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mlm-writer · 5 months

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Old Friend (Geralt x GN!Reader)

Pairing: Show!Geralt of Rivia x Gender Neutral Reader (can be interpreted as platonic or romantic) Rating: Mature Words: 1670 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 21 - “I did what I had to do to protect those I love… I had no choice!” Note: Don't @ me for still posting things that were supposed to come out in October. Tags: angst, mention of Ciri & Yennefer, ft. Jaskier & Milva, murder and dark magic

Everyone would agree that Ciri was an unlucky girl with a life tainted by tragedy. Every time you spoke with her about her past, you felt a little pang in your heart. However, sometimes you envied her. The way Geralt reserved his warmest of smiles for his charge, the way the most powerful sorceress spent her time teaching Ciri and the power Ciri possessed sometimes made you feel like she was, in some way, a very lucky girl.

You spent life on the run with Ciri, Geralt and Yennefer. Most of the time you felt like you were family, sometimes you felt like an extra, an unnecessary weight, but no one told you to leave. You had nothing to teach Ciri that Geralt and Yennefer couldn’t. They had it covered from sword to spells to alchemy.

Then things kept going to shit and before you knew it, Geralt was flirting with death and Ciri was missing. You wanted to go find her, but Yennefer insisted you stayed with Geralt. “You can heal anything!” Geralt exclaimed as you exhausted yourself once more. He was capable of loud verbal abuse. You should’ve counted that as a win, but it was hard to, when Geralt was still bed-bound.

“I’m doing everything I can!” You yelled back. Milva entered, her hand landing on your shoulder. It has been the same song over and over again ever since Jaskier revealed Ciri was on her way to Nilfgaard. Geralt proceeded to demand more of you. Milva forced you out. Jaskier was waiting for you with a brew of herbs that would help you recover your strength. “I’m really doing everything I can,” you sobbed by the fire.

Jaskier put his arm around you, comforting you the best he could. “I know. He knows. He is just… Geralt.” You leaned against the bard, letting his body’s warmth seep into yours. You sat by the fire until it got dark. Jaskier eventually let you be to mull over your thoughts in peace. When you had the strength you used your magic on those that did appreciate it. You were weak, but even a little was for many enough to pull their foot out of the grave.

Exhaustion gnawed at your bones. Your muscles felt like they were weighed down by the state of the world. You took a stroll out of the camp, trying to avoid Jaskier and Milva. They meant well, but their words were not enough to distract you from the power you lacked.

When the lights of the camp were far behind you, you stopped walking. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, knees colliding with the muddy ground of the forest. From a secret pocket sewn into the coat you’ve had for over two decades, you procured an amulet you haven’t worn since you met Geralt all those years ago. The deep red gem reflected the light of the moon onto your eyes. Deep within the stone you could see an old friend. You promised Geralt you’d throw this trinket away; you promised you would never give in to temptation again, but despair had forced you quite literally to your knees. You clenched the charm tightly in your fist. “All is fair in love and war,” you whispered as you stared down at your fist, noticing how red light seeped between your fingers. “These are times of war and… I love him.”

Those words spoken aloud strengthened your resolve. You closed your eyes as you put the thin golden chain over your head, letting the amulet fall right where your heart was. As soon as that metal hit your chest, you felt an old friend occupying your mind once more. “I always knew you’d come back,” it told you. It gave you visions of how to help Geralt. The methods dancing on the grey moral spectrum, but led by these visions, you made your way back to the camp. You entered the tents of the sleeping patients you had helped earlier. You touched those that you didn’t think would make it to the morning. Their life force entered through your fingertips. They breathed their final breath. You felt the weak energy pooling together. One tent, two, three, you passed though the whole camp, taking what you needed from those that were not likely to hold onto it for long anyway. Each time you took, darkness rose to your skin, revealing your deeds in the night.

Your veins had turned black by the time you entered the final tent. Geralt was fast asleep as well, too injured to even hear you entering, too unwell to open his eyes and ask you what you were doing there. A black tear rolled down your cheek as you placed your hand on his chest and let go of all the energy you had collected. The life energy of the people that died that night flowed from your chest down to your fingertips. In his sleep, Geralt inhaled deeply as the energy filled him. It only took a moment, but it felt like an eternity as you felt the weight of the lives you took to save the one most dear to you.

When you were devoid of all the energy but your own, you collapsed on the ground, legs too tired to keep you up. You took deep breaths, trying to avoid looking at your hands. However, in the end you just needed to know how bad things were. You raised your palms, the sight - though expected - still horrifying. Your skin had blackened from the dark magic. Your hands felt fine though. “You did well. This is only the beginning of what we can achieve. You’re meant to take what you please,” the old friend’s voice echoed through your skull. The words were reassuring, but you knew all too well where things could lead. You reached for the amulet, ready to rip it off you. “You need me. Without me you’re useless. You can’t protect the ones you love.”

Geralt had you once believe otherwise, but it only took one glance towards him to show you where his faith in you had led him to. Even the great White Wolf could be wrong sometimes. Defeated, you slowly let go of the amulet, allowing it to occupy its old spot. “Everything will be fine. You will be fine,” the being spoke through the amulet to you. You had heard those words a million times from Jaskier, but only now did they actually soothe you.

The next morning you woke up from stirring on the bed. You hadn’t dared to leave the tent and slept on a chair. “Geralt,” you whispered, aware of your surroundings the moment your ears picked up on the rustling of blankets. You forgot what you looked like, immediately rising from the chair and joining Geralt at his side. You inspected the wound on his leg, but it was not there anymore, a new scar adorning his skin.

Your eyes didn’t meet Geralt’s until he sat up on his own. “What did you do?” His voice dripped of venom. You lifted your head to meet his yellow eyes, darkened by the deeply furrowed eyebrows. Your throat felt tight, so tight that not a single syllable could make it through to the cold space between you and the Witcher. He called your name and reached out. You were frozen in place as his calloused fingers traced the black marks on your face. “What did you do?” He repeated the question, emphasising each word with urgency.

Black tears pooled in your eyes, the first few already rolling down your cheeks by the time you found your voice once more. “I did what I had to do to protect those I love…” You swallowed a lump in your throat. “I had no choice.” Your voice trembled, each word shaking more than the previous one.

Geralt was visibly seething as he grabbed your arm, his grip tight. “What did you do?” He demanded, voice booming in the small space. You tried to free yourself.

“Geralt, please, you’re hurting me!” “Say it!”

He knew you. He knew you from the moment he met you. He knew the person you could be once you gave up on your ‘old friend’. He knew what you did then and he knew what you did last night. He knew, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be wrong. He wanted to have mistaken that familiar amulet around your neck. However, things were exactly as it seemed and just like things never changed, Jaskier and Milva came in right on que.

Jaskier called out for Geralt, tried to calm him. He immediately commented on how he seemed to be better, proceeded to ask how. Meanwhile, Milva freed you of Geralt’s grip. A crowd had formed at the entrance, but you couldn’t see anyone in the room but Geralt. “How many have died tonight?” Geralt demanded to know, Jaskier and Milva now in between you two. They tried to calm him. “How many?” He roared.

His fury eventually ripped the answer out of you. “I don’t know! I only took from those that were not likely to make it to the morning anyway.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt’s voice was quieter now he got his answer from you. He turned to the bard. “How many people died tonight?” Jaskier turned to Milva, hoping she held the answer.

“42,” she spoke with surprising steadiness. She then looked at you, shaming you with her eyes alone. She was not the only one who despised your existence after that night. Jaskier pleaded for your life, then left with Geralt to find Ciri. You had to go your own way, fend for yourself once more. If it wasn’t for your aching heart, it was like you never met the Witcher at all. He never wanted to see you again, but even as you walked with your backs facing each other, you felt like you would see him again. It was a funny thing… destiny.

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#gender neutral reader #male reader #the witcher #the witcher s3 #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x male reader #geralt x gender neutral reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x gender neutral reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n #the witcher fic #dandelion #jaskier #milva

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dapandapod · 3 months

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Concept:

Geralt works in an aquarium, near the biggest fish tank.

Jaskier is a newly hired mermaid performer

Geralt was not told about this

In my dreams, it's still Mermay 2023. Husshhh time is fake. ANYWAY here it is! Thank you @magdelanesingerin helping me beta read <3 and thank you Ella-la for the prompt! It was a lot of fun! Please enjoy <3 On Ao3 here

Technically, Geralt does not work with humans. As in, he’s not there to provide care to humans.

Most of his coworkers are human, yes, but that is not the point. He did not start working here to serve people stale sandwiches and sparkling water.

Geralt knows every inch of the aquarium, knows every work position available.

He knows how to do everything, despite actually being there for the more excotic species of aquatic animals, usually with many teeth. Pros and Cons of working with the family, he supposes.

The years he has spent out in the field and all the late nights he worked with his doctor's thesis, all the scars from times he spent crawling through knee deep water that stank of sulfur and decay, only to find his arm swallowed to the elbow by something very small with big hubris-- all of that is put to perfect use as he wraps yet another dry, overpriced sandwich, or scoops yet another ice cream.

The reason he actually stays, despite the screaming children and the sweating parents and the bored teenagers and the entitled grandparents and the weird work tasks he gets assigned, is the way a young girl's face lights up when Geralt holds up a frog, big enough for him to have to use both hands.

Or the way the sullen teen beams when one of their rare giant butterflies lands on their hands. Or when he can hold an audience captive while showing them something new and exciting and incredibly nerdy about his sharks.

Geralt loves his sharks.

Due to every summer reason ever, Geralt has sadly been called away from his animal related daytime tasks to cover shifts where their usual summer employees are out sick. Which seems to be most of this month.

Where he stands right now, in the very small and very understaffed little kiosk, he has an excellent view of the shark tank, at least. As the aquarium has grown in popularity, so has their shark tank, his pride and joy.

Coën had explained to him excitedly that their new tank would have a much bigger viewing area, and seating area, almost like a little theater. To allow for future opportunities, he had said, and Geralt thought of the way he would be allowed to show off his beauties through the window and almost got excited himself.

It is unusually crowded today, and a lot of people are gathering around the viewing area and are chattering.

It's so loud, their voices bouncing around the room and amplifying, and it's hard to hear the woman in front of him inexplicably order their largest latte and a lactose free cheese sandwich.

Luckily, Milva is coming in soon to cover the rest of the shift, so Geralt can finally get back behind the tanks, out of sight of all the people.

But before he can, the clock strikes one, music blares through the speakers the speakers, and one of the employees he knows from birthday parties steps out with a microphone. It makes Geralt frown, because this is new.

Usually, the show around the big tank would involve a kid friendly lesson about the fish and aquatic animals in their tank, sometimes accompanied by a sweaty Lambert in a mascot suit.

This time, however, there is dreamy music, the lights are lowered even more, and the employee is talking about the magical beings living in the deep, out of sight of human eyes.

See, Geralt is a man of science.

He knows there are mythical and magical things in the depths, having been up close and personal with a few. But this sounds like they are setting up for some kind of misinformed children’s movie.

Which is why Geralt's jaw is somewhere around floor level, when an actual mermaid- wait no, merman, swims up to the glass, waving at the children.

Milva has to elbow him out of the way so she can serve the next customer, while Geralt stares at the Merman flitting around in his beloved shark tank.

The sharks stay clear, because even if the merman's tail is beautiful, it is still striped much like a dragon fish, warning all of them not only with his size, but also with his pattern and coloring, that he is dangerous.

Yet his smile is wide, his claws retracted to tap a smooth fingertip at the glass and wave at the crowd with a webbed hand.

His hair is chestnut brown, matching the pattern riding up along his back, with specks of gold dancing on his skin and in his blue, very blue eyes.

Geralt somehow finds himself by the rail to the seating area, and the merman's eyes lock with his.

As they do, they widen a fraction, and the smile turns into a smirk. The merman winks, and turns, swimming in a pirouetting circle as the employee narrates his movements.

As he swims, the light dances over muscle and bone and scale, the crowd around him making ‘Oooh’ and ‘Aaah’ noises. He is beautiful.

The merman keeps showing off, his many long fins twirling around him like ribbons in the calm water. It is mesmerizing, and as the show is coming to a close, Geralt hurries to the back area and towards the tank.

He gets intercepted by Lambert, of course, who steps in front of him with a shit eating grin spread wide across his smug face.

"Like the new show, did you, pretty boy?" Lambert says, sly eyes watching him.

"I didn't realize we had a new show." Geralt grumbles. "I need to-"

"-Go and ask our new pretty fish boy intrusive questions, yes I know. Just remember he is not a science project."

With a pat on Geralt's shoulder, Lambert walks past him and intothe guest area.

"Oh, and ask him for his number. Literally everybody in the room saw that wink," he throws over his shoulder as he goes.

Geralt feels his ears burn as he moves forward again, because yeah, that wink felt very... yeah. Words fail him, which is a bit unfortunate, seeing as he is just arriving at the stairs to the tank.

Climbing them, he tries to remember what he planned to do in the first place, other than, as Lambert called it, 'ask intrusive questions'.

As he reaches the top of the stairs, the merman is just climbing out of the tank, assisted by Eskel. Once again, Geralt feels his jaw drop, noticing that his tail is now legs.

Long legs. Bare legs, that goes up, up, and lucky for all of them, the rest of the view is quickly hidden by a towel wrapped around a slim waist.

"Figures," he hears Eskel snort, "Jaskier, this is Geralt, our aquatic expert."

They are on separate ends of the room, the tank between them, but the world narrows down to just the two of them.

There is, and always has been, a specific mood to the rooms that houses the the big tanks.

The way the water reflects light, sending it dancing on the walls and ceiling, how it softens shadows, how it can be dark but bright at the same time; Geralt has always did found it a little romantic.

Which isn't something he would ever confess to unless he was swimming in alcohol, or so sleep deprived he didn’tt even know his own name, but it is there, simmering in the back of his mind.

Especially now as he is standing there in the soft, romantic light with a man, who was just a merman, looking back at him as if he has discovered the world anew. He can even pretend that the humming of pumps and gurgling of water filters and dripping of pipes are an orchestra, a symphony to accompany a first meeting.

Alright, that is overdoing it, but still.

Behind Jaskier, Eskel is rolling his eyes so hard his body moves with it.

"Every. Frickin. Time. Jaskier, good job, don't forget to wash off before you get dressed. Let's talk after... after. Later. I do not want to be here right now."

Eskel leaves, patting Jaskier's shoulder, who only nods and waves absently, eyes still fixed at Geralt.

When Eskel is gone, disappearing through another door leading to more, smaller tanks and the food prep area, Geralt finally finds he can move.

It is oddly silent, except for the metallic sound of his shoes hitting the maze of walkways hanging above the tank. He stops, even before he has turned the corner to the final stretch.

"Hi," he manages after a few seconds too long.

The corner of Jaskier's mouth tugs up into a smile, and he reaches for another towel hanging on a hook on the wall.

"Hi," he echoes, his voice just a little raspy. Jaskier wraps the towel around his shoulders, using a corner to dry his hair. "So, you are the Geralt that I have heard so much about."

Geralt blinks. He did not expect people to have mentioned him, but then again, they might actually have warned Jaskier of him.

"Ah. Sorry. I can be uh... less than tactful when something grabs my interest."

Jaskier tilts his head even more and takes a step closer to him.

"So did I? Grab your interest, I mean."

Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck shit.

"I have never met a merman before." Geralt says stiffly, ears burning something fierce, and Jaskier looks amused.

Jaskier steps closer; his feet probably hurt from walking barefoot on the metal grating of the walkway but he doesn't stop until he is close enough to Geralt to stretch out his hand.

"Well then. My name is Jaskier, as you might have gathered. Nice to meet you! Though, I am not full mer, actually."

Interesting.

Geralt shakes his hand, noticing the tips of Jaskier’s fingers are a little rough against the back of his hand.

"Is that why you have... uh..."

"Legs?" Jaskier supplies helpfully. Geralt is still shaking his hand. "In part, yes. Some Mer have a splash of elven blood, granting them the ability to choose."

Geralt should stop shaking his hand. He really should. Their eyes are still locked, and Jaskier is still giving him that amused smile.

"You can stop shaking my hand now," he reminds Geralt, but doesn’t pull his hand back.

"Right. Yes. Right. Sorry." Geralt manages to let go, and is infinitely happy Eskel has left the room, though no doubt Lambert will look at the security footage for later. Shit.

As soon as Geralt manages to break the stare into the man’s eyes, he notices the next problem. Jaskier is pretty much naked, barely covered by the towels, revealing skin, chest hair, and the hint of a tattoo along his ribs and on one thigh.

He wants to ask about that, if it transfers to his fins or not. But as he stares, he also realizes Jaskier is shivering slightly. He's an idiot.

"I uh. Should leave you to get dressed. There is a shower in the changing rooms. Uhm. Can I get you a coffee or something? Later?"

Jaskier smiles that amused smile of his while Geralt is kicking himself internally. Words never were his thing, no, but this is ridiculous.

"As in bring me a coffee, or drink a coffee together with me?"

"Whichever you are comfortable with. Sorry, I am not making a good impression here."

"You are very cute, if that helps." Jaskier says, and Geralt blinks, stunned.

When he fails to reply, Jaskier pulls his towel tighter around himself, and nods.

"Right. So, I'll go shower, and we’ll pretend I never said that. And I'll see you later. For coffee."

Jaskier’s ears are slightly red, and Geralt wants to pretend it’s from their conversation, not from being cold.

Geralt nods, and flees before he can put his foot in his mouth any further, and only after he is half way down the stairs does he realize that he forgot to ask if Eskel showed Jaskier where the changing rooms are.

Too late now, he absolutely won’t go back and risk walking in on a very naked Jaskier. Nope.

When Geralt steps into the public area again, the crowds are slowly thinning out, now that the show is over.

Parents are herding kids towards bathrooms and other viewing areas, and Geralt decides that he needs to find something just a little better than the staff room coffee machine.

It feels a little cheap to go with the aquarium café, and he realizes he doesn't even know how Jaskier likes his coffee. Geralt himself has a sweet tooth, and very few ever believe that at first sight.

He decides to stand and awkwardly waits until Jaskier comes back out.

He manages to work himself up as he waits, overthinking until he’s standing there frowning and glaring at the wall when Jaskier emerges at last.

Quirking an eyebrow, Jaskier hoists his dufflebag a bit higher on his shoulder.

"You good?"

"Hmm. What kind of coffee do you like?" Geralt asks, before he can say something dumb.

"Black as tar, so anything is good." Jaskier smiles. See? You never know what to expect, even with sunshine incarnated.

Geralt nods, and leads the way to the little kiosk where he was working just a few, life-changing minutes before. .

Milva smiles gleefully at Geralt when it's their turn, and hands them a coffee black as tar, and for Geralt, coffee with milk and three sugar cubes.

Instead of sitting down, they put away Jaskier's bag and wander around the aquarium. It turns out he never had the chance to look around before diving in for his first show.

Geralt tries to not ask all the intrusive questions bubbling up in his head, his scientific curiosity temporarily pushed down by the way Jaskier coos at tiny crabs and little fishes in weird shapes and colors.

At last, Jaskier informs him that he can't stay any longer, that he has band practice after his show, and should have gone already.

"But I'll see you again, Geralt," Jaskier promises with a smile. "Next week. Unless you want to grab a bite sometime?"

Jaskier's ears are red again, and Geralt can feel his own face getting warm.

"I'd like that," he mumble, and Jaskier beams. They exchange numbers, just in case Geralt had anything else to ask.

Not one minute after Jaskier leaves, waving over his shoulder, Lambert is on him.

"Getting some tail, are you, pretty boy?" Lambert grins, and Geralt elbows him away.

"If you say anything ever again, I'll show Aiden all your drunk texts," he threatens, which he knows will only work for a few days.

Geralt risks sending a text that same night, and Jaskier replies only a few minutes after.

They have a lunch scheduled in a few days, and Geralt doesn't dare call it a date, not yet, no matter what Eskel says.

When Geralt goes to sleep later that night, he dreams of blue eyes, of chestnut brown and gold specks glimmering in the underwater light.

#geraskier #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #mermay 2023 #marine biologist geralt #part mer jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #meet cute #fluff #geralt gets a surprise #dapanda writes

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kingthunder · 1 year

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Prompt for Geralt and Jaskier: “God I hate you” & “Prove it.” I know you’ll make a masterpiece (like all of your work)!!💜

Rience plays with him. Rience hits him. Rience lights a flame, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and all Jaskier can do is burn.

Jaskier isn’t quite the same afterwards. The non-essential parts of him have gone up in smoke and what’s left is this: he has found out in the most intimate way possible that when it’s time for hurting—when the very meat of him is black and charred and he can taste the smoke of his own fat on the back of his tongue—that even then he cannot redirect the hurt onto Geralt. He’ll take it all and fold it up inside him and keep Geralt safe, even though Geralt didn’t do the same for him.

He wants to be angry about it. He wants to scream his righteous fury to the skies. Hell, he’s been doing that for a year already, in every tavern that will let him through the door, insisting that he wants Geralt to burn, burn, burn for what he did to Jaskier’s heart.

Only he isn’t angry anymore. He’s burned enough for the both of them. He’s just tired and lonely and misses his friend and wonders, like pushing on a bruise, if Geralt misses him too.

He wants Geralt to miss him too.

Later, when everything has gone to hell and back and the dust has settled, Geralt comes to Jaskier’s room in Kaer Morhen.

“We can’t stay,” Geralt says. “I was trying to keep Ciri safe, but all I did was put everyone else in danger. I need to take her somewhere where she can be trained properly.”

Jaskier doesn’t know who Geralt means when he says “we.” It’s been weeks since they hugged through three inches of creaking leather and metal, and in that time he has yet to figure out if he’s still included in Geralt’s life or if the shapes they’ve been broken into don’t fit together anymore. He’ll love Geralt the same regardless, but he needs to guard his heart.

“I wish you the best,” Jaskier says, thrusting his hand out for Geralt to shake.

Brow furrowed, Geralt takes it. Then he turns Jaskier’s hand palm up and says, “What’s this?”

His thumb is running over the scars Rience left.

“It’s nothing,” Jaskier says.

“It’s something.”

So Jaskier tells him, because he could never really deny Geralt anything. His words are dispassionate, a simple recounting of events, but what he means is, I love you. What he means is, I’d do it again but please don’t make me. Describing the depths of his one-sided devotion, even in such dry terms, leaves him aching and raw, and by the end of it he can’t stop his chin from quivering.

He’s clenched his hand into a white-knuckled fist without realizing it. Slowly, Geralt unbends each finger. He presses a kiss to the middle of Jaskier’s palm and Jaskier’s nostrils flare with the effort of holding in a sob.

“Stop,” Jaskier says.

Geralt stops but doesn’t let go of Jaskier’s hand. He says, “Thank you for keeping Ciri safe.”

“Did a pretty shit job of that in the end, didn’t I?”

Jaskier’s chin is still quivering.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you like that again,” Geralt says. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How was I supposed to do that?” Jaskier says helplessly. “Oh hello Geralt, nice seeing you after all this time, I know you hate my guts right now, but by the way, someone tortured me for information about you, just thought you should know, cheers, mate.”

“I don’t hate your guts.”

“Yeah, well you did a pretty good impression of it.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not…good at feelings.”

“He’s sorry, he says. And no, you’re not. Good at feelings, that is—oh bloody hell.”

Geralt has started kissing Jaskier’s fingertips one by one. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs between each one.

“God, I hate you,” Jaskier says, whimpering. “You just do whatever you bloody want, don’t you?”

Geralt pauses and looks up at Jaskier, eyes troubled.

“Do you not want this?”

“I do,” Jaskier says. “Gods help me, I do, but I won’t give myself away so cheaply again, witcher. You have to want it, too. You have to really want it, with every poorly articulated feeling in that whole gorgeous body of yours.”

Geralt’s voice is rough. “I do.”

Jaskier cups Geralt’s cheek with his scarred hand and says, “Prove it.”

Geralt kisses him. It’s everything Jaskier has ever wanted and it’s not—quite—enough.

“Prove it,” Jaskier says again, breathing hard, his forehead rocking against Geralt’s. “Prove it,” he whispers, drawing back a fraction as Geralt’s lips chase his.

“I’m trying.”

“Not like that.”

Geralt pulls back far enough to look at him. After a moment of silence, Geralt says, “Come with us. Me and Ciri and Yen. Come with us. Then you can let me prove it every day. I’m tired of missing you.”

Jaskier smiles and finally lets Geralt kiss him again. Melts into it and kisses him back, warm and soft. He feels seen. Wanted. The hurt deep inside him dislodges itself and he thinks, for the first time in a long time, that it's possible to be happy again.

“That’s a good start,” Jaskier says.

#witcher #geraskier #fanfiction #prompt fill #geralt #jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #i'm sorry i don't know where all this despair came from #whump the bard #physically and emotionally #my ask box is still open for prompts if anyone wants to send me one #my fic

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sillyrabbit81 · 1 year

Text

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Fifteen

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Fifteen Summary: Marshall agonises while Lori takes matters into her own hands.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Fifteen Warnings: slight angst, mild violence, smut, p in v sex,

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

Been a while since I wrote a sex scene with a character other than Sy! I hope you enjoy it.

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Fourteen Part Sixteen

Marshall

Lori sedately followed me as I led her to her room.

I was in no hurry, on the contrary, I would have liked to walk with her for a while, hold her hand and do some of the usual stuff you do with a girl you like. But that's not how this was going to go, not in this situation, so I folded my arms across my chest and kept my pace to match hers.

“Did you get everything you needed with Mike?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said softly, “the packages should be at the post office tomorrow.”

“I'll send Mike to pick them up in the afternoon.”

Her brows furrowed, but she nodded.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“I told Mike I was going to hang out with him tomorrow afternoon. But it's not like I'm going anywhere for a while, there will be plenty of afternoons.”

“No. You and Mike can do your thing. I will go and pick them up myself.”

“You will?”

“Sure. You seem to enjoy his company. You smile a lot with him.”

She lowered her eyes and grinned.

“See? Thinking about him makes you smile,” I chuckled. Her face dropped a little. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, but then shook her head, “I was thinking… Have you heard from Sy?.”

“No.” Her frown deepened. “Are you worried about him?”

She shrugged.

“Do you miss him?”

She shrugged again, but with a forced carelessness that made it obvious that she was.

“I’m sure he misses you too.”

We stopped outside the door to her room. She made no move to open her door so I waited, leaning against the wall while she appeared to be thinking.

“What I said to you this morning,” she started, “what I accused you of, it was wrong of me.”

I shook my head. “Your reaction was completely understandable. We were out of line. And considering where you come from, it makes sense that you might see it the way you do.”

She raised her head and her normally steel blue eyes had taken on a dark smokey hue that sent a bolt of energy tingling through my nerves.

“I don’t see it that way anymore anymore,” she said, huskily.

For a moment I let myself entertain the fantasy that I could spend the night with her again without the mellowing effects of weed to kill my most feral instincts. Heat flooded my skin as I remembered the weight of her body against mine, the sweet citrus like smell of her hair, and the softness of her thigh. I didn’t think there was a snowman’s chance in hell that I could sleep next to her sober and not shred her clothes to pieces to get a taste of the silky hidden skin between her legs.

I clenched my jaw as I shut that line of thought down fast. I hadn’t changed my mind from earlier; as far as I was concerned, I was no longer a party to the pact. However, I was not made of stone and I knew my resolution could only withstand so much temptation before it crumbled, so I turned towards my door. Then her hand came to rest on my bicep, her gentle touch halted my escape and my back went ramrod straight.

“Spend the night with me?” she asked, her tone so softly pleading that it took my breath away.

“I can’t,” I said, forcing the words out before I had a chance to say something else.

She withdrew her hand quickly, as if my reply had burned her.

The look on her face made me sick to my stomach. The rejection and confusion marring her dollishly pretty features was almost as bad as the accusatory look of betrayal she had given me that morning.

“You don’t want this,” I explained. “What you said this morning, you were wrong, but you were also right. What my Brothers and I did, what we agreed to, we had no right.”

“You said it was my choice.”

“We did, but we put you in an uncomfortable situation you didn’t deserve and one you don’t want, not really.”

“Oh and this situation,” she moved her hand back and forth between us before placing them on her hips, “is less uncomfortable? Rejection is what I deserve then?”

“Lori,” I said, forcing myself to keep a lid on the frustration that began to boil in my guts, “Do you deliberately misinterpret everything I say, or are you just childishly stubborn on purpose?”

Her jaw dropped and she rounded on me, poking her finger into the centre of my chest, forcing me to take backward steps until my back hit the wall.

“You’re a manipulative prick. All of you are. Was this the plan the whole time then? Playing with my feelings, deceiving me into agreeing to your ridiculous pact and then telling me it was a joke?”

“Lori–”

She pushed me then, her palms bouncing hard off my shoulders, and although it didn’t hurt, it was bloody annoying. I grabbed her hands, turning her in my arms until they crossed over her torso and her back pressed against my chest.

“Let me go,” she yelled while she struggled, pulling and yanking on my arms.

“Calm down,” I growled into her ear, trying desperately not to harden up as she twisted like a kitten trying to get free.

“I’m not your plaything,” she hissed, “You’re supposed to be protecting me or have you forgotten what you’re being paid for?”

“And that’s exactly why I said no. Do you think I don’t want you? Do you not notice how when you’re in the room I can’t look away?”

She stopped fighting, her body was still tense, but she wasn’t thrashing. I dropped my head into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin, my lips brushing against her tender flesh.

“Every inch of me wants you, wants to be inside you,” I mumbled as I my will began slipping through my fingers like sand.

I released her and ran my hands over her body, until they rested against the burning hot skin of her belly where her tank top had ridden up in the struggle. Her hand covered mine and she didn’t stop me as I slid them under the thin fabric. I rumbled out a groan as the soft weight of her breasts filled my hand, and her hard little nipple teased my palm.

“You’re a constant, tormenting, burn in my chest. Right here,” I placed our hands over her heart, “I ache for you.”

She whined weakly, her body melted against mine as she turned her head towards me.

My lips were on hers before I could think. She was soft, warm, and so perfectly lush that my whole body shuddered and I groaned into her mouth. Without stopping the kiss I grasped her waist, guided us blindly to her door, and fumbled with the handle.

Lifting my lips from hers long enough to turn her, I took her to the bed and laid her on her back before capturing her mouth again. Her thighs fell apart beneath me and I spread my legs to make her widen them until I was grinding my trapped and throbbing cock against her heat. She gasped into my kiss and I didn’t hesitate to slip my tongue into the plush warmth of her mouth. I groaned at the taste of her as she kissed me back and sunk her fingers into my beard, nails scratching gently at my cheeks and jaw.

Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice told me to stop, that I shouldn’t take her like this. I lifted my head, trying to swallow my most violent basic instincts while I struggled to find the words I needed to stop this from going any further but my body was too raw and my mind was skirting too close to the edge of reason. Then I felt her move beneath me, her hips rocking, lifting up to meet mine and a greedy feral urge overtook any rational thought.

Fuck it. I was hardly on track for sainthood anyway.

I growled, it's the only way I can describe the animalistic groan I released as pulled her tank over her head. Catching both of her slight wrists, I held them above her head in one hand while the other pulled her jeans and panties down her thighs. She cycled her long lush legs to help me peel her flushed body out of the skin tight clothes.

Below a small short patch of hair, her delicate smooth slit was glistening. As if time had decided to stand still, her legs lazily fell open and she blossomed before me, revealing with painstaking slowness her dewy centre. My cock jerked at the sight, desperate to plunge into that soft and sleek slit.

My fingertip circled her nipple, once, twice, three times, my head pounding as I watched the already pebbled skin grow tighter. She mewled as I took her little pink bud into my mouth; her hips rolled and her arms pulled against my hand while her head fell onto the bed with a long throaty moan. God, that sound made my already throbbing cock so fucking hard, I felt like I could fuck through a brick wall.

“Shh,” I soothed and slipped two fingers into her mouth. Her eager lips wrapped around them and her tongue slid over the pads while she sucked. With a rumble in my throat, I replaced my fingers with my tongue and she reciprocated, hungrily drawing me into her mouth with a torrid pull.

I ghosted my wet fingers over her slit, parting her, making her open for me. Fuck, she felt nice; delicate, small, warm, slick, swollen… just so fucking nice.

Barely able to control the primal part of my brain that screamed at me to completely ruin all that sweet softness, I flipped her onto her chest and lifted her hips until she was on her knees. Her cry of shock hardly slowed me as I clawed at my jeans and lowered them just enough.

“I want to take you like this,” I mumbled as I leaned over her and ran my hand from her hips, down the concave of her waist, and over her ribs until I cupped her breast. My cock nudged against her core and I felt her sharp intake of breath.

“Oh my God,” she whined.

Gathering her thick braid in my fist, I kissed her just below her hairline before turning her head towards mine. She was the perfect picture of a woman lush with arousal; eyes heavy lidded, cheeks rosy, her mouth parted as she panted in shallow breaths.

“Yes,” she whimpered, bobbing her head and chasing my lips.

I let her catch me and she kissed me hard, moaning softly as my tongue met hers. I pulled away but her teeth sank into my lower lip making me hiss and my hips jack. I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“We’ll go slow next time,” I rasped, rising to my knees and I sunk into her molten velvet heat.

“Fuck,” we both groaned as our bodies met.

I stilled, the thrill of being inside her almost too much as she shuddered around me. I swept my hand down her spine to the back of her neck. Her skin was so smooth, supple, and even in this position, with my cock balls deep within her quivering core, she still had that seductive allure of feminine purity that I wanted to take apart piece by painstaking piece.

What the fuck was I doing?

“Shit,” I muttered and started to pull out, “I’m sorry.”

Her hand shot back, grabbing hold of me and sliding down my still clothed arm until her hand held mine.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

All I could feel was the pounding of my heart, from my fingertips to my toes, to my cock. She squeezed my hand while she lifted her head, determination radiating from her fierce, stormy grey eyes.

Then she moved.

Only a small twitch of her hips, but oh God, the tight, silky, slick friction was heaven. The hold she had on my hand grew tighter and she rocked again as a breathy moan floated from her throat.

“Fuck, Lori…” my voice trailed off as she continued the shallow erotic rotations of her hips and arching flex of her spine.

My lust overrode the last of my hesitations and I began countering her movements, rapidly dialling up the intensity until our bodies were crashing against each other. My fingers were digging into her hips while hers were clutching at the covers, our eyes were locked in a feverish hold, neither one of us able to look away.

“Come here,” I groaned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her up until her back rested against my chest. My hands moved all over her, mapping out every soft curve.

She stretched, raising her arms to reach for me, turning my head and searching for my lips. Her kiss surged through my body, every muscle straining, the growing tension inside me had me heading for a release that was bearing down on me like a freight train.

I held her tight, one arm around her chest, my fingers mauling at her breast while the other skimmed over her taut, quivering belly going lower and lower until I brushed her clit. Her hips bucked as she cried into my mouth, and her pussy clamped down so hard on my cock, I almost lost it then and there.

Muscling her into place, I kept her still while I fucked her and worked her clit. She was trembling and her hands floundered, searching for purchase to steady herself as she got closer to the edge. I gathered her wrists in my hand and held them to her chest.

“Please,” she whimpered.

“I know, Lori, I know. I’ve got you, sweetheart,” I whispered into her neck, the skin so hot and humid that it made my lips tingle.

“Marshall… Oh my God…”

“Let go, Lori. I need to feel you.”

I lifted my head and found her striking, heavy lidded eyes. She was flushed, skin reddened and shiny, panting and gasping, she was more breathtaking than ever.

“Look so beautiful.”

Her eyes widened then squeezed closed as her whole body grew taut and she let out a groaning curse.

“Fuck, Lori. Just like that.”

Her body rolled as if she were fighting me off again. I moved with her, keeping my fingers where they needed to be, fighting my own release as hers milked and pulled hard on my cock. It was a futile fight. Just as her body went lax and her head lulled against my shoulder, a hot euphoric pulse worked its way through my body.

Gripping Lori tighter, I pulled her closer to me while I pumped up into her, everything focussed on chasing my impending high. The throbbing rush crashed over me in long heady waves, each tide surging through me into her, filling her up until I had nothing left and fell onto my heels, taking her with me.

The sudden silence of the room was jarring; the only sound came from us catching our breath. Still buried deep within her core, my arms were wrapped around her with one hand cupping the firm flesh of her breast and she rested her weight on my thighs. I was sweating through my shirt, my belt buckle cut painfully into calf, and my boots - I still had my fucking boots on - dug awkwardly into my ankles, but I dared not move. I endured the discomfort to avoid the inevitable crash back to reality. Maybe if I stayed still and held her long enough, I could ward off the impending shame and perhaps Lori wouldn’t come to her senses and regret what we had done.

The dead air stretched on and on. Neither of us spoke or moved and the longer it continued, the more I feared I had catastrophically fucked up.

Then Lori’s hands covered mine and she laced her slim fingers between my thick ones. With some hesitation I rubbed my thumbs over her skin and kissed her shoulder.

“Say something,” she whispered.

I kissed her some more, trailing my kisses up along the ridge of her shoulders to her neck.

“Something,” I muttered.

Lori shook her head with a snicker and leaned back into me, turning her head until she could look me in the eyes. She was smiling, her face beautifully blushing and glowing, errant tendrils of her voluminous hair stuck to her slightly dampened skin. I brushed the stray locks back, tucking them into her braid as best I could.

Sighing, I shifted and Lori got off my lap, and I sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down to unlace my boots. I felt her hands brush over the small of my back and she lifted my shirt to place a kiss against my spine.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like this,” I told her, placing both boots neatly on the floor and dropping my jeans beside them.

“Neither did I,” she said, raising my shirt higher until I had no choice but to lift my arms and let her pull it over my head and drop it on the floor next to my jeans.

“Lori,” I said, rotating my body and capturing her cheeks in my hands, staring resolutely into her tempestuous blue eyes, “I don’t regret it.”

Mimicking my position, she raised her hands to my cheeks and replied just as assiduously, “Neither do I.”

From deep within my gut, a warm surge of relief flooded my nervous system, making my spine feel like jelly. Expelling a held breath, I snaked an arm around her back and guided her back to the bed. Climbing on top of her, I covered her with my body and hummed at the feel of her skin against mine.

“This time,” I told her, “we’ll go slow.”

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year

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Daemon Targaryen x reader were she’s giving birth with just him with her. And he’s freaking out. She’s doing fine it’s a easy birth .

Love your writing ❤️

I’ve never given birth myself and never plan on it, but I hope it is somehow realistic (my cousin did have a baby in February and she told me a few things I remembered)

You didn't plan on giving birth a whole moon cycle early, but your water broke just as Daemon returned with a fresh clutch of eggs. The grin on his face turned into consternation when he saw the puddle on the floor where your water had broken, causing him to almost drop the eggs.

‘’I’ll get the maester and the midwife–’’

You grabbed Daemon’s arm with a steel grip, stopping him from leaving. ‘’No time for that. The babe is coming now and I’m gonna need your help–’’ A scream of pain interrupted you and panic increased on your husband’s face. He was almost as pale as his silver hair.

‘’My help?! I only know how to put them in, not how to take them out.’’

Had you not been in so much pain, you would have laughed, but the intense searing pain in your lower back had you folding in half instead.

‘’Daemon!’’

He put the eggs away and rushed to your side – these were for your future babies. One of which was about to see the light.

With his help, you moved to the closest bedchamber, which had been set for the delivery. It was more practical than your and Daemon’s bedchamber on the top of the tower.

You wasted no time removing your dress, not having fifteen minutes to fuss with the laces. The babe would be coming from under anyway.

Daemon’s hands were shaky as he helped you to the bed, moving you closer to the edge. He was nervous right now – anyone would be if they were in his shoes. He was going to have to deliver his babe. The thought was nauseating, but what other choice did he have? The maester and midwife were gods know where and you didn’t want him to leave your side – at all.

Your legs were stuck up and spread as you took in shaky breaths through the pain, yet you found yourself having to reassure your Lord husband. ‘’It’s gonna be alright, my love,’’ you told him, reassuring him that he could do it. ‘’We can do–’’ Your face twisted, another contraction coming. It felt like having your insides twisted, pulled, and squeezed. ‘’We can do it.’’

Daemon looked at you and kissed your hand that wasn't clutching the sheets. ‘’My brave girl,’’ he said, then took position by your feet where you had instructed, begging the Sevens that everything would go smoothly.

House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones taglist: @anastasiaxsworld @lollypopcrazylover @fin-never @dkathl @ayamenimthiriel @nerdy4itall @rraindrops @glors3 @beelanie @hc-geralt-23 @sweetybuzz25 @uniquenightsheep @kaywsworld @i-yam-awesome @caspianobsessed @kelssssxd @dilfsarebetterthanyou @missyviolet123 @leakycauldrns @brezzybfan @khaleesihavilliard @vexedvalerie @lollaa-puff @my-dark-prince @chevelledahuman @caspianobsessed @ayamenimthiriel @yor72 @mirandastuckinthe80s @newtsniffles @cleverzonkwombatsludge @justaproudslytherpuff @ren-ni @green-lxght @anginoguera @bubblebuttwade @comicsol1999 @rockerchick05 @baelavelaryonwp @tnu-ree @beccawinter @alexisabirdie @persage @hayleighloatx @kindaslightlyacidic @perdynerd @elsyyie @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @xannybabyxx @katiepie67 @kjones375 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @queenofshinigamis @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @Wehi02 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @cayleecook38 @yoyopolloobamadaddy @hayleighloatx @vane1999-blog @smptxx @fairyfolkloresposts @yassi-world @todaywasafairytale07 @ESobilal @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @Katelyn15m @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @beggarsnotchoosey @vainillasmil157 @kizzyxren @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @Harryshousewhore @kodzuvk @tnu-ree @omgsuperstarg @futuregws @blackravena @ashlatano7567 @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @uh-no-actually @secretsthathauntus @lemiqa @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @Hc-geralt-23 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @mouldyfrog @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @drusillaravenclaw @softtina @Jelly-fishy-babie @evesolstice @Thelilacmourning @dkathl @Thelilacmourning @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @xannybabyxx

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #dad!daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen imagine #hotd #hotd imagine #daemon hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine

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angelltheninth · 1 year

Text

Bad Influence

Pairing: Geralt x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, established relationship, corruption kink, rough sex, breeding kink, praise, degradation, hair-pulling (for Reader), Geralt calls you "babygirl", pussydrunk Geralt

Word count: 0.8k

A/N: Got this as a request a while ago. I kinda feel bad that it takes me a while to get to some of these.

Everything about Geralt was wild and feral and unfriendly when it came to everyone else except for you. It was sweet until it started to bother you when you had sex. He always held back, even when it felt like he would break both you and the bed you could still see he was hesitating.

This never happened when the two of you were fighting monsters, there he trusted you with his life.

"I won't break." You husked into his ear as you rolled your hips upwards as far as the position would allow, "I won't break Geralt. I'm not going anywhere." Geralt's grip tightened on your thighs, his cock pulsed with heat as his hips slammed against yours. "I can handle it. Whatever it is that you want, just tell me."

"Look at me." His voice was so gruff that it sent shivers across your entire body. You pulled back, not far or fast enough judging by Geralt grabbing a handful of your hair and slamming your head onto the pillow, "I said look at me slut." As he growled out the insult his eyes looked deeply into yours, searching for your response, a yes or a no.

Yes. "Whatever you want." You moaned while he exposed your neck, his eyes dangerous and becoming more wild by the minute as he marked your neck for the millionth time that night.

His body was burning up against yours, his grip on your legs faltering to let you wrap them around his lower back, your clit coming into contact with his abs every time your hips met. A heavy hand came to rest on your neck, his thumb rubbing over the marked skin and applying a tiny amount of pressure. That tiny amount was enough to make you gasp and clench your already abused cunt around him, gods know what your number of orgasms was for that time. You stopped counting after the fourth.

Your body shook against his, trapped between the warm and soft bed and his hard and even warmer muscular body. You heard him chuckle, a very low chuckle, almost a growl, "I know you like this babygirl. I could tell you were a nasty slut from the moment we met. It was only a matter of time before I got you acting like one."

"No I've..." You choke on your words as he puts a little more pressure into his grip, your pussy clenching and spasming, making a mess around his cock, "Never been a slut. Only for you."

Hearing that made him happy, made his dick happy judging by the smug expression and the brutal force at which his cock moved in and out, "So you love my cock so much you became a whore. My whore."

"Yours." You admitted with glee as you squeezed your legs around him hard.

"Let this be a lesson then. You're mine. Your cunt is all mine. I get to use it whenever, however and as much as I want. And you, like the pretty slut you are, will let it happen." Every sentence was punctuated with a firm thrust, his breathing becoming shorter and more labored. If he kept this up he really will break the bed, and you.

"Fuck. I don't care. Break me." You could feel yourself drifting away, reaching heights of pleasure that you didn't know of as you surrendered to Geralt's will.

"Break you? Hm." He smiled as he drew close to your lips, "I haven't gotten my use out of yet. Wonton women like you want to be used. I've had many before, none fit me as well as you. You're the perfect fit for my cock, you take all of my cum, and you will let me breed you."

Holy shit. Your previous orgasm hasn't even subsided and he already had you coming again. "Yes I will."

"You will, because you're my good girl." You'll be anything for him. A good girl, a dirty girl, a slut, anything. Geralt squeezed your throat one more time before his hands gripped the headboard, you could almost hear it crack, you would have if not for his loud grunts, moans and growl mixing with your whimpers and the sound of flesh hitting flesh. You would have seen the wood splinter if you weren't to busy watching Geralt's body go rigid above yours, watching his eyebrows knit together, his teeth grit as you felt a warm, this rush of his seed overflowing into your pussy.

You held onto his biceps for dear life while he hammered into you with his remaining strength. He wasn't stopping. Even as his hands wrapped around you and pressed you close he wasn't slowing down.

"We've got all night babygirl. I'm going to fucking ruin you for the whole world to see." If he planned to keep going all night you might have to book the room for a day longer just to recover in the aftermath.

True to his word Geralt did keep going all night, and spent the next day tending to your every need, kissing every bruise, licking all of your sore and aching places, pampering you until you were humming happily and stretched out against his body, nuzzling your nose into his neck and inhaling the scent that helped you fall asleep every night.

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poledancingdinos · 2 months

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Hostile Territory - Chapter 22

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: Past Sexual Harassment, Past Physical Violence, Masturbation (M)

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @athenepromachos @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019

Day 204

Leah filled an entire shopping cart with vegetables, cheese, chips and all the fixings for a massive taco feast. That was, everything except the meat. For that, they stopped at a butcher shop on the way back. Sy hadn’t expected for things to still be so domestic after his conversation with Leah over breakfast but he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Sy was sure he’d misheard Leah when she told the man she needed six flank steaks but, as it turned out, it was no mistake. The small army Leah had referred to was not much of an exaggeration. Apparently, they were expecting up to thirty people which was about half the population of Warhorse.

It was a good thing they had taken Caleb’s car instead of his rental. They wouldn’t have been able to fit the multiple cases of beer, wine, juice and soda in addition to the groceries. It was also simpler to leave anything not perishable in the car rather than hull it in and out of the house.

By lunch time, they had finished their assigned task, the flank steaks had been put in the fridge to marinate and the two of them were back cuddling on the couch after eating a few sandwiches.

To Leah’s surprise, in addition to loving fantasy books, Sy was a bit of a history buff. He found a show about some famous British king and, though Leah had never heard of it, the leading men were pretty to look at so she was willing to give it a shot.

After the first episode, Leah began to feel restless. The show was interesting and, let’s be honest, the money shot twenty minutes in didn’t hurt at all, but she just felt like they should have been doing something… more.

“I guess this wasn’t exactly what you were expecting when you flew out here to see me.”

Sy looked down at Leah over her shoulder but with her back to his chest and her gaze stubbornly fixed forward, he couldn’t read her expression.

“What do you mean?” he asked, tightening the arm he had wrapped around her waist while sliding his other hand over her stomach.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, resting her head against his shoulder. “It feels like in the movies the people who get two weeks of romance before they have to go their separate ways spend them having all these big adventures or fucking like rabbits and we’re just sitting at home watching the X-rated version of British history.”

“To be fair, if we’d had X-rated history in school I might have actually learned something.”

Sy’s attempt to lighten the mood didn’t do much good. Leah still chewed the inside of her cheek like it was an olympic sport.

He pulled Leah up onto his lap, stroking his thumb over the outside of her abused cheek.

“Babygirl, when our two weeks are over, we don’t go our separate ways, we go back to Warhorse.” Sy pressed a kiss to her temple, threading his fingers through her hair. “We don’t need adventures while we’re home because we get enough life-threatening missions while we’re away.” The tip of his nose brushed the shell of her ear as he moved to kiss the side of her neck. “And you don’t need to compare us to a Nicholas Sparks movie as fitting as it might seem.”

Busted. She hadn’t expected for him to know what she was referring to but clearly he was well versed in cheesy military romances.

“It’s a book too,” she grumbled.

“Oh?” Sy smirked against her skin, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “Well if it’s a book then we should be following it step by step. Although that Dear John letter might not have the same effect if you hand it to me on base.”

Leah shook her head, slipping from his grasp and moving to stand away with her arms crossed over her chest. “We won’t physically be apart but we won’t be together either. We can’t be so what are we supposed to do then? Am I supposed to sneak into your room after lights out and sneak back before anybody wakes up? Do we go back to how things were before we left?”

Sy pulled her back to him, flipping Leah onto her back and slotting himself between her legs so she wouldn’t be tempted to run again. Okay, maybe she hadn’t run so much as pulled away but he wasn’t letting it happen again. “I wish I had an answer to that, darlin’.” He moved a stray piece of hair out of her face, gazing down at her in such a way that she already knew what he would say next. And for once, it didn’t scare her. “I just know that I love you and that I’m not ready to let ya go.”

“Yeah?” she asked, in barely a whisper.

“Yeah…” He’d never said those words to a woman before and he was suddenly worried he’d spoken too soon.

Thankfully, the cutest little shy smile pulled at Leah’s lips. “I love you too.”

“Yeah?” he repeated, leading Leah to playfully slap his shoulder.

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

Leah felt more than heard Sy’s appreciative rumble. “Yes ma’am,” he growled before sealing his lips over hers.

Her hands snuck up his shirt, exploring the vast expanse of his back. Pinned under his comforting weight, there was no space left between them but she still tried to pull him closer by wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Ignore that,” Sy mumbled when his erection pressed against her covered core.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m gonna anyway.”

By some twisted coincidence, breathless moans coming from the television pulled their attention away from each other and over to the screen where the King was being generously served by a woman on her knees.

Sy broke away from Leah’s hold, reaching for the remote and switching the show off. As he dropped back onto the couch, he took a deep breath, grateful for the moment of reprieve before he blew his load in his pants. Before they could get back to what they were doing, footsteps coming from the upper floor alerted them to the time.

“Shit, I need to get the car loaded. Caleb’s gonna be fussing with his hair until the last possible second so he won’t think to do it himself.”

“I should uh… I should go shower.”

Not wanting to draw attention to the little situation he would obviously be dealing with while he was in there, Leah simply nodded and moved towards the kitchen.

“Oh!” Sy looked up towards where Leah stood in the doorway of the kitchen. “Wear something warm and pull out some stuff for overnight. I’ll put it in a bag for later.”

Intrigued, the Captain made his way upstairs to get his clothes. As he walked by the half-open bathroom door, he saw Caleb bent over the counter as he styled his hair, wearing only a towel. With a smile on his face, Sy riffled through his duffle, tossing some clothes on the bed and taking his nicest jeans and henley to change into after his shower.

As he stepped under the spray in the small first floor shower, Sy was still at half-mast. As soon as he replayed the moment where Leah told him she loved him, he was back to granite. He put a hand on the wall and wrapped the other around the base of his cock, giving it a squeeze. There was no time to draw things out, he just needed a clear head for the rest of the night.

Leah might have thought he shut off the show to avoid making her uncomfortable but the truth was that he shut it off to stop picturing Leah on her knees for him. He would wrap that hair he loved so much around his fist and use it to move her head over his shaft.

The water rolled down his back as his muscle clenched with every stroke up and down his length. Sy released a shaky breath when his thumb slid over his tip just right. He slowly repeated the motion a few more times, causing his ass to clench as his hips bucked forward of their own accord.

“Shit,” he hissed, his head falling forward.

Closing his eyes, Sy envisioned Leah’s tongue darting out to taste the beads of precum dripping from his slit. Then her lips would wrap around the head and she would sink down the length of his dick, going further and further each time. Her small hand would work the bottom half of his shaft and when she would be done making him nice and wet, she would take her hand away and sink down until he hit the back of her throat.

Before he even realized he was close, Sy was shooting his load onto the shower wall. A shiver ran down his entire body as a choked moan escaped his lips.

“Holy shit.”

Though his chest was still heaving, Sy couldn’t afford to waste any more time. He quickly rinsed the shower wall and used the available bottle of body wash to clean himself and his beard.

Sy stepped out of the bathroom just as a voice sounded from the second floor.

“Leah, come on we gotta go!” Caleb ran down the stairs with his hair perfectly styled but his shirt not yet fully buttoned. “Where the hell did I put my wallet?”

“Your wallet is with your keys on the table. The car is loaded and the electric cooler is plugged in for the cold stuff. We’ll meet you there.”

That made Caleb freeze halfway through putting his shoes on. “The fuck you are.” He marched back towards the kitchen where Leah sat at the table. “Look, I know you weren’t legal yet but we made a deal when you got that death machine and we agreed you’d never drive it after drinking ever no matter how little and especially not at night.”

Sy didn’t appreciate the raised voice and was tempted to intervene but he knew better than to get in between fighting siblings or to fight Leah’s battle for her. Leah, however, didn’t at all seem phased by her brother’s outburst, crossing her arms and waiting for him to finish his rant.

“Do you have any idea how many motorcycle accidents we get in the ER and what kind of damage the riders get? Broken bones, concussions, road rash… that’s the injuries the lucky ones get. The unlucky ones go straight to the morgue.”

“Are you done?” she asked, standing and walking around the table.

Caleb looked taken aback by his sister’s calm tone.

“Sy has a rental car which he can use to drive us but I was thinking we could take the long way there with my bike and stay at the cabin tonight.”

“Oh.” Caleb let out a relieved sigh, wiping a hand down his face. He hadn’t automatically assumed she would be staying the night since the cabin only had one bedroom and they normally just made the half hour drive back so they could each sleep in their own beds. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell like that.” He pulled Leah into a hug, muttering an ‘I love you’ into her hair.

If Sy had to venture a guess, he would say that their open affection came from the unexpected loss of their dad. Caleb was obviously terrified something might happen to Leah as well. And who could blame him considering the things he witnessed every day working in a hospital emergency room?

“Do you ride?” Leah asked once she saw Caleb off.

Sy nodded. “I got my bike license before I got my car license.”

“So… What do you think about riding up together?”

With a sigh, he caught Leah by the hips, pulling her closer. She responded by clasping her hands around Sy’s neck.

“Darlin’, I’m willin’ to put my male pride aside for a lot of things ‘cause I know you’re tough as hell and independent to a fault but I draw the line at ridin’ bitch.”

He was expecting some kind of snappy retort at his choice of words but Leah just smirked.

“Who said you’d be the one ridin’ bitch?”

Now that sounded like an amazing idea. Leah’s bike didn’t have anything for a passenger to hold onto so she would be forced to wrap her arms around him if she wanted to stay in her seat.

“Well if you’re offerin’ so nicely.”

After Leah found her spare helmet and set up a GPS on the front of her bike, they packed their change of clothes in a backpack and set off for the evening. It didn’t take long to realize why Leah had suggested the ride. The fall colors were gorgeous along the open road. As a bonus, Leah’s body was pressed flush against his back, her legs framing his and her gloved hands fisted in his old leather jacket.

Sy was almost disappointed when Leah pointed out the dirt path that led off through the trees.

“Finally,” Caleb said as they walked in. He was halfway through the back door, holding a stack of what looked like four by fours in his arms. “L I need you to cut up the vegetables while me and Lachlan finish setting up the yard. Camden will be here soon with the stereo equipment.”

Out in the yard, Caleb’s friend was raking the leaves, while Caleb began attaching what Sy now knew to be legs to a table top.

“There isn’t much room in here so we take the legs off the tables when we store them. It also makes them easier to bring in and out of the cabin.”

Leah had obviously realized what he was looking at while she began pulling the vegetables out of the grocery bags.

“Why not just use folding tables?” he asked, taking everything over to the sink to be washed.

“Folding tables are expensive for what they are. Plus they’re often really narrow so my dad custom built three different tables that were the same size and could be attached together with brackets. With a power drill, it doesn’t take much longer to set up.”

Leah was almost done chopping the peppers and onions when the next person arrived, letting himself in.

The man gave a general greeting to the guys who’d come back inside to wash their hands before dropping his bags and moving to stand behind Leah. He put both hands over Leah’s ears and turned to Caleb.

“Why is Leah in the kitchen?” he stage whispered.

Caleb laughed, waving off the man’s concern. “Relax, she’s getting the vegetables ready. No cooking involved, only her scary knife skills.”

“Oh, well that’s fine.” He removed his hands and set them on her shoulders instead. “Hey Killer, welcome home.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before unpacking his supplies.

“Fuck you, I’m not that bad a cook,” she said, shooting a glare at the older man.

“Says the girl who managed to make a salad inedible.”

“You mix up the sugar and the salt one time…” she grumbled under her breath, looking back towards the cutting board.

Sy couldn’t help but smile at the adorable way she was pouting.

“Why does everyone call you Killer?” he asked, both genuinely curious and wanting to draw the attention away from Leah’s apparently lacking culinary skills.

A blush crept up Leah’s cheeks as she expertly sliced onions into long, even strips.

“It’s not everyone, just the guys who were around while I was in my freshman year of high school.”

“That doesn’t answer his question though,” Lachlan pointed out.

When Leah remained silent, Camden took over.

“One day, while me and our friend Niki were studying at his house, he got a call from Leah’s school asking him to come in because they couldn’t reach Caleb. When we get there, the principal calls Niki in and starts telling him how Leah was getting suspended because she attacked another student. The guy starts going on about how they will have to involve social workers if we can’t keep Leah in line and says that she needs a strong hand to keep her emotional outbursts in check. So Niki pulls me and Leah in and asks what caused the altercation. Turns out, the principal’s son had been calling Leah ‘doll’ despite her telling him numerous times to stop.”

“That’s when Niki asked if I was the only one being punished for what happened which was a stupid question seeing as they knew exactly who his son was and they knew for a fact that he could get away with murder.”

Camden hummed in agreement. “I was pre-law at the time so I gave him some speech about sexual harassment being a gateway to rape and that by not addressing the harassment he was condoning it and fostering a hostile study environment. It spooked him enough that he agreed to drop her suspension. Anyway once we left the school Niki made a comment about how Leah had every right to go Chucky on his punk ass. Killer kind of stuck after that.”

Never in a million years would Sy have guessed that Leah’s nickname would come from ‘killer doll’. In a way, it was kind of brilliant that they would use it as a way to praise her for sticking up for herself.

He remembered how Leah had said she’d isolated herself after their dad had died and realized it was probably a result of that asshole principal threatening to involve social services instead of admitting his own son had done something wrong.

“I’d never seen Niki so angry before,” Caleb chimed in. “When I got home from my midterm he looked about ready to hunt the kid down himself.”

“Still would have been better than Gage being the one to do it.”

“Fuck,” Caleb shook his head, clearly in agreement with Lachlan’s comment, “dad would have brought him back just to kill him all over again.”

When the three men stepped out to unload the stereo equipment, Sy slipped in behind Leah, putting his hands on her hips. “Is it all pet names that make you go serial killer or just ‘doll’?”

Leah looked outside, making sure Caleb was still out of earshot before she set the knife down and turned to face Sy.

“I lost my shit that day because he told me that if I wanted guys to notice me I should be a good little doll and only open my mouth when I wanted someone to stick something in it. I didn’t want any of them to worry more than necessary so I never told them.”

“Jesus,” he pulled Leah closer as if wanting to shield her from the memory, “I think that just ruined the word doll for me.”

He rested his forehead against Leah’s, taking a deep breath.

“That’s okay, I like ‘darling’ better anyway. Or baby girl, that was nice too.”

Chapter 23

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #henry cavill #cpt syverson fic #cpt syverson #cpt syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x ofc #cpt syverson x ofc #cpt syverson fanfic

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artistsfuneral · 10 months

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part 18

"What really happened to me?" Geralt asks, his voice so deliberately neutral it makes Jaskier sick. Black dots dance across his field of vision. It's getting harder to breathe.

"You asked me to do it. And I didn't want to, of course I didn't want to,” he gasps, “but you told me you'd be fine- You promised- Geralt, you promi-” Jaskier's head falls to the side and hits the ground.

You see, the bard muses, the funny thing about time traveling is that it is very similar to passing out. Jumping through time is as easy as falling unconscious – you don't really have to think about it to do so and the more often it happens the better you get at not hitting your head. The catch though – because even if you're not literally caught there's always a catch, isn't it – is that no matter how many times it happens to you, waking up is always incredibly disorienting. So Jaskier can't really be blamed when he wakes up with his head in Geralt's lap and for a moment thinks that everything is alright again, that they're on the Path, camping somewhere out in the woods waiting for Ciri to join them.

Reality has never been that forgiving, so when the familiar wooziness leaves him it takes Jaskier's wishes and dreams with it. He gratefully accepts the waterskin that Geralt hands him after helping him sit up again and drains it in one go, before solemnly apologizing for passing out on the witcher mid conversation. Geralt doesn't say much at first, but Jaskier can see that there's a lot on the witcher's mind.

The silence between them is uncomfortably heavy and Jaskier can't stand it. Just as he's about to open his mouth Geralt finds his voice again. “It was blood magic.”

Their eyes meet. Geralt's golden orbs dark, almost angry and Jaskier's blue full of surprise. He remembered more. “It was a trap,” Jaskier fills the space in Geralt's thoughts. “The sorcerer was already dead, but Ciri wanted us to look for an artifact she needed. We- We thought it was safe. Good riddance, the place was already dusted over!”

“It made us careless,” Geralt adds, looking lost in his thoughts.

“It was my fault,” Jaskier says, full of anger. “I activated the curse, because I wasn't paying attention, but you-” His eyes met Geralt's again and he shook of anger and despair. “You told me not to worry! You told me you knew what you were doing, that I just had to trust you! And I did, I bloody fucking did because the walls were caving in around us and I was so fucking scared we wouldn't make it this time and I thought I would be fine with it, I thought if I died by your side it would be alright, but I just couldn't stop thinking about Ciri, about Yennefer, about your brothers, our family waiting for us to come home just to be frightened more and more every day we didn't show and I-” He gasps, ringing for breath as his body continues to shake uncontrollably.

“I stabbed you, Geralt. I put a knife through your chest, because you promised me it'd be fine. And I believed you, because you are the love of my life and I trust you to keep us safe.”

remember to like and reblog if you voted :)

Only two more parts 👀

Sooooo for the next story I was thinking you will have to navigate Jaskier through the wilderness to find Kaer Morhen? Eat the berries, Jaskier, it will be fiiiine, Jaskier. (possibly with someone in tow? Ciri, or Aiden? Or maybe a witcher turned into a child? 🤔🤔)

tell me if you (don't) want to be tagged :)

(x) @fingons-rad-harp @sinfulpetgirlrd @wren-of-the-woods @basilikum7 @eveljerome @this-is-not-a-slow-burn @araglas1989 @alaskawho @cinary @swan--writes @mirrorthoughts @chaoticfandomthot @sonatabee @gregre369 @awitcheress @yaskefer @hannibard @myfeelisfunny @kore888 @filledepluie @pathsofpassion @joyfulcherryblossombasement @ryuuhana91 @toapoet @nerdymuffinbonkcloud @ineffably-a-fangirl-99 @starlghtstarbrite @siriusly-the-best-bi @cowboybuttconnoisseur @logastellus21 @chasinggeese @whump-der-it-is @inanoldhousewrites @reluctantbroodingdads @professorjaskier @ourbooksuniverse @life-as-a-gamergirl

#the witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard

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night-daily · 11 months

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Let me heal you | Geralt of rivia x fem!reader

summary: He's a witcher and you're a healer, somehow your paths cross and you want to help him healing his wounds, but he'll let you do it?

warnings: Swearing, mention of blood, injuries.

a/n: I suck writing fight scenes, sorry:(

based on the tv show! and let me know if i missed a warning :]

You are a healer and you have been traveling alone from town to town, seeking a place to stay permanently. That wasn't really the hard part, the problem is when people find out you are a healer because everyone wants your help and you don't mind helping them but most of them were very rude and treated you as their servant wanting you to be 24/7 for them, then you become a target because mostly the men can't take a no as an answer and that's why you never stayed too much in the same place.

Until you met Geralt, Jaskier, and of course Roach. You met them in a special way thanks to Jaskier. Just remember that day makes you smile.

“HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE” You were on your way to the next town, the sun was coming down as you heard a scream coming from the forest, you knew it wasn't a good idea going alone but you had no choice, someone needed your help. So you rushed into the forest searching for someone or anything.

“Where are you!? ” You yelled back.

“I'M HERE ” You followed the voice, going further into the forest, your heart beating faster at every step.

After a few seconds, you found a little camp with a bonfire and a man sitting on the ground with a guitar. His eyes find yours, “Oh, please tell me you can help me.”

You nodded in agreement “I'm a healer, where are you hurt?” you knelt by his side.

“Here” He shows you his index finger and he had a little cut but nothing serious. “ ... ” Did you really risk your own life for a fucking little cut? You began to stand up and he grabs your wrist “Please help me, I can't compose or play any song if my finger hurts and that's how I earn my living, please” He practically begged you “and if you help me, I can give you food, you look starved” You were considering his offer, you haven't eaten since the morning and you were truly starving and it was an easy job after all. “It better tastes good” You cleaned his finger with some alcohol and he hissed in pain, you put some herbal salve and bandaged it.

“Done” you said cheerily “Now, where's the food?”

The two of you began talking about everything while eating the food, Jaskier was easy to talk to so it felt more like two good friends catching up. You told him about your trip and how the people treated you and you were scared of them. “You can travel with us!” us? “And with the Witcher by your side, no one would dare to say or do something against you” Witcher!? “Also since you're a healer you can help with our wounds and injuries, well, especially his, he does all the job”

“I- ”

“Who's this? ” A deep voice came behind you. Startled you turn your head to look at him, your breath hitched in your throat when you saw his amber eyes and you knew he was the Witcher.

“She's our new travel partner and she's a healer who can help with that” Jaskier points to the blood dropping out from his face and body.

“Only if she can keep up with us” He scoffed.

“Do you want my help with- ” Geralt ignores you, walking past you.

You rolled your eyes at his behavior. Fucking Witcher.

Since then have passed two months and you have stopped searching for a place because you like it too much the company of a certain Witcher. But he may not like yours, because he hasn't let you heal or help with any of his injuries and that made you feel useless and angry, if you weren't to help him, so why'd you stay with them? Yeah, you help Jaskier sometimes but his ''wounds'' have never been serious.

Right now, you were heading to the forest, Geralt got another job and the monster, according to the owner of the inn, it could be found there.

Jaskier was walking at your side whining why you ride Roach instead of him.

“She loves me Jaskier and I don't blame her, just look at me” you playfully winked at him.

Geralt smirk a little and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Sooo” You cleared your throat. “I was thinking I should part ways with you” “Why?” Jaskier frowned “Well there's a lot of people who need help and you know how much i like helping people and here, you don't really need me and i feel useless.” “When are you gonna leave us?” You turned your face away from them “That sounds bad, I'm not leaving you I'm just-” “When?” Geralt grunted. “Tomorrow.” You whispered. “We'd leave you at the next town then.” And just like that, he walks away from you, and you could feel your eyes filling up with tears.

Geralt with heavy footsteps went to cut wood for the bonfire. He wasn't in a good mood since earlier when you told them you want it to leave. He was angry but not with you at himself, he hasn't the courage to tell you how much he cared about you and beg you to stay with them. Fuck The Witchers don't have emotions.

A branch breaking behind him put his senses on alert, turning around to look at a big beast jump out from the bushes and attack him, Geralt easily dodged it, his amber eyes glowing in the dark forest as the beast tried to attack again, but this time Geralt let the beast to claw his arm with his long fangs, blood dripping off his arm, he doesn't fight back and that's when he realizes he doesn't want to be without you, he doesn't want you to leave them, to leave him, he would do anything to make you stay.

But he can't be with you if he's dead, right? So he takes out his sword slitting the neck of the beast and his head dropped to the ground.

You were at the camp with Jaskier and Roach, the three of you waiting for Geralt. Jaskier was singing in front of you, so you didn't hear when Geralt approached you from behind.

“Heal it” He grunted holding his arm out to you. Worry crossed your face, he was covered in blood, but whose?

“Be nice!” Jaskier whisper yell to Geralt shaking his head, ignoring the blood in his body, after all he was used to seeing him like that.

“Please” Geralt muttered sitting down next to you. You finally took his bloody arm and you gasped when you saw the claw marks and blood all over his arm, you quickly begin cleaning his wound.

“What happened, Geralt?” You tried to look at his eyes but he was avoiding yours.

He wouldn't admit to you he let himself get hurt by a monster just to not let you go now or ever. So he ignored your question.

“You are useful” He stated seriously, “and i would need your help” you feel your heart skip a beat at the meaning of his words, he wants you to stay, he wants you.

You let a knowing smile cross your face “I guess i have to stay” you bandage his arm “with you” you whisper this part low so only he can hear you.

“Finally” Jaskier sighed with relief to Roach and she nickered in reply.

#Geralt of rivia #Geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #the witcher tv #the witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia x fem reader #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x you #the witcher x reader

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 11 months

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Body Double

Masterlist

A/N: A little bit of friendly Sy fluff I started during a moment of struggling with some lovely Executive Dysfunction (I get that for free with my ongoing ADHD subscription 🥰🥲)

Summary: You need to clean your house, and you get a good friend to help you...

Word count: 679

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @keanureevesisbae @fvckinghenrycavill @ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss

“You need me to what?” Sy looks at you in surprise.

“Body double,” you say plainly, blissfully unaware that there’s nothing wrong with his hearing so much as he doesn’t have a clue what you’re talking about. “Eh. I need to get some stuff done and I... can’t...”

“So you want me to help you?” The tone in his voice suggests that he absolutely would help you, and you love him for that. But no.

“No, I don’t need you to help me. Alright, no, wait. I want you to help me, but not by actually helping me. I just need you to be there while I do the thing.”

“And why does that work?” Sy says. You feel the expression on your face change, even though you’re not sure to what, and Sy raises his hands. “Not a judgment, just trying to understand why this helps you.”

“Right. Well, having someone in my space who knows what I’m trying to get done very gently shames me into actually doing it. Also, I can talk to you, which keeps my brain occupied while my hands do the boring thing.”

“Alright,” Sy shrugs. It’s not as if you were planning on doing much other than hang out on the couch all day. Might as well straighten out a bit of your house while you’re at it… “Where do you want to start?”

“Ehh...” Decision making. Not your greatest skill. “I need to do laundry, dishes, tidy and clean the bathroom and kitchen and tidy the living room...” Fuck. Breathe. In. Out. In again. When did breathing become a chore you have to also consciously do? Shit.

“Help. Overwhelmed.” Sy immediately wraps you up in an almost bone-crushing hug that helps you settle down right away. He’s the only guy you know who’s strong enough to squeeze your soul back into your body. “Thanks.”

“Can I make a suggestion, or is that going to make you want to not do anything at all?” You’re happy to hear he remembers your memo about demand avoidance. A nod will have to do as an answer: you can’t speak yet. “Washing machine, dishes, kitchen, dryer, bathroom, living room, fold laundry. Plan?”

“Plan.”

“Alright, lead the way.”

“Did you know that emperor penguins lose up to fifty percent of their body fat during winters, and their feather density increases to compensate for that?” Sy has been sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his phone, for about an hour while you are hard at work. The dishes are done, dried and put away, and the counters are clear for the first time in months.

“I did not,” you laugh. “Keep hitting me with those, they make my brain happy.” God, you’re so glad to call this guy your friend, because he delivers way beyond what you’re asking of him. He spends the next few hours throwing random facts and trivia questions your way, and you couldn’t be happier.

“Let me buy you pizza,” you say when you’re finally done with everything. Now it’s finally time to laze around and watch movies! Sy takes the beer you’re holding up.

“No need, sugar,” he replies as if you were asking him a question. In the four years you’ve known him, this man has never allowed you to pay for a meal. Ever. It’s ridiculous.

“You helped me, you deserve pizza,” you remind him.

“I wasn’t helping you,” he shrugs. You schlump down on the couch next to him and poke him in the ribs.

“You have no idea how much you really did help me, though,” you say. “But you know what? I’ll just order a large pepperoni, and you can just take a slice when you decide you want food, after all.” Stubborn as a mule, this one. And you just know he’ll never learn.

“Alright, fine.” Sy scowls and rolls his eyes at you. “But as far as I’m concerned, we’re already square.”

“How so?” You raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“You bend over a lot when you clean, let’s leave it at that.” Unbelievable.

#captain syverson #captain syverson fanfiction #syverson fanfiction #syverson #henry cavill characters #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill

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starfirewildheart · 3 months

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Chapter 3

The Wolf and the Flame

Summary: Geralt had just found Ciri and was headed to Kaer Morhen when something drew him into the woods. He found a woman near death and things changed for them all. (I suck at summaries just read please!) Yennefer is bad in the start of this but she and Geralt work on their friendship. Eskel is a dick at first but there is a reason and it works out. Will have a happy ending. Ciri is younger here than in the netflix show. She is about 12.

Warnings: abuse history, injuries, hurt comfort, no one under 18 to be safe, will add when I need to

Words: 1717

They had been traveling for nearly a week. Naurel was getting stronger but Geralt was still worried. He knew something was not as it should be with her but he couldn't seem to get her to open up about the things that had happened. They came to the last city between them and the final part of the journey to Kaer Morhen. He knew they had to stop and restock supplies. Also, the humans needed a soft bed and warmth for a bit. They left the horses at the stable and walked over to the Inn. Naurel was leaning against him, holding his arm to help support herself or for his warmth, he wasn’t sure which. All he knew was that he didn’t mind it. In fact, he felt at peace when they were touching.

Ciri heard someone singing inside the bar at the inn and bound up the steps. “It’s Jaskier,” she said excitedly.

“Ciri,” Gerault sighed as she ran inside ahead of him. “Damn it that girl never listens.” He and Naurel moved faster to catch up with her. Once inside Geralt grabbed Ciri’s arm and leaned close, whispering something to her that made her shiver and look repentant before he led her and Naurel to a table to sit. “Stay here where I can see you both while I get us a couple of rooms.”

Naurel waited until he walked away to put her hand on Ciri’s arm that was resting on the table. “You are going to get hurt or end up making him so angry that he’s going to punish you.”

Ciri rolled her eyes. “Please, he’s not my father. I have no family which makes me an adult. I’m in charge of me.”

“You are far from an adult little miss and you are showing that childishness more and more by the day,” Naurel warned. “He cares about you. He worries about you. Stop making it harder for him.” She knew that Geralt was struggling to figure out how to deal with a child. He knew how to deal with a misbehaved witcher but not a young human girl so he just took what she dished out. The yelling, arguing, not listening, stubbornness that she likely got away with as a spoiled little princess and Naurel was losing patients with her. Ciri was a loving girl but she was being a huge brat. She looked up at Geralt as he sat heavily in a chair beside her, noting that he put himself where his back would be up against the wall. “Everything alright?”

He nodded. “Got two rooms with an adjoining door,” he eyed Ciri, “and a large tub.” He grinned when Naurel sighed happily.

“Mmm, a bath sounds heavenly. Maybe if I boil myself I will actually heat my blood and stop having to steal your warmth,” she smiled at him.

He reflexively pulled her close. “I don’t mind sharing warmth.”

Ciri made a slight gagging sound drawing their attention. “You two need to get a room.”

“We have a room. Two in fact,” Geralt smirked at her. He loved their teasing banter when she wasn’t driving him mad with worry. Naurel was listening to the two of them and jumped when someone plopped down in a chair near her at the end of the table.

“Geralt you gorgeous beast, who are you lovely friends?”

Geralt shook his head and sighed. “Jaskier,” he nodded in greeting. He let Naurel and Ciri introduce themselves though kept his arm possessively around Naurel. Jaskier was a friend but he was also amorous and for some reason that bothered him where his newest companion was concerned.

“How did two such lovely creatures end up with such a grumpy, silent companion?” Jaskier wondered.

“He’s not silent nor grumpy,” you smiled at the bard.

“He’s grumpy and bossy,” Ciri teased.

The waitress approached and Geralt ordered food for the three of them before joining the conversation. “I’m surprised to find you this far north this close to the snowy season. I know you hate cold weather.”

“You are right,” Jaskier chuckled. “Oddly enough I’ve been looking for you. You are a very hard witcher to find. You would think with the white hair, yellow eyes, and rippling muscles that you would stand out more.” Naurel chuckled.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled, stopping the bard from babbling. “Why were you looking for me? Is everything alright?”

“A friend, no, no she’s not a friend she’s a,” he stopped himself before he finished his thought. “Someone we have in common needs to speak with you. She’s rather insistent and very annoying and she keeps following me. I implore you, please speak to her before I throw myself off a cliff.”

Geralt paused as if he was considering the option of speaking to someone or letting him jump, only answering when Jaskier whined indignantly. He had an idea of who the bard was talking about but he wondered why she just didn’t come to him herself. He’d heard that she survived the battle of Sodden from Triss and he was happy to hear his friend was still alive. “Is she here?”

“I’m here,” Yennefer said from behind him. “We need to speak, alone,” she looked at the others pointedly.

He nodded and stood. “Jaskier, stay with them until I return?”

“Of course,” he smiled as he started asking both of them questions.

Yennefer led Geralt to an out-of-the-way corner near the stairs. She noticed that he positioned himself so that he could still see the table. “I need your help. Something has happened. I’ve searched everywhere, through all the lore about magic and chaos except the books at Kaer Morhen.”

“What are you searching for?”

“A spell,” she lied. “I am searching for a spell to try and help Istredd study the monoliths.” She wasn’t going to expose her weakness to anyone. It was bad enough that the old woman was in her head calling to her, telling her to bring both the woman and the girl to her; she wasn’t about to tell him she had lost her ability to do magic as well.

“Why doesn’t that ring true to me?” Geralt gave her a look.

“Fine, don’t help me,” she hissed and started to walk away.

“Yennefer,” he stopped her. “Portal to Kaer Morhen. Vesemir is willing to work with sorceresses and mages. He will show you the books you are looking for.”

“Why don’t we just travel together?” she asked. “Seems like you seem to be gathering a rather large party on your journey,” she eyed his new friends. “I could help you look after them. They both seem sort of defenseless.”

He could use some help protecting them since Ciri seemed to be so dead set on getting herself hurt. Maybe with Yennefer’s magic, he could actually rest a bit. “You want to travel, on foot, in the cold. You know it will be snowing soon?”

“Please witcher, the weather does not bother me,” she scoffed and walked back to the group at the table. She made sure to place herself next to Naurel where Geralt had been. Jealousy made her blood boil when she noticed how Geralt looked at the woman. The witcher and his new child suprise were supposed to be her family, not this woman's. She was tired of life screwing her over and giving everyone else what was rightfully hers.

Geralt frowned but sat next to Ciri. “Yennefer has decided to join us for the rest of our journey home.” Naurel looked into his eyes in question but didn’t speak, Jaskier however did.

“I’m going to then,” he insisted.

“I thought you wanted to be rid of her?” Geralt asked.

“Rid of me?” Yennefer scoffed. “I saved your life.”

“No, you distracted him so I could run. That’s not saving me, that's being a tease,” Jaskier argued. Ciri laughed at the two of them.

Their food was served and Naurel picked a small piece off of her bread and ate it as she listened to Jaskier tell stories of his time with Geralt. The bard was funny and he had kind eyes. She liked him. She could see how he would get on Geralt’s nerves though with his knack for babbling and Geralt being stoic and quiet.

‘The redhead! Bring the red head’ the deathless mother screamed in her head over and over. It was becoming hard to ignore but she pushed it to the back of her mind and continued on with the conversation. “Awe you left out the story of how the three of us met,” Yennefer interjected. “All bloody and dying because of the Djinn. Geralt, ever the protector, riding in to find me to save you.” She saw the muscles in Geralt’s jaw flex as he clenched his teeth.

“Well, he ended up saving you too,” Jaskier snapped. “More than saving you if I remember correctly.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed.

The bard looked up and quickly realized he’d said too much. “But he came to his senses!”

She closed the door behind her before laying on the bed next to her friend. “He thought she was dead,” she explained softly. She wanted to be sure she knew Geralt had not intentionally tried to hurt her though Ciri never realized that Yennefer and Geralt were mates.

“I know,” her voice choked as she lost her battle with her tears. “It’s my fault,” she repeated to herself more than Ciri. She took the comfort Ciri offered and allowed the young girl to play with her hair before she ran over to the chamber pot and vomited.

Wolf and flame tag list

@kneelforloki

@shellyshellshell

#geralt x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic

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samstree · 6 months

Text

(the 'jaskier likes a dilf fic' fic has a sequel, because i'm very nice ;)

following this

The blood is getting into Geralt’s eyes.

“Fuck,” he mutters, blinking it away, the wound on his forehead throbbing with every step he takes.

It must be a bad one if his healing still hasn’t kicked in. The gash runs deep and long near his hairline, bleeding sluggishly along his face. Geralt feels dizzy with the blood loss, the world spinning before his eyes. His senses are dulled—dark spots swimming in his vision, the ringing in his ears, slowed reflexes.

Head wounds are tricky bastards, he curses silently.

Geralt lets his feet drag himself forward, with much resistance from the uneven terrain and the injury, but carrying a fully grown man certainly doesn’t make it easier.

“Oh, thank you, master witcher!” Andrej says, draped over Geralt’s shoulder, head lolling upside down. Between every other word, he hisses from the pain in his broken foot. “If it weren’t for you, that beast would have eaten me whole!”

“Hmm.”

Geralt grunts, head pounding.

“I know you are a humble man, master. Jaskier told me all about it! He said you’d never admit to being a hero, but you are! Whatever shall I do to repay this debt?”

He says Jaskier’s name so casually, so intimately, without titles or honorifics.

The headache suddenly gets worse. Geralt has to suppress a groan. The barkeep’s weight is slipping from his shoulders, so he hikes him up with a jolt.

“Not humble,” he squeezes out the words in the end. “Just doing my job.”

“Still, you have no idea how much this means to me. To think I nearly died today, and my Lucja would have been left without a family. I fear no one would have taken her in this time. When that beast dragged me away, all I could think about was my daughter, master Geralt! My life is of no importance, but my sweet Lucja…”

Geralt grits his teeth as Andrej goes on and on about how he puts his daughter’s life before his, how he values nothing more in this life.

Stupid, kind-hearted Andrej, the best father in the world.

“How noble of you,” Geralt says pettily, out of nowhere. The blood loss lowers his inhibitions, making him more candid than he would like.

More reasons for Geralt to hate head wounds.

Distantly, he remembers he should not make such jabs at an innocent man who deserves no ire from him, but Andrej doesn’t seem to notice.

“I do not see raising my daughter as a noble deed, sir,” he simply goes on. “They say I saved Lucja’s life, but in truth, it was she who saved me! For you see, it is a privilege to love such a perfect daughter, who chose me as her family. I am only grateful for her arrival every single day…”

A growl falls out of Geralt’s throat on its own, the pettiness in his chest boiling hot. He barely notices the tavern appearing before his eyes as the good man rambles on.

Jaskier waits by the door, sitting on the step next to a small Lucja, who’s eyes are red and puffy. His arm is around her and patting gently, eyes brightening as he finds Geralt carrying Andrej back safely.

Geralt sets the barkeep on the ground, relieved both physically and mentally. When the beast came and carried Andrej away right in the middle of town, the heartbreak in Jaskier’s eyes…

He shakes away the memory of Jaskier panicked and pleading when the man of his dreams was in danger.

“Papa!” Lucja runs towards Andrej and jumps into his open arms. The broken foot is not the worst thing for a human, but it must still hurt when he lets her slam into him and picks her up.

Of course, the perfect father would do that.

“I am safe and sound, my sweet girl,” Andrej says between kissing Lucja. “You must thank master witcher. He saved me!”

Jaskier is hovering around the both of them, touching and checking Andrej all over. His face finally relaxes into a smile when he turns to Lucja. “As I said, Geralt is a hero! You see, your papa is back! Everything will be alright now!”

Geralt’s chest twists at the sight of the three of them, something heavy lodged in his throat. They make a lovely picture together, almost too precious for him to intrude.

With that, he turns to leave, but a dizzy spell suddenly takes over.

He stumbles, vision darkening. The ringing in his ears drowns out all the noises in the world, and there’s something warm and sticky on his chin. He touches it, and his hand comes away with fresh blood.

It’s nothing a few hours of meditation can’t fix, but he does need the rest. Now that Jaskier has the perfect man back, he’ll be busy cooing over his brave heart and broken foot, and on top of it, his undying paternal love even in the face of death.

Geralt needs to take care of himself, alone.

It’s fine, nothing he hasn’t done since before Jaskier came along.

Really, It’s fine, he tells himself again.

Geralt winces, and takes another step. His head must be more messed up than he realizes, because he only hears his name called out after a few times.

“…Geralt?” Jaskier appears out of nowhere. “Hey, darling. You are alright. I’m right here.”

Careful hands support Geralt by the arms, taking most of his weight. By instinct, he leans into Jaskier’s embrace. It’s familiar, and it’s a surprise.

Oh, Jaskier is right here.

“Why—” Geralt says, shaking away the fuzzy feeling in his head but only making it worse. The confusion of Jaskier’s presence by his side grows. “Andrej—”

“Hush, now. Here, let me.” Jaskier puts Geralt’s arm over his shoulder, guiding him up the stairs. “You saved Andrej, alright? His foot will be fine, because you carried him all the way here. Stupid witcher with your stupid heart…”

Jaskier complains more about Geralt’s heroics, but he didn’t do it to be a hero. He only didn’t want Jaskier to be sad.

“Oh. I’m not sad, dear. Don’t you worry about me.”

Hmm. Somehow, Geralt has said the last part out loud.

“Yeah, you did. Now—oof, let’s get you into bed.” Jaskier answers another one of Geralt’s train of thoughts, pushing open the door to their bedroom. “You are saying everything you think. It must be the head wound. Those are tricky bastards, I know.”

Geralt feels himself being lowered into the soft bed, the pillows against his back. Jaskier is all over him soon enough.

“Jaskier?”

“Yes?”

Those blue eyes are too close for Geralt to be thinking, he only leans into Jaskier’s touch. A soft, damp rug is pressed on his forehead, cleaning the blood away.

Geralt winces. “Why are you here?”

Jaskier’s hand stops, holding the rag and hovering. He shifts closer on the bed, his thigh pressed against Geralt’s. “Where else should I be?”

“Andrej…” Geralt closes his eyes, waiting for Jaskier to have the same realization. “You should go to him.”

Jaskier only looks more confused. His brows knit together in sympathy.

“Oh, my sweet witcher. It must be the injury messing with your head. Ugh, now I know why you hate head injuries so much. It’s making you ask these nonsensical questions.”

“Not nonsensical. You…” Geralt hesitates, not wanting to admit it to his treacherous heart. “You love him.”

The room is silent for a moment. Geralt focuses his senses on Jaskier’s breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest, grounding as always. The headache feels less intense when he can listen to Jaskier’s breathing like this.

The gash is still an open wound, and Jaskier resumes his gentle care, cleaning away the blood clots and finding the bandages from the drawer.

“He’s a nice guy. I did, perhaps.” Jaskier says. “And?”

The bandage covers the wound, wrapping behind Geralt’s head. Jaskier gently tilts him forward so he can reach all the way around.

“And…” Geralt finds himself at a loss for words. “And, you love that he’s a good father to Lucja.”

Jaskier only shrugs, tucking in the corner of the bandage near Geralt’s nape. Both of his hands cup Geralt’s chin, helping him tilt forward, nearly tucking his face in Jaskier’s shoulder. A shudder runs down Geralt’s body at the closeness.

“Lucja is a very lucky child.” Jaskier finishes his work and pulls away. “Still, you are hurt. Why should I be anywhere else?”

It comes out as naturally as breathing, like it’s a choice Jaskier has never needed to make. To stay with Geralt.

“Huh.”

“I may have a thing or two for these gentlemen who happen to be lovely parents.” Jaskier meets Geralt’s eyes, blinking. “But as kind-hearted as Andrej is, he’s not the best father I know.”

Geralt blinks. “There are better ones?”

An unnamed annoyance rises again in his chest. There are more men Jaskier is noticing, more of them for the bard to get all hot and bothered over.

Geralt is trying really hard to not pout, but he can’t help the way his mouth tugs into the shape of displeasure. The blood loss must be getting to him.

A tiny smile appears at Jaskier’s lips, proud and wicked. “Why, yes. Of course,” he says. “There’s this one man. He’s better than the rest of them combined.”

A low growl rumbles in Geralt’s chest on its own volition. Before he can hide it, Jaskier lets out a chuckle.

“Should I describe him to you, dear witcher, so you may learn about my most prestigious, and frankly, almost impossible standards?”

“No, Jask—”

Geralt really doesn’t want to hear, yet again, how Jaskier’s attention has passed right over him and landed on another man, but Jaskier simply interrupts him.

“Where shall I begin? You see, he’s the best one in my eyes, not because he’s perfect. It’s the opposite, rather. He’s just as flawed as everyone else when they become a parent for the first time, but he always tries to do better. He knows of his shortcomings, perhaps too much, too intimately.” Jaskier’s eyes soften. “He feels guilty, for falling short in the early days, even after all this time. That’s why I’m here to remind him, of how far he’s come, how much he’s done for his daughter. It’s hard to raise an orphan-princess in the middle of war, you know?”

Jaskier smiles knowingly, and Geralt lets out a surprised oh.

“I—” he splutters. “Jaskier, it’s—I don’t—”

Geralt’s stomach flutters, his cheeks heating up.

“And he’s the reason…” Jaskier pauses, caressing Geralt’s cheek gently, careful with his injuries. “Well, he’s the reason I started to notice the rest of them.”

“The rest of them?” Geralt asks, brain still trying to catch up.

“Mm-hmm.” Jaskier nods. “All the other fathers started to catch my attention. Suddenly, I was swooning left and right at the sight of an older man taking care of his children. Once I added being a good dad to my list of standards, do you know what I realized?”

Geralt is now feeling woozy again, this time not for the blood loss. “What did you realize?”

Jaskier’s hand trails from Geralt’s face, making him chase for a brief moment, longing for the gentle touch. He catches Geralt’s hands, lifting them to his lips for a chaste kiss, and then another.

“None of them can compare,” Jaskier answers, solemnly. “Not Andrej. Not any of them. I have a man in my heart already, taking up all of the space, showing up in all my dreams. When he’s here, he’s the only one I see. Flaws and all.”

Geralt is warm all over when Jaskier’s eyes are on him like this, like he’s the most important thing under the sky.

“He sounds…” It’s hard to say it, but Geralt has always been more candid when his head is all over the place. “He sounds amazing. You should tell him more.”

“Yes.” Jaskier’s smile stretches. “I forget, sometimes, how deeply those doubts lie. Hopefully, he’ll forgive me for being neglectful.”

“I’m sure he will.”

“Or I should just profess my undying love, and never let his insecurities prevail again.”

Geralt’s eyes widen, his heart nearly giddy with hope. “You should.”

Jaskier’s features soften impossibly when he holds Geralt’s chin in his palm, leans in, and presses a gentle kiss on his eyebrow.

“Well, for one, he is you,” he whispers it like a secret, resting their foreheads together. “I love you, at your best and at your worst. I love all your faults and mistakes, and my love only grows when you try to do better. You are my favorite person, Geralt of Rivia. You are my heart, and my songs, and you are everything hopeful about this world. Now—” Jaskier kisses him again on the cheek, a big wet kiss that he wipes away with a thumb, pulling away. “Will you stop being an idiot?”

Warmth spreads from Geralt’s stomach, making him hum with happiness. The way he melts into Jaskier’s embrace, losing all the words, may indicate that he’s still failing at the not-being-an-idiot part.

“You love me,” Geralt mutters the most important thing, not sure how to react, so he traps Jaskier in his arms and buries his face in his chest, refusing to let go.

When Jaskier laughs, it’s carefree and indulgent, the vibration rumbling against Geralt’s cheek. His fingers have returned to Geralt’s hair, playing with it patiently.

“I love you, and I’m in love with you, my brave, concussed, impossible witcher. I might even say I have a crush on you when you are being particularly sweet like this,” Jaskier says. “And you do need some rest if we want that head wound to heal, dear.”

But Geralt is very comfortable, snuggling into Jaskier like this, and he also has a crush in return.

“I need to tell you too.” Geralt’s voice comes out muffled and sleepy, his eyes closing in contentment. “So you won’t have doubts… so you’ll know…”

The fingers in his hair are soothing, petting in a gentle rhythm that is getting slower and slower, lulling Geralt into a meditative state.

“When your head is clear, perhaps,” Jaskier answers. “I’ll still be here when you feel better. I shall confess my love again, lest you forget, and you can tell me all that you feel, all the sweet things you want to say to me. Well—on the other hand, when you feel better, I’ll also have the chance to tease you.”

“Will you?”

Jaskier’s smile sounds wicked, but Geralt cannot find it in himself to care.

“Oh, of course. Relentlessly. This is too good of an opportunity to pass, you getting the idea that I might care for Andrej more than you, simply because he is a good father. Hmm, let’s see, who should hear it first? Ah, yes. Ciri, of course…”

Jaskier’s voice blends into the background noise, chirping in excitement about the prospect of telling Ciri everything, his arms around Geralt, never for a second trying to let go.

Geralt closes his eyes, letting out a long sigh and finally letting himself rest in satisfaction.

A head wound may not be the worst thing in the world, he thinks.

He just needs to get better soon enough. There’s a love confession waiting for him, after all.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #love confessions #geralt being an idiot while concussed and in love #so you know #the usual

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loki-is-my-kink-awakening · 7 months

Note

If you're still doing the kissing prompts, geraskier and 30.

30. Kiss as comfort

Jaskier saddled up against his side on the log, as the bard always did at night while they sat around the campfire.

Geralt had grown used to listening to his complaints about the cold autumn weather. He barely felt the urge to point out he’d told him numerous times to buy better clothes.

“You feel warm,” Jaskier stated. He leaned his head against Geralt’s shoulder, and they sat there watching the rabbit cook on the skewers stabbed into the ground beside the fire.

The flames licked up into the air, the wood crackling and creating a heady scent.

Geralt shifted his weight, pulling Jaskier flush against him.

“You’re too bony,” he observed.

“Catch me more rabbits and I’ll fatten up nicely,” Jaskier joked.

Geralt hummed. If they had more coin, he would buy more meals for the bard. It would keep him warmer out here in the middle of the wilderness.

He turned the rabbits, catching the paler side of the meat.

“Won’t be long,” he said when Jaskier’s stomach grumbled.

“It’s fine, darling, I can wait.”

It took another ten minutes before the rabbit was ready and Geralt put an extra handful of meat on Jaskier’s portion. He needed all the strength he could get, but he didn’t need to know the witcher was doing it.

Hearing Jaskier moan in delight at eating their simple, warm meal was enough of a reward.

If he watched his jaw working, those lips shining with animal grease as he chewed, then hopefully the bard never found out.

He wanted to kiss those lips, to feel them move against him, but he couldn’t. The bard deserved someone better to be with. Someone who didn’t bring him danger at every turn.

Later that night, they snuggled together in their shared bedroll. It had been many years since they'd slept in their own individual beds.

Geralt lay facing out into the wild dark while the bard slept soundly between him and the fire, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

He could feel the little puffs of breath Jaskier made against his neck and each one made him ache with want. When he dreamed these days, it was of little noises of happiness the bard would make when they kissed.

It was a sweet torment, one that had him grumbling to the bard most days when all he wanted to do was the opposite.

He just couldn’t let him know. Witchers were not meant to want anything. Nothing for themselves, at least.

But he did want. He wanted so badly to turn around and place a tender kiss upon Jaskier’s cheek, and yet he couldn’t.

Instead, he counted the days and thought about how much it would be a relief and a curse to say goodbye to Jaskier when they reached the next big town.

The next day, Jaskier woke up late to the smell of freshly cooked eggs and roasted partridge.

“Ooh, what a delight,” he said, stretching his legs and arms out, then sitting up. “A girl could get used to this.”

Geralt hummed, like he always did when he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t reveal all his secrets.

“Yes, I know, Geralt, it was rather lovely of you. You do such a good job looking after me.”

Jaskier stood up and brushed his hair with his hands, grabbing Geralt’s cloak and wrapping it around himself.

Geralt plated the food and handed it to Jaskier, who took it and then, leaning over him, placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

It took Geralt’s breath away. The feeling of those soft lips against his rough skin made him forget what he was doing.

He did manage to stand up after, his posture stiff. Jaskier blinked at him slowly.

“You feeling alright?”

“Ye-Yeah.”

Geralt turned around and grabbed his own plate, much smaller than what he had given Jaskier.

Hopefully not noticeably different. His tongue didn’t work at the best of times, but right now he felt like he would blurt out the truth if he opened his mouth.

‘I’m in love with you, Jaskier.’

The words twisted around in his mind while he listened to Jaskier eat.

Like everything the bard did, he was noisy. Over the years, it brought a sense of comfort until the nights he slept alone became unbearable.

Geralt couldn’t let Jaskier know. That would be the end of their friendship and that would break him more than he could even explain.

He could never reveal anything to his friend. Jaskier was his mouthpiece, persuading aldermen to pay the amount they promised and innkeepers to allow a witcher to say.

The bard was a master of charm. Most of the time, anyway.

Geralt had seen Jaskier throw himself at some questionable people over the years and that’s usually when the bard would say something stupid.

‘You’ve got a sexy neck, like a goose.’

Most people would have died of embarrassment, but the bard just kept on going.

The thing about that encounter was how Geralt longed to be the person Jaskier was trying to seduce.

Not just a friend he gave compliments to or placed soft kisses against his forehead to say thanks.

Geralt wanted more. He needed more. He just couldn’t have more.

Nice things weren’t suitable for witchers.

Soft things like Jaskier weren’t meant to give grumpy monsters comfort.

His hands twitched as he picked up a handful of partridge, the plate wobbling in his grip briefly.

Jaskier seemed to notice the movement from the way he raised an eyebrow. It was almost comical if not for how Geralt felt so exposed.

He ducked his head down, staring at the food, and chewed slowly.

The bird meat tasted good, a rare treat after so many days of rabbit. No amount of seasoning could change the fact they had eaten it for every meal since the crescent moon.

Tonight, the moon would be almost full as it rose into the sky. Geralt looked to the sky, seeing it clear, the warmth of the sun spreading across it.

Small birds flew overhead, tweeting in panic. Geralt looked around, searching for signs something was wrong.

And then he smelled it: an acrid smell that told him Jaskier was not happy.

Locking eyes with the bard, Geralt realised his mistake.

Jaskier wasn't only unhappy. He was downright furious.

"You, witcher," he snapped. "You think you can pull the wool over my eyes."

He stood up, marched over the short distance between them and tossed a large piece of partridge onto Geralt's plate.

"Do you think I'm stupid? That I won't notice you serving me more food than you when all I'm doing is walking after you? You're the one fighting monsters day after day."

Geralt glanced down at his plate for only a second, but it seemed to be enough time for Jaskier to launch into another tirade.

"The first time, I thought you'd simply mixed up the plates. Then last night, I was unsure, but I thought you must've been having an off day. And this morning, well, now I know you're doing this on purpose. Am I that much of a liability to you?"

Jaskiers breathing was heavy, nostrils flaring. His heart was beating fast, pumping blood around his veins and gearing him up for a fight.

Not that Jaskier would hit him. Shout at him, yes.

"I'm sorry, I…"

"Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you ever stop to think how I might feel if you died because your body didn't have all the energy it needs to fight off a monster? I couldn't live with that."

Geralt blinked, trying to process what Jaskier was saying.

"I wouldn't die…"

"Oh, no. And all those stories of witchers from yesteryear who died on the path are just bollocks?"

The weight of Jaskier's eyes on him was intense. Geralt bowed his head, the plate he held feeling awkward in his hands.

Jaskier spluttered, "Got nothing to say?"

"Why do you care?" Geralt asked, sounding harsher than he meant it.

Jaskier spluttered, "Care? Why do I care? I'll tell you why, Mr Geralt of Rivia, because I've travelled with you for twenty years and you've never pulled this shit before. Everything has always been fair and equal between us, regardless of your brawn and my charm. Our meals were split 50/50. That was until after Rience and then you started acting weird. What is this, Geralt?"

The scent changed, moving to a deep sorrow.

"Fuck," Geralt muttered under his breath. This was not what he wanted to happen.

"Oh, yeah. Of course. I should've known. I’m a burden and you feel guilty." Jaskier folded his arms. "Well, I won't have it, witcher. You better buck up your ideas. I'm not weak."

"I've never thought of you as weak."

Jaskier scoffed.

"It's true. I don't think you're weak. You're a survivor. You're stronger than most people I know. But I can't lose you."

"That's not up to you."

They stared at each other for a second too long, then Jaskier looked away.

He turned, facing away from Geralt. His hands flexed by his side.

"Jaskier…"

"Don't, Geralt. I've told you that before."

His voice was wavering, thick with emotion. Geralt knew his eyes would be filled with tears, and he didn't want to cause Jaskier to feel that way again.

He'd caused a permanent scar when he'd yelled at Jaskier on that godsforesaken mountain.

And if he hadn't done that, Rience might not have gotten to him.

Geralt closed his eyes and swallowed.

"I love you," he breathed.

When he opened his eyes, Jaskier was still standing away from him, not turning around and looking at him like he expected.

If Geralt couldn't smell the confusion on him, he would have assumed he hadn't heard him.

But Jaskier still hadn't turned around.

He took a step towards him, noting the way his back was rigid.

"I love you, Jaskier. And it's my fault, all of it. If I could only see what I know now back then. I would never have sent you packing. I would never have lost you."

"Geralt," Jaskier said, his voice cracking. "If this is some game."

"It's not," he said, taking the final step between them and wrapping his arms around him. "I love you."

The sob that left Jaskier was choked, but he turned in Geralt's arms, burying his face into the crook of his neck.

His ear was pressed against his cheek and Geralt twisted to press a kiss against it.

Then another against his hairline when Jaskier didn't complain.

The air around them thickened with a sweet smell, happiness slowly overcoming the sorrowful emotions.

Jaskier pulled back slightly, just enough to turn his face towards Geralt and press their lips together.

Time seemed to slow down, hands coming up to cup each other's face, pouring their love into the kiss.

Those lips felt warm and just as soft as they had on his forehead. Each brush of lips—hands slipping into hair, needing each other—Geralt didn't want to let go.

They did eventually part, because Jaskier really needed to breathe. They stood, sharing each other's air, eyes roaming over each other's faces.

There was a small smirk tugging at Jaskier's lips. Geralt felt himself smile in return.

"Well, this was unexpected."

Geralt didn't answer. All he could focus on was the rhythmic beat of Jaskier's heart and the wet shine on his lips.

The heat of him, burning into his skin through their clothes.

His hands moved up and down Jaskier’s upper back, holding him close.

There could never be anything as perfect as this.

It was comforting.

"Geralt," Jaskier said.

"Hmm?"

"Kiss me again."

Without hesitation, Geralt leaned in and their lips touched once more. They melded into one another, and for the first time, everything settled within him.

It finally felt like Geralt belonged somewhere, and it was right here in Jaskier's arms.

Thank you for the prompt. Apologies it took me a bit of time to get round to it, but you're still one of the first to be filled.

List of kiss prompts

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #jaskier the bard #geraskier fic #the witcher fanfiction #my fic #kiss prompts

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kingthunder · 20 days

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Analysis of Jaskier's songs from s1—

—and how they reflect the narrative events and Jaskier's character arc through the show. I'm trying to keep this as canon as possible and not look at it through shipping goggles, but there is textual stuff about Jaskier's relationship with and love for Geralt that's impossible to ignore.

Toss a Coin to Your Witcher: Jaskier’s first big break, the famous and famously annoying Toss a Coin. He wrote this when he was around eighteen and it definitely feels immature. He’s cracking bad jokes like “elf on a shelf” (god I hate that one, it grates me every time) and substituting “bleat” for “beat.” He’s taking enormous creative liberties with facts. And he’s being a little thoughtless; in his enthusiasm to hero-wash Geralt, he’s throwing elves under the bus, calling them devils and pests while he’s talking about Geralt as a friend to “humanity.” (more about this when we get into some of his later songs and his time as the Sandpiper)

This is an upbeat, catchy (and kind of shallow) song that I mentally classify as one of his “narrative” songs. It tells a story. It feels optimistic, much like Jaskier himself at this point in his life. After all, this is the kid who saw a big scary witcher brooding in a corner and decided that nothing could go wrong by following him around. He’s got a head full of heroics and heartbreak and nothing is going to dissuade him, not even being nearly killed. This song is a perfect time capsule of the beginning of Jaskier’s career and also the beginning of his long-running relationship with Geralt.

The Fishmonger’s Daughter: Jaskier plays this at Calanthe’s court when she orders him to play “a jig.” It seems like a pretty typical bawdy tavern song, the kind where you try to drum up audience participation. Most of the court seems to know it and sing along with it. No idea if Jaskier wrote this himself. He probably didn’t. It seems like one of those songs that everyone just knows.

Her Sweet Kiss: This song makes me feel deranged. This is definitely a Jaskier original. We see him writing and noodling with it at the beginning of The Mountain (tm) and asking other people if his lyrics are scanning well. He’s been traveling with Geralt on and off for about twenty years now, so he’s forty years old or close to it. He’s seen some shit, and part of the shit he’s seen has been Geralt and Yennefer’s relationship. He is not a fan. He is so deeply not a fan that he’s writing a whole song about it. But also? He’s putting himself in the song too, and he’s putting his heart on his sleeve, the same way that he tries to do when he talks to Geralt about going to the coast. The lyrics of this song are about three people—a man (Geralt), a woman (Yennefer), and the singer (Jaskier). It’s about how the woman is bad for the man, and how much the singer loves the man.

Whether you see Jaskier’s feelings for Geralt as romantic or not, these are the facts:

He doesn’t like Yennefer or think that she’s good for Geralt, and says so, repeatedly, both in casual conversation and in his music. In the song, he writes, “She’s always bad news, it’s always lose-lose” and that, “She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss.”

In the song, Jaskier calls Geralt “my love” and says, “I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting.”

He asks Geralt to go to the coast with him, so they can “work out what pleases” them. He wants them to stay together and not go their separate ways like they often do.

Immediately after this plea, Geralt goes straight to Yennefer and (just in case anyone was doubting that Her Sweet Kiss was about the three of them) Geralt and Yennefer fuck while an instrumental version of Her Sweet Kiss plays over the sex. I still can’t believe the showrunners did that. That was A Damn Choice. (deranged, I am deranged about everything about this)

The kicker is that the song wasn’t even finished when Geralt flipped his lid and shouted Jaskier off The Mountain (tm) and out of his life. Which means that Jaskier, alone and heartbroken (his own words from s2), finished this song and published it afterwards, even knowing that the entire situation had gone tits up and that he might not even see Geralt or Yennefer again. Maybe it gave him some catharsis to sing it, who knows.

This isn’t a shallow catchy tune like Toss a Coin or even Fishmonger’s Daughter. It’s deeply personal and a tonal shift from his previous music.

(and it makes me deranged)

Stay tuned for my season 2 thoughts!

#witcher #jaskier #jaskier meta #julian alfred pankratz #toss a coin to your witcher #the fishmonger's daughter #her sweet kiss #come for the music stay for the author losing their shit over every single choice the showrunners made about her sweet kiss #song analysis series #geralt #yennefer #witcher meta #jaskier's songs

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thelostgirl21 · 6 months

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When you read some of the things you'd written before watching Season 3, and they suddenly take on a new meaning...

His "weapon" isn't a sword, magic, or even his lute. After all, "Whoreson Prison Blues" sounded fantastic accompanied by spoons!

Yes. Spoons always make Jaskier sound fantastic. Jaskier really knows how to work with spoons, and work those spoons!

All Jaskier truly needs, to sound great and inspired, really, is a spoon!

Give Jaskier a spoon, and they'll be making sweet music together... Both literally and figuratively...

He doesn't need a weapon, he's one of the single most influential character of the series, in a sense, just by virtue of existing and doing "what he does best" - being an impulsively chaotic bard either seducing or pissing people off; and just touching things he probably shouldn't touch, and putting random stuff in his mouth.

Radovid, Comma Prince of Redania: *Spends his whole life doing everything he can to stay under the radar, be kept out of Redanian politics, and appear really dumb, incompetent, and drunk (note: although he was only pretending to be drunk with Jaskier in that scene, I think Hugh Skinner mentioned that Radovid does drink quite a lot to cope with everything that's going on, though, sort of as a way to "self-medicate") so people will let him be.*

Jaskier: *Shows up.*

Radovid: *Intensely crushes on him. Forgets he's supposed to play dumb, and instead offers actually good and sensible arguments as to why Jaskier Cirilla should come live with them in Redania.*

Jaskier: *Shows willingness to listen to Radovid, and offers to do what he can to convince Geralt and Ciri to accept the offer, should they find a way to get rid of Rience.*

Philippa: *Is impressed, and compliments Radovid on it.*

Radovid: *Immediately attempts to go back to playing dumb, hiding, and hopefully being of no interest to her or anyone else at court.*

Jaskier: *Shows up again, flirts with Radovid, lets him know that he's not fooled by his dumb drunken playboy prince act, utterly seduces him with a song (and as many "come hither looks" as one can humanly make fit in a single encounter) and humbly asks for his help.*

Radovid: *Falls even deeper in love with him, drops his act with Jaskier and agrees to help him. Suddenly gets deeply involved in Redanian politics. Argues with the spymasters that, maybe, they should start using carrots with people instead of sticks. Puts Philippa on Rience's trail, while letting Dijkstra know about his brother's secret meetings with Nilfgaard (probably counting on him to change Vizimir's mind regarding his plans of handing Ciri over to the Emperor), regularly starts showing disdain for Dijkstra's methods and gets himself on the spymaster's "shitlist"...*

Of course, one thing leads to another, and next thing you know:

Queen Hedwig is dead,

King Vizimir is dead, and now he's

Radovid, Comma King of Redania.

Right at the start of the second war between the Northern Kingdoms and the Nilfgaardian Empire, no less...

With his sister-in-law and brother's murderer(s) still likely running around the castle somewhere, and working for the people that just put that crown on his head...

And the love of his life still out there, risking his own life, hopefully having managed to reunite with Geralt, and now facing who knows how many dangers to attempt to go rescue Ciri...

So much for staying under the radar and avoiding to get politically involved!

Jaskier: *Seduces the Prince of Redania and uses his lips for extraordinary things...

...accidentally triggers a series of events that changes Redania's line of succession, and totally upends the power structure and dynamic of the strongest kingdom of the Continent!*

By this point, I would almost expect Geralt's response to learning that Vizimir has been assassinated, and that Prince Radovid has ascended to the throne, to be:

"Alright Jaskier, what did you do?"

Obviously, I knew that Prince Radovid was rumored to be Jaskier's new love interest in Season 3 back then... But I had absolutely no idea what Radovid's character would be like in terms of personality, motivations, etc.

Turns out that they found Jaskier a love interest that is basically as directionless and lonely in life as Geralt used to be in Season 1. Someone that doesn't want to get involved in politics or any of those games people in position of power like to play, and is basically just going through the motions of his life...

Until Jaskier shows up and, suddenly, he finds himself right at the heart of those politics, forced to make decisions and choices that will shape the future of the whole freaking Continent!

The main difference is that Geralt sort of continuously fought against Destiny, tried to ignore it, deny it, and push it away. And then, he blamed Jaskier for everything that went wrong and attempted to cut himself from him!

Whereas Radovid just immediately found himself irresistibly drawn to it and embraced whatever changes Jaskier brought into his life, while starting to make choices and take risks out of love without ever blaming him for it, or making it sound like he remotely held Jaskier responsible whenever things misfired or went wrong.

And even when things do go horribly wrong, all Radovid can think of, apparently, while looking at his dead brother is "going to see Jaskier."

But then, Geralt is much older than Radovid is and, from what I understand, has had his dreams and hopes crushed quite a few times whenever he's let his guard down and dared get attached to people in the past.

When you keep suffering loss after loss after loss... at some point, you probably figure that the best way to avoid loss is no longer feeling like you have anything valuable to lose. If you need no one, then you won't risk losing anyone.

Whereas Radovid's never had anyone from his own world he was able to genuinely emotionally connect with. And suddenly, he finds someone that sees him and is making an effort to attempt to understand him - something and someone he's discovered that he needs and doesn't want to lose.

But yeah, it's really fascinating, on the show, to see the way that our beloved bard just keeps... basically causing stuff to happen!

For better or for worse, Jaskier is making people that seemingly don't want to get involved be involved, and making them discover whatever their purpose appears to be in the grand scheme of things!

Yennefer:

The "Destiny" that brought them together:

And now that Lauren Hissrich has clearly stated that Ciri wasn't the descendant of Éile and Fjall that the prophecy was referring to in "The Witcher: Blood Origin", one has to wonder if it could be Jaskier.

Okay, first I just want to address people saying that it's sort of a "retcon" on what she'd said in the past and that she'd "all but confirmed it was Ciri already", because I actually found that interview and listened to it, and that's not quite what I took from it.

I mean yes, I can see how it could have been interpreted the way it was, but what she actually said is:

"Éile's pregnant, at the end. And we know that that's part of Ithlinne's Prophecy; that there is a seed in her that will eventually lead to someone who's important in the Witcher's world.

So, as someone who, for instance, on "The Witcher" 's side, follows Ciri and the origin of her genes and her blood... It's like, I kinda wanna know where that character's gonna go.

I wanna know if these two things are going to, you know, crash into each other at some point."

So, the way I personally understand it is that:

"Blood Origin" introduced the idea that there currently is someone, in the Witcher's world, that is connected to the Ithlinne's Prophecy by blood (by virtue of being the descendant of Fjall and the Lark), and that they will sing the last note of a song that ends all time.

The prophecy about them goes:

"The time of the spheres is upon us. Aen Seidhe [the elves of the Continent] lost across the skies. Cast adrift in time. Ever searching for love, lost and left behind. The Lark’s seed shall carry forth the first note of a song that ends all times. And one of her blood shall sing the last."

And that, on the show "The Witcher", Ciri's also a character whose genes and blood is given a lot of attention and importance to. So, as a member of the audience, she'd be curious to know if these two different characters are going to crash into each other at some point, and those two parts of the Prophecy are going to connect.

The rest of the Ithlinne's Prophecy from the books, that's connected to Ciri, is:

"Verily I say unto you, the era of the sword and axe is nigh, the era of the wolf's blizzard. The Time of the White Chill and the White Light is nigh, the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt: Tedd Deireádh, the Time of End. The world will die amidst frost and be reborn with the new sun. It will be reborn of Elder Blood, of Hen Ichaer, of the seed that has been sown. A seed which will not sprout but burst into flame. Ess'tuath esse! Thus it shall be! Watch for the signs! What signs these shall be, I say unto you: first the earth will flow with the blood of Aen Seidhe, the Blood of Elves... May Ye All Wail, for the Destroyer of Nations is upon us. Your lands shall they trample and divide with rope. Your cities razed shall be, their dwellers expelled. The bat, owl and raven your homes shall infest, and the serpent will therein make its nest..."

She also said, in a Tudum Interview: "One of the things that we love about Sapkowski’s books is his attention to genes, to bloodlines, and to how families grow and develop."

And in Season 3, Jaskier keeps referring to Ciri, Geralt, and Yennefer as "his family".

They may not be related by blood, but they are still "family" to him, in the truest sense (like, I think, the Seven established a family-like bond).

And Jaskier is the one that brought them all together. "The Lark’s most precious note shall be the key to all things", and Jaskier does feel like he's the key to all things, at times.

He's just randomly traveling the Continent, unlocking people's destinies left and right, connecting with them, struggling with the thought of settling down.

He's also drawn to people that are "ever searching for love", and that feel "lost and left behind".

Geralt, Yennefer, Ciri... Radovid, even.

And, of course, the elves, that he became "The Sandpiper" to protect.

What I'm also wondering is if the part of the Ithlinne's Prophecy, at the end of "Blood Origin", was added at the same time that they chose to introduce Seanchai and change the role that Jaskier was initially meant to play in the spinoff.

Because it would appear that Seanchai's true form would be that of an ancient elf.

So, "Blood Origin" introduces us to two incredibly powerful ancient elves with the ability to cross time and dimensions.

Avalach, that shares a connection to Ciri in the books (I won't spoil it for those that haven't read it), and

2. Seanchai.

So, what if Seanchai was the child of Éile and Fjall? The Lark’s seed, that shall carry forth (throughout history) the first note of a song that ends all times?

And this is sort of what the show's creator had to say about her character:

It just sort of fitted so well in. When I was thinking about this idea with Seanchaí story collection, it was that moment where all the story about music, and story and words being more powerful than any army, sort of all felt less than [compared] to [having] it sort of personified in this sort of creature that’s raison d'être is to collect stories because they are so powerful. It was great. And the name Seanchaí actually comes from... It was a position in Ireland where you were a storyteller, and you went between the halls of kings, and you went to chieftains and people, and they were the most powerful people in the land and kings were fucking terrified of them – and queens – because one bad story would destroy you as a king. And they were far more worried about that than any army. And then bringing that back to life in this world, it just all clicked. It was one of those lovely synchronous moments of story.

Because the child of Fjall and the Lark is supposed to carry forth (not sing, carry) the first note of the song...

...and one of her blood shall sing the last note of that song.

And when Jaskier asks Seanchai "Why did you save me from the Temerians?", she answers "I need you to sing a story back to life. We're related you an I."

She then explains that he's a bard and she's a storyteller, of a sort...

But that's just the thing. A storyteller might be able to carry the notes of a song - for centuries, perhaps - but she would need a bard to actually sing it when the time was right.

And yeah... The idea that she meant a bit more than just "storytellers and bards have a lot in common" when she said "we're related, you and I", would be intriguing...

The problem, however, is that should it be Jaskier (regardless of him being related to Seanchai or not...), it would sort of make that part of the Ithlinne's Prophecy extremely literal. Almost too literal, one might say.

Not to mention that the way the scene is filmed really seems to be meant to heavily imply that it is Jaskier.

Because, when Seanchai says "...and one of her blood shall sing the last", we are pulled out of the past to the present, where Jaskier is seen writing the last words of a story.

And, when he tries to get her to elaborate on who she's referring to, the answer Jaskier gets is: "Sing the 'Song of the Seven', Sandpiper".

Then, when Jaskier looks back at the last page of the story he's just written, the camera zooms in on "...and one of her blood shall sing the last.", while it starts raining, some dramatic ominous music starts playing, and Jaskier is suddenly back to standing on the battlefield.

So, it feels like she's giving him the answer to his question by telling him to sing.

Then, Seanchai goes on, saying "...so the oppressed may find hope and strenght in the tale of their ancestors; and be ready for the great change to come;" and you see an elf come to squeeze Jaskier's shoulder to let him know the battle is won (at least, this one), and invite him to follow them.

And, even if the only way that Seanchai and Jaskier were "related" would be through their love for either collecting and preserving stories, and/or sharing those stories with the world, she still says that she needs him to sing a story back to life.

So, if you were a powerful ancient elf that actually knew who was meant to sing the very last note of a specific story, wouldn't you want to let them know how the story actually began, too?

Jaskier: I'm just a bard.

Seanchai: In her mind, going:

A bard with a blood marked by beast and magic, that felt an instant connection and deep sense of kinship towards a Witcher that everyone hated, feared, and called a "Butcher"...

A bard that brought said Witcher to Calanthe's banquet - where he prevented Duny's demise, and claimed his future daughter, the Elder Blood Princess, as his own.

A bard that brought the Witcher to Yennefer of Vengenberg, the sorceress that would come to love that child as her own daughter, too, and help protect and raise her, too.

A bard that feels intimately drawn to everyone on the Continent - men, women, elves, dwarves, even polymorphous, apparently... - regardless of race or creed, and would step in and risk his life to protect those being persecuted on the basis of being seen as "the other"...

A bard that embodies the complexity, beauty, and diversity of everyone's stories on the Continent, and feels like - if the muses stopped talking to him and inspiring him to write and sing those songs - he'd have no idea who he was anymore, and would no longer be able to do the one thing he was put on this Continent to do?

A bard that inspires people to grow, get involved, and ultimately become the better versions of themselves...

A bard, whose ancestors' fight against Balor lead to the Conjunction of the Spheres, the arrival of the humans on the Continent, of the monsters, the creation of the Witchers, and the beginning of a story that he'll witness and sing the conclusion of.

But yes, just a bard.

But yeah, it's like the show is pointing us so strongly in Jaskier's direction and wanting us so much to think it's him that it's almost suspicious or "too easy" to assume it's him.

What also makes me hesitate, in some ways, is that people would expect someone that's been described as having "a blood like no other, marked by beast and magic", to be exhibiting superhuman powers of some sort, and have powerful magic of their own, I suppose.

While Jaskier is very much human. But Seanchai (and the show runners, apparently) sees great power in the ability to shape the world through storytelling, and she makes it sound like she truly respects Jaskier's "power", and the way he's been using his voice to help change people's perception of outcasts.

Even "Toss A Coin To Your Witcher" was all about changing the way people irrationally feared and reviled witchers, and treated them as freaks.

Yes, he threw Filivandrel and the elves under the bus with that one!

No one's denying that, and I've always headcanoned that one of the reasons why he became the Sandpiper is because he realized he truly messed up with "Toss A Coin", and was attempting to take responsibility for his mistakes and right some of his wrongs.

But "Toss A Coin To Your Witcher" was still about changing people's perception of witchers, so that Geralt would be seen as a noble, brave, larger-than-life heroic protector that was also a friend you could just enjoy a pint with, rather than some unrelatable mutant freak without any emotion that one should fear and keep their distance from in general, unless they had an even more dangerous monster needing killing.

He tried helping one outcast, but sadly made things worse for others.

And we also have to remember that we're talking about a very young Jaskier that had been brought up in the human world until then, and likely didn't fully grasp nor understand how much damage humanity had done to the elder races. We're talking about someone with a fairly limited worldview that genuinely thought elves were just "hiding in their golden palaces" while humanity suffered until, like, seconds ago.

Filivandrel might have started shaking those perceptions, but I doubt it would have been enough to completely make him unlearn all the lies and prejudices he'd been taught, and fully realize that what had happened to Filivandrel wasn't the exception when it came to elves, but the norm.

Now, Jaskier knows and understands better. Back then? He still had things to learn. I guess my point is that, despite all of his flaws and shortcomings as a young bard, Jaskier was still using his voice in ways meant to help someone connect with, and be accepted by, the world.

He's always been highly empathetic, and likely to spontaneously side with those that needed to have a voice after having been cast aside.

And, should Jaskier be, indeed, the descendant of the very first Witcher, it does add a rather unique element to the way he immediately trusted that he'd be safe traveling with Geralt, and never instinctively feared who and what he was, regardless of the reputation he'd acquired after Blaviken.

Something in Jaskier's DNA would apparently be telling him that Witchers make perfectly suitable life companions!

And Fjall was kicked out of his clan when they found out he was having an affair with Princess Merwyn!

So, getting into trouble because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry would be a family trait that would go back generations!

It can't be helped, really!

Éile was into Dog Clan people and Witchers.

Jaskier is into Wolf Clan people and Witchers.

Fjall was into Royals and Bards.

Jaskier is into Royals and Himself.

These three are obviously related!

"Song of the Seven" would be a part of Jaskier's own heritage, too. He'd be singing about the history of his own ancestors, and their very own "found family", rather than singing about a group of outcasts he has no intimate or personal connection to.

And, should Éile indeed be one of Jaskier's ancestors...

Well, she was called "The Lark"...

And Jaskier chose to call himself "The Sandpiper"...

It's actually what Seanchai replied when Jaskier asked "Are you sure you've got the right man for this?"

Something like "Of course I am. You're the Sandpiper. Smuggler of elves to safety."

Apparently, small sandpipers are also sometimes called "sand larks".

So...

If Jaskier was the one referred to in that part of that Prophecy, then the song would start with the Lark's seed... and end with a Sand Lark!

Then, there's Radovid...

Because, of course, out of Jaskier's entire repertoire, he would be drawn to that song the most!

A part of me can't help but think I'm just looking way too deep into this, and making connections that are probably extremely accidental, but still, I can't help but think it would be really cool if Jaskier did end up being the Continent's MVP, in a sense.

If the whole point of Blood Origin - beyond giving us some insight on how the first Witchers were created and why, the Conjunction of the Spheres, the humans arriving on the Continent, etc. - was to clearly establish bards/storytellers (namely Éile, Jaskier, Seanchai...) as being some of the most powerful beings of their world.

While some would probably find it anticlimactic that Ithlinne's Prophecy, in "Blood Origin", would simply be about a "humble human bard" that would have inherited Éile's gift for storytelling and singing - rather than some sort of primal power or something (due to their connection to the first Witcher) - I think it would be fitting.

Dijkstra & Philippa: We have control over Redania’s resources!

Radovid: I have a Sandpiper.

He's just like the Queen on the chessboard, fiercely protecting the King by messing up the other pieces' moves, hard to predict because he can take off in too many directions and in too many ways...

And everyone's also after him, trying to knock him down, because he just keeps fucking their game over!

Also, as it turns out, there were many more character posters this season! And Jaskier wasn't the only one without a "physical weapon" or object of some sort...

But my favorite's got to be Radovid. I mean Jaskier's standing there, taking everything in, hyper-alert and ready to do "something" about it.

And our poor sweetheart is just... standing there with his fur heavy blanket cloak, discreetly looking over his shoulder, looking half-curious about what's happening and half totally done with this shit, just about ready to pour himself yet another drink...

Story of his life!

#Jaskier #Radovid #Radskier #The Witcher #The Witcher: Blood Origin #My Posts #My Thoughts #My Stuff

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