#cause jask WANTS to treat geralt alright!!

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Locked Out

winter prompts day 10 ❄️ lost in a storm

 If Jaskier was a stupider man, he'd be confused about the sheer amount of times he and Geralt seem to be getting stuck places together. But he and Geralt had been the first to arrive and these things only started happening after both Eskel and Lambert had reached the keep. Jaskier can put two and two together and come to the conclusion that none of this is an accident.

Unfortunately for him, Jaskier also knows why it's happening. Witchers can smell all sorts of stupid, inconvenient shit, one of the more prominent (and most inconvenient) of those being the changes in human emotion. Meaning that if Jaskier wants to keep his feelings to himself, he has to try very hard to do so. And he discovered almost as soon as the other Witchers showed up that he is terrible at it. The only conclusion he can come to is that between the four of them, they've come to the (albeit correct) conclusion, that Jaskier is hopelessly in love with Geralt, and set themselves to the task of getting together.

What they don't know, is that Geralt barely tolerates Jaskier at the best of times and getting them together is a lost cause. He wants to confront them about it, but he rather likes the time he gets to spend alone with Geralt, whether they're cooking or cleaning or chopping wood. Geralt is different up at the keep than he is on the Path and Jaskier likes this friendlier, more open side of him. So, as long as no one is getting hurt (himself notwithstanding) he decides there's nothing wrong with their little game. They think they're solving a problem and Jaskier gets to spend some time with his friend in a place that's comfortable for him.

Then, one day, they're all gathered in the main hall. Vesemir has long grown tired of Geralt and Lambert's bickering and has retired to his room or the library or wherever it is he goes when he's had enough. Jaskier is once again left alone with the younger wolves and Aiden and he's enjoying the conversation, but he finds himself tuning out more and more often tonight, wondering what it was like to grow up in a place like this.

He knows it was very different then, that there were many more Witchers who called Kaer Morhen home, but he doesn't dare ask more than that. He's gleaned enough from the little bits and pieces from Geralt to know that his childhood was not a happy one and if he's happier here now, Jaskier doesn't want to stir up bad memories.

Jaskier doesn't realize he's staring at Geralt until Lambert nudges him. He shales his head and turns around to a very smug look.

"Aiden's gonna grab drinks," Lambert says, "why don't you and Geralt go get more firewood while we settle up in here." Jaskier nods obediently, casting a quick look in Geralt's direction to see if he suspects anything. Geralt just sighs as he rises to his feet. Jaskier follows suit and traipses after Geralt toward the large doors.

They've only been outside a couple of seconds when Jaskier hears the doors click shut behind them and the sound of the lock being slid across. He spins on his heel immediately and Geralt takes a few steps back, pressing on the door, to no avail.

"You can come back in when you figure your shit out!" Lambert calls through the door. Jaskier can hear them mumbling afterward, but it's too quiet to hear properly. Geralt sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Idiots," he mumbles and turns back to Jaskier. He seems surprisingly calm, but Jaskier feels immediately guilty. This is his fault. He shouldn't have let the game go on for so long and now they're stuck out in the cold until, well, until Lambert and his cohorts decide that they've figured their shit out - something Jaskier knows won't happen.

Fuck. He should have talked to Eskel when he had the chance. He knows Eskel would have listened, that he wouldn't want to force Geralt into something he's uncomfortable with. He might have even talked to Lambert and Aiden about it, gotten them to call it off as well, but Jaskier had been greedy. He had wanted too badly to spend time with Geralt that he hadn't considered things might get out of hand, and now they have.

All at once, he realizes the only way to solve this is to own up to his own feelings. Maybe it will make Geralt uncomfortable for a little while and maybe he won't want to travel with him any longer, but it's his fault for not saying something earlier. Now, it's the only thing he can do to fix this.

He turns to try to explain to Geralt, but when he does, Geralt is smirking back at him.

"Bastards," he mumbles, "what do you say we beat them at their own game?"

Jaskier, stunned, just looks at him.

"I-" if that's what Geralt wants, how could Jaskier turn him down considering this is his fault. "Alright, what do you have in mind?"

"Find somewhere to hide out until they come looking for us," Geralt smirks. Jaskier finds himself at a loss. Ever since coming to Kaer Morhen, he's been continuously surprised about how much fun Geralt really could be when he was comfortable enough to let go. He finds himself agreeing without even thinking through what a terrible idea this could actually be.

"Come on," Geralt says, "we'll head up to the old watchtower and watch them from there."

It's a great idea in theory. In practice, Jaskier will be oblivious to whatever Geralt is watching and he's already wondering why he agreed to this. They barely make it down the hill before it starts to snow and Jaskier sighs to himself. He doesn't quite understand why he's feeling so bad about all of this because Geralt seems to be having a perfectly fine time with it and regularly Jaskier would be thrilled to (team up) with him, but tonight, he's still feeling a little guilty about everything.

A part of him is even hoping Geralt will turn around when the snow starts, but he doesn't and it only starts to snow more heavily. Jaskier does his best to keep up but finds he's falling behind and eventually gives up when he loses sight of Geralt altogether.

"Geralt!" he shouts and for a moment there's no response. Great, he was stupid enough to keep playing along with this and now he's going to die for it, lost and frozen in the middle of fucking nowhere.

He drops to his knees in the snow and is almost immediately hauled back up to his feet. Geralt's arm wraps around his shoulders and suddenly Jaskier is being walked forward through the snow. He has no idea if they're going in the same direction or if they've turned around, but he trusts Geralt to keep him safe.

He doesn't know how long they walk before coming upon a partial structure, half-buried in the snow. Jaskier is pushed inside and Geralt follows shortly, brushing the snow off of himself and then Jaskier. Before he can stop to consider his options, Jaskier is being tugged down into Geralt's lap and bundled up in his arms. He squirms but Geralt holds him close.

"Just... let me warm you up. You're nearly frozen." Jaskier wants to point out that it's Geralt's fault he's nearly frozen, but he's feeling more miserable than bitter.

Reluctantly, he lets Geralt hold him and hopes that he's considered warmed up sooner rather than later. He relaxes into it after a moment, but he's hyperaware of every place they touch. Geralt's hands are warm and comforting, but when they slip under the hem of his shirt, Jaskier pulls away.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "I can't let you do this."

"Do... what?" Geralt asks. The expression on his face is a combination of hurt and confusion and Jaskier hates it, but he knows this is for the best.

"Treat me like this," he mumbles. "It's my fault we're in this place."

"Jaskier, I wasn't going to force you through the snow-"

"I don't mean here in this little shack, Geralt. I mean locked outside the keep in the first place." At this point, Geralt looks at him like he's speaking a whole other language and Jaskier sighs. His shoulders slump and he braces himself, but he supposes it was bound to come out at some point. It's been twenty years, after all.

"You know what they're doing, right?" Jaskier asks and Geralt shrugs.

"Being idiots."

"No." Jaskier pauses, but he can't bring himself to look up at Geralt. He's imagined telling Geralt how he feels time and time again, but he never expected it to be an apology. "Geralt they're trying to get us alone together on purpose. Because of my- because of the way I feel about you. Witchers can smell feelings or whatever, right? And I'm not as good at hiding it as I thought I was, so they've obviously figured it out. And I know they're just trying to help, but they don't realize that you don't-" he chokes on the words He's thought they dozens of times, but knowing Geralt doesn't feel the same and saying it out loud are two different things.

"Jask?" Geralt says softly and when Jaskier looks up, he's moved closer and he's smiling softly at him. "Is that why you think they're doing this?" Jaskier nods and Geralt sighs and shuts his eyes. "Jaskier, come here."

"Are you sure?"

"Jaskier."

"Okay, okay." He shuffles closer again, letting Geralt's arms wind around him. He tries not to press into him, but the hut is cold and Geralt is so warm and he smells wonderful, like leather and smoke and home and Jaskier is so worried about being so close that he doesn't realize Geralt is talking until he rests his chin on Jaskier's head.

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Uh. Yes?" Geralt sighs and does something that Jaskier can only assume is nosing at his hair.

"I didn't know about your... feelings. I thought they were just fucking with me." His arms close in a little tighter and Jaskier is too confused to fight against it. Geralt chuckles softly and Jaskier is fairly certain he's actually imagining things when he feels soft lips press against his head. "If I'd known you were amenable, I would have kissed you a long time ago and gotten them off our backs."

At that, Jaskier is certain something is wrong. Geralt doesn't just say things like that. He pulls out of his arms, turning to face him.

"Are you sick?" he asks and Geralt tips forward, swiftly closing the space between them and catching Jaskier's lips in a soft kiss.

Jaskier's mind goes entirely blank and he forgets what he's supposed to do with someone's mouth against his own. Then, Geralt's thumb comes up to brush against his cheek and when Geralt deepens the kiss, Jaskier moans softly and his reflexes take over, leaning into the kiss and wrapping his arms around Geralt's shoulders.

Without hesitation, Geralt winds his arms around his waist, hauling Jaskier up into his lap and leaning back against the wall. The kiss seems to last an eternity and no time at all and when Jaskier pulls away it's only because he's abruptly aware that he still needs to breathe.

"Oh," he breathes and Geralt smiles at him, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair back behind Jaskier's ear.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time."

"Me too. I suppose this means we'll have to thank the other?"

Geralt chuckles as he curls a hand around the back of Jaskier's neck and draws him close for another kiss. "Not a chance."

#geraskier #lost in a storm #rex writes #winter prompt challenge 2k20

[jaskierswolf]

The Christmas Elf (Pt.4/5)

Peace.

Fucking peace.

Geralt charged along the path towards the mayor’s house where Jaskier and Yennefer were hopefully still both alive. He didn’t want anymore lives on his conscience today.

They’d been travelling together for sixteen years at this point, married for eight, and he knew Jaskier had a tendency to chatter, especially when he nervous about something. They’d been toying with the idea of Geralt going with Jaskier back to his home this winter. Jaskier had visited Kaer Morhen a couple of times over the years when he’d been able to convince Santa that he wasn’t needed for Christmas that year, returning in the spring to pass along the Christmas Spirit he’d managed to capture in the smaller snow globe, but Geralt had never seen the North Pole Realm. Jaskier was worried about bringing an outsider into his realm. Not because he didn’t trust Geralt but because he didn’t trust the other Christmas elves to treat Geralt kindly.

Jaskier’s isolation from his own kind had only gotten worse after they’d had a hand-fasting ceremony eight years ago. It had been Geralt’s idea. He’d needed something to hold onto during the months they were separated each year and he knew that Jaskier was the romantic sort.

Vesemir had performed the ceremony and his brothers had been there as witness. Jaskier had ridden home on Pegasus to ask a few of his closer friends from the North Pole to attend but he’d come back alone and devastated, the light in his eyes almost nonexistent.

He’d vowed right there and then to make sure that Jaskier knew that he always had a family in the witchers of Kaer Morhen.

Their marriage had also saved them a whole lot of trouble when it came to jilted lovers. Over his first few years on the Continent, Jaskier had built up quite a reputation as a lover of all and disgruntled spouses often lashed out at him when they had the chance. Now, no one came near Jaskier, not with his witcher husband standing guard. He smiled fondly as he remembered the swine from Pavetta’s betrothal feast. He hadn’t noticed Geralt watching Jaskier from across the room and had almost shit himself when Geralt introduced himself as Jaskier’s husband.

Of course it was that shit show that was still haunting Geralt to this day. It was nightmares  of his child surprise fleeing from a burning city that had kept him awake each night. It was that fated evening that had caused his irritation the day before. So yes Jaskier had been particularly chattery, too anxious to read Geralt’s short fuse but he was the one that had lashed out at Jaskier. Sure he was exhausted but it was Jaskier.

He should never have said that, not to him, not to someone he loved.

Now if only he could get that fucking scent out of his head. He’d known as soon as it had hit him that there had been some kind of enchantment. His medallion had hummed on his chest but he’d noticed too late. The damn witch had been inside his head, manipulating his thoughts, pulling at his free will. It had been a blessing that he’d blacked out. He didn’t want to remember the pain he’d caused throughout the town, further damaging the reputation of witchers and undoing all of Jaskier’s work.

“Oh, Geralt. Thank the angel Gabriel. I might live to see another day.” Jaskier came running from the house. His shirt was covered in his blood and Geralt winced. It had all been his fault. Instead of pulling Geralt into a hug, like he would usually do, Jaskier charged straight past him.  “We need to go.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt grabbed his elf’s hand and pulled him to a stop. He needed to see for himself that there was no permeant damage done. He cupped Jaskier’s cheek and smudged the blood from his lips. “You’re ok?”

“I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.” Jaskier snapped.

Fuck.

He was still mad at Geralt. They didn’t argue this badly very often. Neither of them enjoyed the distance it put between them, and they always tried to make up before winter came and they parted ways.

Geralt hummed. “What happened?”

“Well, I was having a rather lovely dream which then turned into a nightmare. There were naked women in both parts. The first one was loving, tender, very generous.” Jaskier explained with a flick of his wrist. He no longer wore bells around his wrists during the summer but he’d never quite lost the habit. His words stung. Geralt snarled. Now his husband was just being petty. “The second, significantly more terrifying.”

“Tell me about the second one.” Geralt grumbled.

“Well, black hair, devilish eyes, was painting an amphora on her abdomen. You know, the usual.” Jaskier answered, ever the dramatist.

Yennefer.

Fuck.

He had to save her, he owed her for Jaskier’s life. She wasn’t allowed to die.

Jaskier protested at Geralt’s response but Geralt insisted.

Finally with a dramatic sigh, Jaskier grabbed onto Geralt’s hand and they were wrapped up in a flurry of snow.

Frost hopping, Jaskier called it.

Geralt called it what it was, a short ranged portal, and he fucking hated portals.

Yennefer was tearing herself apart trying to capture the djinn, and neither Geralt or Jaskier’s magic would touch her, not like this.

He had to wish.

So he wished.

And the house went still.

For a moment.

The calm before the storm.

Then havoc as it all began to crumble on top of them.

“Geralt!” Jaskier screamed and everything stopped.

No.

Not stopped.

Yennefer looked between the pair of them in shock.

Jaskier’s hair was now white with frost and his hands were like ice in Geralt’s. Geralt had to let go before the cold burnt his skin.

“What the fuck?” Yennefer asked. “I thought he a bard?”

Geralt shrugged. “He’s also an elf.”

The ceiling creaked a low long groan and dust slowly floated down from the sky.

“Fuck!” Jaskier gasped, his eyes flying open. They were like blue torches in the darkness of the bedroom.

Geralt had never seen them shining so brightly.

“Not even Francesca Findabair could do this.” Yennefer muttered.

“Geralt.” Jaskier slurred the word, his voice was strained and barely above a whisper. “I can’t hold it. Not enough Spirit. Get us out!”

Geralt grunted and turned to Yennefer. “We need to go. Now.”

“I can see that, witcher.” She snapped. “Grab hold of your bard and take my hand.”

Geralt took a deep breath and wrap his arm around Jaskier’s waist. The cold pierced through his armour and he felt like he’d jumped into the icy rivers around Kaer Morhen. He hissed in pain but managed to hold onto Yennefer’s outstretched hand.

His stomach churned as Yennefer made another portal.

He groaned. If he could never see another portal again then he would be happy. It was the simple pleasures in life, like knowing how to walk places or riding Roach or just anything except a portal.

All three of them tumbled to the ground in Yennefer’s sex den. Jaskier fell limp in Geralt’s arms, the colour returning to his hair and skin. Geralt landed on his back, thankfully onto a cushion and Yennefer collapsed next to him her arm draped over Jaskier’s back. Geralt groaned quietly under the weight of the two bodies. He heard the roof crumbling above them.

Yennefer’s portal and whatever shit Jaskier had done, had saved their lives.

Geralt brushed Jaskier’s now brunet fringe from his eyes. They were shut but Geralt could thankfully feel the steady beat of Jaskier’s heart.

He was alive.

Geralt turned his attention to Yennefer. She wasn’t moving but she was also alive. The portal must have drained her energy.

“Yennefer.” He tried to rouse her, unsuccessfully. He carefully laid Jaskier down on the large cushion and pressed his lips to his husband’s forehead.

Jaskier groaned quietly under his touched and rolled onto his side, curling up into a ball.

He was alright. So Geralt tried Yennefer again. She was more awake this time and her tongue was sharper than his blades, blaming him for the djinn’s disappearance as if he’d hadn’t saved her life with his wish.

His wish.

Fuck.

That could have been better worded.

He made a note not to tell Jaskier. His husband, the ever eloquent wordsmith, would have his head if he knew.

He traded barbs with Yennefer until Jaskier whacked him in the leg.

“Would you two shut up?” He grumbled and buried his face in the pillow.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Careful, Jask. You don’t know where that cushion’s been.” He huffed a laugh.

Jaskier immediately jumped to his feet before falling straight back into Geralt’s lap.

“Oh fuck, my head.” He whined and snuggled into Geralt’s embrace.

“How did you do that?” Yennefer asked.

“Do what?” Jaskier slurred.

“You stopped time.” She raised an eyebrow at the pair of them.

Geralt shrugged. She had been the one who had assumed they were only friends. He’d been too overwhelmed by the panic in his chest to correct her before.

“Slowed time.” Jaskier corrected. “and I don’t know. I thought only Santa could do that.”

“Santa?” She laughed. “What the fuck is that?”

“His boss.” Geralt explained.

“Santa, Father Christmas, good old Saint Nicholas.” Jaskier waved his hand but kept his face buried in Geralt’s chest.

“Is he mad?” Yennefer asked.

Geralt shrugged again.

“Oi!” Jaskier snapped. Geralt just laughed and kissed his hair.

“You married me.” Geralt reminded him gently.

“Oh yes, I was completely mad to marry you.” Jaskier drawled sarcastically and pulled back to glare at him. “Eight years and you still doubt that I love you.”

Geralt hummed nonchalantly.

“Married?” Yennefer scoffed. “A Witcher and a bard, how poetic.”

Jaskier laughed. It wasn’t his normal radiant laugh, he was too tired from the exertion of the magic, but it was still beautiful. “All the best love stories are, my darling witch.”

__________________

Jaskier watched helplessly as Geralt and Yennefer tore each other apart with scathing words. His own heart was breaking as Borch revealed the true extent of Geralt’s fated wish.

How could his husband be so foolish?

He didn’t noticed the frost creep out from beneath his boots as he seethed silently away from the feuding pair.

No wonder Geralt and Yennefer had always had this strange dance. Geralt had never cheated on him, as far as he was aware, but Jaskier had noticed the way his witcher was always drawn to the sorceress. He’d just turned a blind eye. It had been easier that way.

Fuck!

Was this the feeling he’d sparked in all those jealous spouses all those years ago?

Fuck!

He wrapped his arms around his chest. For the first time in decades in actually missed his home, not Kaer Morhen or his occasional lodgings in Oxenfurt but his real home. The North Pole. His cosy little ginger bread cottage with it’s roaring fireplace and the ever-present scent of candy canes and cinnamon.

Sure he dropped back a few times a year to transfer the Spirit he’d generated and every other year he still joined Santa on the sleigh, although he’d never built up the courage to ask Santa how he had managed to slow time in Rinde. Christmas elves were not supposed to have that ability and he was unsettled by it. He’d also been avoiding the topic of bringing Geralt back to visit. His husband already put up with enough hate in this realm, he didn’t need it from the other Christmas elves too.

And after this delightful revelation, Jaskier wasn’t even sure if he wanted to bring Geralt home, not if he was just going to pine after Yennefer the whole time.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

He was going to be sick. His ears started ringing as he struggled to breathe. He couldn’t do this. Not without Geralt. Christmas elves weren’t supposed to fall in love and yet Jaskier had fallen so deeply in love that he could no longer imagine what his life would be without Geralt in it, but how were they supposed to move past this.

Yennefer stormed past him and he watched her go, his hands white and trembling. He gripped tightly onto his lute strap in attempt to ground himself but it didn’t work.

He needed to get away.

He couldn’t bear to lose Geralt any more than he already had. He couldn’t look Geralt in the eyes and know that his husband no longer loved him.

He let out a shaky breath, wisps of condensation escaping his lips, and he could feel the cool frost in his hair. He was losing control of the Spirit that he had stored in his veins but there still wasn’t enough to make the jump back to pegasus. His reindeer was too far away for him to frost hop and he couldn’t get home without him.

He scrambled to his feet and went to follow Yennefer back down the mountain.

“Damn it, Jaskier!” Geralt called after him.

Jaskier froze and spun round to face his husband with tears in his eyes.

Christmas elves didn’t cry. They were joyful creatures by nature. They sang and whistled and made toys for all the children of Earth. They created fairy lights and Christmas trees. They baked gingerbread and painted striped on candy canes, and elves like Jaskier created the music of Christmas, the soulful carols that uplifted the hearts of every human on Earth, young and old.

But they never cried.

Jaskier hadn’t even realised it was possible.

He brought a shaky finger up to his eyes and wiped away the tear. He had to laugh despite everything when he noticed the flecks of glitter in the droplet.

Geralt’s arms wrapped and around him, despite how cold he must be to the witcher. He pressed his face against Geralt’s chest, too weak to resist his lover’s embrace.

“Are you… crying?” Geralt murmured quietly.

Jaskier scoffed and sniffed loudly. “Apparently so.”

“Why?”

Jaskier sighed and he frost hopped away from Geralt in a cloud of snow.

“Why?!” He snapped putting his hands on his hips. “Geralt, you bound yourself to her like she’s your fucking soulmate. Bloody hell. Why would you do that?”

Geralt growled. “I didn’t have time to think about it, Jaskier. Fuck!” He snarled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was just trying to save her life.”

“Always so fucking noble.” Jaskier grumbled. “You could have just asked the djinn to let her live!”

“It was a mistake.”

“You didn’t want to lose her, Geralt. Bollocks. You barely knew her.” Jaskier glared. “Is that why you went back inside, because you wanted her…”

“No.”

“I don’t understand!” Jaskier yelled and snow whipped around him, lashing out against Geralt and knocking him to the floor. “Oh shit, Geralt!”

He ran over to where the witcher was lying on his back and covered in snow.

Geralt groaned and wiped the snow from his eyes. “Jask.” He reached out for Jaskier and despite his anger and heartbreak Jaskier took Geralt’s outstretched hand.

“Just tell me one thing, Geralt.” Jaskier sighed.

Geralt grunted.

“Why did you lie to me about the wish?” He asked quietly.

Another grunt.

Jaskier huffed and rolled his eyes, yanking his hand away from Geralt and moving back down the path.

“I knew you would be cross.” Geralt mumbled. Jaskier stopped but didn’t turn to face his husband. “You are so good with words. I knew you would have thought of a hundred ways I could have made that wish that didn’t bind Yen and I together. I felt… inadequate. I didn’t want to disappoint you, but it’s too late now.”

Jaskier’s heart broke again for the second time that day.

Fuck!

How had he been so selfish? He knew Geralt was hurting, losing Yennefer would be hard for his husband, no matter what he thought of the witch, and facing his own abandonment of the child surprise would have been a second dagger in his witcher heart.

Jaskier sighed and wiped his tears. He didn’t need them. Geralt loved him. He knew that. He wouldn’t let this jealousy poison his heart. He’d be a shit Christmas elf if he couldn’t forgive easily, especially when Geralt sounded so remorseful.

“I’m disappointed, yes.” He agreed. “but only because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.” He knelt beside the snowdrift that was currently Geralt of Rivia and cupped his husband’s face in his hands.

“I’m… sorry.” Geralt refused to meet his eyes.

Jaskier kissed Geralt’s forehead. “I know, dear heart. I know.”

“Forgive me?”

Jaskier smiled weakly at his husband. “Of course. That doesn’t mean I’m not still hurting though, Geralt, but I forgive you.”

“You’ll come to Kaer Morhen this winter?”

Jaskier frowned. He’d spent Christmas at Kaer Morhen last year. This year he was due to go back to the North Pole. He had instruments to enchant and Christmas hits to pass around Earth. Whilst Earth wasn’t generating as much Spirit as the Continent, things had improved in the last couple of decades. Now that the Christmas elves could use Spirit again there were traces of magic on Earth once more and the children believed in Santa for a little longer with every year that passed.

Jaskier was incredibly proud of that achievement, but it did mean that he couldn’t abandon his home and his work to be with Geralt every year at Christmas.

He shook his head. “I have to work.”

“So I’ll come with you.” Geralt said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Jaskier sighed and nodded.

It was time. He couldn’t hide his home from his husband any longer. They both needed to face the music of his fellow elves, and the North Pole Realm.

“Alright then. Yeah.” He appraised Geralt’s snow covered outfit. The black armour that Geralt never seemed to change out of, unless Jaskier literally forced him to.

He pictured Geralt stomping around the North Pole with his swords and his black clothes and his grumpy expression, and he promptly burst out laughing.

His husband would look like a bull in a china shop.

“What?” Geralt growled which only made Jaskier laugh harder. He brushed some of the snow from Geralt’s silvery hair and kissed him chastely before rubbing their noses together.

“You, darling witcher, will need to change before you get anywhere near the North Pole Realm.” He sniggered at Geralt’s look of horror.

“No bells.”

“Yes! Bells!” Jaskier clapped his hands together and with a flick of his wrist, Geralt had a shining silver bell attached to his usual black leather hair tie. He tilted his head and reached round to flick the bell.

“Jaskier!” Geralt snarled and lunged for him.

Jaskier grinned and frost hopped away before running down the mountain. Only this time he was sure Geralt would follow him.

#the witcher #geraskier #the christmas elf #my tag energy is low #sorry #minor angst #but it gets resolved #wolfie's witcher writing #ao3 link is on masterlist #god i have no spoons left

[resident-beekeeper]

When I like things i have a tendency to link them no matter how painful it is. So here, have a scene from the 1928 play Journey's End only with characters from the witcher. Warning: there is no happy ending. 

Geralt had just turned back round to the table when Marx came rushing back into the dugout. He turned quickly.

"What is it, Marx?"

"Mr. Pankratz, sir"

That didn't sound good. "What?"

"Mr. Pankratz's been hit, sir. A bit of shell's hit him in the back." No. No, he couldn't be hurt. It was Jaskier. There was no way.

"Badly?" This wasn't happening. 

"I'm afraid he's broken his spine, sir. He can't move his legs." Fuck. 

"Bring him down here"

"Down here sir?"

"Yes! Down here — quickly!" Geralt yelled. Jaskier was lying up there with a broken back and Marx was dithering. And wasting time and —

Marx left hurriedly. A shell exploded near him, and he tried to shelter himself with his hand, as though a human hand could ward off the hot flying pieces. He stumbled on into the trench, and Geralt lost sight of him.

Geralt went over to Vessemir's small bed, and placed a blanket over it. With trembling hands, he rolled up his jacket for a pillow, and put it on the bed too. He picked up his own blanket, and turned as Marx came down the steps carefully, carrying Jaskier like a child. God he looked so small. 

"Lay him down there" he snapped, gesturing to Vessemir's bed.

"He fainted, sir," Marx said. "He was conscious when I picked him up." 

Geralt ignored that. Of course that was important information. It was crucial to know exactly how Jasskier had been hit so that he could be treated properly. But every reminder of what had happened was like a knife in Geralt’s chest. Only he couldn’t feel the knives fully because he wasn’t in his body quite.

Marx laid him down gently on the bed, and wiped blood off his hands on his trousers. At least he had the decency to look ashamed as he did.

Geralt covered Jaskier with his blanket, and looked intently at him.

"Have they dressed the wound?"

"They've just put a pad on it, sir. Can’t do anything more."

"Go at once andgoring two men with a stretcher."

"We'll never get him down, sir, with the shells falling on Lancer's Alley."

"Did you hear what I said? Go and get a stretcher!" Geralt roared. Jaskier was dying and Marx was being a bloody fool. He needed help now.

"Very good sir."

Marx left slowly, too slowly, and Geralt turned to Jaskier again. He went to the nearby table and pushed his handkerchief into the water jug harder than he probably should have to wet it. He brought it over to Jaskier, still dripping water everywhere, and started to bathe his face. He had to do something, anything, to help. He just wished he could do more. Because a wet forehead was never going to save Jaskier. Of course it wasn't. But he had to do something. Anything.

Jaskier moaned and opened his eyes, turning his head to look at Geralt 

"Hello — Geralt"

"Well, Jaskier, you got one quickly" Geralt tried his best to smile. It almost worked.

They sat in silence for a while, Geralt continuing to wipe Jaskier's face. Jaskier looked dazed, like he didn't know where he was or what exactly was happening. 

"Why — how did I get down here?" He asked, his forehead furrowing in confusion. 

"Marx brought you down."

"Something — hit me in the back — knocked me clean over — sort of— winded me I’m all right now." He mumbled. He tried to sit up, but couldn't manage more than a pathetic rise and fall of his head.

"Steady there Jask. Just like there quietly for a bit."

"I'll be better if I get up and walk about. It happened once before — I got kicked in the same place at rugby. It — it soon wears off. It — it just numbs you for a bit." He paused for a few seconds. "What's that rumbling noise?"

"The guns are making a bit of a row."

"Our guns?"

"No. Mostly theirs."

They fall silent again. Dammit, there's so much Geralt should have said. Wanted to say back before any of this happened. When they were both carefree kids at school together. And even now. Even these past few days. He should have been so much more. Those things he said. 

Don't Geralt me! Mayena's my name! We’re not at school!                                     I resent you being a damn fool.                                                                          You bloody little swine!

He should have —

"I say — Geralt."

"Hmm?"

"It — it hasn't gone through, has it? It only just hit me? — and knocked me down?"

Jaskier looked up at Grealt, so desperate to believe everything would be fine. And he still looked to Geralt for that. As if he'd learned nothing at all from the last few days. After seeing Geralt like — that. With the whiskey. 

"It's just gone through a bit, Jask." A lie.

"I won't have to — go on lying here?"

"I'm going to have you taken away." If Marx gets help soon enough.

"Away? Where?"

"Down to the dressing station — then hospital — then home. You've got a Blighty one, Jask." Another lie. For Jaskier to go home, he would need to live. And once again Geralt had failed him.

"But I — I can't go home just for — for a knock in the back. I'm certain I'll be better if — if I get up." He tried once again to sit up, and got slightly further this time, before falling back with a sudden cry. "Oh — God! Geralt! It does hurt!"

"It's bound to hurt, Jaskier."

"What's — on my legs? Something holding them down."

"It's alright Jaskier; it's just the shock — numbed them."

It wasn’t alright. Not even slightly. Even if Jaskire miraculously survived he would never walk again. And that was such a monumental ‘if’, it crushed Geralt’s entirety with its weight.

"It's awfully decent of you to bother, Geralt. I feel rotten lying here — everyone else — up there."

"It's not your fault, Jask." It was all Geralt’s fault. If he hadn’t come back at the start, before everything became too much always. Back when he was proud to inspire people to fight. Back when he didn’t know. Maybe then Jaskier would have been spared this. And would have been spared knowing Geralt like was now.

"So — damn — silly — getting hit." He paused briefly "is there — just a drop of water?"

"Sure, I've got some here."

Geralt quickly got up and poured some water into a mug for Jaskier and brought it to him.

"Got some tea leaves in it. Do you mind?"

"No. That's alright — thanks."

Geralt lifted the mug to Jaskier's lips, and helped him to drink it.

"I say, Geralt, don't you wait — if — if you want to be getting on."

"It's quite alright Jask."

"Can you say for a bit?"

"Of course I can."

"Thanks awfully."

They sat in silence for what felt like a long time. Geralt didn't know exactly how long it actually was. His head felt far away from what was happening. The shells falling above them were far off and distant, despite the shudder each one caused. It was far too quiet, but the crushing quiet came from the silence from Jaskier. Jaskier who was always so loud and never shut up. And now he was struggling to even breathe.

"Geralt"

"Yes, Jaskier?"

"Could we have a light? It's — it's so frightfully dark and cold."

"Sure. I'll bring a candle and get another blanket."

Geralt got up and quickly went to the other room in the dugout to get another blanket. Jaskier was left alone on the bed, very still and very quiet. Through the open door of the dugout, faint light came in; an angry red with the rising sun. 

As Geralt stepped into the room, a tiny sound came from Jaskier, barely audible especially over the rising sound of the guns. Something between a sob and a moan. Geralt picked up a candle from the table, and brought it over to the bed, fumbling badly with matches in his haste to light it and bring at least some warmth to Jaskier. He put it down next to the bed and draped the blanket over Jaskier’s still body, taking his hand and rubbing it. Vessemir used to do something similar when Geralt got cold, the thought bringing a tightness to his throat.

"Is that better, Jaskier?" He made no response at all. Not even an eye movement to show he had heard anything.

"Jaskier."

Still, Jaskier was quiet. Geralt sat for a long time, holding Jaskier’s hand and saying nothing. His vision was blurry and he wasn’t sure if it was his brain failing to process his surroundings, or tears. Until a drop of water fell onto Jaskier’s hand. 

Geralt gently lowered Jaskier’s hand onto the bed, and closed his eyes. He sat there staring listlessly at the boy on Vessemir’s bed. He was alone now. Alone and with nobody to turn to.

Above him, the thudding of the shells rose and fell like an angry sea.

He picked up his helmet, (which had done nothing for Jaskier or Vessemir, as his brain pointed out), and walked up the steps to meet the chaos awaiting.

I apologise deeply if this ended up being too out of character, bit I couldn't bring myself to change the dialogue too much.

#jaskier #geralt #geraskier #the witcher #the witcher au #world war 1 au #im sorry #at points this was almost physically painful to read #but thats largely because of my emotions regarding Journey's End #which refuse to go away #angst #angst with no happy ending

[blahblahwritings]

From Death’s Door.

A/N: Couldn’t really think of a title but this was requested anonymously. I loved writing it.

Request: Hey! I hope this isn’t too much, but do you take prompts for your writing? If so, can I please request a Jaskier x female reader oneshot with the prompts “I just want you to be safe. That’s all i’ve ever wanted for you!” + “Please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that. You’re so much more than that. You’re so...” + “Can I kiss you?” Angst with a romantic fluffy ending!! 💕💜💕 Thank you so much!!

Words: 1472.

Warnings: Blood. Angst. 

This wasn’t how you thought you would go. You had a plan, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be at an old age, surrounded by loved ones as your lungs finally gave out, or perhaps saving someone else from a terrible fate. At the very least you wanted to die in your own home alongside your belongings that told the stories of your life.

But, the ringing in your ears wouldn’t cease as you stumbled through the forest, clutching your side to desperately stem the bleeding. Gore continued to gush from the claw wound as the world started to blur. Just a little farther. You could make it to the village if you just kept going. The hand that wasn’t pressing into your side found grip on a nearby tree as you staggered, off balance. Pushing off, you made it a few more steps before tripping over a protruding root and plummeting to the soil in a heap.

Agony shot through you in waves earning a groan as you hopelessly tried to crawl back to your feet. To no avail. Slipping back to the ground, your body screamed out in exhaustion, viscera spurting from the tear in your abdomen. Darkness started to cloud the corners of your vision and you panted helplessly in a fruitless attempt to get more oxygen to your brain. A horrifying screech sounded behind you, the thundering of paws and claws soon following. Twigs and branches snapped and the whole world seemed to shake as the beast drew closer. This would be your pitiful end, once strong and proud now struck down in the middle of nowhere, no hope of anyone finding your body. You would be left to rot or be eaten by filthy ghouls and monsters alike.

A huff of breath blew across your face, causing you to grimace at the stench of death and decay. It began to circle you, tormenting its prey before delivering the final blow. Scraping its claws through the dirt, powering up to launch it’s attack, you closed your eyes, images of your friends flashing like projections behind your eyelids. All the times you’d laughed and cried with Jaskier, drunk and clumsy as you walked home. Flickers of the world you’d been introduced to while travelling with Geralt and the bard. Your younger sister screaming in joy as you gifted her the first bow and arrow she’d ever use.

Then you listed the regrets. All the things you would never be able to do. You would never confess your feelings to Jaskier, kiss him or marry. You would never have children or see another birthday. A broken sob made its way from your throat for all the things lost as you opened your eyes again. The beast lurched forwards, its wings carrying its massive body and its beak falling open in a deafening battle cry. You howled right back, every last bit of energy in your body producing an almighty roar at your impending doom.

It didn’t come, however. Instead, a silver sword had plunged through its skull just before it reached you, the sticky dark red liquid coating your chest and legs as you sat against the trunk of the tree watching the life drain from its feline eyes. Your shriek stopped and your breathing faltered. The beast collapsed, the head on your lap crushing your legs. It was thrown aside in a moment, revealing a certain white haired witcher and your pretty boy bard before you sunk into unconsciousness.

--

You awoke in your home, the scent of a burning fire filling your wheezing lungs. Your whole being ached, the gash across your side was throbbing and your skull felt like it was being relentlessly pounded. Rolling your head to the side, you found Jaskier fast asleep facing away from you. His halo of chestnut hair splayed across the mattress he leant on, the bottom half of his body sat in a chair at your bedside. A weak smile twitched at your lips as you stared through half-lidded eyes. Fingers began softly twirling strands of his locks, gently coaxing him from his slumber. Realising that you were awake, he shot up, head swivelling to meet your gaze.

“Thanks the gods, you’re alive.” He whispered, a breath of relief huffing from his chest as his hands covered his face before parting again. His eyes looked red and puffy, he’d been crying. “How are you feeling, love.” He grabbed your hand, holding in tenderly between his two palms, laying a kiss to it. Had you not been in so much pain, the mix of the pet name and his lips touching your skin would’ve made you melt.

“I’m good, you’re here, how could I be any different.” You replied, smile growing. At this, he scoffed, his forehead falling against his grip and a grin of his own made an appearance. Looking back to you, you saw his eyes becoming glassy. “Sh, I’m alright you and Geralt found me. I’m safe.” You cooed, brushing your thumb against his knuckles. “And what if we hadn’t? Hm? What if you had died before we could get to you?” His voice cracked in a harsh whisper, mouth pressing into a tight line, brows furrowing into a pained expression. “You shouldn’t have wandered so far from the camp, y/n, we could’ve lost you, I could’ve lost you.” He trailed off toward the end, tears spilling over.

“I know, I’m sorry, I just wanted to fetch some herbs for my research. I didn’t realise how far I strayed.” The apology tumbled from your cracked lips. The sight of him so upset, so broken at the thought of losing you started a trail of your own tears rolling down your pale cheeks. You hated seeing him like this.

“I just want you to be safe, that's all I’ve ever wanted for you.” He muttered, lips kissing your hand again, wetter this time from the evidence of his sorrow. “Please, never scare me like that again.” A plea that sent your heart stuttering. Why did you have to be such a burden? The source of his grief? “I won’t, I’m sorry for being such a royal fuck up. I never wanted to be such a pathetic mess around you.” A sob racked your body shooting a burning soreness through you. His face fell, not understanding how you could think so little of yourself.

“No. Please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that. You’re so much more than that. You’re so strong and you’re the most brilliant, intelligent and beautiful woman I’ve ever known inside and out.” He fought against your self-hatred. The words brought a broken grin to your face as you laughed. Beautiful. Strong. Intelligent. Brilliant. “You think I’m all those things? Even beautiful?” You asked.

“Gods, y/n, I worship the very ground you stand on, every word you utter is like poetry to my starved soul. Everyday I see you, my heart leaps in glee. Your smile is incandescent, providing the very light that feeds the flowers in my lungs. I am completely and entirely enamoured by you and everything you do. I adore you. I love you.” He rambled harshly whispering the last part. You gulped, the speech rendering your heart and lungs idle. Eyes searched his for any sign of a lie, but you found none. All the breath in your body left and you beamed at him.

“I love you too, Jask, I’m utterly mad about you.” You admitted, blood returning to your cheeks in a blush. This sent the bard into another fit of tears, this time happy that you returned the feelings he had hidden for so long. It was your turn to bring his hand to your lips in a delicate kiss.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, the question sending sparks to every nerve ending in your body. A nod confirmed your answer and he moved from his seat, leaning over you on the bed. Brushing a stray hair behind your ear, his eyes scanned every inch of your face, a loving smile tugging at his lips. Then he met your mouth with his own. It was slow, tender and heart-filled, he treated you as if you were glass, afraid of hurting you. At this point you didn’t really mind and you pulled him in, letting the repressed feelings take over as you deepened the kiss. Breaking apart and gasping for air, the two of you laughed, the action making you wince as it jerked your body.

“Sh now, we’ll have plenty of time to catch up on what we’ve been missing when you’re healed, darling. Rest.” He chuckled with a wink, laying one final peck to your forehead before lying beside you, resolving to never leave your side until that day.

#Jaskier #Jaskier x reader #the witcher #fluff #whump #angst #jaskier pankratz #julian alfred pankratz