#Thank you for showing some of Jaskier even though is under those... circumstances

[erualthewild]

Joey Batey as Jaskier in

Road to Season 2 Trailer | The Witcher

#Jaskier #Joey Batey #The Witcher #Thank you for showing some of Jaskier even though is under those... circumstances #My poor baby #My Gifs

[annmarcus63]

The kindest thing

“Yes yes, I remember the I don't need anyone needing me situation, but well, here we are, don't you know? you are my very best friend on the whole wide world"

Geralt's heart is broken but Jaskier intends of heal him with kindness.

-I wanted to post this here again, because I can and I want to. Sorry for my bad english. Love you.-

Here's the link to ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/24114205

The war has shaken all the realms, everyone everywhere talks about the tragic death of queen Calanthe and the wiped out of her army, people fearfully whisper about the mountains of corpses the Nilfgaardian army leaves at its wake. Jaskier awakes sweating and trembling on a cold night, his chest contracting despite his controlling breathing. He fears the war, of course, but not for him, he’s safely away after all, whta is war for a bard but geat songs. He fears for certain witcher and his child surprise. News about princess Ciri's death haven't reached him, he really really hopes she's ok, again not for him but for Geralt. Because although the witcher has never showed any interest in the child, the bard knows the loss could be too great for the witchers' heart. Yes, he believes Geralt holds a heart, big and hard to reach, but a heart no less.

It's been over a year since that dreadful day on the mountaintop. Over a year since that scornful words and the look that spoke volumes. Jaskier healed himself with music and dancing, also with the normal tears rivering down his cheeks every now and then. Jaskier wasn't a stranger at traveling alone, after all he and Geralt used to part ways more often than not, even though that used to happen after months and months of traveling together. He forced himself to picked his broken heart, rebuilded even if he still could see the cracks.

After the sadness came the anger. Anger for the unfairness thrown so casually against him. How dares he? How. Dares. He? all those years of friendship and loyalty repaid with words aimed to pierce, and pierce they did. Words that were the outcome of the witchers' broken heart, because Yennefer had walked away from Geralt despite the love he feel for her. True love or not, it was still love. Jaskier was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And then came the sorrow for his sweet witcher, and his perpetual broken heart. He wasn't justifying the harshful words and his own broken heart, of course not, but at least he now understands why Geralt said what he said. He needed to broke something, even if that something was their friendship. Oh that idiotic emotionally abused witcher, if only Jaskier could mend him back together, if only Geralt let him. And one day the opportunity presented itself. After a very glorious performance at the local inn, he heard a couple of farmers gossiping about a witcher fighting an Alp no far from there. In all his traveling years he has never encountered with a witcher other than Geralt, he hopes that same fortune still follows him around. He packs his lute and the rest of his possessions to get back to the road. Asking is always the best resource if you want to find someone or something, and is oddly easy to locate Geralt.

Maybe destiny is part of their relationship, not that he'd ever mention it to the witcher.

An old woman point him to a road towards Kaedwen. Uh, So he's going to Kaer Morhen. He considers himself lucky to find him before disappearing like he used to every winter.

He walks and walks until the smell of smoke reaches his nose, he has learned a thing or two from Geralt about tracking, thank you very much, he's not that useless. Again maybe destiny is helping him, he's not that good, you see.

He goes through the trees until reaching a small clear and the unmistakable arrange of a camp. He sees a small figure, a girl with a black cloak covering her face, tending a very familiar horse. He clutches at his lute strap, by Melitele he's so fucking nervous, his heart beating frantically against his ribcage, his ears stuffed with white noise.

What if Geralt sends him away without a word? what if he spat more hurtful words? what if he's not welcome? Well, at least he'd have tried.

"Hi" he says softly

The child tense visibly, slowly she takes a step away from Roach and turns around.

"You better go before he sees you" so young age and so much steel in her voice, no wait-

"Princess?"

"Bard?" of course he returned to Cintra after the child surprise incident, Queen's Calanthe court liked so much his first performance that he was invited to play three more times, one on Ciri's birthday. He is the best bard of all the continent after all.

Of course Geralt would find her, of course. He felt a wave of pride surging from his chest. He did it, he found her. He was not alone.

“Jaskier?” Oh that voice, that damn voice reverberating on every fiber of his skin. And suddenly the witcher is there, in all his splendour, sword on one hand but he's not wearing his armor.

"Hello Geralt" and he gifts him with a sweet smile, despite the sweat on his palms and the creeping terror of being rejected. But Geralt doesn't said anything, doesn't move, some may think he's a statue. "Don't worry I won't stay long, I only want to talk if you allow me" he didn't came with the intention of staying, no, he'll respect the witchers blessing no matter what.

More than a year full of a banquet of emotions for the witcher, oh and how he love him still.

The silence stretch for long seconds, it may be hours for all he knows. And just when he's about to turn back to were he come from..

"I'll stay with Roach to give you privacy" dear Ciri says and Geralt nods rather insecure and Jaskier's heart aches at the picture. Jaskier follows Geralt to the camp, not that far from Roach and Ciri but that'll suffice. He's sure Geralt would want to keep an eye on her. The witcher sits against a tree leaving the bedroll for him. Jaskier place gently the lute on the ground not far from him. They sit facing each other.

breathe in breathe out, come on Jaskier you can do this. Bollocks, Geralt probably can sense how nervous he is.

He sees a small twitch on Geralt's lips like he wants to say something and Jaskier freaks out. "No!" he yelps, and then more softly he adds "No, let me talk. You know how much I love the sound of my own voice" he says with a small smile, but Geralt doesn't sees it, he's golden eyes are planted on the grass.

Here goes nothing.

“I've known you for a long time now, Geralt. It may be not that long for you with all your long long years, but it is to me as the fleeting human that I am. You knew me as the annoying bard, and now you know me as the annoying old bard. I've spent most part of my life by your side, if not the best part of it. And I did it gladly, and I would do it again gladly, because I choose to. Even in the first years when you were trying rather desperately to get rid of me. I choose to. Not because of the magnificent songs I wrote but because I liked -like- your company.” Jaskier force himself to stop, a nasty bump forming in his throat, is harder than he though. You are already here, you may as well give it all. "You...you’re all that I have" And this earns him a reaction, Geralt twitch against the tree and sends him a indecipherable look to return it at the same spot on the grass. “Yes yes, I remember the I don't need anyone needing me situation, but well, here we are, don't you know? you are my very best friend on the whole wide world" There, yes, a smile on his lips."You are, my friend. I mean, no matter how many times you denied it. It took me more than two decades to get to know you. It took me five years to know that you would rather spend a night under the stars than in a inn without proper stables for Roach. Ten years to know how much you hate fish but love the rabbit broth I cook. More than ten years to know when to shut up otherwise you'll snap at me, though I admit I've not always follow this knowledge. I could go on and on but not today. And so I know you really didn't mean what you said on the mountain, at least I hope, not completely. You were unfair and cruel. Nothing of what you accused me is my fault, not entirely, but if it’s my fault then you must know I'm truly sorry, If I had known I assure you I would have left your side a long time ago.”

"Not your fault" Geralt says with a weak whisper. And Jaskier feels something loosening up on his chest, carefully he closes the distance between them, knees almost touching. "Good, good. I came to apologize even though I didn't do anything wrong, but you should know that I won't do it again. I'll not tolerate more words with intent to hurt. I'll no longer be taken for granted or tossed aside like a old pair of shoes. Have I made myself clear? Because if you do something like that again, oh by Melitele I promise I'll make you pay.”

"Yes I understand" Answers. The white wolf stripped of all his barriers. He sounds so tired, so broken.

"Oh my sweet sweet witcher" he says lovingly, daring to reach out for a lock of white hair falling above Geralt's cheekbone to tuck it behind his ear. And Geralt for once doesn't pull away. "Life has not been kind to you. But I am, I have and will be kind to you till my last breath. You have me, even thru distance, you can count on me, even if I'm not that resourceful. Look at me Geralt. Yes, there you are. Hi. You have my undying loyalty and consideration, and you know why? because I'm your friend and I love you. By the way I'm amazingly happy for you have finally found your child surprise, although I wish it had been on better circumstances” Geralt smile at him, that small curve on his lips accompanied by the delicate flutter of his eyelids. And Jaskier falls for the man a little bit more. "Oh well, that was intense. I should get going, I'm planning on staying on the road for few more months maybe years who knows? I still have a couple of great songs on my sleeve about our adventures. Oh! and I received a letter from Oxenfurt. They recognize me as one of the best poets of the age. They have a classroom reserved for me, can you imagine? Me? teaching! a terrible idea If you ask me. But i'm not prepared for being the grumpy scholar, not yet if ever, I'll make them wait a few years, if old age doesn't take me first. You must come and visit me there, yes you must! or on the road when all this is over. Don't make me wait that long, ok?” He reach one last time to grab Geralt's wrist and squeeze, fully smiling before standing up, he dusts his fine clothes and hang his lute over his shoulder. "Be safe my witcher and take care of each other" he says loud enough to be heard by Ciri. He approaches the princess in question and Roach who neigh in delight, she's got a soft spot for him and the sugar cubes he always stuff in his pockets, just like the ones currently on his fist. Roach gently took a couple from his open hand.

“You're safe with him, princess”

"I know...and uhmm it's Ciri"

"Ciri” he replies

"Is good to know he have someone" say Ciri in a small voice.

"He’s always had but he needs to be reminded of most of the time.” She nods solemnly, in that moment Jaskier knew she'll grow up to be an excellent warrior even better than Geralt. He hopes he'll be there to witness it. And with that he leaves, throwing a last glance at the witcher, who's still sitting against the tree, lost in thought.

He looks at the sky, nightfall is about to come in more or less two hours, enough time to reach the nearest town to rent a room. He'll not perform, not tonight. Tonight is for him alone. His stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud, he's only eaten bread and a green apple on the entire day. He can't wait to get to the inn to order a plate of the delicious pork he could smell as he passed by. Perhaps he can afford to buy honey pastry, oh yes.

With every step taken away from the camp, he feels like he's finally free, the acid sensation in his chest and throat is no longer there. The sorrow finally gone. Suddenly, subtly, unexpectedly tears began to pour, he's sobbing, but smiling at the same time. He’s undoubtedly content.

Footsteps. Heavy footsteps behind him. He stops.

It can't be.

He turns unhurriedly, and he sees him, sees Geralt running towards him . A desperate expression on his handsome features. And Jaskier knows what's about to happen. With a swiftly movement takes the strap of his lute to let it fall at the ground. Sorry girl.

"...Jaskier" he grunts just before engulfin the bard in those strong arms. Barely recovered from the shock, Jaskier sobs some more on the witcher's shoulder. This is truly happening. Geralt is hugging him like he's an anchor, like he's worth it.

And then Geralt takes his face between his hands, cleaning the still flowing tears with his thumbs. Faces inches apart. "What have I done to deserve you" he whispers with devotion. "You should be angry, you should hate me. I don't deserve..."

"You deserve this and more. Much more." Geralt's eyes are wet and Jaskier feels blessed to be granted the trust to seeing him so open, so vulnerable.

"And you, do you deserve this despicable treatment? Forgive me" Jaskier smiles against the tears, bumping his forehead with Geralt's. "Forgive me"

"There's nothing to forgive, my witcher" Sweetly Geralt guides his lips to his forehead, his eyes, his nose, the corner of his lips. Jaskier may as well die with the happiness surging from every part of his being.

“I wanted to search for you, I was planning on to, after leaving Ciri at Kaer Morhen. You're too far important for me and therefore you're important to Nilfgaard. Come with me, come to Kaer Morhen with us."

"Yes" Because he'll always say yes, no matter what. Yes to this life, to the danger, to the songs. Yes to Geralt. They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, breathing each other scents, loving each other.

There were still things left unsaid, but it was enough for now. They needed to rest. To hold each other some more, maybe.

#geraskier #jaskier #hurt jaskier #hurt Geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier x geralt #the witcher

[lesdemonium]

romtober day 19: yelling first kiss

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 1977 Summary: Jaskier gets very jealous when Geralt shows interest in someone else.

read on ao3

Jaskier played on, fingering the strings of his lute like he was born to do. The crowd was eating it up--Jaskier had been impeccable at winning their favor. A well-timed wink, a smirk in the right direction, blowing a kiss or two. They were eating right out of his hand, and nearly everyone was dancing, singing, or at the very least stomping their feet. To his crowd, Jaskier was irresistible.

His witcher, however, was another story entirely.

Geralt was not paying attention. This wasn’t entirely surprising--when Jaskier performed, Geralt really only seemed to have a perfunctory interest in what Jaskier was presenting. Though Jaskier ate up any attention he could get, he couldn’t fault Geralt for this. After all, Geralt was his first critic every time, of every song. By the time Jaskier’s songs made it to the public, Geralt had heard every iteration of the lines possible. Even a robust love would temper and fizzle under circumstances such as these, and Geralt had professed no great love for Jaskier’s “pretty lies,” as he often called them.

However, it was not simply that Geralt was not paying attention that was eating at Jaskier--it was that he was paying attention to someone else . Jaskier prided himself on his ability to read a room while also performing, and he had tracked the changes as they were happening.

There, Geralt’s eye was caught by something-- someone --just to the left of Jaskier. At first, Jaskier had giddily mistaken it for a glance in his direction, only to quickly grow hot with shame as he realized that the look was not meant for him at all. As Jaskier turned about the room, he saw the object of Geralt’s interest, and the young man was just as interested back, if his furtive glances were to be believed. Jaskier thought, with no small amount of hope, that this was where things would end. Geralt didn’t often express interest in men, and he even more rarely did anything about his interest.

This time, however, boldness came down to the newcomer. Jaskier missed the moment he stood up--Jaskier had been far too distracted by flirting with a young woman who, in return, gave him a very generous tip. When Jaskier had his wits about him enough to check, the man was gone entirely, only for Jaskier to find him at Geralt’s table.

The worst part, the part that made Jaskier’s heart sink into his chest, was that Geralt was smirking at the man. How many times had Jaskier gone to Geralt with that very same stance, to get nothing but icy stoicism in return? Now this man walked up with half the swagger Jaskier had, like a dimmer, duller version of the bard himself, and he would have the honor of Geralt’s bed?

Jaskier had a performance to attend to. Adoring fans. Pretty women with prettier smiles, handsome men with eyes that sparkled in his direction. Jaskier would just have to hone this energy, this itching beneath his skin, this hurt in his chest, and aim it toward a more worthy nighttime companion. But every time he tried, he caught a snippet of the conversation Geralt and this stranger had, or his eye landed on the way the man was now touching Geralt’s arm, and Jaskier’s blood coursed through him, icy hot and devastating.

He couldn’t decide what he wanted to do, how he could process this better. Should he continue playing, to try to distract himself, or should he end his performance now, leave his audience wanting more, and leave to lick his wounds? The decision was made for him, however, when Geralt and the man left the tavern. There was no continuing after that, after the silent, delicate rush of pain as his heart chipped off just a bit more. Jaskier finished his set, thanked his audience, then retired to their room.

When Geralt found him, Jaskier was nothing more than a lump on the bed, curled up inside himself and pretending to the world he did not exist. Dramatic, certainly. But to fight against one's own heart was futile at best.

Geralt snorted. “Don’t tell me. You drank too much too early, and now you’re already hungover?”

Jaskier didn’t answer. No barb, no sarcastic retort, nothing. He realized, in an absent sort of way, that he probably should have, as that reaction was far more likely to convince Geralt to leave him alone. Still, he said nothing.

“Some lady broke your heart, then?” Geralt teased further. When Jaskier only huffed, Geralt shoved at his shoulder. Jaskier waved him off. “You’re melancholy tonight. Come on. Up.”

His order was paired with a, quite frankly, rude display of strength by pulling Jaskier up and off the bed. Jaskier stumbled as he was forced to his feet, and fell face-first into his witcher, much to his own personal embarrassment. Jaskier shoved Geralt off with a scowl.

“Leave me alone, you great brute!” Jaskier snapped, his hands landing on his hips. “I don’t appreciate you man-handling me in whatever direction you prefer!”

Geralt’s smile was small, but still managed to be shit-eating all the same. “You were on my side.” He shrugged, then pushed past Jaskier and onto the bed.

“Oh, no, definitely not,” Jaskier said, stepping in front of Geralt again. “I am not sharing a bed with you. You are--are sweaty and--and.” He paused, and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Geralt. Geralt hardly looked as if he had just had a romp in the hay, as it were. He looked entirely too put together, his hair barely even mussed. Not even the slightly swollen lips that would evidence a particularly heated makeout session. “Why do you look so…. Sheveled?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow and looked down at himself. “Sheveled?” he repeated.

“You--I saw you! I saw you leave with that man. Why do you look so damn put together?” Jaskier’s hands went back to his hips. Geralt was trying to make Jaskier look like a fool, Jaskier knew it. He would not stand for it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Now, though, he grunted, and avoided Jaskier’s gaze. Instead, he turned his back on Jaskier.

“The hell you don’t! Gods, you must think me the stupidest man alive. I pay attention, Geralt. You can’t just act like I have no clue what I’m talking about whenever I hit on a subject you don’t care for.” Jaskier didn’t want to know, not truly. He couldn’t imagine a subject he wanted less details about than whatever Geralt and this man got up to. But now that he had started in on it, he couldn't stop. He was powerless against himself.

“Jaskier, drop it.”

“No, Geralt, I don’t think I will! You’re the one that condescended to talk to me when I so clearly wanted you to leave me alone , I think it’s only fair that you now have to deal with the consequences of that decision! I saw you . I saw that you were interested in him. So why are you here ? Why are you decidedly unfucked ?”

“Why do you care? What do you need to know of what we did or did not get up to?” Geralt crossed his arms and turned to give Jaskier a hard look, but Jaskier could not stop this forward momentum. Apparently, his mood had turned him self-destructive.

“You go in for that now? You’re so rare about showing affection for men, I had convinced myself you weren’t interested at all! So, what was it about him? Was it his look? I suppose he was handsome, in a common sort of way.” That was a lie. Geralt’s taste truly was beyond reproach, but Jaskier had to dig anyway. “No surprise you like them bold. After all, your last fixation was Yennefer. So, tell me, Geralt. What exactly is your type?”

“What are you--” Geralt started, but Jaskier interrupted him. Jaskier could see the confused look on Geralt’s face, he didn’t want Geralt to voice his questions. Jaskier was half afraid he’d answer them in his tirade.

“And then you don’t even fuck him! Even he wasn’t good enough for the great Geralt of Rivia? Is anyone? No, you just need to exert your own might over everyone. Get their hopes up and then leave and go back to your own room as if nothing happened!”

“You’re mad that I didn’t have sex with him?” Geralt sounded amused. Jaskier did not find the humor in this.

“‘I’m the White Wolf, I’m ridiculously handsome with a body sculpted right from the Gods themselves, I like to force bards out of beds when it suits my needs and force them to talk and when I leave with someone I don’t fuck them because all I really want to do is make people fall in love with me and remain cooly detached from everyone because I apparently get off on it .’”

He wasn’t aware of when he started yelling, but he was definitely yelling at Geralt now. And all Geralt did in return was smile at Jaskier. It infuriated him further. Jaskier would have much preferred if Geralt took the bait and yelled back, turned this into a ridiculous fight. Instead, he smiled. He looked as if he was trying not to laugh. And, oh, if that didn’t make Jaskier feel as if he was on fire.

“Jaskier, are you jealous?” Geralt asked, and his smile turned crooked.

“Of course I’m not jealous!” Jaskier retorted. His face felt hot as the embarrassed flush spread over his whole body. “You are a brute! You just--just do whatever you want with no regard for how those around you might feel. It’s-It’s selfish, it is! And I will not put up with it, and-and--” He stopped, abruptly, and suddenly he felt short on air. Jaskier was so worked up, he could hardly focus on anything beyond the way Geralt was stepping closer to him.

“Why do you care what I did or didn’t do with him?” Geralt asked, and his voice was soft. So soft, so gentle, something in Jaskier’s brain broke.

“Because it wasn’t me !” he exploded back, and closed his eyes in his shame. There would be no coming back from this. Not from the yelling, from the odd ranting, nor from the confession. Jaskier wished more than he had ever wished for anything to just be burned on the spot.

Instead, though, he heard Geralt come closer. He felt the warmth of Geralt’s hand just before it delicately cupped Jaskier’s jaw, turning his head just the slightest bit up. Jaskier melted into the kiss, his bones turning loose, liquid, as he stumbled forward into Geralt’s chest again and grabbed at something, anything, to hold onto. Jaskier’s fingers twisted into the soft, worn fabric of Geralt’s shirt, and Geralt caught him with a hand around his waist.

If they had stayed there even a moment longer, Jaskier would have forgotten his own name. He didn’t think he needed it anymore.

“It wasn’t you,” Geralt agreed. They pulled away, only to breathe, which hardly seemed worth it to Jaskier now. Geralt’s words were hot on Jaskier’s lips and it took a moment before Jaskier’s brain caught up.

“Of all the times to kiss me, you choose when I’m hysterical and yelling at you?” Jaskier groused, but his words held no bite. Especially not when paired with the desperate way he was pecking at Geralt’s lips.

“I wasn’t sure. You’ve never been so jealous before.”

“He… reminded me. Of me. But you liked him , I didn’t think you liked me .”

Geralt hummed, and captured Jaskier in another long, thorough kiss. “I do,” Geralt said, after, and Jaskier almost forgot what they were talking about. That was okay, too. Jaskier had done quite enough talking tonight.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fic #geraskier fanfic #the witcher #my writing #romtober

[king-finnigan]

5 times Geralt tried to propose to Jaskier and 1 time he didn’t

The last part of my 500 followers celebration! Once again, thank you guys so much! Masterlist!

I don’t know if modern AU deserves a content warning. But consider this a CW: Modern AU, I guess.

***

I.

He’s nervous. Really nervous. Wiping-sweaty-palms-on-your-shirt-nervous. Cannot-eat-anything-nervous. About-to-propose-to-your-boyfriend-of-four-years-nervous.

He bought the ring about a month ago, and spent the weeks after that planning this entire thing meticulously. They would go to the park where they had their first date, he would buy Jaskier ice cream, just like he did the first time, and he would propose at the bench next to the lake, where they had their first kiss. It would be perfect.

Of course, Geralt isn’t really one for big proposals and romantic gestures, but he knows Jaskier likes it, so he guesses he can bear doing it this once. And maybe every day after that, as long as it makes his love happy. But of course, first things first – the proposal.

The day goes swimmingly, and he can tell Jaskier’s having a good time. Of course, his love doesn’t really hide his emotions – not in the way Geralt tended to do, before he met Jaskier – so it’s not that hard to tell how happy Jaskier is.

And, when they finally reach the lake, he reaches into his pocket, ready to get down on one knee while Jaskier stares out over the water. This is it, this is the moment he’s been waiting for, the moment he’s been preparing for weeks, the moment he’ll show the entire world how much he loves Jaskier and that he’ll always love him.

His fingers dig into his pocket. And find empty air.

He frowns, trying again, digging deeper. Huh. He tries his other pocket, which is also empty, save for his phone. Shit. His back pockets are empty, too, and he tries them all again, just to be sure. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit.

Jaskier looks at him weirdly. “You alright, love? Looking for something?”

He digs into his empty pockets one last time, before limply letting his hands fall by his side. “No, it’s alright. Just thought I’d lost my phone.”

Jaskier smiles, takes his hand softly, and starts pulling Geralt away from the lake. “Come on, let’s go home, it’s getting late.”

And suddenly this perfect day isn’t so perfect anymore.

He finds the ring in the pocket of his leather jacket, at home.

 II.

So the first time he tried to propose didn’t end well. That’s alright. It happens. Jaskier is still very unaware of Geralt’s plans, so he still has time to fix his mistake. So, he decides to take Jaskier on a shopping trip – because Jaskier loves shopping – and bring him to the Starbucks Jaskier used to work at as a barista, where they first met. Sure, it’s not exactly the most romantic spot, but he figures that maybe he can get their drinks for them, and slip the ring over the straw or something like that.

And the day goes well. Jaskier has a good time buying some knickknacks for their home and some decorative pillows because all respectable adults have decorative pillows, Geralt, and they’ll make a great Instagram post. When he insists on buying Geralt a forest-green sweater, Geralt rolls his eyes but lets Jaskier, anyways.

He’s nervous again, when they walk to the Starbucks, even though it’s the second time he’s trying to propose, and he’s sure Jaskier will say yes. Of course, his love notices his fidgeting, and asks him what’s wrong. Geralt just shakes his head, the knot in his throat preventing him from speaking.

And then they find out the Starbucks has been replaced with a McDonald’s. Fucking brilliant.

He’s not going to propose in a fastfood restaurant, thank you very much. The idea of it happening in a Starbucks was already pushing it, but no way is he gonna do it in a McDonald’s of all places.

So, they walk back to the car, Jaskier telling him it’s alright, and there’s no need to be disappointed, there are plenty of other Starbucks’ elsewhere, as the ring burns a hole in Geralt’s pocket.

 III.

He gives up on romantic gestures. Instead, he buys a bouquet of blue roses on his way home from work – Jaskier loves blue roses, he knows.

But when he opens the door to their apartment, he finds their home empty and dark. He frowns, turning on the light as he walks into the kitchen, seeing a sticky note on the fridge door.

Girls night with Yen. Be back before sunrise, it says, and Geralt lets out a sigh. He had forgotten about the fact that Jaskier and Yen would be going to a party today. And when those two go out together, bad things happen. Not bad bad things, of course, but he’s sure that Jaskier won’t be home before 7, will either still be drunk or already hungover, and will also probably bring back another traffic sign that Geralt will have to dispose of someway, somehow. Probably by taking it straight to the dump, like he did last time Jaskier came home with a stop sign. And the time before that. And the time before that.

Let’s hope he doesn’t come home with another stray cat, though, like he did two years ago. And a year ago. And about six months ago. And last week. Geralt’s tired of bringing animals to the shelter and having to leave them behind. Of course, it doesn’t help that he kept the first cat Jaskier brought home and named it Roach – now his love feels encouraged to take animals with him when he’s drunk.

He sighs, scratching the brown cat between her ears, before he lays the bouquet on the living room table and heads to bed.

Jaskier, in a bizarre move, brings home a goat the next morning, and – still very drunk – refuses to tell Geralt where the fuck he got it from.

 IV.

Alright, fine, so there’s no way he can plan it beforehand. So, he decides on a whim, to take the ring out of his pocket when they’re doing the dishes one day, after he’s pulled the plug out of the drain. Except his hands are soapy, and the ring slips out of his fingers, carried into the drain by the last bit of dish water.

He can’t help the loud ‘fuck!’ that falls from his mouth. Jaskier looks at him weirdly. “Everything alright, love? You look a bit pale.”

Geralt blinks, then nods, hurrying to get the tools from the storage closet in the hall. “Yeah, but I think the drain is clogged. Gonna have to open it up.”

Jaskier shrugs, walking into the living room, turning on the tv. “You need any help with that?” he asks, despite already scrolling through Netflix, as Roach settles into his lap.

Geralt shakes his head as he hurries back to the kitchen. “Nope, I can handle this!” he calls out, before slamming the door behind him.

He manages to get the ring from the pipes under the sink, luckily, but gets drenched in dirty water in the process.

 V.

Today is the day, he decides, as he makes his way up the stairs to their apartment. Today is the day he proposes. He’s gonna go inside, get down on one knee immediately, and ask Jaskier to marry him. There is no way it can go wrong this time. Today. Is. The. Day.

In his absentmindedness, he doesn’t notice the small puddle of rain water on one of the steps, and slips, hitting his head on the concrete. He curses, manoeuvring himself so he’s sitting down on the steps, clutching his painful forehead.

When he pulls his hand away, there’s blood sticking to his fingers. Well, fuck. He gets up again, making his way up to their apartment, letting himself in. As soon as he steps into the living room, Jaskier is pressing against him, looking at his forehead. “What the hell happened?”

“I slipped on the stairs.”

Jaskier tuts, shirt sleeve wiping away some of the blood that’s dripping down the side of Geralt’s face. “That’s gonna need stitches, love.”

Bloody brilliant.

They spent the rest of their evening in the ER, Jaskier grasping Geralt’s hand in both of his, Geralt pressing an old rag against the cut on his forehead.

 + I

A week later, he can’t say no when Jaskier begs him to take him to that nice restaurant a few blocks away. He decides not to propose, that evening,  because firstly, proposing in a fancy restaurant is incredibly cliché, and the last thing he wants is for it to be cliché. A weird proposal? Yes. An unromantic proposal? Sure. But a cliché proposal? Absolutely not.

Secondly, he decides not to propose because there are a million and one things that could go wrong. And, with the way his past attempts have been going, the lower the risk, the better. He’s fairly certain that, by now, if he were to try to propose tonight, the restaurant would likely catch on fire or something.

So, he just has a nice, lovely dinner with Jaskier. And it’s great, it’s a great evening, it’s a great restaurant, and he’s having great fun. Until dessert, when things go wrong.

Because of fucking course things go wrong.

Jaskier orders a moelleux for dessert, and Geralt notes in the back of his mind that the lady at the table next to them orders the same thing, but he pays no mind to it. After a while, the desserts arrive, almost simultaneously, and Jaskier crunches his nose in disgust when he sees a few mint leaves on his moelleux – he hates mint. Geralt laughs at his expression, though it falls when Jaskier takes away the mint leaves, revealing a ring underneath.

Firstly, he notices that the ring isn’t the one he bought for Jaskier, now several months ago. His is silver, with a light blue diamond that matches Jaskier’s eyes. The one on the moelleux is… hideous, in his opinion. It’s gold, with a large disc on it, full of little diamonds that sparkle obnoxiously in the low light of the restaurant, so bright it almost hurts his eyes.

Secondly, he notices that Jaskier’s expression turns from confused, to slightly disappointed, to a fake exhilarated. He can tell his love doesn’t like the ring, either. Which, under any other circumstances, would be a good thing – something to make fun of when they get back home. Except Jaskier understandably thinks this is the ring Geralt bought for him. After all, why else would it be on his dessert?

Thirdly, he notices the clatter of a fork falling on the ground at the table next to them. He looks to his side, and sees the guy staring at the moelleux in horror and confusion, while his girlfriend looks at it with jealousy. Ah. He understands the mix-up, now.

He sighs, plucking the ring – which weighs quite a lot, really – from the moelleux, handing it to the guy next to him. “I believe this is yours.”

The man takes it, mouth slightly agape, before shutting it with a snap, nodding frantically, before turning to his girlfriend. He and Jaskier watch as she takes the ring, practically screams her ‘yes, I will marry you’, and the guy slips the ring on her finger.

Jaskier smiles at him. “For a second there, I thought you were going to propose to me with that ring,” he whispers to Geralt.

Geralt scoffs, rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no, I would never. That was definitely not my ring.”

Jaskier cocks his head, frowns. “That was definitely not your ring?”

Well, shit. He fucked up. Again.

He presses his lips together, fishes the ring with the blue diamond from his pocket, and slides it across the table towards Jaskier.

The whole restaurant stares at them when Jaskier starts laughing like a maniac. Geralt waits until his love is done laughing, until Jaskier has his forehead on the table, hiccupping out small giggles. “What’s so funny?”

He pales when Jaskier takes a ring out of his own pocket, handing it to Geralt. It’s silver, with a yellow diamond in the middle that matches his eyes. Almost an exact copy of the ring he got for Jaskier. He barks out a laugh, as well, laying his forehead against his palm. “God, what a mess.”

“So,” Jaskier whispers to him. “Will you marry me?”

Geralt can’t help but smile. “Will you?”

Jaskier snorts, taking the ring from Geralt again, slipping it on his finger. “I assume that’s a yes. And yes, I will marry you too.”

Geralt, in turn, takes the ring he bought for Jaskier, slipping it on his love’s finger. “Good, cause I’m tired of trying to propose to you.”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #drabble #modern au #5 + 1 things #500 followers celebration #yes i know rings usually come in boxes #but #geralt is a himbo #bless him

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 17)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 16.1

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: You couldn't save everyone and it was a decision to sacrifice yourself for the betterment of a family you've began to hold dear. Your existence in the continent continues to confuse everyone, including you and Geralt himself.

Warnings: Blood? Poor Jaskier. Cusses. Implied rape from fuckin' assholes. No more glitters and rainbows. Bloedzuiger from the games? Gifs of Geralt with jet black eyes? I mean..why? shouldn’t it not be a warning? Heh.

Words: 5.9k

A/N: Anybody missed me?! Heehee! Now, I fookin miss Geralt and Midget together. Damn it. *sits in a corner and cries* I can’t believe I’ve surpassed my own curse where I only reach up to 5 chapters then keep a story unfinished due to lack of inspo and will. 😭😂 (Update has been earlier due to my uncle’s birthday tomorrow and I might not be able to use my laptop. Hehehe) We’re in the middle of the whole fic, bb’s. This is where everything’s going to happen now. Probably might earn some temple scratching somehow. Hehehe. 

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB!  

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and this fanfic is definitely from moi. (Credits to bi-jaskier and others who deserves credit for the gifs)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

7 BILLION PEOPLE IN EARTH. YOUR DIMENSION. There was a myth that seven people might look exactly like you out of the billion that were born. Though, being identical was a once in a blue moon circumstance that held no support or proof that it happened.

Twins even had their own genetic differences, their DNA's were not even the same or even mutually identical to one another.

But, you were transported into another dimension that you didn't know about and based on their conversation and how you've perceived from what they were saying is that you have already been in their hands when it never even happened from the start.

They sounded like they've already seen you somewhere when they haven't at all.

Chevaliers circled around you with their swords sheathed from where it rightfully belongs. They've had a malicious glint in their eyes, dangerous and full of spite. Disgust even included in their humanized souls---if they were even still human. They were looking as if you were an oddball. Judgemental to the fullest; vaguely telling that you were considered as a freak for being the witcher's woman.

Forest green eyes scanned yours, listless but an anomalous situation from the group of uncharitable gallants who seemed to have similar odious characteristics. This cavalier stood out rather than the rest because his eyes held sympathy and not hostility. He was gracile, the same body built as Jaskier. But, wearing no armor just like the vampire you loathed the most. Other than a brown doublet which matches his chocolate colored hair.

He crouched before you, thoroughly scrutinizing your face under his gaze; finding something distinctive or common with the lass that they have captured three days ago, "Wasn't she the one we captured, Ty? That thief named Savia?" his tone held curiosity and astonishment when he saw the exact same face of the woman.

There was no differences except from the aura he could feel. You had her face, voice and body structure. Entirely the same for his wits to disfunction from what he has witnessed.

The scrubbing echo of gravel, dirt and leather made you turn your head to where it was. Tybalt. The fucking vampire who stabbed you on the hip and tried to sell those women away. He was there, right in front of you; grinning like a mad man like he has caught a mouse in the cage, entirely anticipating this moment to capture you once again with purposes you didn't know yet.

Kolby was nowhere to be found. After trying to protect you from the hands of Tybalt, your Hirikka was pushed back by the vampire and his strength, making you screech as Kolby loudly whimpered and growled when he'd stumbled; his back flat from the far distance before skedaddling off through the woods. The simple escape back to where he belonged pinched a your heart because he had already been a part of what made you happy with your stay in their dimension.

You didn't expect his leave to be so early; in the midst of being captured by the hands of real life monsters.

If people were scared of monsters in this world you were currently in, then they should think twice because the cruel form of life in every damn world was the humanity it thrives in; continuing to become cruel, vicious, evil and cunning because people lived to strive more with greed surging through their veins as their own demons try to conquer.

Humanity was everyone's main enemy and not their monsters.

Tybalt gave you a subtle tilt of his head, his grin utterly sinister; those teeth of his never showing the fangs that you have seen back at the marketplace when he was trying to provoke Geralt as he was butchering off his knightly minions.

The break of dawn was coming to a start. Peachy orange glow of the sun hiding began to rest beneath the mountains and clouds that looked the same back in earth. Its glow have made everything more frightening while you were surrounded by a bunch of armored men and a vampire who obviously had strength and skills to kill you in a blink of an eye.

Geralt never scared you because his heart was good. No doubt about that because he had offer you his house from the first day you've met, even treating your wounds and saving you from an Alghoul who wanted to eat your insides. But, Tybalt was different. He didn't appear to be like a person to trust even the slightest except if you were a princess in the castle.

He had his hands on his hips, eyes digging to examine your face. The way he stood held power and cruelty as he clicked his tongue, "S'not the feisty one. I know this maiden's scent. She's the real one, aren't ye', you wench?"

Tybalt abruptly crouched down in front of you, his fingers speedily grabbing onto your roots and turning them in an aching posture that had you growling, teeth barred from the feral reaction. The wrinkles of his nose shown when he defiled your space, abrasing the column of your neck that ignited an intense shiver from the disgust as you cowered away and struggled against his hold.

You've heard Jaskier's footing come to a stand, his doublet spilled with his own blood. Hair all wild and facial expression livid for their sudden visit. The golden, sharp dagger tightened around his fist as he marched heavy steps towards the higher vampire.

But, his assault came to a stop when one cavalier shielded him before he could have Tybalt within reach, strongly punching him in the gut that made him stumble to the ground in less than a second. Jaskier sputtered out droplets of blood, a pointed sword punctuating the tip on his jugular.

Jaskier's pained moans made you snarl right back at the queen's right hand man which made him instinctively tut, "But, the fragrance has a distinctive scent to it now---I don't even know what's runnin' inside the mind of this whore anymore," Pause. Tybalt huffed, scoffing with a grin as he interrogated, "---What did the witcher do to ye'?"

You could feel his terrible breath on your face. His hold unwavering from the resolute strength that he had when you lowly grated through clenched teeth, your eyes screaming elfish because of how you were trying to dillydally in hopes of seeing a white haired witcher to come running towards you with his horse. But, considering how he was probably out to hunt a monster, he was probably busy and distracted. So, expecting the worst was better than awaiting for a moment that will never come.

"Me." you fooled around despite being in the vampire's hold, "---He's doing me. I've waited for the time to say that if someone ever asks me what my lover does---so, worth it, Leonidas."

From your foolish response, Tybalt sneered before nodding off towards the paladins who surrounded both you and Jaskier; sharing an understanding to do what is needed and before you could even turn your head back to check on Jaskier, they were already beating him down to pulp. You've heard more grunts from the twink of a toubadour which made your eyesight go foggy from being hopeless and such a waste to live in their world where you had no magic to keep everyone out of danger, "No! Don't hurt him!" you shrieked out loud, the gallants never ceasing despite of your pleads.

More blood dripped out of the side of Jaskier's lip as he took another strong blow on the gut; making his body jerk that laid from the outstretched land of the meadow. You've uttered one loud scream to catch their attention, noticing the other gallant that you noticed to be standing on a corner was just watching everything unfold like he didn't want to be involved with their horseshit.

"I swear to God, he's a weakling! Stop!---please, stop! You'll have your witcher! I'll give you your witcher just stop!"

With one signal of his head, the cavaliers stopped their battering. Jaskier feebly straightened his limbs over the short grass, coughing out more blood from their corporal punishments, grumbling out a grouse from your choice of words in which you described him with, "Shit. Rat. I've stabbed three knights in the neck for you."

If Jaskier didn't acknowledge that fact and the risk which he has given to keep you alive, you wouldn't have noticed three dead bodies laying on the farthest end of the meadow where the forest began to meet its field.

You've harshly turned your head back to Tybalt, wanting to spit on his face for being one of the best imbecile in their world but decided against it to not irritate him further until Geralt was around. His eyes were livid, staring back at you and in your peripheral vision, you've seen the back door of your house slightly ajar, a slip of a pair of the prettiest blue eyes hidden behind the hatch that made you swallow from the consternation of Cirilla being found and taken with you.

If one person was needed for capture, it should be you; not the princess. If one was to leave their world, it must be you because you didn't belong to their dimension from the start.

One cavalier took his mask off, shaking his head for his black, medium length hair to fall down his neck as he curiously crouched beside you and Tybalt. Features telling you that he was stupefied from what he was seeing with his fixated gaze on your face, "There's a whole lotta' crazy we got here in the continent! The Butcher of Blaviken created bloodbath for this maiden?"

Though, astonishment isn't the only sensation he was feeling when you've felt his fingers graze upon the lines of your ear; seeming to be bawdy and suggestive from the sudden touch and you couldn't help but wrest away from his reach. Howbeit, Tybalt's hand that was yanking on your head made it difficult to.

"Though, this harlot is less feisty than the other! I would rather much have her for tonight,"

The knight's sentence was sheared off when he was strongly pushed by the shoulder from the vampire; his fingers pulling away from outlining your lips with his fingers as he fell on his ass flat on the ground. You've been pulled by the hair to stand, making you pant harsh breaths from how painful it was feeling. Hands were trying to wrench his fingers from your head but his hold was too tight for you to tweak away.

"Ingrith wants her untouched just like the other," Tybalt droned as he pulled you close to him, seeming to be tall as Geralt. His height being an advantage over your small form as he dragged you anywhere he wanted. The knight who was pushed to the ground grunted from how he was assaulted, scowling from Tybalt's shoving as he cackled in a shady manner when he heard the latter set boundaries from their current captive.

"Ye' know ye' shouldn't fuck with a witcher's tart, Allard."

"I would! The weccan' wouldn't mind, does he?" the disgusting cavalier brought his feet to a stand, dusting the grass from his flat derriere as he looked back at Tybalt with a slight tilt of his head; the longer his gaze holds, it turns even more disgusting as he looked like he was undressing you with those dark hues of his, they were the type of stomach-churning that can make you sick in no time, "Oh, she's probably a fuckin' freak like him, lad." the latter stated as a matter of fact, smirking in between his words as he nonchalantly continued.

"---Where's the freak?"

They were making your blood boil by how you could hear they were treating him. Has it been always like this in his world? ergo, he was living a life where people see him ghostly rather than a gifted human as he was seen in your eyes. You couldn't help but sarcastically giggle from their rude speech, "He has a name and it's Geralt. Don't disrespect him like that when you're actually the real freak, Edward." pause. "---You fuckers are worse than any other human." before you can even think twice, spit drizzled on Tybalt's face when you've fumed and barked back, "---More evil than the devil himself and I pray for each and one of you to go to fucking hell,"

"The devil don't exist here, ye' foolish cunt!"

Without any delay or second thoughts, a deafening sound of a slap has rumbled; it was a saddle-sore, the strong smack lingering longer on your cheek as excruciating as it can get. He probably used a little bit of his inhumane strength because of how you've descended down the ground; the side of your head hitting as your whole body fell. Your palms flat on the terra firma, receiving bruises on the edge of your lips because of how you've nosedived in it.

"Rat---!" Jaskier shouted from the background before you've heard the gallants haul him down to kick his face hard.

The asshole squat down to where you were stumbled down, his face showing no pity from what he'd done; slapping you on the face like you deserve it from being all talk and no help, "I suppose ye' don't know where he is. Fair enough then! Let's give er' a lil' bit of a chase---" pause. "---He must try and serve his purpose to the land of Kaedwen other than being a freak of a mutant and slaughtering monsters for coins,”

You spat out the metallic taste of your blood that went inside your mouth, shifting your eyes to where he was bent. You've placed your fingers on your side, gesturing towards the princess who seemed to be shaking and panicking from inside the house, seeing silver clasped around her hands as she was contemplating how to defend you both from the gallants. She had the sword that her and Geralt uses whenever they were trying to train; the weapon which has been in your hands as well.

But, you subtly gestured for her to stand down and hide. It won't be such a nice sight if she did want to help.

"You sound like the castle's loyal pet. Hilarious."

The whole scenario was a fight or flight, and the logical part of your brain screams to cooperate with what they wanted before anything ends up more badly than it can ever get. You lifted yourself off the ground, sitting on the floor while you give Tybalt the death glare as he grinned because he knew the action he did was a trigger for you to comply.

"Where's the other girl?" he chuckled, watching your fists tightened to your sides when you were on your feet. A bloody, deep gash on your cheek when some stone has scratched it and also from Tybalt's whack.

"Don't even think about it, you asshole." you immediately hissed when you knew he was talking about Cirilla. The latter also stood on his feet, tall and confident that his plans were going on the right path today.

"What? She yer' daughter? aren't ye' a child?"

"I'm no child, you fucker! Stop dissing my height like this!---and yes. My daughter. She's my daughter, so don't even think about it!"

Surprisingly, there was no tears seen in your face. They didn't deserve your tears. These people needed to rot in hell, you mindlessly thought to yourself and irritatingly bit on the insides of your cheeks which slightly drew blood from how angered you were. Peering up at the man who was giving you an obvious snicker because he could read that you were succumbing from how they've caught you in hindsight and in a weak position.

The lion cub of Cintra stood behind the doorway, crying her eyes out from how impotent she was because of how everyone wanted her to stay back. Cirilla knows she could help but people who surrounded her wanted not to use her powers as she has yet to learn and control. Hence, she couldn't do anything but watch another person in her life be in a snare or better yet, drown to die in this person's own blood.

So far, hearing those words hurt her heart because she couldn't do anything when you were unconditionally risking your life for her not to be involved because that's what it's supposed to be.

To you, she was being treated more than she can ever expect; the title of a daughter that she didn't knew she missed to need, a mother despite of being not connected through bloodline. But, a woman who would care for her well-being just like how her grandparents did loved her.

Consider herself lucky even though how unfortunate her life began. She received a father and a mother that will risk everything just for her to be safe and she knew she was crying right now because she cared for you; she was concerned like how a daughter would.

Your jaw tightened because you wanted to bash their skulls over and over again until they were dead. They probably was from how you've intellectually murdered them inside your mind since the moment they arrived. You irately peered up at Tybalt, your forehead tightly creased, mouth in a tight frown as you gave him a death stare.

"You want Geralt of Rivia right? then, take me. He'll come after if you take me, just don't kill Jaskier and my daughter."

Jaskier hurriedly shook his head and audibly muttered out his negations to himself from what you had in mind. You were surrendering yourself to them. The bard promised to the witcher not leave your side as much as he would do, but his family was prevailed over the count of cavaliers who came; thinking Geralt was probably there to fight with. But, no. The opposed held a number and Jaskier wasn't mutated nor skilled to know any form of magic for defense.

He knew today will be a loss and after hearing your next words, the humble toubadour knew that you've risked your life again for the betterment of their kingdom and theirs.

"Tell Geralt I seriously need some saving---and I promise this will be the last time I'm needing him again," you forced a smile, looking at the bard with your vermillion all drenched in claret red liquid while trying to send off the meaning that you would be okay while you were away with them.

Nevertheless, he never heard the fast, anxious beating of your heart for what will welcome you to wherever they decide to put you in.

Rough hands shoved you forward, making you look away from Jaskier as you began to take grudging steps to where Tybalt's horse awaits, the image of your smile falling was the last that Jaskier can remember before you left, "---Also, tell him I have a very important secret to say so he better hurry up!"

Scattered skeletons were buried beneath the dank ground of the gloomy swamps. Nightfall has taken its course when Geralt arrived; surprising to say that he arrived earlier than he expected to. Some trees were dead while the others have been cut-off by their limbs from inexplainable reasons. From monsters who probably lived in the area and based on how the moon aligned, it was already midnight; close to morning.

The witcher was wounded. Abnormally drained and in fatigue from using his little spells to slaughter the Bloedzuiger; his arm, back and torso currently in pain due to its acidic blood that splattered him, slightly ruining the body of his armor and the under shirt he wore.

Geralt has used Aard and Igni to fight off the beast and his energy spiked low to the point that he could sleep standing on the ground. But, the idea of his family alone made him push the plan aside because his family was more important than his life.

The latter even took a faster route to arrive and slaughter the beast earlier than his estimated days.

He was just beyond drained and parched tonight.

Long, begrudging sighs left his lips. His hair was sticking all over, eyes still black from the potion he drank, clothes all wet from being shoved under the water and a face too grubby that also held burnt patches that will surely heal in no time. Though, some will probably earn him a scar or two. He was stalking towards his horse, his silver sword that was used for monsters on one hand when the witcher has heard a tiny step of footing that broke a twig, making him slightly turn his head to the quiet noise he heard.

This intruder took more cautious steps closer and he wanted to curse out loud for all the interruptions that made his life more complicated than it already is.

Human. Geralt knew it was human. This person even had a scent to it. She was a woman who had a strong floral fragrance; rose and earthy.

"You shouldn't be here," he lackadaisically declared to no one in particular as he sighed for the hundredth time this day. Heedful of the woman hiding behind a dead tree as he strolled to where Roach waited, ignoring her as he strolled.

Thus, the woman was strong enough to acknowledge a witcher in his full form as she decided to walk towards him, talking in pure fascination to have seen one in the flesh.

"A Witcher. I've heard tales of your kind. Though, I’ve heard new wicked bavardage from town that this particular beast has slayed my own kind for the sake of saving one. Wouldn’t it be wiser to choose the lesser evil or the greater good?" she scoffed before continuing, “---aren’t you quite miserly to have done such thing by killing less or maybe more than a dozen and salvaging yours?”

Geralt dropped the loot that he has ransacked from the monster, dropping them inside his leather bag with a scowl. This woman's tone of voice perking his ears that made him cease his packing.

"You were never just a mere epic," she sarcastically laughed in spite. The timbre of her voice thoroughly distinctive and familiar for Geralt to be incorrect. He gave her a sharp side-eye, his eyes jet black when his mind went in befuddlement after recognizing a face that he managed to memorize since the moment that this certain woman came in his life.

"You're the witcher they're finding. The butcher! You were the reason I was taken! Feckin' Geralt of Rivia, aye!"

She was you.

A face that always keeps his mind going in haywires. Features that can be considered as a strong weakness for the witcher because of how he'd easily let his guard down with just a glimpse of a face that could ruin his resistance over having another woman be prone of peril in his dangerous, hindering life.

Even only hours of being away from you; half a day to be precised. With just by seeing her face tempted him to reach out for what he longed for; to touch the face of the woman who'd felt deep sensations for him---accepting of what he actually was with no judgement in her mind. The ache and worry in his chest was not helping how he yearned to never leave you alone in the first place.

He couldn't help but take a step close to the woman who also had the same height as you. His obsidian eyes staring straight into her soul like he'd seen the devil and he was happy to worship; jaw tight as his lips came with a lour.

Geralt looked utterly monstrous for a person who wasn't used to seeing his kind.

"Midget?"

The woman instinctively took a step back despite of how she was running her mouth a while ago; fear shutting her confidence that she could confront him for bothering a life she also dreaded to live in. Her eyes filled with horror and disgust in which Geralt clearly has seen without the use of his doubled up heightened senses.

She was not his tiny mortal. This woman in front of him was beyond different. The real you wouldn't look at him in sheer revulsion; no profound emotion in those eyes that he was used to seeing.

She had her brows in a tight twist, sending him a nasty glare that got him humming out in distaste from an attitude he wasn't use to seeing with a face like yours, "I'm not a fucking midget! What a shitty name you've got me! Doesn't sound too nice to hear too! Ya' fuckin' brought me ill-fate!"

Geralt was quick to turn around his heel. Brooding once again from the bafflement that got him thinking again. Why did you have a person who looked exactly like you in their world?

"You're not her." he stated as a matter of fact, sounding confident with his assumptions because the witcher knows he is right. Geralt walked over to his horse, huffing out a breath off his nose from sheer displeasure as he heard the woman jogging to where he wanted to go.

"Apparently not. You're mistaking me with another unfortunate little lady then!"

"Who are you?" Geralt didn't bother to give her a glance no matter how he wanted to relieve the longingness to see your face; to know that you were safe in their home with Jaskier and Cirilla, hoping that everybody was protected and safe from anyone.

But, this woman with him was not you. He needed to remember that.

She tightly crossed her arms on her chest, eyeing the brooding man as sharply as the woman could with her maroon colored cloak strapped around her shoulders, the hood off when she'd arrived to have seen him, "The name's Savia, witcher."

"Why are you here?" he timidly grumbled, his silver sword in a scabbard after the fight. Roach neighed aloud, huffing out a breath when Savia was an arm close to her, acting like she didn't like her.

Geralt couldn't help but raise a brow from his horse's sudden actions, bringing up a hand to shush her with his fingers brushing along her mane.

Savia can't help but take a cautious step back at that; his horse's reaction making her feel unwelcome and unwanted by the pair. Though, her blabber mouth couldn't help but run on and on, being all chatty when she was in the verge of being chased down by gallants. Savia knew she could outrun them like she wasn't even being pursued from the start because she has been doing this for years; stealing lots of valuable things then never being found after as she can always escape from the brutal hands of lords, inn keepers, and a whole lotta' more.

"I've escaped! Stolen goods from the castle? Their riches? Serves them right for keeping me in prison! Oh! I could steal yer' coins too, if you want. But, now I shan't retrieve them after telling all my plans! I'm no fool! I'm a skilled thief. Sounds professional, isn't it?"

She couldn't help but giggle, utterly blowing with the wind from the occupation she had; confident regardless of how unseemly her job was to live. Though, Geralt didn't give any negative reactions because he was the last person to judge someone who had an indecent job just to live in their world.

He kills and hunts monsters for a living. It doesn't sound too appealing for a normal human, correct? Hence, he wasn't in the position to criticize a thief especially when this poacher looks entirely like you.

"---I've killed some knights out there just to escape, ye' know? Maybe a bunch! Ye’ can still count em with your fingers!" the witcher ceased ferreting around in his bag when he'd finally given her his attention. The color of his eyes subsiding and turning back to its normal hue. Gold in the middle of the night like star light illuminating her gloom and it made Savia stare at him in awe because of how he typically looked like without the potion and all.

Well, hearing the gossips about him from the women in the brothels and men who shared their wicked tales were really true because the witcher who stood before her right now was a complete knockout who had a terrifying shadow he left behind.

Savia couldn't help but pout her lips inquisitively, catching sight of his amber heavily examining her face with a gist of feeling that she couldn't recognize because of how she has never receive nor experienced the look of love. But, the woman was sure he was only blinded by the fact that the face she had held whatever he holds dear; a person he had in mind that he swore to protect, desire and care for.

Savia has never seen a witcher look considerate and warmhearted. The opposite of what people claimed his kind to be. He was the butcher of Blaviken. Perhaps, she have been a witness of his character changing with one simple cast of a face he claimed to be important.

She knew that midget was too significant to him when his face turned back to normal, stretched in a way that has him looking anxious, bothered and utterly worried from the words he heard.

"I'm wondering how I've been involved by a witcher I never seen or met. They were weird! Got me bruises because I never knew where you were and I couldn't tell where ye' live!" pause. Savia's lips emitted an awkward scoff, "---Those fucking gallants did a number on me for days that I have been imprisoned. They were thinking you would go and save me---oh, shiver me timbers! No obsidian--golden eyed witcher would save me from my demise!"

Geralt torpidly blinked back at her, his forehead tightly creasing; trying to deliberate what was happening. His thoughts immediately skipping to bad ideas and outcomes because of the fact that you had someone looking like yourself.

"They were shitty and off one's rocker! Especially that sorceress because she wanted to cast me under her spell, trying to get me examined because I didn't belong to their world---wondering if I had some sort of magic in me for her to possess. She was batshite crazy!"

He couldn't help but irritatingly shut his eyes, mutely giving himself a talk while he kept his mouth shut; not risking to be heard nor is this woman close enough for her to know what's inside his thoughts. Geralt chose to stay silent, breathing down long heavy inhales and exhales from the drawbacks that suddenly occurred.

Here was destiny starting again.

Savia loudly huffed before him, raising a cocky brow when she hadn't heard that deep, gravelly voice that sounded unfamiliar from the ones she has always been hearing, "Are witcha's always this silent? I've been doing all the talking! It's like you're a mute!"

The Witcher heard footfalls coming from a distance. Two gallants. It was only a pair for now and if the woman didn't took her flight before the entire horsemen arrives, she would be taken again and be behind bars in the fortress of Kaedwen.

Would he save the thief who made everything more complicated by looking exactly like you? Creating a mishap by stealing jewelry from the queen?

Everything he thought about would result in an intense migraine because Geralt know you'll be accused of a crime that was never done by his midget. Therefore, taking you in for captive would end up being like hitting two birds in one stone; they get to have him running off to where the castle is and also have the accused thief who didn't need no convincing because of how Savia showed up in their lives; ruining yours.

"Fuck. Why did you need to show up now and complicate things---even had to fucking steal ornaments from the queen with a face who is utmost valuable to me."

The frustrated question was sent to Savia who stepped back from the latter; his teeth suddenly barred and feral, sharply staring down at her. Totally irritated by what she'd done. Geralt heard metal being dragged out of its scabbard and it took him one turn of his head to be welcomed by two knights who was ready to pounce on him by seeing what he was.

One of his monikers slipped out of their tongues with such disgust and a hitch of their breath. There was no use for killing cavaliers tonight because this woman hardly have been involved in his life, yet he would still save because of having a weakness that seemed unfair for her to have.

Geralt raised his hand towards the taller knight who opened its mouth to shout at his fellow horsemen who held their torches from a far distance when suddenly a string of glowing, white line shot through his head; casting Axii for the men to take despite of how the witcher was feeling low with his energy that has been used prior to hours before they arrived.

It was a simple magical sign where it compromises hypnotic effect; it can be used to calm down people or animals, manipulate their minds or be used to hex enemies. A triangular white symbol surrounded the string of line which paved its way towards their heads; passing through both as they were momentarily stunned, acting as if they were puppets and Geralt had the strings.

Thus, after a while; Savia was astonished to see both armored men attacking each other like they were in a battleground and they were both forgotten.

Yet, it wouldn't last long.

"Witcher! What did you feckin’ do?!" she squeaked, heart beat racing from the adrenaline rush.

Geralt had not taken a second before jumping on his horse, gripping onto her reigns and pulling to turn her around, quickly nudging her to gallop towards the path back to where he could go home.

He needed to come back home. The heavy and worried feeling inside his chest wasn't just the result of overthinking. Geralt knows that there was something happening now and it wasn't good. He needed to know if you were safe, all in complete set of limbs when he sees you, if ever he could even get to again because the dreaded feeling was rising higher in such a toxic amount that would make him blame himself when you're gone.

Geralt couldn't even think straight for even contemplating about the idea that you were gone and out of his reach.

"Leave before they actually kill you. It can only last for seconds due to the energy left in me,"

He'd run off before Savia can even acknowledge his kindness. The Butcher of Blaviken has helped her escape. He wasn't a murderer nor did he hurt her.

"Geralt of Rivia, right?!" she yelled out to no one in particular after watching Geralt leave with his horse. The simple yell has caught the attention of more gallants, seeing the flames of their torches walking their way through the forest and through the swamps that got her zipping her mouth shut. Those two hypnotized gallants falling on the swamps behind her from beating each other to death.

Savia couldn't help but hum in interest, whisper-yelling her next words as if the witcher can hear her amongst his troubled heart.

"---Thank you for letting me escape! you're helpful after all!"

Geralt please axii my puxii LMAO. FEEDBACKS ARE SO MUCH APPRECIATED! (Strikethough over the tags mean I couldn’t find your blog, bb’s.)

Taglist for WOTN: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks, @raynosaurus-rex​, @britty443, 

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza​, @crazybutconfidentaf​

General taglist for Henry Cavill: @agniavateira​, @iloveyouyen​, @rahdaleigh​, @silverkitten547​

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #geralt imagine #geralt of rivia fic #geralt of rivia x female reader #geralt of rivia x reader smut #muse: geralt #jaskier #cirilla of cintra #ciri #dandelion #henry cavill #henry cavill x you #the witcher #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfic #seb-owns-these-tatas #witcher of the night #wotn #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #geralt of rivia x reader insert #geralt of rivia series #geralt of rivia smut #witcher #witcher fanfiction

[mordoriscalling]

Life (of) Surprise (3/5)

Jaskier lies to his family about being engaged to Geralt for the second time… and there are way too many surprises involved.

Part 4 of the Singer and the Sailor AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway (again). Warnings: Jaskier and Geralt have a serious argument in this one.

(Part 1) (Part 2) 

III - A Surprise Realisation 

Geralt never thought he’d get married again, much less to a man. Leave alone a man like Jaskier, who is loud, bright, and charismatic; unlike Geralt in so many aspects that by all means, their relationship shouldn’t work as well as it does.  

He’s a divorcee. His previous relationships didn’t last. Rationally, he knows he should’ve been more cautious, yet when Jaskier got down on one knee that April morning, Geralt found himself unable to say no. He was so tired that day, but that wasn’t the reason he said yes. He agreed to marry Jaskier because back then – as he looked into Jaskier’s eyes, blue like the cloudless sky above them – he realised that it seemed right.

Jaskier’s always accepted Geralt the way he is, with all his problems and mistakes. Jaskier is both safety and adventure. He’s trustworthy and unpredictable; a fascinating contradiction that Geralt could see himself exploring for the rest of his life.

Or so he thought.

“Eight months,” Geralt grits out, his emotions balancing at the edge of fury.

Jaskier says nothing, his eyes cast downwards, standing in the middle of the room with the air of a puppy about to be kicked.

“We’ve been engaged for eight fucking months,” Geralt growls, “and you’re only telling me this now?”

“I wanted to come clean,” Jaskier answers weakly. His voice doesn’t waver.

The steadiness of his voice shouldn’t be surprising, though. Jaskier’s a singer. A performer. A very good one. Geralt didn’t have an issue with that before. The only problem with Jaskier that Geralt’s ever truly had it that Jaskier can be extremely inconsiderate at times.

Now, the former and the latter seem to have merged into something that Geralt isn’t sure he can forgive.

“You didn’t think about doing that earlier?” he asks.

It’s New Year’s Eve. They’re in Jaskier’s childhood bedroom, where they’re to sleep for the night. Downstairs, a party is about to begin, with both Jaskier’s and Geralt’s family and closest friends in attendance. Jaskier’s parents, Wanda and Alfred. Rozalia and Silvio, Amelia with Nasir and their daughter. Triss, Essi and Eskel. Aiden and Lambert. Vesemir, Yennefer, Ciri, Dara.

Geralt suspects that everyone is waiting in the dining room already. Yet, this is the moment that Jaskier chose to tell him about the circumstances of their engagement.

“I didn’t have the courage,” Jaskier replies, “I was afraid you’d take it the wrong way.”

“Have the fuck am I supposed to take it any other way?!” Geralt barks, making Jaskier flinch. “You told your family that we’d marry before you asked me to marry you.”

It’s dark outside the tall windows. The only source of light in the room is the chandelier above Jaskier’s head, hanging down from the high ceiling. The lamps cast Jaskier in a warm glow, and to Geralt, it seems as if he saw his fiancé for the first time. There’s a stubborn set to Jaskier’s jaw as he still refuses to look at nowhere but the wooden floor.

“You did that for what?” Geralt demands, “So that you look good in front of your family? Is... us some kind of fucking performance for you? Have you been pretending from the –”

“No,” Jaskier cuts in. His gaze is finally on Geralt, and he appears genuinely aghast at the notion. “The only pretending I’ve ever done is lying to myself that our engagement was for real the whole time! I told everyone that we’d marry because I wished it so badly to be true! I wanted it to happen, so I said something that would force me to make it happen.”

The confession would be heart-warming if not for the last sentence, which makes Geralt’s blood run cold. He walks up to Jaskier slowly, staring him down, trying to see through the (distracting, deceptive) blue of his eyes.

“You would’ve made it happen?” he murmurs, his emotions treading the dangerous line again, “If I’d said no, would you have persisted? Manipulated me, as you did with the spring wedding?”

A broken noise escapes Jaskier’s lips. “That wasn’t my intention! I’m so sorry that I made you feel this way. Please forgive me, I never meant it like that–”

“I’m starting to doubt every word you say,” Geralt interrupts, because now their nearly three years together feel fake.

Jaskier takes a step back, hurt written all over his features. Tears well up in his eyes as he exclaims, “I’m not lying! I’m not lying when I say that you’re the only one that I want to marry.”

Geralt doesn’t want to hear it. He moves to walk away but Jaskier grabs him by the arm. “Dammit Jaskier,” he growls, “don’t–”

“Listen to me,” Jaskier says, insistent.

 Geralt tries not to, looks away to distance himself, but Jaskier’s voice is that of a siren – arresting and irresistible, powerful even when hushed.

“I never thought that I’d settle down. I fell in love too easily. One day a woman from the bar would have my heart, and then next it would be a guy at the bus stop. Commitment wasn’t my thing.”

Geralt scowls, about to ask how that information is supposed to help in the current situation, but Jaskier speaks first.

“But then, then I met someone who’s so deeply fascinating that I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s been through so much and yet he’s nothing but kind and considerate. He has so much presence but he rarely uses it to his advantage. He feels so much and yet he shows nothing. He...” Jaskier chuckles, the sound somehow both warm and sad. “He’s honest with me and calls me out on my mistakes, challenging me to be better. Thanks to him, I don’t stop learning. With him, it seems like... like we’re writing a gripping book. A... a story I want to go on and on.”

A story without an ending may not be a happy one, Geralt muses. He says nothing, though, still looking away, and Jaskier speaks up again.

“From the moment I met you, I’ve wanted you to stay, but perhaps–” he cuts himself off, releasing out a shaky sigh. He lets go of Geralt’s arm at least and then utters, “Perhaps I love you too much. Maybe it’s not healthy, after all.”

Pain seeps through every syllable as Jaskier says this. Geralt has to swallow hard because that, that seems so wrong. How can it not be healthy when the only time they truly breathe – truly relax and let go – is as they are around each other?

Geralt stands frozen, listening to Jaskier’s sniffs, and tries to process all that he’s heard. He has to fight his fervent want to believe Jaskier’s loving words. He wishes it to be true, yet the recent revelation’s stained all they’ve been through with the ugly thought that Geralt’s feelings – his love – have just been a fucking box to tick.

The sheer hurt of it settles somewhere deep within him, clawing a hole in his chest, wrenching, pulling all the air out of his lungs. He can’t stand being next to Jaskier anymore and escapes to the bathroom, which is adjacent to the bedroom.

The water is cool as Geralt splashes it all over his face. He tries to take his emotions under control, especially that anger raises within him once more. He’s a moment away from doing some real damage to the furniture.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to calm down. He assumes that enough time passes for Jaskier to decide to go downstairs without him, which is the only wish he has right now. Yet, as he emerges from the bathroom, it (unsurprisingly) turns out that he can't have what he wants – Jaskier sits there, at the edge of the large bed, his face hidden in his hands. As he hears Geralt approach, he raises his head revealing his dishevelled hair and red-rimmed eyes.

He’s a picture of misery and Geralt heart lurches in sympathy, in a ridiculous need to comfort his fiancé, despite his anger.

They stay like that, staring at each other for a few unbearable moments of heavy, choking silence, until Geralt finally breaks it.

“Dinner must’ve started by now,” he says, “We should go.”

 A rasped “okay” is all the answer Jaskier gives.

They don’t pretend that everything is all right. Everybody quickly notices the tension between them and the dinner is a painful affair at the beginning. It’s a miracle that everyone’s managed to gather here today, though. The two families seem determined to make the best of it and the initial awkwardness soon passes. Conversations start flowing and after some time, everyone is getting along well enough for the party not to be torturous.

When dinner is finished, Jaskier’s parents invite them to the living room. There, a piano awaits, and Jaskier launches into a short performance that leaves everyone spell-bound, including Geralt, even though it hurts.

It hurts to watch Jaskier’s fingers dance over the keys, knowing the way in which those beautiful hands touch his body. It hurts to see the tempting curve of Jaskier’s neck, knowing how Jaskier always gasps when he kisses it. It hurts to watch Jaskier shine because he believed that he had a part of Jaskier’s light to himself.

And yet. Now, there’s the ugly thought at the back of his head that it wasn’t true. Jaskier did claim it was.

And yet.

The moment the performance ends, Geralt decides to survive by sticking with Silvio. Rozalia’s husband is talkative but what he loves chattering about the most is the cats and dogs he’s fostering with his wife. He shows Geralt pictures and videos, which improves Geralt’s mood slightly.

After Triss and Nasir steal Silvio away, Geralt is left alone, sitting in the corner of the room with his glass of wine. On instinct, his eyes search for his daughter. He finds her talking to Jaskier’s sister and frowns.

He loves Ciri more than life itself but he’s aware that she’s can be a right brat. He’s also familiar with Amelia and Rozalia enough to know that they’re very likely to be charmed by Cirilla’s vicious streak. Jaskier seems to know it too, and he appears genuinely terrified as he watches his sisters chat with Ciri, the three smiling mysteriously.

Then, Yennefer joins them, and Geralt is... apprehensive.

The party goes on. Some people, like his brothers, leave Geralt in peace. Others, such as Jaskier’s parents, insist on speaking to him. He picks his way through the, admittedly polite and pleasant, conversations, until no one wants to talk to him.

All the while, his gaze strays to Jaskier. Geralt watches him joke with Essi and Vesemir, laugh at something Lambert and Eskel are saying, take his niece into his arms and coo at her with Aiden by his side.

As Geralt observes Jaskier hold little Zofia and smile at her lovingly while Aiden makes funny faces at her, he suddenly comes to understand how tightly Jaskier has managed to weave himself in between all the threads that make Geralt’s life. All his family know Jaskier and accept him. Most of them are fond of him, or downright adore him. Geralt’s thoughts and memories of the sea are mingled with Jaskier’s songs. He doesn’t miss being at sea as much as he feared in large part due to Jaskier engaging him in his own life. Jaskier knows him, like a true friend does.

Removing him from the tapestry would leave a jagged hole, and Geralt realises that it’s not something he’d ever want. After all, he doesn’t have a particular place where he belongs. His home is where his loved ones are.

And he loves Jaskier so.

It’s ten minutes to midnight when Jaskier approaches him for the first time since the argument. Geralt still sits on the couch without any company as Jaskier stands before him, clearly putting up a happy face.

“I love the way you just... sit in the corner and brood,” he remarks, his cheerfulness falling flat,

Geralt rolls his eyes, irritated. “I’m here to drink alone,” he grunts.  

Jaskier, of course, refuses to take the hint and sits down beside him. Before Geralt can protest it, though, loud giggles catch his attention. He looks at the source of the sound and sees Ciri and Dara laughing at something on their phones (a meme, Geralt assumes). Joy at seeing his daughter’s happiness fill him but then Jaskier’s voice snaps him back to reality.

“If you say that you don’t believe me,” he says, “what must Dara think?”

Geralt looks at him sharply and immediately understands the sadness in his eyes. He’s aware of how much Jaskier wants Dara to know that all he’s done to help the boy – putting his career on hold to care for him, providing for him, going to therapy with him – are driven by genuine willingness to help, not pity or charity.

“Maybe I’m not good at...” Jaskier goes on, a wry smile twisting his lips, “Well. This whole... guardian thing.”

“You are,” Geralt replies.

It is true. Dara agreed to say with Jaskier eight months ago. The boy is still grieving and struggling but Jaskier has been supporting him through it with surprisingly few missteps.

“Thank you,” Jaskier answers, uncharismatically timid.“I... Geralt,” he begins, his tone sombre.

Geralt tenses and waits. His free hand, the one not holding the wine glass, clenches into a fist.  

“I’m sorry for withholding the truth from you for so long, I was...” Jaskier swallows. “Stupid. It was wrong of me, and I... I promise it won’t happen again.”

He looks away and considers, even though there isn’t much to wonder about. There’s no coming back from how important Jaskier is to him, for better or for worse. His hurt is far from mended but Geralt nods. Jaskier heaves a sigh and lays his hand atop Geralt clenched fist.

“Will you stay?” Jaskier murmurs.

A memory strikes him – of how Jaskier asked him the same thing almost three years ago as they stood outside this very house.

In the background, the countdown begins. Geralt unclenches his fist and takes Jaskier’s hand in his, giving it a squeeze. Jaskier squeezes back and the New Year starts.

***

A/N: the chapter count went up to 5 because I wanted to split ch3 into two smaller parts. Also, you can also read this fic on AO3. 

#my fic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #the Sailor and the Singer AU

[pressedinthepages]

Ashwagandha

noun. sanskrit. Also known as “Indian gensing,” ashwagandha is popular with herbalists for use as both a sedative, an anti-inflammatory aid, and an aphrodisiac.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier/Reader

Word Count: 2504

Rating: E

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request: [Hello! First of all: I really, really love your writing, it's so good! Could you write a oneshot where the reader helped Jaskier after a bad injury and although they are friends and the reader helped gladly, Jaskier insists to return the favor in a special kind of way, aka fingering/going down on her, while they lay side by side? :3]  oh my dear sweet nonnie, i love how your mind works

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: smut, a bit of whump, hurt, comfort, oral sex

Jaskier finds a way to thank a talented healer after a bout of illness.

The scent of sage, mint, and coriander wafts through your home. Winter approaches, and this blend of herbs tends to be the most successful in staving off sickness that comes with it. You have laid out numerous little bottles, intent on filling your stocks for the coming months. The herbs are fine between your fingers as you sprinkle them into each glass. You top them all off with a high-quality spirit, having recently had a very generous dwarf trade with you for the recipe for your remedy for headaches. 

    Just as you put the stopper in the final bottle your door swings open, revealing a man flushed with sweat and a delirious look in his eyes. Not far behind him is another man, a bit taller and more than a bit broader, clad in armor with two swords strung across his back. The silver of his hair stands out in the earthy tones of your home, and the panic in his golden eyes fades, relief softening his features when you turn to them. 

You recognize Geralt, having traded with him several times in the past whenever he would blow through town. His companion, though, is unfamiliar. You figure that he would be devastatingly handsome under better circumstances, chestnut brown hair sweeping just over eyes the color of a clear sky. Now though, he looks horrible, your chest tightening with worry as it does with every person who stumbles through your door.

    You rush to their side, fitting your shoulder underneath the other man’s arm as you lead him to the cot along the wall of the room. You lay him down before setting to work, quiet as you focus on what you may need. 

    “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, his heart started beating quickly and then he just collapsed. I brought him straight here, I don’t know how else to help him,” Geralt sits in one of the chairs at your table, his figure almost comically large for the furniture. 

    “You’ve done the right thing, I think this is just the seasonal funk that hits this time of year. I was actually just making a little tincture for it.” You hum, grabbing one of the bottles and uncorking it. You sit on the edge of the cot, gently lifting the man’s head and tipping the medicine down his throat. He swallows, followed by a bout of aggressive coughing before falling back onto the pillow. His eyes fall closed as his breathing evens out, slow and steady as you stand.

    “He wasn’t coughing before,” Geralt says, moving to crouch at his side. You smile a bit to yourself, glad that Geralt has found someone that he can trust and care for. 

    “It’s just the potion I gave him, it’s got a pretty strong spirit that tends to hit the back of the throat. He’ll be just fine in a couple of days.”

    Geralt visibly relaxes, his head falling to his chest for a moment. He then rises, pulling a small coin pouch from his waist. He holds it out to you, but you shake your head and push his hand away.

    “No, Geralt, I’ll not take your coin for helping your friend,” he smirks at the word, shaking his head as he moves towards the door. 

    “I saw a few contracts on the board in town, do you mind if he stays here while I work?” Geralt turns back to you, trusting you to take care of his companion. 

    “Of course Geralt, do be careful though,” you smile, straightening up the counter where you had been working earlier. “Actually, would you mind doing a favor for me while you’re out?” 

    He only hums, quirking an eyebrow. 

    “Coriander grows wild in the forests near here, would you mind picking some for me? That’s what really helps the fever.” You take the little bit that you have left and hold it up, showing it to the Witcher. You then tie a little string around the leaves and hang them from the ceiling to dry. 

    “Easy enough, but it’ll probably be a couple of days before I can get back here,” his voice always comforts you, low and gravelly. You think that if he wasn’t so emotionally constipated he would make for a good bed partner. 

    “That’s perfectly fine, Geralt. There’s no real rush, I have enough here for what I may need in the immediate future.”

        He nods before turning to leave, closing the door gently behind him. You look over at the man laying on your cot, watching as his chest rises and falls with each breath. 

    You startle when your door suddenly opens once more, Geralt peeking back in. “Forgot to tell you, his name’s Jaskier. Not that he’d let you have a moment of silence when he wakes up, but he may very well forget to actually tell you.”

    He leaves once more, leaving you shaking your head with a smile. You go to sit at Jaskier’s side, placing the back of your hand against his forehead. His fever has already started to wane, and he’s not quite as clammy as he was when he arrived. 

    “You’ll be just fine, Jaskier,” you whisper, brushing some of the hair out of his eyes as you let the calming scent of the herbs surround you once more.

…

    After several days of healing, Jaskier looks much better. He has been a great help to you as well, seemingly unable to stay still if he’s awake. Within the first moments of him waking on the first night, he had attempted to woo you into the bed with him, called out for Geralt more than a few times, and almost hit his head when he tried to stand, looking for his lute. His knees had wobbled with the sudden change and he just barely caught himself on the edge of the bed.

    Leave it to Geralt to stick you with a chaotic mess of a bard.

    You couldn’t help but find him charming as you got to know him, especially since he seemed so keen to assist you in your daily chores. He turned out to be quite efficient at grinding herbs, which he said that Geralt would occasionally let him do in the evenings by a raging fire. 

    Now, he sits at your table, barefoot and clad in only a light chemise and a pair of navy blue trousers. Jaskier has a large array of bottles spread out in front of him, attempting to find corks that fit in them. It’s a bit shocking how quickly he can find a properly sized cork, it usually takes you hours of trial and error to get them finished and ready to be filled. 

    You slide up beside him, gently tilting his face to you with a careful touch of your fingers at his jaw. He looks up at you with those beautiful blue eyes, darting between your own and sizzling with energy that runs just beneath the surface. You place the back of your hand to his forehead, checking that the fever has finished running its course.

    “How are you feeling? Still a bit tired?”

    “Oh for you, darling? I would never tire, maybe only occasionally request a small water break.” Jaskier smirks up at you, abandoning the small basket that had been sitting in his lap. 

    “Jaskier,” you chide, unable to hide the smile that pulls your lips, “please be reasonable with me.”

    “Hmm, and what do I get in return?” You feel his hand run along the length of your arm and down to your waist, pulling you just a bit closer to him. 

    “Depends on your answer,” you murmur, smoothing away an unruly bit of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

    Jaskier huffs a bit, shaking his head before smiling back up at you. Your heart skips a beat at being on the receiving end of such clear adoration, even from a man you only just met. 

    “Fine, love, I’ll humor you,” the mischievous glint has returned to his eyes, and you’re sure that they never go very long without it. “I feel almost completely perfect, though I will say that I do still feel a bit run down.”

    “Thank you, Jaskier,” his smile somehow grows wider at your thanks, visibly preening with even the slightest praise. “That’s expected, I’d say by tomorrow you should be well enough to continue on your travels with Geralt.”

    “You truly are a marvel, my dear,” Jaskier turns to face you completely as he pulls you even closer, his face mere inches from your stomach. “I cannot possibly thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me.”

    “Hmm, I’m sure you’ll think of a way,” you tease, your fingers dancing down the line of his neck. He visibly shivers with the touch, his eyes darkening with lust. 

    Jaskier brings his other hand to your waist, gripping you tightly and pulling you to sit astride him. You gasp at the strength with which he moves you, having greatly underestimated the capabilities of the man beneath you. 

    “Jaskier,” you whisper, a hair’s breadth away from his lips, “you’re still not fully well, I don’t want to hurt you.”

    He only smiles, biting his lip as he brushes his nose against yours. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to come up with another way to show my thanks…”

    You feel Jaskier’s hands trail down your hips, roving slowly over the curve of your ass before settling under your thighs. Faster than you can blink he stands, pulling you with him in his arms. You grasp tightly to the collar of his chemise as he walks you over to your bed in the corner of the room. 

    He sets you down gently before leaning over you, pushing you back to lay atop the quilt. His chest heaves a bit and the high points of his cheeks are a bit pink, but other than that you wouldn’t have been able to tell that he had just lifted and carried a grown woman across the room. 

    “My gods,” you whisper, running your hands down his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt just under your fingers. 

    “Nope, just me,” Jaskier murmurs, leaning down to kiss along your neck. His mouth is warm and soft on your skin, and after only a moment you turn your head, chasing his lips with your own. When he finally slots your lips together you sigh into him, feeling like you can finally breathe after days of holding your breath. He still tastes faintly of the herby mixtures you’ve been giving him, and you find yourself winding your fingers into the fine silk of his hair.

    Jaskier quickly undoes the ties at the top of your skirt, moaning as you lift your hips to his so he can remove the garment along with your smallclothes. His fingers bring goosebumps to the surface of your skin as he drags them along the outside of your bare thigh. Your legs fall a bit further open instinctually, inviting him to bring his touch to your core.

    Instead, he parts from you, only enough to barely brush against you with each word from his lips. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to push you into anything…”

    “Please, Jaskier,” you whisper, pulling him back down to your lips. You feel him smile against you before he moves, kissing along your jaw and down the lines of your neck. He mouths at the peaks of your breasts through the fabric of your blouse, sliding down the slope of your stomach before settling himself between your legs, his face level with your heat. 

    “Just as stunning as I knew you’d be, love,” he hums as his finger slowly drags a line up the slit of your cunt, just barely circling the sensitive bud at the top. Your hips chase him, begging wordlessly for more, faster, slower, anything. 

    Jaskier slowly pushes his finger inside of you, turning his head to suck a mark into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He hasn’t shaved since he’s been in your home, and his stubble scratches along your skin with every movement. Jaskier’s fingers move expertly with you, pushing a second finger to move beside the first as his thumb rubs lazy circles into your peak. 

    He moves his head to kiss up your thigh, closing the distance to your core. His mouth connects with your heat, licking a stripe up your cunt and sucking the tender spot where his thumb was. You look down and watch as Jaskier’s free hand moves underneath him, trying desperately to free himself from the confines of his trousers. When he succeeds his hand flies to your hip, holding you in place as his fingers take on a new vigor in your core. 

    They curl with every thrust, wringing wet, vulgar sounds from your body. Your mouth makes sounds of its own, moans and cries and pleas and curses, none of them bidden by any particular thought.  

    His fingers brush against a bundle of nerves deep inside of you, causing your back to arch off the bed and into his touch. He hums against you, vibrations singing through your veins as he thrusts relentlessly into that spot. Jaskier’s hips move of their own accord on the bed, chasing his own pleasure as he brings you yours. 

    Stars burst behind your eyelids as your fingers curl in his hair, holding him tight to you as your high takes over. You chant his name like a prayer into the night, praising any and all gods for bringing him into your life, even for just one moment. 

    Jaskier slowly works you through the peak of your pleasure, parting from you when you start to twitch with oversensitivity. He climbs back up your body, his cock resting heavy against your middle, flushed and weeping with how close he is to his own climax. 

“Jaskier,” you mumble as he kisses deep into your mouth, “use me for your pleasure.”   

He groans as his hips immediately begin their rhythm, fast and sloppy where he pushes against your flesh. His climax comes with a whisper of your name, warmth pooling between you with his release. 

You hold Jaskier close as he comes back to himself, his eyes hazy and shiny with bliss. You roll the both of you to the side, leaving your arms around his neck as he nuzzles himself into your embrace. 

“Okay love,” he murmurs, his eyes fighting to stay open, “now I really am exhausted.”

You chuckle, wrapping yourself around him as he quickly falls asleep in your arms. You know that he’ll be leaving as the sun rises the next day, but you’ll gladly hold him here for as long as you can. 

And hopefully, he’ll know exactly where to return the next time he needs help.

#jaskier x reader #smut #whump #hurt #comfort

[silence-burns]

No Place Like Here (Except For a Few Taverns) //part 8 (epilogue)

Fandom: The Witcher

Summary: Life on the road is never easy for a lone witcher, but it would get significantly easier if he didn’t have two idiots following his every step. 

One might think that killing a harpy was as bad as it could get, but the unspoken truth was actually that selling its head was way more difficult. 

Jaskier strummed his lute from the height of his horse to both yours and the horse's dismay. You had to wait for Geralt while he dealt with the business of getting his promised money, and as time passed in front of the withering house at the end of the muddy road, the boredom, along with the sun, rose.

You were sitting on the fence, fanning Jaskier's hat in hopes of chilling the air at least a little bit. Roach feasted on the grass on the other side of the fence. You hadn’t noticed when she got there. She refused to share any answers. 

"Do you think we'll get enough money at least for a beer?" you asked the artist and his suffering horse. The horse only snorted, pulling its ears back and considering throwing its rider to the ground. The artist shrugged. 

"They've been at it for at least half an hour by now. Either they're still arguing, which gives hope for at least a few coins, or Geralt's in the middle of skinning them alive, which results in more coins." 

"Maybe we could get another job," you mused, looking around. 

The sun had already parched wide spots of grass, painting it unhealthy shades of dried yellow. The few trees sticking out in between the houses didn't look much better. A few of them used to bear fruit, but the drought and hunger among the people took them all already. If the rains didn't come soon, the crops wouldn't suffice to feed the villagers. 

The fields on the other side of the fence were a sad thing to look at. Roach was skimming on the bordering patch of thin grass, but the rest didn't look any more promising. Whatever problems the village might have, they were all focused on the prospect of famine. Not many would care to spare any coin to a witcher. 

"Maybe you could play at a wedding? Or a funeral, if need be." 

"Do you see anyone interested in that?" Jaskier gestured to the empty village. "Because I can't see a living soul here. Everyone's roaming the forest and hoping to stack enough food to survive another day. They won't have anything to pay with, even food." 

You winced. That was true. "Looks like we'll have to hit the road again. There's another village, two days down the road…" 

The melody coming from under Jaskier's fingers ended abruptly. You frowned, not expecting him to have any objections, but in the next moment you noticed the reason behind his growing smile. 

Further down the road, coming from the direction you followed earlier, came the merry chatter of voices accompanied by instruments of varied sort. 

You groaned when the colorful crew strodded through the village, their voices booming over the empty houses.

"I know them!" Jaskier squealed and turned his horse towards the newcomers. 

Geralt walked out of the building the moment the bard was enveloped in a hug and drowned in questions.

"More bards?" Geralt groaned and walked to the fence next to you.

"Looks like it. Unless they kill monsters with those flutes."

"Last thing we need is more bards."

"And the first thing we need is some coins. How do we stand on that?"

Geralt pulled an uneasy face. You noticed his knuckles were suspiciously red.

"I'm afraid we have more bards than coins. The bastards here were not completely honest about the funds in their possession." 

Your growling stomach deemed it unfortunate. 

"Maybe we'll have more luck in the city. When do we move on?" 

Geralt eyed the bards booming with laughter, Jaskier's face flushed and more alive than it'd been in weeks. 

As if Jaskier could sense the witcher's eyes on him, he rode back, fidgeting in his saddle. "Geralt, please, can we ride with Crokus for a while? I haven't seen him in ages and we're going in the same direction anyway, so…" 

"Wait, you've got friends? Like, actual friends?" you stopped him. 

"Of course I do!" 

"He does," said the blonde man coming closer. "Although it surprises me too sometimes. My name is Crokus, nice to meet you both. I've heard tales of your adventures, I wish I had such a company with me." 

Geralt eyed the outstretched hand as if it was a viper. He didn't move, but the muscles under the tight leather seemed to tense. 

You slipped in closer on the fence, flashing your brightest smile. "And I've heard a lot about the food and drinks that never leaves a troupe of bards."

"Oh, we have something special reserved for the evening, once we make camp. You should join us!" 

"We'd be delighted." 

The road welcomed you, dust rising beneath the horse's hooves. Following the musicians at a distance sufficient to retain one's sanity, Geralt couldn't stop from glaring at you from the height of the Roach. 

"What?" you snapped at last, as the sky darkened and mosquitos began their hunt. "I was hungry. Still am." 

"We still have some cheese left." 

"You mean the one I couldn't crunch even with my shoe? Thanks, Geralt, but I think I'll try whatever they have." 

"You know there won't be much sleep tonight, though? They are only getting started." 

The bards didn't break off their singing even in the saddles, their merry crew's voices sang clear, and their melodies changed every few notes—showing off to one another. You shrugged. 

"Probably, but it's not like we're joining them for good. Unless you want to change your sword for a lute, which, by the way, I'd pay to see. But other than that, we'll part ways tomorrow anyway, so let Jaskier have his fun for now. He had a difficult past few days," you said. then laughed, remembering the circumstances that led to losing both of Jaskier's shoes. 

"He is having fun," Geralt nodded. "What if he chooses to stay with them?" 

"Well," you said, toying with the reins. "Last time I checked, he was a big boy, usually capable of making his own decisions. Besides, we often part ways and then stumble into each other again. Such is life." 

"Hmm," Geralt said. Roach agreed with a soft neigh. 

Their moods didn't change when the camp settled and the sky was overrun by the stars. Geralt stayed gloomy even when the fire rose high and cast flickering shadows over the figures dancing around it to the fast music sinking into your weary bones. You couldn't stop your foot from twitching slightly to the music and songs as you laid wrapped into a blanket, your cheek pressed into Geralt's arm. 

You watched through heavy lids as Jaskier danced on the grass, his feet bare, and his smile unfaltering as he let the celebrations consume him whole. Crokus was always a step next to him, and his companions swirled around them, never losing their footing. Despite the hour growing late, no signs of stopping could be seen.

You felt Geralt yawn soundlessly. His hand stroked your back and arm and occasionally swiped at the bloodthirsty mosquitoes. 

"He's happy," you whispered into the dark leather. 

"He is." 

There was something in that voice that left room for more words, but they didn't make it to you in time. Somehow, before you noticed, the other voices lulled you to sleep, leading you through colorful swirls of half-made concepts. 

The morning rose a few hours later. Jaskier didn't, engulfed in whatever dreams he had on Geralt's lap, clutching the black leathers. There was a serene expression on his face, undisturbed by the rays of sunshine. 

Crokus and his merry band were in better shape. They had already gathered around the remnants of the fire and prepared breakfast. 

You turned your head to see Geralt already awake. He watched the troupe with a neutral expression, but his hand was on Jaskier's back. 

The road through the forest took you most of the next day and ended way quicker than you thought. It opened onto a city circled with a stone wall, very effective for whatever usually crawled out of the forest at night. Geralt grew even more silent as you cleared the city gates, the bards exchanging warm welcomes with the guards. 

The gates were followed by a rather large area, usually used by the vendors to showcase their goods of various sorts and dubious origins, but they were already packed for the night, leaving enough space to stop the horses. The inevitable came. 

"The journey was most pleasant thanks to your company, friends," Crokus smiled. 

"The pleasure is ours," you said. Geralt was a mute figure somewhere to your right. 

"Take care of yourself," you addressed Jaskier, currently exchanging some notes with one of the other bards. 

He frowned. "Why? Aren't you going to do this anymore?" 

"I thought you'd stay with..." 

The bards laughed, their beautiful voices falling into a melodious chorus. "That wouldn't be wise." 

"Some friendships are best honed from a distance," Crokus explained, turning his horse to the left. 

Jaskier nodded as if it was an obvious truth to every bard. He watched the band disappear into the street, the hooves of their horses echoing off the buildings. 

"So… You aren't really friends," you said. 

"Of course we are!" Jaskier exclaimed with dramatic outrage, but its effect was lost as he clutched the notes to his chest like a mother and her newborn child. "Some bonds are just too great to—" 

"I think that your ego just wouldn't survive that company for long," you laughed. The expression on his face was answer enough.

"Let's go, the night is near," was the first thing Geralt said in a while. He turned Roach in the right direction. You might not have been able to see his face, but the invisible weight seemed to be lifted from his shoulders. 

"I know a perfectly good tavern, right around that corner." Jaskier rode up, continuing to babble about the notes he received from his friend. 

The sun bathed everything in warm reds and yellows, making the picture of the bard and witcher in front of you resemble a painting. You smiled and gently kicked your horse to follow them.

*

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter :D Something might come to an end, but don’t worry, the merry group will be back soon with another adventure, in a separate mini-series! (it’ll be called “Don’t Trust The Chicken”)

#No Place Like Here #geralt x reader #geralt x you #jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #Geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt/reader #jaskier #jaskier/reader #jaskier/you #the witcher #geralt x reader x jaskier #the witcher netflix

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Lost/Found chapter two

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

The inn is warm but Jaskier hasn't eaten all day and his body refuses to retain any of the heat. He has the bread tucked away from earlier, but he still feels nauseous so he sits and shivers and pretends not to be hungry when Eskel offers. Still, the Witcher orders more food than one person could hope to eat and Jaskier's stomach turns uncomfortably. He's just being kind, he realizes, but Jaskier's never been shown this much kindness in his life, by a perfect stranger, no less. A stranger who is probably best friends with the man who no longer wants him. Fuck.

He shuts his eyes and rubs his hands on his thighs, trying to hide the chill. He should know better than to try and keep something from a Witcher, but he does it nonetheless. And, of course, it doesn't work.

"You're cold," Eskel says. "I can hear your teeth chattering."

"I'm alright."

"Hm." Eskel pushes himself up from his seat and strides across the room. Jaskier watches after him. He's gone for some time and when he returns he has warm drinks. He slides one across the table and Jaskier takes the mug between his hands, pulling it into him. He's glad for the heat, but still not sure why Eskel is being so kind to him. He doesn't deserve it. He's done nothing his whole life but become a burden.

"I arranged for a bath," Eskel says and Jaskier lifts his head at that, staring across the table questioningly. Under regular circumstances, he would probably jump at the chance to bathe with him. But these aren't regular circumstances and Jaskier doesn't feel like doing much of anything.

"For you," he clarifies. "To warm you up."

"Why?" Jaskier blurts.

"Because someone hurt you badly and no one deserves that kind of pain."

"Oh." Shit, Witcher. But if he can- If Eskel can tell how he feels, that means Geralt could too. The second those words left his mouth, Geralt knew exactly what he'd done and he didn't stop. He didn't take them back and he didn't try to go after him. Jaskier shuts his eyes and tries to force the thoughts out of his head, but they're stuck.

He doesn't realize Eskel has gotten up until a hand rests on his shoulder soft, tentative. He guides Jaskier to his feet and once Jaskier has gathered his things, Eskel takes him upstairs to his room. There's a large bath tucked into the corner next to the fire and he leaves Jaskier alone with it.

Once Eskel has left, Jaskier rids himself of his clothes, piling them neatly on the table beside the bath. He shivers even in front of the fire, but he knows it has nothing to do with the heat. He wants this to be over, to wake up and find out the whole thing was a terrible nightmare and Geralt is still there- But how could he? After he said those things, why does he still want him? He's been broken up with by everyone he's ever been with, so why does this, the end of a non-existent friendship hurt so much more?

He steps into the bath cautiously, testing the water before sinking in completely. It feels good and it's been a long time since he could really enjoy a bath. Most inns with Geralt were in and out with time just enough to eat and sleep and clean the grime from their bodies. Fleetingly, Jaskier wonders why Eskel isn't in a rush to leave. And he wonders again, why he's doing all of this. There's no good reason for a perfect stranger to offer him food and drink and a warm bath.

Going off his limited knowledge of Witchers, he's not in any immediate danger. Not, at least, of anything but being abandoned again when Eskel decides it's time to move on. Which is fine, Jaskier's not attached.

When he's finished in the bath, he changes into his last pair of clean clothes, frowning. It may be a long time before he can have them laundered, and he hates washing his own clothes in the river. Not that that ever bothered Geralt. He stops the thought before it can go any further, shoving his dirty clothes into his pack and gathering his things together again. He heads downstairs to find Eskel and let him know he can have his room back, but he finds himself turned back around and marched back upstairs. He's not in any mood to argue about a warm bed, so he keeps quiet.

Eskel sleeps on the floor - "still better than having a root in your back," he says - and gives Jaskier the bed. It's a kind gesture, but the bed feels too big without someone in it with him. The last time he stayed at an inn they had to share and Jaskeir found he slept much better with a warm body pressed against his back. Not that Geralt had realized, nor had Jaskier ever mentioned it. He tucks the blankets around himself now to feel less exposed and shuts his eyes to try and sleep.

He worries too much to relax. Everything that's happened tonight has thrown his entire relationship with Geralt into question. Are Witchers just like that? Do they just share their food and bed with the first person who comes along and isn't terrified of them? He doubts it, but the thought won't allow him any peace.

Eskel is already asleep, breathing steadily beneath him and the sound of his breath is what eventually lulls Jaskier to sleep.

In the morning, Eskel is still there. He's moving around the room when Jaskier rises, readying himself to leave. Jaskier watches him for a moment before Eskel turns his attention on him with a faint smile. He takes a plate from the shelf in front of him and sets it on the edge of the bed.

"Help yourself," he says.

Jaskier inspects the assortment of pastries before picking one off the plate and biting into it tentatively. He still hasn't eaten in a full day and he suspects his stomach won't be pleased to be fed sweets first thing.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" he asks and Eskel doesn't even stop what he's doing.

"You were miserable, I couldn't just leave you on the side of the road. Especially after I almost ran you over."

"Thank you," Jaskier says quietly, considering the roll in his hands.

"Where are you off to from here?"

"I... don't know, actually. I don't have anywhere to be. I could stop in at Cintra, I suppose, I haven't been in a while."

"How do you feel about Redania?"

Jaskier gives him a suspicious look. "That's where I was born, why?"

"Because that's where I'm headed next and it's been a long time since I've had someone to travel with."

Jaskier likes travelling with Eskel and after a couple of weeks, he even relaxes around him. And it's much easier to look forward to the future when you have someone who helps to keep you from thinking about the past. Eskel is never any less warm and thoughtful than he was the first night - at least not with him. Jaskier learns in a hurry that he's not a man to be messed with under any circumstances, and that includes the goat.

She's more stubborn than Roach, which is saying something, but Jaskier loves her despite their first interaction. And the fact that she tries to headbutt him often. She likes fruits though, and Jaskier takes great care to make sure the pieces he feeds her are small enough that she doesn’t choke. He suspects his closeness with the goat is part of the reason Eskel comes to trust him the way he does. Jaskier once saw him threaten a man's life when Lil' Bleater was mistakenly penned with a herd of farm goats and it had been the first time he'd really smiled since leaving that mountaintop - watching a Witcher threaten an aging farmer over a goat. But Eskel loves that damn goat and Jaskier knows something of loyalty to those you love.

He doesn't think so often about Geralt anymore, and when he does it's usually by accident or in a dream. He hates those nights because he wakes up breathless and unable to relax again. Most times, it wakes Eskel up and Jaskier hates that he's already being a nuisance again, even if Eskel assures him that he's not. Jaskier doesn't tell him about the dreams and Eskel doesn't ask. He understands that there are things Jaskier wants to keep to himself and he doesn't press. Though, there are nights when Jaskier finds he would rather talk about it than continue to hold it in.

Somewhere along the way, Jaskier starts performing again. It's not a conscious decision, but it feels right. He needs something to do while Eskel is off killing things, after all. The only thing he refuses is to sing about Geralt. Luckily, those songs are well known enough that other bards play them now and they're not requested nearly as often as they once were.

They're at an inn in Hamm, heading north from visiting Cintra, when it finally happens. Jaskier's struck with the idea for a song and he digs out his notebook from his pack, setting it on the table in front of him. They've been here for two days while Eskel hunts a pack of werewolves that seems to have dispersed within the forest. Jaskier plays at the inn in the evenings and he's killing time until then. The perfect time for inspiration to hit. Only when he opens his notebook, his whole body grows cold. The last thing written was a love song - or, it was supposed to be.

He frowns at the lyrics, scratching out a few lines and re-writing them below. A few of them, he only changes the words, but it still seems wrong. He can't hear it. And so, with a sigh, Jaskier packs up his things and goes outside to sit in the grass and try to work out the tune of the song.

It's cold when the wind blows, but it's better suited to the song than the warmth of the inn and Jaskier shuts his eyes. His fingers move smoothly against the strings of his lute, picking out the tune he'd had in mind before the song had been forgotten. It's what he was working on when Borch first showed up and he wonders bitterly if he had just told the old man to leave right then if things could have been different. Though they could also have been worse if Geralt had come back to find his things stolen and Jaskier still sitting there.

It doesn't matter anymore, he tells himself. But a small voice reminds him that if it really didn't matter, he wouldn't have let himself be sidetracked by this song.

He ignores the voice and carries on, humming along at first until he finds a tune that he likes. His voice shakes the first time he sings it out loud, but it feels better to get it out and as he sings the words for the first time, he's surprised to find how accurate they are.

He stays outside until it gets dark and he needs to go inside and ready himself. There's a woman sitting close to him who keeps looking up and smiling and for the first time, Jaskier considers taking her to bed with him. It's been a long time and he's not as miserable as he used to be, maybe it's time to start. Except three songs in she pipes up and asks him to play the song he was singing earlier and he can feel the blood drain from his face. But he never turns down a request, and maybe it's time for another first as well.

Eskel walks through the doors, bloody and stinking of something awful, just as Jaskier starts. And he catches his eye just for a brief moment, leaning against the door frame to listen. Somehow, with him standing there, it feels harder and Jaskier has to restart the song after catching his breath.

"The fairer sex they often call it, but her love's as unfair as a crook…"

He makes it through the song unscathed, but when he finishes, there's murmuring amongst the guests. A few of them come up to him and start chattering at him and Jaskier smiles politely, but he can't think over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. This was a mistake. He thanks them all, again and again, avoiding questions regarding who the song is about and he manages to slip out of the crowd and up to their room without too much trouble.

He shuts the door and leans against it for a moment, catching his breath. What if Eskel figures it out? He's not stupid and it's widely known that Jaskier used to travel with Geralt, it's right there in the songs. He feels guilty for lying and stupid for thinking Eskel would never figure it out. It's not as though he's said bad things about Geralt, but he hasn't been pleasant about him either and he knows the two Witchers know each other. He's seen Eskel's medallion, they're from the same school.

Jaskier never lies to his friends and this is exactly why. It makes things messy and when your life isn't in danger, there's no reason not to be honest; even Geralt forgave him for the stupid things he did. So why did he lie to Eskel? They hadn't been travelling together at the time, there was no reason for him not to tell him about Geralt. He told him his name was Julian, which he isn't in a habit of doing, but that was to protect himself had things gone badly.

Well, there's nothing for it now; he's going to have to tell Eskel the truth before he figures it out or someone else brings it up. The last thing he wants is to lose another friend over something so trivial.

Jaskier takes his lute and puts it away, gently arranging the contents of its case and sets it against the wall next to the bed. The thought of losing Eskel burns in his chest and he goes over what he's going to say to him, repeating the words over and over in his head until a knock on the door pulls him back to the present. The door pushes open a moment later and Eskel looks in at him.

"Is everything alright? You left in a hurry."

"Fine," Jaskier grins, another lie. "I'm going to turn in early tonight, I'm tired."

"I was thinking the same. We should get an early start." Eskel comes into the room, turning the door and locking it behind him. Jaskier watches as he readies himself for bed, silently begging himself to say something but he can't find the words.

Something clicks then, that he hadn't realized before. Jaskier likes having a travelling companion, he doesn't like being alone and lately, he hasn't wanted to seek out that companionship. And Eskel has been there, so he didn't think anything about it. But it is different, he realizes. He likes having Eskel around, but maybe it's more than that. As he sits quietly on the bed, watching the Witcher undress, he realizes having him around might not be all he wants. And maybe that’s what makes telling him about Geralt so difficult.

He pushes those thoughts firmly out of his head. He doesn't want to make that mistake again.

Because it would be so easy to fall in love with Eskel, but Eskel doesn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve the love of someone who is still so desperately in love with someone else. Jaskier shuts his eyes and lays back against the pillows. He doesn't want to think about Geralt anymore, but it doesn't stop him and having another Witcher at his side doesn't exactly deter memories.

Eskel is much more open about his, well, everything, but it's hard not to be more open than Geralt. He's softer though - at least when they're alone - than Geralt ever was and he's openly kind to Jaskier even when he doesn't deserve it. They haven't been travelling together long, but Jaskier isn't looking forward to the inevitable separation.

But he shouldn't compare the two. That's not fair to either of them. He settles into the pillows, shutting his eyes even as the candle is blown out. He was going to offer the bed to Eskel tonight and he feels bad for not remembering it earlier, but he'll make it up to him some other way.

It's been quiet for some time and he's not even totally sure Eskel is still awake, when he blurts out, "it's about my friend."

"What is?" Eskel asks simply.

"The song. The one I played tonight, it's about my friend."

"Tell me?" Eskel offers and Jaskier breathes evenly.

"For a long time, I travelled with someone. A man. A friend, I thought. I loved him, but my feelings were never- he didn't feel the same. Which was fine," he adds in a hurry. "That's not his fault, I still loved him. But he apparently had had enough of me. Two nights before I met you, he told me to leave.

"He was-" he stammers, "you would-" His name was Geralt. It's such a simple thing and yet he can't make his voice work.

"Julian," Eskel breathes, "you don't have to tell me more than you're comfortable with."

Jaskier doesn't realize he's crying until Eskel climbs up onto the bed next to him. He runs his thumb over his cheek and Jaskier looks anywhere but at him.

"He found someone else. Just like everyone," he mumbles and Eskel leans up over him.

"What do you mean, like everyone?"

"Everyone always finds someone else. Even him."

"I'm here," Eskel offers, sliding an arm around Jaskier's chest. Neither of them says anything more, but Jaskier curls into the embrace and lets himself fall asleep to the heat of Eskel's body against him and the huff of his breath in his hair.

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

[mlleecrivaine]

Strength and Grace

Author’s Note:  Here’s some Jaskier smut no one asked for.  If I’m not bothering you with the tag; I’d like to formally thank @ficsandcatsandficsandcats for getting me irrevocably hooked on Jaskier.

Word Count:  4275

Pairing:  Jasker x f!reader

Warnings:  smut

Summary:  Reader and Geralt are sparring as Jaskier watches.  The bard determines that this may have been a bad idea.

---

If Jaskier watched much longer, the chances of his elevated blood pressure killing him were very high.  He grit his teeth and tried to pull some of his blood back into his brain by sheer willpower, but as he unfortunately remembered in this moment, that’s not how it works.

Instead, he focused on the flex and bulge of your muscles as you executed strike after bone-crushing strike.  Geralt blocked each of them, as he was meant to, but you were successfully driving him backwards in the clearing.  You wound up, curling your elbow in front of your throat in a way that made your dirtied bicep swell in the rolled-up opening of your shirt sleeve, spinning to gain momentum and brought your sword in a slashing arc that under normal circumstances would have taken your opponent’s head off.  The cry you let you as you put all of your effort into this blow sent a rush of gooseflesh down Jaskier’s body and another dizzying amount of blood ran south in him and he had to suppress a groan of awe and pleasure.  Geralt blocked the attack, sidestepping with the force behind your blow.  Once again you wound up, this time executing a powerful roundhouse kick that Geralt had to rush to block.  Jaskier smirked in spite of himself; you nearly knocked Geralt over with that one.  Jaskier wondered what it would be like to have those powerful legs around his head…

You backed off and started circling the clearing, catching your breath.  You held the sword limply in one hand, placing the fist that held it on one hip and your open hand on the other, right on the most curved parts of them.

Jaskier tried to keep his eyes on the ground but he couldn’t help looking up between his eyelashes at the way your chest heaved with your breath, the way your sweat made your body positively glow under the gentle sunshine coming through the canopy above.

He cursed himself.  This was not the way friends were meant to look at one another.  Of course, he’d tried, the moment you’d met.  He had this nasty habit of falling in love with basically everyone and everything that came even remotely within his sphere.  And when you showed up, all shining eyes and beauty to make the gods jealous, he did the same thing.  He flirted.  He made you laugh a few times.  He struck out.  Now, countless months later you were still with them and he counted you amongst his closest friends.  He liked to think that you counted him amongst yours as well.  You still laughed at his jokes and actually appreciated his music, where Geralt still did not despite their years of acquaintance, and yet.

And yet.  He could not control his reaction when he watched you at the peak of your performance.  Sometimes he swore he breathed for the way your muscles moved.  It didn’t matter if you were simply lifting something, shaking someone’s hand - that always made your arms look exceptionally powerful for some reason - or if you were executing acts of unthinkable violence.  You were… powerful.  And beautiful.  And sometimes, although he was sure it would be strange to say such a thing out loud, he thought that if you were to use those muscles to crush the life from his body he would thank you with his dying breath.

“Are we boring you?”

Jaskier’s eyes shot up, not realizing quite how close you’d gotten.  He could see the sweat patterns in the dirt on your face, weaving rivers on the map of your features.

“Not at all,” he said a little more softly than he anticipated.  He cleared his throat.  “I was just lost in thought.”

“You don’t have to stay close by if you’d rather go walking,” you offered.  “I can only imagine how dull this is to watch.”

“Not the word I’d choose,” he said.  Captivating.  Awe-inspiring.  Devastating.  Hot.

You snorted softly, still out of breath.  Looking over your shoulder at Geralt, you waited to see what the witcher was doing before you crossed your ankles and dropped to a cross-legged position across from Jaskier.  Normally it wouldn’t have crossed his mind, but given his current predicament, he had to force himself not to look at the apex of your thighs under your breeches stretched taut by the arrangement of your legs.

“Are you thinking of a new song?” you asked as you let your upper body fall back onto the grass.

Jaskier glanced over bug-eyed at the graceful way your arms had landed on either side of you, bent at the elbow so your hands were up by your head.  What he would give to hold your hands there as he hovered over you, kissing you deeply… his cock twitched in his trousers and he had to hold his breath for a moment to keep from making an embarrassing noise.

For all your strength, the grace with which you carried yourself also made him weak.  Whenever he played at a party or a gathering or even at the right kind of bar and you ended up dancing to his music, he was for once in his life saddened by the fact that he needed to keep playing.  That he couldn’t step in and dance with you to see the enchanting twists and turns of your body up close.  That grace and that power played together in your body to make you truly a wonder to behold, a flower laden with dangerous potential, and he counted himself lucky that he got to behold you, even if he couldn’t worship you in the way he knew you deserved.

“You could say that,” he muttered.

“You’re being awfully cryptic today,” you mused, tilting your head to the side to look at him.  Was that what you would look like, he wondered, looking down at him as he lowered his head between your legs…

“Jasker!”

Your voice startled him out of his thoughts.  He looked up and noticed that Geralt had disappeared.

“Are you alright?” you asked, raising yourself up onto your elbows to stare him down.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Where did…”

“I think he went back to camp to see to Roach,” you said, cocking your head to the side.  “Are you sure you’re alright?  You look flushed.”

“I’m fine, I’m just… really deep in thought.”

“So deep, I expect,” you said pushing yourself all the way up and Jaskier tried not to let on how closely he followed the arc of you first sitting up again, pulling your breeches taut once more, then rising up onto your knees and finally back down onto all fours to crawl up to him, the tendons and muscles in your forearms tightening with each shift of your weight, and you reach out to pop several buttons on his doublet, “that you’ve neglected to realize how warm it is today.  You’re probably overheating, Jask.”

“Probably overheating,” he echoed, watching your face as you focused entirely on his doublet.  Your eyes caught the light at this angle and the nuances of colour usually hidden burst to life making you look for all the world like a precious gemstone.

“Jaskier?”

He finally realized that your eyes had met his, your hand stilled somewhere on his stomach.  He blinked to show that he had heard you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly, pulling your knees up so were sitting on your haunches.  “You haven’t looked at me like that since I was hurt.”

Jaskier’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest.  He didn’t think you’d remember.  It was a kikimora in a swamp in Temeria nearly three months ago.  You and Geralt left alone to dispatch it.  Geralt came back with you in his arms, bleeding out from a stomach wound.  The bard had followed you to the healer’s and he refused to leave your side.  At the time he could feel the worry written on his face, but the pain he felt in his heart eclipsed his will to care to hide it.  Every time you opened your eyes even for a moment, he watched your face with a longing, a desperation to simply breathe life into you and have you come back swinging like you were before.  When finally you were cleared for the road - not for active hunting, but for the road at least - he swore to himself that even though the experience had awakened a painful longing in himself, you had already made your position clear upon your first meeting.  And so, rather than force his affections on you, he simply tried to ignore the feeling of life you gave him every time you so much as existed in the same room as him. 

And now here he was, harder than he had ever been in his life - he would swear to it - and staring at you as though you were dying, apparently.  Would that he were dying in this moment, then an end to the embarrassment was surely in sight.

“Jaskier, I’m fine,” you said soothingly.

To Jaskier’s horror you deftly unlaced your armour and slipped it over your head, leaving you in just your flimsy shirt through which, if the light caught it at the right angle, he could see the outline of your body underneath in silhouette.  In a move that would clearly be the end of him, you lifted the hem of your shirt to show him your scar.

“See?”

It was an ugly thing.  The kikimora had speared you straight through.  The scar now flowered out like a daisy just higher than and right of your belly button.

In spite of himself, he reached out and touched the scar.  To his relief, you didn’t slap his hand away.  The warmth of your skin was a blessing and to his surprise it blissfully took the edge off of his painful arousal.  He traced the petals of the mark and paused when you shivered.

He looked up and met your eyes.  You gave him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” you said with a nervous laugh in your voice.  “I can’t actually feel anything there anymore… the nerves are dead.  It kind of… tickles, I suppose when you get close to the edges.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, taking his hand back.

“It’s alright,” you said, shaking your head with that kind smile.  You dropped your shirt, covering once again the flesh that Jaskier wanted oh so badly to touch.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

In a move that Jaskier understands was supposed to be a joke, you raised both of your arms and gave him an impressive flex, showing off the unfair bulge of your biceps, straining at the rolled up fabric of your shirt sleeves, the way your forearms looked as if they were cut from solid stone.  And Jaskier made a muffled noise that was a mix of surprise and very painful arousal.

He felt himself shrink back in embarrassment and you dropped your arms.  By the look on your face you knew exactly what that sound meant.

“I’m sorry,” you both said at the same time.

“I didn’t mean to-” you started.

“I’ll go,” Jaskier announced but he stumbled as he tried to stand, his cock hanging so heavily in his breeches he was surprised he could get up at all.  He was just slow enough for you to reach out and put your arm in his way.  He paused and looked at you with wide eyes.

You looked like you wanted to say something and gods, he wished you would.

“Can I?” you asked softly, reaching forward to put your hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to,” he said hurriedly and you paused your movement.  “If you don’t want to,” he added quickly.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to, Jaskier,” you said in a voice slightly deeper than usual and Jaskier felt parts of himself actually start to shake.

“Then yes, gods, yes please do,” he let the words spill out but he didn’t make a move to touch you back quite yet, not sure how far you were willing to take this.

You circled your fingers painfully lightly around his forearm nearly making Jaskier choke.  Your other hand came higher and touched the burning flesh of his face.  In a smooth movement you lifted yourself once again, Jaskier very aware of the fact that he could see the muscles in your thighs moving you of their own accord, and you leaned in and hovered your lips over his while your eyes searched his face.

“You said,” he murmured and you started to chase him backwards.  He didn’t want to touch you until he knew, and the only way to go was backwards.  He ended up flat on his back on the grass and you crawled forward until you were hovering over him.  Your mouth was right there but still not a single part of you save for your hands touched him.

“I said what?” you prompted after he was silent for a few seconds.

“You said you weren’t interested… ‘under any circumstances,’ I think, were the words you used,” Jaskier muttered, hoping to the gods he wasn’t tripping over his words.

He found his own hands hovering somewhere around your hips and your waist, begging to touch, but not closing the distance.

You chuckled softly, coming so close he could feel the aura of your nose touching his.

“I said that when we just met Jaskier.  Now I know you,” you said, staring into his eyes with your half-lidded ones, and Jaskier could see you begging in your own way to touch him.  “If you’ll still have me…”

“Of course I will,” he said somewhat incredulously.

“Good,” was all you said before you finally closed the distance.

Jaskier moaned very loudly into your mouth at the final, blessed contact.  You swallowed his sounds, sliding your tongue past his lips while he was preoccupied with his relief.

When he got his wits about him, he closed his hands around your waist and slid them down to the hem of your shirt to sneak under the loose fabric and touch your skin, drawing another moan from him.

You smiled against his lips and he melted up into you.

You hitched your knees a little higher as his fingers explored the contours of your ribcage, your back, your spine and the tops of your hips.  When you pressed yourself down on him, there were not enough layers of clothing in the world to ease the sensation and Jaskier actively cried out and you had to let his mouth go so he could arch his back.

When he calmed himself and lowered his shoulder blades to the ground once more, he found you smiling down at him with a smug twist to your lips.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he breathed with a laugh.

“Darling, I wouldn’t dare,” you replied, kissing him once again before pulling away and watching his face while you gave a concerted roll of your hips.  His eyelids fluttered and he looked for all the world like his soul had just left his body.  “I’m just impressed at how well you concealed such a significant problem.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Jaskier mumbled, sure that the sensation of your warmth on his throbbing cock was going to kill him at any moment.

You gave him a soft, kind smile.  If this were any other situation, Jaskier would have thought of the word loving, but as it was, this was a tryst of chance more than anything else.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” you murmured, kissing him softly once more.  “Would you like me to solve that problem for you?”

Jaskier nearly choked.

You grinned at him and sat back on your heels once more to untie the front of his breeches.

Jaskier regained enough of his faculties to sit up and pull your chemise up and over your head.  He couldn’t help himself from indulging his keenest curiosities first and he skimmed the strong outlines of your arms with his fingertips.  You shivered again and he looked up to find you blushing.

“Sorry,” you said again, “this time it feels good.”

“What else might feel good?” he asked, letting his fingers ghost to your chest where he laid his palms over the heaviest parts of your breasts.  You rewarded him with a gasp.

“That, maybe,” you said with a grin.

You tugged the strings loose on his breeches and turned your attention to his doublet.

He helped you get the layer off and obediently held his arms over his head while you pulled the undershirt off, exposing his chest.

He blushed a little, knowing he wasn’t quite as well defined as you and especially not as defined as Geralt, but the way you drank in his body, stopping everything else you were doing to gently set his shirt on the ground as your eyes roamed over him, sent a wave of confidence through him and he returned his hands to your chest making you gasp.

You got back up on your knees and reached behind you to help get his trousers down to a place where he could kick them off.

Jaskier almost cried when you ghosted your fingertips over his length.  He screwed his eyes shut at the electric sensation and grabbed you around the waist to steady himself.

“You can’t wait can you?” you asked.

He shook his head vehemently, letting out a pained sound.

“Then help me,” you murmured, lifting your hips again.

Jaskier took a deep breath and opened his eyes, before untying the strings of your own breeches. You pushed them off as quickly as you could and you looked down into his eyes as you let him line himself up with your entrance.

You lifted a hand to his face and stroked his cheekbone with your thumb once before lowering yourself onto him.

“Ohhh fuck,” Jaskier swore, leaning forward and placing his head on your sternum.

You took all of him in one slow stroke.  Your fingers wound through his hair, your nails dragging lightly on his scalp and he could have sworn he was halfway into the grave from how good everything about you felt.

“Gods, my love, please…” he begged, feeling an all new kind of need for you now that he was finally inside of you.

For your part, your own desire for this made the feeling of his flesh inside you flash like water in a hot pan, overwhelming your senses and stealing the breath from your lungs.

You obliged by lifting yourself nearly off of him and sinking back down, starting a slow but steady rhythm.  Your own breath shuddered as you moved, and you reached out to hold his shoulders to steady yourself as you struggled to maintain the strength in your legs.

Jaskier started to feel his very soul shake because you were going too slowly and he was about to go blind from need. He bucked up into you once and planted his hands behind him on the grass so he could thrust up into you.

You cried out as he hit just the right spot and your hands wound back into his hair and you started to ride him in earnest, hard and fast.

“Oh gods,” Jaskier moaned letting his head fall back.  He wanted desperately to watch you, but he was so damn close…  “I’m not going to last…”

“I didn’t expect you to, darling,” you murmured, pulling his head back up to look at you.  “It’s alright.  Come, my darling, you’re almost there.”

“But you-”

“Don’t worry about me,” you crooned.  “Come, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s vision whited out and he, for the first time in his memory, screamed as he came, one long, guttural note.  If he could still think, he’d be ashamed for not having your name prepared on his lips for the moment of release.  You weren’t expecting his voice to take such a deep, throaty turn and it made you clench around him, only milking his orgasm from him more thoroughly.

Finally the heaving of his chest seemed to abate and you let yourself slow down, your thighs starting to burn.

Jaskier ceased all movement for a moment and luxuriated in the afterglow of his pleasure.

You let your fingers trail over the contours of his face, down his throat, over his collarbone, and into the thicket of hair on his chest, letting the strands tickle your fingers.  When you looked back up to his face, you watched his eyes refocus on you.

He wound a hand around your back and flipped you over so you were on the grass under him now.  He started thrusting gently, somehow still hard enough.

“Jaskier…” you started to protest but the needy whine in your voice betrayed you.

“I’ve got something left in me,” Jaskier said with a playful smile.  “Let me repay you.”

He reached between you and pressed his thumb to your clit, circling sharply.  You gasped and slung an arm around his shoulder.

Jaskier turned his head and pressed reverent kisses to your arm as he continued thrusting into you.  The fatigue was starting to show in the off-kilter rhythm of his hips.

“You,” he kissed your bicep, “are,” he kissed higher up, toward your elbow, “devastating.”

You grinned and captured his lips as he leaned down to kiss you, his hips suddenly speeding up and the pressure of his thumb increased until you were moaning with each thrust.

“Jaskier,” you whined between moans, “I’m almost there.”

“Just a little bit more, my darling, please,” he begged, almost as if his own pleasure were on the line.  If he were to go by the sweet coiling sensation in his stomach, it might be.  “Come for me, my darling.”

He gave you a few more hard, deep thrusts and you came unravelled around him, crying out his name in a high, broken voice.  He thrust through your shuddering a few more times before a second orgasm hit him and he sobbed as it struck, dropping his forehead to your chest.  He had nothing left to spill for you, but the feeling was still divine.  He recovered first and kissed every part of you he could reach while you rode out the waves of your pleasure under him.

When your body finally came down you opened your eyes.  Jaskier watched your eyes as you skimmed his face.  He hoped that his staring would grant him this memory etched into his mind forever.  With the final twitches of your body fading against his, he was certain that nothing would ever come quite this close to perfection again.

You reached up and cupped his face in one palm and he leaned into the touch, kissing your wrist before pulling out of you and rolling so he lay propped on his side next to you.  You rolled sideways too, so you could look at each other.

Jaskier brought a hand up and skimmed the contours of your arm with his palm, committing the hard yet soft feel of them to memory.

“Devastating, hmm?” you asked after a moment.  You gave him a sly smile.

“Awe-inspiring.  Divine.  Utterly-” he murmured before shaking his head.  “Sorry.”

You cocked your head.

“Why are you sorry?”

Jaskier smiled and looked at his hand on your arm instead of at your face.  He felt his ears grow warm.

“I just…” his mouth twitched as he searched for the right words. “You didn’t have to do this.  It was brilliant, by the way, I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but you weren’t interested in me to begin with, and I don’t want to make it weird, I mean, we still have to travel together-”

“Jaskier.”

“-and I still want to be your friend after this, not to say I don’t think we could be, but I’d really like to keep the nice thing we had going instead of it getting, you know, weird-”

“Jaskier!” you said with more force.

He quieted and waited, uneasy for you to continue.

“Like I said, I turned you down before I knew you.  I didn’t want to just jump into bed with someone about whom the only thing I knew was that you had a reputation of flitting from one fancy to the next,” you said, reaching out to touch his chest with your fingertips.  “I’ve gotten to know you so much better since then.  And if this is a one-time thing, then I think I can live with that now.  I hope it’s not a one-time thing, not by any stretch, but if that’s all you want it to be, I’ll respect that.”

“I don’t want it to be one-time at all,” Jaskier blurted, gripping your arm in the hopes that he can convey the meaning through touch alone.  “Darling, I’ve never met anyone like you and if you were to choose me over everyone else in this world, I would count myself the luckiest man in the realm.  And I would serve you until my last breath.”

You blinked at him for a moment before a wide smile graced your face.

“Well in that case, my darling bard,” you said, pushing forward to roll him onto his back again, you straddled his hips and leaned down to kiss him.  He sighed into you and took your arms in his hands, caressing the flesh with the pads of his thumbs.  “You’ll be happy to hear that I chose you a long time ago.”

#jaskier x reader #jaskier #the witcher #reader insert

[fangirleaconmigo]

I read some of your TWN fics, specifically the Posada remix. They're well written and fascinating to me, especially your viewpoint on Jaskier and his relationship with Geralt. I'm extremely curious about what you think Jaskier's flaws are in regards to his behavior in the show.

Hi Anon. Thanks for your kind comments about my works.

You mention Posada Remix in regards to Jaskier's flaws.

For those reading, that is my inter-dimensional fic where Book!Geralt accidentally portals into Netflixland and falls hard for Jaskier.

I am aware, from the posts I've seen, as well as comment and anons I have received about this fic, that some people think this concept in and of itself, (shipping Book!Geralt with TWN!Jaskier) represents a vilification of TWN!Geralt and conversely an idealization of TWN!Jaskier.

I've addressed that here.

Though you have brought up the issue very politely, some of the comments I have received, have not been especially polite or made in good faith. All I can say is that there is no reading of any of my fics that supports anything other than palpable, overwhelming love for Geralt.

So I'm not convinced that people who are angry at me have actually read my fics. I think it's a generalized backlash to the perceived idealizing of Jaskier in the fandom.

So, I'm not going to answer your question directly here. Listing his faults, under the circumstances of the comments I have gotten, feels like a test or a trap. I think no matter what I say there will be a negative reaction. Perhaps not from you, but definitely from someone.

Bottom line is, I think my fics speak for themselves. I would never write Jaskier as a passive baby victim. I would never write TWN!Geralt as a bad person who didn't care about Jaskier. It would do a disservice to both of them.

Yes, Jaskier is more emotionally intelligent in my fics than he is in canon. But so is everyone else. My fics are a softer, gentler, fantasy version of canon where none of the main characters cheat or violate consent, and where the romantic pairings are safe places and where love heals.

There are fic writers who do much more realistic and gritty fics than I do. There are fic writers who write even fluffier than I do. And I appreciate and respect and enjoy the entire spectrum.

And I think thats all I have to say about that. But again, thank you for bringing it up in a polite way. And though I haven't answered you, in that I haven't listed his faults, I hope that helps.

#asks #posada remix #descarada writes

[witcher-of-the-northern-kingdoms]

The Beast of the Forest

Request: For a request, Perhaps Geralt and Jaskier get robbed by a band of thieves, who is led by a Robin Hood like character (the reader). Upon being captured and led to their encampment, jaskier notices the Geralt likes her because she has created a safe haven for a multitude of magical creatures who wish to live in peace Mx she is a fucking badass btw

So excited to write my first Witcher imagine! Hope you enjoy

TW: Language, graphic imagery

They never saw the attack coming. Jaskier was a distraction, and Geralt concluded that this would be the last time the bard would follow his track, if they survived (this was a common thought, from the elves to the djinn). Their hands were bound, back to back and in a dark room. Jaskier couldn’t see anything(nor would he if he were awake), but Geralt’s vision caught the silhouettes of figures looming around them. His head throbbed from the blow of the hilt of a blade, and anger boiled at the thought of being separated from not only his blades, but Roach as well. If anything happened to her - 

“Well well,” a voice disrupted the thoughts of the Witcher, stepping through what appeared to be a doorway with a candle barely illuminating their face. “What have we here?” Your voice purred from your lips as you examined the two men. The bard was groaning in annoyance, mumbling protests to his companion and the surrounding party. You lean down in front of the more intriguing one, with white hair extending passed his shoulders, and piercing golden eyes that watched you with stoic stubbornness. “A witcher? In my forest?” Your brow cocked as you studied his face, before your smirk grew wider. “Not only that, but the butcher of Blaviken!” A slight chuckle escaped you as you stood up. 

“Let the bard go,” Geralt began, his voice metallic and harsh, his accent dripping with Revalian descent. “Do what you will with me, but the human has done nothing.” His plead was heartwarming, but your smirk did not falter. 

“Now, why would I let our new performer go when we would love some entertainment? His ballads of you are quite catchy,” you announce, and chuckles erupted from around the group, obviously the band of misfits that immediately jumped the Witcher and bard. You slightly hum the popular tune, pacing around them like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. “Let’s say your coming into this forest is a blessing, dear Witcher.” You wave your fingers over the flickering flame of the candle. “We may not have much to offer other than your bard’s life, but we have a monster for you to deal with.” The cocky nature of your expression faltered for only a moment, but Geralt caught on. He knew this was more than greed, people’s lives were at stake. Still, the circumstances pissed him off. 

“I won’t do shit for you…” He muttered through gritted teeth, but something tugged at him. “Not unless you let the human go.” Geralt was a stubborn man, but if there were people in need, he’d help, regardless of the situation (though this one tested his patience).

“Oh in the mood for bargaining hm?” Your eyes wandered from the silver hair to that of the music man, still passed out from the potion. Silence loomed the air as you thought, but your pride wasn’t without falter. “And what will stop you from attacking once he’s free?” You inquired, though you had already made your decision.

“My word.” His tone was clear, if not raspy. You’d have to trust a Witcher was good for his world? Alright then. You leaned down, a hidden blade revealing itself as it pressed against the bard’s wrist and swiped up, ridding him of the restraints as his body toppled over. That seemed to be enough to rise him from slumber as you repeated the motion on Geralt. 

“Fuck! Good god…. Where - Geralt! Where are we?” Jaskier pushed up from the ground, rubbing dirt from his brow as he looked into the darkness. You nodded once to those watching the situation, and they began to filter out. Geralt realized they were there in case things turned sour against their leader. The witcher rubbed his wrists and stood up, ignoring the noisy man stumbling up. 

“Where is this monster?” He muttered, staring down at you with golden eyes. He was a good head taller than you, and the broad of his shoulders led him to be an intimidating individual. Still, you stood your ground, silence as you lead him out of the tent. 

Geralt had expected a lot of things; hooligans sharpening weapons, bandits fighting each other, mayhem in the camp of thieves. What he couldn’t anticipate was being wrong. Creatures that would only be susceptible to his silver blade wandered around, from elves to sylvan, even a bruxa walked around, daylight beaming on her skin. All lived in peace, but Geralt’s hand twitched for his sword, especially for the monsters he’s encountered before. He watched with suspicion, as a young cyclops - at least, younger than Geralt knew they could be called out. 

“Y/N!” The young girl shouted, running up to you and tugging your shirt. You leaned down to the young ones height as she whispered in your ear, and a warm smile touched your lips, resting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Well, you tell Miron that if he doesn’t show you respect, I’ll show him my boot!” You joked, lightly kicking out your foot as the girl laughed and ran off. Geralt watched carefully as Jaskier tried to come up with a plan, whispering all too loudly to Geralt, who was point blank ignoring him. Few things surprised the Witcher, but seeing creatures that would often meet the end of his sword talking intelligently to what appears to be nothing more than a human caught him off guard. 

“Y/N, was it?” Geralt asked, cocking a brow as you turned to him. “What is this monster your talking about?” Reality returned to you as you responded, looking back at him momentarily as you made your way to the edge of the camp. 

“We’ve recently had… animal attacks, at least, that’s what I’m saying.” Your tone was hushed, almost whisper to yourself, but you knew the heightened senses of the Witcher could hear. As you got closer to the edge and farther from the citizens, you continued. “He attacks at midnight, no earlier or later. We notice a circle of ash surrounded by the victims remains. We call him the Beast, but he has to be a-”

“A hellhound.” Geralt finished, watching you with careful eyes. You nod in confirmation.

“Not only that, he’s been turning our dogs into barghests, killing them and summoning his lackeys into their corpses.” You spoke this through gritted teeth, your own deer pet becoming susceptible to the attack. The empathetic side of Geralt understood, but his exterior was stoic.

“And you need me to kill it.” He continued, and you looked back at him as you stood at the edge of the forest. 

“We can’t compensate you, our funds go to those who are in need, which renders us broke.” You crossed your arms over your chest, not in defiance but in worry.

“Well, we’re poor-” Jaskier began, before feeling the brute end of Geralt’s elbow. 

“We’ll discuss compensation after the beast is killed. Can’t have a demon roaming on this plane.” Geralt said calmly, watching you carefully as you relaxed, another genuine smile touching your lips. 

“I thank you for your generosity, considering the circumstances.” You nodded to the camp, reminding them of their capture.

“I should say so-” Jaskier began, baffled by Geralt’s choice. Then he remembered, Geralt acted this way when Yennefer had entered the bar. He accepted to be near the beauty. Perhaps this was a similar situation. The connection between you two was apparent, Jaskier’s voice managing to not interrupt the eye contact. 

“I’ll show you where you may stay until Midnight.” You mutter, walking passed the two as heat climbed your face. What you didn’t notice was a slight tug on the Witcher’s lips.

Nightfall came, Jaskier was fast asleep in the bearskin blankets as Geralt wrapped his armor around his body, fitting comfortably as he downed his tawny owl, grimacing for a mere second before making his way out of a guest tent. He looked through the darkness, feeling the breaths of different creatures from a mile away, including dogs that were not breathing like they should. Another breath intervened, that of a human, as well as steps coming towards him. Quicker than lightning itself, you felt steel on your neck, not entering your skin but enough pressure to make you halt. You felt your pulse quicken but that didn’t stop you from smirking.

“And I thought it was customary to take a girl out to dinner before pulling your sword on her.” You said calmly, though your heart rate betrayed you. Geralt side and dropped his weapon, looking up at you carefully.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on a Witcher?” He muttered rhetorically. That’s when you got a good look at his face. His eyes were dark, as if pupil encapsulated their entirety, his skin was like chalk, as if he were nothing more than a ghost. For some reason you felt your entire skin prickle under his gaze. 

“Where I’m from, it’s not very common to meet a Witcher.” You responded, forcing your voice not to waver. As you spoke, a howl rippled through the air, not close but not far. Both your gazes washed over the dark treeline. Geralt let out a quiet grunt.

“It’s time for you to go home.” He said, looking back towards you. Immediately you protested, pulling out your own blade. Any decent hunter, let alone a Witcher, would recognize the silver that would aid in cutting down a monster. 

“No, I’m helping. This is my home, my family. I’ve failed them already I can’t again.” Your brow furrowed. Geralt thought for a moment, looking over you closely. You were able bodied, strong, but all callouses looked new, no more than five years old. The determination was attractive to say the least, and the man felt the desire to never say no to you.

“Stay close.” He said, walking towards the treeline and into the darkness. You didn’t dare challenge his order. His steps were pure silence compared to yours, stalking his prey with a clumsy fool by his side.

“Why did you wander into these woods anyways? There’s no main road.” You nearly whispered so anyone listening couldn’t hear. 

“I could ask you the same.” He responded, deterring the conversation. You gnawed your lip deciding if you should offer your truth to him, and let out a sigh.

“My kingdom was attacked my Nilfgaard, same as the rest of the continent.” You muttered solemnly. “The main reason was my parents believed that humans and elves could live in harmony. While most of the world disagreed, Nilfgaard took action to… rectify the world of their rule.” Your words were quiet to the world, but Geralt heard everyone.

“So then…” Geralt insinuated, looking over to you as you nodded.

“I was, at one point, a princess.” A smile touched my lips, before looking back at the distant camp. “Now, I rule for them.” The witcher watched you closely as you talked, the way your eyes glistened as you reminisce about your past, how your fingers played with a lock of your hair. You were fascinating to him. 

“Explains the sword. You’re braver than most, Y/N.” He complimented, turning his gaze back to the trees. You were sure he could hear your heart pick up at his words, but you did nothing but smile.

“Thank you, Geralt.” you said softly, tightening your grip on your sword so you may calm your heart rate. “Well then, I believe it is your-”

Before you were able to speak, a large creature pounced on you, causing you to scream and the blade to fall from your grip. A burning sensation marked your shoulder as the beast gnawed into it, nearly ripping the skin from your bones. A blood curdling scream passed through your lips, the world white with pain. The gnawing ceased almost instantly, but the pain remained. You felt everything fall from you, unable to move, unable to scream. You could hear a call, but it sounded so far away. 

Your whole body ached, but more specifically your shoulder felt as if it would’ve been better if it was gone. Your eyes twitched open, wincing at the light around you as you slowly sat up. Your shirt was gone, upper body wrapped in clean cloth, a stain of blood running through where the wound was at its worst. You looked around to get your bearings, and saw a white haired man sitting in a chair, asleep. You slowly slid out of the bed, wincing at the throb on your shoulder as you walked over to Geralt, watching as his breath passed through his lips, he seemed so calm, the stoic air around him nothing more than a peaceful aura. You slowly slid onto your knees, studying his face as you pushed a strand a hair from his eyes. This was enough to cause him to stir, but you didn’t move. Neither did he, besides the flickering of his eyes opening, and a calming breath as  he looked over you. 

“You’re awake.” He said plainly though his eyebrows rose in subtle shock. 

“You saved my life.” You returned, gently resting your hand on his. “I have no idea how to repay you.” He looked down at the hand on his, twisting his palm to grab ahold of your fingers and raise them to his lips. They were softer than you expected as they pressed against your knuckle, and your heart raced in response.

“Survive.” He said calmly, setting your hand back down. You watched his gaze closely as you slowly sat up, closing the distance between the two of you. The lips that met your knuckles now kissed your own, his hand traveling to your cheek as you leaned into him. The feeling was euphoric, all to perfect.

That is, until a certain bard stormed through the tent. 

“Geralt, we can’t keep waiting for her, we must leave! I am not comf-...” Jaskier stopped in his tracks, forcing the two of you to separate, despite that being the last thing you wanted. Your forehead rested on his for a moment before you sat back and stood up. 

“Perhaps it is time you were on your way, I’ll ask someone to fetch your mare.” You smiled, slipping on a loose gown for modesty. It was hard with your arm, but with gentle maneuvering you made it. “Thank you, again.” You said calmly, stepping out of the tent. Many people were ecstatic to see you moving, and you requested Roach be returned to the Witcher. The exchange was much too fast, shortening the time between you and Geralt gazing at each other longingly.

“Maybe next time you’ll answer my question?” You asked, running your fingers along Roach’s snout. Geralt’s eyes were warm as he mounted his steed.

“Maybe.” He said calmly, nodding gently to you as he rode off, Jaskier close behind with annoying words carrying around the camp. Suddenly, the pain in your shoulder didn’t hurt much anymore, it was your heart that took the blow. 

You hoped he’d answer your question.

#witcher #witcher imagine #witcher fanfiction #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x reader #geralt imagine

[annmarcus63]

The kindst thing

The war has shaken all the realms, everyone everywhere talks about the tragic death of queen Calanthe and the wiped out of her army, people fearfully whisper about the mountains of corpses the Nilfgaardian army leaves at its wake. Jaskier awakes sweating and trembling on a cold night, his chest contracting despite his controlling breathing. He fears the war, of course, but not for him, he’s safely away after all. He fears for certain witcher and his child surprise. News about princess Ciri's death haven't reached him, he really really hopes she's ok, again not for him but for Geralt. Because although the witcher never showed any interest in the child, the bard knows the loss could be too great for the witchers' heart. Yes, he believes Geralt holds a heart, big and hard to reach, but a heart no less.

It's been over a year since that dreadful day on the mountaintop. Over a year since that scornful words and the look that spoke volumes. Jaskier healed himself with music and dancing, also with the normal tears rivering down his cheeks every now and then. Jaskier wasn't a stranger at traveling alone, after all he and Geralt used to part ways more often than not, even though that used to happen after months and months of traveling together. He forced himself to picked his broken heart, rebuilded even if he still could see the cracks.

And then came the anger for the unfairness thrown so casually against him. How dares he? How. Dares. He? all those years of friendship and loyalty repaid with words aimed to pierce, and pierce they did. Words that were the outcome of the witchers' broken heart, because Yennefer had walked away from Geralt despite the love he feel for her. True love or not, it was still love. Jaskier was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And then came the sorrow for his sweet witcher, and his perpetual broken heart. He wasn't justifying the harshful words and his own broken heart, of course not, but at least he now understands why Geralt said what he said. He needed to broke something, even if that something was their friendship. Oh his sweet emotionally abused witcher, if only Jaskier could mend him back together, if only Geralt let him. And one day the opportunity presented itself. After a very glorious performance on the local inn, he heard a couple of farmers gossiping about a witcher fighting an Alp no far from there. In all his traveling years he has never encountered with a witcher other than Geralt, he hopes that same fortune still follows him around. He packs his lute and the rest of his possessions to get back to the road. Asking is always the best resource if you want to find someone or something, and is oddly easy to locate Geralt.

Maybe destiny is part of their relationship, not that he'd ever mention it to the witcher.

An old woman point him to a road towards Kaedwen. Uh, So he's going to Kaer Morhen. He considers himself lucky to find him before disappearing like he used to every winter.

He walks and walks until the smell of smoke reaches his nose, he has learned a thing or two from Geralt about tracking, thank you very much, he's not that useless. Again maybe destiny is helping him, he's not that good, you see.

He goes through the trees until reaching a small clear and the unmistakable arrange of a camp. He sees a small figure, a girl with a black cloak covering her face, tending a very familiar horse. He clutches at his lute strap, by Melitele he's so fucking nervous, his heart beating frantically against his ribcage, his ears stuffed with white noise.

What if Geralt sends him away without a word? what if he spat more hurtful words? what if he's not welcome? Well, at least he'd have tried.

"Hi" he says softly

The child tense visibly, slowly she takes a step away from Roach and turns around.

"You better go before he sees you" so young age and so much steel in her voice, no wait-

"Princess?"

"Bard?" of course he returned to Cintra after the child surprise incident, Queen Calanthe liked so much his first performance that invite him to play three more times, one on Ciri's birthday. He is the best bard of all continents after all.

Of course Geralt would find her, of course. He felt a wave of pride surging from his chest. He did it, he found her. He was not alone.

“Jaskier?” Oh that voice, that damn voice reverberating on every fiber of his skin. And suddenly the witcher is there, in all his splendour, sword on one hand but he's not wearing his armor.

"Hello Geralt" and he gifts him with a sweet smile, despite the sweat on his palms and the creeping terror of being rejected. But Geralt doesn't said anything, doesn't move, some may think he's a statue. "Don't worry I won't stay long, I only want to talk if you allow me" he didn't came with the intention of staying, no, he'll respect the witchers blessing no matter what.

More than a year full of a banquet of emotions for the witcher, oh and how he love him still.

The silence stretch for long seconds, it may be hours for all he knows. And just when he's about to turn back to were he come from..

"I'll stay with Roach to give you privacy" dear Ciri says and Geralt nods rather insecure and Jaskier's heart aches at the picture. Jaskier follows Geralt to the camp, not that far from Roach and Ciri but that'll suffice. He's sure Geralt would want to keep an eye on her. The witcher sits against a tree leaving the bedroll for him. Jaskier place gently the lute on the ground not far from him. They sit facing each other.

breathe in breathe out, come on Jaskier you can do this. Bollocks, Geralt probably can sense how nervous he is.

He sees a small twitch on Geralt's lips like he wants to say something and Jaskier freaks out. "No!" he yelps, and then more softly he adds "No, let me talk. You know how much I love the sound of my own voice" he says with a small smile, but Geralt doesn't sees him, he's looking at the grass.

Here goes nothing.

“I've known you for a long time now, Geralt. It may be not that long for you with all your immortal years, but it is to me as the fleeting human that I am. You knew me as the annoying little bard, and now you know me as the annoying old bard. I've spent most part of my life by your side, if not the best part of it. And I did it gladly, and I would do it again gladly, because I choose to. Even in the first years when you were trying rather desperately to get rid of me. I choose to. No because of the magnificent songs I wrote but because I liked -like- your company.” Jaskier force himself to stop, a nasty bump forming in his throat, is harder than he though. You are already here, you may as well give it all. "You...you’re all that I have" And this earns him a reaction, Geralt twitch against the tree and sends him a indecipherable look, to return it at the same spot on the grass. “Yes yes, I remember the I don't need anyone needing me situation, but well, here we are, don't you know? you are my very best friend on the whole wide world" There, yes, a smile on his lips."You are, my friend. I mean, no matter how many times you denied it. It took me more than two decades to get to know you. It took me five years to know that you would rather spend a night under the stars, than in a inn without proper stables for Roach. Ten years to know how much you hate fish, but love the rabbit broth I cook. More than ten years to know when to shut up otherwise you'll snap at me, though I admit I've not always follow this knowledge. I could go on and on but not today. And so I know you didn't mean what you said on the mountain, at least I hope, not completely. You were unfair and cruel. Nothing of what you accused me is my fault, not entirely, but if it’s my fault then you must know I'm truly sorry. If I had known I assure you I would have left your side a long time ago.”

"You're not at fault" Geralt says with a weak whisper. And Jaskier feels something loosening up on his chest, carefully he closes the distance between them, knees almost touching. "Good, good. I came to apologize even though I didn't do anything wrong, but you should know that I won't do it again. I'll not tolerate more words with intent to hurt. I'll no longer be taken for granted or tossed aside like an old pair of shoes. Have I made myself clear? Because if you do something like that again, oh by Melitele I promise I'll make you pay.”

"Yes I understand" Answers. The white wolf stripped of all his barriers. He sounds so tired, so broken.

"Oh my sweet sweet witcher" he says lovingly, daring to reach out for a lock of white hair falling above Geralt's cheekbone to tuck it behind his ear. And Geralt for once, doesn't pull away. "Life has not been kind to you. But I am, I have and will be kind to you till my last breath. You have me, even thru distance, you can count on me, even if I'm not that resourceful. Look at me Geralt. Yes, there you are. Hi. You have my undying loyalty and consideration, and you know why? because I'm your friend and I love you. By the way I'm amazingly happy for you have finally found your child surprise, although I wish it had been on better circumstances” Geralt smile at him, that small curve on his lips accompanied by the delicate flutter of his eyelids. And Jaskier falls for the man a little bit more. "Oh well, that was intense. I should get going, I'm planning on staying on the road for few more months maybe years who knows? I still have a couple of great songs on my sleeve about our adventures. Oh, and I received a letter from Oxenfurt. They recognize me as one of the best poets of the age. They have a classroom reserved for me, can you imagine? Me, teaching! a terrible idea If you ask me. But I'll make them wait some years, if old age doesn't take me first. You must come and visit me there, yes you must! or on the road when all this is over. Don't make me wait that long, ok?” He reaches one last time to grab Geralt's wrist and squeeze, fully smiling before standing up, he dust his fine clothes and hangs his lute over his shoulder. "Be safe my witcher and take care of each other" he says loud enough to be heard by Ciri. He approaches the princess in question and Roach who neigh in delight, she's got a soft spot for him and the sugar cubes he always stuffs in his pockets, just like the ones currently on his fist. Roach gently took a couple from his open hand.

“You're safe with him, princess”

"I know...and uhmm it's Ciri"

"Ciri” he replies

"Is good to know he have someone" say Ciri in a small voice.

"He’s always had, only thah he needs to be reminded of now and then.” She nods solemnly, in that moment Jaskier knew she'll grow up to be an excellent warrior even better than Geralt. He hopes he'll be there to witness it. And with that he leaves, throwing a last glance at the witcher, who's still sitting against the tree, lost in thought.

He looks at the sky, nightfall is about to come in more or less two hours, enough time to reach the nearest town to rent a room. He'll not perform, not tonight. Tonight is for him alone. His stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud, he's only eaten bread and a green apple on the entire day. He can't wait to get to the inn to order a plate of the delicious pork he could smell as he passed by. Perhaps he can afford to buy honey pastry, oh yes.

With every step taken away from the camp, he feels like he's finally free, the acid sensation in his chest and throat is no longer there. The sorrow finally gone. Suddenly, subtly, unexpectedly tears began to pour, he's sobbing, but smiling at the same time. He’s undoubtedly content.

Footsteps. Heavy footsteps behind him. He stops.

It can't be.

He turns unhurriedly, and he sees him, sees Geralt running towards him . A desperate expression on his handsome features. And Jaskier knows what's about to happen. With a swiftly movement takes the strap of his lute to let it fall at the ground. Sorry girl.

"...Jaskier" he grunts just before engulfin the bard in those strong arms. Barely recovered from the shock, Jaskier sobs some more on the witcher's shoulder. This is truly happening. Geralt is hugging him like he's an anchor, like he's worth it.

Geralt takes his face between his hands, cleaning the still flowing tears with his thumbs. Faces inches apart. "What have I done to deserve you" he whispers with devotion. "You should be angry, you should hate me. I don't deserve..."

"You deserve this and more. Much more." Geralt's eyes are wet and Jaskier feels blessed to be granted the trust to seeing him so open, so vulnerable.

"And you, do you deserve this despicable treatment? Please forgive me" Jaskier smiles against the tears, bumping his forehead with Geralt's. "Forgive me"

"There's nothing to forgive, my sweet sweet witcher" Sweetly Geralt guides his lips to his forehead, his eyes, his nose, the corner of his lips. Jaskier may as well die with the happiness surging from every part of his being.

“I wanted to search for you, I was planning on to, after leaving Ciri at Kaer Morhen. You're too far important for me and therefore you're important to Nilfgaard. Come with me, come to Kaer Morhen with us. I can't bear the thought of leaving you behind"

"Yes" Because he'll always say yes, no matter what. Yes to this life, to the danger, to the songs. Yes to Geralt. They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, breathing each other scents, loving each other.

There are still things left unsaid, but it was enough for now. They needed to rest. To hold each other some more, maybe.

_______________________

Hello everyone! no beta, sorry :( I’m sure there’d be a lot of mistakes, be kind to me 

#The Witcher #the witcher fic #ficlet #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #geralt x dandelion #geralt the witcher #jaskier x geralt #the witcher (2019) #netflix the witcher #mine

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Silver for Monsters... (Geralt x fem!Witcher, Part 1.)

Description: The Butcher of Blaviken has a long and famous past, thanks to his friend Jaskier. Yet, neither of those dies easily and it still lurks behind Geralt like a shadow after all those years. History, neither unfriendly relationships, doesn't die easily.

Part summary: A lonely witchress in the woods can mean only one thing - a monster is lurking through the woods and a contract has been pinned up on a local village's board.

Warnings: A bit of gore, magic, Witchress, a werewolf being a bich, Sigimund Dijkstra appeareaing in a mention (if you do not know who Dijkstra is, look him up, he honestly is one of my fav Witcher game characters).

A/N: This one is purely based on my wish to see at least one female witcher, but knowing that the trial of grass doesn't allow that. Because boy? They would tear Geralt’s ass in half.

Word count: 4.4 K

Tagging: (tell me and I will add you :)) @osgon-azure​ @davnwillcome​

Master list: H E R E

Many of you know me. You’ve seen my face, heard my name, or my tales - maybe you even threw your rotten vegetables at me for what I know. It doesn’t matter to me. Such details aren't important in my stories. But no matter how you might hate me - the poet, the bard, the most beautiful man you'd ever seen -, you love my tales.

Indeed, my name is Julian Alfred Pankratz. But when you'd meet me, I would introduce myself as Jaskier or Dandelion. And my most famous tales are going hand in hand with my friend, the legend, Geralt of Rivia. He is the man coming from Kaedwen, the coldest Northern Kingdom, born and raised at Kaer Morhen, the notorious School of the Wolf. And I have already written tales, ballads, and books about him.

You heard many stories and legends about this man - about the romance of his with the mightiest sorceress Yennefer of Vengenberg, the story of how he was bound to the Cintran princess Cirilla by destiny, about how he had outwitted the Wild Hunt itself. Yet I have one more for you. Sit down, have a pint of ale or a cup of wine, and hear my telling of how... Not one, but two witchers traveled day and night to reach the Redenian mountains and how they discovered a horrifying monster there. But have in mind that one of them was a woman.

Our story begins on one stormy night in the Mire West amidst the rampage of the Nightmare...

The place around you was completely dark and lifeless, only sounds of wind howling and grass dancing in it along with heavy rain could be heard. The moon just started slowly rising in the sky, but it was too cloudy up there. That could be a slight problem in your perfect plan. How were you supposed to lure a werewolf out of its lair if there won't be a full moon? These bitches came out of the lair only under those specific circumstances - moon shining on the ground, nonstop.

The lamb meat filled with cursed oil was neatly prepared in the middle of a road and your silver sword was ready as well, laying on your thighs as you were meditating to pass the time somehow - you let the potions in your vascular system starting to work, making an extremely dangerous weapon out of your very own body. You used Cat potion, so your eyes could perfectly see in the night and a Blizzard potion, shorting the time of reactions and sharpening reflexes to the monster's attacks.

A low chuckle came out of your lips. Meditations were never your strength - Vesemir was always bitching you down for whispering to the others while they sat on their knees, and tried to completely leave their body with their minds. You learned how to pretend to meditate, just to shut Vesemir up, but you accomplished the state only a few times. More than meditating, you were in a light sleep while you still could bring your body to sit at least a bit straight.

You had the suspicion that Vesemir knew that the whole time, but he never said anything since you at least shut up and didn't disturb the other kids who were brought to the School of the Wolf in Kaedwen to become witchers and witchresses.

The memories you had bonding to that place weren't all happy, but not all of them were bad. There was a lot of pain you had to endure, yes, but you had some fun in the process. And you still had a witcher family you could always count on - your best pal Lambert and a grumpy brother Eskel, there was Leo, your baby boy, and Vesemir, who was something like your father. There was Coën too, but unfortunately, he was far gone. And then, there was... Well... There was also him.

The greatest fucker... You meant to say the greatest of your kind - the legendary White Wolf, a man called Geralt of Rivia. It wasn't that you exactly hated him, no, you could count on him and his help when you met him on the road just as he could count on you, but you two never really got along in the first place. You never gave him a chance to start a friendship. And to say the least, he was outshining all of you, always getting the best contracts and money. And you weren't even talking about the fame he got in the process.

On the bright side, Geralt was a source of your motivation to become better and better - you both passed the trail of grasses, finishing it in better shape than all of the other kids that were trained on Kaer Morhen. You were already special - while three males out of ten survived, only one female out of fifty survived the trial. But that just wasn't enough of you, was it? You had better reflexes, reactions, senses, and you could cast the signs better than the other two girls who passed the trial. Even though that, it was too risky to send you on additional trials and Vesemir told you a million times.

For an unknown reason, there was a high rivalry between you and Geralt since the day you met for the first time. And when you heard that he's going to endure some more experiments, you demanded them as well, no matter the costs. You didn't care if it costs you your life, you wanted to be the best.

Vesemir and Lambert tried to change your mind for months, but you weren't planning on letting Geralt win the game. You went through another five mutations under the supervision of druids residing in Kaer Morhen, the fourth almost killing you in the process.

For the first time during a trial, you screamed in pain the whole time as you felt the serums and potions crawling through your skin and veins. When you got up, your skin tone almost matched alabaster, melanin almost completely disappearing out of your body, your hair was completely white and your eyes were no longer only golden - they were glowing. When Geralt walked out of the second chamber, he looked the same. But he has done something you would never expect - he asked you about your well-being and if you want to stop the trials. But you just chuckled and left him in the hall.

Lambert was enough of a friend to you. He was quite a normal witcher with a good sense of humor. You could drink and laugh evenings away with your witcher brother and never be bothered with thoughts about the incoming morning. He saved your life many times before and you knew, that the last time wasn't exactly the last. To repay him, you saved his ass from the revenge of former lust subjects, pretending to be his girlfriend and being extremely mad at him.

With Eskel, you had a more reserved relationship, since he was more of a reserved person - he didn't exactly make friendships, he was just a person you could count on any time you needed to. But you got along at the end of the day.

A sharp howling threw you out of your thoughts about your witcher brothers. Both your eyelids flew open, showing the golden, glowing eyes with a cat-like iris shape underneath. The werewolf was set to go on a hunt - and so were you. You opened up the last bottle with your teeth, drinking the potion in one swing, making your blood hazardous for the monster.

After that, you slowly walked to the path where your trap was laid, finding the creature sniffing it. It was rather cautious with it, wanting to eat it, but not quite trusting it. Werewolves were huge beasts with fur, every one of them growing to the height of two meters and more after the transformation.

They might be looking skinny, but their strength was almost overshadowing yours for good. Hunting a werewolf all alone? What were you thinking? That was exactly what was happening since Geralt wielded the tiara of the best witcher in the world. Shitty contracts for a laughable amount of coin. But work was work - humans, monsters, animals, it didn't exactly mean anything to you. You came, did the job and left, always repeating and never breaking the circle. Although to stay true to the codex of Kaer Morhen, you never killed an innocent being - monster, neither a human. If they proved their innocence, you let them go, taking the money anyway.

But this werewolf, boy, wasn't he something different? This bitch was off the chains, suffocating, hunting, and eating alive at least thirteen girls just this year alone. And you couldn't wait to get your dirty little hands on its throat and chop his fucking head off. You hated motherfuckers. And he sure was one.

"This is a nice, cute attempt to poison me, witcher!" - The werewolf rose his head and looked around, showing you its ugly face, which was half-wolf and half-human. Its claws were strong, which could cause trouble as well - he could scratch you without hurting himself, not tasting your blood. God damn it. - "But I ain't no idiot! I know ya poisoned it! Come out! Face the mighty Nightmare of Mire West!"

So it was an intelligent one. That was a bonus point - you knew that murdering him will cause you way more enjoyment than killing a normal beast would. It was probably only a human when there wasn't a full moon, living in their small, stinky cage, all alone in the wilderness. But if the man changed into such a beast which was able to stalk and murder young gals in such gruesome ways, you knew that your sword was the right thing to put end to his ruling over Mire West.

"I like me an intelligent foe." - You growled in a cruel voice, adding a burst of short, dark laughter at the end. You confused the werewolf a bit - he wasn't able to track where you were at the moment. There was no visible movement in the bushes, your voice seemed to come out of a few different directions at one time and your footsteps didn't break a single branch on the ground, making you almost impossible to track based on sounds in the slowly ending heavy rain. - "Feels better when I slice their throats. They beg like little girls to let them live - but you know something about that, don't you? You enjoy murdering girls and letting them beg, don't you?"

The beast was moving its muzzle quickly as he tried to sniff you. The wet air made it almost impossible. The time was ticking too fast - soon, you knew that the air will clean up and starts to transmit your scent. This needed to be done quickly.

"Are ya a woman, witcher? Ye a witchress? I like women, did ya hear that?" - Werewolf tested the waters, seeing a bush next to his right move. He didn't know that it was an animal coming through here, thinking it was you hiding in the bushes. In the next moment, the monster roared with a raw, animalish growl as it attacked the bush. - “I like to snap their necks and taste their meat, I like their voices begging me to stop, the scent of their hair and the skin. Come here, to my claws, don't try to play with me.”

The werewolf then turned around, his completely darkened eyes were scanning the surroundings in search of you. He kneeled a bit, grunting like a pig as spit was dripping out of his mouth full of sharp teeth.

“You atone to all of those murders? You don't even try to clean your name, try to tell me that you are innocent? I might let you go.” - You knew that this fucker isn't innocent but you needed more time to look around the meadow, now seeing every small detail in it thanks to the Cat potion. You planned various attacks, different scenarios, trying to imagine him overpowering you. What would you do then?

“I know that ya been sniffing around Velen for a while now, crawling through sewers like a rat, looking at every shit I made. I know ya heard stories about the Nightmare of Mire West. Ya a witchress, ya know how to recognize a werewolf in comparison to a different monster.” - The werewolf laughed and crawled on all fours, bearing more similarity to a wolf than a human at the moment. His laughter was similar to a hyena.

Then you jumped out of your hideout and cut him with your sword smeared with a cursed oil. The werewolf wasn't expecting you, so you hit your spot, but not in the range you planned on. The beast roared, sounding like a swine, catching its leg as it watched the blood dripping from the cut.

“Look at ya!” - It laughed, its teeth showing again. Your eyes were jumping on various spots on its body - from its lower paws dugs into the muddy ground as he was charging for a jump. - “Ya look like a cat, ya hair white, ya smug arrogant. Come to me.”

You jumped at the same time the werewolf did, but you turned around and swung your sword towards it, hitting it into its ribs. Sword fights were always like a dancing lesson - male witchers preferred different fighting styles, sometimes heavier and more aggressive than you could ever archive. You could move quicker than them, yet your hits were lighter. You danced on the toes of your feet, the top of your sword carefully drawing eight again and again. Your hits were maybe lighter than male witchers’, but you were able to hit the spot more often with clean cuts.

“Ya can move, I need to say. A second cut on my body.” - The beast growled, suddenly spinning the other way, its claws hitting your stomach. The hit made you fall, he hit exactly the liver and stomach, which could hurt like hell. Yet it was not a hit that would stop a witchress.

You made a rollover your shoulders, stopping on your feet. While you stood up, the werewolf almost scratched your face. That was a no-no. Witchers and witchresses maybe were known for long, dark pink cuts and huge scars over their faces, but you knew that a pretty face always means a half of the deal sealed. Thanking all the Gods and angels out there, Blizzard made you able to get out of its way.

Again, you swung your sword to meet its stomach, but again, it jumped at you in a matter of seconds, aiming for your neck. Its claws tore apart your chainmail armor, cutting your skin. But you didn't move a single inch away, no, you held its arm with a firm grip, looking the beast in the eyes.

First, it didn't know why are you looking at it the way you did, pressing the arm on your stomach, letting the blood drip directly on it. Soon, it felt how the skin is burning as the acid was slowly decomposing it. It was looking you in your cat eyes and saw your lips slowly turning to a violent smile.

Next second, it pushed you away, whining like a little puppy, licking the acid off. But it didn't know that it will only make the matters worse.

“What now? Don't you want to taste my blood and meat? Don't you want to sniff me and hear me beg for my life? Are you backing off?” - You rolled the sword in your palm and prepared into the fighting position again. - “The fun has just started, you pussy.”

With a quick move, you made the gesture of Igni sign, sending fire its way, then throwing a Moon Dust bomb at it. The bomb blew up, springling small pieces of silver everywhere its range was. The werewolf was now screaming like a child - it was burned by the Igni sign, silver was burning its skin alive, he was cut - so the silver got into its vascular system and that was perfect torture in your opinion. It tried to run away into the safety of its cave, but it was just to try to lure you in - in the small space of a cavern could be its brutal strength fatal for you.

It was time to use the Aard sign. You were quick, almost violent with it, pushing the werewolf next to the cave entrance. It bumped its head onto a sharp rock, blood was dripping out of that bruise pretty quickly. That was a moment he might start to believe that you were there to truly kill him like a swine. Indeed, you were there for that.

When it laid on its back, it started howling at the moon - that was a tactic used by a werewolf when the things got out of their control. They tried to call for help from wolves living in the woods. But you only laughed as you walked to him, preparing for one last final blow, still holding the place on your stomach where it hit you.

"Ye going to die, Witchress, why is ya laughing?" - The beast growled out with visible and hearable problems, which made your smile bigger.

"Because I killed every pack in the radius of ten kilometers, you dumb shit. I sold the furs and meat for a fair coin, even got something to brew potions from. A valuable deal." - You laughed and swung your sword one last time - piercing its chest with it. After that, as you heard it choking on its blood and scream awfully, you sat next to it into the mud.

It was maybe just a short fight, but it made you cast two signs and to move at an incredibly fast pace. And the hit into your stomach was almost precise, hurting like a living fuck. The fight took its cost in the form of incredible tiredness. Also, the potions were still circling through your body, drawing energy out of it. You thanked Gods that you had the idea to track down and eliminate all the packs in the area. The contract could've turned out much differently than it did in the end.

You waited a while, the rain started to fall from the sky again, before cutting the beast's head off. You used an old dwarven axe for that since it was durable and almost unbreakable.

Not an hour after that, your camp was packed up and you were ready to leave the woods, riding horseback to the city again. The werewolf's head was pinned on your saddle to be seen by any bandit. You weren't in a mood for jokes, you didn't want to mess around with some lousy bandit just to be dirty from their blood.

You changed into a fresh shirt and made a hairstyle so tight that not even the smallest baby hair had the chance to fly in front of your face.

It was a while after three o'clock in the early morning when you knocked on the contractor's door - his name was Stjepan, male about thirty years old with a wife and two small daughters. That was the main reason why he wanted the werewolf dead. He was also a local innkeeper, so you at least had a hope that you will sleep in an actual bed instead of the woodland full of bugs and branches poking your ass and back.

"Who the hell is knocking my damn door at night?!" - You heard his angry yell just seconds before he opened up the door. You stood there, soaked from the rain, only in trousers and shirt, holding the head in the level of his eyes. He yelled and threw up just centimeters from your shoes, but you kept the straight face.

"Monster's dead. I want my money." - You growled, throwing the head in. You could hear the small girls and woman yelling, but you didn't care at all. Stjepan disappeared for a small moment, appearing after a while with a small sack of gold.

"Now leave and never come back, ya filthy creature. I can see the devil in ya eyes. I will pray for ya soul." - Stjepan hissed at you, trying to close the door, but your arm stopped it. Stjepan tried to shut it one more time, but your arm didn't even move out of the wood.

Geralt would've most likely just shook his head and leave the man - but you were a lot of things, pussy not being on your list.

Witchers, since they were males, had enhanced strength of the strongest human men. Since you were a woman, you were as strong as a really strong man - those who had almost two meters, one hundred kilograms, and muscles all over their body. When Stjepan realized that he isn't able to close the door, he opened it once again, your hand finally leaving it.

"This is less than we agreed on. I want my money." - You hissed back at the man, stepping into his house. Oh, you would give anything just to see him spraying holy water on the spot where you were standing.

"I don't have more, now fuck off!" - Stjepan yelled and tried to push you out of his door, but he was pushed back as soon as his palm touched your shoulder. Some wall pushed him back so hard, that he stumbled and fell right on his ass.

"Stjepan, Stjepan, Stjepan... Do you remember when your sweet little girls asked me why I have two swords?" - Your eyes slowly looked through the opened door, last drops of Cat potions still making your night vision sharp. These two girls were sitting on the bed and hugged their dolls extremely tight, both of them shaking, hoping you can't see them.

But you could. And Stjepan's wife was standing next to the stove, holding a pan as if it could do any harm to you. With your stare still on the children, you slowly walked through their lovely, little house.

"Ya told them that the long, elegant, silver one with the runes is for monsters." - Stjepan stuttered out and covered the door with his laying body so you would have a harder time getting to the room.

"And that the other one is for even worse monsters." - You told him and kneeled in front of him, tugging the sword from the leather strap on your back. The steel was making cold notice as you tugged it even slower. - "Monsters called humans. The worst of them all."

"Ye a witchress!" - Stjepan's wife yelled at you, raising the pan to her hip, ready to hit you. - "Ya meant to help and protect folk! Not to kill 'em!"

You would never hurt these children. They were just children, for fuck's sake - their life hasn't even started and anyone, let alone a monster hunter like, had the right to hurt them and end their life. No witcher nor witchress had the right to take an innocent person's life.

But you weren't playing clean games, oh boy, you weren't. When you had to be dirty, you planned to be dirty as hell. You needed to keep your face straight if you wanted to scare that dick off.

"You better give me my money or I swear that I will kidnap your children and make them witchresses. After all, that's what witchers do when people refuse to pay their debts." - You hissed, walking over Stjepan directly to the bed, almost dragging the two girls out.

Just seconds before you touched them, Stjepan threw another sack to your feet, crawling in front of his small girls. - "Now go! Leave the fucking town and never come back! Fuck off!"

You straightened up and looked at the two small girls which slowly disappeared in the darkness as Cat finally stopped working. Only after that, you finally left their room. - "Pleasure doing businesses with you, Stjepan." - You added with a sour, ironic tone and walked off into the night.

Well, your plan with sleeping at his inn didn't exactly work out. At least you had the money he promised, even if you had to scare a few little kids. You walked to your horse, gently smoothing its forehead. Well, the only thing you could do was to ride to another city so you could find another job.

Well, that was the plan, until a man came across you. He was dressed up in a long cloak, covered in the darkness, almost sneaking up on you. You chuckled from shoving the money into on me of the bags on the saddle, not looking at the person. They must've known that you know about them the whole time.

"I won't give you a single coin, don't even bother asking me." - Your mumbling could be heard in the cold, silent night.

"Oh, I don't need your money, witchress. I want to speak to ya." - The person said, putting an envelope into the saddle looking you in the eyes. First, you checked the person to see if they mean any harm - it was a short man, pretty underweight, his arms looked very weak. He couldn't attack you if his mind was bright - he would die after one of your blows. - "Not me, pretty lady, but a friend of mine. Told me to say hi once I find ye."

With that, the caped person turned on their heels and disappeared into the darkness again. You watched him quietly for a second before you couldn't see him - then you looked at the envelope and grinned when you recognized the seal. That old, ugly bastard, Sigi Reuven.

Or, as the others knew, Sigismund Dijkstra. One of the most dangerous spies on the whole Continent. And that old son of a bitch wanted to talk to you.

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