#for some reasons she reminds me so much of ciri like they both have the rat girl that just crawls out a sewer yet still out rizz everyone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

andyet-here-we-are · 3 years

Text

I Would Get Into Millions of Accidents Just to See You, Chapter 3 (aka Nurse Geralt AU)

(Check the pinned post for the first two chapters please~)

The next day flows by in a blur for Geralt. He wakes up, takes a shower, prepares a quick but nutritious breakfast for Ciri, and makes oatmeal for himself.

On his way to the hospital, he thinks about Jaskier and wonders if he should call him now. He almost does that, but then he decides against it because he knows that Jaskier is busy having his fourth dream right now probably. It's too early to call him as much as he wants to do so.

His mind wanders on how cute Jaskier sounds when he is sleepy—when he has just woken up.

Cute, but also usually a bit grumpy even though he denies it with every inch of his being.

***

"That shouldn't be legal," is what Geralt thinks when he steps into the hospital room, unable to take his eyes off Jaskier's sleeping figure. "I can't believe I'm supposed to do that. God, have some mercy on me. I love my job, I really do, but it sucks big time sometimes. Why should I suffer this way?"

A moment later, he is well aware of how dramatic he is being, and how hard he frowns, making a source face. It's not like him to act like this at all.

Damn.

"That dramatic son of a flower must be rubbing off on me," annoyed at himself, he mumbles before he coughs as if that alone is enough to wake the musician up.

"Good morning," he tries when Jaskier doesn't wake up and slightly turns to the other side of his bed instead.

"Mr. Pankratz, it's your medicine time."

Jaskier slightly opens his eyes just to look at him this time, and the first thing he mumbles is: "What happened to your ears?" before closing his eyes again.

"What are you talking about?" The nurse questions, checking his ears with his free hand that isn't holding the medicine tray, wondering what he meant by that.

"Are you still asleep?"

"Yes... No. Maybe?" Jaskier mumbles again, half asleep as he rubs his eyes, trying to make sleepiness go away.

"You will have to pick one of them."

The musician opens his eyes after a while and smiles at Geralt.

"Morning. God, what a sight to wake up to."

Geralt must be used at this by now. Because whenever Geralt has to wake him up, no matter how much Jaskier complains at first most of the time, he always utters the same words eventually.

"What a sight to wake up to."

Yet, every time he does that, Geralt's heart flutters in his chest.

"You didn't sound too happy with my ears, though. What was that about?"

"Ah, about that. I had a dream that— promise you won't laugh?"

"Can't do."

"Anyway," Jaskier yawns and explains: "I had a dream that you were an... elf."

"I was a— what?" Geralt laughs.

"Hey! You said you wouldn't laugh!" The musician stares at him like he is ready to kill him.

"I never said that," Geralt forces himself to stop laughing. "Well, that explains everything."

"Shh, stop interrupting me. It's mean."

"Sorry, I'm all ears. Not elf ears, though, sorry to disappoint you."

"Don't sweat it. Bad guys were trying to steal Mrs. Ansley's—who was a fairy, speaking of which—cookie recipe, which was also the key of a parallel universe, somehow. You were trying to protect the recipe, then puff. Some gingerbread men came out of nowhere to help you, but you tried to... eat them? Well, not just tried actually. You managed to eat their leader. Therefore they decided to join the dark side. Can't blame you, though. They looked pretty yummy. I was about to hop on my unicorn for help when you woke me up. A unicorn wearing a pasta costume. Pink pasta costume. Yeah, yeah, I know, that makes no sense, is there even a pink pasta costume?" He asks sleepily, raising an eyebrow. "Also, I had a magical lute, I think."

"You think that your whole dream makes sense, but just the pink pasta costume doesn't?"

"I've never seen a pink pasta costume, so..."

"Oh, sorry, right. I forgot you have seen everything else but that. The elf version of me, alive gingerbreads and all. My bad."

He chuckles at that lightly.

"Still more possible than a pink pasta costume."

"The most ridiculous dream you had this week might be this one so far."

Jaskier seemed to have taken it upon himself to tell Geralt about his dreams. This was the eighth dream he talked about this week, and it wasn't even Friday yet.

"It was like," he opens his arms wide as if he is presenting the name of his new song to the whole world, " 'Geralt and Jaskier in Wonderland' I blame the medicines. And you," he points at the nurse. "I also blame you. For looking like... " he then gestures at everything, "this."

"You blame me?" The other man snorts, amused. "If anything, you should blame yourself for having the wrong dream. Have you ever looked at yourself? You would make a good elf, not me. You are as bea— I mean, anyway, medicine time."

"I am what now? Wait, wait, wait, were you about to call me beautiful?"

"I was about to call you bearable, but then I thought that would be mean."

"I think you were about to call me beautiful, but then you thought 'That wouldn't be professional, you are his nurse,' or something along these lines. Also, that's not even how you start when you're about to say 'bearable' they are not even pronounced the— "

"That's not what happened."

"Nahh, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what happened, but eh, whatever helps you sleep at night, love."

"You're probably thinking you're still in 'Geralt and Jaskier in Wonderland', go back to sleep, you're delusional."

"I am so not! And that would be your problem even if I was. Wanna check my fever?" He says, giving the nurse a once-over, "I feel hot, suddenly."

"Well, that explains why you're delusional, doesn't it?" Geralt teases. "Take your medicine and you will be just fine."

Jaskier sighs and does as he is told.

"Geralt," Jaskier says before Geralt is about to leave, a grin on his face "I think you are 'bearable', too. "

***

Geralt means to call Jaskier.

He really does.

Yet, whenever he is about to call him, something comes up, and eventually, he just accepts that he is going to have to wait for his shift to be over.

For some reason, he doesn't want to call him and get interrupted after a minute.

And he doesn't want to send him a text, because he prefers hearing his angelic voice instead.

So, yeah. He is kind of stuck there for now.

***

Geralt finds Ciri laughing at her own joke as she watches The Office when he gets home, and this reminds him of Jaskier since that's something they both have in common. Once again, he finds himself thinking about the musician.

***

“Shit, it hurts,” Jaskier says, holding his chest.

“Maybe it’s the universe’s way to tell you to stop laughing at your own jokes.”

“Oh shut up, the universe can kiss my ass.”

“Seems like it prefers to kick your ass instead.”

That draws an annoyed laugh out of him, which makes him hiss in pain.

“It wouldn’t send me here if it was trying to kick my ass, Mr. Should Have Been A Model But Became A Nurse For Some Reason.”

“I can't believe you still keep using that silly nickname unironically. Don’t you think that it is a bit long?”

“You may be right. Hmm, I’ll just call you ‘Mr. Handsome Nurse,’ from now on.”

“Please don’t. No.”

“How about just ‘Handsome’ ?”

“Still no.”

“Why not? It’s just a fact. You wouldn’t get mad at someone if they would point at a yellow wall and call it a ‘yellow wall’ would you?”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I see no differences.”

“Then you better get your eyes checked.”

“Speaking of which—” Jaskier reaches for his scratch book standing on the bedside table “can I borrow your eyes for a second?”

Geralt frowns, wondering what the musician is up to this time.

Jaskier opens his scratch book and stares in his eyes intently for a while and as he scribbles something. "Thanks," he says, "I just needed an accurate model of the stars."

"You know," the nurse shakes his head and answers smoothly: "you could just ask for a mirror."

Geralt can't help but smirk at his open-mouthed speechlessness.

***

He hears a familiar voice singing, and for a moment he is sure that he has finally gone insane.

Drying his hands on a washcloth, Geralt makes his way to the source of the voice, thinking "That must how Jerry feels when he follows the smell of a piece of cheese Tom tries to fool him with."

Jaskier's voice is irresistible to him, just like how cheese is irresistible to Jerry.

Absolutely irresistible, and hard to miss.

He could distinguish Jaskier's voice among all the rest if he heard it in a room filled with millions of men singing a song together.

This voice is coming from their living room. To be more specific, from Ciri's laptop—which she was supposed to use for searching her homework topic, but that can wait for now—

"Or I shall die," he hears Jaskier singing oh so sincerely and dramatically "or I shall die!"

"Dad! Please don't be mad, I swear to God I was going to start doing my homework, but—"

The first thing he does when he sits on the couch next to his daughter is grabbing the laptop and rewinding the video to the start. He then checks if the volume is at maximum.

"Shhh," he gestures, all of his attention is on the video he is watching.

He doesn't even realize that he takes a deep breath as soon as he sees the musician's face appear in front of him on the screen before Jaskier even starts singing.

He is as beautiful as ever in his ridiculous mint green shirt that he left the first four buttons undone.

It has cactus patterns on it.

Geralt can't help but wonder if Jaskier wearing this shirt is actually some kind of a secret message to him and him only.

Didn't he say that Geralt was just like a cactus?

"...prickly on the outside sometimes, but soft on the inside? A cactus in the desert.”

His words. Not Geralt's.

What does that even mean then? Something like "I wanna wear you on me like a shirt?"

Okay, he should probably stop because he is reading too much into this and—

"Anyway, so, this song goes to the cruel man who made me want to buy this shirt because it reminded me of him. You know who you are,"

Geralt's breath hitches.

He is not reading too much into this.

If anything, it's vice versa, because Jaskier dedicated a song to him.

Jaskier is thinking about him, too.

Thinking about him too much that he has decided he should dedicate a song to him.

The scene splits into five and one of the boxes on the screen shows Jaskier playing the piano, while in the other he plays the lute occasionally, violin in another one, and accordion in the other one. And in the other, he sings.

Good God. Is there anything this man cannot do?—Besides picking names for babies maybe, since picking names is definitely isn't his strong suit.—

"I tell myself what's done is done

I tell myself don't be a fool

Play the field have a lot of fun

It's easy when you play it cool"

"Does this mean he gave up on me because he got fed up with waiting for my call?" he thinks. But then again, why would he sing a song for him if he gave up?

While watching the video, Geralt is well aware of the fact that he will watch this video again and again and will take special care of each Jaskier— making sure not to miss even the tiniest of the mimic and gesture he does.

"I tell myself don't be a chump

Who cares, let him stay away

That's when the phone rings and I jump

And as I grab the phone I pray

Let it please be him, oh dear God

It must be him or I shall die

Or I shall die"

He was right, this isn't a song that screams: "I'm giving up." Thank God it isn't. Jaskier puts his hand on his chest as he sings, and Ciri sighs next to Geralt, resting her head on his shoulder as she watches the video with him.

"Oh hello, hello my dear God

It must be him but it's not him

And then I die

That's when I die"

That dramatic son of a flower actually flings himself into an armchair.

"After a while, I'm myself again

I take the pieces off the floor

Put my heart on the shelf again

You'll never hurt me anymore"

While he sings the "put my heart on the shelf again" he puts a heart sculpture on his bookshelf with a serious look and frown on his face. He might have got this heart sculpture just for this video for all Geralt knows.

"I'm not a puppet on a string,"

At this point, Geralt wouldn't be surprised to see actual strings attached to the musician's body just so he could cut the strings. He really wouldn’t be surprised, at all.

Because Jaskier is that extra most of the time.

And Geralt loves that about him.

"I'll find somebody else someday

That's when the phone rings, and once again

I start to pray

Let it please be him, oh dear God

It must be him, it must be him

or I shall die, or I shall die"

The musician's voice goes up effortlessly into an unreachable octave as he sings the last part, and it's impossible not to be impressed.

But then again, the man puts his heart into everything he does, therefore even doing something like folding a simple frog origami seems impressive when he is the one who's doing it, let alone singing as perfectly as this.

He then slowly walks towards the camera as the other boxes disappear and that one takes over the screen.

"Seriously though," he makes an aggressive 'call me' gesture, and the scene fades to black after that.

"Whoever keeps Jaskier waiting must be crazy," Ciri comments and gave a snort of disapproval and frustration. "He must care about this idiot of a guy a lot if he sings for him like this. What a jabroni. It would take him only a minute to call him."

"Ciri!"

"What? I'm right."

"That's not a nice thing to say," Geralt warns as he hands the laptop back to his daughter.

"I'm surprised that you watched the full thing, by the way. Actually, you don't seem too annoyed with me watching his videos nowadays, and you seemed quite interested in this one."

"I just love Vikki Carr," Geralt says. He has seen the title of the video, after all, so he knew this was a cover of her song. "I've wondered how he sang this song."

"Name five Vikki Carr songs then."

Geralt doesn't know five Vikki Carr songs— he can't even name two, let alone five.

"Okay, I think that's enough fun for you today," the nurse pretends not to have heard his daughter. "Do your homework while I go out to get some milk."

"We have milk at home."

"No, we don't."

"I put it in the fridge myself just this morning, so yeah, we do."

"We're out of these cookies you love, though."

"I thought you said they consumed way too much sugar so we were going to come up with a healthy and as I've read from your invisible subtitles, also probably boring recipe we can make together this weekend?"

"I— God, you ask a lot of questions today." Geralt whispers tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting Ciri's "boring recipe" comment slide.

Fuck him for not saying "I'm gonna go get some groceries," instead.

"I just asked one question, but okay. So? You changed your mind?"

"Yeah, I changed my mind, just for one more week, you can have it."

"Really?! Thanks!"

"Anything you want, pumpkin. Alright, I'm off!"

Geralt ruffles her hair before he grabs his wallet, keys, and most importantly, his phone.

Just before he closes the door, he can hear Jaskier's voice coming from the living room once again.

He cannot blame Ciri at all.

***

"If this is another spam call and not the important call I've been waiting for I swear on all my lute strings that I'll crush that damn phone on the ground and dance upon its bloody ruins! Actually, no, wait, that would mean the possibility of missing the call I've been waiting for, but you got my point."

As soon as Jaskier answers his call and starts talking, he feels like all the tiredness of the day disappears. Jaskier's voice manages to do that even when he is simply busy telling him off, having no idea who he is talking to.

He can see that Ciri was right. He is an idiot for waiting for the right time.

"I'm seriously so sick of—"

Geralt finally cuts him off by saying: "Wow, I wouldn't wanna be a scammer or something right now, you aggressive Dandelion."

"Wait a second, this voice— Geralt?! Is that really you? Oh my God, you finally ca— I mean—"

Jaskier coughs as if he tries not to sound too excited, "Heey, the best nurse in the existence," Geralt can almost see his flirty frowning, yes, he manages to make even frowning look flirty for crying out loud, "How's it hanging?" he asks, his voice sounds deep, lazy, and dare he say, sensual.

"I should be asking you the same question. Are you still praying by the phone?"

"Someone does stalk me on social media, I see."

"And someone sings a song and makes a pretty impressive video clip for me, I see. My daughter was watching it, and that's how I found out about it. Just for your information."

"So you're not the one who stalks me online. It's Ciri," Jaskier says, and the fact that he remembers Ciri's name warms up Geralt's heart if he's being honest. "Sweet. Cool. Cool. I'm not hurt by that at all."

"Well..."

"Would you die if you let me be happy for just a moment? Not that I'm not happy to know that your daughter still watches my videos, but it would be nice to hear that you were the one who checked my account willingly."

"I'm sure I would see your video today anyway. Maybe it wouldn't be that soon, I admit, but I would see it."

"Is that so?"

"It is so."

Silence.

But it isn't an uncomfortable one.

"Did you really find it impressive?" Jaskier asks, his voice is full of hope and happiness.

"Well—"

"Nah, I know it's impressive, forget that I asked," he lets out a long sigh, "If I knew making a video clip for you would make you call me right away, I would do that earlier. Were you playing 'hard to get' or something? You know... I find it kinda cruel to make someone who just got out of the hospital keep waiting on the phone for so long. For your information, that 'kinda' is kinda unnecessary here maybe. I call it 'the polite kinda'. Or 'the unnecessary kinda'. "

The next moment, Jaskier's playful tone leaves its place to a caring, worried one as he keeps talking: "If something is going wrong with your life, I take it back though. Ignore everything I said in that case. Is everything okay? Are you okay?"

"Ah, about that— Don't worry, everything is alright," Geralt replies, "I was thinking about calling you today, but I couldn't quite find the time. I know that's not an excuse, and I know I could call you earlier, but I didn't want to call you only to say 'I have to hang up,' a minute later."

"I’m happy to hear that nothing is wrong. And well, even that would be better than leaving me hanging. Or a simple 'Hey, the best patient ever' text would do. You took so long that I would be lying if I said I didn't think about getting involved in another accident."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"I would get into millions of accidents just to see you, Geralt. Provided that I could have you as my nurse every time, of course. What's the point otherwise? I'm not a masochist."

"Such a flatterer you are, Mr. Pan—"

"I'm not trying to flatter you. Cross my heart and hope do die, I'm just scattering the facts around like they are glitters. Or cake sprinkles."

"God forbid! Accidents, death... Aren't we gonna talk about nice things at all?"

"I've been waiting for you to call me forever. I have every right to be bitter about it."

"I'll make it up to you, I promise. How about I start making up to you, starting now?"

"Sounds like you have something in your mind, Mr. Handsome Nurse."

"I do, indeed. Have you had dinner yet?"

"Does strawberry yogurt count as dinner?"

"I highly doubt it. You were complaining about hospital food, and yet that's what you choose to have for dinner?"

"I've never said I count yogurt as quality dinner, but it's still better than the things you dare to serve people as 'food', I should admit, I thought you already came to terms with—"

"Maybe you should come over so I can show you how a proper, nice dinner looks like. I'm not half bad at cooking."

Jaskier is silent on the other end of the line.

"Are you still there?" Geralt asks finally, "I'm sorry if this was too forward of me or too soon, I just thought it could be nice. You could meet Ciri too, that way."

"No! Yeah! I mean—" if Geralt didn't imagine it, Jaskier sighs and murmurs an angry 'get it together you dumbass,' to himself before he continues talking. "Yes, I'm still here. No, this wasn't too forward of you. I was just taken aback a little bit, sorry. I mean, not every day a handsome nurse who I've been waiting for his call for a decade calls and invites me over for dinner. I'd love that, Geralt."

"I'll send you the address, then." Geralt checks his watch, it's nearly 6 p.m. "Is eight okay for you?"

"Sure, that should be fine. Hey, Ciri still doesn't know, right?"

"I don't think I need to answer that."

"Huh? Why is that?"

"Don't you think she would just grab my phone and call you herself if she knew? Or reaching out to you on every social media possible? Shouting from the rooftops, even?"

"She really likes me that much?"

"She just called me, I quote, an 'idiot', 'crazy', and 'jabroni' after watching your video, so..."

"She did what?!"

"I mean, not directly at me since she doesn't know I'm the 'him' in the 'it must be him', but still."

"Seems to me like you're in big trouble here."

"Don't even remind me about it."

"I'd be lying if I said that doesn't put some pressure on me though. I mean... What if she doesn't like me?"

"Wha— Ciri already adores you. She adores you so much that it's annoying sometimes."

"It's impossible not to like you," is on the tip of his langue.

"They say never meet your heroes. What if when she actually meets me, she goes 'Meh, that's it?' What if I disappoint her somehow?"

"Worrying about earth getting invaded by the aliens in pink pasta costumes and tutus would much more sense compared to this. Believe me."

Jaskier laughs at that, but Geralt can still sense that he is not completely convinced.

"If you say so."

"I know so, Jaskier. I know so."

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #geralt #my writing #nurse geralt au #I Would Get into Millions of Accidents Just to See You #jaskier x geralt

88 notes · View notes

hirikka · 3 years

Text

twisted thrice about the tree

For @mikkeneko! Written for @thewitchersecretsanta

Rating: G Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier Summary: Jaskier finds Ciri just after a sorcerer from Nilfgaard has cursed Geralt—together they need to find a way to break the curse.

on AO3

Jaskier had been doing his best to avoid danger. It was a new thing for him, and he didn’t think he was a huge fan. He felt that he had to give it a fair shake, after his near-crippling incident with Reince—which had been particularly galling, as he hadn’t even sung any of the White Wolf cycle in months, but that was not the point. The point is that he is avoiding danger, so he should absolutely not run into the dark woods towards the sound of an explosion.

His legs do not seem to have gotten that memo. He curses under his breath but keeps running. It doesn’t take him long to find the source of the explosion—an area of flattened trees that stretched into the distance. Jaskier stops at the edge and thinks very hard about turning around. Until he sees a dragon lift off the ground from just over a ridge and take off into the sky with a flash of silver wings. The dragon circles high above and lets out an earth-shaking roar. A high pitched scream comes from over the hill and Jaskier runs in that direction. He crests the hill just in time to see a portal flash open—there is a man in Nilfgaardian armor holding the arm of a child, pulling them towards the portal. The dragon roars again and Jaskier feels a sudden chill as the creature's shadow blocks out the sun. He has only a moment to act so he springs forward and whispers a blessing on his dagger before he throws it. It flies straight and true—striking the Nilfgaardian in an eye. The man stumbles, releases his grip on the child, and falls. The portal blinks out as he lands. For a moment the clearing is silent. Then the dragon lets out a high keening noise and flaps upwards, the winds buffeting Jaskier and whipping up debris from the destroyed trees.

“No! Wait!” he hears the child scream.

When the dust settles enough that Jaskier can see again, the dragon is gone. A single silver scale lies by Jaskier’s feet. He picks it up and then moves down the slope towards the child. They’ve fallen to their knees in the dirt.

“Are you injured?” Jaskier asks when he is close enough. The child startles to her feet at his approach, watching him with wary green eyes.

“No,” she answers after a moment.

“Good,” Jaskier says. He moves over to the soldier to retrieve his dagger. “Are you traveling alone?” He can’t see any sign of other people—but the destruction around makes it impossible to tell for sure.

The girl hesitates. “I wasn’t.”

“Did he…” Jaskier trails off pointing at the soldier, hoping his point is clear.

The girl nods, a little tentative.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says. She’s not the first orphan he’s seen in the first few months of the war, and she’s unlikely to be the last. “I would be happy to help you to wherever you were heading.” He can see the suspicion in her gaze at his offer. “My name is Jaskier.” He hopes that she’ll recognize the name at least, a famous bard will hopefully feel like a safer traveling companion than a strange man.

The girl’s eyes widen. “The bard? You traveled with”—she hesitates for a moment—“with the White Wolf?”

Jaskier is about to respond when he spots a flash of silver on the ground near their feet. He kneels to pick it up and it feels as though his heart stutters to a stop. It’s a wolf witcher medallion—the chain has been snapped but the sight is so familiar and it hums softly under his touch. He looks at the girl, she’s gone tense and still in front of him. “Yes, I traveled with the White Wolf,” he says. “What happened here?”

The girl gulps, glancing towards the sorcerer. “He cursed Geralt. He wanted to separate us, make it so Geralt wouldn’t be able to protect me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier gasps. “You’re Cirilla!”

“Ciri,” the girl corrects. “Or Fiona in public.”

Jaskier thinks of the silver scale in his pocket. “And he turned Geralt into a dragon?”

Ciri nods. “I don’t think he knew me, after he transformed, it didn’t seem… didn’t seem like him.”

Jaskier hums, considering what he knows about transformation magic. Wonders exactly how different the reality is from the songs. “Well, we ought to start by figuring out where he would have gone. Where were you heading?”

“The coast.”

Jaskier blinks. “The coast? Why?”

“He didn’t say exactly,” Ciri admits.

“I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me.” Jaskier sighs. “But I’m not sure if he would have carried on that way, or if he would have gone somewhere familiar…” he trails off, trying to think of any reason he could avoid going to the one person who might know where he was. Unfortunately— “I know someone who should be able to track him for us.”

Ciri brightens. “Who?”

“Yennefer.”

“I don’t want to get involved in whatever scheme you’ve gotten tangled up in.” Yennefer doesn’t even bother looking up from her book.

“Oh well, Ciri, let's go. We’ll have to see if there’s someone else who can help us.” Jaskier says.

Yennefer looks up at that, narrowing her eyes at Jaskier and Ciri. “Why do you have a child?” The disdain in her tone made Ciri press closer to Jaskier. “Nobody in their right mind would trust you with a child.”

Jaskier scoffs. “Please, I’m perfectly responsible.”

Yennefer just raises an eyebrow.

“Alright, fine.” Jaskier huffs. “You’re correct in a way, her true guardian is very much not in his right mind. That’s why we’re here.”

Yennefer sighs and then stands. “Alright, you better come in and sit down. I have a feeling I’m going to need a drink.”

As she leads them into her apartment behind the shop, Ciri tugs on Jaskier’s sleeve. “Will she be able to help us?”

“Of course, poppet,” Jaskier assures her. “She might not be my biggest fan, but she won’t turn you away.”

“Alright, explain,” Yennefer says. “And keep it simple, please, bard.”

“Right. Simple.” Jaskier has heard that before, fine, if she wants just the bare bones of the story: “Geralt’s been cursed into a dragon and we need to find him.”

Yennefer takes a moment to process that. She takes a long sip of her wine. “Why?”

“Why was he cursed, or why do we need to find him?” Jaskier asks. “Although, I suppose it's the same answer either way. This is Cirilla, Geralt’s child surprise.”

Yen’s eyes widen. “His child surprise is the lion cub of Cintra?”

“Yes, so you can see why he didn’t exactly feel like he could snatch her away at any time, the lioness was a bit touchy about the whole thing.” Jaskier’s voice is cool, remembering the words he had overheard on the mountain.

“He was cursed because he was trying to protect me.” Ciri cuts in. Her hand is clenched around the wolf medallion. “I need to help him.”

Yen turns her attention to the girl and softens. “I can create a tracking spell for you.” Ciri lets out a relieved breath but Yen continues. “That will be the easy part. Once you find him you’ll need to find a way to break the curse.”

“I have one of his scales,” Jaskier says. “Would that help in figuring out the details of the curse? How to break it?”

Yen nods, reaching out a hand. Jaskier reluctantly passes the silver scale to her. “The tracking spell will take a few hours to prepare, and I’ll need some time with this to see what I can find out. You can stay here for the night, I have a spare room.”

“Thank you, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, hoping she’ll sense how sincere he is.

She gives a curt nod before pointing down a hall. “And take a bath before you track any more filth into my house.”

“I have good news and bad news,” Yennefer announces over breakfast. “Geralt’s not far, you should be able to reach him in three days on horseback.” She pauses. “I’m not sure how to undo the curse. It’s a mess, they mucked something up rather badly and now it’s too twisted up to have an easy cure.”

“Fuck.” Jaskier and Ciri say at the same time.

Yen glances between them with a bemused look. “It’s not hopeless. The curse got twisted, you’ll need to remind him who he is first.”

“How?” Jaskier asks.

Yennefer gives him a pointed look. “You know him better than anyone, Jaskier, you’ll have to figure that out.” She softens slightly. “Three things. There’s a reason the tales always call for three things, three tasks. There’s a real magic there—three things that remind him who he is and then—”

“Then?” Jaskier prompts.

“Then, you should be able to break the curse,” Yennefer says. Jaskier can sense there is more to it than she’s saying.

“What if we choose the wrong things?” Ciri asks.

Yennefer frowns. “I’m not sure—you might be able to try again but it could also cause the spell to warp again. I wish I could give you a clearer answer.”

“You’ve given us enough,” Jaskier says, hoping to reassure Ciri even as he starts running through ideas, trying to figure out what options they have. “Ciri, can you go and get Roach ready?” Jaskier asks. Ciri gives him a look that makes it very clear she knows exactly what he’s trying to do but she does head outside. Once she’s gone, Jaskier turns to Yennefer. “Alright, what’s the rest of it?”

Yennefer sighs. “If the curse didn’t break when the caster was killed… then the only sure way to break it is the, well, traditional method.”

“Traditional method?” Jaskier asks. He has a feeling he knows what that is, but he needs to hear her say it.

“True love,” Yennefer says, as if it is such a simple thing.

Jaskier stares at her. “Will you—?”

Yennefer shakes her head. “The bond created by the djinn warped whatever Geralt and I have—could have had. I care for him, and I know he cares for me—but it’s not true in the way it would need to be to break the curse.”

Jaskier sighs. “Does true love have to go both ways?”

Yennefer gives him a look that, in another person, he might have mistaken for sympathy. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Jaskier nods in thanks and moves towards the door.

“Jaskier—” Yennefer calls. “Try to do it before the season changes or it may be too late.”

Jaskier grimaces—there are so many ways for this to go wrong and such a narrow path to save Geralt. “Thank you, Yennefer.”

“Good luck.” Yennefer says.

Jaskier steps outside and prepares to save his witcher.

“What are the three things?” Ciri asks once they’ve set out. Yennefer had given them a map, Geralt’s location marked with ink she had infused with a piece of the scale so that it would track Geralt if he moved. He is currently on a stretch of coast between Gors Velen and Oxenfurt—the cliffs of the area mean that it is mostly unpopulated which hopefully means they won’t have to contend with any dragon hunters.

Jaskier considers. “I’m guessing that just his swords and medallion won��t be enough for this. The medallion is certainly one of the things, though.” He runs his hand absently along Roach’s neck. “Unfortunately, he was never a big fan of sharing so I’m not completely sure what else we can use.”

“What about a song?” Ciri suggests. “One of the ones you wrote for him?”

Jaskier glances up at the princess—she looks so hopeful and he hates that he has to admit that he is probably not actually well-suited to help with this. She doesn’t have anyone else to turn to. “He wasn’t a fan of my music, to tell the truth.”

Ciri gives him a skeptical look. “He used to hum them, sometimes, when he was trying to help me sleep. He never sang the words but I recognized the tunes.”

“He did?” Jaskier can’t hide his surprise.

“Yes,” Ciri says, as if it should have been obvious. “He talked about you, about how you helped him.”

Jaskier snorts.

“I’m serious!” Ciri says with a huff. “You were the only person besides his brothers he ever really talked about.” She has an intense look. “I know you’ll be able to figure out what we need to bring him back.”

“Ah, well.” Jaskier is at a loss for words. He wishes he had as much faith that his knowledge of Geralt would be enough. “I’ll certainly do my best.”

“A song, the medallion…” He taps his quill against the page, trying to think. “Ciri, I think you might be the last thing we need.”

“What?”

“Material possessions have never been that important to him,” Jaskier says. “His medallion is a symbol of his profession, his purpose. The song to remind him that he’s more than the monster people claim he is, and you—you’re his destiny. His future.”

Ciri tilts her head. “Really? It's been such a short time… are you sure it wouldn’t be his swords?”

“No,” Jaskier says, he’s as certain that she is part of this as she is that his song will help. “The swords are just tools, he’s lost them before. Gotten replacements. They’re important to him, certainly, but not, I think, in the same way that you are.”

Ciri ducks her head to hide a pleased smile and Jaskier hopes to all the gods that he is right. That they both are. They’ll reach the coast and Geralt tomorrow and he needs this to work. Jaskier lets out a long breath as he watches the dragon disappear from sight. Tries to calm the racing of his heart. He’s so desperate for this to work, so scared that it won’t. He makes sure he is steady enough to pretend at confidence before he returns to where Ciri is waiting a little way back from the cliff edge.

They can smell the salt in the air long before they see the ocean. As Jaskier had suspected, the area the dragon has led them too is at least a day's walk from any villages. Remote enough that nobody is likely to stumble upon him. Of course, if he’s spotted in the air that’s another matter, but hopefully they’ll have Geralt cured before anyone decides to muster up another dragon hunting expedition. The cliffside they approach is empty except for a single great hawthorn tree. The dragon is resting underneath the tree. Jaskier stops their approach to study him. His scales are the color of a stormy sky, silver and grey with tinges of blue and black. He has several horns on his head but is otherwise sleek and sinuous.

He lifts his head and fixes them with a piercing look. His eyes are still golden but they seem so much colder than Geralt’s. “You shouldn’t be here.” The dragon rumbles.

“Geralt!” Ciri cries, taking a step towards the dragon but he lifts his head higher and bares his fangs.

The dragon’s tail lashes—the end seems almost feathered and it stirs up a cold wind as it moves. “Leave this place.”

Jaskier places his hand on Ciri’s shoulder and stares at the dragon’s huge golden eyes. “We need you to come back to yourself, Geralt.” He thanks his years of vocal training for allowing him to keep his voice steady.

The dragon says nothing.

Jaskier squeezes Ciri’s shoulder. “Wait here,” he whispers as he takes Geralt’s medallion out of his pocket and slowly walks towards the dragon. In response, the dragon bares his fangs.

Jaskier stands before the dragon and holds out the medallion. “Here is your medallion, the symbol of your trade, your life. While you wear it, you shall always have your purpose.”

The dragon extends his head towards Jaskier cautiously. “If you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my medallion your death shall be.” The dragon’s words are said in an almost song-like chant—it’s an odd touch, but the whole spell is odd. With the dragon this close, Jaskier can sense the magic; it feels ancient and he wonders exactly what the Nilfgaardians thought they were doing.

Jaskier places the medallion on the ground and steps back with his hand raised to show that he will not touch the dragon. He watches the dragon extend one clawed foot to pull the medallion in close, holding it close to his face. He is still for a long moment before he launches himself up into the air and over the edge of the cliff.

“Is he leaving?” Ciri asks, rushing to stand by Jaskier’s side.

“Hunting perhaps,” Jaskier suggests. “I imagine we’re meant to come back tomorrow, and the day after—three days and three items.”

Ciri makes a face. “Why does magic have to be so complicated?”

Jaskier huffs a laugh. “I’ve often wondered the same thing. Come on, let's see if we can find a decent spot to set up camp.

They had set up camp in a copse of trees far enough back from the cliff edge that the wind was not quite so biting. They eat a quick breakfast and then head back towards the hawthorn tree. When they arrive, Geralt has not returned. Ciri, needing something to burn off her nervous energy, starts running through her training drills. She practices with a sword that Geralt must have had made for her—it is finely made, well balanced, and she is clearly comfortable with it.

Jaskier watches for a while before he settles down with his lute, trying to figure out what song might work to bring Geralt back. It’s a daunting task whe he’s still not entirely sure that one of his songs will even help, but they hadn’t been able to come up with any better ideas, so he’ll have to hope that destiny is on their side.

The sun is high in the sky when they hear the rushing sound of the dragon’s wings. They watch as it lands lightly on the edge of the cliff, water slides off his scales, sparkling in the sunlight. He coils himself around the tree. He regards them with clear interest. The medallion hangs around his neck.

“You’ve come again.” The dragon observes. “To offer another trinket?”

“Ah, not an item this time but a song!” Jaskier says, walking as close to the dragon as he dares before he adjusts his lute. “The medallion was to remind you that you are a witcher,” Jaskier explains. “The reason you walk the path. The song is to show you how important that is, how despite the difficulties, you remain good. A hero.”

The dragon rumbles something that sounds vaguely like disagreement.

“You can’t argue that you aren’t a hero when you don’t remember who you are.” Jaskier snaps. He’s had this fight enough times with Geralt when he does know himself.

The dragon snorts but he doesn’t protest beyond that. He lays his head on the ground gestures for Jaskier to proceed with a flick of his tail.

Jaskier takes a deep breath and starts to play the familiar notes of ‘The stars above the path’. It is not quite as popular as ‘toss a coin’ but it has more truth to it, written after Jaskier and Geralt had traveled together for almost a decade. Geralt is still heroic, of course, but the story is more complex—not meant to merely please a crowd at a tavern. Jaskier had tried to show the truth of Geralt—his compassion and bravery, his humanity. It’s the closest to a love song that Jaskier has ever written so obviously about Geralt, not that the witcher noticed.

The dragon seems intrigued at least, his focus never wavering from Jaskier as he sings, and by the final chorus his tail is twitching in time with the music. When the song ends the dragon moves slightly closer.

“He is your friend? Geralt?”

“He is,” Jaskier says easily. It has been almost two years since he had left Geralt in the Kestrel Mountains, but he still considers the witcher his friend.

“Then I hope your plan works.” The dragon says before he takes off, flying out over the open water.

The third day dawns blustery and cool, the scent of frost in the air reminding them they do not have much time left. Jaskier tries to keep himself calm and steady, he can see how frightened Ciri is and doesn’t want to do anything that might make it worse.

They still don’t know exactly what will happen if they have chosen wrong and they are not able to restore Geralt to himself, but Jaskier cannot imagine they will be allowed a second chance. He fears that the dragon will turn on them, but cannot do more than pray that if that happens he will be strong enough to hold it off long enough for Ciri to flee.

They wait in silence for the dragon to return—watching as he crests the cliffside and curls through the air above them. He spirals down until he is once again on the cliffside facing them, the long line of his body looped around the tree.

“Ready?” Jaskier asks, rising to his feet and offering Ciri a hand up.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Ciri asks.

“Then we go back to Yennefer and see if she has any other ideas,” Jaskier says, hoping that will reassure Ciri.

Ciri doesn’t look convinced but she lifts her chin, shifting to stand at her full height. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier nods and together they walk towards the dragon. The dragon watches, tail twitching like a cat preparing to spring.

“You’ve returned.” The dragon rumbles. “What will you try today?”

Jaskier takes a deep breath. “Today, your destiny”—he steps back and Ciri steps forward to take his place—”Cirilla, your daughter.”

“Daughter?” The dragon rumbles the question, eyes narrowed.

“Fate brought us together,” Ciri says, voice fierce and determined. “You swore that we would always find each other, that you wouldn’t leave me!”

The dragon moves his head closer and Jaskier holds his breath.

“Geralt, I need you. Your destiny is more than this.” Ciri says.

The dragon withdraws rapidly, coiling tighter on himself until the tree within his coils creaks a protest. “Destiny is cruel, child.”

Jaskier steps closer, placing a hand on Ciri’s trembling shoulder. “Destiny may have taken much from you, Geralt, but it has given you a gift. A chance for happiness. To have a family.” He takes a deep breath. “Would you abandon your child the way you were abandoned? Do not let this curse turn you into a monster.”

“I am a monster.” the dragon growls.

“You aren’t,” Jaskier says. “You are a witcher, a hero, a protector, a father. You are so much more than they say you are. More than you think you are.”

The dragon darts forward until he is so close to Jaskier that his breath ruffles the bard’s clothing. Jaskier stands still, resisting the urge to push Ciri behind him as the dragon examines them. His golden eyes seem different, warmer than they had before and Jaskier holds his breath—hardly daring to hope.

“You are so sure?” the dragon asks. “Even after the Kestrel Mountains?”

Jaskier sucks in a breath, if the dragon can reference past events then perhaps Geralt’s mind is becoming his own again. “Even after that,” Jaskier says. “Anger doesn’t make you a monster.”

“I hurt you.” the dragon says.

“You did.” Jaskier agrees. “That doesn’t change who you are. You are still a good man, Geralt. You’ve made mistakes but that doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you human.”

The dragon, Geralt, gives a slow blink. He doesn’t speak but he doesn’t move away either.

“What now?” Ciri whispers.

Jaskier gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Classic curse-breaking,” he says. “The traditional ways always work best. Hopefully.” He takes a step closer to the dragon who is still not moving—just watching with an intense focus.

“Gods, please let this work,” Jaskier whispers, and then he leans in and presses a kiss to the dragon’s snout.

For a long breathless moment, absolutely nothing happens. Then everything goes white.

Jaskier comes back to awareness slowly. His ears are ringing. He feels a small hand holding his own. With a great deal of effort, he opens his eyes, blinking away bright white spots. For a moment he is staring up at the empty sky and then Geralt is there, warm golden eyes scanning his face. Jaskier reaches his free hand up and touches the loose hair falling around Geralt’s face.

“It worked.” Jaskier hears himself say, voice breathless and awed. He touches Geralt’s cheek and marvels at the way Geralt presses into his hand.

“It did.” Geralt agrees. “Thank you, Jaskier.”

“Oh, well. It was no trouble.” Jaskier lies cheerfully. He’s not certain how to act, how to deal with the fact that Geralt is his true love. “I ju—”

The rest of what he was going to say is silenced and then forgotten completely as Geralt leans in and kisses him. It is soft, gentle and so tender Jaskier almost wants to scream. After a long moment, Geralt pulls back, just slightly, so that he can press his forehead against Jaskier’s.

“I missed you.” Geralt says.

“Oh,” Jaskier murmurs, at a loss for words. Any anger he felt fades away in the face of Geralt’s little smile. He looks radiant with happiness.

“Um. I hate to interrupt,” Ciri says. “But we should probably find somewhere to spend the night?”

Geralt moves away with a great deal of reluctance. He rises fluidly to his feet, looking no worse for his time as a dragon. He reaches out a hand to Jaskier and pulls him to his feet. He doesn’t drop Jaskier’s hand.

“What now?” Jaskier asks, trying not to appear as nervous as he feels.

“We’ll find a place to camp tonight.” Geralt says. “And then… would you come with us?”

“What?” Jaskier asks. “Where?”

“We’re going to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Will you come?” Geralt actually looks nervous as if the answer isn’t blatantly obvious.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says softly. “I’d follow you anywhere. All you had to do was ask.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s mouth tilts into a tiny smile. “Good.”

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geraskier fic #fairy tale inspired #my writing #my fics #mine #txp

157 notes · View notes

woogyu · 3 years

Text

A World Tinted Gold | Mingyu; Chapter Two

Kalon; beauty that is more than skin-deep

streamer!y/n x werewolf!mingyu

notes; werewolf au

word count; 1749

previous | next | masterlist

summary; The only werewolves you encountered were the ones living inside your video games. They were nothing more to you than mythical creatures you often had to kill in order to complete objectives. You had a good thing going with your online gaming setup. Your supporters were kind and usually tipped well during streams. Sure it meant you had to deal with the occasional creep sliding into your DMs, but it was worth it. Playing games online was putting you through college. Little did you know your quiet life was about to be turned upside down at the hands of someone you didn’t think existed outside of the virtual world.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Are you seriously watching that steamer again? Why don’t you just play the games yourself?” Seungcheol questioned as he stepped into Mingyu’s room, chuckling as the younger wolf quickly turned around and blushed.

“It’s not the same… I’m not really interested in the games, I’m interested in her” Mingyu admitted sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so transfixed, but he had a hard time tearing his eyes from the screen. Hell, just the other day when you read his comment aloud, he was over the moon.

“It’s rare for you to show interest in a girl at all” Seungcheol remarked, eyebrow pulled up in question. Until a wolf found its mate there was little reason to get involved with or show interest in others romantically. There were of course some wolves that preferred being unmated; it allowed them to be explorative with their romantic partners. Not all wolves longed to find their mate, and not all wolves would end up finding their mates. He knew destiny had a hand to play in it all, but the thought of never finding who he was supposed to be with made the wolf in him whine. Mingyu wasn’t an unmated wolf that enjoyed exploring his options, he was desperately waiting for the day he met his mate. Right now, Mingyu wasn’t sure if he was simply lonely or if there was something more going on.

“There is just something about her…” Mingyu started, pausing for a second to find the right words, “I just have a hard time tearing my eyes away from the screen. There is something about her that just draws me in” Mingyu explained. He wasn’t doing a very good job at explaining the feelings that bubbled up inside him when he saw you on screen. When he tried to explain it he could never quite describe the feeling that settled over his chest and body, it was a warmth almost like a subtle glow within him.

Seungcheol didn’t comment on it any further as he moved into the room and crossed his arms over his chest. Mingyu knew better than to ignore the alpha, closing his laptop he turned to face Seungcheol fully. Their pack had a different dynamic than most. Normally a thirteen-member pack would be impossible because of the strain it put on the head alpha. It worked for them because while Seungcheol was their main alpha, they had two secondary alphas, Jihoon and Soonyoung. The three of them shared the work of looking after the group and it worked perfectly for them. He liked that the alphas didn’t abuse their power, there was a lot of lenience in the pack and it made for less confrontations.

“Joshua has to head into town tonight and won’t be able to run the perimeter. Would you be alright with doing it?” Seungcheol asked, pursing his lips as he looked down at the younger wolf. Mingyu normally enjoyed running the perimeter, it meant he got to shift and stretch his body, but this time he was a little bit more hesitant with his answer. Mingyu knew that later on tonight you would have a new video posted and he would have to wait even longer to watch it. It seemed like a silly reason, but his heart ached at the thought of not being able to ‘see’ you on screen until early tomorrow morning.

“Sure! I don’t mind” Mingyu answered with a half-smile, Seungcheol never asked him for much so he figured he could help him out with this. Seungcheol breathed a sigh of relief as he leaned back against the wall.

“Thank you, I didn’t really want to be the one stuck doing it again” Seungcheol admitted, the alpha had been on perimeter duty for the past 3 nights and must have been eager for a good night’s sleep. Mingyu smiled and nodded his head a few times, his own wants would just have to be paused for a little while.

Before leaving the room Seungcheol patted him on the shoulder, yawning a little bit as he headed toward what Mingyu assumed was his own room. Mingyu was thankful that Seungcheol’s parents had left him their families pack house. Coming from a family of alpha’s certainly had its perks, and it meant they all got their own rooms.

Once Seungcheol was gone he checked the time, he had roughly 4 hours before he would have to head out.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I just don’t understand what this trend is supposed to be” you complained to Ciri for probably the 20th time over your video call. Apparently, there was a trend going around among streamers to recreate video games in real life. You hadn’t thought much of it when it first gained popularity, but now Ciri thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to join in on it. Her big plan was a two-part video where the two of you recreated iconic aspects of the Witcher 3 video game. You should have known she would want to do it, she already owned a Cirilla cosplay.

“It’s going to be fun” Ciri reminded you, drawing out the last syllable as she drew a fake scar along her face, effectively transforming herself into the iconic video game character.

“Come on, I even sent you the Yennefer cosplay and everything!” she exclaimed, using her make up brush to point at the camera accusingly. You rolled your eyes as you reached up to adjust the dark black wig that you now wore. To her credit, Ciri had sent you everything you would need to transform yourself into Yennefer of Vengerberg. How she somehow guessed your sizing right you would have no idea. Probably the Witcher powers.

“I wish we lived in the same city” you sighed, leaning your head back and looking up at the ceiling. Things would be so much easier if you and Ciri, and the other girls, didn’t live so far away from one another. But that was the price you paid for finding your friends online.

“Me too” Ciri said with a gentle sigh, setting her make up tools down and picking up her phone, her face coming into full view.

“I sent you the script, I won’t be able to stay on the call with you while we are filming because data rates are crazy, but I know you’ll do amazing” Ciri said with a reassuring smile. You would have to film all of this on your own, which was just a little bit intimidating. Ciri’s script mostly just directed you to do a lot of handwaving and she would add in the ‘magic’ elements later.

“Just find a good spot in the woods and it’ll be perfect” Ciri finished with a nod of her head. You sighed, straightening yourself up and looking down at your phone.

“I’ll call you later on when I’m finished to send you the video” you mumbled, pouting a little bit as you stood and picked up your phone.

“Good luck!” Ciri told you, waving a little bit before ending the call. Great, now you actually had to go do it…

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were lucky there was quite a bit of woods around where you lived, the problem was going to be trying to get to the woods without anyone seeing the ridiculous clothes you were wearing. You threw on a huge coat, effectively covering up most of the costume. After grabbing the bag with your equipment, you ventured outside, keeping your head down as you walked to avoid drawing attention.

Twenty minutes later you were standing in the middle of a beautiful calm forest. Now that you were here you questioned why you didn’t come out here more often. You couldn’t hear the loud noises that came with living in a bustling city and the air felt fresh on your face. Once you reached a small clearing by a river you laid your things down and took a deep breath, basking in the coolness of the air. Maybe this trend wouldn’t be so bad.

After setting up your camera in a place you were at least half sure wouldn’t result in it falling over, you walked into frame and took a deep breath. You briefly checked your phone to see what Ciri’s notes asked of you, before you began doing your best to follow directions. Your portion of the video wouldn’t be long, but you did re-film it 4 times to try and get your motions to be less stiff.

After forty-five minutes of waving your arms around, you walked back to your camera, picking it up before taking a seat on a nearby log. Reviewing the footage, you winced at how awkward it looked, you seriously hoped that Ciri could work some magic on this because you didn’t have it in you to film it again.

The forest around you was darkening as the day began to draw to a close, but you couldn’t bring yourself to head back right away. The forest was too peaceful and serene. Reaching up you pulled your wig off, stuffing it in your bag as you sighed with relief. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, focusing in on the sounds of nature around you. Maybe coming to the woods would become a weekly thing for you, like therapy.

A low deep growl broke you out of your trance, your eyes flying open and flickering around to find the source. Your heart hammered against your chest, and your whole body stiffened in fear. A few moments later a dark black wolf emerged from the trees, larger than any wolf you had seen on tv. You could vaguely see blood dripping from its muzzle, and its dark red eyes were focused right on you.

It paused at the edge of the clearing, its lips pulling back to reveal sharp blood-stained teeth. Your breath came quick as you leaned back, unsure if you should run or try and hide behind the log. Both seemed unhelpful in this current situation, but you were really low on options.

The wolf’s body tensed before springing toward you. Your hands instinctively grabbed whatever was nearest to you, which happened to be your very expensive camera, and threw it toward the wolf. This did nothing to deter the predator from its prey, and within seconds the beast was on you.

#seventeen werewolf #werewolf!seventeen #werewolf!mingyu #seventeen x reader #ultkpop #seventeen #svt #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #kim mingyu #Werewolf!AU #werewolf!svt #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x reader #seventeen mingyu

49 notes · View notes

write-ur-wrongs · 4 years

Text

Request: Geralt and reader with their child (even though its impossible😂 lets just say some magic did it) when geralts mom visenna wants to see her grandchild ... but Geralt is torn because she left him when he was a kiddo

I had so much fun writing this!! Thank you sweet anon for the request :’)

Word count: 2078.

____________________________

It was always a welcome surprise when letters arrived at your doorstep. Sometimes your family members would write, keeping you posted on what was going on in their little lives across the continent. Sometimes your own witcher would write you, and while his letters were never long, you always had a laugh when Jaskier would scrawl over the back, adding his own little twist on their tales. Every now and then one would arrive from someone Geralt had saved somewhere along his travels. You kept these in a cherished old chest beneath your bed and pulled them out when you needed to be reminded why Geralt couldn’t always be home with you.

It had been ages since you had to pull out that chest for comfort, though. Nowadays, everything you needed was right here with you. You had Geralt to wake up to every morning, Ciri to raise, Roach to train and tend to, your dear friend Jaskier, and finally your beautiful daughter, Wren.

To say Wren was a surprise would be an understatement. Witchers couldn’t have children, you knew this. You also knew that you loved Geralt and Ciri more than anything. When you and Geralt decided to get married, it took you so long to convince him you’d be alright with just them; that with them, you’d be more than whole.

You had a beautiful wedding. Ciri by your side, Jaskier serenading on the lute, Eskel as officiant. You had your friends and family with you, and Geralt had his. Together you made a blissful pair.

It was late in the evening, everyone was flushed with ale and laughter, and you had somehow managed to keep Geralt on the dancefloor for more than his standard two songs.

You watched fondly as Geralt’s old friends teased him mercilessly, their gruff faces warm with fond smiles. Watching young Ciri be twirled by Vesemir, Geralt looked softer than you’d ever seen him. You shook your head at them and laughed to yourself, thrilled to see your big, brooding witcher truly happy.

It was so hard to remember a time when you were happier.

The party had fizzled out by the time Yennefer appeared. She had kissed Ciri softly on her forehead before bidding her goodnight, and held Geralt in a long embrace. You watched them from across your yard with a tight smile; you knew you had no reason to be jealous, but still. It had stung a little.

That jealousy is something you’d regret for the rest of your days, because right after she let go of him Yen made her way over to you and gifted you with something beyond your wildest dreams; fertility.

And thus, was born Wren, your beloved and cherished girl. The first of her kind, surely to grow up to be as strong as her sister Cirilla and as enchanting as her Godmother Yennefer.

Now, sitting in the kitchen as the morning sun came pouring in, you watched with adoration as Wren mushed her breakfast between her chubby little fingers, pushing it around and painting bright streaks across her cheeks.

“Eat your berries my sweet girl,” you laughed, wiping what you could off her little face. Wren squealed gleefully as you pinched her stomach lightly, waving her sticky hands as she giggled.

Still laughing, you turned to greet Ciri as she came in the front door, dropping a basket of herbs on the floor.

“Mom,” Ciri said, out of breath from her excited run from the mailbox, “there’s a letter for dad!”

“Oh?” You examined the thick envelop between your fingers curiously. It was too high a quality to be from any of the villages Geralt had visited before your pregnancy, but not so luxurious as to be from a royal family he’d impressed years prior.

“Is it from Aunt Yen?” Ciri asked, through loud bites of an apple.

“I don’t think so, hon” you said, running your fingers over the fine penmanship used to spell out your husbands’ name. “This isn’t her handwriting.”

“Maybe she wrote it with magic?” Ciri mused looking over your shoulder, “an enchanted quill might have its own style.”

“I suppose you never know,” you agreed, brow furrowed as you weighed the envelop in your hands, finally dropping it on the kitchen counter. “We will have to wait for your father to return to find out.”

“Can’t we just open it now? You used to read his mail all the time.” Ciri said, still loudly chewing on her apple.

“That was long ago when your dad was still travelling, Ciri,” you chided, “and close your mouth when you chew.”

“Fine,” Ciri rolled her eyes and ruffled her little sisters’ hair, “but call me when he’s back. I’m going to train on the trail.”

“Be back for dinner please,” you said, reaching back to smooth down Ciri’s cloak.

“Got it, mom,” she said, kissing the top of your head and ruffling Wren’s hair once more on her way out.

You shook your head and smiled as you watched her run out the back door, turning your attention back to your tiny tot and doing your best to ignore the letter on the counter as you cleaned up Wren’s mess.

“Up you get you little goose,” you say as you scoop Wren up into your arms and carry her to your large basin in the kitchen. The water should be the perfect temperature by now, after all it’s been about an hour since you took it off the hearth.

Wren settled happily into her bath but it took almost all your energy to keep your focus off the letter on the counter behind you.

By the time Ciri had returned, the sun had set and Geralt was still nowhere to be seen. You spent all of dinner trying to distract Ciri – it seemed all she wanted to do was discuss the letter.

When Geralt finally came home, the moon was high on the horizon and Wren was blissfully asleep in your arms. Ciri practically jumped on her father, shoving the letter excitedly in his face, begging him to open it right then.

You saw the change in his face happen quickly. One moment he was beaming down at his child surprise, and the next he seemed numb, distant. The more Ciri spoke of the letter, the more you saw Geralt’s anger bubble to surface.

Unwilling to let Geralt blow up at Ciri – something you knew from experience he’d regret deeply – you quickly interjected.

“Ciri, baby, take your sister to bed, would you?” You said quickly, handing Wren to her sister before she could contest.

“Mom the letter –” she began.

“Cirilla,” you said, gently but with a tone that signaled finality, “take Wren to bed.”

She frowned at you slightly, big mousey eyes begging for a chance to be a part of what she knew would be a big discussion.

“I’ll come tuck you in later.” You said meaningfully, giving her arm a squeeze. Ciri gave you her big grateful eyes and you swallowed a smile and nodded her toward the bedrooms.

Once the girls were off to bed and out of earshot you turned back to Geralt, who had ripped the letter open and sat stock-still on the chair by the door. His golden eyes were vacantly scanning the letter he held in one hand while the other rested firmly over his mouth.

You made your way over to him hesitantly as his face grew sourer the farther he read.

“Is Yennefer well?” you tried, praying Ciri was right about the elusive writing style of enchanted quills.

When Geralt’s golden eyes met yours though, you knew you were wrong; or right, depending on the case. Yennefer hadn’t written this infamous letter, and by the looks of the man before you, you weren’t sure you wanted to know who had.

“Do – um, Is uh… Are you…?” you sputtered, desperate to find to right thing to say.

Geralt put the parchment down and crushed it in his hand. While you waited for him to make his next move, you sunk to your knees before him, placing a steady hand on his knee in comfort. Your other hand betrayed your nerves and trembled as you clutched at the necklace around your neck.

It felt like eternity before Geralt brought his eyes up to yours, and you could feel your heart beating through your chest as you waited.

“It’s… from Visenna.” He said through clenched teeth, barely audible.

It took you a moment to put two-and-two together, but once you did, your eyes grew wide.

“Your mother?” you asked, almost as quiet as he’d been.

He gave you a low, ‘hum’, in response, jaw tense as his eyes looked vacant.

When you spoke again, you brought your other hand to his knee and gave both a comforting squeeze.

“Why did she write you, Geralt?”

He closed his eyes and signed slowly through his nose, only relaxing his clenched jaw once his hand clutched around yours. You gave his hand another squeeze and leaned down to lay a gentle kiss atop your hands, looking up at him through your lashes.

“She wants to meet Wren.” He said quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face.

You screwed your face in confusion. “How does she even know –” you started.

“Says she’s always wanted a grand-child,” he interrupted you bitterly, golden eyes dark with hurt.

You scoffed under your breath, unable to imagine the rationale of someone who wanted grandchildren sending their only child off to the Witchers for mutation. When you looked up and saw the expression on your husbands face though, you put your own strife aside and cupped his face in both your hands.

“What are you thinking, my love?” you asked gently, brushing your thumb along his stubbly cheek.

A single tear left Geralt’s eyes. He did his best to blink them away, hiding his face into your palm.

“She’s my mother –” he choked through tears, swallowing repeatedly to keep himself from sobbing.

“Okay,” you hum soothingly, stroking away his tears as they fell, “If she wants to meet Wren, she can do so with all three of us present. We can invite Jaskier and any of your brothers from Kaer Morhen – Hell, let’s invite Yennefer. We both know Yen would kill anyone who even thinks about harming her Goddaughter and Gods, Cirilla isn’t about to let anyone hurt her sister either,” you were rambling now, saying anything you could to see Geralt relax.

“You – You’d be alright with that?”

“Oh, love,” you said, running your thumb gently across his cheek, “my only concern right now is whether you are alright with that.” You waited a beat before adding, “You don’t need to let her into our lives if you don’t want to, Geralt. Mother or not, you owe her nothing.”

He let out another sigh before standing you both up, taking your hands in his. You held each other tightly with only the sound of the crackling fire of the hearth playing around you.

Geralt pulled away from you just enough to let your lips meet in soft kiss.

“You know…” you said lightly, quirking up a brow, “Ciri isn’t going to sleep until we tell her about the letter.”

Geralt hummed out a laugh, shaking his head at his daughter’s unsatiable curiosity. “Maybe we can wait her out, she surely trained hard today,” he said, tilting his head toward the filthy pile of clothes Ciri had thrown unceremoniously onto the floor of the entryway.

“I wonder where she picks up these little habits,” you laughed, hugging Geralt from behind and pointing to the bloody sword and boots he’d abandoned by the door just moments prior. You felt the low rumble of his laugh through his back and laid a small kiss between his shoulder blades before pulling away.

“You know don’t have to decide anything tonight, Geralt,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair, “and you certainly don’t need to tell Ciri everything.”

He hummed happily as your nails scratched his scalp and turned to take you into his arms once more.

“Let’s discuss and decide it together, then,” he said with a smile, nodding his head towards girls’ room, “as a family.”

You smiled up at him then, certain that no matter what was you all chose to do, you would be okay.

“As a family,” you repeated, leading him down the hall.

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt fanfic #witcher geralt #the witcher #the witcher netflix #witcher fic #dad!geralt #cirilla of cintra #yennefer and ciri #yennefer of vengerberg #fanfiction requests

261 notes · View notes

seventfics · 3 years

Photo

Lionhearted

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Talking in your Sleep Relationships: Cirilla/Morvran Voorhis (+ background Emhyr/Geralt) Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: Before her future reign can begin, Cirilla has to commit to the trust exercise that is an arranged marriage. If only her sleep would be peaceful.

Read on AO3

* * *

“...Cirilla?”

Ciri stirs fully awake at a gentle touch over her shoulder. It is a miracle she does not lash out instinctively and break something. Her limbs feel tight, aching by how tense they’d become in sleep. The faint shadows of a nightmare still dance behind her eyes. She hears the clopping of hooves, the horses of the Wild Hunt approaching—the cold blast of winter hits her as if naked in the snow.

Pure imagination. The bedroom is warm-lit by a hearth. It is summer, and she is safe. She is more than safe.

The touch that rose her pulls her back from the lingering vision of doom. She turns to light eyes, pinched in worry.

“Sorry..." She draws the sheets closer, her wild hair a fan over her face. The room is warm, but a chill runs under her skin all the same. "Did I disturb you?”

Morvran studies her. He sits a comfortable distance away from her. The monstrously-large bed makes that easy. “Not really.”

Slowly, her muscles unwind from their tense curl. A minute passes, and she’s tired again. “Don’t let me keep you awake,” she says rolling on her side, and then, almost a whisper, “you know, you can call me Ciri.”

* * *

The final battle is over. It has been for a peaceful few years. And yet, her mind stays restless, ready for the next enemy to come tearing through her life. So far it’s only been arrogant old men with predictable ambitions, which is pitiful compared to the ageless Aen Elle that had chased her through time and space, and the world-ending White Frost waiting at the end of it all. Really, they should step up their game if they want to make her sweat.

Her dreams made of frost and blood do most of the work for them. It's inescapable. Exhausting.

Every time she wakes from snow clogging her lungs, she sees Morvran had stirred awake in the night, and she apologizes with genuine-felt guilt.

Her husband is always polite about it, which is hard for her to accept at first. Experience tells her to expect a confrontation, or a fight about affecting him with her sleeplessness. But Morvran—she discovers quickly into their spousal arrangement—is quiet company, even if sometimes he seems a little on edge himself. A soldier's nervousness lies behind his gaze. The General without a war to fight. At least she’s not the only one struggling with peacetime.

They say that marriage forges a bond between two souls. That is what her father—of all people—tells her on one of their joint-breakfast mornings.

“There is a responsibility there," Emhyr says with enviable composure. "He is the only one’s opinion you must consult and rely on with matters of state.”

Ciri nearly scoffs. “Not even yours then?”

“Not even mine. Do you not trust him?”

She thinks long after that, a little angry with his nonchalance. Of course she doesn't. Of course it's not that easy. Ask any other lady or princess what their marriage gave them and see if any one of them bring up the word trust. Her father is biased. His own marriage had been sown by destiny's hand.

And yet, after the whispers of dark dreams rouse her at night, she does trust Morvran to be near, to remind her with his presence that she is no longer a child running from great and powerful enemies anymore. She is the daughter of the Black Sun. Nothing can touch her now.

Would be nice to sleep well again on her own soon, though.

Emhyr accepts her silence and sips his tea while it is still warm. He doesn't say anything about the dark circles under her eyes, and she doesn't talk about why they're there.

Geralt visits not a day after, the first time after her marriage, and he sure won't let it go unaddressed.

“I'm fine, Geralt. Haven’t slept well is all.”

That is all she's willing to say, not wanting to bother him too much when he'd arrived so happy to greet her. But it’s Geralt. He knows her better than anyone. Better than she knows herself.

"Haven't slept? You know what that does to your clarity of mind. And are you doing anything about it? Is it the mattress? I tell you, they make them too soft in the south. You need a little firmness to stop you when you're tossing..."

His fussing calms her heart. The opposite would be just as true. If he panics, all her own worries neutralize as she remembers how to think straight for him. They are each other's pillars.

So he frets, and she waves him off, feeling a little better by the second.

Tea together in the garden is a relaxing surprise activity with him, although now that he's brought up the topic of modern furniture and poor craftsmanship, Geralt is grouching about how uncomfortable the chairs are.

“They’re meant to keep your spine straight," she says, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, and it’s crap. Doesn’t fit all of me.”

“That’s because you’re carrying fifty pounds of armor and steel. You might not want to rest all your weight on it actually.”

Geralt purposely leans back on his chair, the wood giving an alarming creak. “Are you calling me fat?”

She laughs at him so hard the Impera keeping guard from the garden's entrance twitch their heads to them. They act like a sign of joy from her is a terrifying dragon come to burn the palace down.

“I miss that,” Geralt mutters with a fake pout.

“What? My laughter?”

“Your…ease with it. I know being empress is nothing to scoff at." At the mention of her future court, Ciri touches her imperial diadem—both a symbol of her patrimony and a wedding band. Geralt tracks the gesture. The sigh he gives is heavy and long. "I mean, shit, this whole marriage thing attached to it isn’t what either of us planned for."

The metal warms under her rubbing thumb. "None of what's happened in our journey ever has been."

A witcher's path is unpredictable. One lives by the day and learns to adapt to what comes. And she's doing that still. Adapting like a witcheress. Soon, she'll have to start thinking more like an empress.

"The General," Geralt starts, and she refocuses on him and the serious set of his brow. "He’s a good man at least. A little…eccentric I think, but he is one of the better ones in Emhyr’s court.”

Now it's her turn to grumble, “I know. It’s annoying. I wish I could have a reason to hate him but he’s so…ugh, mannerly!”

This time Geralt laughs, and for a moment, Ciri is a witcher’s child in the wilds again, punting her father’s shoulder for a dumb joke he's pulled at her expense.

She stops suddenly when a familiar figure, all shoulders and dark colors to contrast his light hair, comes through the garden gates. 'Speak of the devil' might be a rude thought to have, yet it perfectly encapsulates how luck draws its cards on her this morning.

“Geralt of Rivia!” comes Morvran’s happy voice. “I thought I heard the rumble of bickering servants on the way here. Now I understand what displeased them so.”

“I’m not wearing their black-and-white cotton traps and you can’t make me.”

Ciri blinks between them. It surprises her how well Geralt gets along with him, and how openly joyous Morvran is being about his company—and yes, she would call him joyous even as his face is subtle in expressing it. Breaking courtly address would normally upset her recently-made husband no matter the suspect. And yet Geralt, who does not mean to do it intentionally, receives no such berating speeches on etiquette and formality. Actually, Morvran shakes his hand the northern way of greeting. Maybe he's good at adapting too.

“Of course not, sir witcher," Morvran says with his other hand raised in acquiescence. "There is no dire interrogation to fulfill at this hour.”

"Don't threaten me with a free clean shave again." To her, he offers a parting, “Alright. I've taken up enough of your time, I’m gonna head out.”

Her heart sinks at the cursory goodbye. This is her father in all but blood leaving her secure little bubble once more, to be a witcher without her. She is not a child anymore—he doesn't ruffle her ashen hair, though she dearly wants him to for old time's sake. It would mess up her diadem and the intricate plaiting of the braids behind her head.

She is not a child anymore, and yet she is already melancholy at the quick turn of his back.

"See you later, Geralt." Her words are a promise. We will see each other again.

As he steps into the flower path that winds back to the guards, Morvran calls out, “His imperial majesty is currently in a meeting.”

Geralt stops. He looks, for some reason, abashed. “What? Why are you telling me that?”

“I thought you would be privy to that information." Morvran shrugs in dismissal. "Va faill."

It's almost funny how fast Geralt stomps out of the garden. As Ciri observes the exchange, all her previous heartache is swept under the rug. There is something she's not picking up. Fortunately it's not all she has to talk about to her present, lingering company.

“It’s weird that you two actually get along.” At her words, Morvran turns to her with open surprise.

“Geralt of Rivia is a genial man," he says, his hands meeting behind his back as is Nilfgaardian custom in public. "I believe anyone would be glad to refresh their acquaintance with him.”

Ciri, who was not raised with said customs and is instead being tutored in them with little success, snorts. Loudly.

“You just like that you can rope him into joining a riding competition on a promise of free food.”

Under all his Nilfgaardian powder, Morvran blushes. She can see it in his ears.

She laughs at him too.

* * *

It’s another night of bad dreams. Her memories have toyed with her enough that now she is witness to futures she cannot control. Geralt alone on the Path, the Empire at war with itself from her negligence, all of her old friends, her family, broken apart and dying as she lives on.

She wakes slowly, not in a startle or a choked breath. Her body aches worse than if she had.

Morvran is already awake beside her, a frown set upon his lips.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Between waking and the dissipating fear of her nightmare, Ciri is caught completely off guard. “I...didn’t, no.”

He doesn't explain any more, choosing to give her space as he's done for previous interrupted nights. Part of her wants to ask more. She wants to hear what she had said—what nightmare had she been speaking into existence. Did he recognize anything? Did he want to ask, but simply refrain out of properness?

Whatever it is she uttered in fever sleep, she lets it go. Talking about it now would be worse, somehow. Like making her nightmares a real, concrete thing.

Sleep still fights her long into the night. It does not come a second time. Which is good, as she opens her eyes to a timely assassination.

The weapon under her pillow slides into her hand not a breath later. She always keeps something sharp and deadly there. Good habit, both her fathers would say, for different reasons.

Before the assassin can strike, Ciri blinks in between time. They are dead where they stand, frozen mid-step, collapsing the very next instant time moves for her.

In the commotion that follows, everyone wakes. The emperor looks as regal and rested as always and Ciri envies that as her hair resembles a rat’s nest, mussed from the fear-sweat of her haunted sleep. At least Morvran is just as unkempt as her. They make quite the competition for most messy bedhead, side by side. And though the hours stretch on, from private meetings to argued suspicions, Morvran looks in his element. Her element.

Put an enemy in front of them and they will beat it down until it’s rid of.

Her mind is driven to this new task. Securing entry points, questioning any guards that had slack. Her edges feels frayed—sticking to Morvran like a shadow as they move from room to room, servant to official, order to action, way past sunrise. Her angry expression turns any worried servant away from asking for her imperial majesty to eat.

The assassin had tried to kill him. And no one seems to be that concerned since her own head is still attached to her shoulders. Not even Morvran.

Things calm down well past noon. They both return tired and dry-eyed to their arranged room.

She touches his sleeve and holds his weary gaze. “If you die I won’t forgive you.”

Morvran nods, like she makes sense. “I would never plan on it. It would upset your father.”

For a second, Ciri doesn’t know which one he means, and that makes her smile stupidly, at its pure truth.

She wipes her grin off before Morvran has a chance to politely appreciate it.

* * *

“You’re antsy.”

Ciri hums, taking a bite of her deviled eggs. “I'm not antsy.”

“You are bending the good fork.”

She stares down at her hand and finds that Emhyr is right and the fork is just a little twisted at the neck.

"I'm sure someone's job is to fix it. Just, call them."

Nothing in her posture or her expression could possibly tell Emhyr what sits heavy in her head, short of him being a mindreader. And yet, somehow, he pieces everything together correctly to ask, “Would it be so terrible for you to like him?”

Ciri sighs, looking up at the ornate chandelier, begging it to crash down on her and get her out of this conversation. Because she already does like Morvran, quite a lot, and it is terrible. She would hate to admit to her father that he is right. He’ll never live it down.

Of course, she doesn't need to say anything at all. Her godsdamned mind-reading father already knows. When did he learn to read her so effortlessly?

...Has he been consulting Geralt?

However it may be, Emhyr clears his throat and straightens his fork on his side of the breakfast table. “Some people," he says as she sulks internally, "are fortunate and marry the one they love. Others find a way to make it work.”

At his following pause, Ciri straightens in her seat to meet his gaze. His silences are always weighty and grave.

“I hope that he is worth the work,” he ends.

Then the moment passes, and he's eating again. Leaving her to contemplate alone what it means that her father, the emperor, might actually want her to be happy with the man who would share her rule once she is officially crowned. It's...it's trusting. It's too much to think about so early in the morning.

Being who she is, however, Ciri returns to the source of her sulk and the many questions it created.

“So, have you spoken with Geralt?”

Emhyr drinks his tea very slowly. “Of course not. Had he anything important to relay to me?”

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “I'm sure you know he came to visit recently, but you don’t ask me what we talked about?”

“Whatever it is you two get up to does not concern me.”

She hums, sipping her own tea. “It’s funny I guess, I thought you asked of him through Morvran.”

Emhyr sets his cup down, narrowing his eyes in thought. As he studies her, she keeps on sipping her tea until it’s finished. “Just curious,” she adds before parting for the day. Give him something to puzzle over that isn't her.

* * *

'Did you know you talk in your sleep?'

Only two nights of the next seven does she stir awake. Not from bad dreams, exactly. Not from dark memories or anxious fears either. Ciri rubs her face now, frustrated, pulled from sleep again for no apparent reason.

Morvran is awake beside her, as he always is. His face is not pressed with a frown, though. She can't stop thinking on his words so casually spoken the night an assassin tried to take him from her, and settles back onto her enormous pillows.

“...What did I say this time?”

“Oh,” he blinks at her, and it’s sleepy and lazy, not at all very general-like. “Something about a swallow. That you miss it. Did you used to own a bird?”

She closes her eyes briefly, oddly at peace with her sleep talking. He had listened to her secret fears for all these nights, her haunted screams, and made them his own secrets.

If she could trust him to know that, then, it is not so difficult to trust him with the more simple things.

“No. Swallow was the name of my sword. I carried her with me everywhere.”

“Ah. Where is she now?”

“I gave her to Geralt before I came to be here. A witcher’s sword is not something I can wield from a throne.”

He touches his hand to her cheek, the first time he’s breached courtly etiquette with her. It is warm and callused.

“I am confident that sir Geralt keeps Swallow sharp and oiled so that the blade stays strong. I am...sorry,” he says with more awkwardness.

She covers his hand with her own, a little laugh escaping her when he blinks rapidly at her returned touch, like he had not expected it at all. “It's alright. I entrusted her to him.”

Marriage forges a bond between two people.

#morvran x ciri #rarepair summer bingo #tt #myfics

17 notes · View notes

planetesastraea · 3 years

Text

On the tip of his fingers

Geraskier, Modern AU - Mature - 6 277 words - Warnings: none

First meetings, himbo Geralt, bisexual Geralt (even if he’s just finding out), bottom Geralt (that too), top Jaskier, first time, handjobs, banter, praise kink, consent kink

Betaed by Micaela Dawn: she’s a wonderful artist and beta, check out her work!

Read on AO3

The bar was oddly crowded for a Wednesday night and Geralt was trying his best to not look as out of place as he felt. He had to be there, were Yen's words. And once Triss and Sabrina heard he was trying to get out of the team’s celebratory night out, his fate had been sealed.

"You deserve this too," Yen had said. “You’ve been working your ass off as much as we’ve all been and you deserve to blow off some steam.”

“I can blow off some steam at home.”

“Playing Skittles-stake Gwent with our teenage daughter doesn’t count. Also you promised you’d spend more time with the team outside of work-”

“I actually never agreed to that,”

“-so you’re coming.”

And so here he was, wearing one of his black button down shirts and a comfortable pair of jeans with an empty beer bottle in his hand, making casual conversation over the slightly too-loud music and praying to the highest powers that the girls wouldn’t try to get him to dance. Triss and Yen had met him in front of the bar to make sure he wouldn’t turn away once he had a look inside the place. As soon as he had been close enough, Triss had reached a hand out to his collar, making a tsk sound.

“What are we going to do with you, hm?”, she had whispered to herself as she had opened the top two buttons of his shirt and pulled his collar a little wider.

“Hey, be gentle,” Yen had cut in softly. “At least he lost the tie.”

They had cackled in unison as he rolled his eyes, yet unable to fake annoyance as a smile drew itself on his lips. With one of the women clinging to each of his arms, the three of them comfortably slid together as they walked into the place.

He liked being around them. Over the years things had been several levels of complicated and then some, but the three of them had found their pace eventually. Triss and Yen liked to mock him and he liked to act dumber than he actually was- well, most of the time. His social skills still didn’t reach that high.

As it turned out, you could learn a lot about people by staying at the office several nights in a row working a gigantic case, taking turns on who would get to doze off for twelve minutes on the couch and who was to blame for the soy sauce on page 86 of the Claremont contract. And damn did Triss and Yen know him well. Which was why they had dutifully waited for him outside the bar. Claiming he looked for them but gave up because of how packed the place was would definitely have been among his top three excuses to go back home and relieve Eskel of his Uncle duties. (Both he and Ciri would have been terribly disappointed and that was about 75% of the reasons why he had made it to the party).

They had been here for a couple of hours now, had done a good amount of talking and heard some more-than-other alright bands take to the stage. One of the junior associates further away from him called “Hey, here’s Sabrina!!” and Geralt turned towards the sound of Sabrina’s voice going “You guys are not going to believe this!” when something, or, well, someone, slammed right into him.

“Owww, holy shit I’m so sorry, you alright?”

The man was carrying two pints that had probably been full to the brim before he collided with Geralt. Luckily most of what spilled had hit the floor (he didn't need a repeat of the 2017 "Wet-Shirt Contest Winner" from when a sink pipe had blown up in the men's room. Lambert had walked in, taken a thousand pictures and emailed memes to the whole floor for weeks).

Geralt’s shoes had been fairly sticky with booze already so it wasn't much trouble.

“I’m fine,” he said and that’s when he noticed the other man had come to a full stop, eyes locked on him intently, lips slightly parted. The eyeliner around his eyes was a bit smeared and Geralt recognized him as one of the singers from earlier.

“That you are,” he murmured in a low tone, almost to himself. Geralt blinked.

“Yes. I am,” he said back louder in hope to maybe clear out the odd look on the other man’s face. Just because he was tall, well-built and, well, apparently, somewhat broody, people expected him to get pissed at the slightest things.

“I’m Julian," the guy said and Geralt smiled politely, unsure why the stranger would introduce himself.

“Geralt,” he replied at the same time Julian went “But you can call me Jaskier!” and then “I’m sorry, what was that?”

It was like his words were running faster than his thoughts.

“Geralt. My name is Geralt,” he repeated.

“Oh. Nice to meet you, Geralt.” Jaskier’s lips rose to one side and he tilted his head slightly. Geralt was way more used to people trying to avoid looking at him, he had his unusual colored eyes to thank for that. They were easily disturbing and while people didn't always show discomfort, they at least showed restraint. Jaskier didn't have an ounce of it and Geralt had absolutely no idea what to do with that.

“Can I get you another drink?” Jaskier blurted out.

“Mine was already empty. That’s your drink on the floor,” Geralt replied as the other man chuckled, eyes looking down briefly.

“Right,” he raised his eyes and licked his lips. “Offer still stands. Can I get you another drink?”

“Hm,” Geralt said, his well-known wording skills kicking in. “My friends are-” he turned around thinking he’d find Anica and Tiff where he had left them only to realise they had disappeared among the crowd. In the far back he recognized Triss and Yen dancing on a table like nothing in the world could stop them and any back-up plan he was about to use evaporated.

Jaskier raised his eyebrows, eyes twinkling. Give other people a chance, Yen’s voice said in Geralt's head and the line of his shoulders softened. Jaskier’s eyes hadn’t moved from him for even a second. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

“Sure,” Geralt aimed for a neutral tone but sounded nervous even to his own ears. The other man’s smile widened.

They found two empty stools that felt oddly closer than those in Geralt’s bars usually were - but then again most of Geralt’s bars were hotel lobbies on work trips or the kind where he could take a whole bottle for himself and sit in a corner where no one would dare bother him. (He hadn't been in one of those in a while. He didn’t miss it.)

Jaskier set an ale in front of him and Geralt faintly wondered who it was originally destined for.

“So what are you doing here tonight? I’ve never seen you around,” Jaskier started.

“Celebrating,” he said, in a voice that hardly sounded celebratory.

“Is it your birthday?”

“No,” he replied, vaguely gesturing to his group of friends who were lost to the crowd, “with colleagues. We closed in on a deal."

"What kind of business do you work in?" The other man seemed way more interested in learning about Geralt than actually drinking the ale. Geralt shrugged, a wordless version of his usual ‘hm’.

“All of them. We're a law firm.”

“Oh! Well, congrats by the way!" Jaskier said and then leaned in and using a secretive tone he added, "I mean, you didn’t help a dangerous criminal get away with it, did you?”

Geralt grimaced and prepared himself to lose Jaskier’s interest in his job entirely.

“Not that kind of lawyers.”

“What kind, then?”

“Corporate.”

To his surprise, Jaskier kept nodding.

“So what was the deal about? Please tell me you’re the kind of firm on David’s side and not on Goliath's.”

“It’s rarely as straightforward as that,” Geralt mused and took a drink of his ale.

Jaskier hummed softly.

“What was this one anyway?”

“I can’t disclose any details,” he hedged and Jaskier chuckled.

“Oh, you can’t disclose any details, can you?” he leaned again, this time his arm and shoulder pressing against Geralt's.

“No, I can’t,” Geralt articulated again to make sure Jaskier would hear him. Music rarely ever left anyone’s hearing intact after a few years, maybe that was why the man kept leaning closer.

“Anything I’ll hear about on the news?”

“The local ones, maybe.”

“Well aren't you a man of mystery.” Their shoulders bumped again. Geralt didn't remember at which point he had rolled up his sleeves but his forearms felt oddly comfortable being that close to someone else's skin. It had been a while since he had even given thought to someone else's skin.

There was still a band playing on the stage out of his sight, a crowd surrounding them, people all along the bar calling for the bartender’s attention, noises and lights everywhere and yet, somehow, in the ocean of stimuli, his attention was focused on Jaskier.

"Maybe I should take your number then?" Jaskier said, wriggling an eyebrow. "As legal counsel. For when law enforcement catches up with me."

“What would they catch you for?” he asked, willing to take the bait.

“Oh, there’s quite the list,” Jaskier said. “I’m afraid I have a rather criminal past. There’s the illegal bus riding, parking in client-only spots,” he counted on his fingers, adding each theatrically. “I once shook a vending machine to get my chocolate bar and got a second one I didn’t pay for.”

“Hmm. I think you might get away with those,” Geralt answered, taking a drink from his pint.

“Well I guess all is left is the case of indecent exposure.”

The man had a nonchalant demeanor about him but his eyes were focused on Geralt and definitely didn't miss the way he almost choked on the ale. Geralt only then realised how much of Jaskier’s chest was visible. He registered vaguely how he’d never had an interest in other people’s collar bones before and realised he had forgotten where they were going with this.

"Hmm,” he cleared his throat, trying to look unbothered. “Like I said, not my area of expertise."

He saw Jaskier lick his lips and something in his eyes reminded him of the decisive moment that came with all his negotiations.

"How about we get out of here and you show me your area of expertise?"

"What?" He couldn’t have heard that right. Jaskier’s eyes softened and his hand hovered over his bare forearm.

"I'm saying I want to take you home.” There was a beat and Geralt swallowed, the taste of ale still on his lips. His conversations with other people definitely didn’t go like that. The peak of panic might have been obvious on his face because Jaskier’s fingers touched his wrist and he spoke into his ear. "I'm making a move on you, Geralt,” he said kindly, “and I don’t know if you’re too polite to decline or if I’m being too subtle-” he pulled back to look at him and his face was so fucking close. “Which, honestly, would be a first! So... What do you think?”

What did he think? His mind was an uninhabited fish tank. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a light flicker. He blinked again, looking at Jaskier’s lips. His brain whispered pretty, and right then, because life always loved fucking with him, the lights and the music went out.

There was a deafening silence for a moment when everyone held their breath and then lights as bright as day came on. The crowd booed. "Oh for fuck's sake, it's the third time this month," Jaskier grumbled. “Sorry my dear but duty calls!”

He stepped down from his stool only to hoist himself up onto the bar. "Not to worry, gentlepeople!" he called out like he was standing on a stage rather than a drink-sticky counter. "The lights will go down and the music back on again as soon as our beloved Essi, Mistress of the house, puts that freaking generator back on! And in the meantime, if you would please allow this humble bard to entertain you,” he took a dramatic bow and rose up again. “Someone please toss me a folk guitar; drinks are on me!"

The crowd cheered and Jaskier got down behind the bar as one of the crew members passed over the guitar. He went off in a cheery song some people started singing along to, bathing in the crowd's energy like he breathed that very element.

Something funny and complicated was happening in Geralt's chest when a hand gently grabbed his arm.

"Come on, let's go!" Yen. "It was getting boring anyway!"

Geralt squinted at her.

"You were dancing on a table,"

"Yeah, exactly!"

It didn’t make the slightest sense but most of his conversations with Yen ended with her radiating with knowledge and him feeling stupid anyway.

"I was talking with someone," he said and instantly felt like a small child very proud to say he made a friend.

"You were what?" her voice pitched up and Geralt could tell she was a bit on the tipsy side. "Where are they?"

He looked around and back towards the other side of the bar where Jaskier was singing and playing among the crowd, flawlessly winking and flirting with every person around.

"You're right,” his voice sounded strained even to his own ears and he had to blame it on the sleepless nights. “Let's go."

It had been two weeks since they had secured the Jackdows contract and Geralt was still deep in paperwork. He'd taken yet another two-hour video call with Alveaenerle and he was starting to think that maybe Triss was right and the woman was mostly dealing with him for his looks rather than for the sake of legal liaison.

He heard the elevator doors open and checked the clock. It wouldn’t be the first time he had worked through the whole night, only noticing at 4am when the janitor came in that he had forgotten to go home. Since then, he had promised Ciri he would try to get decent amounts of sleep while she was away at Yen’s and he didn’t like breaking his promises.

When he looked through the glass wall of his shared office, however, he didn’t see the janitor. Instead, and he checked twice in case it might have been a case of insomnia-induced hallucination, Jaskier was standing in the hall. He seemed hesitant, looking right and left for any indication that he was in the right place until he saw Geralt through the office’s glass walls.

They blinked at each other, seemingly unable to move until Jaskier slowly raised a hand and waved. Geralt kicked himself and walked out of his office.

“Hey,” Jaskier said, looking a bit sheepish. "Remember me?"

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asked, straightforward as ever.

“Uh,” Jaskier said. “The security guy let me in. He must have thought I was a delivery boy or something. I uh, I got your favourite,” he raised a hand holding a paper bag that Geralt had been too distracted to notice. “From across the street? Oh! Your friend Tiff was at the bar. She said you were still at work so I thought you’d like to have dinner maybe? And like, not with me, necessarily, just, you gotta eat right?” His words were starting to run together, and Geralt didn’t see any end in sight. “And so I figured, the place across the street, they had to know your favourite. ‘Big lawyer man with long white hair’ doesn't fit many of their clients' profiles. Anyway, dinner. For you. I could stay too, if you want, I mean I am simply starving-” he emphasized the word and then looked panicked again. “Wait, was that a yes, by the way? You know who I am, right? Otherwise this is going to get so awkward-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted.

“Yes!" He beamed. "That's me. Jaskier."

“I’m still not sure what you’re doing here.”

Jaskier froze for a moment, losing his shine. “We didn’t get to finish that conversation the other night. I thought that maybe...” Balancing his weight from a feet to another, he looked younger in the office light. He didn't finish his sentence, and looked like he was waiting for Geralt to respond.

“I’m working.”

“Right.”

“I’m at work,” Geralt gestured back at his office.

“Yeah, I know, I just thought- I- You're right, this was a stupid idea. Invasive, even. God what am I doing-” he took a frantic step backwards, and then thrust out the paper bag in some sort of peace offering. “Well, you should have this anyway, I mean- you have to eat, right? I said that already. Did I say that already?” He put the paper bag down on the closest cubicle desk then started walking backwards. “Sorry for,” he gestured vaguely, “showing up like that. Uh. It won’t happen again.”

Jaskier turned around, starting towards the elevators with his hand rubbing the back of his neck, and Geralt thought he heard him swearing under his breath something that sounded very much like ‘such a fucking idiot’.

An uneasy feeling filled Geralt’s chest as he watched Jaskier walk away. He didn’t know what he was doing and he didn’t know what he wanted or why he wanted anything but he knew he didn't want this.

“Jaskier,” he called and felt so very glad no one else was working late on his floor.

“Yeah?” Jaskier turned back instantly, his face lit up by a beacon of hope.

“Do you… Do you do this often?” he asked hesitantly and felt stupid about it as soon as he heard himself. There was a beat of Jaskier looking around at the empty place before he walked back towards Geralt slowly.

“Chasing down a guy I talked to for thirty minutes because I just can’t fucking stop thinking about him? No. No, I don’t. First time, actually.”

Geralt watched the musician, noting the soft, hopeful smile forming at the corner of his lips, the closing and opening of his hands at his sides, and the way the office light was reflecting in Jaskier’s eyes.

“Twenty minutes? I need to wrap something up. Then I’m free. For dinner.” Geralt amended.

Jaskier let go of the breath he had been holding and a full smile slowly graced his face again.

“Sure. Take your time. We can heat up the food at my place.”

If twenty minutes had been a promise, Geralt would have broken it. Ten minutes later, he was done with work for the day and on his way to Jaskier’s.

“So which one are you?" Jaskier asked, leaning over his kitchen counter after discarding the take-away wrappings. "VGB or Morhen?”

“Neither,”

“Oh. I thought you were.”

“Disappointed?”

Jaskier chuckled. “No. Well, a bit, I mean," he raised a shoulder lazily and faked disappointment, "I thought you were one of those big-shot lawyers.”

“I am. I’m just not a name partner.”

"So you're a regular partner then?"

“Just barely."

"Is that a thing?"

"Hmm." Geralt took a whole second to think about it and found himself oddly relaxed with answering the question. “I have a daughter.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice was oddly tight.

“Yen and I have a deal. She leads the boat on the job side, excels and enjoys herself in the career she’s always wanted and worked so hard for. I pull the hours she needs me to but our focus is our daughter.”

“You and Yen.”

“Yes.”

"Wait, like Triss's dancing on tables Yenna?" Jaskier’s eyes were widening in realisation.

"Yes."

"Is she Morhen?"

Geralt shook his head. "Vengerberg."

"And she’s your ex."

"Yes."

“Are you still-”

“Friends, yes.”

Jaskier nodded slowly and seemed to be thinking about something. He put his glass away and leaned against the counter, closer to Geralt. “Do you know what you’re doing here, Geralt?” he asked so low it was almost a whisper.

Geralt couldn’t help but cast a look at his lips. “Not really.”

Jaskier slowly slipped his hand up Geralt’s forearm and the hair at the back of his neck rose.

“I was thinking maybe I could kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

Geralt found himself suddenly very much too out of breath to answer.

"Geralt?"

"Yes."

"Yes, as in you're still with me or yes-"

"Both." Geralt interrupted before he had the chance to change his mind.

Jaskier looked surprised for a second then stood up on his toes to close the small space that was left between them. He pressed his lips against Geralt's; chaste and dry and sweet. When was the last time Geralt had been kissed like that? With care?

Jaskier's lips moved with his and Geralt felt the tip of the other man’s tongue against his lower lip, asking for permission. He granted it without question.

"Geralt?"

Geralt kissed him again and couldn't help the sigh that escaped when Jaskier's teeth grazed against his lips.

"Hmm?"

They shared another kiss.

"Couch?"

And another.

"Sure."

They parted only for the short time it took Jaskier to walk around the kitchen island. He led Geralt to the couch, pushing him slightly backwards to make the man sit so he could straddle his lap. Jaskier’s hips were thinner than those of Geralt’s usual partners. His shoulders were larger, his back more muscled, his arms- his whole body was fucking delightful and yet so very different, so very new.

"Jask?"

A kiss.

"Yeah?" It was more of a sigh of pleasure against his lips than a whisper.

"Remember when you asked-" Fuck, it was good. "About my-"

"Sorry, do you need me to stop?"

Something rumbled in Geralt’s chest, his voice almost a growl.

"No."

His hand found the back of Jaskier's neck and they sort of crashed again into each other. They kissed and kissed again and Geralt just didn't want to stop but things had to be said.

"Expertise," he finally managed.

"What?" Jaskier let go of his mouth and came back again for a peck before he sat back on his ankles to look at Geralt. His lips were red, his hair in disarray, his hand still hot on the side of Geralt’s neck. Geralt was fucked.

"Expertise," Geralt said, sitting up a bit straighter, settling his hands on Jaskier’s hips. "The other night. You asked about my area of expertise."

"Uh. Right."

Jaskier had a look on his face like someone had just interrupted his hot make-out session to talk about corporate law. Geralt would know, that had happened to him more times than he would admit.

"This isn't it."

"What?" Jaskier looked bewildered. His face was an open book of unguarded emotions and it made Geralt want to kiss him even more.

"My area of expertise. This isn’t it."

"Oh." Jaskier answered, distracted by a strand of hair that fell over Geralt's eyes. He plucked the strand up between deft fingers and tucked it behind Geralt’s ear. Then he blinked and backtracked. "Wait, kissing?"

"Men," Geralt said. "Men aren't my areas of expertise."

"Oh,” Jaskier said. His hand was suspended in the air behind Geralt’s ear. “Okay, you- Oh. Okay.” he whispered again, his hand dropping down to Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt wasn't sure why Jaskier was the one blushing.

Sexual orientation had never really been a topic of conversation for Geralt growing up. Emotions were already a complex enough subject to tackle, anything that went further than caring for his brothers was not recommended. Exploration was limited. As a young man, he had gone for what society told him were the easiest ways to get sexual release when he needed it (women) and then his life tangled with Yen's and other partners faded out from the realm of his interests. When Ciri had entered their life, his very own life had taken a whole new meaning. There was little that mattered except making his daughter happy. His own personal relationships were more of an afterthought.

"Well," Jaskier started again. "We don't have to- I mean it's okay. It's good. It's all good, darling. Do you- Do you need a breather? Do you- do you even want to be here?"

"I followed you willingly, didn't I?" Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. Jaskier chuckled.

“It’s just- What if I mess up and deter you from ever enjoying another penis ever again?" he exaggerated, the dramatic flair evident in every line of his body. Geralt snorted.

"Hey! I have a duty to the penis community and I take it very seriously," Jaskier continued as if Geralt hadn’t brushed the thought off.

"The penis community," Geralt repeated, fake awe dripping in his voice.

"The penis kingdom, actually."

"The penis continent." Geraly offered, helpfully.

"Oh, that reminds me, talking about dicks: Nilfgaard, yay or nay?"

"Argh, shut up," he grabbed Jaskier's face unceremoniously and Jaskier laughed in the kiss. His hand brushed Geralt’s cheek and everything about him seemed to slow down. Jaskier broke apart from him, a smile still on his lips, and looked at Geralt steadily like any doubt and hesitation were forgotten.

"Just tell me what you like, darling,” he said.

"I like kissing you.”

"That’s a good start," he replied and granted Geralt’s request.

Jaskier lay his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and the muscles melted under the soft weight of them. He raised onto his knees and pushed Geralt back into the couch. Jaskier was slightly taller kneeling over him, and Geralt found something delightful in having to look up at someone.

Jaskier leaned in and caught Geralt’s lips between his. His kisses were softer, slower, deeper than a minute before. Like he was taking his time to enjoy every second, to make Geralt enjoy every second. One of Geralt’s hands moved from his hip to his lower back, inviting him closer, and Jaskier slid his hands around Geralt’s neck, arching slightly into the touch. There was an intimacy about it that Geralt hadn’t expected nor experienced in a long time.

Jaskier pressed his forehead against his at every breath, his hands caressing Geralt’s cheeks, sliding into Geralt’s hair, slowly making him shiver.

Jaskier’s arms were distracting. The shirt he’d been wearing on that evening at the bar hadn't given away any clue as to the gems that were hidden underneath those sleeves. There was something feral lying deep in Geralt’s belly that was definitely ready to be manhandled.

Geralt found himself sliding his hand under Jaskier’s shirt, feeling the hot skin under his fingers, tracing the muscles along his spine.

Jaskier quickly got the message and took his shirt off between breathless kisses. He started tugging at the buttons of Geralt's shirt while Geralt’s hands made themselves at home on every inch of skin they could find. He felt goosebumps form on Jaskier’s skin and used the distraction to start laying kisses on his neck, licking and sucking the skin and taking note of the softest noises Jaskier made. The tip of his fingers slid down the hairs of Jaskier’s chest as he nibbled the man’s collarbone, and found one of his nipples on the way. Geralt caressed it tentatively and felt the shiver that went through Jaskier’s whole body when he did. Jaskier’s fingers pulled abruptly at his shirt.

“Oh god, take your goddamn shirt off, please!” The request was more of a thready gasp than an actual sentence. Geralt laughed at his enthusiasm and finished unbuttoning his shirt.

“Is this okay?” Jaskier asked as he slid the shirt off Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt hummed approvingly and raised his arms when Jaskier grabbed his undershirt. They kept kissing until he felt Jaskier’s hands slowing down, tensing slightly against his chest until they were barely just touching him. He saw the look on Jaskier’s face when he parted from him and realised why he had stopped. Jaskier’s eyes were fixated on his torso, fingers hovering over one of his many scars.

“I can put the shirt back on if you want,” he offered and Jaskier’s eyes jumped back to his face.

“What? No, darling, no,” he rushed and grabbed Geralt’s face kindly, kissing him again. “I was just surprised. Is this okay? Can I- can I touch you?”

“Yeah. Of course you can,” he kissed Jaskier softly. “They haven’t hurt in a long time.”

“Can I ask- I know this isn’t the best of times but-" he bit his lip with hesitation. "Did someone do this to you?”

“Not one person in particular,” Geralt shrugged it off.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s brow furrowed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he brushed his nose against Jaskier’s. “It’s in the past.”

"Okay," Jaskier whispered and then, trying to lighten the mood he added, "was it, like, your secret service past?"

"I am not at liberty to say."

Jaskier snorted.

“Just tell me you’re not in a fight club.”

“In a what?” Geralt asked, frowning.

“A fight club.”

“I don’t know what that is,” he said, seemingly clueless.

“You know, a fi- oh, you ass!” Jaskier yelped, slapping him lightly on the pec and Geralt laughed, grabbing the back of Jaskier's thighs right below his bottom to make him slip even further into his lap.

“How would you like to take care of my ass?”

Jaskier almost choked on his own breath and turned an even deeper shade of red.

"Are you- do you mean literally?"

"I'm not a blushing virgin, Jaskier,” Geralt said matter-of-factly.

"I know, I just mean- well if you've never- I mean are you sure you want to? With me?"

It was a sensible question but Geralt didn't want to think about it for too long. Thinking would mean trying to make sense of things -feelings, desires. It would lead to labelling and wanting to belong and- he just hated words. Words had a tendency to make things real and unmovable. Actions were so, so much better.

"You're the one who knows what he's doing, here,” Geralt said. “I'd rather it be you doing the work."

"Uh," Jaskier said thoughtfully. He probably had a PhD in literature or something based on the improbable number of books and manuscripts lying around in his flat. Geralt had even seen a couple ones in the cereal cupboard which was apparently where Jaskier’s glasses went.

"Alright then. Just. Tell me if something is not working for you, alright?"

"I will. Now can we get back to business?"

"To defeat-"

"If you start singing right now I am getting out of here," he grabbed a handful of the musician’s ass.

"Oi!!" Jaskier complained in the fakest way possible. "Wait, hold on, does that mean you've seen Disney movies- what's your favourite one?"

Geralt raised yet another very serious eyebrow.

"Do you often discuss topics that make people think about their kids when they're trying to bed you-"

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry," Jaskier laughed and hid his face in Geralt's neck, full of shame. "How much do you hate me right now?" he muffled.

"Hmm," Geralt pondered, slowly sliding his fingers up Jaskier's spine. "You should probably find a way to make me forget about it."

"Hmm," Jaskier imitated, kissing the side of Geralt's neck and slowly making his way up to the man’s ear. "What if I took your pants off?" he whispered.

"Could be a start," Geralt admitted.

"What if we moved to my bed?"

"I was beginning to wonder if you had one of those."

"I can still fuck you over the kitchen counter if you're disappointed."

Geralt’s pupils dilated as he pictured himself bent over the piece of furniture, holding onto whatever he could while Jaskier pounded him restlessly.

"Bed. Now."

Geralt only got a quick look at the room (more books, more notebooks, cord instruments of all sorts and sizes) before Jaskier grabbed him by the belt and pushed him onto the bed. He followed quickly, straddling him and kissing him senseless until Geralt’s head hit the mattress.

"Can I t-" Jaskier started and Geralt tried to sit up, cutting him off with a kiss. He reached for his own belt, planning on taking his trousers off before Jaskier pressed against his shoulders and made him lie down again. He slid his fingers between Geralt’s, caressing his knuckles softly.

"Oh please, give me the honor."

Geralt almost growled with impatience and reached a hand out between Jaskier's legs, palming him through his jeans.

"Oh sweet Edith Eleanor Diana Poulton, you are not playing."

He got Geralt’s belt out of the way and undid his trousers. Geralt’s underwear followed halfway when Jaskier took the trousers off, leaving his ass bare on the sheets and the hem of his briefs so low on his hips it was practically at the base of his cock. He tried taking his briefs off entirely, feeling silly and oddly vulnerable being halfway undressed but Jaskier batted his hands off and kissed him again. He slid a hand through Geralt’s pubic hair and slowly, incredibly slowly, down, and after what felt like a thousand years, finally closed his hand around Geralt’s cock and pulled.

Geralt pushed the back of his head into the mattress and closed his eyes as if he was at risk of losing sight if he left them open. Jaskier kissed him through the first moan of pleasure and quickly was all over him. Jaskier was kissing and licking and touching and stroking and Geralt was having quite a hard time trying to do much more than let his hand grab onto Jaskier’s hair and do his best not to sound too desperate. He was absolutely failing.

“Is this good, darling?” Jaskier whispered, kissing his neck up to his jaw and softly biting the skin there as his hand kept stroking him.

"Hmm," was all Geralt could manage and he felt Jaskier smile against his skin.

"Tell me?"

"Ah,” Geralt’s hands were moving somewhat erratically, trying to hold onto any part of Jaskier that would make him feel anchored and not as if he was going to lose his mind before he got the man’s socks off. “Yes."

"You're so good darling,” Jaskier’s kindness, Geralt vaguely decided, was fucking obscene. “You're doing so good."

Geralt felt himself blush, having no idea how any blood could flow to his face since he was pretty sure all of it was rushing to his dick. He wasn't going to last long at this rate.

"I want- I want to touch you too."

Jaskier let him open his jeans and moaned into his mouth when Geralt finally got his hand into his underwear.

“Jaskier,” he warned and Jaskier slowed down the working of his own hands.

“You alright, love?” he whispered, voice broken with pleasure.

Instead of an answer, Geralt sat up and pulled Jaskier's trousers to get his point across. Jaskier took his hands off him - the loss was fucking unbearable - to finally get rid of all remaining items of clothing and pressed himself against Geralt again, his hand on his neck. Geralt immediately got his arms around his middle to cradle him closer. Jaskier rocked slightly against him, their cocks pressing against each other and Geralt couldn't help but get a hand on both of them.

"Show me?" he croaked hoarsely and silently prayed that Jaskier wouldn’t make him beg for it because he definitely would. Instead Jaskier joined their hands together and guided him, pressing on Geralt's fingers to make him hold his cock tighter, moaning when Geralt's wrist angled exactly how he liked it.

"Oh god, yes. You're so good to me, love," he moaned.

It felt like forever and it felt like a blink. They rocked and they kissed and they moaned and Jaskier kept breathing sweet nonsense into his neck, praises into his ear, about how good he was and how good he felt and how well Jaskier would take care of him and how much he wanted to make him moan through the night but in the end, what got him over the edge was Jaskier digging his fingers onto the soft flesh of his ass, sliding in to brush against Geralt’s hole, and absolutely, definitely had nothing to do with Jaskier crying out, “Oh love, you’re beautiful!”

Geralt lost a few seconds or maybe a minute or five over which Jaskier had apparently come all over his stomach too. Jaskier was catching his breath, lying with his forehead against Geralt’s chest, trying his best not to lay all his weight over him. Geralt found the back of Jaskier’s neck, his fingers going up through his hair and drawing a comfortable groan from him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pushing on his arm to lie a few centimeters away, his head propped over Geralt’s shoulder, their legs still intertwined together. Jaskier’s arm stretched over Geralt’s middle and the tingly waves of left-over pleasure washed over them both with every breath, content tiredness slowly taking over.

A few minutes later Geralt extracted himself from Jaskier’s grasp, not without some difficulty, and convinced himself to clean up. Washing his hands in front of the bathroom mirror, Geralt looked back at Jaskier’s face hovering over his shoulder as Jaskier pressed his chest against his back. Eyes closed, Jaskier asked: “D’you want to stay?”

Vaguely wondering about the last time he felt as comfortable as this with someone and then pushing the thought away, Geralt’s eyes lowered, looking at Jaskier’s arms settled around his body.

He felt Jaskier’s lips move into a loopy smile against his skin when he answered:

“Hmm.”

#geraskier #geraskier fic #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my writing #no warnings #geralt of rivia is a little dense and jaskier is very very pretty #mine: geraskier #mine: no warning #mine: himbo geralt #mine: modern au #mine: mature #mine: of fingers tongues and toes series

62 notes · View notes

mordoriscalling · 3 years

Text

The Colour-Magic Theory (7/?)

Intro, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

@genkitaco

***

Bitter consequences can bring sweetness amid turmoil.

At Ciri’s request, Jaskier has dropped his glamour completely just this once. It took the girl only a week of travelling together to convince him, which is a remarkable feat. Geralt never even dared to suggest it in the first place, knowing it was a lot to ask.

Now Jaskier stands before them in his true fae form. Only the hair on his head remains unchanged – everything else about him is different. His facial features are sharper, so are his teeth. Jaskier’s ears are much bigger, elongated and pointed, while his fingernails resemble talons. The fae’s eyes are such a vibrant cornflower blue that they sparkle. His skin, in an olive tone, is also radiant; so much so that it appears as though sunlight was touching it. Jaskier is wearing only his boots and trousers (having foregone putting on any upper garment), and all over his hairless chest and arms, there are delicate veins of tiny speckles in all shades of brown and green. Freckles dust Jaskier’s face, too, light blue and beige in colour.

There are also some parts of Jaskier that haven’t been changed by the glamour – there were actually completely veiled by it until now. Small, sharp-pointed antlers are seated on the top of his head and on his back, there are massive, feathered wings. The feathers are dark brown at the root, just like Jaskier’s hair, but gradually turn beige and then blue at the tip; there’s also a blue-green shine to them.

Everything about the bard screams inhuman, and he exudes fae magic so much that Geralt’s medallion vibrates only because of Jaskier’s proximity. The witcher isn’t alarmed, however. He and Cirilla both admire the magnificent creature before them, unmoving in their awe. Geralt’s eyes roam all over the fae’s form, and the searing gold of his gaze reminds Jaskier of the sun itself. He longs to let himself bask and bloom in the warmth like a flower, or to fly towards it. Jaskier is a fae of the skies after all; his wings can carry him far. (But not far enough. The sun is out of his reach).

“Jaskier, you’re beautiful,” Ciri breaths out as she steps closer towards the bard, her voice full of wonder.

Jaskier smiles softly. “So are you,” he answers, then boops her on the nose.

Ciri giggles and hugs him. Jaskier wraps his arms around her, then his great wings envelop them both, only the fae’s face remaining visible. Geralt hears Jaskier make a deep coo, to which Ciri responds with a chirpy purr.

Jaskier’s gaze drifts up to rest on the witcher and the look in his eyes hardens. The cornflower blue gains a threatening glint but the bright gold doesn’t back down. Geralt wants answers but none are in sight since the bard refuses to talk to him. They continue glaring at each other but then Cirilla wriggles out of Jaskier’s embrace and the tension is broken.

They make camp for the night. Jaskier chatters with Ciri all the while, although he doesn’t reply when she asks why he seems angry with Geralt. Geralt offers no words on the matter too; he finds himself unable to admit to what he has done. Cirilla pouts and whines, as she tends to do when she doesn’t get her way, but the witcher and the bard don’t relent.

In the evening, Jaskier croons a lullaby to put Ciri to a restful sleep. Due to the glamour being gone, his fae powers aren’t restricted by anything, which makes his soft singing even more sweet and charming than it usually is. Cirilla dozes off very quickly but the fae keeps crooning, and Geralt starts getting affected by it too. He feels himself drift to sleep but doesn’t fight it – it’s like gently easing into calm, quiet and warmth. Suddenly everything he has been missing is there.

Then, Jaskier stops and the world turns cold. Geralt sits up abruptly, comprehension striking him like a lightning.

“Jaskier,” the witcher says. Jaskier’s sparkling eyes lay upon him and before he can think better of it, Geralt blurts out, “it’s you.” He swallows hard. “The blessing of my life, it’s you.”

Jaskier breaks the eye contact, a wry smile twisting his lips. “And yet you run to Yennefer every time,” he murmurs, his tone so bitter that Geralt can almost taste it on his tongue.

The witcher frowns, confused. “Jaskier, what? It’s not–”

“Spare me, Geralt,” the fae cuts in, waving his hand. He sighs, averting Geralt’s gaze, and goes on, “I’ve forgiven you long ago. And yet, I can’t forget.”

“Let me fix it,” Geralt replies, his voice balancing on the edge of pleading. Jaskier doesn’t react. “Please,” the witcher insists, inching his body closer to the unmoving, unmoved creature. “I want us to be like before. We used to be...”

Happy. The words linger between them, better left unsaid. The air grows thick with the bitter sting of memories – the moments of peace and laughter long gone.

Jaskier slowly looks up at the witcher, his features weary and rueful. “There’s no coming back, Geralt,” he says.

The truth rings out in the silence and Geralt can only fight for breath. His chest constricts, a voiceless scream filling lungs and burning his throat until his eyes begin to prickle. The witcher opens his mouth but no words come out. He can only stare at the beautiful fae he has hurt, self-loathing coiling in his gut.

“There’s no running away either,” Jaskier adds, pointing at sleeping Ciri with his chin. “I think she’s bound to both you and me.” The fae gets up to sit by the girl’s side and starts caressing her cheek. “My bud-ling,” he says tenderly.

Geralt understands the sentiment. A small smile lights up his face as he watches Jaskier and Ciri. The moment is quiet and soft. Everything is basked in the gentle light of the bonfire that makes Jaskier appear even more otherwordly. The witcher commits the sight to memory.

Soon after, Jaskier gets ready to put on his glamour again. As he’s about to leave the campsite, Geralt says, “Just know that I’m sorry.” Jaskier stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around. Geralt goes on, “I was cruel. You deserve so much better than... me.”

Geralt can’t decide whether he actually hears the whisper of, “Yet it’s only you that I’ve ever truly wanted” or his mind and the wind trick him.

When they go to sleep, they lay down on Ciri’s sides. As the girl sleeps between them, a feeling of wholeness settles deep into their bones, enveloping them like a warm cocoon. They hold Cirilla throughout the night, feeling like they’ve done something right.

Jaskier reaches for his travel pack, currently swung over Geralt’s shoulder, but the witcher moves away before he can take it.

“I’ve got it,” Geralt grunts and starts walking ahead, leading Roach by the reins.

Ciri jogs up to Geralt’s side but Jaskier stands in place for a moment more. The witcher has been kind to him in all those small yet grand ways – carrying his travel pack, making sure he eats first after Ciri, letting him ride Roach, and more – and the bard finds it hard not to let the gestures warm his heart too much. His heart is almost fully withered, after all; it would catch fire easily. He can’t allow wishful thinking to spark a disaster.

After Jaskier joins the witcher and the princess, he says, “We’re getting close.”

Ciri nods enthusiastically. “I could feel her,” she gushes, “she’s powerful!”

“That she is,” Jaskier agrees because there’s no way to deny it. The sorceress is almost pure Chaos, which, together with the other reason, is why the bard has always found her company hard to bear. Her magic clashes with his Order.

Trees talk to each other and their roots run deep. They know about what’s been happening miles away, and so do birds. When Jaskier, due to Ciri’s relentless insistence, kept asking them about a “lilac woman”, one day they finally answered that they had heard of a woman smelling of lilac and gooseberries. And so, two weeks ago, Ciri made them change their course, claiming that she needed the woman to join them. They had been travelling for a month at that point, and autumn was just around the corner, but there was no arguing with the princess, no matter how much Geralt and Jaskier dreaded meeting Yennefer again.

Jaskier started showing Ciri how to connect with the thrum of life, which allows to experience what plants and animals do in one’s mind eye. They would sit on the ground together, searching for any traces of Ciri’s “lilac woman”, and they soon discovered that nature’s Order was disturbed far away, both by a mighty Chaos-wielding person and a large group of soldiers who kept starting fires. They’ve been following the disturbance ever since despite the danger.

Now it won’t be long until they catch up with her. Geralt and Jaskier try savouring the last moments of calm before the storm. Although nothing between them is sorted, they both find peace in caring for Ciri. The three of them (and Roach) have settled into a rhythm over the past month. The daily travelling routine involves, among other things, Geralt teaching Cirilla self-defence and her learning fae magic from Jaskier. The lessons help the witcher and the bard to get to know the princess better, and vice versa. The girl took to Jaskier quickly, since she had met him before, but has grown close to Geralt too. She’s started seeking out Geralt’s attention and affection on her own. The girl even hugs him from time to time, much to the witcher’s astonishment. Jaskier laughs at the frankly adorable look on Geralt’s face every time it happens.

The evening on the day before they find Yennefer, after Ciri falls asleep, Jaskier addresses Geralt, which is something he still rarely does.

“Tell you what,” the bard says apropos of nothing, “in the end, I just find it annoying.” “What do you find annoying?” the witcher inquires. “It ‘s always us who want something from her,” Jaskier replies, “not the other way around.” Geralt huffs a laugh and answers, “Believe me, in this, she needs us more than we need her.”

Geralt says it with so much fondness betraying his deep affection and understanding of Yennefer that only one fibre in Jaskier’s heart stays beating. What else remained alive before now withers.

TBC

Part 8

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #fae!jaskier #jaskier & ciri #geralt & ciri #The C-M Theory AU

31 notes · View notes

hanzajesthanza · 3 years

Text

regis and angouleme mentorship-friendship-parenthood masterpost

(notes under cut)

canon interactions

their first interaction is that regis, in an attempt to stop geralt from accusing cahir of treachery, accuses angouleme of lying, who appears and tells him not to accuse her... and her typical nicknaming all adult men “uncle” to annoy them follows. [1]

also from when they first meet, angouleme rides regis’s mule, draakul. it is sort of suggested that she took the ride without permission (as normal equines cannot stand regis’ presence, so why would he give it up?), but on the malheur pass, angouleme rides draakul again. with character development and trust, it may be inferred that upon this second time, she took the ride with permission.

jana komárková (whose work might be counted as canon as the official illustrator of the czech editions) drew regis protecting angouleme when geralt and cahir fight (although her regis design is debatable, heh)

regis does not understand angouleme’s usage of swearing, but takes up using her funny sayings, such as “look at what the cat dragged in,” amongst others. (this can be seen as similar to a father emulating teenage slang he heard from his daughter - to be annoying, or genuinely because he thinks they are nifty)

angouleme approaches geralt and regis as they are speaking together in the palace rose gardens and bothers them with gossip. regis does not rebuke her or show signs of annoyance, and responds to her gossip with seriousness.

angouleme and regis take turns informing geralt about milva’s recent life events concerning her refusal of the baron’s marriage proposal

regis defends angouleme when he did not need to from fringilla when she antagonizes her [2] and probes her for information about geralt. regis interrupts fringilla and begins to argue with her, which presents considerable risk for him as she is a sorceress and demonstrates, even within the conversation, that she knows him to be a vampire. [3]

similarities which bond them

turmultous youth, cruelty, loss and regaining of ‘humanity' [4]

addictions which dull their pain and numb them to the loss of their friends [5]

similar relationships to alcohol [6]

similar mannerisms in conversation; talking about unrelated topics when unprompted [7], and requiring someone to remind them to return to the topic at hand to refocus

for some reason, falling to stakes as a common motif [8]

bridges to cross

regis has achieved peace and acceptance already, angouleme is still surrounded by chaos and violence

regis focuses on helping others; angouleme focuses on annoying others. but they each do both canonically [9]

what can they learn?

angouleme could learn peace, humanity, acceptance. this would be a step in the right direction for her to re-learn how to treat herself and others with kindness (though i think “learning respect” would be a little much, and something she doesn’t need). regis is a healer, so being alongside him would allow her to heal from pain and focus on regeneration, life, instead of the violent and dark past... she also could learn about not defining herself as what others might see her as, instead determining her identity for herself [10]

regis could learn the capstone of humanity, fulfilling his character arc - as humanity is defined by mortality, parent and child dynamics. vampires do not have anything like parental guidance, so this is a uniquely human concept. it seems to me that in a company set out to rescue a daughter, it would be grand if he should come to personally understand what the concept of a daughter is

general thematic contrasts

the sage and the student, the wise and the ignorant (but as it turns out, the teacher becomes the student...)

the past and the future (meet together in the present)

the dark and the light (regis is dark-haired, angouleme is light-haired, they also have night and day motifs)

why regis and angouleme, specifically?

considering regis’s dark past and struggles with addiction and violence, i think he would understand angouleme well. the stupidity of youth... but also the value of it, why it can’t be discarded or shamed...

additionally, regis is a vampire and not beholden to human worrying and fussing over a child, which angouleme would find to be suffocating (for example, geralt or milva would forbid her from participating in dangerous activities, but regis may just shrug and think it would be a good lesson for her. of course, this means that he must learn the human way to parent, which is to keep your child out of danger). this would make regis a good confidant for angouleme, who may not want to tell geralt or milva about dangerous activities for fear they would ground her or worry

angouleme is exceedingly straightforward and regis is extremely philosophical which results in comedic exchanges

“child befriends strange otherworldly being” is always a great dynamic.

[1] one of the prominent themes of interactions in the witcher is when a parent meets a child which they will later adopt, but they meet on the wrong foot and dislike each other in the beginning. you can see this with geralt and ciri as well as yennefer and ciri.

[2] i characterize fringilla’s behavior in this scene towards angouleme as antagonizing her because suggesting that she unwillingly became pregnant isn’t a simple joke when one considers that fringilla is much older than angouleme and also angouleme is a csa survivor. to clarify, i don’t think fringilla is a bad person for this, but she went “too far” in the joke, as this may demonstrate that she is not close enough to angouleme to understand when she is comfortable and when she is not

[3] speaking of his nightly activities, as well as calling him only by his last names, which he tells no one, suggesting that she read his whole name from his mind. regis also mentions earlier that in order to stay safe in toussaint, he must ‘stay away from sorcerers,’ and he is clearly doing the opposite here.

[4] regis was not born with humanity, he had to learn it painstakingly after centuries of his only thoughts being of blood and parties. angouleme had humanity but lost it as she became a bandit and has been living ferally, her only thoughts of survival and a next meal.

[5] regis lost all of his friends slowly when he became so unpleasant to be around and focused on his addiction. angouleme lost all of her friends slowly as they were killed off by the law or unspoken events

[6] regis states in baptism of fire that it did not matter who they drank from, as long as there was hemoglobin. angouleme states in lady of the lake that you can get drunk on cheap wines just as well as you can from expensive ones, and you puke the same as well...

[7] angouleme speaks about how mining operations work in the north case mines, much to geralt’s annoyance. regis speaks about logging operations in angren, much to everyone’s annoyance. regis speaks on about his backstory in baptism of fire (his past). angouleme speaks on about her plans for a brothel in lady of the lake (her future).

[8] regis was punctured by stakes when he was killed. both fulko artevelde and nightingale threatened to have angouleme gutted on a stake

[9] regis annoys geralt in baptism of fire multiple times, especially when he comes back for the fish soup scene. angouleme helps geralt when she makes her character debut and informs him about schirru’s plot.

[10] as it relates to regis saying that many would see him as a monster, a blood-drinking fiend... angouleme expects geralt and cahir to admonish her for her use of fisstech, and is aware that others see her as a no-good criminal. she could learn that all there is to identity is self-determination. also i definitely mean this manner of ‘determining your own identity’ in a transgender way thanks for reading

#f: i'm not your uncle dear child #c: regis #c: angouleme #in case anyone wants to have an explanation for everything going on inside my head at all times!

33 notes · View notes

thewitcherstan · 4 years

Note

For the prompts, how about Geralt walks in on Jaskier teaching Ciri how to dance and fluffy banter ensues? Involve a goat maybe? Maybe not. Either way thanks!

It’s rare that Geralt sees a smile on Ciri’s face. As the trio—that is, he, Jaskier, and Ciri—make their way to Kaer Morhen, for the most part, the atmosphere is tense, broken only the strumming of a lute and Jaskier’s nonstop chatter. Geralt sees it clearly for what it is: an attempt to get the traumatized girl to smile, and he’s thankful for the efforts.

God knows Geralt himself is no good at it.

He does his best to provide, because that’s what he’s best at. Maybe he’s never been warm or fuzzy, but he can at least make sure they have a fire to keep them warm at night and food to keep them going by day.

And sometimes, it’s enough. He catches a quirk of Ciri’s lips when he lights the fire, awe etched in her face when he lights an Igni. A small huff, just a ghost of laughter when Jaskier tries to hassle him into wearing some sort of ridiculous, brightly-colored apparel. A brightness in her eyes when she stops to pet the horses and goats who lean their heads over fences in the hope for an extra treat.

And when Geralt is away, he worries. How could he not? Tucked away as they are in an inn at he very edge of town, with Nilfgaard on their tail, there’s a tightness in his chest that never goes away. He makes quick work of his contracts, and he feels bad about how hard he pushes Roach back to the inn, but—he worries.

He’s not blind. He sees the ghosts that cling to Ciri, the ones that have her shaking in the middle of the night, reaching blindly for Geralt’s sleeve as she worms her way in between him and Jaskier for comfort. In the mornings, she’s up even before him, staring blankly at dying embers of the fire from the night before, and Geralt wonders what she was like before trauma sucked out her core.

Self-loathing and regret twist in his chest. You could have known, something reminds him. You could have been there for her from the beginning.

Geralt shakes the thought away. No use dwelling on it now.

He stables Roach, giving her a fresh apple in thanks and a promise to visit her later before making his way back to the inn. It’s late in the evening, and he expects to find Jaskier singing in the tavern for a little extra coin. The bard, however, is nowhere to be seen and unease pools in his chest.

Geralt never used to feel this level of paranoia. While hyper vigilance had been driven into him for obvious reasons, he’d never let it morph into paranoia—not until he had Jaskier and Ciri to protect.

He’s so caught up in his own unease that the peal of laughter that filters through the door of their shared room causes Geralt to stop short just outside of it. He waits a second, sure he’s misheard, but then another giggle sounds, followed closely by the much more familiar sound of Jaskier’s laugh.

Something inside of Geralt’s chest eases for the first time in what feels like months, and he slowly unlocks the door and opens it, hesitant to ruin the moment.

He needn’t have worried. Inside, he finds Ciri being lifted gracefully into the air by Jaskier, a joyful grin on her face as she’s set down and then twirls, only stumbling a little on the uneven floor. After a moment of confusion, understanding dawns on Geralt’s face. They’re dancing.

Ciri comes to a stop, and Jaskier bows low, taking her hand and placing a chaste kiss atop it, setting off another set of delighted giggles.

“You lead quite well, my lady,” Jaskier tells her, overly formal, and Ciri straightens, chin tilted up so confidently that Geralt can easily see the makings of a princess within her.

“Grandmother always said that if a lady is to be forced to dance, there’s no reason she shouldn’t be able to lead,” Ciri tells him, and Geralt snorts quietly. That sounds exactly like something Calanthe would say.

“A fine point,” Jaskier agrees before looking up at Geralt. “You’re back! Ciri here was just showing me some of her favorite dances, and I her. She only stood on my toes twice,” he teases.

Ciri throws him an indignant look. “Did not,” she says crossly, and Geralt looks away to hide the small smile pushing at the edge of his lips.

“Did, too,” Jaskier bites back, sticking out his tongue, and Geralt makes a show of rolling his eyes as he unslings his swords from his shoulders and rests them against the wall by his bed. Inwardly, though, he’s more than pleased by the change in atmosphere and the light in Ciri’s face.

“You’re insufferable,” Ciri tells him, and Jaskier gasps dramatically.

“You—how dare—Geralt, I’m not insufferable, am I?”

Geralt merely raises an eyebrow at him and smirks. Ciri plops onto her bed and gives Jaskier a smug look.

“You both are—just the worst. I try to share my invaluable knowledge of dance and this is how I’m repaid?” Jaskier practically pouts. Ciri just hugs a pillow to her chest and laughs into it while Geralt begins to shed his armor.

“Contract go well, then?” Jaskier eventually asks and Geralt hums, which Jaskier knows is the closest to a yes he’ll get. Later, he’ll pester the witcher for details, but for now, he simply gets up and begins to fill a bath for him.

Once it’s filled, Jaskier steps out from behind the screen to announce to Geralt that it’s ready but is stopped by the motion of Geralt pressing a finger to his lips, signaling for quiet.

“Wha—? Oh,” Jaskier breathes, warmth curling in his chest. Clearly worn out from the evening of dancing with Jaskier, more lively than she’s been since the fall of Cintra, Ciri is curled around her pillow, face slack with sleep.

Jaskier smiles fondly and walks over, gently moving her into a more comfortable position and drawing the blankets up around her.

“Sleep well, dear heart,” he says softly, making sure she’s completely settled. When he looks up, he finds Geralt staring straight at him with a look he can’t quite place.

“Everything alright?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt stares at him for another second before nodding. He glances down at the sleeping girl, and his face softens.

“You made her laugh,” Geralt says quietly.

Jaskier shrugs, as if it’s nothing. “She needed it.”

Geralt hums is agreement, looking at her for a moment longer before fixing his attention back on Jaskier, who’s now standing in front of him. Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt and pulls him close.

“She’s going to be just fine,” Jaskier reassures him, and Geralt sighs.

He hadn’t been sure—not before. But now, having seen her eyes light up, a glimpse of the childish glow that used to live in her sparked by his bard’s contagious happiness, Geralt thinks that maybe she will be. All of them will.

She is a princess after all, and he’s pleased at the glimpse of Calanthe’s fiery personality he got to see within her, even if only for a moment.

“Thank you,” Geralt says quietly, pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s, and the bard sighs contentedly. Once the moment’s over, he pulls away with a wince.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asks.

“You smell like monster guts,” Jaskier says bluntly, promptly shooing him towards the bath.

“Good. Means I did my job,” Geralt jokes, and Jaskier swats at him.

“Disgusting. You’re disgusting.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and turns away to get in the bath. And away from anyone else’s eyes, he, too, allows himself to smile.

219 notes · View notes

vampire--dad · 4 years

Text

For the Witcher Writers’ Circle prompt bingo!

Prompt: Grieving

I am so sorry

(you did this to yourself kell)

——————

(song: play this when i’m gone — Machine Gun Kelly)

I’m writing you this message just so I can say that I love you.

The letter slips from Jaskier’s satchel as Geralt moves it aside to find his nice black doublet. His eyes follow the parchment as it falls to the floor and sees his name penned delicately across the folded page. He’s almost scared to read it, especially today. But he does. He picks it up from the floor and sits on the edge of the bed as he unfolds the page. He almost hears the bard’s sweet voice in his head, wishing that it was more than a figment of his imagination, that it was real, that he was still here.

They both knew it would happen someday, but Geralt had hoped they’d have more time. Jaskier’s death came early even for a human. Some sickness had caught him. Yennefer and Triss did everything they could, brought all the help they could muster, but nothing worked. No herb or potion could cure whatever it was that ailed him. All they could do was ease the pain as he slipped away.

The witcher sighs as his eyes pass over those three words. Jaskier could never say it too many times. It never lost its meaning. He proved it in new ways every day, even on his deathbed.

I had to let you know that everything about me was you.

As if Geralt didn’t already know. Jaskier loved to say that Geralt was his smile, his laughter, the sparkle in those beautiful blue eyes that he misses so sorely. The witcher almost smiles thinking of those eyes and how Jaskier used to set them upon him and smile and tell him for at least the fifth time that day that he loved him. Sometimes Geralt wasn’t sure why he did. Jaskier would lay with him late at night or early in the morning, brushing a hand through his hair, and remind him of all the reasons he adored him.

But not even those memories can ease the pain of the truth. Those eyes now remain closed, the smile nothing more than a memory that Geralt clings to. Sometimes, if he closes his eyes and relaxes enough, which doesn’t come easily, he can almost feel Jaskier’s fingers in his hair, brushing through the snowy locks and twisting them into a braid. He only wishes it was real. That he was still here next to him peppering kisses on his cheeks and making him laugh like no one ever could.

I think it’s time for me to leave, but I’ll never leave you.

He dares not look outside. He knows that by now Eskel and Lambert will have laid his body on a pyre. He promised himself that he would hold himself together for as long as he could and seeing his body, having to accept once again that he’s gone, will break him before the funeral even starts.

His free hand rests on the chain around his neck that carries two rings. They dangle just below his medallion, close to his heart. Both are made of gold, one shaped like two vines woven together, the other simple, but not bland. They hang next to his heart as a reminder, something for Geralt to remember his husband by. Not that he needs it. Jaskier is burned into his brain like a brand. No matter how many years pass until he sees his lover again, he’ll never forget him.

“Dad?”

Ciri stands by his door in a long dress of black silk with a light cloak drawn around her shoulders. Jaskier did love that dress on her. It brought out those beautiful green eyes, he’d say. Geralt can tell that she’s already been crying. Jaskier, her papa, meant the world to her as she did to him. He loved that girl as fiercely as Geralt does. She has his wonderful imagination, his creativity, his way with words that Geralt could never understand, and, unfortunately, his flirtatiousness. He hears Jaskier every time she tells a story of a hideous monster or a wonderful woman she’s met on her travels.

Geralt sets aside the letter and stands, returning to his search for his doublet.

“I’m almost ready,” he says shortly, not trusting himself to say much more.

“Are you?” she asks softly. Geralt doesn’t respond. He can’t. A lump forms in his throat that he chokes back down. “I don’t think I am… I’m not ready to say goodbye to him…”

She sniffles and sighs, letting out a chuckle to try to lift her own spirits.

“Gods, I’m a mess already.”

“That makes two of us,” he replies thickly, leaning against the dresser with a sigh.

The pain in Ciri’s voice only adds to his own. Tears shine in his yellow eyes as they meet Ciri’s green ones. Her lip trembles as she throws herself into Geralt’s arms.

I’m not gonna lie and tell you it’s alright. It’s alright.

“It’s alright, Geralt.”

Those were his last words to his lover. His voice was barely above a whisper, weak and shaking in his chest as his heart came to a stop. Geralt wonders if he knew when he said those words how deeply they would hurt him when he was gone. He remembers feeling Jaskier’s hand go limp in his, watching his eyes close for the last time and the life slip from his body, wishing he’d had the strength to say ‘I love you’ one last time for him to hear. Yennefer and Triss were quick to leave the room, each holding their breath so Geralt wouldn’t hear them cry. He shakes his head slightly, trying not to think about the moment his husband passed. It only hurts more.

Ciri helps him fiddle with the buttons of the doublet. Usually he would hate wearing these things and would much prefer to wear his armour, but of all people, Geralt insisted that they bring out what little finery they allow themselves to have. Jaskier loved to see them all dressed up. Over the years he shared with Geralt on the Path, the witcher convinced him to wear something slightly more protective than silk and lace, but he loved to dress up. He liked to look pretty for his White Wolf, as he would say so affectionately.

“He would have loved this outfit,” Ciri says softly.

“He would have loved yours more, petal.”

Ciri draws in a slow, calming breath at the use of one of Jaskier’s old nicknames. Her eyes are already reddened and puffy.

“I should have gone out last night and picked some daisies for my hair.”

You’re gonna cry and baby, that’s alright. It’s alright.

It’s a struggle, but Geralt manages to hold back his tears until the fire roars and envelopes Jaskier’s body, wrapped delicately in the finest silk Lambert and Eskel could find. The funeral was going to be painful enough without having to see Jaskier’s pale face.

With his brothers’ arms slung around his shoulders, Geralt looks up at the clouds that hang above their heads and sighs shakily, tears streaming from his eyes. Eskel glances at him and pulls him into a hug. That’s what really breaks him. All of a sudden he’s sobbing quietly into his brother’s shoulder, Lambert’s hand still on his back. Eskel clenches his jaw and blinks tears from his own eyes as they meet with those of his younger brother. Lambert quickly looks away. Even at a funeral, he doesn’t want his brothers to see him cry. Jaskier had become incredibly close with Geralt’s brothers. Eskel loved to share his stories with him for his songs. He always made it known that those stories weren’t of the famed White Wolf, but another charming warrior. He never wanted his brother’s fame, but at least Jaskier gave him the credit. Lambert used to have such terrific exchanges with the bard, sharing the most creative empty insults and making each other howl with laughter. Late at night they’d share much kinder words. Jaskier would tell the witcher that his voice would pair wonderfully with his own. Lambert never took him up on the offer. He should have.

Ciri has her head buried in Yennefer's shoulder, crying her eyes out again. Her papa was her sunshine. She was his daisy. He made sure that she knew how to collect her skirt when she sat down, how to curtsey, how to braid her hair— not easy things for a girl to learn when she’s raised by wolves. Luckily, though he didn’t have sisters of his own, he had many, many cousins. Yennefer was expecting a wild, boyish, awkward child when she took Ciri into her care. She was surprised to meet a polite young lady with expertly braided hair. She often spoke of her fathers, one being a little rough around the edges but loving and kind, the other being like a walking ray of sunshine. Yennefer eventually met this wonderful man she described and found this to be oh so true. She and Jaskier spent many nights together drinking expensive wine and gossiping. He often told her of his latest quarrel with his husband, but no matter how disagreeable he could be at times, he always spoke of Geralt with love and affection. She remembers those nights fondly as she watches flames engulf his body with tears rolling down her cheeks.

I wrote you this song to keep when I’m gone if you ever feel alone.

Geralt hasn’t slept properly since he passed. The only thing that grants him relief from the exhaustion is the exhaustion itself. In the early hours of the morning he’ll pass out, only to wake a few hours later, still alone. That’s quite possibly the hardest part. He’d grown so used to Jaskier lying next to him, snoring softly, that trying to sleep alone is almost impossible. He misses tracing the curve of his back, burying his face in the crook of his neck, kissing his hair and neck to wake him, watching those bright blue eyes flutter open. He wouldn’t dare sleep with another. He doubts he ever will. Jaskier was his light. Nothing can replace that. No one can.

But the weight of being alone becomes heavier with each day that passes. The chain around his neck feels like an anchor, but taking it off would hurt even more. He finds himself bed ridden some days, not seeing much of a reason to get up. He knows what Jaskier would say. He tries to listen. The others don’t say anything, other than words of encouragement. They know how Geralt feels. Jaskier’s passing weighs heavily on all of them but it’s nothing compared to him, the man he would have followed to the ends of the earth. The weight on Geralt is unimaginable.

Part of me doesn’t want this cruel world to know you.

“Freak.”

“Mutant.”

“We don’t want your kind ‘round here.”

“You’re no different from the things you hunt, you know that?”

Jaskier used to work himself into a frenzy over those comments. Geralt reassured him that he was used to it, it came with the occupation, but the bard wouldn’t accept that.

“What the fuck do they think they know?!” he would exclaim. “They call you all these names, but they don’t know you. Not like I do.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to know me like you know me, songbird,” the witcher would reply.

Jaskier would turn to him, still annoyed, but smiling. That was the one thing about him that never aged, his smile. Wrinkles slowly formed around his eyes. Grey streaks appeared among his mass of chestnut hair. But his smile never aged, even framed by a thick but well kept beard.

“Well, no, I wouldn’t want anyone to know you quite that well either. But still, Geralt. They don’t give you a chance.”

Geralt would chuckle and shake his head. Jaskier hated how adorable the witcher thought he was when he was angry, but that anger quickly melted when Geralt pulled him into his arms.

So just try and keep in mind everything that I told you.

Jaskier would shower Geralt in compliments, if not just to see him try to hide how flustered he was. He’d give him all of the nicknames he could come up with and deepen the blush on Geralt’s cheeks by peppering kisses on them and on the tip of his nose. Geralt had maybe one or two nicknames for him. His favourite was songbird. Jaskier would smile brighter than the sun whenever he called him that.

“Your eyes look like rays of sunshine, dear heart. Like the finest gold.”

“Sweet Melitele, your hair, my love. It’s so soft when it’s clean. It looks and feels like fresh snow.”

“Have I ever told you how wonderfully intelligent I think you are, my dearest? You like to act like you’re not, but I know you are. If I had met you at Oxenfurt I would have thought you a scholar.”

“Stop it, Jask.”

“Why? Oh, is my big scary wolf getting all flustered because I called him pretty and smart?”

“No. Witchers don’t get flustered.”

“Bollocks to that. I see you blushing.”

Maybe there was some truth to all the things Jaskier said to him.

This is the last time I’ll ever open up my eyes, I apologise.

That moment haunts Geralt. He tries his best not to think about it, but late at night it flashes before his eyes, clear as day.

Yennefer had sought him out early in the morning, waking him from what little sleep he was trying to get. She looked exhausted, but they couldn’t afford to stop working. Jaskier was getting worse, she told him. She didn’t need to say anymore. They both knew. They were losing him. Geralt was out of bed and up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

Even weak and dying, Jaskier’s smile could light up a room in seconds. Despite the tears beginning to slip from his eyes, Geralt smiled weakly and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and kissing him softly. He had to. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew then it would be the last time.

Jaskier managed a soft chuckle and told him he looked like shit. Nothing could quash his sense of humour. Geralt told him he wasn’t looking much better and immediately regretted it, even if it was just a joke. Jaskier shrugged. He seemed to have already accepted his fate.

All of a sudden, Jaskier’s breath rattled in his chest. The smile slipped from Geralt’s face as he leaned over Jaskier and gripped his hand firmly. The bard had kept on smiling and reassured him he was alright. Geralt begged to differ, but stayed silent as Jaskier cupped his face gently and told him he loved him. He said it with such finality that Geralt just about started sobbing then and there. Jaskier wiped a tear from his cheek gently but before he could speak again, he coughed, his hand falling from his face and clutching at his chest. Geralt looked on helplessly as he fought to draw one last breath.

“It’s alright, Geralt.”

He doesn’t remember much after that. He remembers clutching Jaskier’s body to his chest and sobbing, but he can’t recall how long he sat there. At some point, Eskel had come in to pull Geralt away. He didn’t want to go, but Eskel had to remind him that there was nothing he could do now. He was gone.

In that moment, Geralt’s whole world had come crashing down before his very eyes.

——————

Tags: @lovelyeskel @jaskierswolf @patchwork-quilts @viking-raider

#geraskier #fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #grieving #yeah i cried writing this one #this one hurts

57 notes · View notes

wordsablaze · 4 years

Text

hardest of hearts

A fix-it songfic inspired by a request for something post-mountain where Geralt feels guilty for hurting his bard and Jaskier struggles with low self-esteem...

A/N: @holisticfansstuff hey, i finally wrote this for your ask !! sorry it took a while and i’m not quite sure this is what you wanted but i hope it’s alright !! the song is hardest of hearts by florence + the machine x

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

And with that one sentence, Jaskier shatters.

And everything changes.

there is love in your body but you can’t hold it in

Meletite knows Jaskier has had enough practice picking up the broken pieces of himself, whether it’s literally pulling his skin back together after being too troublesome or reassembling the shards of his heart after someone carelessly, unknowingly damages it.

He’s broken and been broken countless times before and really, it should be nothing new to witness himself do so once more. Because Jaskier has always loved freely and deeply, but it had been different this time.

And yes, he’s long since lost track of how many windows he’s leaped out of before the sun has risen or how many hushed promises have turned into hazy tavern memories. But this time, it was Geralt.

It was his livelihood and his muse and his very reason for making it through winter, and it was different to any other love he’d nurtured - it was the only one he’d offered slowly and steadily, the only one that had been so sharply spat back at him.

Never has he struggled so much to even breathe right as he turns away.

it pours from your eyes and spills from your skin

Geralt is so, so fiercely angry that he forgets how to be guilty.

That is, until he sees Jaskier’s expression, because Jaskier should be angry or upset or amused but he’s simply a brave face, a faux smile, a testament to Geralt’s mistakes.

An excuse is made about collecting the rest of the story but they both know there’ll never be an accurate song sung about a dragon hunt. And if Jaskier’s expression isn’t enough, the bitter sorrow and sharp pain that radiates from him even after Geralt has turned around is evidence enough.

He’s messed up and he’s messed up horribly and he’s frozen in place as he hears Jaskier’s footsteps fade until they’re too far to follow.

Part of him hopes Jaskier will stay so things can go back to normal but by the time he remembers to move, the only trace left of him is a lingering floral scent that does nothing to fill the sudden void in Geralt’s world.

tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks

Jaskier walks until his feet hurt and then he carries on walking because that’s what he always does when his heart breaks. Only this time he’s certain the blisters on his feet will heal long before his heart does, if it ever does.

He’s no stranger to this sort of pain, he’s travelled a path paved with the disdain of people he’s loved, but Geralt’s blow seems to have hit the hardest of them all despite never truly touching him.

And worst of all, he doesn’t dare sing about it lest anyone get the wrong idea about witchers, for that would unravel decades of effort and he couldn’t bear to see their kind suffer just because it turns out he has a weak heart.

“Toss a coin to your witcher…” he sings, tempted to toss and lose the coin that’s been nestled in his pockets since Posada.

He’s a fool for keeping it, he knows he is, but he can’t bear to part with it, can’t bear to admit that he’s been cast aside by yet another love.

and the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

It’s no secret that Geralt is a quiet person by nature.

He’s never pretended otherwise, which is why it was such a shock when Jaskier slots into his life as if he were born to do so.

Because Jaskier talks enough for the both of them and he becomes an expert in knowing what Geralt is feeling, even when he himself hasn’t figured it out. And Geralt hates it at first, hates the way Jaskier knows when he needs help with bargaining or when he just wants to get away from people and shelter in the forests.

He knows he doesn’t express his gratitude enough, he knows that Jaskier deserves someone who can match his love, who can hold his hand in broad daylight instead of curling up with him in the dead of night under the pretence of necessity.

It doesn’t bother Jaskier though, and all the bard asks for in return is tales of heroics and heartbreak for his songs - Geralt hates himself for so harshly providing the latter.

there is love in your body but you can’t get it out

Sometimes, just sometimes, Jaskier regrets building up his career on Geralt’s adventures.

He’d never imagined that they’d part ways - or rather, he’d let his guard down and forgotten to remember that most people leave him eventually - so he’s wholly unprepared for how much it hurts to sing about witchers when he’s no longer travelling with one.

But he does it anyway because he’s loved Geralt from the start and he doesn’t think he’s capable of ever not loving Geralt and he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

So he keeps going.

On and on.

He travels as far as he can so that he can stay out of Geralt’s way, taking his broken heart with him and ignoring the way he feels like its shards are tearing into his insides a little more with each passing day.

it gets stuck in your head, won’t come out of your mouth

There is more than one town in which Geralt wants to murder a bard.

His bard - for that is what everyone knows Jaskier as - has created masterpieces and they are being butchered by men with far lesser voices, by men who don’t deserve to sing them in the first place.

And Geralt yearns to hear the original versions but it seems he is fated to hear Jaskier’s pain second-hand. He asks around, of course he does, for where to find Jaskier, but nobody knows what to tell him and he has never been good at bargaining for information.

He wishes he knew how to say more than please and thank you but Jaskier was his communication and without him, he can only really achieve the minimum required from him.

Regret pools in his gut every time Jaskier’s trail fizzles out.

sticks to your tongue and it shows on your face

Performance has always been Jaskier’s area of expertise but gods is it difficult to pretend he isn’t drowning in the love he was never meant to keep for himself.

He doesn’t know what to do with his compliments and his teasing and his fond exasperation because all of it was for Geralt and if Geralt doesn’t want it, doesn’t want him, he doesn’t know what to do with it, with himself.

He wastes some of his unwanted love on drunken adventures and always regrets it when he’s asked to stay and give up his travels or asked to leave and flee before a betrothed returns - both demands are knives that sink into his chest and add to the cracks in his heart.

It seems that nobody can truly understand what pleases him but he cannot fault them for he has forgotten how to be honest, whether it’s with others or himself.

Jaskier is tired of loving and hurting as if they are one and the same.

that the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste

“I care for you,” Geralt tells Ciri.

“I want you to be safe,” he adds sincerely.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, because he is.

But all he’s doing is repeating what Jaskier had done, what Jaskier had taught him, and the words sometimes refuse to leave his lips because even they know someone else should have had the right to hear them first.

And all Geralt can do is hope Ciri understands that he means well, he really does. She does, of course, because she is far smarter than she seems and because she too has learned from Jaskier - another fact that sends wave after wave of sour guilt through his mind.

With no way to cure it, his guilt only festers.

darling heart, i have loved you from the start

Jaskier was a mere infant the first time he was abandoned, not that he truly remembers the woman who had decided she didn’t want to take care of him anymore. He only knows because his parents had held it against him, as well as every other heart he failed to win over, right from the start.

Geralt hadn’t abandoned him, Jaskier reminds himself every time he feels anger rise inside of him, he was the one who had abandoned Geralt. And he feels terrible, especially after hearing about Cintra, about Nilfgaard, about everything.

A part of him firmly believes that Geralt is safe because he refuses to think that the love of his life could die without him feeling it, but a part of him is too scared to hold onto that faith.

“I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting…” he sings, because he is.

But only ever for his white wolf.

but you’ll never know what a fool i’ve been

Geralt takes Ciri to Kaer Morhen and feels sick when his brothers tell him how soldiers have been none too gently questioning any bards they come across.

He feels stupid when he realises that all this time, he’s been endangering Jaskier by not trying hard enough to find him, to make sure he’s okay, to apologise for his cruel words on the mountain.

And he feels even worse when he thinks of what little Jaskier has told him about his past, of how he had never spoken of his parents, of how his touch had lingered as if waiting for permission that he hadn’t thought to grant.

Oh, how ungrateful he had been of the first person to teach him the true meaning of emotions.

“You have to find him,” everyone says, and he can’t bring himself to argue.

there is love in our bodies and it holds us together

Funny how one can never be prepared for the sting of a whip, Jaskier thinks.

A brief flirt with fame had inflated his ego but no matter because bleeding out in a stone cell is the perfect way to remember that he is nothing and means nothing to anyone.

He lives, of course he does, but only because he hangs onto the possibility of once more meeting a golden gaze the same way he hangs from the ceiling and ruins his wrists, which is to say he does so every day.

And he’s okay with all the superficial agony inflicted upon him because although nobody learns anything from him, he learns from them that they’re still searching, that Geralt is safe, and that he has no true reason to be upset.

He doesn’t even care that there’s not a single person he can think of who would bother trying to save him.

but pulls us apart when we’re holding each other

Witchers cannot travel in time but Geralt so dearly wishes they could.

He doesn’t find Jaskier before snow starts to fall and travel becomes impossible.

He fails and it’s his fault that Jaskier is out there somewhere - possibly hurt, possibly dead, and possibly worse - when he is given warmth and love and everything his bard deserves more than him.

A deep chill settles into his very bones and although he is offered blankets, he knows it cannot be averted except by Jaskier’s touch. Oh, how he craves the warmth of sharing a bedroll and waking up at ungodly hours so Jaskier can learn about the constellations for his newest ballad.

He wants nothing more than to take back his words and keep Jaskier in his life, in his arms.

we all want something to hold in the night

A noble lineage meant that Jaskier was taught independence before anything else.

It meant he was always “a big boy who needs to stop wasting time” and “not a child anymore, for goodness sake” and “such a pathetic excuse of a noble, you should know better than that by now” but he was never truly loved.

And he never learned that he was meant to be loved, never learned that the affection he gave was supposed to be returned in equal.

So as Jaskier wobbles and stumbles through his escape, collapsing into the forest floor when his legs refuse to support his weight any longer, he just closes his eyes and pretends that he’s not in his own arms, that he’s in the arms of someone who cares enough to look for him.

But of course, he’s not.

And he wakes up alone.

Over and over again.

we don’t care if it hurts or we’re holding too tight

Geralt leaves at the first sight of spring.

He couldn’t possibly wait a day longer when he’s made Jaskier wait so long, even though he can’t be sure if Jaskier is even still waiting for him or if he’s moved on, which he had every right to do.

He forgets how to plan and finds that his resources run out before he’s crossed even two towns, but he makes do from under the cover of shadows and night because he couldn’t bear to give up, not on Jaskier.

With the bounty on his head, he finds himself fighting monsters just to survive rather than for coin. And with the bounty on his head, he finds himself having to treat his own injuries because he can’t ask a healer and he doesn’t have his best friend to help him.

Nothing hurts as much as Jaskier’s absence.

darling heart, i have loved you from the start

The only reason Jaskier survives past winter is because he heads to the coast.

He’s lucky that despite his reputation for trading secrets, he’s never traded all of his own. He’s always kept his love of the open water to himself and that’s the only reason he makes it there at all.

It still hurts to curl up inside his secret little coastal home though, because he’d spent so long imagining what it would be like to bring his- to bring Geralt with him. But he knows that can’t happen because Geralt had grown tired of him and wants nothing to do with him.

He doesn’t have a lot of food and he knows he should be concerned about that but he can’t bring himself to care because for the first time in over two decades, he doesn’t have anything - note, anyone - to live for.

but that’s no excuse for the state i’m in

It’s harder than it had seemed to travel without being seen.

Geralt knows how to hunt. He knows when to hide and when to begin travelling but for some reason, getting to Jaskier is far more difficult than any contract he’s ever taken.

He’s never been one for Destiny but he finds himself practically praying to her for a way to reach his- for a way to reach who he so dearly wants to make his again. His bard, his friend, his Jaskier.

Roach jerks to a halt every time he almost falls asleep whilst still on the saddle but he doesn’t learn from it, he can’t afford to when he so desperately needs to make amends, so desperately needs to figure out how much damage he’s caused and then fix it before he loses the best part of his life.

Desperation has never been his colour but then again, he's never cared for being fashionable.

my heart swells like a water at work

There’s a knock at the door but Jaskier doesn’t have the energy to move.

He stays where he is, huddled by a fire that’s long since run out of fuel to burn, and hopes that if it’s another mage, they kill him quickly this time. But it’s not.

“Jaskier, please!”

He blinks.

It can’t possibly be who he thinks it is, who he wants it to be, can it?

It can.

“Jaskier?” Quieter this time, as if he’s worried.

And then a crashing thud echoes, followed by his favourite set of footsteps and a hand on his shoulder.

He flinches without meaning to, not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. Geralt offers him a small smile and he promptly decides to do both.

can’t stop myself before it’s too late

“I’m sorry, Jaskier, I’m so sorry.”

It’s an apology long overdue, Geralt knows that, but he has to try, he can’t stop himself from trying, not this time, not when it comes to Jaskier.

And he looks so awfully small wrapped in blankets that Geralt can feel his heart clench. He feels even smaller when he melts into Geralt’s touch as if he’s never been granted the luxury of being held as he cries.

“I know,” Jaskier replies between sobs.

There’s so much more that Geralt needs to say but it’s a start and it’s more than enough because Jaskier is alive.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt says, not sure if he’s asking or demanding or begging. But it doesn’t really matter which because Jaskier agrees all the same and he’s just glad he has another chance.

hold on to your heart

Jaskier doesn’t want to get comfortable again.

Well, he does. More than anything. But he doesn’t want to risk the consequences again, he doesn’t think he can live through another heartbreak because there’s so little of his heart left intact and he’s scared to lose himself entirely.

So he goes to the school of the wolves and he gets help for his injuries - and scars, but he doesn’t want to think about that any time soon - but he can’t bring himself to relax, not entirely.

He’s sure they can smell his constant worrying and he feels awful for being such a pain but he doesn’t know what he’s meant to do and his fingers itch for a lute but he doesn’t want to annoy anyone by asking for one.

“I’m okay,” he promises, knowing that it’s a broken one even as it leaves his lips.

‘cause i’m coming to take you

It’s a month before Geralt clocks on to the problem and risks leaving, returning just before dawn with a lute that he places on the table beside Jaskier’s bed.

It’s another week before music fills the building.

It's two more everyone finds themselves humming or singing along every time they hear the lute being played. And another before Geralt finds Jaskier waiting for him where he usually trains, a hesitant smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Geralt nods. “It was the least I could do.”

Jaskier frowns, slowly shaking his head and shuffling his feet. “It’s far more than that. Music, it- it’s almost everything to me, I can't explain it...”

Geralt exhales softly. “But I can understand it because, Jaskier, you’re almost everything to me.”

hold on to your heart

A childhood filled with recklessly throwing around his heart meant that Jaskier became more careful with who he truly trusted over time.

Not careful enough, but still too careful to forgive and forget.

But Geralt is patient and kind and more affectionate than Jaskier has ever seen him and he can’t help falling in love all over again, not that he’d climbed out of it in the first place.

He wants to let go of the dragon hunt, he really does, but Geralt’s words still sting and they, along with his mother’s and father’s and countless fleeting lovers’, flash in his mind every time he thinks about surrendering his heart once again.

And he’s scared, he’s oh so scared that Geralt will get bored of him, sick of him, fed up with him again.

‘cause i’m coming to break you

Geralt waits until summer is waving goodbye before telling Jaskier.

He can feel Jaskier’s doubt rising, he can feel the way he’s not sure whether he’ll be invited to stay for winter or not - he will, of course, because he has become one of their own and it would be foolish if he wasn’t.

But when a week goes by without even the faintest echo of a lute, he and Ciri gather up the prettiest flowers they can find and after their evening meal, he offers them to Jaskier.

“I love you,” he admits softly.

Jaskier is still for all of a few seconds before he starts crying.

And Geralt’s whole body is telling him to run because he hates to see tears in his favourite blue eyes but he resists that urge and slowly, carefully wraps his arms around the bard instead.

“I think I’ve loved you for a long time, Jaskier, and I don’t think I could ever not.”

Jaskier doesn’t reply, but he falls asleep in Geralt’s embrace and finally lets his guard down, and that’s answer enough for anyone.

hold on

The war rages on but Jaskier finally finds peace.

Nothing about their life is particularly easy but he has never been more at ease because as much as Geralt had hurt him, he’d also helped him to heal far more than anybody else ever has.

“You have my heart,” he confesses one morning, after waking up to Geralt’s rare but increasingly more common smiles.

“You can keep it to yourself, your love is enough for me,” Geralt murmurs.

Jaskier blinks slowly, suddenly overcome with the urge to cry. He doesn’t, but he does curse softly. “When did you become so poetic, my dear witcher?”

Geralt chuckles, pulling him impossibly close and leaning right beside his ear to reply, “When you taught me how, my dear bard.”

It takes a matter of seconds for Jaskier to decide that he wants to get married.

hold on

Geralt says very little the day they lawfully commit to spending the rest of their lives together.

He says very little as Yennefer and Ciri craft their rings and loop them into matching chains. He says very little as Eskel and Lambert place their bets on who’s going to cry first - they’re both idiots, it’s obviously Jaskier - or who’s going to remain dry-eyed. And he says very little as Vesemir gives them his blessing.

But when they return to their room, Jaskier places his hands on either side of Geralt’s face and smiles softly. “Geralt, my love, will you tell me what’s wrong? You’ve barely said a word.”

And finally, Geralt cracks. “We vowed to stay with each other until we die, right?”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Of course, but I would have done that with or without the ceremony, you know that.”

“Witchers live for a long time, Jaskier. I-”

Jaskier places a finger on Geralt’s lips, grinning. “You beautiful fool of a witcher, do I look like the kind of bard that’s going to die any time soon?”

When Geralt really looks, it’s obvious that he doesn’t.

And so, with that one sentence, everything changes again.

For the better this time.

it's not particularly original, i know, but i really love this song and kind of let this write itself, and i have too many WIPs to have spent any longer trying to make this better :p hope it was okay anyway <3

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier

66 notes · View notes

dapandapod · 4 years

Text

A soft plucking of heartstrings

So here I am, 2.30 in the morning, just finished a promptchallange from the fantastic @sleepingreader! It may have gotten a little longer and a little softer than I intended, but please enjoy! Here it is on Ao3!

Also, here is my challangers writings and I can’t tell you enough how amazing i find it!

Soft plucking of strings. Spots of candlelight give the tavern a soft and homey feel. The patrons sit with rapt attention listening to the bard on stage with the cornflower blue eyes.

His eyes are closed, his voice dancing with the notes from the lute, weaving a tale of longing, heartache and lust. Every eye is fixed on him where he sits on the stage, no one can miss the raw emotion making itself known through music. Jaskier is lost. Lost deeply in his memories, in his feelings, in the words falling from his tongue and the soft vibration of the instrument in his arms. He loves this song, but it leaves a bittersweet taste. Especially when Geralt is around, as he is tonight, knowing what the price was. Everything is alright now, but the memory is still there. The pain, that hollow space carved out still makes itself known every now and then. The last tones ring out and Jaskier takes a breath before he opens his eyes and lets them roam over his audience. As soon as his eyes are on them they break into applause, almost as if they were waiting for him to return. He makes a sweeping bow and leaves the stage to sit down with his witcher. His witcher, yes. Geralt came to him after the disaster of a dragonhunt. It took them awhile to find their way with each other again and if Jaskier is perfectly honest he prefers what they have now. It’s fragile and honest and something entirely new for his whitehaired friend. Their friendship has blossomed into actual friendship now, not the push and pull of wills they had before. Now they see each other, and listen like they didn’t do before.

As soon as Jaskier sits down he gets showered in coins and ale. The patrons share their coins and their stories with him, what his song reminds them of, their own heartache, longing and lust. Geralt says nothing, just sips the ale pushed into his hand. The night is young and he is asked to sing another set, so he does. And when they finally retire for the night Jaskier finds his coin purse heavier than it’s been for a long, long time. He counts them out in their shared room, Geralt claiming the bed closer to the door and undresses. It’s entirely unfair of him to expect Jaskier not to sneak a peek as he takes off his shirt. Jaskier absolutely sneaks a peek, because expecting anything else of him would be plain stupid. And of course Geralt notices him staring. “What?” He asks over his shoulder and yup, time to kickstart the brain. “I have decided we stay another night.” Jaskier says, gathering the coins and putting them in the leather purse. “Why would we do that?” Geralt asks as he unlaces his trousers and yes, that's just unfair all over again to expect Jaskier to be able to hold a conversation with this view in front of him. Geralt pulls them down and Jaskier has to look away because Jaskier is many things but he is not cruel to himself. There is only so much he can take. Jaskier is also very good at lying to himself so he watches from the reflection of the small window instead. “Because today I have earned us more than we have gotten in months and it is time I give myself a- uh. Give us a treat. In the morn we shall go shopping!” Geralt snorts and lays down on the mattress. Jaskier swiftly undresses too, but takes a long time to fall asleep. He is mapping out all the stands he wants to visit and the sweets he wants to taste. And wants Geralt to taste! And with that image floating through his mind his eyes close and he drifts off.

When morning comes, Jaskier is almost bouncing with enthusiasm. It’s been a while since he dared spend coin as he will today and still expect to have some left for later. Geralt is slow out the door so he impatiently grabs him by the wrist and drags him along. If he had looked back at the witcher he would see a small smile curve and his finger flex, but he does not look and so it remains a secret. The first stall they visit has, surprise, knives. Geralt stops and admires the handiwork as Jaskier studies the rings next to them. The silver work is expertly done, but not what they had in mind. So Jaskier draws him to the next stand. And the next. They find a woman selling plums, the first of the season. She recognizes him from the tavern, and when they buy a handful of her plums she puts in two apples for them as well. Jaskier gives her the brightest smile and a squeeze of her hand. They find a stall with hair jewelry. Small beads to put into braids, hairclasps, ribbons and leatherstrips worked with fine details. Jaskier sends Geralt to find… something, anything that makes him go away as Jaskier buys two small beads of carved bone with intricate patterns and one of those worked leather straps. He adds a silver comb adorned with swallows for Ciri and folds it all into a piece of cloth. When Geralt returns he already stands two stalls over, a thick man with a thin mustache selling strings and flutes and for some reason, hats made of straw. They didn’t mean to, but a young girl on the street next to a barber shop grabs ahold of them as they pass. “Good sirs, are you not weary from your travels? If you follow me inside my father can offer the best trim of beard and hair this side of the river!” Geralt gives Jaskier a one-over and firmly nods. The bard needs some taking care of, he seems to decide, and they both walk out of there an hour later with hair newly washed and oiled up. Jaskier will never say it out loud, but he longs for the stubble to return to his witcher's face. The girl sees them outside and gives them a satisfied smirk. “Did I not say so, good sirs, that he is the best?” They nod their agreement and hand her one of the apples they were given. When they make it back out to the market Geralt stops by a big stand with tacks and blankets and brushes and many other things Jaskier is not very familiar with, but feels like they are meant for horses. Geralt picks out new reins from soft leather and grease to keep them smooth. He finds a big brush with long strands that looks the perfect amount of firm and soft, if Jaskier is any judge at all. And new saddlebags and, of course, a big bag of treats. Geralt opens his own money pouch to pay but Jaskier smacks his hands away and enjoys the feeling of giving. He likes that feeling, and all the gods know Geralt has seen too little of that in his life. “Jaskier, this is going to sound odd.” Geralt says after a good 30 minutes of ogling at a blacksmith stall. “But can I have the leather pouch for a moment, and can you go look at the bookstore?” Jaskier can only give a crooked smile and oblige, small butterflies making pirouettes in his stomach. And after a while Geralt comes to him, carrying a long wooden casing. Jaskier squints at him suspiciously, but Geralt simply can’t play fair and the smile he shoots him makes Jaskier lose his nerve and look away. It is a frightening thing, looking at someone you treasure so much without a hope of ever being treasured the same way back. To see them smile towards you as if they actually might. Jaskier buys a new notebook, Geralt a pair of new leather gloves. They buy a few jars of cherries and other sweets, and by then the sun is hanging low on the sky. The money pouch is very much lighter but not empty, just as he planned. Geralt walks them out on the fields, past farmers and cows and a cat on a fence, blinking at them with big eyes. Jasker simply cannot walk past the cat, her big eyes and pink nose and tail that is curling, even though cats' tails normally don’t curl. He bends down to pat her, and Geralt stays back. “Oh no, you big oaf, you come here right now and pet this cat.” Jaskier demands of him, but Geralt stays. “Cats don’t like me.” He mutters, and looks away when the cat leans against Jaskier’s legs, purring loudly. The bard reaches for his friend, grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer. “This one doesn’t mind, do you my girl?” Jaskier croons at the cat, and she blinks up at him and then at Geralt. She doesn’t hiss, she doesn’t bite, she just purrs and waits. “I uh.. I never touched a cat before.” Geralt admits, at loss at what to do. So Jaskier drags him over and places his hand over his. Together they stroke the cat on the back. Geralt's skin is rough and warm under Jaskiers fingers, and the uncertainty radiates from his friend in waves. Jaskier is only a man, and he is a man with a day filled with treats, so he allows himself another one. With his thumb he strokes Geralt's hand before he releases it and sits back a little. He looks at the cat and then back to this big man, this witcher, this old grumpy lump of muscles he calls his friend and his… everything. He studies the way Geralt's mouth is slightly open in awe, and how the cat blinks at him and how he instinctively blinks back. How his finger lingers on the soft fur, how carefully he scratches behind her ear and under her chin. And then the cat wanders off, leaving them there to look after her. They look at her go, and then they keep walking to where Geralt was leading them.

As it turns out, Geralt was aiming for the riverside. They sit down a bit away from the water's edge by a big tree. The grass is tall and tickles his ankles where his trousers ride up. They sit close together and their shoulders bump every now and then. They listen to the water and to the birds as the day slowly settles into night around them. And then Geralt picks up the wooden casing and puts it in Jaskier’s lap. “I know it’s your money but I saw you looking at it and…” Geralt opens the casing and inside lies a beautiful rapier, inlaid with dandelions along the hilt and the handguard. Jaskiers mouth opens and closes and he reaches out a hand to softly touch the cool metal. “Geralt.” He breathes. “Geralt.” He looks up, looks down, his eyes stinging a little. “You shouldn’t have” He says when words finally return to him. He did admire it when they stood there, and he did miss the weight of a rapier in his hand at times while on the path. “In a way, I didn’t. You did. And I wanted you to have it and you have spent so much on me today so it was time you spent some on yourself.” Geralt says to him, and Jaskier can’t remember the last time his friend used so many words and for the simple reason to… to what, really? He looks up at Geralt, mouth working to find the right words but he can’t. “Thank you.” The smile Geralt gives him could buy the moon. It's soft and warm and only for him. And Geralt picks up one of the jars of sweets and opens it. He picks up a small cherry and holds it to Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier looks at it, and then into Geralt's eyes. He is watching intently and this doesn’t feel like something friends do anymore. But he opens his mouth and takes the cherry, Geralt's fingers brushing against his lips. A small tingling sensation rushes through him, and down his spine and out to his toes. They are still looking at each other, eyes locked, all smiles gone. And as the sun slowly sets, Jaskier leans forward, leans into Geralt's space. Their noses touch when the last rays of sunshine filter through the treetops. Their breaths mingle, eyes fluttering shut and then they share a soft kiss. Barely a brushing of lips. Jaskier leans over the wooden box, pusing it down on the grass to get onto his knees. Geralt's hand curve around his neck and the tingling explodes to fireworks under his skin. They press their lips together again, a taste of sweet cherries and sunshine and birdsong. They kiss again and again. Jaskier will treat himself more often in the future, he thinks as Geralt's arms snake around him to hold him close. Kisses that taste like cherry and pearls to braid into witcher's hair and apples and plums and sunshine. And when the morning comes he makes sure to give Roach a treat too. And when they make their way out on the path again, that pain, that hollow inside him is filled with feelings and hopes he never allowed himself before. As a treat.

68 notes · View notes

deputy-videogamer · 4 years

Text

Gemini |Part 3|

Pairing: Geralt x Reader, Yennefer x Reader, Geralt x Reader X Yennefer

Summary: Both Geralt and Yennefer take a trip into town in hopes to get some info about the so called ‘Mad Princess’, only to discover that not all stories match. While a dark figure lurks among the forest willing to defend their precious ‘Mad Princess’

Part 2 Part 4

Notes: Sorry for the late post I know people were excited for chapter 3 to be release soon similar to chapter 2, but I had a writerblock when I was writing this chapter, and when I did started to write this chapter again I had to edit the chapter so it can match my what I had in mind. Once again I apologize for the late post and thank you for those who are still willing to read this story even if it was a long wait.

After the meeting with the king, Geralt and Yennefer had gone to the room that they were staying at. The way to their room was awkward between them, if it wasn’t for Yennefer speaking up first.

“If you don’t mind me asking Geralt, who’s the little girl you are with?” At first Geralt didn’t want to respond to her, but in the end had answered her.

“Ciri is my law of surprise during my time in Cintra.”

“I see. How long have you been with her?”

“Only for a few months. Where have you been since we last saw each other?”

“Places.” Geralt had a feeling that Yennefer won’t reveal where she has been, after all the last time they saw each other they ended in bad terms.

“How come you were brought here? Last time this was a job for a Witcher.”

“Lucius, is a good friend of mine. As he mentioned before her powers were unstable resulting in her loss control of her sanity. He hopes that with my help, my power can stop hers before she causes any damages in the kingdom.”

The two had reached the room, inside Jasikier was playing his lyre while Ciri was listening to him play. She turned her head when she heard the door open.

“How long are we going to be guests here?” She innocently asked Geralt.

“Until we can find a way to end the princess' life, but for now I need clues to see what we are up against.”

Jaskier then eyed Yennefer who hadn't left the room., “And she's going to be staying with us?” The raven hair beauty raised an eyebrow at the bard.

“What’s the matter, afraid I would end your life even though I saved yours?” She snapped at him, Jaskier was about to retaliate, but Geralt gave him a look to stop talking.

Geralt had stated that they will go into town to gain information about the princess, to which Yennefer responded she will be going with him to sense if she left any signs of her magic. While Ciri and Jaskier would stay here unless being told otherwise.

The town wasn’t in the worst condition, but it wasn’t also the greatest condition. There were a few homeless people roaming around the area, although at the same time their appearance didn't look like they were nothing more than skin and bones. What was even more surprising was that there was no person who avoided him like there was some sort of plague, instead he was occasionally given gifts from random people.

“Seems like they are more welcoming to witchers than most places.” Yennefer commented, even receiving a few gifts herself.

“It’s either that or they haven’t heard about my reputation.” Geralt looked at the gifts in his hands. One of the gifts he had in his hand was a woman in a fierce stan with two orbs in her hands , mostly likely a mage.

Geralt knew that some mages were either respected or feared, this one was clearly respected if the people are creating images of her.When he asked Yennefer if she knew this one from somewhere she responded saying she never seen or heard someone like her. It didn’t make sense who this woman was? What did the people see in her? If Yennefer doesn’t know who she was then who is exactly?

“What happened to the cart?” A voice broke Geralt’s thoughts, making him looked to the side.

Two men were having a conversation one looked like a merchant while the other was the delivery boy who gave the goods. When the silver hair Witcher looked at the cart there were slash marks on the side and some of the crates were semi damaged, but what made him confused was how the man driving the cart was how he looked unharmed compared to the state of the cart.

“I was attacked by some robbers on my way here.” The delivery boy said as he was unloading the crates.

“Then how were you able to escape if you were attacked by the robbers?”

“A bunch of crows and wolves attacked them. The birds drove some of the robbers away and those who didn’t escape were killed by the wolves.” The merchant had a shocked expression on his face, Geralt thought the merchant wouldn’t believe his story though it was the opposite. The man’s face turned to a soft expression.

“The Princess of the Woods is watching her people.” The man patted the delivery man shoulder then started to help him unload the crates.

Princess of the Woods? Was he referring to the insane princess that they were ordered to kill? But she was insane. Why would she help her people?

All these questions lingered in Geralt’s head, though he wasn’t the only one who was wondering who was this so-called ‘Princess of the Woods’. Yennefer may not be a Witcher who can identity what type of monster attacked the robbers, though she was curious on why would a monster help these humans, most monster didn’t had a brain to think or have sympathies over humans so what made this monster have humanity in him….unless you were behind all.

“Excuse me, but who is this Princess of the Woods?” Bother Geralt and Yennefer walked up to the two men. Thermechant looked around to see if anyone was looking at them, his eyes met a group of knights that were patrolling the area.

“Not here.” He whispers the two the two, he then gestures to his store so the two could talk iside. “Do you think you can handle the rest and bring it in my store?” The delivery man nodded knowing what the merchant was doing.

Geralt and Yennefer glance at each other when the merchant tells them to follow in his store. Something was wrong, when Geralt looked back to see where the merchant’s eyes landed upon he noticed the knights. Why would he be afraid of the knights?

Inside the merchant had locked the front door, then heading to the window to make sure no one was spying on them. After making sure that no one was following them, he faced the both of them. Both too took note how his expression became all serious.

“You two are the Wicher and the mage that the bastard king requested huh?” The merchant tone was different behind closed doors. “Listen as much as I want to give you every detail the citizens are all being watched.”

“Watched by who?” Yennefer asked the man who then only gave her a disgusted look.

“The king who else. Ever since his daughter left he thinks that she is the insane one, but what kind of king tries to poison his own daughter.”

This new revelation had shocked the two, no wonder Lucius looked so nervous at the idea of killing the princess. “What do you mean he tried to poison his own daughter.”

“You got to ask the mage Lucius for that, but I doubt he is willing to tell you everything.” Lucius knew about this as well? Just what other secrets there are about this kingdom. “My advice is this you can either try to convince Lucius to talk or you can ask the girl yourself.” The merchant pointed his thumb to the woods.

Even though it looked like a normal woods, something about the woods made the woods evil, perhaps it's because you lived there and how they were going in their blindness without anything you could do to them.

“If we were to go after her what would happen to us?” Yennefer looked at the man who only gave them a hard look.

“Many mages and hunters have entered those woods and never return, the only things that remain are the skulls that the crows carry around the kingdom as a sign to not bring any more unwanted guests.”

“What about the citizens here? Have they been attacked by the Princess of the Woods?” Geralt remembers how the delivery man was saved by the robbers.

“She cares for the citizens never once she attacked them even the little children enter the woods only to come out safe.” The merchant sighed. “Listen, there are some witnesses that have actually seen the Princess of the Woods. It's best to ask when there are no lingering eyes. One false move and you just caused that person's death.”

As much as Geralt and Yennefer wanted to keep asking questions with this man, the look in his eyes told him time was up; they couldn’t discuss any further or these ‘eyes’ will start to get suspicious. Before they had exited out the store, Geralt called out to the man.

“Is it alright if I can examine your cart for clues?” The man looked at him in confusion before nodding his head in agreement.

From the inside the cart didn’t look too bad, but it was the outside that got Geralt’s attention, there were slash marks that came from swords that mostly likely belong to robbers along with some claw marks that came from the wolves. There were some traces of crow feathers in the corners of the cart, picking one up Geralt could feel magic swarming around the feather. Magic that was similar to a Leshan. Whomever you are you must have wield strong magic if you can manage to tame a Leshan to do your bidding, if Geralt could even call you a threat. Geralt wondered if this was the reason why Lucius was so nervous during the meeting with the king.

Flashback

The raven hair mage and the golden eye wolf followed the elder mage to the way of the throne room. During the trip Geralt noticed how much Lucius' heart was beating and he knew it wasn’t because he was old. His heartbeat reminded him of someone who was nervous or lying about a topic, the way he walked didn’t also help his problem. Every step he took was quicker than the last almost as if he wanted to get this over with, just want was wrong with this mage. Looking back at Yennefer, the black haired beauty gave him a look that she had also picked up Lucius’s hesitation.

When they reached the door Lucuis a gave a look to the two guards that were guarding each side of the door, both of them opened the doors The throne room was just like any other boring royal room, grand walls that were lavishly decorated in gold and tapestries with royal curtains surrounding the area. Pillars that reached all the way to the ceiling that god no know how far they expanded, that had plants and decorations that all over the stone, Of course it was his throne room without having a long red carpet that reached all the way to the end of the room where the throne had resided.

“Ah the great White Wolf and the most powerful sorceress in Vengerberg. Please come in.” The king gestured them to walk more, his voice had sounded like a loving grandfather who would spoil his grandchildren with treats.

Geralt had taken note on how Lucius had remained by the door when the two were called upon. His face was filled with guilt, but why would he be filled with guilt unless there is something more to this request than there should be.

“I really hope the journey wasn’t too long for such a mission.” The king gave them a cornering look.

“Quite quick actually. As soon as I heard Lucius needed some help I came here as fast I could.” Yennefer answered

“Yes, magic is certainly a wonderful thing isn’t.” The king chuckled. “But I’m sure I didn’t request the help of the both of you to discuss magic. It is about my daughter, did Lucius have already informed you two.”

“Y-yes your highness I had already informed them about the princess.” Lucius quickly answered, the poor elder mage didn’t want to repeat the lie again, it was too painful for him to say. Oh how he wish the queen was here so this tragedy didn’t even happen in the first place.

“Is it possible for us to speak with mages that survived the encounter with your daughter?” Geralt looked at the king, the man tightly gripped the arms of his throne before releasing his grip.

“No, after the encounter all the injured mages left when they had a chance to leave. I can’t even send Lucius into the woods, for he could also get killed by the hands of my daughter.”

“I thank the king’s generosity for my well being.” Lucius bitterly thanked , every word made the mage said made him want to cut out his tongue.

“I had sent help far and wide before many had come to help and stop my daughter, though once they entered the forest they had never returned. How many don’t even come for aid to help my kingdom, the citizens even start to fear the woods believing my daughter would kill them in an act of revenge.”

“Just how powerful is her magic?” Yennefer asked, not believing a single word coming from the king’s mouth.

“Stronger than me.” Lucius answered her. “The day when she lost all control I casted a barrier to protect the king. Her magic was so strong that in minutes my barrier was destroyed, she could’ve ended our lives there instead she fled into the woods.”

“Then why haven’t you taught her how to control her magic?”

“The mages and I have tried, but as days passed her magic only worsened, by the time we realized that her magic was unstable it was already too late. She lost control over her magic causing her to be unstable.” Lucius explained that didn’t make sense. Yennefer knew that if a high mage like Lucius would sense it and try to control her chaos within her.

None of this made sense to the duo, to a normal person they would easily fall for these stories, but they were normal people. They were telling this to a Witcher and a Mage, people who know the arts of magic and the supernatural. They will play the king’s game, but they will find answers of what’s really going on. They will be huge if the princess is really insane as the king describes.

“We will start as soon as possible.” Yennefer immediately agreed followed by Geralt.

“If it alright may we go around and ask the citizens around to have more information about the princess?”

“Of course take as much as you need. Lucius will help you as much as possible.” The king gave a gentle smile at the duo, although Lucius' actions said something else. His fists were clenched as his gazed was sharp as a blade piering a man’s body.

“It will be an honor to serve the Witcher and the Sorceress.”

Flashback Ended

“Crows and wolves don’t attack robbers out of the blue. Unless they are being controlled by a Leshen.” Geralt showed the crow feathers to Yennefer.

“It's amazing how she can control a woodling creature nonetheless a Leshen.” Yennefer plucked the feathers out his hand. “Makes you wonder what other things are on her side.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. “The citizens are really cozy here, not a single ounce of fear in them. A completely different story about what the king said.”

“Don’t forget about Lucius.” Yennefer pointed how the leader mage was acting differently during the meeting. “You could practically see the hatred and guilt in his eyes.”

The duo knew that they were tricked, but that didn’t mean the king and Lucius wasn’t fully lying. Whoever you were, you possessed powers that even Geralt and Yennefer couldn’t believe that someone could wield. As much as they want to find out who you were they need more information before marching in your territory. Unfortunately this wasn’t going to be easy as it looks.

At the outskirts of the town, a farmer was tending his crops when he noticed that one of his cattle was dead. The strange part of the cow’s corpse was that there were several claws marks littered on its body almost like it was attacked by a swarm of birds. It wasn’t just him though several other farmers animals had scratch marks just what kind of creature could do this?

Unknown to the farmers just at the edge of the forest, a Leshen was watching as many farmers were examining all their livestocks. The Leshen petted one of his crows that was perched on his shoulders and head, offering it’s finger to one of the crows. The bird hopped on the twig like finger, the other hand showed two strands of hair, one was a silver color and the other was a raven lock. The crow memorized the two stands then flying off to the city to find the owners of the strands of hair. As the bird was no longer in view another bird flew in with something attached to it’s leg. The bird landed on the palm of the Leshen’s hand, pulling the string he read the note that we inscripted in a strange language. It led out a dark laugh after reading what was written in the piece of paper, his alliances are more than willing to defend the ‘Princess of the Woods’ from these invaders.

It just hoped that his little goose chase would be enough to throw them off for a while and if that didn’t work. Well it seems like there will be new skulls to be added in the collection.

@whitewolfandthefox @dreaming-about-fanfictions @seanh-boredom @dopepizzaenemy @charliestufff @whotperlinda @imdreamingof-you @dopepizzabouquetzz @mattiej15

131 notes · View notes