he being serious?

Excited, you abandoned your dress and jumped back on the mattress, straddling him once more. He moaned when you sank your fangs into his flesh, tasting his blood. It was even better than you had imagined and certainly, you had never been naked while feeding on someone before. You wondered…

A pleasant shiver went up and down your spine when he cupped one of your breasts with his hands, kneading it pleasurably and playing with your nipple until it hardened under his touch. Hungrily, you rubbed your crotch against his stomach, your clit throbbing and screaming for more attention as you spread your wetness all over him. Geralt did not seem to mind.

He pulled you away from his wrists the moment you came undone, hot bliss surging through your body like liquid fire. The taste of the White Wolf’s blood on your tongue along with the friction to your most intimate parts was too much to bear even for a vampire. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you let your pleasure consume you, noticing only in a deep haze that Geralt had grown hard again.

His wrist looked nice with your bite mark on it. You longed to give him more.

“Thank you…” You murmured when he flipped you both around so you came to lie on your back. Geralt was kneeling before you, between your legs, ready to take you once more. And you had a feeling that this would not have been the last time you would be sharing a bed with the White Wolf.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either for caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt #geralt imagine #geralt smut #geralt x you #geralt x reader #the witcher #the witcher imagine #netflix #henry cavill #vampire

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

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Geraksier fucking against the wall in the stables at Kaer Morhen? 👀 (from @geraskier-trashh)

@dani-dandelino my love! Please accept some smutty delight this Saturday evening.

Geraskier - 1.2k

CW: 18+, Semi-public sex, butt plug, top Jaskier/bottom geralt.

_______

It had been a long day and blissful day in the vineyards surrounding Corvo Bianco. Jaskier had insisted that Geralt take the day off from contracts and witchering to spend the day with him, just the two of them and Roach. Jaskier had considered bringing Pegasus out with him but they weren’t going far and Roach could carry them both for the short distance. There was just something romantic about being pressed up against your lover as you round through the beautiful meadows of Toussaint. Jaskier hadn’t imagined he’d ever settle down but the Duchy made it easy. It was vibrant, colourful, full of wine, everything a bard could need.

And Geralt was there.

Everything he could need.

After a lazy day of eating the finest food and wine that they could acquire on short notice, exchanging kisses, and generally just basking in each other’s company, Jaskier was… well he was horny. It had all been incredibly romantic and now he had another itch to scratch. The ride back on Roach hadn’t helped, his cock growing hard as he jostled against Geralt’s ass.

He was waiting impatiently now as Geralt saw to Roach. Despite the fact they paid for a stablehand, Geralt always insisted on getting her settled himself, and it was fucking frustrating. Jaskier knew his witcher could smell his arousal, and yet Geralt was taking his time, as he always did. His voice a low rumble as he spoke to his darling mare, and gods, his voice just did things to Jaskier. It always had, but it was worse now that he knew exactly what sorts of things that voice could whisper in his ear during sex.

He bit his lip, his hand wandering down to palm his cock through his trousers. He just needed something to take the edge off.

It didn’t take the edge off.

Instead, it fanned the flames, and he moaned softly, trying to stay quiet. Geralt might be taking care of Roach but that didn’t mean they were alone. He knew the stablehand was probably nearby.

And because he was Jaskier, that only served to heighten his arousal. He wondered how far they could get before someone caught them. He quickly unlaced his trousers and shoved his hand down his small clothes, sighing as he took himself in hand.

“What are you doing?” Geralt ask, the brush hovering just above Roach’s back. The witcher quirked an eyebrow at him but Jaskier could see the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

Jaskier winked at him, biting his lips and moaning louder than strictly necessary, but he so enjoyed putting on a show. He heard Geralt’s breath hitch in his throat, a tell tale sign of his witcher’s growing arousal. Jaskier moaned again, his eyes rolling back in his head. In all honesty, it didn’t feel that good, but he liked having Geralt’s attention on him. It felt good, better than sex even. He’d give up sex completely if it meant he could keep Geralt.

Luckily for him, he didn’t have to.

Geralt growled and pulled Jaskier in for a kiss. He pulled his hands from his trousers and gripped his witcher’s arse, fingers digging into the leather of his unfairly tight trousers.

“You’re a menace,” Geralt murmured against his lips.

“I’m your menace,” Jaskier agreed, nipping at Geralt’s lip and kissing along his jaw.

“Hmm.”

“It’s your fault for looking so divine, my darling. Those trousers make your arse looked utterly sinful,” Jaskier slapped Geralt arse as if to prove his point, kissing Geralt’s neck as he did.

Geralt smirked, cupping Jaskier’s face between his hands and brushing his lips along his jaw. “Thought you’d say that,” he whispered in Jaskier’s ear, nibbling at his earlobe and making Jaskier shiver. “So, I prepared a surprise for you, love.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he moaned loudly, attacking Geralt’s lips with his own, pushing them both towards the wall of the stables as he desperately tugged at the laces of Geralt’s trousers. Geralt grunted as his back hit the wall and Jaskier finally managed to pull the witcher’s trousers down, revealing the toned thigh muscles hidden underneath. Jaskier bit his lip, debating whether to suck Geralt off, but he was ever so curious about his surprise. He groped his lover’s arse, fingers slipping between Geralt’s cheeks until….

“Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have,” he purred into the kiss, catching Geralt’s lip between his teeth as he pulled away. His fingers teased the familiar plug, causing Geralt’s breath to hitch. “Did you have this in all afternoon?”

Geralt nodded. Jaskier just raised an eyebrow at his witcher, one hand stroking the length of Geralt’s cock lazily, a featherlight touch that he knew drove his lover mad. “Yes,” Geralt finally hissed out.

“Oh, ho, ho, sweetheart, you should have told me, I could have had so much fun with this,” Jaskier whined as he mourned the opportunity of fucking his boyfriend in the fields around the estate.

Instead, he settled for lifting Geralt up, supporting the witcher’s legs as they wrapped around his waist, and then he worked the plug out carefully. Geralt grunted as it came free and oil dripped over Jaskier’s finger.

“Oh fuck you’re so hot,” Jaskier whispered, staring at his now slick hand. Geralt didn’t reply, he just ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, pulling his head back and their lips met in a desperate kiss. Jaskier moaned into the kiss as he coated his cock with the excess oil, and they both gasped as he finally pushed inside Geralt. “Oh fuck, Geralt!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, his head rolling back and hitting the wall behind them.

Every thrust was sweet torture, Geralt’s arse hot and tight around his cock. The wall behind them creaked but neither of them paid it any mind, too lost in the feeling of each other. Geralt cursed loudly as Jaskier finally managed to hit his prostate, and he grinned as he continued to pound into the witcher, fuelled by the thrill of having Geralt trapped under him, a fearsome monster slayer lifted up by a humble bard, a delicate flower.

“Fuck, Jask…” Geralt panted against his lips, “I need”

“Touch yourself for me, love,” Jaskier gasped, his movements becoming erratic as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer, but he wanted Geralt to cum whilst he was still inside him. Maybe they could even put that pretty plug back in once they were done. The thought made Jaskier moan, and he mouthed at Geralt’s neck, not breaking the skin but gods it was close.

Geralt shifted underneath him so he could touch his cock in between their bodies. Jaskier’s legs were beginning to shake and he was barely holding on, his orgasm threatening to pull him under with every movement. “That’s it, darling, you’re doing so good for me. Can you cum for me, love?” he half moaned in Geralt’s ear, struggling to get the words out but it was enough. Geralt groaned, his whole body shuddering as Jaskier managed two final thrusts before spilling into his witcher. It took all his strength not to collapse to the floor on the spot, but he’d been walking along side Geralt and Roach for decades. He had the muscles to prove it.

“So good for me,” he babbled, pressing kisses into Geralt’s neck as they caught their breath.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing #suddenly-a-twilight-blog

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to-be-honest-i-dunno · 2 years

Text

Jaskier and how he finally finds a muse

1, 2 , 3

Jaskier heard rumors of a witcher, tricked by a sorcerer having done something which blemishes the already bleak outlook on witchers even more. And when he found out that the sorcerer in question was Stegebor he wasn’t in any way surprised, he was unfortunate enough to have met the sorcerer a handful of times and knew how charming he could be at times. So while he was disappointed in a young witcher, he wasn’t surprised seeing as no one was there to warn him of this particular sorcerer.

The only logical thing Jaskier knew to do was finding said witcher and giving him a better reputation than he currently has, with a ballad maybe or a song. Oh he could think about things already, but meeting the young witcher and actually seeing what he is like is probably the first thing he should do before he already plans out too much.

It only took a good few months till he found the young witcher in Posada, a town which is in the middle of nowhere. Of course he would be somewhere where no one lived but would still be able to get a contract, he was like this at one point too.

After having an atrocious play where the patrons threw bread at him, he went up to the young witcher. He looked like he didn’t want company. “You were the only one who didn’t tell me how my singing was, please tell me in three words or less”, Jaskier knew that he is annoying the witcher, his stance is closed off and he went to him quite bright and chirp. “They don’t exist”, the youngster answered with a growling voice. Maybe it was a mistake coming here and trying to better the name of this one.

He didn’t even really listen to the things he said next, just following the youngling, he had something on him. Maybe it’s destiny which pulls him, maybe it’s just his curious nature but he wants to get to know him more. Geralt seems nice, closed off and hurt but the core of his soul seems nice.

Geralt looks very good while he looks out for what could be the problem of the villagers. Very good actually.

The next thing Jaskier saw was that his lute got broken by an angry elf. Of fucking course it would get broken, he knew that this would be a possibility. But it was a damn fine lute which he bought with the rest of his money from the path, it had sentimental value!

While Jaskier was angry at the elves, he could understand them, it’s never nice to be driven out of your own country. But a mere human wouldn’t know such a thing, now would he?

He sometimes really hated having to play dumber as he actually is, or playing naive. Though the last thing actually came easier to him seeing as in some aspect he still is naive. But he gotten to far to turn back now.

“Leave him be he is just a human”, Geralt pleaded for Jaskiers life, right just a human. He didn’t regret it coming here, the little voice in his head who still held doubt about this got squished with such a small sentence. It was the right decision.

And he would help Geralt in anyway he could, he shouldn’t have to live in disgrace.

From that moment something bloomed in the garden of destiny, the seeds which were sown finally blooming, into a flower of friendship. She did love when her children get together and find solace in each other.

#immortal jaskier #witcher!jaskier #Jaskier #geralt

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asweetprologue · 4 years

Link

Geralt decides to retire to Toussaint. He takes Jaskier with him.

Words: 4360, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Retirement, Getting Together, Domestic, Fluff

I promise I’m still writing stuff!! this is a soft little one shot I wrote a while ago and just cleaned up. read on tumblr below the cut!

In the end, it’s the weariness that does him in.

Once when they were both younger men, Jaskier had asked him about retirement for witchers. If they retreated to Kaer Morhen in their old age to train the new pups, or if they settled down across the Continent, or gave up the hunt to have families of their own. Geralt had snorted. “We don’t retire,” he’d said, mixing potion ingredients by the light of their camp fire. Jaskier had looked at him with wide, curious eyes. “We get old, and slow, and something kills us. We don’t - buy seaside cottages, or whatever.”

Jaskier had hummed at that, a mournful note that seemed to resonate in the air. It was unfair, Geralt had thought, that his friend managed to convey so much in such a sound while the witcher always managed to say so little. “Seems a bit unfair,” Jaskier added.

Geralt had blown out an amused breath, not quite a laugh. “That’s life, bard.”

But now, three decades and countless battles older, he just felt tired. Jaskier no longer traveled with him as frequently, and the Path was a lonely place. He and his brothers no longer met at Kaer Morhen to winter, not once Vesemir had passed. They would stop occasionally to meet up on the road, but never for too long. Even Ciri was going her own way nowadays, though he saw her the most frequently. As the years wore on, Geralt found himself visiting Oxenfurt more and more often. Itching for companionship, for a cease in the ever grinding motion of the Path. The routine that had once been a comfort was now grating.

Maybe it was time to take a break.

It was with this mentality that he turned to Jaskier on the last day of his stay in Oxenfurt and said, “Come to Toussaint with me.”

Jaskier blinked at him owlishly, the expression making him look ten years younger. These days his hair was streaked with gray at the temples, and when he chose to grow out a beard it was as silver as Geralt’s. “What’s so important in Toussaint?” he asked. They were seated at a table in the rooms Jaskier had been provided, for accepting a temporary lecturing position. The term had ended a few weeks ago, hence Geralt’s visit. Jaskier shuffled his gwent deck as he spoke, the cards weaving together like a cascade. Geralt found himself watching the bard’s slim fingers dance through the motions with an old fascination.

“I have an estate there,” he replied, pulling his gaze from the cards. He meant to look Jaskier in the eye, but a brief moment of contact with the bright cerulean had him turning his head, his heartbeat growing ever so slightly faster. It was too hard to ask this if he could see Jaskier’s face. Instead, he looked out the small window, overlooking the red tiled roofs of Oxenfurt. The city was painted a rich gold in the light of the evening sun, reflected warmly off of the river beyond the docks.

Jaskier spluttered across the table. “You have an estate? Since when?”

Geralt felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. “It was payment for a job,” he said. “There’s a vineyard, gardens. I can send word ahead for them to start renovations on the guest bedroom. Come with me,” he said again, softly. He wasn’t above begging, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Jaskier looked at him with a confused but affectionate look spread across his fine features, and said, “Okay.”

Geralt sent a letter ahead to warn the staff of their plans to summer at the estate, and they began their journey to the Duchy.

It was a long journey, but not an arduous one. For once, Geralt allowed them to stick to the main roads, and at this time of year even Velen was bearable. The sweeping fields spread out around them in swaths of green and gold, punctuated here and there by defiant patches of wildflowers. Jaskier wasn’t as quick as he used to be following Geralt on the Path, but they weren’t on the Path anymore. They purchased a second horse and rode side by side at a leisurely pace. When the day grew hot, they would post up in a convenient spot of shade and let the horses graze, lunching on sun warmed bread and sweetmeats. Jaskier rambled the hours away with stories of his students and old antics at Oxenfurt, and Geralt responded with his own tales of hunts and growing up in the keep with his brothers. It was good to have another voice on the road again after months of traveling alone. It was good that it was Jaskier. Geralt had missed him. Once he wouldn’t have been able to admit it, even to himself, but it seemed silly now to hide it. A wall put up against someone who had been inside for years.

They slept beneath the stars and in cramped inns, sharing small spaces like they had for decades. It was different, Geralt thought. Something had released in his shoulders when Jaskier had agreed to come with him. They weren’t in a rush - there were no contracts to fill, no galas to play at. Jaskier’s purse was heavy from his time spent lecturing, and Geralt was able to pick up a few simple contracts as they went. Easy jobs that would put some extra coin in his pocket and lift the tension from the shoulders of the locals. But for the most part it was just the two of them, drinking sweet summer mead and browsing morning markets, getting accustomed to each other’s presence again.

Sitting across the fire from him one night as they camped, Jaskier said, “You’re different, you know.”

Geralt lifted his head from where he’d been skinning the pheasants for supper. “Hmm?”

Jaskier smiled, his eyes soft. “Well, maybe not that different.” At Geralt’s odd look, he went on. “You told me once that witchers never change. That they’re set in their ways. I think you were talking about something like your potions routine when you said it at the time, but I thought it applied to the whole of the witcher experience.”

Geralt hummed again. “It’s true. We age slowly. Get set in our habits.”

“But you changed,” Jaskier said. “I’ve seen it. After Ciri, and now, since we’ve left Oxenfurt. You’re different.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. They’d never been on the road together like this, just the two of them as companions. Before Geralt had been focused on the Path, and Jaskier had been cataloguing his deeds as if he were some kind of hero of legend. He knew Jaskier admired Geralt’s drive, his ability to push on towards the next contract. Maybe the bard would think less of him, knowing that he was content to leave the Path behind for so long. “I’m still me,” he said aloud.

Jaskier gave him another smile, warm and honeyed. “I know it’s you, daft man,” he said. “It’s good. To see you… put down the torch for a bit.”

Geralt wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just gave an agreeable rumble in his chest. And then, because he’d spent so long learning how to use his words around his daughter, he said, “I’m glad you’re here, Jaskier.”

A brief moment of surprise passed over Jaskier’s features, his eyes widening. Though Geralt had become better at voicing his affections over the years, he knew that the bard was always taken aback by the behavior. After a second Jaskier’s smile became a grin, and Geralt felt something in him relax even further. “I’m glad to be here, my friend. You know I can’t resist an adventure.”

They arrived in Toussaint quickly after that, both eager to end their days on the road. The countryside spread out around them slowly transformed from the muted colors of the north into the vibrant greens, purples and reds of the vineyards and forests. Geralt always forgot how stunning the Duchy was, with its colorful houses and flashy clothes. For once Jaskier fit in with the crowd flawlessly; it would take more than a bright doublet to stand out in Toussaint. Geralt had always liked it here. The peasants tended to be less prejudiced against non-humans, witchers included, and the knights he’d met always treated him as a brother in arms rather than pest control. The winters were mild and the summers sweet, and the wines were rich even if they were impossible for him to pronounce at times.

Of course Jaskier proved to be fluent in the local language - “What do you think the Seven Liberal Arts even entail, Geralt?” - which was helpful when they passed through smaller villages. Those away from the common crossroads or larger settlements tended to have fewer people who spoke the common northern tongue. They made their way to Geralt’s estate through a series of inns, barns and guest bedrooms as Jaskier relentlessly charmed the locals in grandiose displays of hospitality.

As they approached the estate, Geralt pulled Roach to a stop at the top of a hill. “This is it,” he said, nodding to indicate the view.

Jaskier gaped, craning to look out over the small collection of buildings and the dozens and dozens of grapevines that were nestled in the valley below. Geralt could see several workers out tending to the fields; his majordomo must have been overseeing things as agreed upon. They would have to get to know the rest of the staff while they were here. “This is all yours?” Jaskier asked, snapping Geralt’s attention back to the present.

“The house, most of the fields. I’ve not paid all that much attention to it before now, honestly. The house needs work. Never had any reason to sink funds into it before now.” He’d sent a fair sum of gold ahead to Barnabas-Basil to get started on renovations, but it likely would have only been enough to make the main complex habitable. Geralt was confident that he could undertake much of the repairs himself, in time. It would be good to have a project.

“It’s expansive. You produce wine here?” Jaskier asked, turning back towards him.

“Yes, but you’ll have to ask the majordomo which ones.”

Jaskier nodded to himself as they continued down the hill, soon approaching the main gate to the small villa. Members of the staff bustled throughout the property, though many stopped to look as the two of them passed by. As they settled their horses near a storage shed, the majordomo approached them, apparently already made aware of their arrival.

“Ah, Master Geralt, I trust that your travels were smooth? Please, come inside - I will have someone come and tend to the horses.” Barnabas-Basil Foulty was a clean shaven, bald man with sharp, almost bird-like features, and the head of the estate in Geralt’s stead. He stood at perfect attention at all times, shoulders back and head held high. A proud man, if not also an extremely polite one. Geralt liked him immensely, because he was good at his job and could keep up in the cups the one time the two had drank together.

“Ah, this must be the famous Barnabas-Basil. Fantastic to finally meet your acquaintance, my good man,” Jaskier said, jumping in to give the majordomo’s hand a firm shake. “Geralt has praised your skills from here to Redania and back.”

Barnabas-Basil inclined his head towards Geralt, though his spine did not stray an inch. “I thank you, sir, for your kind words. Please, allow me to show you the progress that we have made on the main house so you might get settled.”

The domo walked them through the estate, giving Jaskier a brief tour and pointing out new additions to Geralt. He’d not been to the estate in at least two years, but it was clear that the workers were making good use of the space. The small collection of colorful houses down the road had fresh coats of paint, and children played in the courtyard below the main house. A garden flourished in the space between the manor and the vineyard, dominated by root vegetables and herbs.

“If you would like, we can have it cleared out so that you might use it for your own purposes,” Barnabas-Basil said. His face betrayed no feelings on the issue.

Geralt grunted. “No need. The staff can use it as they wish.” He refused to meet Jaskier’s gaze as the bard beamed at him proudly. After decades of friendship Jaskier still seemed to find it a delight anytime Geralt did something he thought was particularly chivalrous. Geralt was not eager for him to meet the knights, with their virtues and heroic deeds.

The house, as he suspected, was functional but only just. “We’ve done what we could in a short amount of time, sir,” Barnabas-Basil said, his tone politely apologetic. “I assure you renovations are far from complete.”

“It’s fantastic,” Jaskier said, already darting off to explore the other rooms. There was a small kitchen, a bedroom, bathroom and an upstairs loft that could be made into a second bedroom. The additional bed wouldn’t arrive for another week or two.

“We can share,” Geralt said without looking at Jaskier, and did not elaborate further. “Show me what else needs done.”

They fell quickly into a routine. Geralt spent his days working with the locals on renovations, slowly breathing vitality back into the old manor. When he grew tired of working with lumber, he waded into the vineyards, to help pluck the delicate grapes from their twisting vines. A pair of women admonished him for his sloppy work on the first day and taught him how to gently cut the branches away and check the grapes for ripeness. Jaskier fluctuated between helping out with the building work and composing, though he also made the occasional day trip into the city to perform. In the evening they would retire to the house to eat, drink and chat over games of cards. At night they would curl up in Geralt’s bed, as they had when sharing quarters on the road.

It was a strange new intimacy, to learn what Jaskier was like in his bed. They had shared bedrolls many times over the years, but never with any consistency. When the nights were too cold or the inn too full, they would sigh and grumble and agree to share a space for the night, as a matter of convenience. But as soon as they had the coin or the resources to do so, they would always put distance between themselves again. Geralt supposed it had been a kind of self preservation instinct, but he now found little threat in the warmth of Jaskier next to him at night. He learned that some days Jaskier woke before the sunrise, throwing himself out of bed in a tangle of limbs to scramble for a quill. Other days he slept late, sprawled out across the sheets and dozing until the heat of the day forced him up. Often Geralt woke to the bard curled around him, an arm thrown across his broad chest, nose tucked under the witcher’s jaw. Those times always made something tighten in Geralt’s throat. No one should trust a witcher like Jaskier did, but he was grateful for the bard’s foolishness. Jaskier had always believed that Geralt would keep him safe, even when the witcher had refused to even admit that they were friends. Jaskier deserved better, but it didn’t stop Geralt from turning into his warmth each morning, wishing to reach out.

When the second bed came, Jaskier made no effort to relocate to the guest room. Geralt didn’t bring it up.

It only took a month for him to openly think about it, but when he finally did he was surprised it hadn’t come sooner. He looked up from where he was carving a notch in a new post for one of the fences and saw Jaskier sitting on the steps of the manor, the end of his quill hovering near his lips. His mouth moved around abstract syllables as he reached for the next lyric in a new song. The soft, repetitive notes rose and fell in the still summer air, and Geralt could see a small spot of ink on Jaskier’s cheek where he’d tapped himself with the quill by accident. Later that night, Geralt would point it out and they would both laugh, and Jaskier would play at being angry Geralt hadn’t brought it up sooner, and then Geralt would offer to help him clean up. Jaskier looked up from his place on the stairs and met his eye, feeling the attention on him as he always did. When he saw Geralt looking he smiled, as brightly as if he’d not seen the witcher in months, instead of moments. Geralt’s chest swelled with an unspeakable feeling, thick and heady affection and trust and something else even beyond that, and he thought, Oh, I love him.

Geralt suggested a picnic. Jaskier was ecstatic, though he tried to act as if he had to consider the notion.

“Will there be wine?” he asked, eyebrows raised playfully.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, fondly exasperated, “we live on a vineyard.”

So they grabbed some bottles from the storeroom, packed a light cotton blanket and some food leftover from lunch and set off up the nearby hill. It took them about twenty minutes to reach the top, but once they did they were quite near the place they’d first stopped to look over the estate. It was nearing evening, the sun hanging low in the sky and making the shadows of the workers coming in stretch out long across the fields. The two men spread out their things, sitting to watch the landscape move below them as they uncorked one of the bottles.

Geralt let Jaskier chatter away about nothing for a while, letting the sound wash over him as they shared the bread and wine. After a while Jaskier fell quiet, leaving them both to gaze out at the beauty of the land around them. Geralt turned to look at Jaskier. The sweep of his brow, the soft bow of his lips. The smattering of freckles he’d collected from weeks on the road, lying in fields and letting the sun kiss his cheeks. To be jealous of the sun, Geralt thought wryly.

Jaskier turned to meet his gaze, realizing that he was being watched. “What is it?” he asked.

“Why did you come with me?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier chuckled a bit, leaning back on one hand. His shirt was unlaced a ways down the front, leaving his dark chest hair exposed. Geralt wanted to put his nose in the hollow of his throat and just breathe there for a while. “I’m not one to turn down a free holiday, my dear.”

“No,” Geralt said, trying to ignore the way the pet name made his stomach flip. “I mean, why did you always come with me? Everyone… People come and go. But you always came back. Why?”

Jaskier gave him an admonishing look. Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. “You know the answer to that,” he said, and his tone held a warning that the witcher didn’t understand.

��I know you value our friendship,” Geralt replied, “but I could say that of many. It’s not the same.”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, his face full of fondness and exasperation and, strangely, an old sort of grief. “You truly are the most unobservant man in the land. You’ve been far more than a friend to me for many years.”

Geralt felt his heart rate pick up at that, the slow thud speeding up to match Jaskier’s. “You’re saying…” He found himself unable to complete the thought. Even after so many years of trying to do better, it was still impossible to form words past the thundering in his ears. This moment felt delicate, like the wrong phrase might shatter it apart.

“I assumed you knew,” Jaskier said with a shrug. The line of his shoulders was just slightly too tense, his body radiating faux casualness. Anyone else may have been fooled, but Geralt had been watching Jaskier for years. “I would never have let it change anything between us, you must know that. You were always involved with someone else - Yennefer, and then Triss and Shani… I didn’t want to get in the way of that. Something that could make you happy.”

“I thought it would,” Geralt said honestly. His gaze flickered over Jaskier’s impassive face. The bard rarely showed his nerves in his expressions, too much a performer for that. Instead it made its way to his hands, twitching over his thighs and worrying the fabric of the blanket, and his heart, which raced in his chest. “I wanted to be the right person for them. Yen wanted me to be useful. Triss wanted me to be a knight in shining armor. They made me feel like I was better than just a witcher.” Jaskier’s lovely mouth twisted slightly, a note of bitterness in his gaze as he looked out over the vineyards. Geralt hurried on. “But you’re the one who made me feel like being a witcher was already good enough.”

Jaskier turned back to him, blinking in surprise. “Well of course it is,” he said, and naturally the bard had missed the point, honing in on his favorite subject: the reputation of witchers and Geralt’s sense of self worth. “You’re already useful, and noble, and good and kind besides all that. You don’t have to be more than what you are to deserve - fuck, basic human connection and love.” He settled slightly, his gesturing hands falling into his lap once more. “Is that why you left them?”

“The Path always calls,” Geralt said with a shrug. “No one but you ever wanted to follow me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, blushing. Geralt watched the color rise up over his cheek bones with something like fascination, or maybe hunger. “Well, now you know why,” he continued, with obviously false cheer. He gave Geralt a rueful smile. “I promise I won’t make things awkward. I’ve had decades to practice. I mean, it’s been thirty years. If you were going to fall in love with me you probably would have done so already, hmm?”

“You’d think so,” Geralt agreed. “Sorry it took me so long.” And then he leaned into Jaskier’s space and kissed him.

It wasn’t a very good kiss. Barely a kiss at all, really, considering that Jaskier had frozen under him. Geralt pulled back, lifting a hand to run it gently over Jaskier’s side. The bard was absolutely still, his eyes closed tight. There was a small crease between his eyebrows that Geralt wanted to kiss away, but he wasn’t sure if he should. “Sorry,” he said softly.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. It was unfair that a man could have beautiful eyelashes, Geralt mused, but here they were. “You mustn’t toy with me, witcher,” Jaskier croaked. His voice was raw, as if he’d been singing for hours.

Geralt moved his hand to the bard’s face, his thumb following along the line of his jaw and up to trace across his cheekbone. Freckles like stars under his fingers. “I’m not,” he rumbled. “I swear it, Jaskier. I just -” He paused, trying to marshal his thoughts. “You were always there. No matter how shitty the Path was, or how miserable people were to you because of me, or how much I pushed you away. You stayed. You made me feel like I was worth something, and you made other people think that way too. Every day without you on the Path was always misery. I should have realized sooner, but I’m not… good at this. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier’s head dropped forward, his brow resting on Geralt’s collarbone. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you apologize in the span of a minute,” he said, voice thin. “This is a lot to take in. Are you saying that you… that you love me? You, Geralt of Rivia, are in love with me?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, smiling into Jaskier’s hair. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Jaskier pulled away to stare at him. Geralt tried to let his affection through, drinking in Jaskier’s beloved face like he hadn’t allowed himself before. The last rays of the sun played over Jaskier’s hair, turning some of the strands to brilliant amber. His eyes were over bright. Whatever the bard saw in Geralt’s expression must have been enough, because the next moment they were kissing again.

It was, Geralt thought, a miracle that he had ever gone so long without doing so. Now that they’d begun, he never wanted to stop. Jaskier’s lips were warm and soft against his, and when Geralt licked slowly into his mouth he tasted of old wine. They stayed like that for a long time, Geralt holding Jaskier close, decades of tension not so much breaking as releasing like a quiet sigh of relief.

Finally they pulled apart, Geralt nosing at Jaskier’s cheek as he hummed contentment into the bard’s skin. He could feel deft fingers petting through his hair, easily working around the tangles that had formed on the walk up the hill. “I love you,” he said, pressing the words below Jaskier’s ear as if he could speak them into his core that way.

Jaskier shivered once under him. “I love you too,” he said, and Geralt could feel him smiling in the way his jaw moved. He knew Jaskier in his bones. “I’ll follow you wherever you go, you know.”

Geralt pulled back, pushing Jaskier’s fringe back with one hand as he met his eyes. “Maybe I’ll just stop running from you,” he said, smiling. Jaskier grinned back, and neither of them mentioned that his eyes were slightly damp. Geralt pushed himself to his feet and reached down a hand to his bard. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

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