#and geralt crouches next to him as tears spring to his eyes. places a hand on his knee. all gentle concern
I've had this fic idea for the longest time and your post about illusions reminded me of it, basically it's a total ripoff of djinns in spn showing ppl what they want most, very land of the lotus eaters
Jaskier's stuck in this idyllic illusion where he and Geralt are together and everything's perfect, they travel and fight monsters and Jaskier sings songs but Geralt never gets hurt and Jaskier doesn't sleep around, they're together and in love and it's wonderful
And then Jaskier gets ripped out of it, finds out it was all an illusion and he's devastated bc now he's had what he wants most and thinks he'll never have it again, not really, and it's driving him crazy
Geralt eventually takes him to Yen to see if she can help, thinking maybe there's lingering effects of being trapped in whatever illusion Jaskier was put in, and Yen's prodding trying to figure out what he saw in the illusion, what was so wonderful he nearly wants to be put back into it, and Jaskier finally snaps, "He loved me back!"
ohhhhh shit i dig this!!!
Okay but imagine- geralt (consensually) using axii on jaskier (maybe to calm him down? Take away the pain? Idk it’s up to you)
i would first like to apologize for how long this sat in my inbox. ye ole non-smutty fics and i had a bit of a rough patch there for a bit but i think we're past it now? anyway, have some of this:
Warnings: exhaustion descriptions, tfw you walk/stand too long and everything hurts, a tiny bit of fluff, axii isn't necessarily discussed but its used to help
Traveling with Geralt was the highlight of Jaskier’s life, but adjusting to the road every spring always knocked him on his ass. No matter how much walking and stair climbing and even jogging Jaskier attempted to keep up over the winter, he was always left staggering through the first weeks of travel.
He made sure to do absolutely everything he needed to, including pee, before so much as sitting down whenever they made camp. If he didn’t, the tasks simply wouldn’t get done. Geralt was too stubborn and Jaskier wouldn’t be able to move.
His muscles would be jelly by the time they stopped, his legs moving out of sheer habit more than any actual instruction from his brain or willpower. His bad knee would ache and if he stepped wrong he’d get a shooting pain up the front. Even worse, his ankles screamed at him as he stepped over rocks and sloshed through mud. Scratch that, his hips were the worst, a near-cramping tightness in them that had him almost hunching over by the end of the day. Sometimes he couldn't even tell if it was from the pain or the muscles no longer doing their part to support him. And when he stopped moving it all seized up.
That particular year, winter had been brutal in Oxenfurt. Snow had made it impossible to keep up his usual walking routine and he’d gone and twisted an ankle rather dramatically while attempting to show off for another instructor. It shouldn’t have surprised him that his body wasn’t taking kindly to this sort of abuse, but it made him angry nonetheless.
And fuck did it hurt.
It had never hurt this bad. He didn’t even bother setting out his bedroll, he simply laid down next to the fire Geralt was building. Even the forest floor felt like sweet relief so long as he stayed horizontal. He didn’t notice, or care, what Geralt was doing, just laid there measuring his breath and longing for a soak in a hot bath.
Geralt seemed to be angling for more misery, jarring the bard back into awareness by slapping two cloths full of melting snow over his knees.
“Fuck you,” he groaned, not even able to sit up and remove the homemade torture devices his best friend had dropped on him.
“Later. Don’t move these,” Geralt grumbled.
Jaskier snorted as he let his eyes close again, “Couldn’t if I wanted to.”
With an amused ‘hm’ Geralt was up and milling around the camp. Ten-ish minutes later he came back to Jaskier’s side to move the melting snow to his ankles, then to his back a little later. Jaskier barely noticed him removing the now rather small bits of snow from his body. He did notice Geralt wringing the cloths out, letting the freezing water dribble all over his face and neck. He flailed a bit, and let out a yell, but he really couldn’t move much. Not quickly anyway.
“Hm,” Geralt chuckled, crouched down next to him, “Can you roll over?”
Jaskier thought about trying, then thought about how his back screamed just from staying still, then shook his head.
Again, Geralt was gone and shuffling about. This time Jaskier paid attention though. Geralt pulled both bedrolls close to the fire, and, after a little resituating, rolled Jaskier into one. He then dragged him to the other side of the fire, with colorful protests from the bard. When he was laid down on a large patch of thick moss, Jaskier complained far less. Everything still ached, but at least he was a touch more comfortable.
When Geralt shimmied in the bedroll with him and pressed his chest firmly to Jaskier’s back, the bard nearly cried.
“I’m sorry,” Geralt whispered in his ear, on hand working at the disgustingly tight muscles in his hip, “I pushed you too far today. I don’t like when you cry.”
“I just missed you, darling,” Jaskier chuckled, doing his best not to sniffle, “It’s not that ba-”
“I can smell how much it hurts Jask.”
A couple tears finally fell onto Geralt’s arm that Jaskier was using as a pillow as he lost the performative energy that was keeping him together.
“I just want to sleep,” he breathed, not trusting his voice not to break.
Geralt nodded and lifted his hand to form axii, “Then sleep without pain.”
The last thing Jaskier remembered before the fuzzy haze swept over his body was Geralt placing a kiss on his temple. He would wonder if it had been a dream for decades.
Most Important Choice - Part 1/2
An AU where Yennefer portals to Kaer Morhen instead of Aretuza. 1.7k, eventual Geralt/Yennefer, Witcher!Yennefer, childhood friends to lovers, angst. Warnings for canon suicide attempt and description of witcher trials.
Yennefer closes her eyes in a barn in Vengerberg, feeling rough hands on her, wishing for someplace else—and gets it.
She opens her eyes to a courtyard ringed by stone walls, frigid air filling her lungs as she lets in a small gasp.
“Who’re you?” someone nearby asks—a boy, old enough for his voice to have dropped, but only barely. Yennefer sits up, hands curling into fists against the bite of cold.
“Where am I?” she demands.
“Kaer Morhen. How’d you get here?” the boy asks, crouching down to perch on his heels. “Humans can’t get through the pass this early.”
“You’re not human?” He looks human—no fangs or claws or too-shiny eyes to give him away—but there’s a deliberateness to his movements that puts her on edge.
“Well, I am, but not for much longer. Vesemir says that we’ll be ready to take the trials by summer.”
Nothing this boy says makes sense. Then again, teleporting to a weird castle doesn’t make sense. Yennefer struggles to her feet, boots slipping in the muddy patches. The boy holds out a hand to help her up, but she doesn’t want it. “What are you talking about? And what kind of place is this, anyway?”
“Kaer Morhen, in the Blue Mountains. Home of the Wolf witchers,” the boy says proudly, puffing out his chest.
Witchers. Even more concerning than the fact that she’s apparently traveled hundreds of miles from home in the blink of an eye, is the knowledge that she’s landed in the middle of a fortress owned by the most dangerous men on the Continent. Men who could do whatever they like to her, with nobody else around for miles.
She spots a gate on the far end of the courtyard and starts walking. If she could only close her eyes and wish herself someplace else again… she doesn’t want to go home, but it’s far better than staying in a den of wolves.
“Hey! Where are you going?” the boy asks, jogging to catch up to her, maddeningly easy with her limp. “You can’t go down the trail—it’s all snowed over.”
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” Yennefer bites.
The boy changes tack. “Well then, if you’re so set on heading out, at least let me get you better boots. Those will tear to shreds in half a mile.” He gestures to her sodden boots, which do indeed look seconds away from falling apart.
“Fine,” she growls, and lets him lead her into the keep, which is alive with a murmur of voices from every hall. As soon as they cross the threshold, it all falls silent, save for the merry crackling of the fire in the hearth.
“Master Vesemir,” the boy greets the old witcher who comes to meet them in the foyer.
“Geralt. Who do you have here?” the old witcher asks, peering at her with suspicious yellow eyes. Yennefer glares back.
“I think she portaled in,” the boy—Geralt—explains. “Where are you from?” he asks, turning to her.
“Yennefer of Vengerberg. What do you mean, I portaled?” That makes it sound like—like magic.
“You’re a long ways from Vengerberg,” Vesemir replies. “And unless you can portal back, you can’t leave the keep until thaw, not unless you want to freeze to death.”
Yennefer grits her teeth. She knows he’s right—even though it’s March, the mountains don’t thaw until well into spring. “You can’t keep me,” she spits.
“You don’t have a choice,” Vesemir says stiffly. “If you want to go die in a snowdrift, be my guest. Just do it far enough away that your corpse doesn’t attract wolves.” He crosses his arms and looks at her, daring her to leave, and she could scream she’s so frustrated.
When she doesn’t move, though, Vesemir nods. “Geralt, find her a room. She’ll be shadowing you on chores tomorrow.” With that, he walks away, and Geralt slowly moves to take her hand, curled into a fist, giving her plenty of chance to pull away.
She does, and ignores how he hides his hurt. He swallows and gestures for her to follow him, leading her on a winding tour throughout the keep, until they reach a small room, barren but for a bed with a chest at the foot of it, and a washbasin with a mirror above it.
“Do you like it? I can get more blankets if you need,” Geralt offers, hand scratching nervously at the back of his neck. “I know it isn’t much, but when the path clears we can head to the village and get supplies—that’s how a lot of us make this drafty old place more comfortable.”
“When the path clears, I’m going home,” Yennefer snaps. “Get out.”
Geralt’s face falls, but he retreats, shutting her door behind her. She listens for him to walk away—only for his footsteps to stop mere paces away. She hears a door nearby open and shut—oh, gods, has he put her right next to his room? What a—a presumptuous ass!
She huffs and kicks off her sodden boots, throwing herself onto her new bed. It’s wildly uncomfortable, the mattress lumpy and the blankets scratchy, but seeing as she’s still chilled, she angrily wraps herself up in them.
Stupid freezing mountains. Stupid keep, and stupid witchers, who pretend to know what’s best for her, hiding their obvious want for her underneath a guise of caring.
She has no doubts that they’ll just let her go come spring. Not to mention, how is she supposed to travel all the way back to Aedirn, alone and unarmed? No, they’ll make her stay, under pretense of care, and do whatever they like with her—she’s heard the stories of witcher cruelty. She is, for all intents and purposes, at their mercy, forever.
As tears begin to roll down her face, an idea strikes her. She still has the most important choice of all, doesn’t she? The choice to live or die. Nobody can take that from her.
She untangles herself from the blankets and walks over to the small mirror above the washbasin. She looks a mess—hair askew, straw and mud tangled into it, and face ruddy with tears. She punches the glass, feeling the sting of glass slicing open her knuckles, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of feeling so hopelessly trapped.
From the hallway comes the sound of approaching footsteps and rowdy voices, teasing, shouting over each other. It’s another reminder of how hopelessly outnumbered she is.
She picks up the biggest, sharpest shard and makes the cut.
Pain. Burning, biting, all-encompassing pain is all Yennefer can feel—it yanks her out of the blackness she had so willingly fallen into, slamming into her like a door blown open by a harsh gust of wind.
She screams, writhing, but there’s something holding her down at her wrists and ankles. There’s also a strange weight atop her left hand—it’s warm, and gripping her hand tightly. She squeezes back, nails digging into calloused flesh, an anchor tying her to reality beyond the endless pain ravaging her body, melting her organs and tearing into every muscle.
She’s still screaming, hasn’t stopped screaming, in fact, but she can hear something past the raw animal sounds tearing their way out of her throat. It’s a boy, old enough for his voice to have dropped, but only barely. Geralt, talking her through the pain, sounding as if he’s in pain himself, voice tense even as he speaks meaningless soothing words.
She doesn’t want him here, doesn’t want anyone here to witness her body turning itself inside out. But, if it were to be anyone here to hold her hand as she falls apart, he's the best option.
She squeezes his hand impossibly tighter, and he squeezes back, and they ride through the waves of pain together.
“Yen?” Geralt whispers, and it sounds about as loud as a waterfall rushing down around her. She flinches away, hands trying to come up and cover her ears, but the leather straps fastened around her wrists stop her. “Hold on,” Geralt says, and the straps loosen. She opens her eyes, and sees him leaning over her, fighting with the heavy buckles.
“What are you doing?” she asks, voice rougher than gravel, grating against her eardrums. “What is this?”
Geralt finishes with the straps, and Yennefer immediately draws her limbs in against her body. She’s shaking, feeling hollowed out in the wake of the fire that burned through her.
“You… you lost a lot of blood,” Geralt says, looking into her with those deep, sad eyes of his. “We had to save your life.”
“What did you do to me.” It’s flat, not a question, but an accusation.
Geralt cringes, and walks away returning shortly with a mirror. “We gave you the Trial of the Grasses,” he explains, as Yennefer stares in horror at what she’s become. Most striking is her eyes—her pupils are slitted like a cat’s, dilating wide as she watches. Her jaw, too, has shifted—it’s still out of place, but less so, and it’s an effort to get her tongue to work the way it should. She adjusts the mirror, and finds that her shoulder no longer juts up to nearly her ear. Lying on her back, she can feel that her spine fits flesh against the wooden surface beneath her like it never has before—her crookback is gone entirely, but twinges with pain at every movement.
She’s something entirely unknown. Worse than that, they won—they had her at their mercy the whole time. Her choices haven’t meant shit.
She puts the mirror down and lets out the breath she’s been holding. Geralt puts the mirror back, and then returns to her side, tentatively taking her hand and squeezing gently. She doesn’t have the will to pull away.
“Yen? Say something,” he pleads.
She’s silent for a long moment, trembling atop the table, eyes watering. Finally, she speaks. “You should have let me die,” she says softly, staring blankly at the ceiling, tears rolling down her temples. “At least I had a choice.”
“Don’t say that,” he begs, his other hand coming up to clutch at her limp hand too, bringing it close to his chest. “Don’t say that. Is it really so bad?”
Yennefer says nothing.
Keep your eyes out for a second part!
Chapter 2 of The Quiet Stranger
Pairing(s): Geralt of Rivia x fem!reader
Prompt: You live a quiet life in the forest with your mother after the fall of Cintra, selling grains and produce to keep enough coins for survival. When your mother leaves for a long journey to the market, you're surprised to meet a white-haired stranger in dire need of help, and even more surprised by how you feel about him.
Word Count: 2916
Previous Chapters : Chapter 1
A/N: Hi guys! I had so much fun writing this chapter, and I’ve already started planning the next one which’ll be much longer and spicier ;) I have a Superman request that I will hopefully be filling next week, and I want to write a Mando fic while we get tortured wait for the s2 trailer to release! As always, reblog + comments are so welcome, and this is posted on my AO3 @/violettaren. Love you guys <33
Geralt slept for the entire day and through the night.
You weren’t surprised, though. You assume that whatever fight he had gotten into, which he seems intent on not telling you about, must’ve been intense if they were able to get that good of a gash on him. So you let him rest. And, you weren’t averse to stealing a few glances of his bare chest rising while he slept on your cot. You spent the first day of his arrival tending to the garden and trying to ignore how your mother would feel about you housing a stranger in your shack. The guilt only increased when you slept on your mother’s cot, tossing and turning in your sleep as you remember all your mother told you about not letting anyone in.
You woke up the next morning before him, and rushed to change out of your nightgown. You chose a linen white skirt that hit just above the knee and a long sleeve off the shoulder black sweater that was a bit too thin for the humid Spring weather, but you’d make do. As you take your hair out of your ponytail and attempt to tame it, you wonder why you’re putting so much effort into your appearance, since he’ll be gone tonight anyway. As you pass by his sleeping body, your eyes focus on the gray pendant around his neck and creep forward to try and get a better view.
A wolf. Interesting.
You jump when he shifts slightly and immediately move away, not looking to be caught in such a compromising position. As you clean through the cot, you try and rack your brain to see if you remember ever seeing that necklace when you were in Cintra. But, like most things, you simply cannot recall much of anything from your childhood.
Maybe it’s in the books.
After you glance over to make sure Geralt is still sound asleep, you tip-toe to the back of your shack where a large, old locked box resides. Your fingers toy with the lock and you make sure to get it just in that right position to…
You sigh in relief when you hear the quiet click of the lock opening. You lift the lid and remove the many tablecloths to find what you were looking for - the mangled brown leather journal with your father’s initials inscribed on the bottom of it. Your father, a sorcerer, compiled an anthology of all the monsters and non-humans that he came across, and it was the only thing of his that you and your mother still had. You trace the indentations with your finger, ignoring the heavy pull in your chest. You lock the box again and make your way to the main table, making sure to sit with your back to Geralt.
It only takes a few moments of you thumbing through the yellowed pages of your father’s anthology to find that same design that’s on Geralt’s pendant, and the words above it scream at you.
Of course. The secrecy, the wound, the swords, the hair . You read through the paragraphs on the page that describe the process of becoming a Witcher, and the effects of it. You can’t tear your eyes off of the underlined portion at the bottom, describing how Witcher’s no longer feel emotions after they consume the mutagenic compounds and complete their grueling training. It doesn’t take a scientist to understand why your father wrote that. He thought Witcher’s were evil.
“What are you doing?”
You immediately shut the notebook and launch out of your seat to see Geralt standing in front of you, his right eyebrow raised and his arms pressing folded over his chest, his biceps bulging underneath the pressure.
“God, Geralt, you scared me,” you place your hand over your heart as you try and catch the breath that was shocked out of you. “I thought you were still asleep.”
“I wasn’t. What are you doing?” he repeats, unrelenting.
You quickly run through the possible outcomes of what could happen if you tell Geralt that you know he’s a Witcher. Surely, he wouldn’t wear his pendant if he was that intent on hiding his identity, right? But, then again, he could easily kill you if you try and be more invasive than you already have been. I mean, you just read about how Witcher’s are soulless monsters who only exist to take lives.
You try to think of something, but you remember that you couldn’t lie to save your damn life. With a sigh, you pick up the notebook from the table and thumb through to find the page about Witchers.
“Why didn’t you tell me you are a Witcher, Geralt?” you shove the notebook in front of you, and Geralt takes it from you, scanning the pages. You fumble with your hands, hoping Geralt didn’t notice how fake the confidence in your voice was.
“I assumed you already knew. Is it not quite obvious?”
You scoff, surprised at how easy Geralt’s few words made you feel so naive and stupid. You snatch the notebook from his hand and brush past him, walking back towards the box.
“You could’ve at least told me,” you close the lock with more force than you mean to, eliciting a loud bang as it comes in contact with the aged wood.
“Why are you so upset?” he asks, and the simpleness of his question makes you even more pissed for some reason.
“I’m not,” you retort, standing up and away from the chest. “I just wish you told me.”
“Would you have not treated me? Had you known I was a Witcher?”
You turn around sharply and don’t attempt to hide the confusion on your face. Geralt’s face was tight, the same it always was, but his voice was strained and his eyes were narrowed, the bright amber of his irises much more intimidating than they once were.
“What? No, that’s not - that’s not what I meant. Geralt!” you call him after he walks away from you, grabbing his bag of weapons. He nearly makes it out of the shack completely until you yell his name again and he stops in his tracks. You flinch when he turns around to face you with one of the venomous expressions you’ve ever seen, his golden eyes boring into you.
“What?” he spits, his mouth in a snarl. “You read that book. That’s what you all think of me, right?”
You can’t help the tears that begin to pool in your eyes at the venom in his words. No one has ever yelled at you - even when your mother scolds you, she never raises her voice even slightly. You hated that Geralt was so upset at you for something you didn’t even mean.
“Geralt, I promise you, that isn’t what I meant. I’m sorry,” you drop your head, sniffling. If he was going to leave, you wanted him to know you didn’t think anything lesser of him. You would never do anything like that.
You hear the clink of the bag of metal hitting the floor and an exhale come from the man in front of you.
“Stop crying. Please,” he folds his arms over his chest, and you can’t tell if the statement comes from guilt or annoyance.
“Of course I still would’ve treated you, Geralt,” you whisper, breaking the silence that had fallen. “I- I know what that feels like - to not be liked for something you can’t change. I’d never wish that feeling on my worst enemy.”
Geralt says nothing, his eyes locked on yours.
“If you wish to leave, I won’t stop you,” you empty your chest, trying to convince yourself that you’re okay with that. “But I want you to leave knowing that. I was just scared, I guess. I have not seen anyone in ages, let alone someone like you - but that isn’t a bad thing. Not to me.”
Geralt still doesn’t speak, but he tears his eyes off of you to sit down on your bed.
“Are you upset with me?”
“No,” he murmurs, wincing as he tries to move without tearing the stitches. “I’m not.”
“Good,” you move forward and crouch in front of him, picking up the bottom of his shirt so you can take a look at the stitches. You look up at him to make sure he’s okay with it, and you take his stoic expression as a yes. You see that the stitches are healing quite nicely, but you also notice the dirt and grime that has gathered around it and on the rest of his stomach.
“When was the last time you bathed, Geralt?” you graze your fingers across his abdomen, cringing at the dirt that gathers under them.
“Bathing is a luxury for me. I do it when I can.”
You kiss your teeth and stand up, shaking your head. “A luxury? Nonsense, it is integral. A basic human right.”
“Well, I’m not exactly human am I?” Geralt counters, and you furrow your brows in confusion.
“If you are implying, Geralt of Rivia, that you do not need to bathe simply because you are a Witcher,” you pause to dramatically sniff him and make a sour face, “Then you are terribly, terribly mistaken.”
“Alright, enough.” he waves you off as you snicker proudly at your joke. “There’s no bath in here anyway.
“I know a place.”
You focus on the crunching of your feet on the leaves as you lead Geralt towards the river that you use to bathe. The moist dirt tickles your bare feet and you move the tall green weeds out of the way as you breathe in the fresh air, letting it fill your chest.
“The air is so clean because of all the trees. I love going back here.”
“Hmm,” is the only response you get from the man behind you. You briefly look back at Geralt with a smile.
“Such a man of few words,” you say after a few moments, your voice low. You’ve begun to not let the lack of detail from Geralt sting, since it seems that he won’t be opening up to you with his life story any time soon. In fact, you found an odd bit of comfort in his presence - somebody who doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with empty talk. So you accept it and make your way to the river with the quietude heavy between you.
Even though you’ve been to this river so many times, it never fails to take your breath away. The water is a remarkable pale blue color, and it’s so clean that the light reflecting off of it is almost blinding. Old, decaying logs are littered throughout the bank of the river, spotted with green moss. As you get to the end of the worn trail where the rocks leading to the body water begin, you look up at the blush pink early morning sky and bask in the soft hum of various insects.
“It is nice.”
Realizing that Geralt talked to you of his own volition and not just because you spoke to him., you feign surprise and look at Geralt with an exaggerated face of shock. “Wow, he speaks!”
Geralt rolls his eyes but you catch the smile on his face when he drops his head. A grin involuntarily makes its way onto your face, and you gesture towards the beautiful river.
“Well, here it is. I’ll go back to the garden and come get you later, alright?”
“You’re not going to bathe?”
Your cheeks and chest immediately get hot as you think of the idea of being so close to Geralt in such an intimate position with no clothes on, imagining the water droplets trailing down his chest and onto his-
You clear your throat and try to remember how words work.
“I was, um, just going to bathe after you were finished. So, uh, yeah.”
“Wouldn’t it just be quicker to bathe together? Wastes less time,” Geralt shrugs, placing his bag with his sword on the ground and reaching to pull off his shirt. “And I’m not sure of this road. Wouldn’t want to get lost.”
Huh. I guess that makes sense.
“Well, only if you’re okay with it.”
“I proposed it, why wouldn’t I be?”
Not knowing what to say, you nod in agreement and watch him peel off the rest of his clothing. When he looks back at you, you don’t have a chance to explain why you were staring before he asks why you aren’t undressed.
“Uh, close your eyes, please,” you ask, toying with the waistband of your skirt.
Geralt laughs, like really fucking laughs, after you say that, but you can’t seem to find the humor in what you said.
“Geralt. I’m serious.”
“Fine,” he says with a chuckle, making his way towards the river and, after testing the temperature with his foot, glides in with his back facing you. Relieved, you take off your top and skirt, deciding against removing your undergarments, which included your underwear and a light tank top. You’re suddenly very conscious of your body and the way that it looks - no one has ever seen you like this. You force the anxiety out of your head and join Geralt in the river, giving him permission to turn around once you’re submerged up until your shoulders.
“Have you still got a shirt on?” he gestures towards the white strap that is peeking out from the water. “Is that not uncomfortable?”
“No,” you shut down any attempt at continuing that conversation, running your hands over your forearms to scrub off any potential gunk. The two of you naturally fell into another silence, enjoying the cool water as the sun started to rise, glaring down onto the river. The silence permeates for God knows how long until Geralt asks you a question.
“What did you mean earlier?”
“Hm?” you turn at the sound of Geralt’s voice. “What are you talking about?”
“You said you know what it feels like. To be judged.” Geralt moves closer to you, causing ripples in the water.
“Oh,” you sigh, mentally preparing yourself to tell a story you’ve never spoken about with anyone after it was relayed to you.
“My father,” you start after some moments, “He was a sorcerer - he was born with magic inside of him and had no proper training, but he was still incredible at his craft. Instead of working for the royal family, he decided to help the impoverished who lived near our home. He would heal them, mentally and physically, for quite little money. He took a few jobs under Queen Calanthe that granted him the coins to feed us, but that wasn’t where his heart was. He wasn’t interested in pointless politics,” your voice starts to break as you blink rapidly, attempting to keep it together. You notice Geralt’s expression soften, his jaw releasing from the clench it always seems to be in.
“And when Nilfgaard attacked, he didn’t fight. He stayed in burning buildings and ashy rubble, looking for anyone who needed help that wasn’t a priority to Cintra. And when he was found, he was trying to help a young girl whose leg had been caught under steel. He didn’t even flinch when he was struck, he just kept trying. He never stopped, never - it wasn’t in his blood,” your mouth opens to continue but nothing comes out except for a sob that racks your whole body. Your head falls in your hand and you cry and cry, forgetting that Geralt is standing in the water in front of you until you feel two large arms wrap around yours, enveloping you in a tight embrace. You stiffen instinctively at his tight grip, but let yourself melt into his arms and the water, grasping at his biceps.
“He sounds like he was a good man, Y/N. You should be proud,” he reassured you, releasing his tight grip and lazily running his hands up and down your forearms. You nodded, not wanting to remove your face from the crevice in Geralt’s neck
“I understand the - the pain of loss,” Geralt says quietly, and you look up, expecting to hear more. Yet you see Geralt staring out straight in front of him, his expression unreadable, and you know that’s all you can squeeze out of him. You're okay with that, though.
"I feel like I've cried more in the last few days than I have in years, Christ," you laugh, trying to wipe the tears off of your face but realizing the effort is futile as your soaked hands make your face even damper.
Geralt says nothing but he brushes his thumbs across on your arm, and you register that he's still so close to you. You tilt your head up to look at his face and your eyes fall on the red scar on his cheek, the skin around it slightly raised from the inflammation of the cut. You slowly bring your hand up to his face using your index finger to lightly ghost over the cut, tracing the shape. Geralt closes his eyes as you continue running your finger over the left side of his face until the pad of your finger gets to his jawline, and you pull your finger away to point the pad of your finger in Geralt’s face.
“See?” you prompt with a smile, waiting for him to open his eyes. “All clean.”
Herding Wolves Chapter 12
Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3, Chap 4, Chap 5, Chap 6, Chap 7
Chap 8, Chap 9, Chap 10, Chap 11
A boss fight happens.
Resources filled back up and full of renewed energy they ventured out the next day to find Roach and Scorpion. Jaskier tried to sing a few verses of the song Spring had taught him to see if the brooch would also lead him to their last two pack members. But all it did was sprout a big circle of buttercups and dandelions around them all, which made Eskel have a sneezing fit.
All three wolves made it clear afterwards that Jaskier was not to sing. They glared at him whenever his hand as much as twitched towards his lute strap. And they pulled at his clothing and growled when he tried to sing a note. Jaskier sulked as they wandered down the path, feeling just the slightest bit put off. It was his musical talent that had got them so far, after all.
His packmates were tense as they trodded along, sniffing the ground and air with a single minded focus. They stayed close to him, scared that they would be pried away from him again. This way Jaskier at least had the chance to grab one or two of them before they went off.
He tended to have his hands twisted in at least one of the Witchers fur. Jaskier, too, was wary of the peace. He had tried to identify where they could have ended up, but nothing here looked familiar.
Granted it was a forest. Forests all pretty much looked the same to him. What? It wasn't like there was a specific landmark he could remember! Like some kind of huge, pretty tree or special plant that only grew in one certain forest.
What he did notice was that, while the woods felt less threatening and dark than before, they were still pretty damn creepy. Sure everything was sunshine, but the crows were back and Jaskier just knew that they were watching them.
There was a strange tension in the air. A weird, stale taste that dried out his mouth faster than the heat ever could. His vision flickered every once in a while, disorientating him. He kept seeing a hulking shadow at the edge of his vision.
Despite his wolves warnings Jaskier really wanted to keep singing. Spring had said the brooch would keep him safe on his travels and true to their word, nothing had attacked him when he had been been wandering on his own singing his heart out.
Geralt growled at his side, shaking himself hard and pressed back into Jaskiers hand. A few paces later Lambert shook his head and Eskel went down to sit and scratch his ear in irritation not long after.
Frowning at their strange behavior Jaskier went over to them to check that they weren't hurting. He grabbed Lamberts face and rubbed at his ears. The yellow eyes that stared back at him had their pupils slitted one moment and wide and round the next, alternating between the two states in a movement that imitated the slow raise and fall of his chest.
A quick glance at Eskel and Geralt told him that both showed the same signs. Jaskier cursed under his breath, oh how he wished he had a rope with him! Putting leashes on them wouldn't have been the best solution but would have had least calmed his mind a bit.
He tilted his head and tried to ignore the irritated whines of his friends. He couldn't hear anything unusual. No high note or rumbling sound. He wasn't exactly surprised by that. He hadn't heard Winters flute when she had played it either, after all.
"Please keep fighting against it." he muttered, standing up and looked around wildly for something that would provide at least a margin of safety.
Jaskier snapped his fingers as an idea came to him. "Geralt, come here!"
Geralt scooted closer to him, swaying gently from side to side, gaze unfocussed. He laid his head on Jaskiers shoulder, who had once again crouched down, and whined.
"I know. I know. You're doing wonderful." Jaskier soothed him.
Carefully he guided Geralts head so that they could look at each other and pressed his hands down over Geralts ears, watching the shrinking and expanding pupils. "Does this help?"
As an answer Geralt growled and tried to launch himself forward to bite at his nose. Jaskier scrambled back fast. Lambert and Eskel dove at Geralt pinning him down, but they too were having a hard time coordinating themselves.
Jaskier bit back a curse, hand feeling for a dagger that wasn't there anymore. He would never hurt his wolves, but whatever was tormenting his pack would need to die.
"Come on out you horny bastard." Jaskier mumbled, eyes flitting over the undergrowth surrounding them.
The crows had nestled back into the branches above them, twitching and puffing up like excited audience members at court. Jaskier send them an exasperated glare. He had half the mind to throw something at them, but he remembered how intelligent (and vindictive) those animals could be and left them in peace. No need for him to make more enemies than necessary. He could always try to shoo them away later, when his friends were in their right mind again and that half rotten, scarcely clothed, almost deer was dead.
With growing dread Jaskier realized that there would be not much space to fight where they were. They still stood on the thin, barely visible path the Fae had set them on, trees and bushes and ferns all around them.
Geralt, Eskel and Lambert where biting at each other, shaking and growling and obviously trying their hardest to stay away from Jaskier. If only he could use the time they had gifted him with to pin down the threat. But he only ever saw a shadow, always where he couldn't reach, never quite real enough to be sure that it was really there.
Jaskier threw a bomb at it anyway.
He didn't have much of them left and this one wasn't especially helpful. It was loud, yes and it made a cloud of gas appear that smelt horrible and sharp and made his eyes burn. It didn't seem to do any harm though.
Although Jaskier was questionably delighted to notice that it didn't have to. The ruckus had been enough to coax the creature – the Leshen – out of its hiding place.
With an unholy screech it lashed out, claws shooting out of the shadows to rip through his chest. Jaskier evaded the strike only barely, thanking every god in existance for his fast reflexes. As soon as the attack ended Jaskier turned and ran a few paces down the path before facing the threat again, putting some much needed distance between them.
The Leshen hadn't followed him. It was standing in broad daylight, long arms with even longer fingers scraping at the ground. It had decorated its skull with what seemed to be a bush of wild berries, the leaves trailing down its back like hair. Its empty sockets stared him down, considering.
Jaskiers pack growled somewhere to his left, three voices entertwined in perfect harmony. Jaskiers heart sunk. He didn't dare glance at his friends, knowing without a doubt that they had succumbed to whatever spell this creature had cast on them.
The three wolf turned Witchers stepped in front of the Leshen, facing Jaskier, not an once of recognition in their eyes.
Bile rose in Jaskiers throat. His hand slipped from the pouch, abandoning the bomb in there. He would not harm his pack.
"Hey..." His voice came out shaky and meek as he lifted his arms slowly, palms up. The crows above them cooed, seemingly amused at his attempt at making peace. "Can't we settle this like... uh... civilized... beings? We don't want to be here in your forest. And you want us gone. So if you could just show us the way we would be out of your... leaves. What do you say?"
The Leshen bend over and burrowed its claws into the ground in a move Jaskier recognised. His pack snarled at him, hostile, hackles raised and ready to pounce at him, and this time not in a friendly way.
Jaskier took a step back, a small whimper escaping from his parched throat. He clutched at the brooch Spring had given him, cursing the Fae. Wasn't this supposed to protect him? Or had it all been a cruel trick? Had they really been played? Was this how the Fae wanted him and his Witcher friends to end up? Divided and pitched against each other in the face of a foe they had no chance of beating?
Trembling lips opened to guide Springs song out into the world once again. His rendition was barely audible, voice incredibly thin as Jaskier fought against tears of panic. Ripe dandelions sprung to life around him and a gust of wind freed them off their fluff, the seeds twirling upwards just as thick roots sprung up from the ground where the Leshen had buried its claws.
They shot out between the wolves and crashed against the wall of dandelion seeds. Jaskier watched in awe as the little white things latched onto the roots and took hold of them, sucking them dry of water as more and more yellow blossoms opened their petals.
It had worked. Springs brooch really did help! It seemed like music would be his weapon once again. Jaskier dared to grin, a crooked, doubtful thing that really was more a baring of teeth than anything even resembling joy.
Jaskier used the Leshens confused pause to pull his miraculously still intact lute from his back and clip the brooch to the collar of his chemise. Hoping the closeness to the vibrations of his voice and instrument would somehow fuel its magic.
The first, bold chords rang through the air just as his pack sprang into action, moving towards him in one trained, deadly line.
"Listen to the voice you hear!" Jaskier botched the lyrics a little. He had no time to sing the whole verse. And he had found out early in his little solo adventure that a bit of creative wiggle room was allowed as long as the melody and lyrics stayed recognizable.
His canine friends stopped mid charge, entranced and confused, ears pinned forward to listen. Their eyes were blown black by this point, staring unseeing into space. But they heard him. They heard him!
Jaskier dared to take a step forward, flowers blooming around his feet, forget me nots, cornflowers, dandelions and buttercups. As his voice grew louder and more confident the trees bend down towards him, trying to get closer to his music.
The Leshen tilted its head and the crows flew off of their branches, crowding towards their master. Some stayed in the air, circling the small space before diving down to attack.
Jaskier flinched at the oncoming black feathered darts, but like the true performer he was didn't dare stop his music. Again the fluff of the dandelions came to his aid, blocking the crows path and getting into their beaks, stuffing their airways.
The birds fell to the ground, withering as they suffocated. Jaskier pulled a face at their agony, wishing he could somehow control the power of the brooch better. He really didn't want these animals to suffer. It was likely they were just as mind controlled as his wolves.
But he couldn't do much. He only had one trick left up his sleeve and he needed to keep using it until something happened. Preferably something in his favour, that is.
The Leshen let out a roar that rattled Jaskiers bones, more roots shooting out the ground and more crows attacking from all sides. Only his wolves stayed where they were, blind to the battle going on around them as they fought their own in their minds.
If he could just hold out a little longer, Jaskier thought desperately dodging a bird that had wormed past his defenses. Just a bit. His lungs were screaming at him, the adrenalin and panic making everything seem even more bright and chaotic, while simultanously dampening the world around him. His sole focus was on the Leshen.
It didn't dare come closer, properly warned off by the dried out roots laying lifeless on the ground, wary of the aggressive seeds twirling around Jaskier. Still it stood its ground, sending wave after wave of crows at him, trying to tire him out so he would lower his guard.
But Jaskier held firm. He had performed under much worse conditions, feverish and with lungs filled with flegm, while he was black out drunk and barely in his right mind to stand. In the heat of the day in the middle of a sunny, overcrowded market place where the air was so thick that breathing felt like swallowing a brick whole. Performers were a sturdy bunch and Jaskier would not let a little bit of fear and chaos get the best of him. Not when he had his music to concentrate on.
One after another Eskel, Lambert and Geralt sneezed, the pollen from Jaskiers flowers, which had slowly grown to encircle the wolves driving into their noses. They hacked and coughed for a bit, shook themselves, blinked and fixed their eyes on Jaskier. Yellow, slitted eyes full of intelligence.
Jaskier tilted his head forward, the small movement just enough for his wolves to see and act upon. As one they turned and charged, easily evading the swipes from the creature. The crows dispersed in the confusion, the thrall the Leshen had had over them broken and Jaskier could stop his play, ready to start it up again should the Leshen try and take his pack a second time.
A woop of triumph escaped him as his friends tore the Leshen to the ground. Lambert had jumped high to snap at one of its antlers, using the momentum and his newfound grip to force the Leshens head back. Eskel went for the exposed throat and Geralt barreled into the forest spirits stomach, terminating its balance.
His joy didn't last long. The tall, lanky body of the Leshen flickered and morphed into a black, shadowy mass that was gone in the blink of an eye. His wolves sprang back on their paws and sniffed the air, ready to strike again.
Jaskier, too, was tense, head whipping from side to side to get the creature in his sight again. A bark from Eskel warned him of the incoming attack and Jaskier threw himself forward to avoid the claw slashing at his back.
"Stay put!" he managed to yell before his wolves could come to his aid.
Still stumbling away from the murderous beast Jaskier pulled one of the last three remaining bombs out of his pouch, clumsily lit a match and threw it over his shoulder. He ripped his lute from his back and dove down his pack immediately descending upon him to guard him from the ensuing shockwave.
Pained shrieks filled the forest, dancing over the crackling of the fire that got louder and louder as the Leshen fell silent. Geralt whimpered above him and Jaskier carefully detangled himself from his companions.
A look behind him told him that he had fucked up big time. Sure the Leshen was dead – and he would gloat about that particular accomplishment for years to come whenever Geralt refused to let him tag along on a hunt – but now the forest was on fire.
The dry wood and deadened leaves made for great kindling and Jaskier prayed to all the gods he had learned about in Oxenfurt that his little magic pouch still contained at least one more handy bomb.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he touched a small cylindrical vial. He clacked it open and threw it into the fire, which was still in it's early growing phases, contained enough to be fully enveloped by the ice.
With bated breath he watched the construction of destruction, flinching at every cracking sound it made. Geralt, Eskel and Lambert pressed up against him and growled, as though they could intimidate the fire into nonexistance. And maybe they could. Because when the structure fell apart only puddles of ice and water remained.
Jaskier slumped back and took a few seconds to make sure that his lute was still whole. There were a few new scratches that he would need to take care of once all of this was over and done with, but other than that she was fine.
"Phew! I think I blew away a small fortune today. Geralt, remind me to write a big thank you letter to Triss. And write her a few songs – no – a whole song circle!"
Geralt licked his face, probably to show his agreement. And it was then that the whole weight of the situation came crashing down on him. An anguished, little scream crawled up his throat as he threw himself at Geralt.
He buried his face in the coarse fur and held on tight as the floodgates opened and sobs started to wreck his body. Once begun Jaskier couldn't stop, didn't even have enough breath left to explain to his worried pack members why he was suddenly breaking down.
He had come so close to having to either let himself get killed or having to fight his friends. Flashes of the battle at the lake invaded his mind and the thought of the blood of his companions on his hands instead made his core tremble in horror.
Geralt, Eskel and Lambert didn't really know what was going on with their human, only that he was in pain and that they needed to comfort him. Geralt let himself be held and tried to nuzzle and lick as much of Jaskier as he could reach.
Lambert draped himself across Jaskiers back and emitted a deep, soothing rumble, which send pleasant vibrations through Jaskiers heaving body.
Eskel wormed his way into the small space between Geralt and Jaskier, curling up as best as he could on Jaskiers lap and made himself heavy, hoping it would ground their bardling.
They stayed in that tight knot for a long time until Jaskiers tears eventually subsided and the sobs slowly turned into small hiccups. Jaskiers death grip on Geralt loosened and he leaned back enough to rub his nose against his favourite Witchers forehead.
The movement was enough to cause Lambert to abandon his place and round Jaskier, sniffing at the salty tracks on his red cheeks.
A small, shaky laugh shattered the rest of the solemn mood. Grinning Jaskier leant back a little more to ruffle Lamberts fur and stroke over Eskels back.
"Sorry. Got a little over emotional there. I-" Jaskier let out a shuddery breath. "I'll tell you about it later. Let's find Roach and Scorpion first and get the fuck out of here."
His pack barked and danced around him as he stood and dusted himself off. Together they rounded the puddles and continued on their path, feeling lighter and more relaxed than before.
They were so close to the finish line. Jaskier could already taste the end of their adventure. Now if only his pack would finally be whole again.
Totally forgot to post that here XD
Also on AO3
A Witcher's Pack Chapter Two
The pack face the consequences of there unconventional rendezvous, good and bad..
A/n I've tried my best with this one, it might have a few more mistakes then usual as i have had a hell of a few days and been writing tiny bits at a time. I hope you like it and i caught things just right 😘xx
WARNINGS: Angst, Hints at miscarriage, Swearing ,A/B/O
Geralt sat across from the village leader not wanting to be so far from his mate who was fresh out of her twelve day heat, longer than expected but he was glad for the extra time after all he was trying to breed you with Jaskier. The man before him drew his attention from his thoughts .Beta. His jaw was locked and he was fuming. The so called witch was none other than his precious mate. They had called him to kill her. It took every ounce of strength not to claw off this mans face and rip out his throat. He continued explaining all the measures they had taken to ensure she couldn't 'corrupt' or 'enchant' the others. He seemed proud of how they had thrown a helpless terrified eleven year old child out into the cold, banished her to that shack with no prospects ,food or means to look after herself. His heart clenched painfully, she must have been so scared and confused the mere thought of what she had endured made his stomach churn feeling sick. He heaved deep breaths flexing his hands itching to rearrange the mans face .Permanently. The male across from him didn't seem to notice the warning signs.
"And now we have another alpha we cant risk him being lead astray by a-a filthy harlot! Witcher you must rid us of her she is useless, a waste of our resources and will soon begin to lure the men out to her. We aren't sure how it works but its defiantly coming, she caused his turning to be agony" Geralt growled slamming a heavy fist on the table the resounding crack of wood giving way silenced the man. He spoke low and gravely the growl laced in his voice showed how close his alpha was to the surface.
"You mean to tell me you put her through all that because you didn't understand what she was? She is not a monster. Shes not a siren or succubus. And she defiantly didn't make that boys turning painful, it is painful for everyone." He growled out the words loosing his cool as he continued as the truth of what they had done to you sunk in.
" You sit there so high and mighty aND YOU DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'VE DONE SHE WAS A CHILD! SCARED AND ALONE AND YOU-YOU THROUGH HER AWAY, TREATED HER LIKE AN ANIMAL! SHE DOESN'T EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT SHE IS." Geralt stood breathing heavy. Tucking his head low taking deep harsh breaths. As the beta cowered before him.
"I will take her away and you will give me the coin for doing it, or I will inform the others not to take contracts for this village. And you will find yourself in a tricky position in spring when the migrations start." The man sputtered unsure of what had caused the out burst.
"I-I you cant do that!?"
"Oh trust me I can and will we alphas take injustices against our true mates very seriously, especially us witcher's its extremely rare for us in particular. Once word gets out about what you've done to my mate they wont be so quick to aid you in the future." Geralt was pushing it, bending the truth to get what he wanted. The man looked shocked as Geralt announced you as his true mate realizing his mistake to late. He sighed defeated pulling out the coin pouch wanting the irritated mutant alpha out of the village. Geralt snatched it from him in one hand bringing up his other a swift fist across the face knocking him out cold on the floor with a nod humming in approval. The beta was down. He'd get up in a few hours. Then he turned leaving the room heading quickly out to the shack occupied by his pack. Ready to gather them up and head back to kaer morhen for winter and to see vesemir he needed answers.
8 weeks later
You smiled contently walking along side roach Geralt sat atop her and Jaskier beside you. the last three months had been bliss ,the best of your life. Your new pack had taken care of you kept you fed with freshly hunted meat thanks to your new found alpha who could hunt and they kept you warm providing you with new clothes that shielded you from the harsh autumn breeze that was to come in the next week or so, You could walk through towns without being spat at or cursed out, most of the time when anyone tried you witcher mate would scare the shit out of them. It was nice when he did it made your tummy flutter and you'd blush as after each time he would wrap himself around you protectively. you slept beside a hot roaring fire each night falling to sleep with a full tummy and protection of the family. During your time with them they had told you grand tales of their adventures, Geralt you learned was the fabled white wolf from the songs and Jaskier a bard who wrote said songs and sang to you every night. Geralt had helped you understand all your instincts explaining that you were true mates and that your fast heat was just natures way for you to bond and that it was ok to feel the way you did , the idea of pack was foreign to you and it had taken some time to finally click. But when it did you were more at peace with yourself with your new found understanding. You was relaxed. You were content. You were going to be sick. You quickly ran of into the bushes crouching followed closely by Geralt patting your back as you wretched bringing up your afternoon meal. That both males had insisted on so you could gain a your weight back and you had filled out, now supporting a healthy pink glow like the one you had admired Jaskier for.
"Oh no is she ok? I knew she shouldnt have ate that tart earlier. It was to rich for her stomach!" Jaskier snipped quick to pull the waterskin from roach hurrying to pass it to you having Geralt snatch it from him with a short grunt and held it to your lips letting you take sips. You gasped after having the drink the wiped you mouth with the back of your hand.
"No I'm fine, it was ok, not sure what that was it came out of nowhere" Geralt stared intently at you then leaned forward taking a deep breath in his nose under your ear then pulled back with a groan then grinned wider then you'd ever seen. He laughed sweeping you up off your feet cradling you against placing kisses all across your face tickling your cheeks as his stubble rubbed lightly, Jaskier watched then quickly put it all together laughing running his hands through his hair.
"Geralt whats going on? what are you doing? put me dooown I don't want to be sick again." you whined as he slowly rocked you to and fro
"That's not an option I'm afraid.... Oh god.... My beautiful little mate....Sweet omega... Your pupped" you blinked not sure what he had said at first then your face dropped into shock.
"Wh-what? but I-you said we would have known by now...Th-that it would be a short pregnancy...five months Its been two surely I'd be showing? or that sickness would have started earlier" you were very confused Geralt held you with one arm placing his hand on your tummy, you'd admit that you were larger then when you'd met but they had been strict on your diet wanting you to gain a few pounds. Jaskier walked closer looking at you with awe. Pups. His pups in an omega. He couldn't believe it. Tears welled but he fought them back with a deep shuddering breath. Clearing his throat.
"Well with how skinny you were it'd be easy to miss, we have been trying to fatten you up." he reasoned Geralt hummed in agreement before continuing, still moving across you lower abdomen pressing lightly. It was hard, taught and defiantly bulging slightly but small however that could be due to a beta father, betas produced less pups at once but resulted in larger pups at birth, an alpha litter could be up to four pups at around five to six pounds at birth. Beta's normally had one at six to eight pounds. Pregnancy was shorter for omegas but varied depending on the father and litter size could be anything from five the eleven months. He took a deep breath.
"Yes and the sickness delay could be your body trying to give as much the the pups, you couldn't afford to be sick taking away the nutrition with how under weight you were" His only true concern was that he couldn't hear a heart beat, but he hadn't been trying to hear one he stopped trying a few weeks ago. You were placed on your feet contemplating their answers. Geralt knelt before you pressing his ear against your stomach hushing you and Jaskier as he listened. His eyes widened glancing at Jaskier who waited with baited breath, tense trying not to be to excited in case the worse should happen. You felt Geralt release a breath nodding once to Jaskier who flew over to you trying to place a hand on your tummy pulling back as he near lost a finger as Geralt snapped at him. You placed a slow hand in Geralts hair pulling him to look up at you. he gazed up at you his eyes full of unshed tears yet he blinked them back.
"One, a single pup their heart is quiet but strong. Fast. They are right here.... You did it... My beautiful girl you did it." he finished tilting leaving a light kiss on the small barely noticeable swell. standing up he yanked Jaskier in for a hug then bent him down pressing his ear so he could listen. Smiling the whole time. Proud his pack was growing.
In the following Months you had noticed a change. Geralt was pushing you all on faster his instincts driving him to have his pack home before the birth seemingly more and more desperate as your belly swelled faster than you though possible now looking very pregnant, heavy and round. Geralt shivered everytime he glanced at you , filled with pride, warmth that spread thoughout him you were glowing there was also something else , he had been territorial coming to blows with Jaskier more times than you could count. It upset you, how the once close pair seemed to be at odds with one another you caught in the middle, tho Geralt was your mate this was Jaskier's pup you had the unyielding urge to be close to him, scent him and have him coddle you and the unborn. Geralt chased him away each time occasionally out of camp completely. Anything could set it off like handing you something you dropped as you could no longer bend down to reach it or helping you get your boots on or helping you get up. Once Jaskier had tried to help you climb on to roach you nearly slid off the other side and Geralt had nearly ripped him a new one it took you hours to talk him down. Literately his steel sword was drawn when you nearly hit the floor. You whimpered lying on your side it was night and you was tucked up between Geralt and a thick tree with dense bushes at its base, he had begun to place you tucked up like this at night he wanted you to have a nest each night. You winced moving from side to side rolling this way and that huffing you couldn't get comfy. You groaned being pregnant wasn't easy even for an omega, the past two days your back had gotten much worse cramping, you cringed you were only four and a half months gone Geralt said that you would most likely have another eight weeks or so because Jaskier was a beta 'great another Eight weeks of this' you huffed again lying still your mind wandered you was concerned your pup hadn't moved since yesterday morning , normally being near Jaskier encouraged them to be lively but it hadn't worked. Grimacing as your back hurt which wasn't anything knew you got up onto all fours slowly crawling form behind Geralt around him settling to lay near Jaskier pulling his hand from his side placing it on your little one....Nothing.. you whimpered worry wracked your body something felt wrong, different. You remained beside Jaskier hopeing that it would coax some indication that your pup was ok. You breathed through the aching twitches in your back trying to drift off in to sleep. Just as your eyes closed you heard him. Geralt. Eyes blazing as he scrambled up looking for you. You shivered and shrunk as he found you laying holding Jaskier's palm to your swollen tummy. He snarled stalking to you making to grab you away from the beta, you sat up and flinched as he reached out for you. Having enough, exhausted and upset.
"NO! Enough please alpha! enough, Something is wrong! their not moving I want him to feel his pup the get them moving I don't like them being so still please" Geralt hissed through his fangs angry as his eyes saw you frightened clutching at the Betas hand holding it flush an still. You called the pup Jaskier's. He didn't deserve it. It was HIS. The pup should move for him, not the beta the alpha. HE was the alpha. He seethed
"B-but he cant protect it!! I can protect it...I DO!.. IT'S MINE- I TOLD HIM TO PUT IT THERE!! BUT IT'S MINE!!!! YOU'RE MY MATE!! MINE!! NOT HIS MY OMEGA!" you shook at his words his shouting had woke Jaskier who was now quivering beside you. Geralt's breathing was labored reaching again for you he stopped short as the both of you ducked as if expecting to be hit. He looked at his hands lowering them backing away glancing at the both of you. What was happening to him?. His pack frightened of him. He who had vowed to protect them. They cowered before him. His mate and brother. He stared noting a small wet patch below you. He had frightened you that much? he felt disgusted with himself turning to lie away from you both. You looked up slowly at him instantly feeling heart broken at the look of despair on his face. You nudged Jaskier motioning him to help you up. He did helping you up stopping as you cried out a sharp tug in your tummy forcing you back down to your knees huffing that was painful. You gripped Jaskier's hand tight.
"Wh-whats wrong? please is every-Are you ok? shit!"
"G-Geralt could you please?" Jaskier called desperately supporting you a quick glance at the alpha showed him lying a good distance, faced the opposite way he was brooding lost in his own thoughts ashamed. Jaskier soothed you helping you kneel seeing the wet spot through seeping through your skirts. You winced cupping your belly and cramping back. Jaskier panicked unable to pull away from you remarkably strong grip, you stared at him fear in your eyes as your stomach clenched tightly. It- you couldn't it wasn't even five months yet, you were- could you be loosing it? is that why you hadn't felt anything? you sobbed into your hand. NO!. You'd failed. Failed your alpha, your pack and yourself. you curled over head pressed to the dirt as your stomach was hard and twitching below your hand.
"GERALT! ALPHA?! HELP SOMETHING IS WRONG!" with Jaskier's calling him alpha snapped his attention, the bard didnt call him that often, normally when he was scared wanting reassurance, it happend when he fell into his baser instincts. Geralt rolled over panicked not even getting up he through his body hands and knees scrabbling across to your crumpled form. He forgot his previous despair now on high alert he sniffed around you as you withered shoulders moving with your sobs. He held out a hand placing it on Jaskier, comforting trying to ease his panic. He looked not sensing anything, he gripped your waist sliding you a little checking the moist earth below you no blood that was good, - he cut himself short, you'd said it hadn't moved he stilled.No no no no. His blood turned to ice in his veins it hadn't- couldn't have....You was to far gone!...You couldn't loose it now, fate couldn't be so cruel!. He closed his eyes hushing you desperately, Jaskier following his train of thought placed a gentle hand to your mouth trying to contain your Broken sobs stroking your hair and whispering reassuring you that it would be ok. You was to far gone, already mourning for the life you believed you'd lost, to wrapped up in your thoughts to hear anything going on around you. Concentrating all his efforts into listening Geralt lowered down by your bloated belly pressing lightly against it, hoping to hear that sweet sound he sighed when he heard a steady rhythm a heart beat so the pup was fine just- was it lower? OH SHIT he growled quickly jumping up taking you with him you whimpered as your body was moved yelping as your back cramped shivering as the pain soared through all of you nerves you could see as well as feel the muscles moving manipulating your pup around but you was unsure why. the bard followed anxiously
"Jaskier go get the blankets from roach quick we need a nest it- she's- its coming!" Jaskier blinked frozen then began stuttering panicking. What?.
"NOW JASKIER!" he barked out snapping the bard out of it as he made his way back to the tree you had originally nodding to the floor Jaskier spread out the blankets you had been collecting the past week each town and village you added to your collection. Some he rolled up to prop you against and others he haphazardly plopped here and there to be move as and when. You sighed as Geralt placed you on them you panted sweating feeling as if you were going to pass out form the pain.
"Geralt -is? are they ok? did I loose it I'm sorry I-" he cut you off kissing your tears.
"no no you didn't!.....You haven't lost them, they are coming now, early but healthy I can hear it" you flinched. Early? you- it was happening here? now? crying as another pain pulled your body tight. Jaskier ran back over with the water skin bowl and cloth fumbling with them pouring some water into the bowl soaking the cloth Geralt pushed up your skirts tugging you didn't have anything underneath due to your size you'd grown out of them. Jaskier bent one leg placing it beside his thigh as Geralt held the other in the same fashion. You tilted your head back crying low as you realized just how low your pup had managed to get in such a small amount of time ,you felt uncomfortable full ,as they now sat just at your pelvis.
"I-I need to- Ahh!" you tried telling them that you needed to push, the urge was overwhelming as your body acted on its own digging your feet below you trying to ground yourself gasping as much air as you could before another pain hit holding your breath gritting your teeth as your abdomen contracted trying to squeeze out your child followed swiftly by a back cramp. It was brutal as your own muscles swayed you back and forth you were frightened grabbing blindly eyes shut tight as another wave hit you.
"sshh push if you need to" Jaskier placed your hand between his wincing as you dug your nails into his skin but kept quiet moving to dab your head and face with the cloth. You sighed at the cool water being wiped across you, a small relief. Before you was rushed into another quick contraction bareing down pushing again. Geralt placed a hand on either thigh pressing them further apart then moved his hand to where the pup now rested lower then a few seconds ago.
"Alpha? please." he froze your voice was strained and weak he moved closer kissing your head. Geralt was at a loss, there was nothing he could do but reassure you, he nodded to Jaskier.
"It's low get the knife and cord" he quickly grabbed the items dipping it in the water to clean it, the small blade curved maybe 3 inches with a tiny glyph carved onto it, protection Geralt had spent a day on it marking it perfectly, this was bought specifically for this moment. You screamed curling forward with the contraction sliding down flat on your back widening your feet arching as you felt a heavy pressure pass though your pelvis you pushed with all your might shouting loud into the night feeling a burning stretch before nothing...Your body relaxed you all but melted as your child vacated you lifting your head looking down taking deep gasping breaths. There was silence Jaskier gasped watching as Geralt froze holding the tiny pink child not knowing what to do, his face was one of awe, seeing that Geralt had Blanked. The beta jumped into action holding the soft thin cord around the umbilical cord pulling tight before severing the connection between the two of you suddenly there was a cry, loud and strong. Relief washed across the camp smiles all round, he sat back bending his knees resting his elbows holding his head tears streaming down his face. Alive, it was alive. You weeped at the sound. Your child was safe. Your body shook the aftermath of all the stress pain and adrenaline.
"Girl...Its a girl" Geralt whispered
"Ha you can tell with all the fuss she's making, defiantly a female" Jaskier quipped still rubbing his eyes leaning over to see his daughter. You watched holding your breath. Girl you had a little girl you couldn't look away as Geralt tilted the pup for him to see then stopped choosing to instead pass the tiny Child to her father then moved pulling a small blanket they worked together tucking it around her fretting over how covered and warm she would be. You sighed in relief any animosity that there had built was gone which was a load off mind ,your heart melted at the sight it would seem your daughter would have two fathers. Geralt smiled leaning up over you kissing you deeply then heaved you to sit up letting you lean against his chest. Jaskier moved up on your other side with the child. Tiny she was so small, smaller then you'd expected. Tears streamed down your face as you leaned your face against Geralt's chest he stroked your hair back kissing your neck
"So good omega... I'm so proud of you...Shes perfect...And healthy.... you've made me so happy" he was whispering into your ear but you couldn't make sense of his words . You was enraptured with your daughter, she was perfect you moved to hold her. Jaskier quickly placed her in your waiting arms as her cries died down then moved to the water bowl holding it out for Geralt who took the cloth wringing it out then began wiping her cherub face gently. She opened her eyes slowly unfocused eyes glancing here and there as you moved your dress wanting to feed her. You wasn't sure how but you managed to get her to latch quickly. Geralt nodded happy that she was feeding.
"I-I'm sorry for earlier.... I don't know what happened but it will never happen again" his words were stern controlled as he glanced at his family. Never again. you looked from your pup to Geralt then Jaskier there was a somber air that fell across you.
"You better start thinking of names. I don't have any I thought I had months still" you said dismissively. They looked at one another. Then you
"Who?" you smiled at Jaskier's small question
"Well my father named me and my siblings, so I thought it right for her fathers to name her so you best agree." the statement was designed to show exactly where you stood on the family dynamics for your child. Geralt looked stumped.
"But she is Jaskier's he should-" you shook your head at him
"No she is ours yours, mine and Jaskier's , she wouldn't be here if you hadn't allowed Jaskier to help. And if I remember correctly you held him still each time." they both scoffed before discussing names as you looked back down to the baby as she closed her eyes still latched on unaware of just how protected and cherished she was.
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Until The Sky Falls Down On Me
A/N: This was meant to be an answer to a prompt I was sent but....it strayed quite a bit from the prompt sooo I'm posting it as a stand-alone. Here's 2.7k of hurt/comfort with sick!Geralt. Title is from Savage Garden's "Truly Madly Deeply".
Warnings: None I don't think? Tell me if I'm mistaken and I'll add the needed warnings.
Word Count: 2,743
Geralt didn't know where he was. That, coupled with the fact that he couldn't move, triggered all sorts of alarm bells.
Unable to open his eyes, his other senses strained to pick up any sort of outside stimuli that would provide insight for his current circumstances.
Touch: something cool and damp on his forehead, probably a washcloth based on the rough texture. He could feel a cool sheet against his chest, which told him that his torso was bare other than his medallion laying there. That it was still, no humming, soothed his unease a small amount.
Sound: A quiet, steady heartbeat and even breathing. To his left, close enough that he could hear the quiet click of what sounded like knitting needles and the swish of fabric as they shifted their weight. Someone was in the room with him. Not reassuring when he was so helpless, but not taking any measures at this precise moment to cause him harm.
Scent: Soaps, medicine, herbs. The bittersweet scent of worry, the faded stench of sour fear. A light perfume that made him want to sneeze.
Taste: Something bitter lingering underneath the familiar foulness of his usual potion. That was what finally triggered his memories: the basilisk he'd been hired to kill had managed to pierce his armor and envenomate him. He'd downed his potion as he stumbled back to the village to collect his coin. He couldn't remember much after that…..the poison must have circulated, made him pass out.
Which meant he was most likely being tended to by the village's healer. That much satisfied, he breathed in deep through his nose and threw all his gathered energy into the attempt to move.
His intention was to spring to his feet and roll away from the unfamiliar presence at his side, preferably with a wall at his back.
The results were….underwhelming, to say the least.
His eyes flew open and….his hands twitched at his sides. Other than that, he remained flat on his back, unmoving.
At his side, the click of needles went still. The formerly steady heartbeat sped up, and he wrinkled his nose, braced for a resurgence of the bitter fear-scent.
What wafted instead to his nose was….the gentle, citrus-sweet scent of gratitude. His nostrils flared slightly, and his eyes darted back and forth trying to see anything other than the damned ceiling.
A young woman leaned over him, smiling gently and looking rather pleased.
"Welcome back," you spoke softly. His eyes narrowed to slits as you reached up, but you only took the cloth from his forehead, dipping it in a bowl at your side and then draping it -- blessedly cool and damp once more -- across his forehead. "You gave us quite a scare, you know. Three fangs buried deep in your ribs, no telling how much blood you'd lost, and your fever has just refused to go down."
Geralt made a noise -- he meant to convey his frustration, wanted to growl and curse. But he was mortified that what came out of his throat sounded more like a pained groan. He despised having such weakness displayed before a stranger, hated how tired and hurt he felt, but there was no helping it.
He watched your brows crease in response to the sound he'd made.
"Take it easy," you murmured. "You're safe." He doubted that. "Your body is working incredibly hard to purge itself of the toxins." He could feel as much. "You need to rest. I'll watch over you until you're better."
Geralt narrowed his eyes into slits in your direction, inhaling deeply through his nose, trying to trace any hint of deception or ill will through your scent. He could identify none and that just made him more uneasy. What exactly did you want from him? Was this some sick study of him, taking advantage of his weakness to study a Witcher and their healing abilities? He knew many who would do awful things for such an opportunity.
His heartbeat elevated as his thoughts raced. You frowned down at him.
"Are you in pain?" you asked him. He was bewildered when you stroked his hair back from his face -- there was no lust in the touch, nor possession. What did you want from him? "I'll give you something to help you sleep."
He made another noise, wanting to protest, but you stood and shuffled around the dimly lit room. You returned with a glass vial. He despised that he was unable to resist as you slid a hand under his head to prop it up gently, unable to turn away as you tipped the vial to his lips.
He was going to spit it out just to be spiteful, but he caught a whiff of the concoction as you held it up, and he recognized the brew; it was similar to one he sometimes made himself, when he could get his hands on the necessary components.
Still confused, but slightly less suspicious, he swallowed the liquid you poured into his mouth.
The effect was almost immediate as you eased him back down, distancing him from his pain and making his eyelids heavy.
"That's better….you've earned some rest." The sound of your voice and the dim impression of your fingers smoothing his hair down were the last things he was aware of before he slid back into darkness.
When Geralt next roused, he instinctively stretched. And was pleased to find that, though still a bit tender, his body was responding normally again. He opened his eyes and sat up in a fluid motion, looking around him warily.
A fire burnt in the hearth, and a window was open to let in what he judged to be midday sunlight. It also allowed a breeze that felt pleasant against his sweat-sticky skin. Shoving the thin sheet that smelled of fever and medicine off of himself, Geralt climbed to his feet. Standing nude in the center of the room, he sniffed and followed the trail of his own faded scent to find his clothes, freshly washed and smelling crisply of soap and the scent that clung to your skin, folded on a chair in the corner. His swords rested against the wall next to the chair and his satchel was on the ground in front of them. When he picked them up he noticed that you'd also mended his clothes, no more tears or gashes. He frowned, tracing the lines of stitching with his fingers.
He was just sorting through his bag to ensure all his belongings were still there when you re-entered the room.
As soon as he heard the door knob turning he spun around, instinctively dropping into a fighting stance.
He watched you take in the empty bed, saw worry sadness flash across your features before your eyes lit on him, crouched in the corner and watching you with slitted eyes. You relaxed and smiled at him, though you smelled embarrassed and a blush tinged your cheeks as he watched.
"Feeling better, I see. I'm glad. If, erm, if you'd like to get dressed, I was just making lunch." Your eyes slid away from his then, your blush darkening. "You're welcome to join me, I'm sure you must be famished. I'll just--I'll be downstairs, feel free to join me whenever you're ready." He watched with interest as you turned, bumped into a table next to the door, and shot him a flustered look before slipping out the door.
Geralt waited until the sound of your footsteps had faded down the stairs before finally relaxing and straightening up. He could hear the quiet sounds of you puttering around downstairs, the clink of pots, and a hint of spices drifted up to him.
He should leave. Collect his coin and be on his way. But…
The faint scent of spices drifted up to him, and he scowled when his stomach rumbled.
Deciding a meal he didn't have to catch and cook himself might not be a bad idea, Geralt stiffly pulled on his clothes. Sliding his swords into place across his back was familiar and soothing in the midst of all this strangeness. Fortified, he padded down the stairs, following his nose and ears to the kitchen.
He paused in the doorway, watching as you sliced bread and stirred a pot of what he hoped his nose was correctly informing him was beef stew. He listened to you hum and he felt….puzzled. Unsure of what was expected of him in this situation, his instincts prickled uneasily, fingers twitching and flexing restlessly at his sides.
After a few minutes you finally caught him, jumping like a frightened rabbit when you turned and spotted him lurking. "Goodness! I didn't hear you come down."
Geralt didn't respond, watching you as he tried to puzzle out your motives. Tried to understand why, despite your thudding heart, he scented no fear or unease on you. Only a resurgence of citrus gratitude. His brows furrowed.
You smiled kindly at him as he regarded you warily. "Have a seat, it'll be ready soon." You pointed to a table in the dining room and, careful to never expose his back to you, Geralt went and sat. He chose a chair on the far side that kept his back to the wall and allowed him to keep his eyes on you unobstructed.
You went back and forth, bringing over bowls and silverware, the pot of stew, a tray with slices of bread and some cheese. A pitcher of lemonade was the last to be set on the table before you sat across from him.
"Help yourself," you encouraged, smiling warmly at him.
"Why are you doing this?" Geralt demanded, making no move to touch any of the food despite the gnawing ache of hunger twisting his stomach.
You tilted your head slightly. "I can't claim I know much about a Witcher's needs, but your metabolism worked a lot to burn out those toxins. Not to mention you lost a lot of blood, and we're under for almost two days. Some protein will help you get back on your feet."
Geralt made a frustrated gesture. "That's not what I meant."
Your brows wrinkled as you regarded him, as though he were the one behaving oddly. "Then what--?"
"All of--this," he interrupted harshly with a vague, agitated gesture that made his still-sore ribs protest. He watched comprehension dawn in your eyes.
And he felt irritation flare up as you had the audacity to look offended.
"You suspect me of ulterior motives?" Rather than answering, Geralt narrowed his eyes at you. "I don't...I wouldn't…."
"What do you want from me?" Geralt snapped. He only felt more confused and agitated when you didn't flinch, only pursed your lips and fidgeted with your spoon on the table. These responses weren't normal, damn it, and it had him unsure where he stood, uneasy and unable to relax until he was back on familiar ground.
"The basilisk," you spoke quietly. "It killed my father." Geralt frowned, sensing there was more to it than that. You sighed, shoulders slumping a bit. "My brother tried to kill it in vengeance, and it claimed his life as well as many others. Until you." You looked up and met Geralt's eyes again, and he was disconcerted by the warm, soft look in your gaze, unused to seeing such looks directed his way. "You did not have to help us, but you did."
Geralt grunted, suddenly uncomfortable. "I did not do it for free."
"And you think that somehow lessens the good that you've done?" you countered. Almost chiding him, it seemed. "A monster has plagued our village, and you freed us from its terror. Tending any wounds you sustained, giving you a bit of food and a safe place to rest, it is the least we could do as thanks." You looked determined now as you stared into his eyes.
"....and how do the other villagers feel about that sentiment?" he asked. Watched as your jaw flexed, and that was answer enough really.
"It's none of their business. I am the healer, and who I treat and welcome into my home is my decision." You set your shoulders, cheeks flushing with a hint of irritation.
"I'm not worth that trouble," Geralt said quietly. You looked at him, startled, and then you looked sad and he didn't understand.
"That's my decision," you said again. "Eat, and then I'll check on your injuries."
"I don't need--" Geralt tried to protest. You fixed him with a firm look.
"Eat, and then I will check on your injuries, Witcher," you repeated sternly. Geralt gaped at you.
".....Geralt," he finally said. At last he reached for the stew, serving himself a helping. The pleased smile it earned him from you seemed reward enough.
"I still don't think this is necessary," Geralt grumbled.
He was sat on a stool as you had him test his range of motion with his arms, checked on the rapidly healing cuts over his ribs that would soon blend in with the rest of his scars.
A particularly hard poke of your fingers made him hiss and he glared at you.
"Stop arguing with your healer, Geralt," you tutted at him without looking up. He stared at you, marveling at the fact that you were so…..at ease. Not only lacking fear, but comfortable, sure enough of your safety in his presence to tease and reprimand him.
It was…..unusual. But he found he didn't mind as much as he had initially, now that he understood the motives behind your actions better.
And you touched him without reservation, fingers skirting over his ribs feather-light. There was no lust in your touch, no morbid fascination, no demanding the stories behind his many scars. Only compassion as you smoothed a soothing salve over the inflamed skin.
It made him feel oddly…...small. Vulnerable, to be so thoroughly taken care of, with nothing asked of him in return....it was unfamiliar and left something in him raw and aching, but not in a wholly unpleasant way. He felt vaguely guilty, unsure that he deserved this treatment, but warm and content in a way he was unfamiliar with but savored nonetheless.
You worked with a small smile on your face, helped him gently back into his shirt once you were satisfied. He was unable to stop watching you, riveted. He watched your cheeks flush again and found it a pleasing look.
"What, have I got something on my face?" you asked self-consciously, touching your fingers to your cheek. Geralt shook his head with an amused quirk of his brow. You huffed. "What is it, why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like…..like….I don't know, like that!" you huffed, flapping a hand at him vaguely. "You're not still suspicious of me, are you?"
"No," he spoke, felt the minute softening of his features and allowed it so you would see. He heard your heart begin to thump and it made him stifle a smile.
"Then what?" you asked quietly. You were still rather close, standing next to where he sat on the stool.
"Perhaps this is just how I look at things," Geralt suggested. Allowed his mouth to quirk at one corner, knowing there would be a flicker of mischief in his eyes if you looked.
You were looking, and you caught it. Huffing, you gathered up the soiled bandages you'd removed from him and began to clean up. He chuckled, quiet enough that he knew you wouldn't hear, and tracked you as you moved about the room.
"So, am I well enough to travel?" he asked you after a few moments. You glanced at him over your shoulder, and he didn't miss the way your eyes flickered over his body in interest. Something warm stirred low in his belly.
"Not just yet, but if my estimations are accurate you will be by morning."
"May I stay here again tonight?" he asked. You paused and turned to face him, face open with a sweet and sincere smile.
"Of course, Geralt. As long as you need."
As soon as he saw that smile Geralt knew he was well and truly fucked. Dangerous, to get attached. You were human, it was playing with fire.
But….watching you hum and resume cleaning up the room, Geralt decided one more night couldn't hurt.
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Dire Straits (?)
Summary: Jaskier misses Geralt this particular winter season and goes searching for him, in turn meeting two witchers that know Geralt better than Jaskier could ever imagine.
Now to get his leg out of this bear trap...
Genre: Canon Universe, Developing Relationship, Meet the Family, Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Mild descriptions of Injury/Recovery
Geralt is gone for the winter.
It isn’t unusual by any means. Jaskier has gotten used to their autumn departures and the lonely trek back to Oxenfurt. By spring, Geralt will track him down and then it will be as if they had never been apart.
Over the years, their friendship–or whatever it is they’ve settled into now–had changed in unexpected ways. In the beginning, Jaskier didn’t know what he was to Geralt or why the man tolerated him at all. Soon enough, he learned Geralt’s way of affection, to show how he cared. It was rather endearing, the little gifts he’d leave for Jaskier, the extra helpings of food Jaskier pretended not to notice on his plate. Jaskier gained the courage to curl up next to Geralt as they slept, sit next to him with their sides touching in busy taverns. Sometimes, they went so far as to hold hands, lips brushing against a cheek.
Jaskier had been tempted to ask Geralt what they were one time or another, but found the words dying in his mouth as soon as the thought crossed his mind.
What they are is perfect.
Labels aren’t needed, nor a confirmation that is already there in locked gazes and lingering touches.
So, when he and Geralt go their usual ways, Jaskier thinks little of it.
It’s a busy night in a tavern when a wave of loneliness sneaks up on him, gnawing away at his mind by the minute. He misses Geralt. He wants to be with him always, to not have this separation during the winter. If it’s Jaskier’s safety that Geralt is worried about, Jaskier is ready to argue his case. It’s just the matter of finding him.
Jaskier never thought to ask Geralt where he was going, but now he wishes he had.
Following rumors of townsfolk and vague descriptions Geralt had been willing to share, Jaskier finds himself off any path, trudging through a light blanket of snow. He keeps his eyes peeled for any signs of a witcher’s shelter, and more so, any signs of life.
The forest is quiet, his footsteps too loud in his ears. Jaskier doesn’t dare breathe–any little thing could bring attention to himself. Each step is heavier than the last, the snow crunching underfoot as if warning him to turn back. However, where that is has become lost amongst the trees.
The panic rises in Jaskier’s chest and he turns in his spot, the forest caving in on him. There’s nowhere to run and he takes a step back as he stares up at the treetops.
All of a sudden, his leg is on fire, there is a sickening crack of bone and Jaskier crashes to the ground, screaming. Wave after waves of twisting, burning pain shoots through is body with no end in sight. Jaskier claws at the ground, tears running down his face as his leg becomes immobilized. The slightest movement causes a pain so fierce Jaskier almost blacks out. He sobs into the ground, unable to think past the agony he is in.
He almost misses the approaching voices until a harsh grunt hits his ears and he whips his head up. Fear rises in his chest as two large figures approach him, their faces barely visible through his tears.
“Look at what you’ve done, Lambert,” one man scolds before he crouches down besides Jaskier. “We’re going to get you out. Stay calm.”
That’s easier said than done and Jaskier shifts under the other man’s glare, a choked cry leaving him.
“He shouldn’t have been walking around here.”
“That’s not an excuse. Vesemir told you not to use these traps anymore,” the first man bites back.
Turning his attention back to Jaskier, the man places a gentle hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. He is concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he glances from Jaskier’s face to his leg, caught in a steel trap with pointed teeth. Jaskier’s cries have subsided to small hiccups, but his tears continue their steady flow, anxiety clawing at his mind.
“I’m afraid we have to make the pain worse before we can make it better,” he begins. “But I promise we’ll do all that we can to help you heal.”
Jaskier trusts this man and it’s then he notices the eyes, so much like Geralt’s. Hastily wiping his tears away, he glances at the other man to see if his face holds the same story. A sharp gaze is his answer and Jaskier purses his lips.
“Who are you?” he manages, his voice trembling.
The men exchange a look before the first one answers. “Witchers.”
“I...I figured that,” Jaskier admits. “What are your names?”
The first man stops just before the trap and gives Jaskier a frown. There’s a question on his lips, but with the predicament at hand, he seems to think better of asking it.
“I’m Eskel. The one who got you into this mess is Lambert. Who are you?”
The names don’t ring any bells, but Jaskier is comfortable in the presence of witchers, whoever they may be. His breathing evens out and he takes to laying his head on top of his hands.
“Jaskier,” he swallows, bracing himself for the next round of pain.
“...Geralt’s Jaskier?” Eskel asks pensively.
Jaskier freezes at this and turns to Eskel, who stares back with the same wide-eyed expression. “You know Geralt?”
“Well, yes,” Eskel nods. “He’s our brother.”
He motions between Lambert and himself. Lambert’s face is still unreadable but his arms have dropped and he’s taken one step closer to Jaskier. Jaskier laughs, his hazy mind throwing him in all directions. This really is just his luck.
“All right, sunshine,” Lambert growls, hand on Jaskier’s leg. “Let’s get you free and then we’ll talk.”
Jaskier isn’t given any warning, but it’s all for the best as Eskel pulls apart the trap, freeing Jaskier’s leg. Jaskier whimpers as his leg is jostled around, Lambert fixing a tourniquet of ratty cloth around his leg. A makeshift splint is added to the mix as well, but Jaskier hardly registers a thing until he finds himself in Eskel’s arms.
“Oh, you don’t have to–” Jaskier begins out of habit but Lambert’s hardened stare shuts him up.
“I would’ve made you walk. It doesn’t look that bad.”
“Come off it, Lambert,” Eskel rolls his eyes. “You forget we’re dealing with a human here.”
Lambert only offers a disgruntled shrug in return but keeps his eye on Jaskier as the three make their way through the forest. With the pain starting to numb, Jaskier is able to sort through some of his thoughts.
“Do you know where Geralt is?” he asks, a small spring of hope growing inside of him.
“Don’t you know?” Eskel frowns before adding a small, “Of course not. It’s Geralt we’re talking about.”
Shaking his head, Eskel then clears his throat since Lambert appears to have exhausted his part of conversation.
“We all come back to our keep, Kaer Morhen, during the winter,” Eskel explains. “I guess you could call it a hibernation of sorts.”
“More like the only time of the year we don’t have to deal with the stupidity of humans,” Lambert mutters.
Eskel gives a small nod of agreement with a sigh. “That too.”
Jaskier mulls this over. Geralt never talked about brothers or anything he got up to during the winter beyond seeking out a familiar keep. Jaskier doesn’t prod when things get personal, Geralt’s business is his own, but with so much of Geralt’s life coming to the surface, Jaskier begins to feel left out.
As if sensing Jaskier’s change in mood, Eskel begins speaking again.
“Geralt’s told us all about you. The songs you’ve written him, the adventures you’ve had together...I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t envious.”
Jaskier stares at Eskel then, searching for any signs of joking or exaggeration. When both witchers hold the same serious expression, Jaskier blushes, ducking his head to hide his reddening face.
“He doesn’t mean to keep his secrets,” Eskel continues on. “Sometimes, he’s just brainless when it comes to what he should actually mention.”
Jaskier is no stranger to that, but it still hurts a little that there’s parts of Geralt’s life that he doesn’t know about.
The walk continues on, Jaskier dozing off several times from exhaustion and to his surprise, the witchers let him be. When there’s a creak, Jaskier snaps his eyes open to see a large wall made of dilapidated stone, but still standing strong. There is little action in the courtyard they step into–or really anywhere at all–and Jaskier frowns. Again, he’s met with too much silence until Lambert decides to break it.
“Geralt, get down here!” he shouts, making Jaskier jump a little.
Eskel scowls but the two witchers don’t have a chance to move forward as Geralt charges out from inside the keep, ready to tell Lambert off. Then, his eyes land on Jaskier and Geralt comes to a halt.
“We’ve seem to have caught a stray,” Eskel uses his head to nod at Jaskier.
Jaskier purses his lips at this comment, more focused on Geralt’s intense stare.
“What the hell did you two do to him?” Geralt bites.
“I did nothing,” Eskel immediately defends himself. “It’s Lambert and his blasted traps.”
Geralt snaps his head to Lambert who holds his arms out.
“What? Is there a law against traps?”
With only a growl as a response, Geralt reaches out for Jaskier and Jaskier finds himself jostled from one set of arms to another.
“Gentleman, really,” Jaskier waves. “I’m sure I can walk.”
“I’m sure you can’t,” Geralt replies in a muttered breath. “You’re in high spirits.”
“Gave him some…” Eskel makes a motion with his hand and Jaskier frowns.
He doesn’t remember taking anything. He looks at Geralt for an answer but is met with a sigh before the two head inside.
“Who wrapped your leg?” Geralt asks.
“The sullen one. Lambert.”
Geralt nods. “Always keeps some kind of herbal medicine on him. Placed on a wound, it numbs the area for a little while. It’s why you’re...you.”
Jaskier blinks at this before letting out a small laugh. “So you’re saying if he hadn’t given me anything I’d be writhing in pain right now?”
“Yes. However, once I remove the wrappings the pain will come back.”
Having paid no attention to his surroundings, Jaskier is caught off-guard when Geralt sets him down on a bed and begins properly cleaning up his injury.
The room is small with high ceilings, a fireplace across from the bed. To Jaskier’s left, there is a large set of windows, allowing sunlight to pour in. There are no fancy decorations and what does sit in the room is just enough to make it liveable.
Jaskier doesn’t have time to ponder much more on this as Geralt’s hand on his leg is all the warning he gets before the crude wrappings are removed.
“Fuck!” Jaskier swears as sensation comes back to his leg.
The tears are unstoppable and Jaskier buries his face into one of the pillows as Geralt removes his breeches and cleans the wound.
“What were you doing in the forest?” Geralt asks, but it does little to distract Jaskier from the pain.
“Looking for you,” Jaskier says through gritted teeth.
He sobs as Geralt wraps two splints along his leg and he begs for the pain to stop. The hands on his waist are firm but gentle as he’s guided into a seated position, a pillow cushioning his fragile leg. Geralt presses a bottle to Jaskier’s lips and Jaskier drinks past the bitter taste, wincing as he swallows. A blanket is thrown over him, a washcloth offered for his eyes, before he finally lets out a sigh of relief.
Geralt hasn’t responded to the previous comment and Jaskier decides to ask the question for him, his body starting to relax.
“Why was I looking for you, you ask? Well, I’ve come across a spell of sorts and wouldn’t you know it, one ingredient that’s essential is a strand of Witcher hair.”
He’s not sure where this lie comes from and blames it on his pain-stricken mind.
“I missed you too, Jaskier.”
Jaskier’s words catch in his throat and he stares at the golden eyes that bore into him. Geralt knows him too well. Jaskier goes to duck his head only for his chin to be caught in Geralt’s grasp. He lets the Witcher pull his face back up, despite the heat that rushes to his cheeks.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you to join me here,” Geralt starts with a low rumble.
“Why haven’t you?” Jaskier cuts in, noting how Geralt’s hand is now cupping his cheek.
“Nerves, I suppose.”
It’s not a good excuse, but Jaskier accepts it for now. He leans forward, bringing his and Geralt’s faces closer, breathes mingling. Before Jaskier can move any further, Geralt presses their foreheads together, his eyes closing. Jaskier follows Geralt’s movements and the two soak in the feeling of each other, this peaceful moment amongst the chaos.
“So,” Jaskier breathes at last. “When do I get to see all of the keep?”
Geralt’s eyes snap open and Jaskier can’t help laugh a little. They pull apart, Geralt’s hand trailing down to Jaskier’s shoulder.
“I’m not carrying you around if that’s what you’re suggesting,” he states.
“You carried me up here,” Jaskier says pointedly. “What’s the difference?”
“I’m not about to become your horse,” Geralt retorts, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Jaskier has already won the battle and he nuzzles Geralt’s nose with his own as he grins.
A knock on their door interrupts them and Geralt narrows his eyes as he looks at the closed door over his shoulder.
“How’s Jaskier?” Eskel’s muffled voice comes from the other side.
Geralt sighs as he turns back to Jaskier. “You’ve got guests.”
“Oh, please let them in,” Jaskier smiles, excitement bubbling in his chest.
Now is his chance to get to know the other people in Geralt’s life and questions already buzz through his mind. Geralt quirks a brow but says no more as he gets up to open the door. Eskel and Lambert quickly push pass him, standing on opposite sides of the bed where Jaskier lays. Jaskier stares up at the looming witchers, his gaze fluttering between the two as he takes the opportunity to really study them.
“Well, where shall we start?” Jaskier asks, his smile growing wider.
Eskel sits down on the edge of the bed, but even his tentative action still causes the bed to shift and Jaskier bites back a laugh, glancing at Geralt for a moment. Geralt grunts, mumbling something to himself as he crosses his arms, watching his brothers closely.
“Did you and Geralt really meet in a tavern?” Eskel starts with his own question, one Jaskier is more than happy to indulge in.
Lambert is slow to relax, but his eyes never leave Eskel and Jaskier as they converse. When Lambert finally tries to say something, Jaskier whips his head towards him, eyes bright and curious.
“Yes, Lambert?” Jaskier tilts his head, his smile unwavering.
Lambert goes still before he shakes his head and looks away from Jaskier. There is a look exchanged between Jaskier and Geralt, the faintest trace of an amused smile on Geralt’s face. Reaching out for Lambert, Jaskier pulls him down onto the bed, earning him a grunt of surprise.
“Don’t be a stranger, Lambert,” Jaskier teases. “And, Geralt, there’s still some space on the bed if you wish to join us. Perhaps correct some of my details.”
Jaskier winks at Geralt, pride surging in his chest as Geralt marches over to the bed and practically pushes Lambert and Eskel out of the way to sit behind Jaskier. Once the two are comfortable, Lambert and Eskel sit back on the bed, unsure of where to go from here.
“What was Geralt like as a child?” Jaskier breaks the stalemate.
He can practically feel Geralt’s eyeroll and this time, it’s Lambert who speaks up. Relaxing in Geralt’s hold, Jaskier takes in every story, laughing with the jokes, offering a sympathetic hand at the somber details. Though he’s just met Lambert and Eskel, he can sense the bond between the three witchers, their loyalty and trust in each other. It’s truly unbreakable and he’s thankful Geralt has these men in his life. Jaskier hopes in time, they can be part of his.
When yet another rough knock on the door catches everyone’s attention, it’s then Jaskier gets to meet Vesemir, who gives Jaskier a wary eye. Jaskier can only sheepishly smile back as Eskel explains the situation, reminding Jaskier he indeed has a broken leg.
“Keep an eye on these three. They’re trouble,” Vesemir says before he leaves the room and Jaskier laughs.
Geralt has always been his home, but now Jaskier finds he wants to make this place, his comfort with these men, a home as well. The immediate acceptance and care means the world to Jaskier and he wants to repay the favor.
Tangling one of Geralt’s hands in his own, Jaskier breathes in the warmth, ready for a winter safe in a witcher’s keep.
And I am Wanting
Jaskier x Reader, smutty one shot
You finish brushing your hair and slip under the bed covers, heavy and silk-lined, befitting a bard of Jaskier's standing.
He remains downstairs in this tavern of some renown, singing to the ladies and gentlefolk who have gathered from the surrounding county.
Hopefully, he won't be too tired when he finishes. You reach over and pour wine into two small silver goblets on the bedside table. Just then, the door creaks, and Jaskier, golden doublet resplendent, hair askew, appears in the doorway, silhouetted.
He bows in a courtly fashion. "My lady." His voice is a touch husky, scratchy from use.
You grin. "Come here, bard."
He sets his lute down gently on the broad oak chest at the foot of the bed, then closes the door, locking it. You drink him in with your gaze in the room lit only by candlelight; the blue of his gaze, his slightly lopsided smile, his lean runner's build. He climbs on to the bed, moving over you. He smells of exotic spices, fresh oranges, the dusky fullness of red wine.
"Keeping yourself busy, my love?" He peels back the coverlet to find you undressed. "My, my. I feel another ballad coming on."
You smile against his mouth as he kisses you eagerly. Despite his considerable skill in bed, there's always a sweet earnestness about him that captured you from your first meeting. He's ever chirpy, in love with life, and the brightness is why, you suspect, the sullen Witcher puts up with him.
"Come in me first," you said cheekily.
He chuckles, sitting up, straddling you, untying the complicated knots that hold his fine doublet together. “The face of an angel and the mouth of a harlot,” he sighs, contented. “A man could drown in you.”
You watch lazily as he undresses in the kiss of candlelight, doublet falling away to reveal a crisp white undershirt. A smattering of chest hair flirts with the fabric as he peels it away. A fine sheen of clean sweat clings to his body from a night’s long performance. You look forward to licking it off. He drops the shirt on the floor, where it whispers down, unmissed, and his clever bard’s fingers move to the stays on his breeches. He looks up, his gaze meeting yours, naughty, that slightly lopsided grin painted on his gently handsome face.
“No comments on my performance?” he teases.
You watch him from heavy-lidded eyes. “This is merely the warm-up. I can’t comment until the end.”
“Wench,” he laughs and rids himself quickly of breeches, smallclothes, worn leather boots. They join his shirt and silky, gold doublet on the floor, and you lift the covers, inviting him to slip beneath with you. You sigh as his long, lean body covers yours, and his hands find your breasts, lute-callused fingers playing your nipples like music notes, the pleasure as bright and fresh as a cherry blossom spring breeze. You arch your back to give him better access and his clever mouth replaces his fingers, half a day’s stubble worrying your sensitive skin pleasantly. He murmurs sweet nothings as his lips work, and against your thigh, he’s hard and ready, but unhurried.
“Jaskier.” You sink your fingers into his short, thick hair, bowing your back, spreading your legs to better fit your bodies together.
“I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting,” he murmurs, and you recall the first time he strummed out Her Sweet Kiss to you as the moon rose high in the sky, your bed a pile of furs and blankets, roasting meat hanging over a crackling fire, the specter of a moody Geralt crouching nearby doing nothing to dim the romance of the moment.
Jaskier moves down your body, his breath warm on your skin. Even his breathing has a musical cant to it, you think as he moves your legs apart. He glances up at you, winks, and he takes your breath away. Your heart gallops as he puts that clever tongue to work in your most secret place. Whatever he’s doing - writing his name, your name, the name of the inn - he brings you to the brink, again and again, his busy mouth making sure you know that it’s good for more than singing. Although when he sings, you adore him all the more.
You keen his name as you come on a burst of light behind your eyelids. The candlelight flickers over Jaskier’s lean, naked chest as he sits up, lips shiny from attending to you, erection proud against his flat stomach, and automatically you reach for him. He goes willingly, leaning up on an elbow. You turn to face him, winding your hand around him. “Gods, yes,” he murmurs, supplications tripping from his tongue as you spoil him as he did you. You push him onto his back and drop open-mouthed kisses down his chest and abdomen, then finally, finally, curl your tongue around the velvet head of him.
He gasps silently, and you smirk, thinking that this is always a reliable way to shut Jaskier up. You tongue him lazily as if licking a cone of sugar, and when he twists a hand in your hair and mutters, “Oh, fuck, fuck- ” you lift your head and mount him.
You keep your gaze on his as a litany of praise and pleas and swearing, whisper-soft, fills your ears. He bites his lip, finally silent, as you take him into your body, inch by inch. His body trembles beneath you, and you think of all the different Jaskiers. This one, yours, the one you see only in the bedchamber. The confident, desired bard, lording it over court and taverns across the country. Geralt’s Jaskier, the traveling companion, mouthy, over-sharing.
You love them all.
Jaskier’s clever hands settle on your hips as you set up a rhythm, and ever the musician, he helps you into it, until you’re both breathing hard. The patter of rain starts outside, and you look into his eyes, the colour of a summer sky storm, and think you’ll never, ever tire of him.
He gasps your name and starts pistoning his hips up into yours. You grab the headboard for support, uncaring if the guest in the next room hears you. You’re way beyond caring about anything but the sound and feel and smell of the bard underneath you. The second orgasm tears through you like teeth, but sweeter, and Jaskier is loud when he comes, his head thrown back, and he’s beautiful.
Later, he cleans you both up with a warmed, damp cloth, and curls around you, murmuring lyrics as he kisses into your hair, nuzzling at your neck.
“What more could a bard want,” he asks sleepily.
You breathe him in; lute polish and wine and sex and orange peel, and settle into a deep, happy slumber.
Thanks so much to @flowerymoonlight and @miss-fuck-the-world for the beta!!