#and jaskier just looks at him and it's the scene where they first met in the show

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

First Of Her Name

The first two chapters of my long-delayed birthday fic for @handwrittenhello are up! It's a Geraskefer warlord!Yennefer fic featuring role reversals, arranged marriages, kidnapping, and pining.

Rating: E

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence; canonical child death in prologue

Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer; Geralt/Yennefer; Jaskier/Yennefer

Summary: Fifteen years after deposing the kings of Aedirn and Lyria and being crowned the Warlord of the North, Yennefer has everything she could want: power, security, and an only moderately irritating lover, her court mage, Jaskier. But she's taken off guard when Queen Visenna of Rivia offers Yennefer her youngest son’s hand in marriage. Yennefer is skeptical, until she meets Prince Geralt and his daughter, Ciri, and is fonder of both of them than she expected.

But as they begin to plan for a wedding, it becomes increasingly clear that someone wants to stop Yennefer and Geralt’s marriage. And they’re not picky about who they need to hurt to make that happen.

You can read the prologue and the first scene of chapter one below the cut or find the entirety of the first two chapters here on AO3!

Prologue

Yennefer fucking hates portals.

Her stomach lurches as she drops to her knees in the sand, clutching the Lyrian princess to her chest. She just barely manages not to heave.

“Oh, fuck,” the Lyrian court mage says behind her as he closes the portal. “Oh, shit.”

The scent of blood is cloying and the baby in Yennefer’s arms has no heartbeat.

“Is she—” the mage—Yennefer never bothered learning his name—starts to ask.

Yennefer lowers the princess to the sand. The little face is pale and still, her silken swaddle stained with blood. “She’s gone.”

The mage curses and drops to his knees next to Yennefer, brushing her away as he places his hands over the infant and begins to chant in Elder. Yennefer sits back, catching her breath and cataloging her injuries. She has a gash in her arm from the krallach’s claws and another in her back from where the assassin’s blade barely missed burying itself between her ribs. It could have been worse, she knows. At least she’s not dead in some far away desert, like Kalis.

“Fuck.” The mage lets his hands fall away and closes his eyes. “What do we—”

Yennefer brings a blade to his throat, resting the tip of it against his Adam’s apple. “Did you know?”

He swallows hard and a bead of blood wells under the top of her dagger. “No.”

“You’re King Villem’s court mage,” Yennefer reminds him. “And you didn’t know that he was planning on killing his wife and daughter?”

“Of course not!” The mage’s heart is hammering so hard that Yennefer can’t tell if he’s lying. His sweet honeysuckle smell is shot through with lingering fear, despair, and anger. “Do you think I would just sit there while a baby was getting murdered?”

“Every Ban Ard fucker I’ve ever known would feed a baby to the Lionheaded Spider itself for power.”

“I see you’ve met Stregobor.”

Yennefer can’t help but snort.

Blue eyes open and fix on her face. “I didn’t know anything about what Villem was planning. I’ve been at his court for five years and he’s never trusted me with anything more advanced than enchanting the ceiling of the throne room. He’s never liked me, to be honest. I think he thought Kalis and I were fucking.”

“Were you?”

“No, but not from her lack of trying. I may be an idiot, but I’m not enough of an idiot to fuck the queen.” The mage smiles shakily and Yennefer wonders if he’s as young as he looks, no older than twenty-five. “If you’re still thinking about slitting my throat, I’d like to remind you that I just portaled all over the damn Continent trying to keep you alive.”

“And to keep yourself alive.”

“I won’t apologize for not wanting to get ripped apart by a giant bug.” He shudders.

Yennefer doesn’t put the knife away, but she sits back, putting space between them. His shoulders sag with relief. “I think you may need a new job,” she tells him.

The mage lets out a humorless laugh. “I definitely need a new job. That assassin was supposed to kill me too.”

“I noticed.”

“You saved my life.”

“I did.”

He wipes his bloodstained hands on his doublet. “I’m Jaskier.”

“Yennefer.”

“School of the Raven?”

“What gave it away?”

“I’ll admit, I haven’t met many witchers, but I don’t think the witchers from any of the other schools are quite so beautiful.”

Yennefer doesn’t bother hiding her eye roll. “Wait until you’re not covered in blood and ichor before you try flirting badly.”

“Badly? Madam, I’ll have you know, I’m an experienced and accomplished flirt.”

Ignoring him, Yennefer scoops the baby up in her arms, turning away.

“Where are you going?” Jaskier calls after her.

“I’m going to bury the babe,” Yennefer tells him. “And then I’m going to go back to Vengerberg, get my horse, and get the fuck out of this kingdom.”

“You should absolutely not go back to Vengerberg.”

Yennefer turns to glare at him. “And why not?”

Jaskier gives her an incredulous look. “Because do you think it was a coincidence that they hired a witcher to escort a transport with the queen and the princess when the king was planning on having his wife and daughter slaughtered?”

“It was King Virfuril who hired me,” Yennefer tells him. “Not Villem.”

“Virfuril, who is actively negotiating a treaty with Villem and just happens to have a daughter who just came of marriageable age. I would bet my left nipple that the two of them came up with this plan together. Kill the queen, the spare princess, and the inconvenient court mage, frame the witcher, and let Villem marry the young, fertile princess of Aedirn.”

Yennefer feels ice settle in her chest. It makes a terrible sort of sense. “Those fuckers.”

“If you go back to Vengerberg, all that waits for you in the gallows.” Jaskier looks at her with such sympathy that it makes her want to stab him. “I’m sorry.”

Yennefer has been on the Path for thirty years. She’s very used to the bullshit that humans throw at her and the bullshit that nobles like to throw is usually the worst. She’s been chased by angry mobs, had poison slipped into her food and her bathwater, and has been lured into more traps than she can count. But this is the first time that a royal has had it out for her.

Fuck, she never should have taken this job; she’s a witcher, not a damn royal babysitter. But a thousand crowns to escort Queen Kalis from Vengerberg to Lyria was too good to pass up. After several contracts that didn’t pay and nearly losing her arm to a wyvern last month, she needed the coin. In retrospect, it was far too cushy of a contract; she should have been suspicious from the start.

And Yennefer knows where this will go, because she’s seen it before. They won’t be able to catch her; she’ll slip out of Aedirn without discovery and then the next witcher who passes through will be hung in her stead. Probably a Wolf, since their keep is just north of here in Kaedwen. That may not be her problem, but the thought of another witcher dying in her stead leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

“You saved my life,” Jaskier says. “I owe you. Tell me where you want to go, and I’ll portal there.”

Yennefer looks down at the still, pale babe in her arms. Only a few months old, dead before she’d said her first word or taken her first step. All because a greedy fool of a king wants to marry a girl young enough to be his daughter. “Take me to Vengerberg.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen. “I thought we’d established that King Virfuril—”

Yennefer flashes him a smile, displaying her too-sharp incisors. “King Virfuril and I need to have a chat.”

***

One: Raven

Fifteen years later

It’s Jaskier who breaks the news to Yennefer as they lie together in the enormous four-poster that has never quite felt like hers, not even after all these years. She’s lying on her stomach next to him, eyes closed while he runs his fingers down her back, calloused fingertips tracing over the scars left by three decades on the Path and fifteen years as the so-called Raven of Vengerberg, Warlord of the North.

“Are you fucking joking?” Yennefer lifts her head from the pillow to gaze incredulously at him.

Jaskier is unfazed by her annoyance, as he usually is. “The Queen of Rivia wants to form a marriage alliance,” he says again, more slowly this time. “She’s offered her fourth son’s hand in marriage.”

“To me ?”

“Quite frankly, you could do better, but marriage offers aren’t exactly lining up right now.”

“I don’t consider that a problem.” Yennefer sits up, dislodging him. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with the fourth son of the queen of a vassal state?”

Jaskier smiles wickedly. “I suppose it depends on how good-looking he is.”

Yennefer throws a pillow at him. He makes it vanish in mid-air with a flick of his finger, the bastard.

“Like I was saying,” Jaskier says without missing a beat, blinking those impossibly blue eyes at her. He claims that his eyes were just as blue before his Ascension, but she’s never believed him. “Prince Geralt is thirty years old, Queen Visenna’s youngest son, known for being an avid horseman and exceptional swordsman—”

“You sound like a matchmaking aunt.”

“I feel like a matchmaking aunt, dearest.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes and grabs her dressing gown from where she discarded it on the ground earlier. She’s rarely self-conscious about her nakedness, particular in front of the man she’s been fucking for the better part of the past decade and a half, but this seems like the type of conversation best had clothed. “And why are you bringing this up now?”

“It was Tissaia’s idea. She thought the afterglow might sweeten your mood.”

“When has being in your presence ever sweetened my mood?”

“Fair point. A rare misstep on her part.” He shoots her a crooked grin and presses a kiss to her shoulder blade.

Yennefer just manages not to lean into the touch. “My empire spans Lyria, Aedirn, Kaedwen, Caingorn, and Kovir. What the fuck can this Prince Gerard—”

“Geralt.”

“What can Prince Geralt do for me?”

“Rivia’s a country that’s rich in resources,” Jaskier says. “And I think it would behoove us to start having a more… diplomatic approach to foreign relations.”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing with the whole not conquering those fucks in Redania, Temeria, and Cintra?”

She can feel the quirk of his lips against her skin. “I think we can do better than ‘don’t fuck up, or we’ll invade you and slaughter your nobility.’ A marriage alliance shows that you’re willing to reach out to other kingdoms. To work with them. To meet them halfway.”

“Ugh.” Yennefer hates diplomacy.

“And then there’s the matter of his first marriage.”

“Oh, so not only is he a fourth son, but I’ll be a second wife?”

“Prince Geralt’s first wife was Princess Pavetta of Cintra.”

Yennefer turns around to face her lover. “You should have led with that.”

Jaskier looks very smug, like he always does when he’s captured an audience’s attention. She often thinks that if he hadn’t become a mage, he would have ended up a traveling minstrel. Or perhaps a jester. “They caused a bit of a scandal when they ran off together. He was seventeen and she was fifteen. Calanthe had a marriage alliance all set with some jarl’s son from Skellige, but Pavetta had other plans. If it hadn’t been for the baby, Calanthe probably would have declared war on Rivia and taken the boy’s head.”

“Baby?”

“Princess Cirilla of Cintra, born only six months after her parents’ marriage. She’s twelve years old now. After Pavetta died at sea, she’s bounced back and forth between Rivia and Cintra.”

“How did I miss all this?”

“We were conquering Kovir the year Geralt and Pavetta married and there was an uprising in Lyria the year Pavetta died. You were busy with the warlording, dearest.”

Yennefer sighs. “Aren’t I always?”

Jaskier hums in acknowledgement. “Rumor has it that there’s tension between Queen Calanthe and Prince Geralt over the girl’s future.”

“I take it he doesn’t want her married off at fifteen to a Skelligan jarl?”

“I imagine that’s part of it, yes.” Jaskier leans back, reclining on the pillows like he expects a scantily-clad serving girl to come along and start feeding him grapes. “Cintra has been a thorn in our side since the start. Having the next Queen of Cintra as your stepdaughter will help us form an alliance with them once Calanthe’s shriveled heart finally gives out. And can you imagine the look on Calanthe’s face when she finds out that her former son-in-law is marrying a witcher, and a part-elf witcher to boot? That might be enough to kill her.”

Yennefer can’t stop a slow smile from creeping across her face. “I thought you wanted me to be diplomatic.”

“I do.” He nods. “But I also like the idea of you pissing off Calanthe in a way that will leave her helpless to retaliate. What is she going to do, declare war on the largest empire in the Northern Kingdoms because you married her dead daughter’s widower? It would make her look petty and vindictive, not like the Lioness of Cintra persona she’s tried so hard to build.”

It’s easy to forget sometimes that Jaskier is a Ban Ard-trained mage. He presents the image of the fop with his silly doublets, floppy hair, and ever-present lute, but he’s actually got some sense under all the peacocking. She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him in the early days of their acquaintance. Still, she invited him into her bed because he had pretty eyes and a wicked tongue and she knew a good lay when she saw one. And by the time he threw himself between her and an assassin’s blade six months later, she knew she had his loyalty. And in the years since, it’s never wavered.

Her eyes travel to the silver ring on his pinky finger. He’s fidgeting with it, like he often does when he’s deep in thought. It looks like a plain band at first glance, but there’s a raven’s head engraved on the inside. The ring is linked to her medallion, a charm that Jaskier put in place after she was briefly captured during the conquering of Kovir. No matter where she is on the Continent, Jaskier will always be able to portal to her. There’s no one else she would trust with something like that. Peacock or no, she knows she can trust him to have her best interests at heart.

“Do you think I should do it?” she asks quietly.

Jaskier sits up, pinning her with that too-blue gaze. “I think that you’ve built yourself a vast and impressive empire here, Yennefer. You’re the most powerful person on the Continent. But you need allies, or someday, you will meet an enemy you won’t be able to take on yourself. Prince Geralt may not be that big of a catch on his own, but the potential of a future alliance with Rivia and Cintra could potentially save us a good deal of headaches in the future, especially if Emhyr starts to turn his attentions towards the Northern Kingdoms.”

Yennefer groans. She knows Nilfgaard is going to become a pain in her ass one of these days.

“And of course, have you seen Queen Visenna?” Jaskier waggles his eyebrows. “If her son is half as attractive, you should sign whatever marriage contract they put in front of you.”

Yennefer huffs in exasperation. “You’re an incorrigible lech.”

“Something you had no complaints about twenty minutes ago,” he says with a leer, then abruptly sobers. “By all accounts, he’s a good man with a steady head on his shoulders that dotes on his daughter and his horse. You could do worse.”

Yennefer hates it when he gets serious with her. It’s highly inconvenient. “I’ll think about it.”

***

Read the rest here on AO3!

#the witcher #geraskefer #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #warlord yennefer #witcher yennefer #ghost's fic #ghost's writing

[fangirleaconmigo]

Hi! Sorry to bother you but I'm currently looking for like 4 different fics, which are all geraskier:

- The first takes place after the mountain breakup and Jaskier encounters another Witcher, who I believe is Lambert?? Basically he becomes Lambert's new travel companion, even creating some new songs for him. He eventually takes Jaskier to the keep, which Geralt is at as well, and they just kind of try to make Geralt jealous, even going as far as to pretend they had sex in the room next to him. Yeah, he's hurt... but they work through it.

- the second I'm not sure when it takes place, but Jaskier had died. It's a non-human/creature Jaskier. He sprouts up in the middle of a field and basically begins wandering around. we follow him as he goes through this and begins to relearn everything he once knew. There's a scene where he (unintentionally) terrorizes a family at a camp, and as they flee, the father feels for Jask, despite him being well... a monstrous being.

- The third one is kind of a modern au. Since witchers get to live long, he and the rest of the gang (including Ciri, Yen, Regis, etc.) have just lived through everything until the 21st century. Jaskier, having been mortal, died a long time ago. But recently, his body had gone missing. Julian is a professor, I believe he's a uh History professor? Nonetheless, all i remember is that Roach is a van and they got hunted by vampires at some point. I think Geralt owns a villa at a town in which Yen is the mayor. Julian's parents do NOT like Geralt because he's a witcher.

- The last i believe is an established relationship fic. But basically, Jaksier is hit with a curse or something, but it's causing him to age backwards now. So of course this leads to him forgetting about Geralt. That's just kind of it, they're trying to enjoy the time they have left with each other and their memories. It ends when Jaskier turns 18 once again, the same age at which he met Geralt.

Anyway thank you sm and I'm very sorry about the incredibly long ask 😬 (you very much do not need to answer)

Hi Nonny,

I'm going to put this out there for my followers. None of those sound like any fics I've read (shockingly enough, because I've read a lot of fics) so I'm hoping someone else can ask. They sound very cool though. (Jaskier growing in a field? I want to know what that one is)

Also, I'm tagging in @wren-of-the-woods for the last one, because they love fics with curses, so maybe they can help with that one.

#asks #fic search

[glitch-h]

Oh I finished the witcher btw

#my favorite parts were the women #and geralt being the ceo of puppy dog eyes #also the scene where the djinn made jaskier stfu bc that was geralts first wish #that was so fucking funny #wish they didnt cure him tho #yennefer couldve just been like well i saved his life but unfortunately i could not restore his voice 😔 hes mute forever 😔 #shes never met the man in her life but one look tells her his vibes are wack and that its best if he stayed silent

[geralthastwohands]

on the subject of the witcher + musicals: Sweeney Todd AU

Geralt is Sweeney Todd Jaskier is Ms.Lovette Stregabor as Judge Turpin Renfri as Lucy Barker

I know y’all wanna jump on Ciri being Johanna but consider this: Pavetta as Johanna with Duny as Anthony and Ciri as Tobi

Valdo Marx as Pirelli

im just saying the possibilities are endless

#i love yennefer so much but i don't know where i'd fit her in this au #no lie i'd probably turn ms lovette into two characters so that jaskier and yenn can both be ms lovette #OH OH WHAT IF THEY WERE MARRIED AND RUNNING THE BAKERY TOGETHER #THAT WOULD ADD A LAYER TO ANGST WITH IT TOO #WITH GERALT BEING LIKE 'they have a good life here. i cant drag them into my mess.' #AND THEM BEING FULLY ONBOARD WITH KILLING PEOPLE FOR PIES #'honestly geralt if you hadn't come along when you did we probably would have started killing people ourselves' #crack idea in my already slightly crack idea: what if the fake name geralt is going by afterwards is henry #oh wait soft idea of jaskier slipping up and being like 'geralt can you pass me that cup of sugar' and geralt dropping it in shock #and just being like 'how long have you known?' #and jaskier just looks at him and it's the scene where they first met in the show #and geralt gets all grumpy at being found out despite yennefer reassuring him that they only knew it because he lived with them for years #oh no im invested #also yennefer 100% runs the bakery #at first they got married bc she wanted to run a bakery but as a woman it was nearly impossible to aquire one #but jaskier inherited his family's bakery with absolutely no desire for the craft #so they married each other for the convenience and fell in love afterwards #he plays music in the dining room #Ciri actually sings God That's Good with Jaskier playing the background music and yennefer singing ms.lovette's parts #I AM #INVESTED

[lumifuer]

wish on dandelions

Pairings: Jaskier x Reader

Words: 1226 Warnings: Angst, torture, pain, mention of past trauma A/N’s: It seemed like every Jaskier writer has already posted their rendition of the torture scene with Jaskier (you’re so skilled at this, too, omg), so I tried to connect it more with the games for a twist instead. I hope you enjoy! 

Summary: The witch hunters use Jaskier to hunt down his lover. 

The reality was going and coming back in waves, and it was harder and harder to tell it apart from his dreams. Jaskier regained consciousness, and the sharp sting of pain was the first thing that took possession of his mind. He struggled to keep his head up, his neck stiff and hurting from sitting in the same position for what seemed like days. He moved his wrists, and an overwhelming surge of despair flooded his body upon realizing that he was, in fact, still tied to this damn chair. The smell of old blood and sweat hit him, twisting his stomach, and he felt an acidic taste in his mouth. A quiet sob slipped through his dried lips.

"Awake already?" a voice spoke from the other end of the room.

The bard looked forward. The broad-shouldered man was sitting behind the sturdy wooden desk, leaning towards him with a condescending smile. The expression seemed grotesque, seemingly never reaching his hollow eyes. "Come on now, don't give me that look. Help me out, and you walk out of here today."

Despite the foggy state of his mind, Jaskier didn't need a lot of time to recognize the organization the man must have been working for - witch hunters. And what's even worse, it wasn't just a simple pawn. He was looking at Menge himself. The infamous tales of his hunts, public burnings and impalings of witches had reached every corner of the continent.

"I can't help you much without a lute in my hand." The snarky remark has earned him a hefty punch from one of the guards. Surprisingly enough, this didn't seem to please the man in command.

"Leave," he ordered without gracing his soldiers with a single look. The men did as they were told to without hesitation, clearly used to listening to their superior untroubled by second thoughts. Jaskier wouldn't expect a higher level of critical thinking within this organisation.

But the sudden lack of their presence didn't ease Jaskier's mind. The goon wasn't the one he should be scared of - that much he knew for sure.

When the door behind Jaskier's back closed with a loud thud, the man got up and let out an exasperated sigh. He looked at the bard and pursed his lips, considering his approach.

"See, I'm a busy man. And I don't like repeating myself," he began, leaning on his desk. "But I'm going to give you one more chance to walk out of here alive."

"I've already told you--"

"Don't play your silly games with me, bard. I want to know where she is."

Jaskier looked up, the forced smug smile evaporating into thin air. His eyes met the gaze of Menge, and for a short moment, he was able to see himself how the hunter saw him. A simple coward, strapped to a chair, left by his friends. Menge must have assumed he'd be talking by now, and rightfully so. But Jaskier knew the stakes. He could save his skin or try to save the one person he truly loved. He took a deep breath, preparing to keep his mouth closed for as long as possible. He made an oath to withstand everything they could try on him. And they've already tried an impressive amount of things to break him yet he wouldn't budge.

All of this didn't change the fact that he was in a miserable position. He couldn't fight, and even if he knew how to, he was still tied to an armrest with no clue how to escape. He had to control his thoughts, words and the rising panic taking control of his aching and exhausted body.

"So?" Menge raised an eyebrow, eyeing the bard.

"Fuck off," a drip of blood stained his pants. The thick liquid spilling inside of his mouth, possible aftermath of the punch.

Menge didn't seem impressed by the bard's relentless composure. He huffed and pushed himself off the desk, walking up to a wall. "I've heard a thing or two about you," he hummed as he took a lit torch off the wall. "Apparently, you're not a huge fan of fire."

'Give in, tell him something! Anything!' his mind was suddenly going wild, fueled by memories of pain and that horrible odour of burning flesh. He thought they were long gone, buried somewhere deep in memory, repressed by his psyche. But once again, they regained the power to cloud his conscious mind, sending him in the flight response. It took everything in him to keep his lips shut together, and instead of talking, brace himself for the familiar pain.

His senses were failing him, concentrated entirely on the flame dancing before his eyes. Menge kneeled in front of him, moving the torch closer and closer to his hands. He set the thing in a holder attached to the chair's leg, possibly designed with a thought of this torture in mind. Jaskier would never forget the enjoyment painting on the man's face as he was subjecting him to this torture.

His expression changed when he heard a muffled commotion right behind the door. His hand froze, the flame stroking the tips of Jaskier's fingers. Something heavy, possibly a limp body of a guard, hit the door. It flung open with immense force, making Menge retreat behind his desk. Suddenly, he looked nothing like the infamous witch hunter, the murderous monster, killing those who dared to be born different. He turned into a child cowering in a corner of his room.  

Jaskier didn't need to look back to know that it was her. The scent of her perfume reached his nostrils, effectively blocking everything else.

She reached out to capture the flame from underneath his wounded skin. She failed to notice the bard's bound hand reaching out to touch hers in a desperate attempt to prove he wasn't merely dreaming. His eyes followed her movement as she made her way to the group of witch hunters cramped in the dark corner of the room who were now shivering in fear. She opened the palm of her hand and revealed a small but swiftly growing flame dancing on her skin. She blew on it as if it was a dandelion flower, and soon all Jaskier could hear was the agonizing screams of his former abusers.

Due to all the commotion around him and his tired mind barely able to concentrate on anything besides her presence, he failed to notice when her trembling fingers freed him from the rope. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, but not in a way that would cause too much pain and within a second, they were teleported out of the room. The spell must have been rushed because they both landed in the middle of the meadow, surrounded by trees. She wasn't too concerned with the location. All her attention was directed at the wounded lover whose face she was gently cupping.

"I'm so sorry, Jaskier," the words fell out of her mouth and she was a quivering mess. The sorceress was trying to decide which injury needed her help the most when she suddenly froze in place. Despite all the pain, and suffering, her bard was still smiling. "Are you alright, love?"

Upon hearing this word, he further melted into her touch, allowing his body to relax finally.

"Yes, now that you're here."

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are always welcomed and greatly appreciated! ♥

#jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #jaskier angst #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #the witcher angst #jaskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #julian alfred pankratz #mywriting

[cas-kingdom]

Dad

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

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

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

Title: Dad

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

Words: 4607

1)

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

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

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

“You tried to steal them!”

“I did not!”

“I saw you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The little bitch tried to steal my produce!”

“I didn’t!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

2)

“What’s it like?”

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

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of things?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome, Mage.”

3)

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

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

He rose an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Why are we here again?”

“Lord Lyon invited us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for inviting me here tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4)

How had it come to this?

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

He did not move.

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

Dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I thought you were going to leave me.”

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

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

It was his duty, after all.

As your father.

Witcher Masterpost

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[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Interviews - Henry Cavill x wife/actress reader

Summary: You and Henry have been married for a couple years now, and when you’re both part of the Witcher cast, fun interviews are to be had.

Warning: nothing but a good time, btw I’ve never written anything like this so I hope it’s good enough that I might feel motivated to write more

-Readers Witcher character is loosely based off my Geralt fic from here (just a little self promotion), but in this case you play a full vampire in this Witcher universe

The days have been long and grueling, filming hours upon hours of stunts and regular acting had taken its toll. Not to mention the countless times in hair and make up paired with costume changes and traveling to film on certain locations.

To say being apart of Netflix’s The Witcher was full of tiring days and some accidental bruises would be a huge understatement. But none of that mattered, nor did you bother to complain when through the thick and thin of it all did you have Henry with you along the way. And your favorite big slobbery bear, Kal whenever he was allowed on set.

Fortunately for you in the beginning of all the craziness, the casting and writers had wanted you specifically for the part of Y/C/N in the new series before Henry even auditioned for the role of Geralt, that was soon given to him after you accepted your fresh role of vampiric heroine.

It was ironically strange in a good way, you had watched your dork of a husband play the Witcher: Wild Hunt a few times before, eventually learning of what Geralt of Rivia was, who Y/C/N was in the story, who Yennefer and Ciri were, Tris and even Jaskier.

Who would have thought that you’d finally get to snag a role side by side with Henry in quite literally one of the most fantastic shows you’ve ever heard of. You didn’t even need to see the show yet to know how well it was most likely to be reviewed. Being a key character in the grand storyline was enough to convince you of how amazing it would most certainly turn out in the finished product.

And after all was said and done, you couldn’t believe how well loved and popular the show truly became in the following months after shooting and its eventual release onto Netflix. The after parties and cast celebrations truly made you blessedly grateful for pulling through to the vary end.

Then again you had your mans Henry by your side every step of the way. He was your rock and you were most definitely his. You know life on set would have been far less entertaining and dreadfully long if not for the lovely company of your dear Witcher, Henry. And so far after the fact, you and a good portion of the cast have been placed in random interviews for the majority of the day.

Reason being, The Witcher has at long last finally premiered and as per usual the people and media live for those cast interviews that always reveal some interesting events. So far this morning you’ve done some interviews with Anya that have gone perfectly fine since the two of you seem to click so well.

Also it helps ease the anxiety of your fellow newer cast mates to the world of continuous interviews with an experienced veteran actor like yourself, who’s gone round the ring more times then you can count. Though you can’t help but wonder how Henry’s doing, considering you’ve been separated since the sessions began at 10am, you’ve had lunch and now it’s about 1 in the afternoon with more hours to go.

Luckily for you, you’ve just been informed of another interview with the man of the hour himself. Saying your goodbyes and well wishes to your fellow cast mates, you stand and follow the guide into the advised place. Aka some really nice hotel room that’s been done up real nice for efficient interviewing, complete with the Witcher insignia on a large background poster and three chairs that happen to look rather comfy.

The camera and sound people nod in acknowledgment as you walk in, you nod back no doubt making their day with your friendliness and adorable smile that quite literally lights up a room. Soon you spot the bubbly yet nervous interviewee who instantly welcomes you into her space like you’re an old friend.

You sit, a bit confused as to where your partner happens to be at the moment, the interviewer, Lauren makes small talk before a door opens and her big bright doe eyes go wide in nervous excitement. A telling smile upon her face as she shifts in her chair before looking back to you again with a happy grin.

Henry says a quick hello to the behind the scenes crew before waving to Lauren, you smirk while watching him get comfortable next to you, “Well, well, well. Get lost on your way up, you know they have guides for a reason.” You tease as he chuckles at your humorous jab, relieved to see you again after a couple hours apart.

“Traffic.” He quips with a shrug.

“Uh huh.” You mutter with a shake of your head before drawing your attention back to Laura, “Can’t take him anywhere I swear, he does this all the time.”

She laughs as Henry pretends to gasp at your teasing, you chuckle along with them before she finally collects herself, “Well, welcome back to London. It’s fantastic to have you both in town once again, and your big beautiful faces all over Leicester Square.”

You both laugh, “Right.” Says Henry, “I guess we do look pretty cool.”

“Hell yeah, I mean where else can I see myself with a giant sword on a building? And anyways look at this beautiful mug,” You say gently squeezing Henry’s cheeks in your hand, “he’s literally killing it out there.” They laugh as you give Hen another playful squeeze before letting go and setting your arm against the chairs cushioned armrest. 

“Alight let’s start.” She says enthusiastically before glancing down at her cards then back up to you and Henry. Then into one of the two the cameras, “Hi I’m Lauren from Entertainment Weekly and today we’re here with the two stars of Netflix’s The Witcher.” She says enthusiastically while giving a nod to you two, indicating that the camera is now focused on you both, “Henry Cavill and Y/N Cavill.”

You both smile in acknowledgment as Henry gives a slight nod, “How you doing?”

“I’m great,” She beams, “So, I’ll get right into it, what do you like most about the story? What really drew you into the script that made you say, yes this is going to be awesome?”

Slapping a hand against Henry’s muscular leg, you hum, “I’ll let Hen take this one he’s a real expert on the linguistics of the whole show.”

“Thanks Y/N/N.” Replies Henry, bemused that you’re making him take the first question.

You nod to him knowingly with a smirk, “Of course.” Knowing how much he loves to talk about the show and also because you’d rather have him use his energy to talk about it then do that yourself. Priorities, right, though in your defense it’s been a long day.

“Well I absolutely love the games and the books themselves are phenomenal works of literature.” He explains, his face glowing with that usual glimmer of excitement in his eyes, “The story and the world of the Witcher is just so rich and full of potential that when I signed on for the show, I immediately knew it would be amazing, no doubt.”

You lean into the arm of you chair, “And of course I was there so that’s always a bonus.”

“That too.” He smiles adorably, “That too of course.”

Lauren smiles, “Great. So, what was it like working together, how was it having your characters interact with one another?”

You smile, setting a hand against Henry’s forearm, “This guy right here.” You deadpan before waving him off dramatically, “So annoying, my god he whined all the time and he was such a drama queen dear lord so ugh....” You start cackling before you can even finish the sentence causing Henry to loose it as well and with that the interviewer.

Shaking your head you rest your hand against his shoulder, “I joke, he was a gem to work with as usual...I mean I feel incredibly blessed to be able to act alongside my husband for months and months every single day. It’s a rarity in this line of work and I’m grateful to have shared this experience...and I guess more so this whole adventure with him as well.”

The interviewer aww’s as Henry tilts his head to lean into your hand that’s still resting atop his shoulder before pulling away just as quickly, the intimate sentiment not going unnoticed by you or Lauren who looks to be enjoying your loving yet calm energy with one another. “That’s so sweet, what about you Henry?”

“Oh yes absolutely,” Agrees Henry to your recent statement, “not only did I have her by my side through it all but the dynamic of our characters interacting together was so fun to shoot. I think the audience will really be able to see their relationship grow on screen into something strong and beautiful like in the books.”

Slow clapping you give him a curt nod of approval, “Well said.”

Lauren smirks, “Seems like it. Well, I was able to catch the premier yesterday and I gotta say...it was fantastic! I couldn’t believe how diffident the two of you looked from how you are now.” She gushes enthusiastically.

The corners of Henry’s lips curl into a proud smile for the fellow crew of the Witcher’s, “Oh that’s great then, honestly we gotta give all the props to the costume and makeup team, they’re so talented and know how to make us look like real badasses.” He adds.

You nod in agreement before grinning at a positive memory of your first interaction with Henry as Geralt, “Oh for sure, I remember during the early stages of production when our characters met each other for the first time, before this we came to set together but went separate ways to shoot our own stuff in the meantime so I never got a real look at him.” You recall with a bright smile as Henry watches your every move, beaming just the same.

“It was so funny, I was in the tent with Freya Allen, the wonderful girl who plays Ciri, and then suddenly her eyes got all big and nervous and I was like, that’s not me right? Something weird didn’t just happen with my costume? And then I turned around to find this man, wig on, face a mess, and his eyes looked so fearsome and different...it was a bit startling.” You say with a chuckle, “I clearly wasn’t expecting to see Geralt right then and there. He just looked so unlike Henry.”

“Yeah, I was almost hurt.” Laughs Henry, “She had to like squint and make sure it was me.”

Rolling your eyes, you shrug, “He had some real creepy looking colored contacts, yunno?”

Henry fake scoffs, “You’re one to talk, I mean when I first say her, Y/N’s eyes were red and she had fake blood spattered all over her face and shirt. Oh, and not to mention those fangs they put on your teeth...we probably traumatized poor Freya that day.”

“Oh shit you’re right!” You exclaim with a snort of concealed laughter, “God I completely forgot about how I looked...now since I think about it, I did that a lot too. I would just walk up to people and be completely oblivious as to what kind of nightmare I looked like, honestly I might have scared one of our producers a couple of times.” You add with a half nervous laugh, it’s true, you did scare some of the crew unintentionally. Most of the time.

Lauren lightly chuckles, “That sounds like you were quite the sight to see then.” She says before glancing back down at her notes, “Alright I have’ta ask, is there anything that you two took home with you from set?”

“Besides Henry every night,” He holds back a laugh while covering his mouth as you nonchalantly continue, “Uh, yes actually I got to take home Y/C/N’s wolf ring that I loved so much and just thought was the coolist thing ever and....uh, I might have stolen some socks too.”

“So that’s why after filming the amount of socks of yours I had to fold increased?” Wonders Henry with a surprised snort of realization.

Turning your head to give him a “no shit” kinda look, you look back at Lauren, pointing your thumb at Henry, “Master sleuth right here, but hey, he folds my laundry.”

“Aw that’s great.” Adds Lauren with a smile before turning her attention to Henry, “What about you Henry? Take anything from set?”

“More then Y/N did actually...”

“He just about took the whole makeup trailer most nights, I swear.”

Henry chuckles, “That. Is true.” He agrees with a nod, “Interesting enough, at home I’ve got Geralt’s armor hung up in our living room and a multitude of other nicknacks that I’ve collected during filming.” He adds, glancing over to you, “So uh, yeah, we were fairly lucky to be able to snag what we could.”

Lauren smiles, absentmindedly shuffling her cards, “That’s awesome to have such special memorabilia, you guys really are fortunate.” She adds before reading off from another card, “Alright you two, care to play a game called guess the image? Witcher style.”

Your face perks up at this, you’re a sucker for interview games and Henry knows it, “Are you reading my mind or something, I have been waiting all day for someone to ask about playing a game.” You gush rather enthusiastically. 

He smiles at your adorableness and how excited you’ve just become, Lauren grins, happy that her suggestion has been so well received, “Okay so how it works is, I’ll show you an image on my iPad and then you have to guess who or what I’m showing you.”

“Oh, cool I’ve heard of this,” You reply, turning to Henry with a smirk, “Loser has to clean Kal’s yard poop for a week.”

Rolling his gorgeous blue eyes he chuckles, “You’re on.”

“Alright, the stakes are high, you two ready?” Beams Lauren, holding her iPad to her chest as she awaits an answer.

“Yes, I’m ready to kick his ass.” You quip, leaning an arm against your chair while Henry does about the same, though he does his best to contain his laughter.

“Okay, first image.” She holds up the device to show some sort of weird golden thing, it’s shiny and hard, worst part is that you’re not entirely sure what the hell it could be.

Sensing your confusion Henry nudges your shoulder, though you ignore it before he smartly answers, “Oh, is that...Renfri’s brooch?” Little shit knows exactly what that is, of course he does.

Lauren claps, “Correct.” Zooming out of the image to show the full picture of the golden brooch, “Right on, that’s one point for Mr. Cavill.”

You scoff playfully, “Beginners luck.” While Henry side eyes you with a humorous grin upon his plush lips, he nudges your arm, “I’m going to really enjoy not cleaning up Kal’s grass turds for awhile.” He mutters lightheartedly, though you know deep down he’s being serious, no way is he going to win this, you think. You won’t have it, hopefully the next few pictures aren’t as difficult, Kal duty is not fun by any means.

“Shut up.” You grumble with a dismissive wave of your hand, though just teasing of course.

“Okay next image.” This time the blurred photo looks much more familiar, soon it clicks as to what the obscured blurriness actually is, yes!

“Got it! Anya’s er I guess Yennefer’s dress from the fight at Sodden.” Lauren giggles, zooming the image out to reveal Yennefer in her tasseled blue and purple dress from the battle at Sodden Hill. “I’m amazing I know.” You boast at Henry with a casual little bow in your seat.

“It’s the second question.” He deadpans, eyes crinkling in amusement as you shake your head at him.

“Pffff get outta here.” You mutter back, gently pushing his arm off of your chairs armrest and setting yours in its place while he gives you a fake shocked expression.

In turn you can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips, so instead of saying some sassy remark that would no doubt get a reaction out of him, you turn your attention back over to Lauren who’s looking over her notes again.

“Fantastic,” She says, glancing back up at you and Henry, “you’re both tied with one point each. Alright, anyone know what this is?” She asks showing something red and fuzzy, a bit of dirty skin showing from one corner but with The Witcher this bloody image could literally be anything.

The both of you squint, puzzled as to what this could be, “Y/N you got any ideas.” Wonders Henry, brows furrowed as his face contorts into deep concentrated thought.

Raising a brow, you hum, “If I knew I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair point.” He chuckles.

Lauren smiles, “Any guesses?”

 After a few concentrated moments, Henry shrugs in defeat,  “I’m stumped.” He admits as you study the image harder, mind racing to put the pieces together as to what the hell you’re looking at.

“No, I think I might know this....erm is it...me?” You wonder, voice raising in question, hoping to be correct about this or face the teasing of Henry.

Lauren quickly zooms out of the obscured image, “It is!” She says excitedly, revealing the picture of you from your characters debut in episode 2 where you save a girl from a werewolf, your mouth is covered in blood and so is most of your costumes chest area and left arm from the struggle. Not to mention the make-up teams fun 20 minutes of throwing fake sticky blood all over you to get the right look for the taxing scene.

You grimace a bit, “Oh god that was quite the day on set,” You recall with a half smile, “I was doing stunts all day covered in that red syrupy dye, I think it took a week to get out of my skin.”

Henry suddenly snorts with laughter, “Right! That reminds me, I thought Kal had gotten cut or something, it was just Y/N who had hugged him not realizing she still had some fake blood on her arm.”

“Jeez that’s right, I felt so bad, but I couldn’t stop laughing once we realized it was just me.”

Lauren grins, excited to hear some hidden information about little things that happens behind the scenes, “Oh wow that must have been a sight, alright Henry, Y/N’s taken the lead with a two to one score.” She says as you playfully nudge his strong shoulder. “Second to last image, what is this?”

Without missing a single beat Henry replies, “Jaskier.”

Squinting at the image you lean closer to the iPad, “How the hell do you see Jaskier?”

Smiling the interviewer zooms out to reveal the bards full outfit from the banquet scene, though he’s in the background of a fight between Geralt and some Cintran knights. “Right on!” She exclaims as you lean back into your seat dumbfounded, shoulder flush against Henry’s as he clutches your arm and squeezes it affectionately.

Ignoring his silent show of victory you shrug, “And they say he’s just another pretty face,” Earning a laugh from Lauren and some of the crew as you smirk at the camera, face them shifting to apologetic, “also I’m so sorry Joey you beautiful bastard apparently I’m blind. Uh, we don’t have to dwell on it, Lauren whatcha got?”

“You guys are both tied with two points each, last chance to win.” She replies before glancing down at her iPad, “Alright, what is this?” She asks, her iPad showing that of fuzzy bright colors, with a small corner smear of dull white that clearly wouldn’t make much sense to the untrained eye.

Smirking you glance at a puzzled Henry before sitting up in your seat, feeling rather good about yourself, “Would that happen to be, Hen in Stregobor’s illusion?” You answer with, though sounding a bit as a question considering you aren’t entirely confident as to what image this is.

Lauren’s brows raise in surprise, “Henry, looks like we have a winner. Y/N you are correct.” She beams, enlarging the image to reveal Geralt’s side profile as he talks to the old wizard while the background stays colorful and shrouded in various arrays of sunlight..

Shaking your fist victoriously in the air you give a couple enthusiastic whoop whoops while Henry simply takes it like a champ, “Have fun cleaning up Karl’s monster turds, cause this lucky lady doesn’t have to.” You boast as Henry and the crew laugh.

“Well that was something,” Beams Lauren, “I’m so glad to have chatted for a bit about your guys’ amazing new series, and maybe ended a relationship in the process.” She says jokingly as both you and Henry chuckle.

Patting his thigh affectionately, you smirk, “He’s a tough old bear, but yeah, it was awesome having you talk to us.”

“Yes, take care now.” Adds Henry while the interviewer Lauren stands, saying her goodbyes as she goes to exit the room.

The camera crew take a small break to adjust things and whatnot as you and Henry wait patiently for the next interviewer. He turns, an adorable smile pulling at his lips while you pretend to ignore his fiery gaze. “Well that went pretty well, minus the fact that I’m on Kal poop duty for a week...but uh...” He leans in close to you now, “I missed you all morning.”

Breaking out into a smile you raise a brow, “Boring without me huh?”

“Always.”

You casually shrug, “I figured as much. Don’t worry, we have a hotel all to ourselves tonight.” Your brows wiggle suggestively causing your blue eyed lover to shake his head with amusement.

“Say it louder next time.” He jokes.

Side eyeing the oblivious crew you begin to speak a couple octaves louder, “Henry I can’t wait to fu..” Suddenly his hand presses against your mouth before you’re able to call any attention to yourself. He gives you a warning look before slowly pulling his hand from your mouth.

You grin mischievously, “I wasn’t gonna say that...”

“Sure Y/N,” He mutters in your ear as a new interviewer walks into the room and finds their chair, “and I’m wasn’t going to make you scream tonight.”

Your brows raise in surprise and admittedly slight arousal at his choice of wording in this room of all places. Eyeing him up, face still showing surprise, you finally break out into a satisfied smirk. “You know what? I think you should consider changing your offer.”

He thinks deeply for a moment, though you know he’s only pretending to get you riled up, “Hrmm...maybe, possibly, should I? Should we? You are my co-star after all, that wouldn’t be very professional now would it Y/N?” He states with a shit eating grin, all done while the crew and interviewer get ready, minding their business and completely unaware to yourself and Henry’s teasing.

Scoffing playfully you lightly swat his arm, “We are way past being professional.”

He chuckles, looking from you to the rest of the room, “Oh, they have no idea.”

#the witcher x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill

[ladycibia]

What choices have netflix made that you don't like so far? (I'm so interested) (Also is tnw just The Netflix Witcher? I'm not sure if I'm missing something)

Since lately there' been a bit of negativity towards twn (from what I saw at least - and yes! it stands for "The Witcher Netflix", I hope I typed it correctly in my last posts) I'm going to add a "read more" in case you don't want to see more of that. Also, I'd like to point out that I did enjoy the show; it wasn't *great* IMHO (Joey Batey was though), but it was ok! And I'm indeed looking forward to season two! I must admit that I'm a bit scared, but I'm also very curious

It's been a while since I last saw twn and read the books, so forgive me if I forget something!

First of all, I must admit that I can't remember anything about episode 7 and 8 (and I will ignore the Cahir/Vilgefortz thing as that's season 2 (3?) material and it's too soon to judge) except for the ending. And, unfortunately, that's my biggest disappointment: Geralt and Ciri's reunion at the end of season 1. Which is kind of a big deal. I mean, it's not even a reunion, since they decided to remove Geralt and Ciri's early meeting in Brokilon which is such a shame because 1. it's an adorable short story who sets the base for Geralt and Ciri's relationship; 2. Ciri's fun!! She's a kid, she's mischievous, spoiled, that little "she-devil"...:') while in the show she's really one-dimensional; 3. it would have given much more emotional power to the season finale. Now please compare:

“Geralt!” the little girl repeated, clinging to the witcher's chest. “You've found me! I knew it! I always knew! I knew you'd find me!”

“Ciri,” the witcher said. [...]

“You've finally found me! Oh, Geralt! I waited all this time! Yes, a terribly long time... We'll stay together now, won't we? Now we'll be together, right? Say it, Geralt! Forever! Say it!”

“Forever, Ciri.”

“Yes, just like they said! Geralt! Like they said... I'm your destiny? Say it! I'm your destiny?” [...]

“You're something more, Ciri. Something more.”

to:

"...Who's Yennefer?"

I know they needed a cliffhanger, but this is not an excuse. When my mother saw s1's finale she was like "ok", when I finished Sword of Destiny I wept. Geralt also met Jaskier before being reunited with Ciri and it hurts, because their exchange is one of my favourites in the books' series but obviously they couldn't show that. Thanks episode 6.

And talking about Brokilon...I don't know if you're familiar with GoT, but they could just have put Bran in place of Ciri and I probably wouldn't have even noticed. What an awful and useless subplot. Did anyone even enjoy it? I'm not judging, it's just mere curiosity, as I had a really hard time watching it without falling asleep or just getting annoyed at it. I understand that the "Eternal Flame" short story (in which dopplers are introduced) didn't really fit the show's atmosphere and direction (also Geralt talking about fashion with Jaskier because they're friends? pffffffffffffff right they don't like that), but I'm afraid the whole 'Moussack doppler' (and Ciri's adventure in Brokilon in general) was a poor narrative choice IMHO.

This is a minor one, but for me it was a really bad, bad casting choice: King Foltest. What the fuck was that. I'm sure the actor is a lovely person and I don't have anything against him, but that was *not* King Foltest. I'm sorry for making a GoT reference again, but I'm pretty sure that was discount Robert Baratheon with his wife's taste in romance. I got so mad when I saw him. *sigh*

Then there are some little details that I loved in the book, but they didn't make it to the show. For example, in the "Last Wish" if I remember correctly (and please correct me if I'm wrong) the elves saved Jaskier's life but they couldn't do anything about his permanently injured throat and so Geralt decided to find Yennefer because he was so mad that his bard friend wouldn't be able to sing anymore and that his friend was injured on his watch and he wasn't able to prevent that and protect him. This ofc was completely changed in the show, where Geralt is the one who hurts Jaskier by making the infamous wish. And you know, this could have been interesting, but again, Geralt doesn't consider Jaskier his friend and so it just adds that "tsundere drama" I don't really get??? I joked about episode 6 earlier, but I actually find the break up scene a thrilling choice that diverges from the original source. If only they had been friends in the first place. :( Sometimes I wonder if they didn't really expect Jaskier to become the fan's favourite?

#I'm pretty sure I had more but I can't remember right now

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 2)

Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

Just three days after the first installation and 4,000 words? That’s right baby! Because I run on validation and whew! Y’all provided.  The courting gift scene based on a recommendation from @tempered-char. Also with a hint of Geralt’s Delicate Sensibilities, as inspired by @valdomarx +Thicc Eskel as a bonus

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“Come in.”

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door.

Geralt wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. From what he’d seen of the world he wasn’t so sure he believed in love at all. He could imagine, however, that if he were a painter or a poet he could have fallen in love right there.

The room was a tiny, dusty study, and standing in front of the window was, presumably, Julian. The light haloed him, dust mites floating down. Grey-blue doublet and slightly darker pants brought out clear, bright eyes, rimmed with thick lashes. 

He had a rounder jawline, the sort that was in style with painters at the moment. It leant a softness to his face. Maybe that was the fact that he was...nineteen? Geralt couldn’t remember.

He realized he was staring and bowed. It was awkard, still holding his gift and the gift from the countess. He looked up, Julian was smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Julian,” Geralt said. “I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Geralt, and please, call me Jaskier,” said the young man. He stuck out his hand. Geralt quickly shifted the gifts to one hand and shook. 

The hand was soft but not uncalloused, at the fingertips and base of the thumb. Long fingers, good for playing the lute that sat, gleaming and well cared for, in the corner.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, tasting the name. It was a good name, bright and pretty and a deadly poison if treated incorrectly. “I have a gift for you, and her ladyship gave me a gift but I haven’t opened it yet.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sat on a plush chair, gesturing Geralt to one opposite. “I have my own gift for you,” he said. “Father and Amaria didn’t think I could get my own courting gifts.”

Geralt decided to give up on subtlety. He wanted answers and he hoped this young man, Jaskier, was willing to give them.

“They want rid of you,” he said. It was a question but without the inflection at the end. “Enough to marry you off to a witcher.”

Jaskier sighed. “Just father, Amaria doesn’t have much to do with anything these days.”

“She seemed...” Geralt trailed off, not wanting to be disrespectful.

“It’s all about heirs,” Jaskier said, standing and beginning to pace. “Suitable heirs, which I’m not.” He sent Geralt a bitter little smile and flopped back down. “My father is not a nice man, you see. He’s never taken kindly to disagreements, and to him there’s only one ‘right’ sort of man. Men like him, manly and strong who kill first and don’t bother asking questions later. I questioned him, maybe three years ago, I didn’t think he should raise taxes again. He doesn’t forgive that sort of slight.” 

Jaskier leaned forward, elbows on knees and stared at the ground for a second.

“I think he’d decided long before that, but he wants me struck from the family tree.” Jaskier looked up at Geralt. Some of his confusion must have been showing on his face.

This world of heirs and court intrigue was far from anything Geralt knew, and seemed more complicated than necessary.

“Follow me,” Jaskier said, rising and stretching out his hand again. “You can leave the gifts, we’ll be back.” Geralt set dow the gifts and hesitantly stretched out his hand, unsure if the gesture was figurative or if he was actually supposed to take it. Jaskier took him gently by the wrist and led him from the room.

“The halls are a maze,” he said, letting go a coridor later. “Follow close behind me, you could get lost.” Geralt did so. He couldn’t imagine anything more embarassing than having a footman fetch him from one of these little stone tunnels.

They emerged in yet another dusty hall, lined with tapestries. Jaskier stopped in between two, and in front of a large, painted wooden panel. It had a tree.

A family tree. 

“My father,” Jaskier said, tracing his finger along dusty, painted branches. “Finds it very important that the next Earl be his direct blood, and also his kind of man.” He looked at Geralt significantly. “That meant ridding himself of Amaria’s sons from her first marriage, by the laws of our country, he could have been heir. That also means getting rid of me.”

This explanation did not help Geralt’s bafflement. Jaskier sighed again, although he didn’t seem to be doing so at Geralt.

“Amaria had two sons, both manly and well suited to my father, but not his direct blood. And they were older than me, set to inherit the role of Earl first. They met with horrible accidents.” A shadow passed of Jaskier’s boyish face. 

“Strange coincidence, how a large rock managed to tumble from the ramparts on to Isak not even a week after the same thing happened to Tomas. Especially since there’s not rocks up there. I checked.”

“Your father,” Geralt said, a little numbly. “Had his stepson’s murdered.” He knew nobility could be nasty but still... “And we’ve made a deal with him.”

Jaskier patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it, Father mostly doesn’t do too much harm these days, and Filip, that’s my half brother, seems like he’ll turn out okay. Then again, he’s only seven.”

“Is he going to have you killed?” Geralt asked, knowing as he did that the Earl was trying, by way of marrying Jaskier to him.

“Not exactly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m blood or just because another ‘accident’ would look suspicious, but there’s an easier way.” Jaskier pointed to a name circled in blue. “That’s my aunt Matylda, father’s older sister. She got married, which officially makes her part of her husband’s family tree, not ours, and she can no longer inherit,” Jaskier paused. “If she weren’t already a woman, I mean.”

“But we’re both men,” Geralt said. “I could just as easily become part of your family tree and then your father’s problem.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, “In theory, but of course that isn’t how he played it. I’ll be an honorary witcher, and my name,” here he tapped some fine script. “Will be circled in blue and removed from the line.”

They both looked at the tree, looming darkly for a while. 

“I’m sorry,” Geralt offered, although he supposed it wasn’t worth much.

“I’m sorry too,” Jaskier said. “You shouldn’t be roped into all this.”

Geralt privately considered that, yes, while he would have preferred to avoid all this intrigue and politics, Jaskier didn’t seem too bad.

Jaskier led him back through the stone rabbit warren that made up the bowels of the castle.

“Is her ladyship...like that, because of the death of her sons?” Geralt asked when they paused at the top of a staircase. 

Jaskier cocked his head sadly, and then continued walking. Aftr a few more paced he said, “Yes, mostly. She wasn’t always...present, I suppose before but when they died so close together, and in such an awful way-- there’s nothing nice about a block of stone dropping on you from four stories up--something broke. She’s a nice lady, just happier living in her head, I think. Maybe she goes somewhere else, where her boys and her first husband are alive, I hope.”

They arrived back at the study without another word. 

They sat.

“I, um.” Geralt said. “Hmmm. I got you,” he proferred the package, not knowing what to say and begging Jaskier to save him from trying to figure it out. 

Jaskier took the package and pulled the string so that it fell open. The doublet slithered out. Vesemir had sent a letter asking for measurements as soon as Geralt had told him the idea.

“It’s basilisk leather,” Geralt said. “Witchers, um, our Path, it can be dangerous, so you should have this.”

Jaskier held up the fabric, watching the colors, deep blue and green, shift across the slick material. Privately, and for no reason Geralt could really guess at, he was very pleased, both that the doublet was in what seemed to be Jaskier’s colors, and also at the awe struck look on his face.

“It’s as light as silk,” Jaskier said, passing the fabric between his fingers. “And you said it’s leather?”

“Basilisk leather,” Geralt said. Monsters. They were talking about monsters, which he knew about. Thank the gods. “It’s like armor, and it won’t burn or get wet, water just runs off.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as basilisk leather,” Jaskier said, holding the doublet up. “Where did you get it? It’s incredible.”

Geralt coughed modestly, and tried not to puff his chest. “I killed the basilisk. Making the leather needs different skills than normal tanning, it’s more like potion making.” He remembered that most people knew little about witcher skills and needs. “All witchers know some alchemy, and we make potions for combat so I...I tanned it. My brother Lambert drew up the design, I don’t know much about clothes.”

The tailor had nearly cried when they’d presented him with the fabric, exclaiming about it’s luster and the ‘glorious smooth hand’, whatever that meant. 

Geralt watched Jaskier’s face anxiously. It wasn’t a courtly gift, no crown of pearls or whatever nobles expected, but it had taken him two months to turn the basilisk skin into leather. It would have taken him half the time but he’d had to do it on the road. Lambert had fussed about the design for almost a week too, and it had been Eskel’s idea to ask for the buttons to be little black pearls like that.

Vesemir had smiled at the team effort, calling it the wolves gift to their new pup.

Jaskier looked up at him, face like a sunbeam. 

“Can I try it on?”

Geralt just nodded, and looked away modestly as Jaskier divested himself of his previous doublet before buttoning the basilisk leather.

He twirled, and in the light from the window the fabric seemed to glow, shifting and turning with each movement. 

“And it really will keep me safe?” he asked, looking down at himself, beaming. 

Geralt nodded. “It would take a battle axe a dozen tries to pierce it.”

Jaskier smiled at him again, and it made Geralt’s stomach tingle, although he had eaten some suspect meat on the ride to Lettenhove. Then Jaskier threw his arms around his neck.

Geralt wasn’t old fashioned. He could move with the times, whatever Lambert said, but manners had been stiffer sixty years ago and Geralt was just thankful that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his ears going red.

“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier said, pulling back. “Thank you.”

Geralt shrugged uncomfortably. Jaskier smelled like soap and some sort of oil. Linseed maybe, probably for the wood of his lute.

“I have a gift for you, it’s not as lovely, but I hope you like it.”

Geralt carefully took the package. It was wrapped much prettier than his had been. “The countess already...”

“That was from her,” Jaskier said dismissively. “And maybe even from Father, although I doubt it, he wouldn’t waste money on me. But this gift is from me.” He sat forward eagerly. “Go on, open it.”

Geralt wasn’t about to refuse that eager, open expression, so he pulled at the ribbon, feeling rather like a bear trying to tie a shoelace.

The bright paper just fell away and there was a stiff paper box. He opened that too. 

Three glass bottles sat inside, nestled in paper. The paper was only there to keep them from clinking because as he pulled one out he saw the telltale dark sheen.

Brimstone glass. It was unbreakable. Sometimes witchers carried their more noxious potions in it but rarely, it was frighteningly expensive, usually only mages could afford it.

“How?” he said. How did you afford it? How did you know it existed? Did you know witchers use potions? He looked up at Jaskier, who looked nervous.

“Are they alright?” he said. “Only I won them off a sorceror in a pub. He told me they were indestructible and threw one at the ground to prove it. I thought they’d be useful...Was it a trick?” He looked so upset at the prospect.

“These, Geralt said, “Are Brimstone Glass, they are indeed indestructible and very, very useful.” Jaskier’s face split into a grin again. 

“Thank you,” Geralt said. It didn’t seem like enough, but if he hugged the lad like Jaskier had him he would kill him.

“Should I open the box from the countess?”

“Do,” Jaskier said. “I want to know what it is.”

The latch flicked easily under Geralt’s hand and the lid popped open.

Jaskier gasped.

“It’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “I don’t remember her well, but I remember her hands...”

It was a beautiful ring, opal, if Geralt was any judge, but Eskel knew stones better than him. Silver wound around the stone, with smaller gems studding the setting to either side. 

“I will use it in the ceremony,” Geralt said, offering it to Jaskier. “If it fits.”

“It won’t fit,” Jaskier said sadly. “Mother had very small hands, but it’s a nice thought.”

Geralt looked at the ring and Jaskier’s left hand. “Try it?”

Jaskier did, sliding the ring onto his finger easily. He looked at it in amazement.

“Amaria must have had it enlarged,” he said.

“A good gift,” Geralt said, although not sure who the gift was really for.

There came a polite knock at the door, interupting the moment, whatever sort of moment it was.

“My lord, it is time for supper.”

Damn. 

Jaskier slipped the ring back into the box and Geralt looked away as he changed into his regular doublet. He didn’t look away fast enough and caught a scandalous glimpse of collarbone and soft chest hair where the chemise got pulled down a little. The air felt a little stuffy suddenly.

The gifts, and Geralt was proud to see that Jaskier folded the doublet carefully back into the paper, although nothing could have harmed it, were handed to a footman to be taken back to their respective rooms.Geralt offered Jaskier his arm, like he’d seen the nobility do, and then Jaskier led him to the dining hall.

To his relief, the hall wasn’t packed. They were what Lambert would call ‘fashionably late’ (and what Vesemir would call a reason for three extra laps) and all the guests were seated. A table held Lady Amaria and a man who must be the Earl, although there was little visible resemblance to Jaskier. They were seated with perhap half a dozen other nobles, as well as a red headed boy of about seven, Filip, probably, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. There was another table of presumably more minor nobility, and then a small table with the wolves, two seats still empty.

All eyes turned to look at the pair. Jaskier bowed deeply, and since his arm was still linked with Geralt’s he was made to bow too, or else risk having his arm pulled from its socket. Then they made their way to the smallest table.

Geralt pulled out Jaskier’s chair for him and saw Vesemir’s approving nod, as well as Lambert’s smirk. He didn’t see the swift kick Eskel delivered below the table, but caught the way Lambert’s eyes watered suddenly, and smiled at his brother in thanks for the retribution. Then he sat.

“Julian,” Vesemir said, reaching over the table to shake hands. “I am Vesemir, Geralt’s teacher. It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

“I am happy to make your aquaintance, Master Vesemir,” Jaskier said, and Geralt was impressed that he only winced a little bit as Vesemir inadvertently crushed his knuckles in a grip that could moor a boat. He did, however, gently shake out his fingers under the table once he’d been released.

“If you please, however,” Jaskier continued as if nothing had happened. “I prefer my nickname, Jaskier.”

“Jaskier it is, then,” Vesemir said, moustache twitching up at the corners. Geralt suspected he was thinking the same as he had done. Buttercups, pretty and poisonous.

“You were educated at Oxenfurt, is that correct?” Eskel said.

“Yes, in the fine arts, although I specialized in music composition and lute performance. I didn’t catch your name...?” The most delicate question mark was added to the end of the statement. Eskel blushed, Jaskier wouldn’t know it, but Geralt could see the back of his neck reddening.

“Eskel,” he said quickly. “And the asshole who’s snickering is Lambert.”

Jaskier didn’t look even a little intimidated by either of Geralt’s brothers, which was impressive, because Lambert could scowl like it was a contest and Eskel, although only an inch taller than Geralt, was naturally hugely muscled in a way even the mutagens hadn’t managed for Geralt. His chest and arms looked like they’d withstand a siege weapon.

Jaskier turned a smile on Lambert, who was sputtering indignantly at Eskel’s entirely fair description.

“I’m told you helped with my beautiful courting gift,” he said. Then he turned the smile on all of the wolves. “A team effort I imagine.” 

This stunned all three brothers, and made Vesemir smile. Lambert shrugged uncomfortably. For all his prickliness, he couldn’t take a compliment. 

“Eskel’s idea for the buttons,” he muttered, and Geralt knew he’d been entirely won over.

“The buttons are beautiful,” Jaskier said, smiling warmly at Eskel now, who looked like he’d rather be facing a mountain troll. 

“Was Vesemir that got your measurements,” he said, looking down at the tablecloth. Jaskier beamed at the whole table then.

“Truly a team effort, thank you all, it’s beautiful and I cannot wait to wear it.” With that the whole table was well and truly won over by Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t help but brag a little.

“Jaskier gave me Brimstone Glass bottles as a courting gift,” he said, and preened slightly under the others’ slightly jealous noises of amazement. Jaskier flushed a very pretty pink. 

“I just thought they’d be useful,” he said, although his smile was pleased.

Serving girls entered the hall with trays and the chatter in the hall expanded excitedly. A plump young woman set a tray down at their table and Eskel hummed in appreciation.

“It smells delicious,” he said. She smiled at him, looked him up and down, and then winked.

“Oh doesn’t it just, I could just eat it all up,” she said, not looking at the food even as she lifted the cloche from the appetizers. Then she winked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Another girl appeared and filled the goblets but the witchers hardly noticed for laughing at Eskel’s face.

“Seems Mabel took a liking to you,” Jaskier said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Through his own laughter, Geralt watched Jaskier’s father glaring at their table. Good. The old fuck could choke on it, he didn’t look like he’d ever laughed a day in his life. 

“Careful though,” Jaskier was saying. “She looked ready to take a bite out of you.”

“But,” Eskel gestured, baffled to his face.

“Oh pish,” Jaskier said, taking a swig of wine. “Nobody cares about that sort of thing, do they? Plenty of ladies around here like a few scars, makes men look rugged and dangerous.”

“Rugged?” Eskel rubbed his hand over his face, contemplating. 

“Definitely,” said Jaskier, nodding. He took one of the appetizers. Geralt moved a few to his own plate and slowly their little table descended into a quiet contentment. The appetizers were good, hors d'oeuvres , Geralt remembered Lambert telling him once. They were little bits of paste, meat and vegetable mostly, inside pastry casings.

He smiled when he noticed that he and his brothers were all looking between Jaskier and Vesemir to make sure they hadn’t missed any manners. Eskel swiped Lambert’s elbows off the table.

Eventually the appetizers were replaced with soup. The saucy kitchen girl, Mabel, Jaskier had called her, made a positively salacious remark to Eskel. Something daring about him licking everything clean. Eskel smiled faintly and turned redder than the beet soup.

“You should flirt back,” Jaskier said, once Mabel was gone. “If you’re actually interested, I mean.”

“It’s not that I’m not. Interested I mean,” Eskel squeaked. “But I can’t offer her anything, no marriage or security.”

Jaskier looked at him. It was definitely a look, although not a nasty one. “She asked you to lick her clean and you think that was an invitation to marriage?”

“I wouldn’t want to defile...”

“Oh shut up Eskel, sex doesn’t defile anything. It’s natural and normal and if you think it some how ‘decreases the value’ of a woman than you aren’t the man I thought you to be.” Lambert cut in. “Have some fun, maybe she can remove the stick you’ve lodged up your ass.”

“You’re right, of course,” Eskel said. But now Jaskier was looking worried.

“It won’t be a problem, right?” he asked Geralt. “That I’m not, um a virgin, I mean?”

“No,” Geralt said, probably missing the mark on reassuring, but doing his best. “Unless you mind that I’m not one either. And there is no fidelity clause, and no consummation, you needn’t sleep with me, and you’re free to see other people.”

Jaskier looked at first relieved and then impish, licking the soup from his spoon in a way that made significant parts of Geralt’s brain go numb. “I dunno,” he said, leaning towards Geralt and bumping him with a shoulder. “I can’t imagine consumation with you would be such a chore.”

Melitele’s great gauzy veil, this boy would be the death of him.

There was a pause between soup and the main course, but when Mabel picked up the dishes Eskel leaned towards her and asked if he’d licked it clean enough, to the woman’s obvious approval.

They sat and chatted, Jaskier, Eskel, and Vesemir debated over some old literature that Geralt had never heard of, and then they were interuppted with a cough.

The earl stood, face like stone, beside their table. 

They rose. Vesemir bowed.

“My Lord,” he said. “It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance. I am Vesemir, of the school of the wolf.”

Lord Pankratz inclined his head. “Greetings, Master Vesemir,” he said. “I wish to discuss some of the terms of the contract with you.”

He snapped his fingers and a footman brought him a chair, without waiting for Vesemir’s response.

The wolves sat, feeling wary. Jaskier was looking down at his hands, shoulders shrunk in.

They sat in suspense as Vesemir and Lord Pankratz hashed out details of the legal protections. The main course appeared and the earl stood, and bowed.

“Why don’t we continue this after desert,” he said, smiling smoothly. And it was a very smooth smile. Like an oil slick.

Dinner after that was subdued, despite Eskel returning Mabel’s flirtations. Jaskier looked down at his plate most of the time and the witchers picked up on his unease.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt whispered.

“I don’t know, but he’s planning something, and I don’t like it.”

Then coffee was served after dessert, and the Earl de Lettenhove sat at their table again. 

“Now, for what I really wanted to discuss, I know political marriages can be...challenging,” the earl said in a voice like a snake. “But I wanted to make it clear, should either member express a wish to anul the marriage, the contract will become void.” Here he squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder so hard he winced. “I couldn’t bear for my dear Julian to be unhappy, you see. He’s high maintainance I know, but I wish him the best.”

The earl smiled a despicable little smile. “Now, I think you two shouldn’t really see more of each other before the wedding, yes? Bad luck and all.”

The earl then hauled Jaskier away by his collar.

“What a cunt,” Lambert said.

“I figured that was in the contract anyway,” Geralt said. “Isn’t that normally how it works?”

Vesemir nodded. “Indeed, it’s how these marriages go. But I expect the earl is betting that the two of you wont be able to stand eachother, and so he gets rid of his son and doesn’t have to help witchers all in one go.”

“Yes, Jaskier explained things.”

And then Geralt told his family what Jaskier had told him. The suspicious accidents, the laws, the family tree.

“I agree with Lambert,” Eskel said. “What a gigantic fucking cunt.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What’s with my thing about clothing descriptions and fancy cloth? I’m a fashion design major, that’s what. 

We’ve got answers about Amaria, and the reason for the engagement, but what’s the wedding going to be like? oooh, cliffhanger, but not too much so I hope it makes up for last time when I was so bad to you all.

Tag List!  @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata  @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam@sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest@innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast  @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna 

@ailorian @toothhurtyam I’m having trouble adding you, I can’t tag if this is a password protected side blog or if you have Allow Blog to Appear in Search Results off, I think. 

#geraskier #the witcher #arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #its part two y'all #and the earl is a slimy sob

[samstree]

The One with the Coastal Customs

Geraskier, 1.8k, Fluff, Crack, Secret Relationship, Kaer Morons at their best, humor, Jaskier takes one for the team

Inspired by Friends. Read on AO3

Breakfast at Kaer Morhen is full of chatter as always. With Ciri and Yennefer joining them a few days ago, loud arguing and laughter always fill those once empty halls.

Jaskier picks at the rye bread on his plate, not paying attention to Lambert’s clearly exaggerated monster story, though Ciri seems completely entranced, prompting him to go on with anticipation.

His mind is still full of last night’s visage of Geralt pressing him against the wooden door and kissing him senseless. The witcher had to come to his bedroom after everyone else turned in so no one noticed. After the whole mountain incident last year and Geralt’s following apology, they thought it wise to keep their blooming relationship in secret for a while.

Let’s not tell everyone in a rush. Geralt was the one who proposed the secrecy. Whatever we have here is ours, Jask. I don’t want them to interfere or mess it up. You are too important to me, He said. Besides, what could go wrong?

Jaskier, at the time, agreed to it whole-heartedly. The witcher was so sincere that day, his golden eyes flowing with adoration and vulnerability that Jaskier could not deny him anything.

Despite some inconveniences, Jaskier has to admit it does make things excitingly hot. He almost feels like a naughty student sneaking out of class to make out with a lover again.

Jaskier’s hand comes up to touch the skin on his neck, the same spot where Geralt nibbed and sucked gently last night and left him a sobbing mess. Next to him, Geralt catches his motion with a look before a faint smile quirks up the corner of his mouth.

“Grape juice?” the witcher passes him the pitcher with the most unaffected tone in the world but his other hand travels up Jaskier’s thigh teasingly.

He has to choke in a gasp.

“…and bam! The third wyvern drops dead.” Lambert ends the story proudly, “And that’s why I’m the best witcher at this table. You have a lot to learn from me, princess.”

Ciri giggles as Geralt and Eskel chime in to call out all the lies in that tale. The room erupts in jabs and loud arguments.

Yennefer is the only one who remains silent throughout the whole meal. Her violet gaze only falls on Jaskier once, piercing with intent, before looking away like nothing happened. Even though their exchanges are a lot more amicable these days, the sorceress tends not to acknowledge Jaskier’s existence very often.

From the corner of his eyes, Jaskier sees Vesemir leave for the library. The older witcher still has work for him to finish today.

“Right, duty calls.” With a screech of chair, Jaskier stands so he can leave too. “I’ll see you later.”

He rests his hand on Geralt’s shoulder and leans in for a kiss. Geralt’s lips taste like the sweetness of grape juice and Jaskier revels in it for a moment before pulling away.

Everyone at the table is staring at him.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Jaskier freezes on the spot, a million thoughts going through his mind. Is it time to announce it to the world? They are ready for everyone to know and get involved, aren’t they?

But with one look at Geralt, he abandons the thought. The witcher has gone pale, and stiff as a statue. Panic starts to creep into those beautiful honey eyes, so subtly anyone else would have missed it.

Geralt is not ready.

Jaskier swallows. Well, there’s nothing to it.

He turns to Eskel, who’s holding a spoon mid-air and studying him with confused surprise.

“Eskel. See you later too.” He cups the older witcher’s jaw and presses their lips together. Eskel, the sweet man, even holds on to his wrist by reflex. He ends it with a pop before going around the table, careful not to trip over a chair.

Lambert can only be described as dumbfounded when Jaskier leans in, and incredulous afterwards.

“Have a nice day, Lamb.”

Yennefer looks at him with the same scrutiny. Wait, why is she looking smug? Fuck, the mage is looking scarier than the day they met. This one he might regret the most later.

“My favorite witch. It’s so good to have you here.” Jaskier opens his arms dramatically before going in, the familiar lilac and gooseberries filling his senses. Oh, her lips are so much softer.

When he stands to straighten his doublet, the whole table is still looking at him in silence. Geralt is tense as a statue while Lambert’s mouth hangs slightly open.

“Right.” He pats Ciri on the back and runs away from the scene, keeping his footsteps as steady as possible.

 *

Ciri is the first one to break the silence.

“What the hell just happened?”

“Language.” Yennefer berates her, seemingly unfazed.

Geralt swallows a lump. If Jaskier is willing to go such length to keep the promise, he can try to look inconspicuous for a moment.

A blush is creeping up on Lambert’s face, but he tries to hide it with biting words. “Geralt, what the fuck is wrong with you bard?”

“Watch your language too.” Eskel’s voice is steady with amusement. “Why do you mind it so much anyway? He’s being friendly. It was nice.”

If Eskel wipes his lips casually with a pleased look, nobody mentions it.

“In what world is that friendly?” Lambert scowls.

“It’s –” Geralt clears his throat, “He went to the coast last year. In the south. Must have picked up some local customs. That’s…um…how they greet each other. In the south.”

Lambert stares at him. “Doesn’t feel southern to me.”

Geralt gulps down all the juice in his cup. When he puts it down, Yennefer is studying him like a predator might a prey.

“Interesting custom.” Her violet eyes sparkle with curiosity.

Geralt has never been more grateful for his witcher trials for allowing him to remain calm under extreme pressure. His heart still beats slowly without revealing anything.

They are fine as long as it doesn’t happen again.

 *

It happens again.

Jaskier sucks at Geralt’s lips with heated passion, drawing a soft moan out of the witcher. Neither of them pays any attention to the flurries of snow falling into the empty courtyard around them.

“I’ve missed you today.” He moves down to Geralt’s jawline, and then his neck. “Where’d you go?”

“Had to repair the wall at the back, or the whole keep crumbles.”

“Hmm. Should have let it.”

Jaskier captures those lips again just when he hears people entering the courtyard, and pushes Geralt away with force.

It’s too late.

Eskel and Lambert stare quizzically at Jaskier, their training swords in hand. Behind him, Ciri is also in full gears, ready for lessons. The way she tilts her head in bewilderment is such a spitting image of her dad.

“Well.” Jaskier pats Geralt on the bicep. “Thanks for helping me clean the stable. That’s…nice of you.”

Roach snorts in the stable behind them.

He walks towards Eskel and kisses him again, and then Lambert. Boy he’s just noticing how tall the younger witcher is. Jaskier has to tiptoe a little bit. “I’ll be off then.”

When he passes Ciri, the girl just moves out of the way like he’s the plague. “See you, uncle Jask!”

Jaskier nods at her, carrying himself as naturally as possible, and enters the building.

 *

The gwent is going great. It seems that Geralt is going to win again.

Jaskier yawns. He’ll never see the appeal of the game, so he just reaches over Lambert to grab the lute. Maybe a little practice will be good–

“Okay, bard. You need to cut it off.” Lambert stops Jaskier’s motion with a hand on his chest.

Jaskier blinks.

“I don’t care whatever–” Lambert gestures around Jaskier’s whole being. “– coastal customs you picked up from the south. It’s not…how we do things around here. We are not in the south and it’s fucking weird. So quit it.”

“Okay?” He blinks again.

“I know you like witchers more than the average man out there,” Eskel adds, “and you want to show us. I appreciate it, Jaskier, but it might not make us the most comfortable.”

“What now?” Jaskier looks around the room. Yennefer and Ciri are sitting by the fire with some magic book spread out between their knees, watching the situation unfold.

“Quit the kissing, bard.” Lambert scowls.

Eskel smiles politely. “Yeah, it’s best if you did.”

Oh.

Jaskier can see the two witchers are clearly not at ease. Lambert’s face is a ripe tomato and Eskel is acting way too formal with all the niceties.

“Okay. Of course.” Jaskier raises his hands in defeat. “I will stop assaulting you with the overly familiar foreign customs. Message received.”

“Thank the gods. It was disgusting.” Geralt deadpans.

Jaskier looks into those golden eyes he loves so much and wonders if he can express ‘I’m gonna put a pillow over your face tonight’ with a neural glare. The bastard only raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“If you do need to let it out somehow, Jaskier, maybe your friends at that fancy academy of yours are open to it.” Yennefer says, chill as the winter sky, “Or some of your lovers.”

Maybe Jaskier’s eyes are deceiving him, but he swears the sorceress glanced in Geralt’s direction when she said ‘lovers’.

The ladies resume their discussion about spells and magic, and the gwent game continues. Geralt does end up winning.

Jaskier plucks his lute, imagining a million ways for his witcher to make it up to him later.

Oh the sacrifices he has to make for this ridiculous man.

 *

“The sacrifices I have to make for you, my dear.” Jaskier rests his head on Geralt’s shoulder, cuddling up to his witcher’s warm body.

“What sacrifice? I thought you were enjoying it.”

“They are quite good kissers though, especially–” He cuts himself off. It’s best not to discuss your lover’s brothers that way, or ex-lover, for that matter.

“Then what are you moaning about?”

“But my reputation!” Jaskier protests, “My name will be tarnished forever. Jaskier – barker and molester of witchers. None of you will ever let me sing your heroism anymore.”

“Hmm. Don’t you forget about Yen.” Geralt’s voice rumbles deep in his chest.

“Oh yeah. I’m surprised she didn’t turn me into a toad on the spot.” He plays with Geralt’s long hair. “By the way – I just have this inking – do you think, perhaps, Yennefer might know? About us?”

“Oh she knows.”

Jaskier bolts upright, looking at Geralt incredulously.

“Since when?”

“The day she arrived?” Geralt guesses, “I’m sure she took one look at us and figured it out. It’s not my fault she’s so smart–”

Jaskier picks up a pillow and throws it at Geralt’s smug face.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Geralt finally breaks out laughing. He catches the bard’s feral attack and pins him into the mattress. Jaskier’s angry little pout is too adorable Geralt has to kiss it away. Uninterrupted this time.

“Is it worth it though? All the sacrifices?” Geralt's breath ghosts over the skin at Jaskier's throat.

The bard only glares at him for a moment, before letting out a sigh long-sufferingly.

“For you, my dear. Always.” He pecks Geralt’s soft lips one more time. “As long as no one turns me into a toad.”

#geraskier #geraskier fic #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #crack #fluff #i don't know what happened with this one #should i tag friends? #monica and chandler are the best friends #geralt of rivia #jaskier #kaer morons

[fangirleaconmigo]

Okay, hi! I'm the anon that had been looking for the four fics! I did end up finding the fic that includes the MCD and I just want to quickly inform everyone that Jaskier is basically a zombie in this one!

If anyone was hoping to read it, it's called 'all that was good, all that was fair (all that was me is gone)' by xdandelionxbloomx + if anyone wants any more of undead Jaskier, I'd also recommend 'Kill Me Slowly' by safiraneo

Thank you to everyone who has been helping in finding the fics!

(Also the fourth fic was definitely 'ask me tomorrow', thank you so much :D)

Hi Nonny!

Ok, so in summary here are the fics you asked for and what we found:

- The first takes place after the mountain breakup and Jaskier encounters another Witcher, who I believe is Lambert?? Basically he becomes Lambert's new travel companion, even creating some new songs for him. He eventually takes Jaskier to the keep, which Geralt is at as well, and they just kind of try to make Geralt jealous, even going as far as to pretend they had sex in the room next to him. Yeah, he's hurt... but they work through it.

Ok, this one is Let Someone Love You by @contemplativepancakes thanks @stinastar for the tag

We have more recommendations of similar premises from the comments: (thanks @tiikafiredancer and @ambitiousstripper)

The Path not Taken by Sospes on ao3

strings of fate binding us together by winterbitch (WinterLadyy) on ao3

witcher of convenience by operacricket on ao3

Blue Skies Are Coming (Being Rewritten) by cloudspeck on ao3

- the second I'm not sure when it takes place, but Jaskier had died. It's a non-human/creature Jaskier. He sprouts up in the middle of a field and basically begins wandering around. we follow him as he goes through this and begins to relearn everything he once knew. There's a scene where he (unintentionally) terrorizes a family at a camp, and as they flee, the father feels for Jask, despite him being well... a monstrous being.

So this one is:

all that was good, all that was fair (all that was me is gone) by @xdandelionxbloomx

(thanks to everyone who found this one for me, I can't wait to read it)

(here is the link for the other one you recommend, 'Kill Me Slowly' by safiraneo)

- The third one is kind of a modern au. Since witchers get to live long, he and the rest of the gang (including Ciri, Yen, Regis, etc.) have just lived through everything until the 21st century. Jaskier, having been mortal, died a long time ago. But recently, his body had gone missing. Julian is a professor, I believe he's a uh History professor? Nonetheless, all i remember is that Roach is a van and they got hunted by vampires at some point. I think Geralt owns a villa at a town in which Yen is the mayor. Julian's parents do NOT like Geralt because he's a witcher.

This is the only one we don't have! Anyone with a lead on this one, let us know.

- The last i believe is an established relationship fic. But basically, Jaksier is hit with a curse or something, but it's causing him to age backwards now. So of course this leads to him forgetting about Geralt. That's just kind of it, they're trying to enjoy the time they have left with each other and their memories. It ends when Jaskier turns 18 once again, the same age at which he met Geralt.

Ok, you said this was ask me tomorrow by @theaceace

A fic with a similar premise highly recommended by @ambitiousstripper and @anie6142 is Time Again by didoandis on ao3 (can't find their tumblr, if anyone knows, let me know)

Ok, that's what we have so far! Hopefully we find the third one at some point.

Thanks for dropping in nonny, and a shout out to the amazing fic writers of the witcher universe xoxoxo

#the witcher #asks #ficrecs

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Hi love!

Can I please beg for Tangled Geraskier?

Rapunzel Jask. You know I’m a sucker for angst so including the scene where he cuts her hair would slay me 💖💖💖💖💖

TYILYYYYY

Hello, Stina dear! Sorry this took me actual months to write, but it broke me out of my writer’s block and for that I am eternally grateful.

I chose several pieces of the Tangled narrative to write Geralt and Jaskier into... enjoy! 

2k-ish words (please leave me comments I’m so tired my dudes)

tw: blood, injury, major character (near) death, if you’ve seen Tangled you’ve seen this

---

“So,” Jaskier smiles playfully up at the thief sitting beside him. “Roger Eric, huh?”

Geralt rolls his eyes but Jaskier catches the flush that settles high on his companion’s cheekbones. “It was… It’s a long and boring story about a lot of sad little children that I’m sure you don’t want to hear on such a lovely evening.”

Jaskier scoots closer, until the sides of their arms are pressed too tightly together for even a slip of paper to slide between, and leans his weight against the thief. He bats his thick eyelashes and pouts his lip in a way that always seems to work with his Father. “C’mon, Geralt, please won’t you tell me? Just one little story? I told you about my magical hair, after all.”

“Hmm,” the thief glares dawn at the doe-eyed blonde for a moment before nervously clearing his throat. “Fine. I… I got the name Geralt of Rivia from a collection of short stories that I used to read the other boys at the orphanage in Kaedwen; they were all about this knight who was loyal and brave and courageous despite his hideous appearance. He was rejected by princesses and noble women but was beloved by the people. Having been born with white hair… well, a lot of the folks that came looking for children thought I was under a spell or curse so…. I wasn’t their first choice for adoption.”

“You and Geralt were a lot alike, then. Different. Special… Kind.”

“I wouldn’t say I was spe-”

Jaskier’s hand darts forward and his long, slender musician’s fingers grasp Geralt by the wrist. The fledgling bard clings onto his escort tightly, his large blue eyes suddenly brimming up with tears. “Don’t you dare say you aren’t special, Geralt Roger Eric whatever your surname really is. I’ll never forgive you if you spew such nonsense where my delicate ears can hear it.”

Geralt swallows thickly and glances away. Jaskier always looks so sweet and sincere; the features on his boyish face flicker in and out of focus as patterns of light thrown by their small campfire play across his pale skin. His gaze is intense, focused on Geralt and Geralt alone. The thief panics and asks: “What is it, Jaskier? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You saved me, you know. You saved me from those men back there at the inn, you saved me from being trapped in the tower all my life, you saved me from getting lost in the forest, you… you’re a good person, Geralt. Don’t let the world or the Captain of the Guard or anyone else change your mind, do you understand me? You are-” Jaskier’s hands scrabble frantically to grasp Geralt’s, as if the white-haired man might disappear entirely if Jaskier so much as loosens his grip “- you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me since I’ve been locked in that foul, awful tower!”

“Well I…” Geralt clears his throat again. He stands slowly, disentangling his hangs from Jaskier’s as he takes a slow step back. And then another. “I should go get more firewood.”

Despite the uneasiness in their parting, Jaskier smiles after him. 

The momentary spell cast by their closeness is only broken when Jaskier hears a familiar voice from just behind him: “Well, I thought he’d never leave!”

The blonde jumps up from his seat and spins on his heel to face the black-cloaked wizard. “Father? How… How did you find me?”

Stregobor wraps his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders and squeezes so tightly that it feels more like a threat than an embrace. “It was easy, I simply followed the sound of absolute betrayal.”

Jaskier flinches and tries to pull away but cannot yet escape. 

“I just brought you this,” his Father continues. He finally releases Jaskier and hands his son the worn leather satchel he’d found hidden in his tower. “If this Geralt creature really is the man you think him to be -and don’t deny it, little flower, I can read your thoughts- give this back to him and see how long he stays.”

“Father, I-”

“Goodbye, my child. See you soon, I’m sure. Just remember that Father knows best!”

And in a swirl of black smoke and confusion, Stregobor disappears.

---

“Why do you look so scared?” Geralt asks. He slows the small gondola he’s rented to a stop, turning it slightly more to the side so that they have a better vantage point to see the lanterns spread over the harbor from the city. Jaskier sighs deeply and shakes a stray flower petal away from his eyes, the enormous golden braid shifting ever-so-slightly against his shoulders.

“I’ve been looking out a window for eighteen years,” he says softly. Nervously. “What if… What if it’s not what I expected? I’m terrified to see what it all looks like up close because what if it doesn’t meet my expectations? What if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?”

“It will be,” Geralt replies without thinking. 

“And what if it is?” Jaskier queries, voice growing frantic. “What if it’s even more spectacular than I could have ever hoped? Then my dream will have been fulfilled and I’ll just… go back to the tower again.”

“You’ll just have to find a new dream, I guess,” Geralt offers. When Jaskier settles down into the boat a bit more comfortably and smiles shyly back at him, the thief knows he’s hit the right mark for once. Behind Geralt, the first lantern lights up the sky. Jaskier gasps and points, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement; Geralt is utterly enchanted by his easy beauty. The thief digs two paper lanterns out from beneath his seat and offers one to Jaskier, giddy when he grins even more excitedly than before. “I got this for you… I hope you like it.”

“Oh, I love it! And I have something for you, too.” Jaskier turns and pulls something from behind him. The bardling hands Geralt his very own satchel, which the thief briefly accepts and then drops to the floor without a second thought. The anxious blonde musician beams over at him more gloriously than the midday sun and then turns away, blushing a sweet shade of pink. “I should have given it to you earlier, but I was so scared… and now I’m not! I’m not scared anymore!”

“Good,” Geralt smiles back. He’s elated. It feels as if his heart is glowing twice as brightly as any of the lanterns floating past and around them. “That’s very good.”

I know what my dream is now, Jaskier. Now that you’re here by my side I never want to see you frown again. You don’t deserve to be hidden away in a tower where your art is stifled… even if you don’t want to love me back in that way, I’ll still protect you. I want to see how you see the world, Jaskier. I lo-

“Geralt! Look! That one has runes painted on it, what does it say!?”

---

Geralt pulls his daggers from his belt but before he can stab them into the craigy stone wall and begin his ascent, the familiar tresses of Jaskier’s long golden hair topple down to reach him. Thank fuck, he’s still alive. 

“Jaskier! I thought I’d never see you again!” he calls as he grabs hold of the thick blonde strands. 

The thief climbs quickly, his arms and legs nearly cramping with the effort to hurry back to Jaskier. As he hauls himself through the large window and into the tower proper, however, he’s met with a confusing and unsettling sight: Jaskier stands across the room, a cloth gag pulled tightly between his teeth, his hands manacled together behind him. A short length of spare chain attached to the manacles keeps the frightened, struggling blonde tethered against one of the building’s thick support beams. Someone had knocked down a mirror or vase during the previous fighting; shards of pottery and silver lie scattered across the floor, working as a weak barrier to keep Geralt away from the bound man. Jaskier screams out in warning as their eyes meet: “Ghmphh!”

If Jaskier is being held captive then who let his hair do-

Before Geralt can finish fully forming his question, a bright flash of pain arcs out from his side and sends him toppling to his knees. A wet, sticky heat begins to spread from a spot beneath his ribs and when he presses his hand against his shirt it comes way red. 

Oh. Oh, no...

He hears Stregobor’s voice addressing the sobbing blonde, “Now look what you’ve done, Jaskier.”

Geralt collapses to his knees and then falls to his side, curling up in the fetal position and clutching at the wound as if that will be any help at all. He knows he’s doomed, but there must be some way for him to help Jaskier… to save his… his love. 

“Don’t worry, little flower, our secret will die with your little thief, here, and then we’ll be safe again. Just the two of us.”

Jaskier keens loudly and the sharp, desperate sound of it makes something deep in Geralt’s heart ache. The younger man pulls and yanks against the chains that hold him in place, his bare feet slipping against the polished floor as he tries and fails to reach the wounded Geralt. 

Stregobor yanks at the lead, pulling Jaskier back harshly by the arms. The young musician’s shoulders burn with the strain of it but Jaskier pulls forward anyway, uncaring. He must save Geralt, he must. The wizard tugs him back again, more roughly, and the jarring movement loosens his gag. He spits it from his mouth and cries out: “Stregobor! Strego- Father, listen to me!”

The wizard pauses, his interest piqued by Jaskier’s use of the word Father given the circumstances. “Yes, child?”

“Father,” Jaskier pants, turning to look at the man who’d held him captive for eighteen years. The man who kidnapped him from his cradle and forced him to grow up without the love of his real parents. The man who had, mere moments ago, stabbed the love of Jaskier’s life with the full intention of killing him. “I want you to know that I won’t stop fighting you. Every moment of every day for the rest of my life will be spent trying to get away from you. I will scream and kick and struggle and yell and you will have to keep me caged away as a bird or a mouse to make me stay by your side unless-” Jaskier pauses to take a breath, his shoulders sagging as his gaze drops submissively to the floor between them “-unless you let me save this man. Let me save Geralt’s life and I will follow you all around the Continent without a single word of complaint. I will never attempt to run away or hide from you, not once. Everything will go back to being exactly like it was before, Father, I swear on his life.”

Stregobor considers for a moment. 

He nods. 

“Alright, then. Let’s be quick about it, little flower.”

He removes the shackles from Jaskier and clamps them tightly around Geralt’s wrists instead, securing him to the bannister at the foot of the stairs. To keep him from following us, he remarks offhandedly. 

Jaskier pads his way across the floor as quickly as he can in his bare feet and falls to the ground at Geralt’s side. He pulls the wounded thief against his side to steady him and gathers two heavy handfuls of his own long hair. “I’m so sorry! Everything is going to be okay now, Geralt, I swear it.”

Geralt shoves his hands away weakly, “No, Jaskier.”

“You have to trust me, Geralt, I-”

“I c-can’t let you d-do this,” Geralt grunts, teeth gritted against the pain. 

Jaskier stares down at him, tears already gathering at the corners of his sky-blue eyes. His voice trembles when he whispers, “And I can’t let you die. I won’t let you die.”

“But if you do th-this then you-” Geralt coughs and Jaskier wipes a trickle of blood away from the corner of the thief’s mouth “-you will die.”

“Shh,” Jaskier quiets him, dropping one fistfull of blonde tresses to cup Geralt’s face instead. “Everything will be alright.”

Geralt smiles sadly up at Jaskier, his decision already having been made. He lets the back of his knuckles ghost across the musician’s peach-soft cheek. Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and then open again, curious. “Jaskier, I…”

The thief uses the last of his strength to push up into a sitting position. The hand on Jaskier’s face slides back and gathers his hair at the back of his neck. Geralt’s other hand comes up, a shard of glass gripped tightly in his fist, and slices through the long blonde strands. He watches as Jaskier’s hair turns from radiant gold to chestnut brown. Geralt falls back with a short, sharp sound of agony, his vision already fading around the edges. The shard of mirror, dagger-sharp around the edges, clatters to the ground beside Jaskier. 

“No!” Stregobor screams, gathering up an armful of Jaskier’s still-blonde hair. The golden hue is already fading, shifting to match the short brown hair still fluffed around his head. The lost prince watches with wide, horrified eyes as the wizard trips over a loose floorboard and goes careening out the open window. 

More worrying than his kidnapper’s death, however, is the man lying in his arms, breathing shallowly. Jaskier gathers Geralt close, tucking the thief’s head against his neck and wrapping his arms around the older man’s broad shoulders. “No, no, no, no, Geralt. Stay with me, okay? Stay with me, right here.”

He grabbed at Geralt’s hand, holding it against the top of his head as he sang desperately. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back was once was mi-”

“Jaskier!” Geralt says, pulling his hand down to cup the prince’s face. He can feel his limbs growing cold and numb, distant from him and out of his control. “You… You were my new dream.”

Jaskier sobs, clinging to Geralt with all he’s worth. “And you were mine.”

Geralt manages to smile up into those beautiful blue eyes one last time. And then the world goes dark and his hand falls to the floor, limp.

---

Jaskier buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck and screams. He throws back his head and howls like a wounded animal, his heart shattering to pieces within the confines of his chest cavity. Then he quiets himself down, adjusts Geralt’s body on his lap, and finishes the song the way he’s been taught to do: “Heal what has been hurt, change the Fates’ design, save what has been lost… bring back what once was mine.”

A single tear falls from his eye and lands on Geralt’s cheek. A cheek that will never blush again, never turn up in a smile, never-

A faint yellow glow catches Jaskier’s vision, just from the corner of his eye. He turns his head to look at Geralt’s wound and gasps: the outline of a golden flower covers his abdomen, glowing so brightly that Jaskier must hide his eyes and turn away to keep from being blinded. When the glow fades enough that can safely look back again, Geralt’s wound is gone and the blood that was once staining his jerkin has disappeared. 

He leans over the white-haired thief with bated breath, waiting for a movement or a breath or something… anything. 

After a long moment, two honey-hazel eyes blink open. Geralt inhales quietly and then asks, with the sweetest smile Jaskier has ever seen in all his eighteen years of life, “Did I ever tell you I had a thing for brunettes?”

Jaskier squeals with glee and throws himself into Geralt’s waiting arms, pressing their eager mouths together for the first kiss of their Happily Ever After. 

#geraskier #geraskier tangled au #rapunzel jaskier #flynn ryder geralt #geraskier fluff #geraskier getting together #bouncey's endless au collection #protective geralt #soft geralt #geralt whump #tangled #blood mention #blood tw #injury tw #death but only for a minute #tangled au #goob prompt fills

[on-a-lucky-tide]

I’ve been having some thoughts about sub!Eskel. For he is a rare and elusive creature. Geralt? We all know he loves to be tied up, spanked and called baby. But Eskel? He’d look away and grit his teeth.

I usually write him as a dominant partner if I’m going to write D/s (and I know many people are the same, because he exudes the energy), but I think he would be a very good submissive in a very specific set of circumstances. No pet names, careful negotiation and framing of the scene. 

Influenced by discussions I’ve had across several servers about different dynamics, so thanks to anyone who has ever chatted with me about this, you the real MVPs.

I don’t think Eskel would want to be babied. He would hate pet names like darling, sweetheart (just the same as I think he would hate ‘sir’ or ‘daddy’, because these are titles awarded to people who demand respect, but don’t earn it; perhaps a leftover from the trauma of his training, or having to grate out ‘sir’ to an alderman who has just spat in his face, so he can get paid and eat). 

The baby/pet names would feel patronising. He would feel belittled. That’s not to say he would mind it in an equal scenario; he knows people shout all sorts of things when they’re feelin’ good and he’s down with that. But if he’s feeling lesser than? Inferior? He’d hate it. So, no pet names, you call him by his name. Let him keep his identity, the name he chose, the thing that represents him as a person and not a monster. That would be important to him.

(I imagine this would be thoroughly confusing for a Dom like Jaskier, who might struggle to see the nuance of the situation unless it’s carefully negotiated. I have a scenario where he calls Eskel ‘darling’ in a first scene, and Eskel goes into a severe drop when they’re over because of all the feelings tied up in the context of how the word is being used, anyway...).

At first, he’d hate being made to kneel, to prostrate himself, or to do anything where someone is holding authority over him. Because society makes him kneel in the dirt every single day on the Path. He has accepted it, he’s exhausted by it and he doesn’t fight against it, but he will shutdown immediately in a scene, unless... there’s groundwork done first.

And this is where praise and building up Eskel’s sense of worth (to you, as his Dom) comes in. Again, the customary praise of “oh, you’re doing so well, darling”. He’d give them the side eye, bow his head and tune it out. Not a good move. The praise needs to be genuine, it needs to be sparing and it needs to be worded well. In my head, a lot of it would happen through touch; forehead bonks, a hand in his hair. This is a man who gets touched so rarely in any context, I think a firm, meaningful and deliberate touch would be an excellent reward.

Verbally, it would mean telling him that he is strong enough, he is valuable. And then an acknowledgement of his efforts at the end. These phrases may be similar to things he’s used to hearing, phrases that actually meant something (i.e. he picks himself up after falling on the Killer, that’s a big thing, his efforts are acknowledged). 

“Very good. Now do x” - “Make this adjustment. Thank you.” - “You’re strong, even when you’re broken.” - “Only you could be strong enough to take this, Eskel.” - “You have met (and/or surpassed) my expectations, I’m pleased.” 

Aftercare would be important (as it always is). Transitioning him back, keeping that feeling of being valued (not belittled), and then preventing a drop. He’d want to be clean, probably dressed in something, even if not completely, and need food (he’s a big guy and would have burned through helluva lot of calories during a scene). 

Part of me thinks he would want an opportunity to express gratitude? Perhaps an act of service quite soon after, or something as small as spooning his Dom against him.

He would be a challenging submissive. Not because he’d argue with you, or brat out in the traditional sense, but simply because he wouldn’t deal well with some of the more... uh, widely accepted (?!) approaches. It would be a long, winding road of negotiation, but the moment you get a sub like Eskel to float? That he trusts you explicitly in all ways? Hello, dom space.

#Eskel #Sub Eskel #personal thoughts #personal interpretations #not all subs are the same

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Honeysuckle

hi i have no self control and really really really love tattoo artist!jaskier so here we are again. this is a prequel to the nipple piercings fic wherein geralt is absolutely smitten from day one. not the same vibe but im telling myself thats to be expected bc these take place like five years apart lol

Warnings: tattoos. if they make you squeamish this is not your fic, swearing, mild anxiety, not much else

___________________

Geralt’s palms were sweating when he walked into the little tattoo shop above his favorite deli. The artist he booked was nice enough in the email, and the front desk gal was sweet on the phone, but he’d never gotten a tattoo before and his anxiety was telling him to run home and bury himself under all the blankets he owned. 

A familiar voice greeted him when he came through the door, “Hey! Sweet, you’re early! Jask is just setting up the chair!” 

The coily brown haired receptionist gestured to a black leather couch across the room and Geralt just barely caught a glimpse of tattooed vines from under her hoodie sleeve. He nodded and smiled, taking a seat and trying not to look so stiff. The receptionist called another artist over and Geralt was surprised when the taller, purple eyed woman wrapped her arms around her shoulders and placed a kiss on her cheek as they looked at the monitor. It was the good kind of surprise, Geralt decided, the kind that sets you at ease when you were gearing up for a fight. The receptionist caught his unintentional smile and winked at him before he suddenly found his nail beds fascinating.

“You Geralt?”

His eyes scanned over the man asking from bottom to top and nearly lost his ability to speak, “Hm? Thats me.”

He looked like he came straight form the Seattle grunge scene in the 90’s, but showered and with beautiful floral blackout sleeves up to the wrists on each arm. It seemed the only color over his whole body was the few yellow buttercups scattered through the pattern, ending in a bouquet of all sorts of plants and flowers and herbs at his collar bones, only slightly covered by his Heathers on Broadway tank. 

He flicked his wispy brown hair out of his unreasonably pretty blue eyes and smiled so brilliantly Geralt had to remember to breathe, “I’m Jaskier. Come on back!”

Geralt gave him a curt nod and stood to follow. 

“I hope you brought shorts, it might be a bitch to walk home in that.” Jaskier said, leading him into one of the rooms down a long hallway.

Geralt was suddenly regretting listening to Lambert. He wanted to melt into the floor when he realized he would have to say this to the beautiful tattoo artist’s face, “They uh… they zip away…”

“Oh my god.” Jaskier breathed, finally looking at Geralt’s knees, “I didn’t even know they made those anymore.”

“I swear to god, my brother wears them for work and told me to-”

Jaskier waved his hand, clearly holding back a smile, “No worries, Ron Stoppable.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep from smiling, “Do you make a habit of making fun of your clients?”

“Only when I’m sure they can handle it,” he teased, “Now off with the hideous zipper pants, I gotta shave your thigh before I start the drawing.”

Once Geralt was shaved and positioned every which way on the table/chair contraption, he finally got to see the rough sketch. The marker felt cool and tickled the back of his knee, but surprisingly to him, he kept up a relaxed conversation, almost flirting before he thought better of it. 

“Do you like where everything is? Want any more grass? Or flowers? Now’s the time for changes, don’t be shy.” 

Geralt turned his leg this way and that, looking at the little blue and purple marks in a band just above his knee in the mirror, “You’re the professional, what do you think?”

Jaskier took a step back and reached for a roll of paper towels and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, “You said this was your first tattoo right?”

Geralt nodded.

“Okay, one less flower on the back then.”

“Why?”

“It’s one of the most painful places to get tattooed.”

“Keep it. I like it.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, “Alright, Hot Shot. Face down, we’ll start there first.”

Holy fuck Jaskier was right. Geralt had a high pain tolerance, but this was a whole different kind of pain. He had his arms crossed under his forehead and was doing his best to take deep, even breaths but Jesus Christ, that little chuckle-fuck just kept going over what felt like the same spot. But hell would freeze over before Geralt tapped out, so he forced his breath out and kept going.

“Why honeysuckle?” Jaskier asked as he sat back to dip the machine in more ink.

Geralt took the opportunity to shift a bit and breathe easy before he lied, “Just picked it.”

Jaskier’s hands were back on his thigh, “You don’t have to tell me, it’s just not something I’m asked to do very often. Never for a first tattoo.”

Geralt’s smile turned into a grimace as the needles were back at his skin. Whether it was his sincerity, pretty eyes, or Geralt’s desperate need for a distraction, he bucked up and answered his question, “My- ah, someone told me to find a reminder of things I loved. My horse eats nothing but honeysuckle whenever we go on the trails.”

"That's so fucking cute," Jaskier sighed, still attacking the back of Geralt's leg, "Wouldn't have pegged you for a horse guy. What's their name?" 

The pain was easier to ignore when Geralt was rambling about Roach. Jaskier kept the conversation flowing, maybe indulging Geralt’s ramblings a little too much, but by the time he flipped Geralt over to do the inside of his knee they were joking and swapping disastrous college stories like old friends. They took a snack break where the purple eyed woman, Yennefer he'd learned, made fun of his zip shorts and Triss scolded her. It was nice, he felt oddly at home here with these people he’d just met. 

The front half of the tattoo was nothing compared to the back and Geralt was able to breathe and just chat. He did his best to convince himself that the feeling in his chest wasn’t disappointment when Jaskier finally finished and wrapped his leg in saniderm. 

Jaskier leaned on the front desk while they waited for Geralt’s card to run, "What are you doing after this?" 

Geralt's stomach turned with nervous excitement and he truly didn't know how he got his words to come out so casual, "Was just gonna get some ramen and watch reruns, why?" 

Jaskier worried at his bottom lip as he stapled the receipt to some paperwork, "There's a great ramen place around the corner and I don't have another appointment tonight…" 

Geralt positively beamed, "If you can stand to be seen with someone wearing zipper shorts in public, I'd love to."

#geraskier #tattoo artist jaskeir #tattoo artist!jaskier #geraskier tattoo #geraskier meet cute #geraskier's first meeting #geraskeir flirting #geraskeir fic #the witcher #the witcher fic #the witcher geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #geralt of rivia fic #geralt fic #jaskeir #jullian alfred pankratz #jaskier fic #jaskeir fan fc #bruh i just think blackout floral sleeves look so cool #and i have a backstory for jasks tattoos #if anyone who can draw or do edits wants to save my life here...👀 #will trade art for fic #inked up idiots

[peaktotheocean]

post-production

Pairing: Jaskier/Geralt ao3 link here Notes: If you ever watched the Lord of the Rings behind-the-scene discs and thought “I wish there was a 12K Witcher AU where Jaskier is the famous actor who buys a horse for Geralt the horse trainer” then you’re in luck

Jaskier knew that he would miss the stable the most. After weeks of filming on location, surrounded by crew and actors that Valdo had already poisoned against him, the stable had become a respite of sorts.

No matter the smells (the many, many smells), Jaskier would always remember the sun beams shining through the high windows and illuminating the dust and dirt to shine on the horses. Jaskier had tried and failed many times to capture the moment on his phone— to the point where he was convinced that it was impossible. He would just have to burn the sight into his memory.

Jaskier had just one more day in this stable and on set and then he could sort of what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

Certainly not acting.

Five blockbusters in four years and Jaskier's exhaustion knew no bounds. Not to mention people he thought were his friends just clinging to him for a ride.

He had meant for his career to be music and yet here he was on what he considered the wrong marquees.

Taking a small acting job offered by a friend in order to help pay rent had escalated into a full career and never worrying about rent again.

But then there was Valdo.

Jaskier had only started hearing about the rumors during the second week of the shoot. And by, then it had been too late. Valdo's charisma and charm took hold and Jaskier wasn't to be trusted. Was he a thief? A gossip? A drunk? A backstabber? It depended on which rumor went around that morning.

"Last day, darling."

"What?" The horsemaster's gruff tone was shorter than usual today.

"Sorry. I was--" Jaskier broke off. He didn't want to say it aloud. Which was silly because he had seen Geralt speaking to his own horse, Roach many mornings. Not to mention afternoons and evenings and any other time they were shooting scenes and Geralt was brought on set to stay with the horses. "I was just telling Pegasus that it's our last day with the horses. Or my last day, I suppose."

"Hmm."

Jaskier already missed the grunts. It was unclear if Geralt disliked him because of Valdo's rumors. But truthfully, the horsemaster hadn't seemed to have taken a shine to anyone over the course of shooting.  

Well, not any humans, at least.

He doted on all the horses. Roach in particular, and Jaskier couldn't blame him. She was a sweet mare and if Jaskier hadn't been assigned his darling Pegasus, he would have liked a chance to ride Roach as well.

But of course not. She was Geralt's favorite and Valdo's mount.

Not that the actor cared. The animals were more like props than living beings to him. Jaskier didn't like thinking about the amount of times he had seen Valdo curl his lip at Roach.

Just Jaskier's luck.

He had beaten out Valdo for a role which he hadn’t even known the man had wanted. And in return, Jaskier’s last few months had been lonely and uncomfortable and—

He set his forehead against Pegasus’s neck and took a breath to steady himself.

He could still feel Geralt’s presence. Lifting his head back up, he smiled at the man who showed no emotion in return. At least Jaskier knew that Geralt didn't like anyone else on the set either. In a strange way, it helped. Geralt was a part of his respite in the stables just by being impartial to the rest of the gossip of the set.

"Not the last day overall, of course. But I checked and I know we're moving on to another area for the next month or so. Granted, I guess you'll still be here if they want to do re-shoots, right? Can't go through the trouble of training so many horses over again."

Geralt had apparently decided that Jaskier wasn't even worth of his grunts anymore. As if Jaskier was the one who came out early to the stables to interrupt him and not vice-versa. Still, the actor had to admit that the quiet of the stable comforted him regardless. No one gossiping. No Valdo. Just him and Pegasus.

And Geralt, he supposed.

And Roach.

And the other horses.

Well, Jaskier supposed no moment was truly perfect.

----------------

Jaskier let his fingers run over the intricate chainmail of one of the many costumes from the film. Percival and his artistic team had done such excellent work. It was a shame that most of it would be auctioned off but with any luck, some would go into a production vault or even a perhaps a museum exhibit for film costumes. While Jaskier enjoyed the way his costume felt on him, purchasing it wasn't a priority for him.

“Percival!" He called when he saw the crewman in question. "This is for the auction, right? Do you know when it's actually happening?”

Jaskier hated how nervous he felt. He knew the horses were up on the auction block and he had a plan. Pegasus was the only good part of this filming and Jaskier didn't want to leave him behind. “For the horses,” Jaskier clarified.

“You interested?”

“Very.” Feeling much like the office was his primary school classroom, Jaskier stood up straight and put on his best serious face. “I’ve got the space and a neighbor who already shared the name of the veterinarian he uses for his farm.”

“Better prepared than most actors who make a snap decision at those auctions. Plenty of times I’ve heard of some bigshot selling off a horse after less than a month."

Jaskier couldn't tamp down the pride he felt at getting Percival's approval. Gods, he needed to leave this set. Just spend some time with Priscilla and not think about acting for a while. With any luck, he'd be spending time with Pegasus as well.

“How awful.”

“Can’t be helped. You’ll want Pegasus, of course?” Percival asked knowingly, poking fun at Jaskier's wide smile.

“Please. Send me the info and if I can’t be there and I’ll send someone else in my stead.” Jaskier couldn't help himself. “Truthfully, I’d take Roach too but I suspect the horsemaster has his eye on her.”

“Geralt?" Percival asked. He shook his head. "He can’t afford her.”

“You’re kidding.” What a shame. Jaskier had never met a horse and a rider so in tune with one another. He had just taken it as fact that Geralt would be taking Roach home with him. For the first few weeks, until gruffly corrected by Geralt, Jaskier had assumed that Geralt owned Roach and had brought her to set in the first place.

Though, looking back, it was a foolish thing to think. Roach and Valdo had been paired together for the duration of the filming and Geralt's stony glare anytime the actor mounted the mare...well, Jaskier would assume that if Roach had belonged to Geralt, he would have banned Valdo from riding her.

“Already asked him. I went to give him the info because I thought the same as you. Figured he’d be first in line but he didn’t even consider it. Poor fella. I didn’t want to push, you know?”

“Good man.” Jaskier stroked Pegasus and his eyes drifted over to Roach.

----------------

Zoltan's head poked through the door of office had housed the horse crew for the past few months. It hadn't become home, certainly, but the production team had put together a good group. Geralt would be keeping the contact information of more than a few riders and trainers in hopes of working with them again on future projects.

"You headed out, Rivia?"

"Almost packed. Just wanted to stop by the stables." The production auction had already happened but Geralt hadn't heard of any of the horses being moved out just yet. That kind of transport, especially if they weren't being kept local, took time to arrange. He had double-checked too. There was plenty of time for him to say goodbye to Roach. Give her a few extra treats, a good brushing down. The best sendoff a girl could ask for, really.

And she deserved a proper goodbye. Geralt had second-guessed himself, knowing how much it would hurt to say farewell but he couldn't help himself. Between the actors and the long shoots, all the horses deserved some post-production pampering. Geralt hoped the rest of them would get it once they were with their new owners and families.

"Surely you're doing more than stopping by."

"What?"

Zoltan gave him a perplexed look. "Roach, I mean. You're taking her with you, aren't you?"

"Can't afford her," Geralt said, trying not to grit his teeth. He had only said it aloud once before. When Percival had asked for his future plans. All of the horses were auctioned off at the end of the production, along with various bits and bobs that the studio didn't want to keep or store.

Roach was a prize mare, along with many of the other impressively bred horses in that stable.

Geralt would have loved to take her back to the ranch and shared stables that he ran with his family but it just wasn't in the cards. It was kind of the manager to even come to him and inquire. It spoke volumes about what Geralt had accomplished over the course of the shoot. At least with that gesture, Geralt knew he'd have a reference for future jobs. Perhaps not just for him but for the ranch too.

"But she's in your name. Isn’t she?"

"What are you talking about?"

Zoltan came into the room now, still looking at Geralt as though the man needed his head examined. He spoke slowly. "Geralt, I saw the finalized auction list. She's been paid for already and your name is on the front of her paddock."

Geralt froze. Surely Zoltan misread or even misunderstood. Geralt's name's was occasionally listed on paperwork as a handler if a buyer wanted to know more about a horse's temperament. But not as the owner or buyer.

He slowly backed away from Zolton and calmly headed towards the stables, and Roach's stall. He did not want to sprint eagerly or get his hopes up so instead, Geralt inhaled and exhaled every other measured step.

Roach's ownership papers were slipped in a plastic sleeve with a little metal hook attached so it remained securely on the nails of the stall door. Little dried stains and dirt covered the plastic and Geralt imagined Roach trying to get at her own papers.

Geralt von Rivia.

Undeniably, there in black and white. Geralt blinked, not believing his own eyes.

But still, there it was: Geralt von Rivia.

"Ah, Geralt!" The stablemaster came up to him, clapping him on the shoulder. "I had heard that you weren't able to bid. What a lovely surprise when I saw the name." Roach stretched as far out of her stall as she could manage, just reaching Geralt to nudge him. "And it looks like she agrees as well."

"But I didn't bid," Geralt said, confused. He stared at the paperwork for an extended period of time. He just couldn't believe it. Even encased in plastic that had corners peeling away at the top, it looked as officially legal as the other ones hangin off of the rest of the stalls in the stable.

"What?"

"I didn't bid. I told them that I couldn't. I didn't— I don't..." Geralt tilted his head and looked at the placard attached to the paddock. Geralt von Rivia and Roach.

How?

"I don't think anyone would be so cruel to play on a joke on you like this, mate."

"How can I check?"

The stablemaster pulled out his phone and held up a finger. Geralt didn't argue but watched the man dial a number and take a few steps away.

Roach stretched her neck again so her entire head came through the opening above the stall.

"Hello, girl." Geralt used both hands to rub at her face. He couldn't help it. Even if his name on the paperwork ended up being a cruel joke, he could imagine her at his family's ranch. She wouldn't take shit from the bigger stallion his brother kept and she'd teach their other mares to do the same.

"I talked to the production office. Said she's yours. The bid was placed anonymously."

"What? Anonymously?" Geralt looked at Roach as though she had the answers but the stablemaster continued to talk.

"They also included shipping costs as well as extra for feed, care, special needs, etc. A retainer essentially."

"Anonymous? How could they manage that?” Geralt leaned against the stall door, brain going into overdrive. He wasn't even sure where to start.

The stablemaster clearly could tell, and his voice softened, speaking as he would to any of the horses in the building. Geralt couldn't find it in himself to angry. It was a strange version of kindness that, in his overwhelmed state, he had no option except to accept. "It's all in the paperwork."

"Can I get a copy?"

"She's yours, Geralt, of course. Her and the paperwork."

Geralt looked at the paperwork attached to the stall and began to slide it out of its protective slip. He balanced his phone in one hand and the papers in the other as he slowly began taking photographs of each one. "I want to send the information to my friend before I— before I take her home."

"A lawyer, you mean."

Geralt nodded. "Just to double check."

“Smart man. Let me know if I can be of anymore help.”

Mercifully, the stablemaster left and Geralt let himself slide down the stall door. He knew he'd have to change pants before leaving now but he couldn't bring himself to care. He leaned his head back against the door.

He squinted at the sun through the windows as he struggled to hear the phone ringing amidst the breakdown of the rest of the set.

“Geralt.”

“Yenn.” Geralt couldn’t manage more than that. He took a deep breath to try again but Yennefer stopped him.

“Geralt? Are you all right? I thought you were still on location for that god awful film.”

“I am. I’m still there. I just. Something’s happened. I’m fine,” he added quickly. “It’s just strange.”

“Explain.”

"If someone bought you something anonymously, is there a way to tell who it was?"

"A gift? What kind of gift has you this shaken up? I am going to need so much more context, Geralt. Not to mention lunch and permission to laugh at you for whatever this is once you're back in the area.” Yennefer stopped talking and Geralt heard a few voices, none of them hers. “That is, I assume you're not back in the area yet. I just saw Eskel at the market last week. He would have mentioned it."

"No we— the film just wrapped. Everything was being broken down and there was an auction but." Geralt took a breath and gathered his words. "The horse I talked to you about."

"The smart one, yes." Yennefer's voice grew quiet and sympathetic in a way that would have surprised Geralt when they first met. But she knew what horses meant to him and respected it. They had both come a long way with one another. "I'm sorry. I know you wanted to buy her."

"That’s the thing, Yenn, someone bought her for me. I just received the paperwork. They paid for her, the board, and transportation back to the ranch. Not to mention a little more if needed. What could be needed?"

"Maybe they thought since you couldn't afford the price of the horse, you couldn't afford food, medical care, things like that."

"Oh." Geralt couldn't decide if that was insulting or thoughtful. Most people on set only saw him in his barn clothing so perhaps they couldn't be blamed for the assumption. He certainly didn't attend any social gatherings after the work day. The cost of Roach had held him back, not the care.

"You don't know who it could have been? Not a clue?"

"I'm...not exactly friendly to people on set," Geralt growled. “I certainly didn’t endear myself to that Marx asshole who rode her during filming.” He hated being on set but he was there to do a job and at least if he was there, he knew someone was protecting the animals.

"You do want her, right?"

"Of course I do," Geralt gripped the phone tightly. "I just want to make sure it wasn't some kind of mistake. Or strings attached. That she can't just be taken away at all in the future."

"All right. I'll look into it. Send me everything and give me a few hours."

"Thank you."

----------------

Geralt von Rivia.

Jaskier shifted all of Pegasus’ equipment to one arm so he could reach out and touch the paper. It felt good to see.

He looked around the stable to check he was alone before giving Roach one last pat. He kissed her on the nose and whispered, “Goodbye.”

----------------

Geralt’s entire afternoon had to shift. No longer could he throw his duffel bag in his truck and endure the long drive home. Instead he spent the day asking for another night in one of the spare rooms near the set. He went to ask after borrowing a trailer, only to find that it was one of the included costs with the purchase of Roach and far too nice for his truck.

Most importantly, he spent time with Roach. She was the last horse left at the end of the day. He had avoided people by hopping into her stall at some point, the stables full of agencies and buyers coming to collect.

A few people stopped to read the paperwork outside Roach and Geralt couldn’t stop his pride from rising. She was a star, great stock but even better temperament. And she was all his now.

Thankfully, by the time Yennefer called, no one was in the stables to hear a mobile phone start ringing inside one of the stalls.

“That was fast.”

“I’m very good at my job, Geralt.” Geralt wisely held his tongue. “Right so. Roach was bought and paid for by a Julian Alfred Pankratz."

Geralt blinked. He looked to Roach as though she could answer his questions. “I...I don't know a Julian-- whatever. Whatever name you just said to me."

Yennefer gently, "I think he's more commonly called Jaskier."

"Jaskier?"

"Yes, Jaskier. You know, one of the stars of the film series you've been working on the past few months."

Geralt bit back a growl. Yennefer was doing him a favor. He didn't need to be a twat. "I know who he is. I don't know why he bought Roach though."

He had certainly never been kind to Jaskier. If anything he had been a downright grump. Which wasn't much different from how Geralt treated most of the actors. Even the ones who had been nothing but kind to him.

He just couldn't risk it. The cast were a load of gossips and each week, Geralt heard something different about Jaskier and his coworkers. Geralt hadn't wanted to get involved.

It wasn't worth his time to be a notch in the bedpost for an actor who apparently had paramours throughout the cast and country, if the rumors were to be believed.

Clearly it hadn't mattered to Jaskier anyway.

"Bought and gave to you," Yennefer corrected. "Roach is in your name. I had to jump through some hoops to find this information. It wasn't easy. I don't think he intended on you ever knowing. He never mentioned it at all, correct?"

Most of the conversations Geralt had with the man were one-sided, or just corrections for his horse handling.

"Most of the actors left the day after the film wrapped. I haven't seen any of them save for a few who needed re-shoots with some of the sets we still had." His fist tightened around his phone. “I only told one person that I couldn’t afford Roach. He's not the type to pass around gossip.”

"I don't think Jaskier meant anything bad by it, Geralt."

"I just don't...understand."

"Me neither but unless you'd also like me to follow up, perhaps get in touch with his management?" She left the question hanging in the air and Geralt's face reddened at even the mention of talking to Jaskier again. It wasn't the man who had him worried but the whole process. Going through his team and agent just to ask why? What if he took back the gift?

Yennefer read his mind, as per usual. “He can't take Roach back, Geralt. I made sure of it but honestly, it looks like he is the one who made sure of it. No strings."  

"No strings."

"Do you want me to try and find out why? Have you looked at her teeth? Perhaps you might want to look a gift horse in the--"

"Yennefer," Geralt growled.

"Take Roach back to the ranch, Geralt. I'm sure your family will be excited to meet her."

----------------

"Is this my welcome?" Geralt hadn't even gotten out of his truck yet but he was tempted to make a u-turn and leave the ranch the same way he came in. He wasn't sure where he and Roach would go but anywhere would be better than his little brother giving him a suspicious expression the moment he pulled into the driveway. Eskel pushed Lambert to try and snap him out of his daze. "Well, are you just going to look at me like that or are you going to say hello?"

"Did we know you were bringing home a horse?" Eskel asked delicately while Lambert just continued to stare.

"I didn't even know I was bringing home a horse." Geralt slammed the driver's side door shut and caught Eskel in a hug. He snagged Lambert too even though the little shit tried to wriggle away after two seconds.

Lambert went through his fingers on a very short checklist. "Aiden was hoping you'd break your rule of no autographs for this one. But you didn't do that. And you brought home a horse."

"We've got a free stall, right?" Geralt looked towards the stables. They rarely had a full house unless they were hosting some kind of trail camp. Still, he hadn't even thought of calling home to check.

"She's staying?"

"She's mine." Geralt handed Eskel the paperwork and Lambert immediately hung over his shoulder to read through it.

Eskel's eyes widened at the sight of her lineage. "How did you afford--"

"I didn't. It's…a long story."

"You didn't steal a horse, did you? Someone is going to be looking for this girl."

"She's not stolen. Her name is Roach." Geralt ran his finger through his hair, pulling at the tangles from having the window open on the long ride back home. "Melitele, can we not do this now? Let me get her settled and then I'll tell you about it."

Eskel and Lambert exchanged a look and Eskel shoved Lambert off his shoulder. "Lambert, go tell Dad that Geralt's home. When does the trailer have to go back?"

"They bought that too."

"The trailer came with the horse?" Eskel waved his hand after seeing the pained look on Geralt's face. "All right, don't tell me. I know you don't want to explain it more than once."

He left Geralt to blessed silence. Silent as a farm could get, at any rate. He patted Roach's flank and coaxed her out of the trailer, leaving it unlocked and opened behind him. The ranch was isolated enough as it was and he'd be back for it soon enough.

"This is Scorpion. That's Kelpie," Geralt introduced Roach to each horse as he walked her by their stalls, finally coming to an empty one. He eyed up Scorpion, already thinking ahead. Eskel's stallion was of good lineage. It wouldn't be a bad match to think of for the future.

He hung around the stable as long as he thought he was able to. Just because one of his brothers hadn't been sent out to fetch him yet didn't mean that Vesemir hadn't already planned it. Geralt patted Roach one last time and headed out.

The farmhouse smelled just as he left it, like horse and his father's cooking. The first an unfortunate by-product of their lives but the second, a welcome back.

They didn't all still live in the house. Eskel had a cabin on the furthest edge of the land with a herd of goats that they rented out and kept for milk. Lambert and Aiden had just moved to another patch of acreage on the opposite side before Geralt had left for the film shoot. From what Geralt could gather from Eskel's texts, they swapped out more nights than one making sure someone was there to help Vesemir with the morning chores.

"Hey Dad." Geralt leaned in and let his Vesemir clap him on the back.

"Good to have you home." Vesemir's gruff voice washed over Geralt and he felt something in his shoulders settle. He took the offered bowl of stew and purposefully brushed against both Eskel and Lambert on his way to sit at the table.

"Good to be home."

Lambert, mouth full of beef stew, used his dripping spoon to gesture to the TV.

“You worked with him, right?”

"Who?" Geralt looked up from his bowl. There was an entertainment show on the television but it had gone commercial. Lambert rolled his eyes at him.

“Jackass. Jaskier. They had a whole segment on him."

Geralt swallowed and before he could overthink it, told them, "That’s the one who bought Roach. Bought her in my name, I mean."  

Eskel near choked on a beef chunk, "What?"

"Him?" Lambert's eyes widened. He shot a look at Vesemir. "Did you, uhh--" but he didn't get a chance to finish because Geralt threw a chunk of bread at his head.

"I didn't sleep with him, you ass. I don't know why he did it. I wasn't even supposed to know, according to Yennefer."

Geralt wished he knew why. It was an itch he couldn't scratch, though having Roach home and in her stall was a significant balm. He accepted another slice of bread from Eskel.

"She checked it out?" Vesemir asked knowingly. "Everything is all right?"

"The paperwork all checks out. No strings," Geralt echoed Yennefer's earlier words.

"Good lineage," Eskel added slowly. "There’s no issues with her health?”

Geralt nodded. "None that I know of. I'm going to call in Coën tomorrow to give her a full check-up and we'll go from there. I don't think there will be a problem though."

Lambert shrugged at Eskel who still looked suspicious. He eyed the door that led out closest to the barn as if he wanted to go interrogate Roach to find out more. “Oh. Well, I guess a person who buys a horse anonymously as a gift can’t be that big of an ass then like the papers say, right? Was he?”

“Was he what?”

“An ass. Was Jaskier an ass?” Lambert asked again.

Geralt pondered the question. He hadn't expected to think this much about anyone from the cast after production had set down. Definitely not Jaskier.

Truthfully, Jaskier had been the furthest thing from an ass. Sure, he had gotten to the stables earlier than the other actors but it was a strange thing for Geralt to complain about considering how late the rest of the cast were for their training sessions. He cared about the horses too. It had been sweet.

"What are you on about?" Vesemir grumbled.

Lambert, mouth full of stew, looked at Eskel imploringly, fighting to swallow. Eskel tilted his head towards the television. "The lad who bought Geralt his horse apparently got on the bad side of some folks. The gossip shows say they've been spreading rumors about him for months."

"Did he say that? Jaskier." Geralt's attention suddenly back on the television. The b-roll footage of a posh gentleman on the red carpet was not the same man covered in a dirt -covered costume after a ride or a long shoot, that was for sure. It still was Jaskier though.

"No one's heard from him. It's all come out now after the production's ended."

Eskel plucked a newspaper off of the counter and passed it over to Geralt who took it but kept it closed. Jaskier's face was on the cover or it would have been if his hand hadn't blocked the photograph from the view. "Wouldn't be surprised if he sued them for libel though. Judging by what they're saying in here, he's certainly got a case."

FALSEHOODS AND PRODUCTION WOES the newspaper headline shouted. Geralt ran through the first few lines of the article and felt the pit in his stomach begin to grow.

“I heard some of these.” He had been on more toxic sets in the past. With more difficult actors trying to make passes at him, sometimes aggressively. Thinking that crew should be lucky to get their attention. Television shows, soap operas had been worse. But this still hadn't been good. And Jaskier had been nothing but kind to him. Annoying, perhaps early in the morning but, certainly nothing like the rumors had suggested. Still Geralt had done his best to ignore him.

“No kidding? Maybe they’ll call you in to testify.”

Geralt leaned against the counter and stared the newspaper, hoping no one else heard the roaring in his ears.

Perhaps there had been another reason Jaskier was hiding in the stables each morning instead of by the breakfast tables in the craft tent.

Certainly Geralt had taken his solace in the company of animals before. Jaskier had clearly just been doing the same.

----------------

“You have more security out in the country. That’s the whole point of the privacy fence,” Priscilla argued. Jaskier had been sneaking peeks through the blinds for the better part of the morning. His face had gotten paler with each glance.

“I know you’re right.”

“I am. London will still be here when this all blows over. Or when a judge makes it blow over.” Jaskier sighed. Priscilla hated seeing him like this, curled up on the couch, phone turned off. Country life would be pleasant in more than one way.

“You can bond some more with that horse you’ve got. I’m sure he missed you.”

“I’ll just have to come back to the premiere,” Jaskier warned. “You won’t have the flat to yourself for too long.”

----------------

"Zoltan."

"You're going."

"Going where?"

"To the premiere."

"We're a little busy here." Geralt gazed around the quiet stables and winced at the phone in his hand. What Zoltan didn't know wouldn't hurt him. The last thing Geralt wanted to do was take the journey into London and be around people that he didn't even socialize with when he was paid to.

"All the crew is invited and the production team is insisting the crew come so they don't look like asshats. Please come keep me company," Zoltan near begged.

"Too late for that isn't it?" Geralt thought back to the television stories and the articles about Jaskier.

Sure, maybe Geralt had given into his curiosity and googled Jaskier's name a few times after his first night home but the man really had vanished. No photographer had been able to capture any images of him and his team weren't responding to any questions.

Geralt wasn't sure if it was Jaskier's team at work or someone in his corner but certainly he had read a few articles about instances of Jaskier's kindness. He had experienced that first hand and judging by the rest of the stories, he felt they had to be true. Most of Jaskier's generosity came anonymously but he hadn't always been as good at covering his tracks as he had been with Roach.

"Well, perhaps. Valdo made sure of that."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I just meant. All those rumors he spread about Jaskier. Turns out this wasn't the first person who he had done this too. I heard tell that Valdo is going to be blacklisted in the industry and then sued for gossip. Defamation or something. I'm not too sure. It'll be out in the papers soon enough."

"Libel," Geralt murmured, thinking back to the articles he had read. "Even I heard gossip around the set."

"I didn't believe any of it, personally. Jaskier was always a polite fellow and some of it was nasty. Well, I'm sure you didn't either. Otherwise Jaskier wouldn't have done you that solid."

"What solid?"

Zoltan was quiet for a beat too long.

Geralt sighed. One more piece of the puzzle. "You mean Roach. I know he bought Roach for me. But how did you know?"

"Ah well..."

"I had to go through a lawyer to find out," Geralt added.

"I did the paperwork," Zoltan admitted. "He did want it to be anonymous but I thought that was just so production couldn't give him a hard time about buying two horses."

"He bought another horse?"

Zoltan paused again. "He really never mentioned this to you? He was in the stables near every morning."

"For training."

"Not just for training. Though I guess we know now that he was just trying to stay away from Valdo and his cronies." Geralt wasn't sure what to say to that. He had never been anyone's idea of a respite and his guilt at knowing he hadn’t made the time easier for Jaskier still weighed on his mind. Though perhaps Jaskier had just been after the horses. "He bought the one he rode. Pegasus."

"Oh."

Geralt hadn't expected that. He knew Jaskier had gotten along with the horse, of course. That had been easy enough to see, sweet even. But it was still a surprise. A pleasant one.

There was something about Jaskier buying a horse for himself and for Geralt. As if the man understood the responsibility and the importance. He wasn't just buying Roach as a gift for whatever reason, he knew everything the job would entail.

"The premiere is in London. Should be a good time so long as no one leaks the news about any legal cases beforehand."

Geralt rubbed his hand over Roach's nose and made a snap decision. "I'll meet you there."

"Really?"

"You owe me a drink."

"Should be an open bar, mate."

"Well, that makes it easy for you then."

----------------

Geralt wasn't exactly keeping up with Jaskier's story but Aiden and Lambert watched enough entertainment news for the rest of them. Gossip papers would be left out around the barn by visitors without issue. If Geralt just happened to see that Jaskier hadn't been heard from in a few weeks since production shut down then, well, that was just a fact that lived in Geralt's brain.

One that he definitely didn't overthink. Not with the premiere already on his mind.

"It really was Valdo," Lambert had told him one morning. "Apparently he wanted that role of Jaskier's so badly that he decided that he'd try to make sure the guy would never have any other roles again."

Geralt didn't let on that he had known. Still, he hadn't thought about the creep since Zoltan had brought him up.

Valdo. Like Zoltan had said, it was no wonder Jaskier had always signed up to be the first person at the stables with Geralt. Valdo Marx would never deign to get to the stables early in the morning, even when it was a necessity that he do so.

"Loads of other actors apparently apologized for listening to Valdo. They'd been giving Jaskier the cold shoulder for weeks now. But still, no one has seen him."

"I can't blame him for wanting to take a break from acting. Even now with the rumors out, I think I'd find another industry to work in all together." Aiden shook his head. He looked up at Geralt hopefully, nudging Lambert conspicuously. "You haven't heard from anyone from set talking about it?"

Geralt gave Lambert an exasperated look. "I know you had overheard that conversation. I'm not taking either of you to the premiere. I'm staying for one drink and then getting on the train again."

"Told you so," Lambert muttered. "Fine. Be that way."

“Poor guy,” Eskel murmured. “I’d hide too if I just had to spend months contractually obligated with people all poisoned against me.”

Geralt kept his eyes down, wishing the conversation would change. Wishing he hadn’t been such a fool. At least he knew why Jaskier had always signed up to be the first person at the stables. Not that the information helped Geralt’s newly-acquired nausea.

----------------

It would be fine.

That's what Geralt kept repeating to himself on the tube ride into London.

Geralt would go in, have a drink with Zoltan, find Jaskier, thank him, and then never have to think of the man again. A strange sense of closure for someone he never had a relationship with, platonic or otherwise, but it was the right thing to do.

Everytime he looked at Roach or rode her around the ranch, he thought of Jaskier. It wasn't guilt or anything owed to the man. Geralt believed in the actor's earnestness and no-strings gift.

He managed to find Zoltan right away, the two of them hiding in a corner of the hotel bar through the actual film and more when crowds finally came back.

"I had wondered if Jaskier was even going to come," Zoltan confided in Geralt, leaning closer to the bar and looking over their shoulders as their lobby filled up.

"Because of Marx?"

Zoltan nodded. "I suspect there will be a healthy number of people keeping them away from one another."

"For good reason." Geralt tried not to be too obvious in his glances behind them but Zoltan knew enough of the cause. "Why come at all, I wonder?"

"Contract," Zoltan told him, pressing his lips thin. He shook his head at the thought. "It's written in the contracts that they've got to do press and this counts as press."

"The red carpet beforehand, surely. But I can't imagine a party is." Geralt shifted uncomfortably. The bar was filling up and he and Zoltan were getting squashed to one side already. The gracious and well-tipped bartender had thought ahead and topped the two of them off before the rush began.

"You've been in this business for a few years now. Surely you're not that naive."

Geralt finally caught sight of Jaskier. In a plain blue suit, unlike such patterned clothing he had worn even after Geralt had told him he’d only get the fineries dirty.

Without turning to look at the crowd or see if anyone was watching him, Jaskier hurried up the side stairs to where Geralt knew there was another reserved space, a small but grand library room that hadn’t been alrered since the 30s. He and Zoltan had stumbled upon it earlier in the afternoon while hiding from cameras.

"I'm more naive than I think sometimes." Geralt nodded to Zoltan and held out his hand. Zoltan took it to shake instantly. “It was good to see you. Call if you’re ever by the ranch. We’d be happy to have you.”

Following Jaskier’s path and manners, Geralt also didn’t look behind him as he slipped up the same stairs, closing the paneled door after him.

Geralt allowed himself a moment to look at Jaskier. The man had his coat in hand and was staring out of the rather large window flanked by two bookshelves.

“I just wanted to—“ Jaskier spun around, hand to his chest. Geralt took a step backwards. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier finally said, even though his heavy breaths were still evident. He stood up straight and blinked a few times too quickly. Geralt softened his voice, hoping to ease his nerves.

“Jaskier. I just wanted to catch you to say thank you.”

Jaskier flinched, just slightly. He tilted his head and looked at Geralt as though he was the picture of innocence, furrowing his brow slightly to sell the confused image.

"For what?"

"Jaskier," Geralt chastised. He was in no mood. He had been around far too many people this night. Jaskier thought so too judging by the fact that he had left the main party room for this quieter one. Still, Geralt knew that wasn’t the only reason. "Thank you for Roach."

Jaskier's mouth opened a bit and then closed again. He seemed to be eyeing how Geralt was blocking the only exit out of the room. "How do you know?"

"Was I not supposed to find out?"

"Well, it was— anonymous. I thought." Jaskier's confused expression tightened as though he was trying to remember the legal jargon he had gone through when setting up Roach's purchase and fund.

"I--" Geralt felt his face go a bit red with embarrassment at that. "I wanted to make sure she really was mine. No strings or anything. I had a lawyer friend look into it just to double check."

"Right.” Jaskier shook his head, a few locks of hair coming loose from their coiffed position. “Yes, of course."

Geralt hated that Jaskier was agreeing with him. As if it was perfectly all right for Geralt to be suspicious of a gift and also of Jaskier himself. What a pair they were.

"Look," Jaskier held up his hands in front of him, "I know you don’t like me and I didn’t to it so you’d be— beholden to me or forced to pretend to like me or whatever. You weren’t supposed to find out. But that awful man from production was going to buy her and I couldn’t let that happen and I had heard that you were had turned down the opportunity which just seemed wrong. I mean, she’s clearly your horse and—"

"Thank you." Geralt said firmly. “Just...thank you."

"Oh. You’re welcome." Jaskier swallowed and chanced a look out the window again. Geralt watched him, very aware that he had done what he came to do. Still he couldn’t make himself leave.

"Are you planning on hiding here all right?"

Jaskier shrugged. "I haven’t decided yet.”

Geralt wasn't sure what to do with that one.

"Would you like to come visit Roach?" He tried next.

Jaskier still looked uncomfortable.

“Right now?”

Geralt remembered the early training calls, how quiet Jaskier was when other people began to come around the barn, the rumors he heard even his first week on set. How he had let them affect the way he handled being around Jaskier more than anyone else. Fuck.

"Where do you live?" Geralt asked suddenly, not realizing the strangeness of the question.

"What?" Jaskier seemed taken aback which was more than fair.

"I only meant— Here in London or LA or New Yo--"

"Here. England, I mean. I’ve got a little place a little ways outside of London."

That could be anywhere, Geralt didn’t say. Jaskier still looked uncomfortable. His shoulders were hunched and he was holding himself tightly with his arms straight down at his side so his hands could be shoved into his pockets.

It had been weeks since they had seen each other last and Geralt just. He had so many things to say now but couldn't make the right words come out of his mouth.

He thought about Jaskier every time he rode Roach around the farm. He wished that it was just the two of them at 6am on the training set again. Jaskier on Pegasus and Geralt on Roach, going through the obstacle courses.

He wanted a second chance to ignore rumors and laugh at Jaskier's jokes and flirt back at him. Geralt had that open Jaskier still in his mind, who was so pleased to see both Geralt and the horses even though it was barely past dawn and he had had a late shoot the previous night.

"Did you really buy Pegasus too?" Geralt asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Jaskier blushed. "I did. He's with me. Well, a stable near me. I know I'm not the greatest at care as you saw it but I visit him and ride as often as I can." His smile was soft just thinking about the horse and Geralt again ached, thinking about the morning dew, riding with Jaskier around the ring. The soft voice that he used for the horses regardless of who could hear him.

"You’re welcome to come see Roach anytime. Especially if you want to bring Pegasus. My father’s ranch is remote and private. Sometimes we get writers or other people stay for retreats in some of the smaller cabins."

Jaskier still looked uncomfortable. Upset, even. He had taken his hands out of his pockets and he was leaning backwards, clutching the window frame. Geralt wondered how much acting he did on a daily basis.

He really hadn’t meant for Geralt to find out about Roach.

"He's really fine. I promise," Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt swallowed his nausea at just how still Jaskier was holding himself. At how Jaskier thought Geralt only inquired after Pegasus because he assumed Jaskier couldn’t take proper care of him.

And that was Geralt’s fault. For listening to rumors. For being colder to Jaskier as the shoot weeks had gone on. The man had sometimes beaten Geralt to the stables in the morning and in return, Geralt had barely spoken to him.

"I have no doubt that he is enjoying your care. As well as you sneaking him too many treats," Geralt joked, trying to lighten the mood. He hadn't mean to imply that Jaskier wasn't taking proper care of Pegasus. That hadn't been it at all. He was just. He wanted to be near Jaskier. He didn’t want to leave him just yet.

He took his eyes off of Jaskier's and they fell to his long fingers. Even though he was facing Geralt, Jaskier’s fingers were clutching the window lip.

He hadn’t been looking out the window or catching his breath in an empty room.

Jaskier had been trying to get out onto the fire escape.

Of course.

Geralt sighed, he could feel a dull ache behind one of his eyeballs. Perfect. He had already caused Jaskier enough panic for one night and now a headache. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"Here is a card for my friend. She’s a fantastic lawyer and if you mention my name, she’ll take you on. She might laugh but she’ll do it. The laughing will mostly be at me,” he added. "You might not need her, of course. But she's the one who helped figure out it was you who got Roach for me."

Jaskier took the card from Geralt's outstretched hand and near cradled it in his hands. "Thanks."

"Do you want help opening the window that you were trying to escape out of?"

There was a spark in his eye that Geralt hadn't seen in months and he was willing to bet he wasn't the only one who missed it.

"Please."

Geralt used one hand to gesture for Jaskier to move out of the way and he did, with almost too much glee. There was a bounce in his step that Geralt was relieved to see. None of the tabloids or entertainment shows could see that when they talked about him.

He carefully examined the large window. The expansive sash was sturdy enough but Geralt was more than a match for its age. He reached up and unlocked the top before heaving under the lip.

It opened without issue.

“Thank you so much,” Jaskier gushed. He didn’t even wait for Geralt to move out of the way before climbing into the fire escape. He turned to look back at Geralt. “I really appreciate it.”

Geralt gestured again, this time for Jaskier to step back, further out the window.

"What are you doing?" Jaskier asked as Geralt had one foot out the window.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “I opened the window. Am I not also allowed to climb out of it?"

"I guess." Jaskier looked bewildered. “There’s still a party downstairs.”

"I think you know me well enough to know that it’s not my kind of party.” Geralt enjoyed seeing the flush on Jaskier’s face at the possibility that the two of them might know one another at all. “I'm not letting you fall down the fire escape."

"Just because my upper body strength is lacking doesn't mean I've never climbed down a fire escape before," Jaskier argued even as he made for the ladder.

God, did Geralt want to know that story. He could do nothing but follow Jaskier.

Out of the window, down the fire escape, and to the ground, where Jaskier landed safely with a soft "Oomph."

"Thank you,” he told Geralt again. Then, before he could lose his courage, he added, “It was good to see you again.” He took off down the street, collar popped up around the lower half of his face.

Geralt wanted to call after him, invite him to get a drink, spirit him away before the cameras out front could find him. He imagined them getting the tube together and riding away all while Jaskier huddled closer to him, whether for warmth or so no one recognized him. Geralt fantasized the worst case scenario, with himself stepping in as the hero for Jaskier, blocking him from the cameras.

In the end, he watched Jaskier, hunched over himself in a foreboding navy coat, make his way around the corner. And then he went home to the ranch and told Roach all about it.

----------------

“Just like that?” Priscilla asked, graciously not mentioning the fact that Jaskier had put on her favorite sweatpants or that he had heart eyes whilst talking about this mysterious horse guy.

Jaskier shrugged, swirling a wine glass with one hand. “Just like that. I’ve gotten a new agent. A new lawyer seems like a good place to start.”

“And you trust him?” Priscilla held up the card. “He couldn’t afford a horse and yet has a friend who works here?”

“She’s how he found out I bought the horse for him.”

“Your funeral.”

----------------

"Geralt von Rivia," Yennefer's voice came through his phone. Geralt winced and so did Eskel even though he was near three meters away. Yennefer only used their full names when they were in trouble. "Did you give some twink my number?"

"Can you help him?"

"Yes, I believe I can. i just wanted to check his story."

"He bought Roach for me."

"Yes, the mystery-horse buyer. I remember." Yennefer's quiet voice used to grate on Geralt. He never knew what it meant. He used to think he was a fool but as their relationship developed, he realized that Yennefer's version of caring contained a lot of frighteningly quiet determination.

"I wasn't supposed to find out, apparently."

Geralt wasn't grumpy about the situation.

He wasn't.

He just wished that everything was different. That was all.

"Well, he didn't anticipate you having me for a lawyer." Yennefer paused and Geralt heard some paper rustling in the background. "Did you know about all this? His situation, I mean.”

“I’ve heard rumors.” Geralt didn't mention that he had been reading Lambert's discarded tabloids and doing some googling of his own.

“Rumors of the situation or the rumors being spread about him on set?”

“The latter,” Geralt mumbled, embarrassed. "Both, I suppose. Lambert reads the tabloids. So does Aiden."

“No wonder he talked himself in circles about you. His friend had to stop him twice from rambling on.”

Geralt wanted to ask about that but he knew Yennefer wouldn't answer. Or couldn't, with a confidentiality clause.

“Can you fix it?”

She scoffed. “Of course I can. It’ll be a bit messy but luckily, this isn’t the only lawsuit against this guy. Tons of evidence and witnesses too. He managed to get a new agent who hasn't been doing half bad of a job. Don't worry, Geralt. I'll protect him.”

"Marx?"

"Yes. It's not the first time he's done this either." Then, softer. "I'll help him, Geralt. I promise."

"Thank you."

----------------

“Jaskier!” One of the farmer’s son sprinted up to him, coming to a stop once he reached the stables. Jaskier had just gotten himself onto Pegasus for the day. “We had a man come round asking about you yesterday. Dad wanted you to know.”

“Here?” Jaskier dismounted quickly and looked around the farm to the tree line, expecting the press to come racing at him after the teen. "Take a breath, Matthew."

Matthew and the rest of his family had been nothing but kind to Jaskier since he had started boarding Pegasus at their farm. He hated to think they were being harassed by some reporters.

“One of those newspaper people. Had a camera and everything.”

Jaskier's heart sank but Matthew shook his head.

“Posh twat!” One of the farmhands yelled from the loft. “We ran him out!”

Jaskier didn’t bothering covering his mouth as he laughed along with Matthew. “He didn’t cause any trouble?” He asked earnestly.

“We said that we’d never heard of you," Matthew said proudly.

“Thank you so much.” Jaskier heaved a sigh of relief and leaned against Pegasus. He gave the horse a kiss and nodded to Matthew again. The boy, realizing just how close he and Jaskier were standing, blushed a bit before racing off.

----------------

It had taken Geralt a long time in his life to learn never to doubt Yennefer but it was a lesson that had stuck.

In keeping up with the news about Jaskier, Geralt had learned a lot about him. To the point where, when Jaskier’s best friend, Priscilla, was interviewed on the red carpet of her latest premiere and asked about the missing man, Geralt knew exactly who she was. It also meant that Geralt could properly appreciate her viciously telling the interviewer to fuck off.

Jaskier still hadn't worked on a film in weeks but Yennefer assured him it was for the best and that Jaskier was doing fine. Laying low was a part of the plan.

The successful plan as it so happened.

Lambert slapped the newspaper down on the breakfast table. Geralt and Eskel both jumped back.

"The guy who saved Roach has been saved!" He crowed triumphantly, dodging a spoon thrown by Geralt.

"Jaskier?” Eskel asked. “The trial went off all right?”

Lambert nodded towards the paper. “It says Marx was found guilty. So Jaskier and the other people he talked about are in the clear with any luck. Have you talked to him?"

"What?" Geralt looked up from the front page. Jaskier looked good in most outfits, of course, but the official black suit for court did nothing but match him to Yennefer, who was barely in the photograph, as the newspaper had tried so hard to cut her out.

"I know it says he won the case but he looks here miserable, mate.”

"Tabloid photos aren't real indicators of a person's well-being," Geralt said stiffly. Even though Lambert was right. Geralt kept picturing the animated Jaskier that he had been privileged to see for a whole thirty seconds at the premiere party.

"You texted him though, right?"

Geralt hummed. "Yennefer's helping him out."

Eskel and Lambert responded at the same time.

"That's not an answer to his question."

"That's not an answer to my question."

Sometimes Geralt really hated his brothers.

"You gave him Yennefer's name?" Eskel urged on.

“Must have,” Lambert commented, tapping on the partial shot of Yennefer buried under headline text.

"Her card." Geralt also remembered Jaskier's uncomfortable body language at the party. Curled in on himself, not meeting anyone's eyes and when he did, he looked right past them. Sometimes when Geralt closed his eyes he saw Jaskier's white knuckles against the windowpane, desperate to make an escape. Geralt provided that. He gave that to him. And Yennefer's information. "He seemed like he just needed someone in his corner."

"And now?"

"He's Yennefer's client right now. They're not friends. Yet,” he added. “Knowing Yennefer, it will depend on if she likes him or not."

Lambert turned back towards his breakfast but Eskel still had a knowing eye on his brother.

“Looks like it’s all wrapped up. He’s not her client anymore.”

"I don't have his number." Geralt admitted, just barely audible. “I never did.”

Eskel reached over and tapped on the screen of Geralt’s phone. "I bet Yennefer does."

----------------

Geralt: Do you have Jaskier's number? Yennefer: Finally. Yennefer: I can't give it to you. Yennefer: But I can give your information to him. Geralt: Thank you. Yennefer: He's sweet but skittish. Be gentle.

----------------

Yennefer: 033 0058 0058 Jaskier: What's that? Yennefer: Geralt's number.

Jaskier sighed and touched his thumb to Yennefer's name.

"You're calling the wrong number," she told him in lieu of a greeting.

"I don't know him," Jaskier argued. "We were never supposed to see each other again."

"I expect a gift basket after the wedding then."

"Shall I expect one for you and Priscilla?" Jaskier asked coolly. Thankfully, Yennefer laughed and he managed to keep going. "He didn't want to talk to me when we had to spend near every day together. I don't think I can manage a phone conversation if it's just me." He wasn't worried about being too honest. Not with Yennefer, not after the trial.

He'd woken up plenty of times in Priscilla's flat after an emotional night to Yennefer at the door with breakfast for all three of them.

Yennefer hummed and in a way, she sounded almost like Geralt. "You're right. Can I make another suggestion?"

----------------

Yennefer: Are you home today? Geralt: Yes Yennefer: All day? Geralt: Yes Yennefer: Good. Stay there. Yennefer: Or outside. By the driveway. Geralt: Why? Yennefer: Trust me, Geralt. It's a lovely day. Yennefer: Just enjoy yourself.

----------------

Geralt stuffed his phone back in his pocket and asked Roach, “What do you think?”

Roach just looked at him which was fair but Geralt’s heart started to race with the anticipation.

He couldn’t be sure of what was coming but he hoped. He left the stables and headed for the house. Sitting on the porch did nothing for Geralt’s nerves so instead he found himself standing in front of it.

Barely twenty minutes had gone by but still Geralt found himself picking the paint off of the porch railing.

An unfamiliar engine caught Geralt’s ear and he turned towards the front drive.

Then, there he was.

Jaskier.

In a shoddy little truck with faded red paint that was nearing pink. It looked as though perhaps Vesemir was only one old enough to have purchased it as new. He was towing a trailer behind him and Geralt would be willing to bet that he knew who was in there.

He also clearly didn’t know where to park. No doubt Yennefer had given him an address only. Geralt didn’t bother to hold back his enthusiasm, waving Jaskier towards the neat line of vehicles by the stables.

Geralt wondered if it would be too much to open the door for him but he remembered Yennefer’s words.

He's sweet but skittish. Be gentle.

Geralt could do gentle. He’d soothed plenty a horse in his time. So he hung back, just giving Jaskier what he hoped was an encouraging smile as he opened the car door himself.

"Um. Hello," Jaskier said shyly, a little nod of his head. With his priorities in place, he was already headed around to the trailer door. Geralt knew he was going to let Pegasus out but he couldn't help but feel as though Jaskier was trying to avoid contact with him at the same time.

He remembered how Jaskier needed to do something with his hands even on a good day, whether that was the infuriating clicking of the pen he used to make notes on his script or the constant twisting of Pegasus' leather reins around his fingers.

Geralt liked to think that this would be a good day but he knew how much courage it took for Jaskier to drive here with his horse.

Jaskier gave Pegasus a happy smile and guided him out of the trailer. It wasn't until the horse was solidly on the grass that Jaskier met Geralt's eyes again. Geralt could see that it wasn't just shyness. It was nerves.

Jaskier was biting at his lip and playing with the leather of the reins just like he had those mornings on set. "I wasn’t sure if the offer to visit was still there. Yennefer said—

"Yennefer was right," Geralt said quickly, beating Jaskier to the trailer door. He latched it shut, staring unblinkingly at Jaskier.

"Did Yennefer tell you to say that?"

“In my experience, it’s usually true,” Geralt joked. He took a step forward. "I'm...glad you're here."

"Oh. Oh, good," Jaskier sounded so relieved that Geralt wanted to convince him to stay forever. To gain confidence as Geralt did around his brothers, to be fed delicious meals by his father, and most importantly, to find peace with Geralt.

"I'm not...I'm not great over the phone anyway,” Geralt offered.

"I thought that might be the case,” Jaskier admitted honestly. “I wasn’t sure if I could stand to carry a whole conversation. Yennefer thought it would be easier for us just to..."

"Be together in person?"

"Well, I was going to say be with the horses. So we both have something to focus on if we need it." Jaskier lovingly stroked Pegasus and the horse nuzzled at him. Geralt had seen the same scene dozens of times over but that had been on set. Seeing it again here, on his family’s ranch was almost too good to be true.

"That works too." Geralt paused a moment and then urged Jaskier to follow him. “Come out to the barn. She’ll be excited to see you.”

Jaskier walked Pegasus through the stables. He let out the sweetest sigh upon seeing Roach again and Geralt never wanted Jaskier to leave the ranch again.

"Oh, hello, darling," Jaskier said quietly. Geralt took Pegasus' reins and Jaskier used his free hands to rub at Roach's nose. She leaned into the petting and Geralt wished he could take a photograph.

“I was a twat,” Geralt told him while Jaskier was distracted by a beautiful horse. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier looked down and shrugged. “I’m sure you see all sorts on film sets. I can’t even imagine.”

“I bet you can.” Geralt stroked Pegasus. He unlatched Roach’s stall and gestured for Jaskier to lead her out. “You weren’t any trouble, you know.”

“I don’t know if you remember but you…you yelled at Marx one day. He was crowding me in the stable and Roach picked up on my mood and became irritated with him. You told him off.” Jaskier told all this to Roach and Geralt did him the courtesy of not commenting on it.

Geralt didn’t remember though. He had chased away dozens of actors from horses over the years. It didn’t surprise him that Marx had been one of them.

“I’m glad she was there to protect you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”

“I won’t say that it’s all right,” Jaskier said, with more strength than he looked. He swallowed and finally turned to Geralt. “It’s been…a long few weeks. Months, really. But we’re here now and—“

Roach nudged him again and he let out a little laugh. Some of the tension leaving him.

Roach nuzzled closer and Jaskier could tell she was eager to get out of her stall. “Yes, darling. I brought your old friend to come see you. I thought perhaps--" He looked at Geralt. "I thought perhaps we could go for a ride together? If you'd like."

"I'd love that," Geralt croaked, wondering how Jaskier could still be so brave after all this. That he was here and talking and asking Geralt to spend time with him. "Let me tack him up for you?" He asked, hand on Pegasus' flank.

Jaskier's brow furrowed. "I can do it."

"I know that you can. I want to do to it,” Geralt stressed. "Please," he added.

"Let's swap," Jaskier said, still lovingly petting Roach. "I haven't seen this girl in a while. It'll be nice."

"All right," Geralt agreed. He could see what Jaskier was doing.

It wasn't about a penance. Jaskier wanted them on some kind of equal footing. That was fair, Geralt supposed. Even though as of that specific moment, Geralt wanted to give Jaskier the world.

"Are you all right now?" Geralt asked, hesitating in a way that he hoped made an answer not necessary if Jaskier didn’t want to respond.

"Well, I don't know about 'all right,'" Jaskier huffed. His eyes were looking straight ahead. "Yennefer certainly settled some things. I'm not sure I'll be acting anytime soon. Or um, answering my phone calls. I've actually changed my number again. Remind me to give it to you."

"I'd like that." Geralt didn't mention that he never had Jaskier's number in the first place.

"It's not the press," he assured Geralt. "Just a lot of people trying to apologize or offering to support me. I'm talking to the same few who always believed me before everything, you know? Mostly just Priscilla and Yennefer right now."

Geralt didn't know. He was one of the people who...well, he's not sure that he believed the rumors. He wasn't someone to go around sets making friends regardless. But he had certainly heard the gossip, listened to it even.

He liked to think he made up for some of that but in actuality, Geralt knew it didn't matter. He'll always wish he had behaved differently when he first met Jaskier. He could have maybe had Jaskier in his life for so much longer. Could have supported him better during this shit time instead of just handing over Yennefer's card and begging her to take the case.

Geralt's mind was full of questions that he wasn't sure if he was allowed to ask. He wasn't even sure he wanted the answers either. What was Jaskier going to do now? Geralt knew that one was selfish because he so wanted the answer to include him.

They worked in silence to get the horses ready but it wasn’t a silence that Geralt minded. Especially not when it was broken every moments by Jaskier giggling whenever Roach tried to interrupt his actions. He watched Jaskier get up onto Pegasus before following on Roach.

“You could always keep Pegasus—“

"I was thinking maybe I could board Pegasus here? If you've got the room—"

"Yes!" Geralt said immediately, cutting off what he had started saying as well as Jaskier's nervous rant. He didn't want Jaskier to be unsure of himself ever again. Not where Geralt was concerned. "You could come by whenever you'd like. Hopefully...often," he let himself say, voice growing stronger as the sentence went on.

"Yeah?" Jaskier asked. Geralt couldn't look away from how his teeth trapped his bottom lip between them. He was grateful that they were both on horses, otherwise Geralt wasn't sure he could have stopped himself from taking his thumb and slipping the abused lip to safety.  "I don't live too far away. I hadn’t realized.”

Geralt swallowed. He met Jaskier’s big blue eyes and knew his own were rounded in vulnerability. “Please."

Jaskier finally, finally, smiled at him in such a way that Geralt felt his chest loosen. Jaskier nodded and Geralt felt his heart beating in his chest again. He grinned back at Jaskier and felt something swirl around them.

“Stay for dinner? My brothers would love to meet you. My father too.” Geralt was horrified at himself. He hadn’t rambled on like this in years. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to stop himself, not when Jaskier was giggling and trying to hide it with a hand over his mouth. “My brother Eskel’s horse is the one I’m planning to pair Roach with but I’m making him grovel for it if you’d like to help.”

“That sounds nice,” Jaskier laughed openly at him. Geralt didn’t mind one bit. “I’d love to stay, thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt couldn’t help but sneak peeks at Jaskier as they mounted. It seemed Jaskier didn’t mind, snorting each time he caught his former horse master. And then he did the same, with Geralt trying not to preen too much in response.

Jaskier told him about Priscilla and Yennefer meeting and how he couldn’t go to dinner with the two of them alone again, Geralt, please.

Geralt explained how the farm worked and how much he disliked being on set away from his brothers, even when the money was good. How mercilessly they had teased him about Jaskier when he had returned.

They rode through the ranch, to Eskel’s farm, and Geralt found that both of them were becoming freer with their laughs by each trot.

The two of them had a strange beginning and a tumultuous middle but perhaps, if Geralt and Jaskier worked for it, they could have a lovely end.

----------------

ao3 link here

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher fic

[babylooneytoonz]

Defender - Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Summary: The first time Geralt sees you, you are defending someone else's honor. He likes it secretly but doesn't say anything. The second time he sees you, you are defending his honor, and he can't help but finally decide to talk to you.

Warnings: Just some fluff I wanted to try my hand at, and a lot of language warnings [Explicit language]

[ My Masterlist ]

It wasn't unusual at this point of the hour for the pitchers of ale to keep overflowing as villagers prefered more ale than bread— your own bread lay untouched on the table in front of you, but the pitcher of ale was empty, not a drop of ale left for you to swallow.

"More ale?" The bard joked, as he sat down in front of you, teasing you with his own pitcher of ale that was brimming full. You took a glance at it, licking your lips in excitement, before you ghosted a look at him and squinted your eyes, glancing at him.

"I prefer getting my own, bard." You gave him a smile, far from tight-lipped, but distant enough for him to understand that you were not looking for something more than friendship. He smiled, batting his lashes as he eyed you through his blue eyes and moved to the other end of the tavern where his white haired friend who didn't like being addressed as his friend sat, and he was immediately greeted by his trademark grunt.

"I saw it, Jaskier." Jaskier couldn't believe his eyes, the Witcher was indeed smirking at him, without even trying to mask it with a veil of impassivity.

"Saw what?" Jaskier asked, now curious, as he leaned forward, letting his elbow rest against the table and brought the pitcher up to his lips.

"The great bard gets rejected." Geralt said in a low voice, his words ending with an amused scoff from his end and Jaskier opened his mouth, his jaw almost dropping.

"That wasn't— that wasn't rejection. I didn't even attempt anything with her yet." The bard protested, and Geralt nodded, amused as he brought up his drink to his lips and downed the contents of it in one go.

"Right, Jaskier. Shall we move on?" Geralt didn't even try to hide the amusement that he was feeling, feeling even more amused at the way the bard was handling the rejection, or whatever it was. But the fun was over for the night, and the two had to make a move as they had to get to the next city by before dawn.

The two of them tumbled out of the tavern, more like the bard did, swaying to his right and left as he sang a song that was now beginning to bring Geralt back into the sour mood he always was in, but he chose not to comment on it. This was more so because his eyes were fixed on a timid boy, not more than fifteen perhaps, as a man thrice his age stood towering over him, writhing in rage as he screamed at him, chastising him.

"Is that the kind of hay you decide to feed my steed? I paid you a satchel full of coin for this? Give it back, I say." Geralt was sure that the man was drunk, and this was one of the things he absolutely detested amongst the humans, the things they did under the spell of their drunkenness.

"But, this — this is the best hay we've got. What more can I possibly —" The boy tried to rationalize with him but Geralt could see it that the man was far from understanding. He thought of intervening, but then, he didn't want to start another fight. And then, there was the fact that they had to be in the next village by dawn or else someone else will put their hands on his bounty.

"You think you are going to get away with this, lad? I'm going to make sure you get thrown out. You don't deserve a single shilling—"

Geralt's eyes shone with a sudden anger, his nose twitching as he took a step towards the man the minute he grabbed the boy from his collar and yanked him away. However, before he could teach him a lesson, someone else had beat him to it.

"What do you think you are doing?" You stepped in at the exact same time, grabbing the man's beefy paw that held on to the scared boy's collar, your nails digging into his flesh that forced him to draw his palm away.

"This is none of your business, whore. Why don't you go back in and look for men who are actually interested in you?"

The look that you gave him was like death, your eyes narrowed dangerously as you began literally barking out at him.

"If you really cared about that steed, you would have stayed to ensure what he was being fed, but why would you? You were more interested in fillin' up that humongous belly with more ale. Trust me, that tunic looks like it won't be able to contain that belly much longer."

Geralt couldn't help but give you a side smirk as he moved on to pull Roach out of the stables, his back now turned towards the conversation that was playing out behind him. The boy had managed to escape and he rushed towards Geralt to assist him with bringing the mare out but Geralt stopped him, handing him another ten coins from his pouch.

"It's okay, boy. Go on home and have a nice supper tonight. You've earned it." The boy smiled wide, quickly pocketing the extra ten that he had earned, his excitement evident from the flicker in his eyes. He was about to run off when Geralt grabbed his arm lightly that forced him to turn back and look up at the white haired man. "Who's that, boy?" He asked, pointing towards you.

"That's [Y/N], the blacksmith's daughter. Her father's one of the best around here in Temeria."

"Hm," He watched as the boy scampered off, and he began walking away towards where Jaskier was already waiting for him, by the road, holding Roach's reins in his hands, when your voice reached his ears again, forcing his attention towards it.

"There you go. That's what you paid the poor boy, didn't you? Five coins? There's six in there. I added one extra. Now fuck off, and don't show your face around here, or the next time, I'm going to ask father to have your head with the next sword he makes."

Geralt turned around, watching as the grumbling man left, but you kept standing your ground, watching him until he was out of sight. You turned slightly, and your eyes met the Witcher's, as he was walking away, before you walked off again, paying no heed to him whatsoever.

"What took you so long?" Jaskier chirped, his lute held protectively at his chest like a cradled baby.

"Roach got a little too comfortable." Geralt replied, stroking the mare's side as the two started walking down the road that led to the outskirts of the village and Roach whinnied in protest, bumping her head against Geralt's side as if in her own language trying to tell Jaskier how blatantly the Witcher had lied and put the blame on her— a poor animal that couldn't speak.

"Are we going through Temeria again?" Jaskier asked as the two of them entered the familiar city of Brugge again, just after a span of ten days. Both the men were covered in gore, but Geralt didn't seem to care. And Jaskier, he was too enraptured in watching the Witcher strike the Harpy right through her heart to even protest.

"Yes, Jaskier. I would really like a bath, I don't know about you." Geralt grumbled, in his low, brooding voice and the bard chuckled.

"What are you insinuating? You could have just asked if you wanted me to rub soap on your lovely bottom."

"Jaskier—" Geralt's dry warning was enough for the bard to shut up, only for a few seconds before he started blabbering on another topic instead. But lucky for Geralt, he had learnt by now the art of tuning out the bard when he really didn't want a headache.

The two of them entered the tavern, but Geralt frowned when they were not greeted by the ignorance that they had been greeted with here the last time he had stepped into this city. He frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he began to walk up to the owner of the tavern when three villagers stumbled towards him, blocking his way.

"What the fuck is your kind doing here again, eh? And fuck, you smell like shit."

The men sized up to the Witcher, glaring him in the eye. Maybe they were the dumbest people you had ever seen, from the corner where where you were sitting at, watching the scene unfurl, or maybe they were just too drunk to realise that the Witcher could snap their heads like a twig of a branch. And no one would even shed a tear for them. And rather, would be celebrating at the riddance the Witcher would have given them.

"Oh we don't mean any harm, we are just looking for rooms." Jaskier had only begin speaking, when one of the men cut him off.

"Brugge has no rooms to offer this mutant son of a bitch."

Geralt growled, his eyes sparkling underneath the lighting of the tavern, and eyed the other villagers looking at them, waiting for the Butcher of Blaviken to strike.

"Let's go Jaskier."

"But Ger—"

"I said let's go." The Witcher turned around, leaving behind him a patch of Harpy blood where he just stood seconds back, but someone grabbed his wrist.

"Jaskier, can you—"

Geralt snapped, ready to jerk his arm away and he angrily turned towards the bard only to realize that he was too far from him to have held his hand. His eyes fell to his wrist, noting the feminine hand that held him, fearlessly. He looked up to realize that it was you, [Y/N], the big mouthed, yet intriguing Ironsmith's daughter.

"Who decides that? The two of you? When you can't even see that you've so clearly pissed your pants?" Your bold words caused a sudden ripple of laughter to emerge through the crowd and the spectators who were just sitting a few minutes back watching the drama unfurl. This was the ficklemindedness of the human race, and wherever Geralt went, this ficklemindedness followed him. It was when a chuckle erupted from beside him from Jaskier that he realized that he had zoned out. The two men in their drunken state had indeed pissed their pants when they had been speaking to Geralt. Their faces turned a bright crimson, partly with rage, and partly with embarassment as they darted out of the tavern.

You let go off Geralt's wrist, slowly turning to him with a faint smile playing against your lips and nodded before you turned towards the owner, "Two rooms, Thiagu, on me. Can you get someone to draw their baths?"

"You don't have to be everyone's savior." Geralt finally spoke, breaking the silence between the two. You lowered your head, just to regard him better before your lips contorted into a jolly smile and you shook your head, "So you've heard about my tales. You can ask your friend to write a song on me." The two of you gave the bard a look who was already being escorted by the owener towards one of the rooms, as Geralt grunted.

"Your blood must be thicker than the rest, men seem to piss in their pants at the sight of you." He commented, and you couldn't help but snort this time.

"Nah, Witcher, that must be you. The saviour of the human race, the slayer of monsters and the man that makes another man piss their pants."

Before Geralt could come up with a reply, the owner of the tavern called out, informing the two that the room was ready and a bath for Geralt had been drawn.

"Well, Witcher. That's your cue. And mine as well. I've got to resume my nightly watch, you never know who might need me to save their honor."

You smiled, noticing how Geralt's eyes flew from your eyes to your lips, just for a split second before they fixed on your orbs once again. The Witcher smiled, and he swore to the Gods, if Jaskier had been around, he would have written a song on it, how a woman was able to make the brooding Witcher smile.

"If you need a new sword, or a new dagger, you know where to find the blacksmith, that's where you will find me." You smiled, unbeknownst to you that Geralt already knew who you were.

He was going to get a new dagger maybe, not because he needed one, but because Jaskier could use one, and then there was the fact that he was already looking forward to seeing you again.

"I'll take your leave now, Geralt. You really do need that bath." You winked, bowing in a dramatic way as you began taking slow backward strides towards the exit of the tavern and he kept looking at you, his mouth curved into a side smirk.

Before the next second, you were out of sight, and Geralt walked up the flight of stairs, following the owner of the tavern, and all he thought of was that he needed to convince Jaskier on how he needed to keep a dagger on him, for safety and protection.

A/N - Ugh, well. I was gone for a while, but I thought I would write something and it's been ages. This is my first Geralt of Rivia work, and I would really love some feedback so I can aim to write more for this fandom in the future. 💗

#geralt of rivia #Geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #the witcher x reader #geralt of rivia x reader