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dancingwiththefae · 1 year

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The Price of Justice

Day 3 of @jaskierwhumpweek

Pairing: Implied geraskier

Prompt: Humiliation

Tags: public whipping, pillory, blood and injury,hurt/comfort, Jaskier has a bad time in this, mild sexual references and old fashioned views about virginity.

Word Count: 2.4k

1/1

Completed: yes

Summary: Jaskier lands himself in trouble again, execpt this time in a town that likes that adopts cruel methods of punishment

Also on AO3

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Geralt knew when he headed into town that there was something off. Sometimes, located away from the cities, towns such as this still held archaic views and practices. Not that a lot of the cities were much better. They just hid it under a veil of sensibility and forward thinking. But places like this, often ruled over by minor lords who thought themselves higher than their station, was not a place in which Geralt liked to linger. He would check if there were any contracts and make himself scarce. With any luck, he could just pass through here.

He pulled his cloak tighter against the odd looks from the townsfolk as they passed by. They were in a rush. It took him a moment to realise that they were all headed the same way. Curiously, he followed. The people were gathering at the main square in town – or what counted as a such around here. Geralt circled the perimeter of the gathering, keeping his distance should things go south. The crowd packed themselves around a platform, on which stood a pillory. The witcher sighed. Some poor sap was about to be thrown to the dogs. The crowd was riled up already, waiting impatiently. Geralt had been around long enough to be used to the fact that this classed as entertainment to people. Didn't mean he had to like it, though. He decided to try and slip away before it started. He pushed his way back to where he had come from, but not before the crowd erupted in jeers.

A man was being brought out in shackles by two guards and accompanied by a wealthy looking man who had a smugness of someone with authority. He was brought to the front of the platform for the crowd to leer at. Geralt froze. The man in shackles, shivering in the cold in front of the crowd, was Jaskier. He almost didn't believe it, if not for the words then uttered that confirmed it.

“The bard Jaskier is charged with fraud, defamation, slander and debauchery and hereby found guilty of all three counts. His punishment, twenty lashes and to stand in the pillory for the scrutiny of the town until the lord sees fit.”

Jaskier was secured to a pole on the platform. A whip was handed over to one of the guards. This can't be happening. Geralt had to stop this. With brute force he pushed his way to the front.

“Stop,” he called, “stop!”

The sick performance was paused and a hush came over the crowd. The wealthy looking man scanned the crowd for the source of the shouting. The people parted to let Geralt through.

“Explain these charges,” he demanded.

“And who are you?” the man asked with scrutiny.

“Geralt of Rivia. A witcher.”

The man eyed the sword on his back warily. Good. He was smug and self-important, but he wasn't completely stupid.

“This man swindled honest men out of their coin in a fraudulent game of cards, performed songs that went against out lord and then defiled his daughter. We found him in her bedchambers taking her virginity and spoiling her with his seed.”

“She was certainly no virgin,” Jaskier just had to interject, “trust me, she knew her way around-”

He was halted in his tracks by a punch to the face. The bard spat blood onto the ground and kept his head down. Geralt gritted his teeth in anger. Cheating at cards, singing and sleeping around. It was all just Jaskier being Jaskier. Geralt knew that one day his bad behaviour would get him into trouble but he didn't imagine it would be like this.

“What's his bail?” he asked, “I'll pay it and you'll release him to me.”

The smugness returned in the form of a smile.

“Two thousand orens.”

Fuck. He didn't have that kind of money. And the man knew it. It was a ridiculous amount. A number chosen with the purpose of not being able to be paid.

“How long until he is released?”

“He will be brought to the pillory every day until the lord is happy,” the man responded simply.

“And how long will that be?”

“Until he is happy.”

Shit. Geralt had no response.

“If there are no more interruptions...”

The guards pulled out knives and cut away at Jaskier's shirt. There was nothing Geralt could do but watch. He kept his eyes locked on Jaskier's. Something in him told him that maybe his presence could offer at least some comfort to the bard. And then the first lash hit. The whip connected with a crack and the bard cried out. They kept coming, unrelenting. Jaskier's cries turned to whimpers and eventually sobs.

It felt like forever before it was finally over.

Jaskier was hauled to his feet and secured into the pillory. A notice detailing his charges was nailed to it. It took only a few seconds before the crown descended upon him, throwing rotten food and shouting curses. They were too riled up to pay attention to his pleas to stop. He dared not unsheathe his sword in front of the guards. The last thing Jaskier needed was him stuck in jail too. He waited until they began to disperse to reach Jaskier. He stood a the foot of the platform. The bard didn't look up. Not that he blamed him. He was a mess.

“Jaskier,” he called, “I'll be right back, okay?”

Jaskier hummed in what Geralt assumed was assent. Without a second glance, the witcher raced to where he had Roach tied up with his packs. He pulled out a waterskin and clean cloth and returned to the bard. He climbed up onto the platform and crouched down.

“Here.” He offered the water to Jaskier, holding it steady while he drank. When her was finished, the witcher used what was left to wet the cloth and, with more than he had given anything in a long while, he wiped him clean.

“Thank you,” the bard whispered. He could see his lip tremble, could see the shimmer of unshed tears in his eyes. Jaskier was just holding it together.

“Always knew you'd get yourself into trouble somehow. But you don't deserve this.”

When a stray tear ran down the bard's cheek, Geralt wiped it away without a word. The lashes had broken skin. Spots of blood appeared on the back of the bard's shirt. It was cruelty. Cruelty for cruelty's sake. That's what this was. Jaskier was just a pawn in a wealthy man's sick game. If he ever had to come back here – and he hoped to all the gods that he didn't – he would show that lord exactly what he thought of him. He hated that he felt so helpless. But he couldn't afford to wallow in it. There was one thing he could do. He could look after Jaskier. He brought him food and kept him company until he was ushered on by a guard. With a promise to be back tomorrow, he left in search of a room for the night.

The next morning he counted his coin. Just shy of a thousand. If he sold a few things he could almost make up the amount he needed. But not quite. It was a start. He hurriedly separated his things out into what he needed to keep and what could be sold. He was ruthless in deciding. Maybe a little too ruthless, but this was important. At this moment, the only thing that mattered to him was getting Jaskier to safety. He shoved everything to sell into a bag.

He passed the square in time to see Jaskier being put back into the pillory. It was early enough that there were not many people around yet, so he was at least spared that. For the time being. He felt guilty for walking by but he needed to make up the money as soon as possible. He spent the majority of the day haggling with shady shopkeepers who looked at him as if he was dirt on their shoe. It was frustrating. He was close to just cutting Jaskier out of the pillory himself and fighting through the whole town out. He wasn't going to. But it was tempting. He stopped by the noticeboard on the way back. There was indeed a contract for him. He pulled it from the board and carried on walking.

He was close. He just needed to complete this contract and he would have enough. He went to check on Jaskier and tell him as such. He arrived at the town square to find a group of youths taunting him. One of them held a stick in his hands. He struck Jaskier in the back of the knee. His leg gave way. The pillory did its job keeping him in place. The youth struck again. Before he could strike a third time, the stick was wrenched from his hand. He whirled around and stared, wide eyed in shock at Geralt behind him.

“Leave.”

It was a warning. The youths scrambled. Geralt threw the stick from the platform in frustration.

“Geralt,” the bard wheezed, “help.”

Jaskier was struggling to get his feet back from under him. Geralt helped get him up and told him how close he was to reaching the sum of his bail.

“Just have to get this contract done tomorrow and you'll be free,” he explained.

“You sold your things for me?” The bard asked incredulously, “Why would you do that?”

“You think I'd leave you here to suffer?”

“Maybe,” the bard huffed. He didn't mean it. The witcher crouched down to meet him eye to eye.

“You are more important.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to speak but no words came.

“One more day,” Geralt continued, “and then we're out of here.”

The bard shivered as the sun slowly disappeared beyond the horizon. At least they had given him a shirt today. Guards appeared to take him back to his cell.

The contract the next day was simple enough. An endrega nest in the forest on the outskirts of town. The witcher dispatched of them quickly, his only thoughts about getting back to Jaskier as soon as he could. He burned the nest with a blast of igni and headed straight back to town. He didn't bother cleaning up first. He needed that money. Besides, it was funny how quickly people were willing to pay up when you still had the remnants of what you had set out to slay still on you.

With the money collected, the next stop was the cells. It was late evening. Jaskier would be back in his cell by now. He stalked in through the door and scanned the room. The smug man from a few days ago was sitting behind a desk, tucked away in the far corner. He ignored the woman before him who questioned why he was there and headed straight towards him. He dropped the pouch of coin on the table. It hit the wood with a thud.

“Two thousand orens. Now, release Jaskier and we'll both be on our way.”

The man held up a hand to stop him.

“One moment. This needs to be counted first.”

“Then be quick about it,” the witcher growled.

It was enough to startle him, but safe amongst his bureaucracy, he took his time counting every coin. At last when he was happy with the amount, he waved a guard over to take Geralt to where they were keeping Jaskier. The guard led him to the cells. Most were empty, a few occupied. They all had the same despondent look in their eyes.

“Does the punishment always fit the crime?” he queried.

“Who are you to judge our ways,” the guard scoffed.

They stopped at the last cell. The guard unlocked the door and moved aside for him to enter. Jaskier was sitting on the floor against the far wall. He looked up at the sound of the cell door opening, but quickly glanced away when he saw Geralt. He was a sorry sight. With little ceremony, the witcher helped him to his feet. No one gave them a second glance as they left and for that Geralt was grateful. He wasn't sure he could temper his simmering rage if anyone were to try anything now.

“Roach is just outside. I'll help you up and then we're getting the fuck out of here.”

The bard remained quiet. The most noise he made was to let out a whimper as he was jostled on Roach.

“It's just until we get out of here,” Geralt murmured, “when we get to a safe place we'll stop. Got stuff to help with your wounds, too.”

Jaskier still didn't respond, but he didn't need to. The small squeeze of his hand on Geralt's wrist said enough. Slowly, they made their way out of town. The townsfolk averted their gaze as they walked past. It was one thing to see someone as bait for their entertainment, it was another to see them on their level.

They made their journey in silence until Geralt found a safe place for them to camp. It wasn't ideal, making Jaskier sleep on the ground. If he could, he would offer him a warm, clean bed with soft sheets and an experienced healer to tend to him. He couldn't give him any of that. The most he could offer was an extra blanket and his own steady hands. Methodically, he set up camp for the both of them. When he had finished, he found Jaskier still standing beside Roach, tucked into her side. Geralt made his way over cautiously.

“Jaskier? Let's take a look at your back, okay?”

The bard nodded and moved where he was guided. After a moment's hesitation he took his shirt off. The welts were an angry red stretching across his back. Geralt would have to treat them the best he could and find a healer. With careful movements so as to not hurt him, Geralt cleaned and bandaged Jaskier up. He worked slowly, aware that he could easily frighten him in his current state.

“Thank you,” Jaskier spoke at last, “I'm sorry I got myself into that mess.”

“You did,” Geralt sighed. He felt the bard tense under his hands. “But that doesn't mean you deserved what they did to you.”

Jaskier turned to face him. The witcher took his hand in his.

“I can't always be around to get you out of trouble,” he continued, “but I will always try.”

“Why?” Jaskier asked, “I don't deserve it.”

“Because... you are important to me. And I'd like to keep you in one piece if I can.”

The bard huffed a short laugh. He let their fingers entwine. He doubted Jaskier would learn any lessons from this. He never did. But in truth, he wouldn't have him any other way.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #jaskierwhumpweek #geraskier fanfiction #jaskier whump #jaskier #geralt of rivia

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dadralt · 2 years

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10 sentences meme - yenralt edition

one sentence per genre for a pairing (from here)

1. Angst

“YENNEFER,” Geralt yells as he feels her hand slip from his, terror in her eyes, arms stretching out but inevitably falling and following Borch down the ravine.

2. AU

Yennefer sighs, eyeing the bottle of syrup just out of her reach with annoyance before turning towards Geralt, her taller co-barista of the day.

3. Crack

It's over in a split second, and Yennefer immediately feels something is very very wrong, as she looks down at her hands - they look way too big, too manly? - almost terrified to ask, “Geralt, what the fuck happened?”

4. Future fic

He has lifetimes behind him, but nothing in the world has made Geralt feel so at rest than watching the sun set in Toussaint, a glass of wine in hand and Yennefer next to him.

5. First Time

“You’re doing so good,” Yennefer purrs in his ear as she slides in deeper, stretching him so wide it hurts but it feels so fucking incredible at the same time, all he can do is choke on his breath.

6. Fluff

“You’re such a sap, Geralt of Rivia,” Yennefer says, trying to look annoyed but failing, the fondness obvious in her eyes as she accepts the flowers he offered to her.

7. Humor

“Go on Jaskier, what did Geralt say about me?” she asks with a smirk, getting much delight from the way Geralt’s cheeks turn red as his drunk friend continues babbling away.

8. Hurt/Comfort

Yennefer’s eyes are ablaze, purple shining amidst the flames and for a second Geralt wonders if she’s a fragment of his imagination, looking so otherworldly but her voice sounds so real as she tells him they won’t hurt him ever again.

9. Smut

He feels like a teenager again with the way he’s practically humping her thigh, his braies feeling too tight, but his lust can’t be controlled - he just wants to keep touching her, feel her, until his entire body is intoxicated with her.

10. UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension)

Yennefer is so close and it would be so easy to lean in and kiss her, and he wonders if she still tastes the same or if the aftertaste of betrayal still lingers on her lips.

#feel free to copy and write some yourself :)#my writing #hmm #not entirely satisfied with this but it's been in my drafts for too long #geralt x yennefer

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fahrni · 1 year

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Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning. I’ve just finished my first cup of joe time to do a little writing while the second cools a bit. ☕️

The back is still misbehaving and I’m over it. Don’t you wish it was that easy to heal something? You just say “I’m over it” and it’s magically fixed? Yeah, me too. Physical therapy, I’m coming to see you. Be kind to me.

Grist

Scientists at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory have allegedly achieved the first-ever net energy gain in a nuclear fusion reaction, according to the Financial Times, which cited three unnamed sources with knowledge of the recent experiment.

The Iconfactory

More than any other year in recent memory, 2022 brought big changes—some good, some bad, and some sad. During our 25 years in business we’ve learned to roll with all manner of punches and continue forging ahead. This year was no different.

I’m a huge fan of The Iconfactory. I use more than a few of their products, including Tot, which I’m using now to write this post.

I also use Twitterrific, xScope, and Wallaroo. Really great software, excellent people.

Comic Sands

Social media users cheered as Democratic President Joe Biden masterfully trolled former Republican President Donald Trump’s big “announcement” with a few announcements of his own.

President Biden announced a bunch of really nice accomplishments.

TFG’s big announcement was a bunch of NFT trading cards with his face superimposed over the top of various fit men. Laughable, but true.

The great grift continues. You too can own these gems for $99.00US. I wonder how many of his poor cult members fell for it? Poor saps. 🤣

Fortune

Cavill, who has played Superman since 2013’s “Man of Steel,” took to Instagram on Wednesday to share the “sad news” that he would not be returning to the iconic role.

I loved Mr. Cavill as Superman and will miss him as The Man of Steel.

And to really rub salt in the wound he had to turn down his role as Geralt of Rivia in The Witcher, which kind of ruins that too. 🤬

Six Colors

Lawsuits, new laws, and proposed regulations have been swirling around Apple and some of its core business practices for years now. But on Tuesday came the first report—from Bloomberg’s Mark Gurman, perhaps the most reliable breaker of secret Apple news—that Apple’s planning on changing its App Store policies in major ways.

Apple allowing Third Party App Stores? What? Has hell frozen over?

Look, if we do get Third Party App Stores I Apple will require each of them to pass a percentage of each sale directly to Apple.

Tim Apple: “Welcome to the Apple Platform, Third Party App Store.”

Third Party: “Thank you, Tim. It’s good to be here.”

Tim Apple: “I’ll take 27% of every sale, due at the first of the month.”

Third Party: “😳”

Apple always wants their piece of the pie, so to speak. 🥧

The Washington Post

HOUSTON — Employees at the Texas Department of Public Safety in June received a sweeping request from Republican Attorney General Ken Paxton’s office: Compile a list of individuals who had changed their gender on their Texas driver’s license and other department records during the past two years.

What is wrong with these people? Trans rights are human rights! Get lost Paxton. Texas, what a terrible state. Embarrassing and dangerous.

Our country lacks empathy for fellow human beings. It’s sickening.

Fulton News & Record

The men standing before the cameras in Moore County were sober-faced and serious as they addressed the intentional and targeted attacks on two electric substations the night before. Forty-five thousand residents lost power, schools and businesses closed, the county was forced to declare a state of emergency and curfew, and local communities were put both at risk and on edge

Swift.org

The Foundation framework is used in nearly all Swift projects. It provides both a base layer of functionality for fundamentals like strings, collections, and dates, as well as setting conventions for writing great Swift code.

Kenny Kerr

The windows crate provides bindings for the Windows API, including C-style APIs as well as COM and WinRT APIs. This crate provides the most comprehensive API coverage for the Windows operating system. Where possible, the windows crate also attempts to provide a more idiomatic and safe programming model for Rust developers.

Vox

It’s not about doxxing. It’s about Elon.

Bingo. This entire time a man we all thought was some kind of genius was just another grifter. Don’t get me wrong, the man is smart, but I don’t think he’s a genius. He’s a narcissists and needs to be in the news. See, even I’m talking about him. That’s his super power.

How do you go from society’s Tony Stark, focused on accelerating the world toward sustainable energy, to being the crazy uncle at Thanksgiving screaming about the woke mafia?

— Christian Selig (@ChristianSelig) December 16, 2022

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andsheloved · 2 years

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petal

pairing ~ geralt of rivia x f!reader

word count ~ 5.2k

summary ~ geralt was never a man of many words, so he does what he can to show how he feels for you.

warnings ~ fluff!! mild language, gross man tries some verbal harrasment, intimidation & unwanted touching, (geralt saves the day!), hurt/comfort, mention of reader wearing a dress, descriptions of blood and injury, mutual pining but they're idiots, minor angst, not good self talk, mention of feelings of worthlessness

a/n ~ uh oh friends i accidentally opened a doc and this happened, i am an absolute sap for pet names and goodness gracious writing a fic about a geralt giving a pet name escalated into this, so i hope you all enjoy!! mwauh!!

Petal.

A delicate, weak thing that floats away on the breeze at the mere mention of any danger.

Even when you had tried to prove yourself time and time again that you were certainly not either of those things

It was still what he called you.

"I don't need anything, especially not from you" He had huffed at you during your initial meeting

You tried not to be taken aback but his gruffness, you had been told of Witcher's harsh nature's your entire life, hearing the stories and songs of their exploits throughout your village since you were small, but still, you had never expected to meet one, nor had you expected for any of them to be quite so large.

When he finally stood to his full height, you had to actively make sure to keep your mouth closed in fear it might fall to the floor if you let it act on it's own accord.

Though he was much taller than you, you refused to be intimidated by him, still standing your ground before him, thankful your dress covered your legs, less anyone see your trembling knees.

The brunette beside you still persisted. "She's perfect, I promise, and we'll never have to see her again afterwards, hm?" He turned to you with a smile, and you shook your head earnestly, though you couldn't deny how some part of you longed to stay with the pair longer than for just this.

The white haired man took you in once again, his heated gaze traveling from your slightly worn shoes to your hair as if he were appraising you like a cow from market. He finally sighed, "Fine." He grumbled, almost slamming his mug down on the wooden bar.

"I think he likes you" The other man commented, gently placing his hand on your lower back as the both of you followed the Witcher out the front door.

It was surely an unconventional way of meeting, but there seemed to be nothing truly conventional about either of the pair, Jaskier and Geralt as you later learned. You would have expected such a harsh man would have taken up more, like-minded companions, but the more you witnessed Jaskier's sunny disposition combating with Geralt's brash nature, the more you felt that this pairing was one that was always meant to be.

Though your addition to the group was quite unexpected.

You were only supposed to be nothing more than midnight Striga bait, something to lure it out into the forest, only to be hopefully saved at the last second by Geralt's skill. That was all you were supposed to be, but as your heart raced that night, feelings of both fear and excitement pulsing through your veins, as shadows cast by the full moon danced around you, you knew you couldn't go back to your village. How could you? All your life, you had only ever known muddy streets and market barkers and clouds that never seemed to allow the sunshine to peak through. How could you ever return to any of that, when just these few moments in darkness gave you more adventure than in any of your years of living in the light of your town.

Jaskier seemed to notice that particular glint in your eye once the deed had been done.

"Wasn't she helpful?" He smirked, "Maybe we should keep bringing her along?"

Geralt only grunted in response as he looked upon the now deceased creature.

You tried your best to hide the smile that threatened to split your cheeks at the thought, you could only imagine what a week with them would be like if this was just one night.

"I mean..." Jaskier sauntered slowly over to him, "She did catch us this Stri-"

Geralt turned to him in an instant, a wordless, piercing snarl plastered on his face, and you felt a slight twinge of disappointment at his obvious disdain at the thought of you joining them.

"It would take us another three days to bring her back, it would just make things quicker if she stayed with us, and, no offense" He quickly turned to you, "I'd rather continue on, than have to travel three extra days back to that shit hole."

Geralt hummed, turning to you now, and in the pale light of the moon that shown through the trees, you swore you saw him appraising you once again just as he had when he first met you.

"We're taking you back as soon as this is over." He spat as he walked towards you, shouldering past you as he stomped through the woods.

Jaskier flashed a quick smile at you, "He'll come 'round, he always does."

One week turned to two, two turned to three, weeks turned to months, and you still continued to be brought along on adventures with the two, experiences that you never could have imagined partaking in, in even your wildest dreams, were now things that you experienced on a fairly regular basis.

You saw kingdoms, glittering castles, and kindhearted princesses. You witnessed the fiercest monsters and the most entrancing magic, the adventures you had always been warned to stay away from, you found yourself right in the middle of all of them.

Though as thrilling as your new life was, sometimes you would miss your somewhat-soft bed and the comfort of knowing you would always have some place warm to stay, but you made the most of what you had, savoring the creature comforts you came across as much as you could when you did gather enough coin for a night or two stay at a local inn.

It was on one of these particular nights when he had first called you that.

Petal.

Geralt had sent you in with a small satchel to pay for the rooms while he hitched Roach on one of the posts outside of the inn.

It was an infrequent occasion when you had enough to rent three separate rooms for yourselves, but monsters were not an infrequent occurrence around these parts, and the influx in beasts also meant a slight raise in pay.

"Three rooms, please" You spoke softly, stifling a yawn with your hand as you did. It had been a long journey, and both you and Jaskier knew no one but Geralt was allowed to even touch Roach, so walking long distances was something you had gotten used to, though getting accustomed to the walking didn't mean you had grown to be any less exhausted after the lengthy journeys.

"One room." The main replied sharply, snapping you from you exhaustion almost immediately. "I only see one of ya. One room."

"Sir-"

"One room." He looked you over, a sort of repugnant heat in his gaze that you didn't quite care for. "One room... For the pretty lady all alone at night... Not very proper of ya" He scoffed.

Your stomach turned at the man's words as he circled around the desk, only pausing when he stood directly beside you.

"My friends are right outside. They'll be here in a minute." You hastily replied, not bothering to make eye contact with the man.

You visibly recoiled when you felt his hot breath suddenly fan across your cheek. "Y'er friends aren't here now are they? One. Room."

You quickly jumped from the mans touch on your waist, and finally turning fully towards him, you saw how his smile was a nauseating mix of yellows and greens as he sneered at you, creeping closer to you as you now felt yourself being cornered in between the corner of the small desk and the wall opposite.

"Well, if y'er gonna be so impolite, no room then." The man towered over you, and although you tried to keep calm, you couldn't help the way your breath shook as you stared up at the man.

The sudden sound of the swinging front doors slamming against the walls made you jump, "Petal!" You heard Geralt call.

The man almost instantly stepped away from you, his gaze now pointing to the floor. You turned to Geralt, your eyes wide with confusion and shock.

"Was wondering if you had gotten our rooms" He added, calmly sauntering over to you and gently placing a firm hand on your lower back, pushing you quickly out of the corner and into his side.

Your mind was racing, both from the shock of the inn keeper's advances and Geralt's sudden entrance and even more sudden touches. It wasn't like he hadn't ever touched you before, it was only that this felt different. Other times, he had just aimlessly grabbed at you, quickly pulling you away and out of reach from whatever creature you found yourselves up against, those touches were rough and almost meaningless, he was only saving you because he had to. You knew you were nothing but another burden for him to worry about on those hunts.

This was different. This was soft, protective, and for a moment, you even thought it was something akin to caring.

You could hear the door shudder behind you again and you could tell it was Jaskier, a soft 'oh' coming from behind you as he watched the situation unfold.

"I was just tellin' her we got three rooms just for ya right next to each other, down that hall" The man rushed, pointing down the dimly lit hallway with shaky fingers, "Just straight to the left."

Geralt took the small bag from you, reaching into it and placing a handful of coins on the counter. "Thank you" He mumbled, an intimidating glare on his face before he led you off.

You noticed how few coins he had given the man as you passed the counter and knew it was nowhere near the actual cost for three rooms, yet the man still didn't dare to say a thing as you three walked off.

Probably a matter of self preservation more than anything.

You opened the door to your room, a satisfied hum escaping your lips as you felt the warmth of the small bedroom already begin to flood your shaken senses.

"Are you alright?"

Your breath hitched in your throat at the unexpected voice that came from behind you, turning quickly to see that Geralt still lingered in the doorway.

"Fine," You sputtered, "Just a little shaken, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

You had never seen him so concerned, his brows were furrowed as he looked at you, his lips drawn into a thin line of concern.

You smiled softly at him, "I'm fine, I promise, just need some rest." You threw your arms above your head as you yawned once again.

"That's... Good." The words seemed to almost pain Geralt to say, like he was confessing something to you he hadn't even confessed to himself yet.

"Thank you, though, for your help." You smiled, a foreign heat blooming in your chest as you uttered the words.

Geralt didn't respond at first, his head tilting to the floor, though you swore you watched the beginnings of a smile begin to turn the corners of his lips. He mumbled a quiet "Goodnight", as his eyes flickered to you form, quickly looking you up and down again before shutting the door behind him, leaving you no less astonished then you were before.

The morning came all too quickly, after a rather sleepless night, you felt yourself longing for another night's stay, and if it weren't for the previous night's events, you thought that maybe you would have been able to convince Geralt to stay one more night, but you knew neither him, nor you would want to stay another evening under the same roof with that man.

You weren't sure if you would have gotten much sleep regardless.

The word echoed through your fatigue-addled mind, even as you felt yourself slowly pulled to consciousness by the slivers of sunlight that peaked through the thin curtains in the bedroom.

Petal.

He could have just called you by your name, it wasn't like he didn't know it by now. But Geralt was strategic, he never did anything without a reason, so maybe it was just a tactic to get the man away from you? Imply that the two of you were a bit more familiar to scare the man off?

"How are you faring?" Jaskier asked, tearing you from your thoughts as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder.

"I'm fine" You replied, staring to feel like a broken record, "I am, Geralt seemed to come in just in time though" You chuckled lightly, both watching him as Geralt readied Roach

"He always has a way of knowing when you're in trouble" Jaskier mumbled

"What-" You were quickly cut off by the familiar whinny of Roach, the both of you instinctively aligning yourselves on the side of her as she made her way through the town.

Jaskier only let out a smug, self satisfied hum, continuing to look forward and leaving you to torture yourself with your own thoughts.

You couldn't tell how long it had been since you left the inn, it could have been days since and you probably wouldn't have noticed, your brain only occupied by the teasing phrase Jaskier had spoken to you.

"Are you alright?" You heard Geralt's coarse voice utter once again, you huffed in frustration, how many times must everyone ask you that?

"Yes." You answered sharply, though a strange, pained feeling washed over you at your tone towards him, you chose not to think too much on it now. You finally turned up to him, noticing how he had suddenly stopped, the abrupt pause had Jaskier also now looking to him, his head tilted in confusion.

If you had blinked, you would have missed it at the speed at which Geralt dismounted, but he now stood directly in front of you, his face only inches from your own, and your chest filled with that unfamiliar, warm feeling from before.

"You can ride... If you'd like..." He finally spoke, his eyes never meeting your own as he did.

You had to stifle the scoff that threatened to leave your lips, for a moment you wondered if some Doppler had snuck into his room at night and taken his place, but then you looked into his eyes, that same unintelligible bashfulness when he stood in your doorway had appeared in his eyes once again.

"That would be nice... Thank you" You would have been a fool to say no, this would surely be the only time he would ever offer for anyone to take his place on Roach. Not only that, but you felt yourself thinking of how his face would possibly fall if you denied him, and you almost winced at the thought.

With just as much suddenness as the night before, his large hands wrapped around your waist, "May I?" He asked, a surprisingly timid smile appearing on his face.

You nodded softly, your eyes growing wide when he lifted you onto the horse as if you weighed nothing. You swallowed thickly as you adjusted yourself on Roach, nodding again as Geralt began to pull on her reigns to continue the journey.

You looked around you, sighing as you admired the new view from atop the horse, but even as you admired your surroundings, you still heard the soft grumble that came from the man.

"Petal"

You were too stunned to say anything, you almost thought you had imagined it, but the annoyed groan from Jaskier beside you only confirmed what you now knew to be true, he had said it again.

There was a long journey ahead, but you noticed how you seemed to dread it a little bit less.

You weren't even supposed to be there.

Both you and Jaskier had initially stayed back at the small camp you had set up that morning, peacefully enjoying some tea you had managed to make after several failed attempts of starting a fire.

Geralt said it was to be simple, nothing he hadn't done before, but something about the deafening silence you both heard when the lake was so close, had something uneasy settle in your stomachs.

"Geralt?" Jaskier called, the both of you now sitting in anxious silence as you awaited for some sign of life.

Though nothing came.

Jasker called his name again, his cries once more met with the same blaring quietness.

It was as if your legs moved on their own accord as you carelessly threw your small cup down, starting in the direction of the lake, ignoring the concerned yells from Jaskier as you did.

You weren't the monster hunting type, that's not what they had brought you on for in the first place.

You were bait at most, and someone to make tea at the least.

You didn't kill monsters.

You felt a fearful shudder run through you at the idea that you may actually have to fight something, this was nothing anyone had ever prepared you for, but you supposed there was a first for everything.

The foul smell of the bubbling water filled your nose first before you even began to see the lake, though still, you heard nothing.

You continued to sprint as fast as your legs could take you, silently praying to hear some sound, any sound, as you got closer.

A yell, a grunt, a whisper even, you'd take anything.

But still, the silence persisted.

You couldn't quiet the shocked yell that ripped through your lungs at the sight when you finally reached the body of water.

The monster was dead, and somewhat guiltily, you felt your shoulders sag in relief as you observed how it's limbs had been haphazardly thrown in all directions, and the familiar sword nestled within the top of it's skull. But laying along the muddy bank was Geralt, both hands pressing firmly on his side, his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched.

You called his name, rushing to his side, almost sliding across the ooze-covered ground as you knelt beside him.

As if he sensed your presence, he moaned, sluggishly turning his head to you.

"What happened?" You asked frantically, he only moaned again in response and you huffed, distraught and almost delirious as your eyes scanned him.

As you sat beside him and got a closer look at his form, you could tell he was bleeding, a dark, crimson liquid leaking between fingers he pressed so snugly against his side. You tried to calm yourself as your frenzied hands wandered his chest and torso, searching for any other injuries, you knew he had to be taken back to the camp, but you were also certain you wouldn't be able to drag him back there on your own, nor did you think that even with you and Jaskier's strength combined you would be able to do so, leaving you with only one other option.

"Geralt?" He groaned, his eyes now blinking open, "Geralt?" You grabbed both his shoulders, briskly shaking them before you called his name again. After a moment, his eyes finally fully opened, a soft smile appearing on his features as he slowly began to gain his full consciousness.

"Petal..." He hummed, his eyes almost fluttering closed again before you shook him a second time.

"Can you do something for me? Geralt?" Your voice was almost hysterical as you spoke, "Can you do me one favor?"

Geralt continued to smile gingerly as he nodded his head.

"Okay, could you get up for me? Could you stand?"

His face immediately dropped into a pout as he shook his head, a deep rumble of a chuckle escaping him as he did.

You took a deep breath, attempting to steady yourself. You didn't know as much as Geralt, but you knew enough to know that this was not good.

He was delirious.

You internally cursed yourself for not listening to him more in those quiet moments he would talk to Roach about the other monsters he had dealt with.

You had no idea what you were dealing with.

"Camp..." He finally mumbled, his voice was weak, not like his usually commanding tone.

"Yes, we have to get you-"

He almost knocked you over at the force at which he abruptly stood, his legs trembled as he took slow steps, and you shot up beside him, lifting his arm and placing it around your shoulders to balance him as much as you could.

"C'mon-" You strained as he leaned all of his weight on you for a moment, "Let's get you back"

The rest of the dawdling journey was spent in the company of ditzy hiccups and laughs, you would imagine what a handful he would be if he ever got drunk, but your mind was too preoccupied with the still-bleeding wound Geralt covered with his other hand on his side.

"Oh my Gods" Jaskier murmured the moment he saw you appear from beyond the brush, rushing to Geralt's other side to assist you.

"What happened?" He inquired, tone almost just as frantic as yours

"I don't know."

"Is he going to be alright?"

"I don't know." You hated how your voice shook as you spoke, if your voice was stronger, maybe you would have yelled at Jaskier for his insistent line of questioning, but your only focus was now on Geralt.

You both grunted as you layed him down on the thin cot in his tent, Jaskier turned to look through the bag that was placed in the corner, anxiously tossing bottles and small pouches to the side.

Geralt grumbled once again, turning again to his side to look at you. "Petal..." He groaned, and you found yourself nodding.

"I'm right here" You sighed, your eyes now brimming with tears. "We're going to take care of you, okay? Like you've always taken care of us. You're going to be okay, promise?"

His delusional smile faded for a moment, before he shook his head.

"No, no, don't do that, you are going to be okay... Jaskier!"

"I'm doing my best!" He scrambled, "It's usually Geralt doing this-"

Geralt's left hand suddenly fell from his side, fingers weakly pointing to a rounder, black bottle that had been tossed aside in Jaskier's initial panic.

Jaskier clumsily placed the bottle in his hand, your shoulders sagged in relief when Geralt swiftly removed the cork from the bottle, drinking its contents in a single swig. His breathing seemed to even in mere seconds as his eyes fluttered closed.

"Well," Jaskier sighed, "He's not dead."

You couldn't recall a time when you had seen him sleep for this long, in fact, you couldn't seem to recall a night where you had seen him sleep at all.

Even as you turned his body and adjusted his limbs so you could properly bandage and clean the deep slash on his side, his light snoring continued.

Jaskier had left the tent hours ago, adamantly saying how he needed to rest after such a stressful event, even though you could still here the soft strumming of a lute and quiet humming just outside the tent long after he had left the two of you.

The world was quiet once Jaskier had officially retired, Geralt's breathing and the muted crackling of a slowly dying fire being the only sounds that surrounded you as you worked.

Though Geralt was never the most talkative travel companion, it was still strange for him to be completely silent, not even a grunt or hushed 'hmm' to break the reticence.

"You worried us, you know? I know you hate that, people worrying over you, but you scared us" You whispered, trailing your fingers along the injury, now completely covered by beige cloths and hidden underneath his shirt. "You scared me, I thought I was going to have to kill a monster" You chuckled to yourself, "I wasn't sure how that was going to go, maybe you should show me... At some point... Maybe" Your voice was wistful as you spoke, wondering if he would ever take you up on that offer once he finally awoke, most likely not.

He had always made it a point to never put you in any real danger, even though sometimes you'd find yourself standing directly in front of jaws that would surely eat you alive in seconds, Geralt would always assure you that you were safe, that he would kill the beast before it ever got close enough to truly hurt you.

Every time you had asked him for any sort of training so you could defend yourself if anything went wrong, he'd only scoff at you "I don't need you hurting yourself, or worse." He would always say, "I'll handle it, Petal."

"Why do you call me that?" The words tumbled from you before you could even think about them, "I do have a name you know," You smiled "I've never understood why you call me that." Maybe you didn't mind it so much.

"Soft."

You froze, unsure if your mind was playing tricks on you in the silence, or if Geralt had actually spoke.

"It's because you're soft."

Yes, he was definitely speaking to you.

You chose to ignore him completely at fist, looking forward as if he wasn't laying directly below of you as you sat on the small log you had turned into a makeshift seat. He's just waking up from a dream, you thought, he's still recovering

You heard a deep chuckle before he spoke again, "You wanted to know, and now you're ignoring me."

"Geralt? You're awake?" You asked, finally facing him.

"Clearly."

"How are you feeling?" You stammered, your breaths becoming shallower as you wondered if he had heard all of what you had said.

"Nothing I can't handle."

"I'm glad" You sighed, "I'll leave you then." You added abruptly, your only thought being of leaving the situation as quickly as possible. Though just as you began to stand, a firm hand gripped your wrist.

"No, stay." He grumbled, his eyes blinking away the remainder of his fatigue. "Please."

You returned to your place and he slowly released you, his fingers softly lingering on your hand before it dropped to his side again. Geralt groaned as he attempted to sit up, almost wincing as he finally straightened himself.

"You should res-"

"I'm fine." He grumbled, "Thank you, for... This" Geralt gestured to his side as you nodded.

"No need to thank me," You did your best to hide the twinge of anxiety in your faintly trembling voice as you spoke, but you were certain you'd already been found out regardless. "It's the least I could do after all you've done-"

His rough hand had found yours again, the pad of his thumb tracing over your knuckles as he listened to you.

"For me..." You managed to continue, your eyes focusing on the abrupt, calming touches from the man in front of you.

You could almost swear there was the beginning of a soft smile on his lips as his eyes followed his fingers, lightly tracing the ridges of the top of your hand. "It's because you're soft, Petal" He finally stated, "I never meant anything by it."

"No it's nice-" You faltered, "I just never thought it was because you liked something about me" Your voice was thick with weariness and confession as you spoke. It wasn't that Geralt hadn't shown you any ounce of caring or friendliness during the time you had known him, it was only the fact that you never thought that a man so blunt and threatening would ever give you an epithet based off of something as gentle as the softness of your touch.

Your eyes finally flickered to his and you almost instantly wanted to return your gaze to your lap. His stare was too sharp, too intense, for you to even handle without having to look away for a moment.

You had to think that he was still feeling the effects of whatever venom or blood loss - induced haze that had gotten you into his tent in the first place.

He couldn't be looking at you like that.

Like he wanted to smother you alive.

Like he wanted to keep you all to himself in this small space forever.

Like he wanted to love you.

A contemplative 'hmm' was all you received in response at first, though still tracing over your hand, he continued "And why do you think that?" He questioned.

"You never wanted me to join you in the first place."

His movements stilled, you found yourself even shocked by your own words. You had never spoke to him so plainly about your feelings, perhaps it was something about being so close to him that made it so difficult to hide.

"That's true." He acknowledged, and you felt a dull, thrumming ache of discontent bloom in your chest at his admission.

"I was only ever bait for you to use to get you monsters" You added, feeling an unexpected rush of tears flood your eyelids.

There was a brief pause before he responded again, "That's true."

"And when I ask for you to train me, to show me something that could be more useful than just standing and waiting for something to kill me, you refuse." You felt helpless as you spoke, feeling like you were finally admitting things to yourself you had pushed to the very corner of your mind for so long. You felt disposable, and it hurt to watch as he mindlessly agreed to all of your concerns. "I want to be something more..."

You meant to say something else, something quick and biting so he understood that you weren't to be taken advantage of anymore, but you weren't sure that even if you opened your mouth a single sound would even escape. You felt your cheeks begin to dampen as your teeth pulled at your quivering bottom lip.

Through the heart beat thundering in your ears, you heard Geralt murmur your name, nevertheless, you refused to look at him, your gaze still fixed on the soil under your feet as you tried to stifle your own whimpers.

Your breath hitched in your lungs when two fingers grabbed your chin, tilting your head upwards. You hadn't noticed how he had shifted, now kneeling in front of you, his face level with your own.

He stated your name again, this time with more certainty as he stared back at you, his brow lightly furrowed as his hand shifted to cup your face, his thumb whipping the tear that rolled down your cheek. "But so much has changed since I've begun to know you..." He whispered, "You are more to me."

You didn't have a moment to respond before his lips crashed into yours, his other hand creeping up to your neck as he pulled you closer. His kiss was bruising, though it still remained a gentle mess of passion and tears as he cradled you between his palms, holding you with a tenderness as if he held the entire planet within his hands. He groaned into you when your hands found purchase on the collar of his black tunic, your senses completely surrounded with nothing but him as he slanted his lips across yours.

"You are more to me than that" He spoke breathlessly, his lips still continuing to chase your own between words, "I care for you, and I know that I would never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you."

"Geralt-"

"Please, I can't lose you because of this. You mean too much to me." His breathing was shallow as he pulled away from you, hands still cupping your cheeks as he did.

You could only nod at first before finally gathering yourself enough to speak, "I care for you, Geralt..." Your smile was weak and tearful as you replied. "Too much to leave now."

"Stay?" He whispered, pressing his forehead against yours as you nodded softly once again.

Geralt let out a pained moan as he adjusted himself on the cot, slowly lowering himself on the linen and shifting himself just enough to allow you room to lay beside him.

You smiled as you pressed against him, the comforting warmth of his arms wrapping around your waist already beginning to push you into sleep.

Before the exhaustion of the day could finally pull you under, you felt the delicate press of Geralt's lips against your forehead, the quiet rumble of his voice finally lulling you to sleep.

"Soft."

oh my goodness gracious, my heart, i am actually kind of super excited about how this turned out surprisingly!! i do love some hurt/comfort, and i've been feeling slightly e h about myself, so i hope this does bring some comfort to anyone feeling that way!! or just some comfort to you all in general!! i hope you are all doing so well!! mwauh!!

want more geralt? check out my masterlist!!

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sarahisslytherin · 2 years

Note

can i have a greyjoy for geralt and 3:15 am?

3:15 am || geralt of rivia

contains: nothing but fluff

the fire is dying out when jaskier finally falls into a deep sleep, despite his chivalrous efforts to stay up and keep you company. a bard can only strum his lute for so long. you’re sitting on a log, fixated on the shrinking flames when you hear leaves crunch behind you. you turn, wide eyes searching for a threat, but finding nothing but pitch black.

“who goes there?” you ask, fear evident in your tone.

“only me, love.” geralt’s voice reaches your ears, the baritone calming you as you recognize the voice of your witcher. he comes into view hauling a new batch of wood for the fire.

“took you long enough.” you chuckle. “i was starting to miss you.”

“you wouldn’t miss me if you were asleep.” he chides gently.

“i’d miss you even in dreams, dear geralt.” you refute with a playful smirk, watching as he can no longer fight back his own smile.

“such a sap.” he teases, tossing a blanket at you. “i’m surprised you chose me and not jaskier.”

he removes his cloak as he speaks, dusting off the snow and settling under the blanket beside you.

“well, opposites do attract.” you say, your eyes locked on his. “for example, i have emotions and you don’t.”

he chuckles at the jest, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

“i’ll take your word for it, dear.” he sighs contently before whispering the words. “and i missed you too.”

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia blurb #geralt of rivia fluff #sarah's blurbs #the witcher #sarah's game of thrones 1k celebration

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dapandapod · 3 years

Text

When you kiss me heaven sighs

As might have been noticed, I have been listening to this version of La vie en Rose for days. On loop.

So naturally Geralt has to propose. That is how it works. Also don’t look too closely at the french, because I literally google translated it, copy paste and done. shhhh don’t tell :)

Please enjoy a sappy panda mood again <3 On Ao3 here

Out of the two of them, Jaskier is the musician. Rather obviously so, as they actually met the first time on a street corner where Jaskier was singing his heart out and Geralt was unable to tear his eyes away. That first time, it was a guitar, the next a flute, lute, and a loop pedal.

His eyes were twinkling, his smile warm and inviting, and Geralt was completely smitten. Is completely smitten.

Years later, after a tentative friendship filled with pining and then finally that first, desperate kiss, Geralt is still smitten. If possible, more so than all those years ago.

They live together now in a sunny flat on the third floor. Their upstairs neighbours are loud with children running and parents screaming and the street below is always filled with honking cars and road work. They talk of moving somewhere bigger. Somewhere possibly theirs.

And all the while, Geralt carries a secret. Because, after talking to his brothers about it, he realizes Jaskier is all he wants in life, always and forever. The secret is a little black velvet box. A box his adoptive father and brothers too carried until they were ready, and now rests with a new charge.

As they look for a new home, hoping to find an apartment on the top floor, or possibly a house, Geralt takes time hiding away, preparing. As they pack away their belongings, plan and make bids, Geralt asks for his darling Ciri’s advice.

On the eve they have moved into their small house, their very own little corner of the world, Geralt can’t wait anymore. They're sitting on the floor, leaning against cardboard boxes and eating pizza, when Geralt caves.

There is one box he has kept an extra eye on, the one with the ukulele. He digs it out while Jaskier watches him curiously, a bit of cheese clinging to his chin. Sitting down, he strums it, tries out a few chords. He doesn’t look at Jaskier as he does this, but he senses the growing surprise.

His heart is in his throat when Jaskier draws a breath as the strumming turns into a song.

“Geralt,” he whispers, putting the pizza down, finally wiping his chin, and Geralt smiles.

“Quand il me prend dans ses bras Il me parle tout bas Je vois la vie en rose Il me dit des mots d'amour Des mots de tous les jours Et ça me fait quelque chose”

Jaskier blushes so prettily. His lips are parted, eyes filled with something warm and gentle, and his hands are clenching his dirty sweatpants. He is beautiful, and Geralt’s heart skips a beat.

"Il est entré dans mon cœur Une part de bonheur Dont je connais la cause C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie"

Geralt sings, finally meeting Jaskier’s eyes. His fingers feel clumsy, the strings vibrating under his grip, and he licks his lips before the next part.

Hold me close and hold me fast The magic spell you cast This is "La vie en rose" When you kiss me, heaven sighs And though I close my eyes I see "La vie en rose”

When you press me to your heart I'm in a world apart A world where roses bloom And when you speak, angels sing from above Everyday words seem to turn into love songs"

This is it. There is a storm of emotions, an onslaught from all sides. Hope, longing, comfort, worry, and so, so much love.

"Give your heart and soul to me And life will always be "La vie en rose"

The last note of the ukulele rings out, and for a moment, there is silence. Geralt puts the instrument on top of a box, heart beating like a sledgehammer.

“That was beautiful,” Jaskier whispers. He curls up against his shoulder when Geralt sits down next to him again. “I didn’t know you played the ukulele.”

“I don’t,” Geralt admits and tucks his arms around Jaskier. “I only know this one.”

“Could have fooled me,” Jaskier says, propping up his chin on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Fake it til’ you make it,” Geralt replies, smirking, quoting Jaskier right back at him.

“Faking French too?” Jaskier asks teasingly, leaning in for a kiss.

“Hmm.” Geralt can’t help but get distracted, lost in warm lips on his. He didn’t plan it this way, he swears he didn’t. But he has to say it somehow, right?

“ Je t'aime ,” he mumbles against Jaskier’s lips, knowing full well that he will understand it. “Veux-tu m'épouser?”

And Jaskier freezes.

“You-”

Jaskier pulls back, studying his face. Geralt gropes around in his pocket, realizing the ring isn’t there.

“Wait. Shit. Fuck.” He stands up, running to his jacket. He digs around desperately in the hallway. Jaskier sits quietly on the kitchen floor. He is never quiet.

“Geralt,” he calls after a few minutes, and Geralt panics. “It’s here.”

Fuck. This is not going as planned at all.

Geralt returns, sweaty and nervous. He stands in the doorway watching Jaskier hold the black satin box in his hands. It must have fallen out of his pocket, but at least it wasn’t in the moving truck.

Jaskier looks up at him, eyes misty.

“Is this the same box Lambert used?”

“And Eskel. And Vesemir,” Geralt confirms. He approaches Jaskier, his little bard, his light, his everything, and kneels in front of him, taking Jaskier's hands in his.

“You are the love of my life. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” Geralt repeats, now in English, his voice a little hoarse and cracked. He opens the box and reveals a silver ring

The tears finally overflow, Jaskier pushing the little box away and sniffling. For a heartbeat, just one heartbeat, Geralt fears rejection. But in the next, Jaskier has flung himself around his neck, pretty much crawled up in his lap, hugging him as tight as he can.

“You romantic sap, never accuse me of being soft again,” he sobs.

“You are soft,” Geralt murmurs, his arms coming up to hold him. “Is that a yes?”

Again Jaskier leans back, his eyes are red rimmed and well. Soft.

“I am yours, Geralt Rivia. I have been from the moment I saw you and will be until I draw my last breath. You will never get rid of me.”

“So yes,” Geralt says, smile growing, heart so light he could fly.

“Yes, you fucking imbecile, yes, I will marry you!”

There is more kissing after that, and some more crying. The pizza lies forgotten on the floor as Geralt puts the ring on Jaskier’s finger. He knows the size perfectly, he has bought many rings for his Jaskier, but this is the one that counts.

At their wedding they have the band play their song. Jaskier insists that Geralt did it better, but they had a trumpet, and that is hard to beat. They dance cheek to cheek, so close Geralt can feel the heat of Jaskier’s skin and smell the champagne on his breath.

“When you kiss me, heaven sighs, And though I close my eyes, I see "La vie en rose”

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

"I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met." memory loss angst? 👉👈🥺

anon... fam, this turned into an emotional rollercoaster and totally stole my braincell.

3.8k words. angst with a happy ending.

tw: memory loss, minor anxiety, repressed memories, idiots to lovers, whump, angst with a happy ending, angst with a fluffy ending

---

It’s been three hours, five minutes, and forty-two seconds since the frigid breeze whipped Geralt’s angry words at him, shattering his fragile, stupid heart to pieces. Every syllable rings through Jaskier’s head over and over, slamming into him from all directions and crippling him with a bone-deep pain far worse than anything he’s ever felt before. The ache ebbs and flows, lancing through him with every step. Not even Geralt’s first frustrated blow to his abdomen had been this terrible.

Geralt… That’s the problem, isn’t it? He hadn’t been smart enough to get out of the gorgeous Witcher’s long, silvery hair soon enough. He’d overstayed his welcome, fallen in love in the meantime, and is now very out of sorts (and also alone in unfamiliar territory). The bard laughs but it’s a hollow sound. Jaskier has reached the edge of hysteria, his intelligent blue eyes now vacant and unseeing. Even as he stumbles through the underbrush, all he can picture is the snarl on Geralt’s face as the Witcher yells at Destiny to take Jaskier off his hands.

Jaskier’s own hands are covered in sap and splinters from pushing tree branches away from his face as he traverses the darkening forest. His hair is full of debris and his clothes are torn and dirty; Geralt has all of his emergency supplies, still. Jaskier is pretty sure that his lute is still strapped over his shoulder but he realizes, with no small amount of surprise, that he doesn’t actually care.

He doesn’t have the capacity anymore.

He can’t care… caring hurts too much.

If only Destiny had taken him off Geralt’s hands. Maybe then it would be okay. Maybe then, if Geralt was well and truly free of him and his irritating presence, the Witcher could be happy. He and Yennefer will surely come back around, they always seem to, and Ciri will be joining them soon enough it seems.

There’s no need - no room - for a humble bard anymore.

Only five hours, thirty minutes, and twelve seconds after Geralt’s outburst at the top of the mountain, Jaskier’s delicate human body succumbs to the stress of the day.

He drops to the forest floor without a sound, grateful for the darkness.

---

Yennefer finds the bard in a heap a few miles away from the previous night’s elevated campsite. When she presses the back of her hand to his forehead she yanks it away almost immediately; he’s burning up, and his skin is clammy and sticky with sweat. The feathery bangs he flicks about and preens so much are stuck to his forehead and temples. He’s on the verge of shaking apart and Yennefer tosses her head imperiously, swearing.

“Damnit, Geralt. You and your incredibly foolish need to be alone all the time so you can brood and self-flagellate. Me, an ageless sorceress from one of the greatest magic schools on the Continent? I can handle a thorough tongue lashing. Fuck, I’m older than you and I’ve seen far worse but this… oh, you great lummox. You absolute bastard…” Yennefer mutters to herself as she assesses the bard’s deteriorating state of health, ranting to an invisible Geralt all the while. “You’re absolutely going to be hearing from me about this, Wolf.”

--- Three days, one hour, and fifteen minutes after Geralt dismissed him forever, Jaskier wakes up with a loud gasp and a violent shudder. He blinks slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright light streaming in through a window. Whatever he’s lying on is comfortable and the sheets smell fresh and bright, like lilac and freesia. A hint of gooseberry lies beneath it all, delicate and sweet. He glances around the space and finds it to be relatively bare; a guest room, perhaps. Maybe he’s a servant at some noble house?

Jaskier only really knows that his name is Jaskier and that he plays music. He’s also rather talented with floral arrangements.

Shortly after he’s finished purveying his (borrowed?) chamber, the very image of grace, beauty, and terror enters the room. The woman, whose coppery skin and enchanting violet eyes practically glow in the midafternoon sun, smiles down at him in a way that toes the line between Motherly and Shark-like.

“How are you feeling, Jaskier?”

“I’m alright. And you?”

“Just fine. Geralt really did a number on us, huh?” she asks, a playful grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. He has the feeling that something isn’t right; she shouldn’t be looking at him so kindly.

Her expression changes from friendly to horrified to confused in an instant, as soon as Jaskier manages to ask: “Who’s Geralt? And, pardon me, but I feel as if something is rather amiss. Who are you, my Lady?”

Whoever the gorgeous and terrifying woman is, she grimaces briefly. Then, as if by magic, the comforting smile returns. “I’m Yennefer, of course. I saved your life a few years ago, remember?”

Jaskier wracks his brain but cannot call the occasion to mind. “Unfortunately no, I don’t remember your no doubt heroic deed. Although I suppose that means I’m in your debt, doesn’t it? Do I work for you? Is that why I’m here?”

The woman blinks a few times, slowly, and then nods. “You’re my gardener and personal musician.”

Jaskier brightens, happy to have found himself in a safe environment.

“But you’ve had a nasty illness and your mind is clearly fatigued. Rest another day or two and then we can see about getting you back into the fresh air.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Jaskier nods.

“Yen is fine.”

“Thank you, Yen. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he grins.

---

Yennefer turns away to hide her pained expression. You’d probably still be with your beloved Witcher.

She makes her way to the kitchen to fix Jaskier something to eat. He must be hungry after spending three days in a deep, healing sleep. She hadn’t been expecting the amnesia, though; it was an unexpected but not unsurprising turn of events. Heartbreak had done stranger things than a little bit of fever-induced memory loss. When she’d delved briefly into his mind she hadn’t seen any sign of Geralt. His face was absent from the bard’s consciousness; she would have needed to dig to unearth those memories. Whatever the Witcher had done was grievous, especially if Jaskier’s mind compensated with something as dramatic as burying Geralt completely to save itself from further harm.

No matter, she decides, the bard can stay here as long as he likes. It’s the least I can do for all the upset Geralt and I have caused him. Where is that idiot Witcher, anyway?

The sorceress quickly clears her agenda and her mind before returning to her guest room with a large tray of food, a bottle of Toussainti red under her arm. “Jaskier, darling, let’s get your convalescence started in style!”

---

2 months later

---

Jaskier watches a strange man ride up the long path to Yennefer’s manor, the hilts of his twin swords glinting in the sun where they’re slung over his shoulder. He has long white hair and the most devastating jawline the bard/gardener (or ‘bardener’ as he says to irritate his darling employer) has ever laid eyes on. He’s clad all in black, from his plain linen shirt to his tight leather trousers; Jaskier thinks he’d also look rather lovely in dark blue or perhaps forest green.

In front of him, wrapped securely against his chest by one strong arm, sits a little girl with ashen hair and frightened eyes. Haunted eyes. Jaskier’s mind fills with ballads, some familiar and some oddly dreamlike, their lyrics half-obscured and hazy. Ciri, he thinks for no reason. Her name is Ciri. And she is a Princess.

The brunette scurries from the garden alongside the house to the kitchen, searching for the familiar cloud of Yennefer’s strong perfume. “My Lady?”

“Darling?” the sorceress replies, coming around the corner. She raises her perfectly maintained eyebrows and her lips quirk up into a smirk. “Did you sprint all the way from the west lawn?”

“There’s a- strange man- on the- drive!” he huffs. “White hair- horse!”

“Oh,” her eyes go wide with surprise. Then, in a split second, they narrow to slits. “Oh.”

“Do you, uhm, know him?” Jaskier asks, twiddling his fingers. “He’s rather handsome, Yen. Is he a former lover?”

“Unfortunately,” she growls. “I can’t believe it’s taken him two fucking months to get here. He’d better have a damned good excuse.”

By now Jaskier can breathe normally again and he straightens up, shaking his long, shaggy hair from his eyes. “He had a child with him. She looked scared, Yen.”

“Cirilla!”

Yennefer dashes for the front door and Jaskier follows instinctually. They’re always together and he can’t bear to let her confront this man alone. He’s spent every waking moment with Yen since he awoke that first day and she has grown to be his dearest friend; he’ll protect her even unto death. “Yenna, what’s wrong? Who is he!?”

“Geralt of Rivia,” she snarls. The name seems familiar; maybe from a ballad or story? Perhaps Yen has mentioned him before?

“What about Geralt of Rivia?” a low, rumbling bass asks from the front hallway. Jaskier and Yennefer arrive in the doorway together and the man, Geralt apparently, takes a shaky step back. He recoils a bit, as if he’s been slapped, and Yennefer’s smile grows cruel. His voice, still incredibly low but now with a slight tremor to it, stutters out; “Wha- Yen, what is he- Jaskier? I only came to ask for help with Ciri, I didn’t know- I didn’t-”

Geralt’s stammered speech tapers off into silence and Yennefer’s brow furrows a second time. When the sorceress sets eyes on the child, who cannot be more than twelve years old, her expression softens again. Jaskier watches the most imposing woman in the world kneel, taking one small, pale hand in both of her own. “My name is Yennever of Vengerberg, former Sorceress of Aretuza. I am honored to meet you, Princess Cirilla. Geralt has come seeking protection, no doubt, and it is easily granted. I will do everything I can to help you.”

“Thank you, Lady Yennefer. And, uhm… Ciri’s fine,” the girl replies. Her voice is high and reedy, shot through with anxiety. She’s so young, Jaskier frowns. And yet she seems to have weathered an incredible storm.

“Ciri,” the bard bows from the doorway, low and dramatic. He sweeps his arm out to the side and bends his knees as awkwardly as possible, “I am Jaskier, private troubadour and gardener extraordinaire, under the employ of the magnanimous and dangerous Lady Yennefer, here. It is my greatest honor to make your very mighty and very royal acquaintance.”

“You’re silly, Master Jaskier,” the child giggles, hiding her mouth behind her hands. Geralt’s eyes grow wide and dart between Jaskier and the girl. Yennefer makes meaningful eye contact before nodding toward the door. Jaskier looks down at Ciri again when she asks: “Do you grow lots of flowers in Lady Yennefer’s garden, or just herbs and things for magic?”

“I grow lots of things all over the property,” the brunette man steps forward and offers Ciri his hand, gesturing towards the front door with the other. “Would you like to come and take a look? I know all the scientific names, you can even quiz me if you like.”

“I know some,” she smiles shyly, accepting the offered hand. “May I go take a look at the gardens, Geralt?”

“Go ahead,” the Witcher nods dumbly. “Jaskier will take good care of you.”

“That I will. Now, let’s take a look at the flowers and let these silly adults have a chat,” Jaskier grins. He winks at Yennefer and disappears out the door, exiled Princess in tow.

The two lively companions have toured through all the medicinal herbs and are halfway through Yennefer’s large collection of rose variations when the two other members of the party approach. Geralt looks sheepish, his eyes downcast. Yennefer looks triumphant; she is radiant in her victory as always.

Geralt steps forward, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Jaskier, I’ve come to apologize for what happened when we parted.”

“Excuse me?” the bard chuckles, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, exactly.”

“When I yelled at you after the dragon hunt. It was only two months ago, Jaskier, surely you remember?”

Jaskier blushes, glancing anxiously between Geralt and his friend, whose violet eyes are stormy with emotion, “I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met."

Geralt gasps sharply and takes a step back, as he did in the entryway. Jaskier winces, seemingly on instinct, and shies away from the larger man. “You don’t remember me?”

“No…” Jaskier sighs. “I really don't. Should I?”

“You don’t… You don’t even remember Toss a Coin?”

“Oh, that ditty from town?” Jaskier perks up. “I know that song! It always gets stuck in my head.”

“You… You wrote that song,” Geralt’s face crumples. “About our first adventure together outside of Posada. With the elves and the sylvan...”

“I’ve never been to Posada,” Jaskier laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “They hate bards. They prefer troupes of traveling play-actors. Posada is far too serious for my tastes.”

Geralt seems to be in agony. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if he’s on the verge of tears but unable to shed them. Can Witchers cry?

How does he know that Geralt is a Witcher? Is it the two swords, the scars, or the strange eyes? How does he know that those are common Witcher traits?

His stomach lurches and he turns away from the group in case he needs to be sick. The ground spins and shivers in little ripples around him, unstable and impermanent beneath his feet. Yennefer is calling his name from somewhere far away and a pair of warm, strong arms are looped around his waist. Still, he can’t seem to breathe. Or focus.

There’s something missing.

He starts to hum, trying to remember the words of that damned song.

The rest of the world fades in and out around him, finally disappearing altogether.

---

He’s gorgeous.

Jaskier shoves another roll into his pocket. His eyes are focused on the man in the corner. He has long, snow-white hair and his shoulders are hunched forward protectively, as if he can hold the world out by sitting by himself. He’s glaring the table into submission, one fist clenched around his tankard.

I want to write him a thousand ballads. I want to know what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning, before he brushes it out again. I want to know if he snores. I want… he stops himself.

He makes his way across the room with eyes only for the stranger. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

The man looks away and Jaskier notices that his irises are gold. “I’m here to drink alone.”

Gods, his fucking voice… Velvet and gravel all at once. Melitele, does Jaskier want. “Good, yeah. Good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance… except for you.”

The man, the Witcher, Jaskier realizes, rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he wheedles, sitting down across from the gorgeous stranger. “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me, three words or less.”

The man’s face stays stoic, expressionless. “They don’t exist.”

He realizes shortly thereafter that this man is not just any Witcher but the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. He could try to disengage himself from such a daunting character; he could easily make some kind of excuse and disappear back to the troubadour’s path, heading towards civilization, but it’s already too late. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt’s side ever again; he wants to write all those ballads he was thinking about earlier, when he glanced across the room.

Jaskier has fallen head over heels in love. ---

Geralt cradles Jaskier against his chest and presses his nose deep into those chestnut brown waves. “Wake up, Jaskier. Come back to me, bard, it’s been too long.”

“Don’t you usually go all winter without seeing him?” Yennefer asks from the doorway.

“It’s hell,” he replies easily. There’s no point in hiding his feelings from her. “I miss him every minute of every day.”

“Verbose this evening,” she remarks, taking a seat by the fire. “He’s dreaming, you know. He’s remembering you.”

“He’d forgotten?”

“He’d repressed it all,” she shrugs. “When I found him that day, feverish and nearly dead on the side of that godsforsaken mountain, he was barely coherent enough to open his eyes. He just kept asking for you, Geralt. Over and over he called for you, reaching his arms up, weak as they were. Gods, it was pitiful to watch.”

Geralt swallows.

“I thought you were going to come back sooner. I was surprised when his memories didn’t resurface after two or three weeks. Short-term memory loss after a fever isn’t uncommon but repressing twenty years worth of feelings and experiences-” she whistles lowly “-it was impressive and tragic, all at once.”

“He forgot me?”

“Entirely.”

Geralt glances down, shame-faced. He adjusts Jaskier in his arms, holding him close and pillowing the bard’s head against his shoulder. “I deserve it, Yen.”

“He’s remembering now, though. He’ll probably be a little less than pleased to see you when he wakes up, but he knows who you are.”

“When will he wake?”

“Can’t say,” she shrugs again. “After I brought him back from the mountain it took three days for him to wake up. The first day was magically induced but after that it was just him… exhausted and heartbroken to the point of self-induced amnesia.”

“Fuck, Yen,” Geralt groaned, pressing his forehead into the soft warmth of Jaskier’s cheek. “How can I make it up to him?”

“Stay.”

“Hmm?”

“When he wakes up and he’s angry and upset, stay. Don’t stomp off or blow up or freak out,” she instructs. “If he asks you to leave, go, but otherwise… prove yourself, Geralt of Rivia. You wanted to be a knight once, didn’t you? Now’s your chance to play Prince Charming. Get down on your lovely knees and beg and apologize.”

“Hmm. How’s Ciri?”

“Fed, bathed, and put to bed. I’ll take care of her for as long as it takes you two morons to make nice again. Good luck, Geralt, I’m sure he’ll forgive you too easily for my tastes.”

She stands from her seat and leaves just as efficiently as she entered, carefully closing the door behind her. Geralt lays Jaskier back on the bed and takes a seat beside him on the mattress, kneeling just within touching distance, should Jaskier reach out for reassurance in his sleep. Geralt closes his eyes and slips easily into meditation.

The Witcher is pulled from his trance a few hours later when Jaskier makes a startled sound and tries to sit up. Geralt opens his eyes and splays one warm, broad hand against Jaskier’s chest, forcing him back against the goose down pillows. “Stay still, Jaskier. You’re feverish and weak.”

“I’m still dreaming,” the bard grumbles, reaching to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands. It’s adorable and Geralt grins widely, warmth spilling into his chest from some newly discovered fount of happiness. “You’re being too nice to me, Witcher.”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier, for everything.”

“What’s everything, Geralt?”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away when I was angry and confused instead of communicating with you. I’m sorry for hurting you with my brash words and foolish actions; you have always deserved so much better and I’m so afraid that I can never give that to you. I take the wrong step at every turn, it seems, and yet you stay by my side. I didn’t want to risk hurting you the way I’ve already hurt Yen and Ciri, by tying us together against your will.”

“Darling Geralt,” the bard sighs. The Witcher scoots slightly closer and Jaskier lays a gentle hand atop his thigh. “It has always been my greatest pleasure to travel the Path with you and write of our adventures. I appreciate your concern for my agency and wellbeing, dear heart, but I am quite happy spending my entire human life in your presence.”

“Hmm,” the Witcher frowns. “You’re going to die someday.”

“And? So are you. So shall Yennefer, maybe.”

“Not likely,” Geralt jokes. Jaskier grins and the sight of it is so heartwarming that the Witcher wishes he could break down into tears. At least then Jaskier could see just how deeply his feelings ran. “I’m sorry, Jaskier, for blaming you for things that I brought upon myself. I love you dearly, and I hope that someday you can choose to travel with me again.”

“Excuse me?”

“I hope that you’ll-”

“No, the other bit.”

“I love you?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Oh. Yes, I-” Geralt clears his throat and looks Jaskier in the eyes, gold and blue locked together, “I love you very much, Jaskier.”

“Fuck.”

“May I kiss you, Jaskier?”

“Yes,” the bard breathes.

And then Geralt is lifting him up into his lap, one hand cradling Jaskier’s skull so so fucking carefully. Geralt’s other arm supports his waist, holding him steady. Their lips come together softly, carefully, and Jaskier’s soul spirals up to the ceiling with joy, his body abandoned. He is merely a vessel for the happiness that comes with kissing his Witcher. When they pull apart, both men are grinning like fools. “Oh, dear heart.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Never stop calling me that.”

“I swear I won’t, my love.”

From downstairs, Geralt hears Yennefer mutter, “Fucking finally.”

It takes twenty-two years, seven months, and one day, but Geralt and Jaskier manage to figure things out.

#bounceacoinoffyouranons #geraskier #amnesia #amensiac jaskier #memory loss #rare species fix it #the witcher netflix #the witcher ficlet #geraskier fluff #angst with a happy ending #fluff and angst #whump with a happy ending #jaskier whump #yennefer #yen and jaskier are bitchy theatre bffs #and you can't stop me #anon you really got me fucked up

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softnoblecyno · 3 years

Text

You’ve Known It the Whole Time

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel (The Witcher), Lambert (The Witcher), Vesemir (The Witcher) Additional Tags: New Year's Eve, Winter at Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), Winter At Oxenfurt (The Witcher), Pining, Mutual Pining, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, the other witchers are there briefly but they are there, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, geralt is just a lil bit of a himbo okay, Tenderness, Oxenfurt (The Witcher), Traditions, Celebrations, Secret Identity, (kinda), geralt's in love but he's a grump about it, New Year's Kiss, is yearning a tag, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, but he tries

also on ao3

Geralt bursts into laughter, knocking his shoulder hard against Eskel’s. “You’re a prick! The only reason I didn’t kill a deer is because we only need one.” His brother stumbles, boots crunching noisily in a patch of snow as he catches himself, and cackles. Their voices echo through the empty woods. There’s no need to be quiet any longer now that they’ve caught what they came out to hunt.

“Whatever you say, Grandpa,” Eskel snickers, and hefts the buck that he’d shot higher onto his shoulder. Geralt’s carrying his crossbow for him, pressed tightly against his own so that he can hold them in one hand.

Geralt shoves Eskel again, not as hard this time, and they both slip slightly in the mud and break out into laughter again. He shakes his head, and then the both of them fall quiet again and Geralt finds himself looking out at the scenery ahead of him. Kaer Morhen’s forest is beautiful. The snow covering the tips of the pines, and the smell of sap and crisp air. He can hear the light babbling of the river that runs along the keep, even from this distance.

He and Eskel both stop in their tracks.

The path down the mountain, out of Kaer Morhen, is in view ahead of them, and it’s completely clear.

The pass should be piled up high with snow, impassable, but instead all of it is gone, as is everything that should be trapping them within the valley. Instead, Geralt can see all the way down the road. The ragged mountain path, thin and tucked up against a cliff, is muddied with snowmelt, and shocks of green grass are already starting to show through. It looks like it’s already spring, not the middle of winter.

“That’s… not normal,” Geralt says, finally pulling his thoughts together. He and Eskel look at each other with near identical expressions of bewilderment.

“No, definitely not,” Eskel agrees.

Neither of them know what to do about that, so they tell Vesemir. When their mentor hears that the snow has melted more than a month earlier than any of the other witchers have ever seen it, he calls it “an unusually warm winter” and seems otherwise unphased, or at least much less shocked than Geralt thinks he should be. However, Vesemir has been around much longer, and knows Kaer Morhen better, than any of them, and Geralt supposes it’s possible that Vesemir has seen something similar in the past. And, now that Geralt has heard what his father said, he realizes that almost all the rest of the snow around the keep has melted as well. It really has been surprisingly nice out, this winter. It’s just been an odd year.

“Next year will most likely be normal,” Vesemir assures them with a smile. He always does that. His first thought is always to comfort his boys. His next words, however, are less comforting and completely unexpected. “You should pack your bags, all of you. With the pass clear, it’s our responsibility to walk the Path and keep the people safe.”

“What?” Lambert barks, his eyebrows furrowed tightly and his eyes wide and incredulous. Eskel and Geralt don’t fare much better, shooting each other matching, confused looks for the second time today. Hell, for the second time this hour.

This is uncharted territory for the younger witchers. Ever since they can remember, they’ve left Kaer Morhen after the third month of winter, just as spring is starting and- well. When the snow melts. Regardless, Geralt is content to let Vesemir call the shots. Although it’s not what he, or the others it seems, prefers, he understands the logic behind leaving as soon as they can. Wintering without the snow blocking them in is like swimming without water.

“Alright,” Geralt agrees, and Eskel nods beside him. “We’ll get ready to go.”

Vesemir nods shortly, not sympathetic to their hesitancy in the least. He gestures toward the entrance of the keep, to the path down and out of the mountains. “Good. If the snow has melted, that means the monsters will be active again. It’s our job to-”

“Are you fucking serious?” Lambert spits, first at Vesemir and then he turns his spiteful gaze to the rest of them as well. “We’ve barely even been here a month!”

Vesemir’s stern look would be enough to shut anyone but Lambert up. “I’m leaving. Stay if you like.” While he technically gives them a choice on whether or not to return to the Path, the way that their father says the words brokers no room for argument. It’s a tone that means, you’re leaving, too, and you know it.

Lambert curses and seethes and has what can only be described as a fit while Geralt and Eskel go to their rooms and pack their bags for travel. Geralt’s room is a bit cluttered, his possessions scattered around. It takes him a moment to find them all. As tidy as traveling keeps him, he does miss his room when he’s away. Having a place to call your own is something precious. Still, Geralt tries not to focus too heavily on that thought, instead forcing himself to consider the realities of his situation. He needs to decide where he’s going now that he’s back on the Path. There are probably some contracts nearby, maybe even enough in Kaedwen that he could stay for a while. It would almost be like he was still wintering. Then again, a bigger part of him knows that he should jump back into life on the road like he does every spring. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable.

Eskel steps into the main hall at the same time as Geralt, his bag thrown over his shoulder and the rest of his things, to go on Scorpion, in his other hand. Geralt is packed in much the same way. His brother throws Geralt a kind smile at the sight of him. Lambert and Vesemir are nowhere to be seen, and Geralt can’t hear yelling anymore, either.

“Walk with me?” Eskel asks.

“Always.”

After stopping at the stables to grab Scorpion and Roach- Lambert and Vesemir’s horses are indeed still there- he and Eskel walk out of Kaer Morhen’s gate. They can’t ride their horses while the path is this narrow, so they are being led behind them, the four of witchers and horses in a row. It’s not until they’re a fair way down the path, when they are finally able to mount their horses and ride side by side, that Geralt admits, “It is unfortunate. To have our winter cut short like this.” Geralt only gets to see his family reliably once a year. Sometimes they cross paths outside of Kaedwen, but it’s unlikely. His one solace is that when he does see them, he gets to live with them for three months straight. It may be while they’re trapped in an old, crumbling castle, but Geralt treasures the time he has with them nonetheless. He already misses the extra month he’s skipping with them. The month and a half he had with them will have to last him the whole year. It won’t be enough. It never is.

Eskel hums thoughtfully, and then shrugs. “It’s fine.” He meets Geralt’s surprised, and maybe slightly scandalized, look with a warm smile. The corner of his lip ticks up teasingly, pulling against his scar. “As much as I love you, I’ve already been surrounded by you all, and only you all, for two months. There are people, out on the Path, who I miss when I’m wintering. I’d like to see them, now.”

Geralt’s sure that he goes a bit bug-eyed, with how excited the reminder makes him. Jaskier, he realizes, unsure how he’s forgotten until now. I can see Jaskier.

read the rest on ao3!

#witcher #witcher netflix #twn #geraskier #geraskier fic #witcher fic #idk #jaskalt #my writing

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systlin · 3 years

Note

My understanding is that Płoć is the Polish word for the fish, and Płotka is the diminutive nick-name term. Like 'Roachie' or 'Li'l Guppy' or... idk 'Small Fry'.

Geralt of Rivia is in fact a huge sap when it comes to his horse and I think that’s very cool of him

#Anonymous

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imnotwolverine · 3 years

Text

The Wolves Return - Part 2

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

Summary: Evil is meddling in the woods and bad news hangs in the air.

Word count: 2649 (9,5 min. reading)

Disclaimer: 16+ - Thrilling, monster hunting and gore, minor injuries and a smidge of Geralt being a soft!dad

And then the White Wolf came. Fighting till his knees gave out and weakened did he bleat; Shit, Fuck, Almighty! Is death worth this good deed?

It was a terrible idea to go out of Kaer Morhen’s gates in this weather, with his leg feeling like a lug. But Geralt was a man of principle. And evil was evil. Greater, lesser, meddling. It stopped him from having a quiet night in, and he wasn’t having it.

Stepping out of the gate that crashed back in its lock, Geralt squinted into the flurry of snow. The footsteps he had seen here had faded as the stormy weather raged on.

Removing the long silver steel from its scabbard, he let his golden eyes roam over the dangerous pines. Instinctively his free hand shot out to his medallion. The magical pendant was still warm from the firepit inside and it thrummed restlessly into his palm, indicating that a source of magic was near.

‘Come out then.’ He demanded. But nothing came. A new flurry of snow came in instead and it was almost hard to believe that hours earlier the world had been green and somewhat peaceful.

Unfortunately for Geralt it wasn’t just snow that had arrived. A heavy gust made him stagger. It was like someone had tried to push him over, the strength so odd that perhaps he had already found his magical perpetrator.

Raising his sword, his free hand casted Yrden. The spell lit purplish blue fires in a circle around him, illuminating the radiant storm. That storm seemed to calm somewhat within the boundaries of his spell. It confirmed his assumptions that something strange was afoot, and yet he couldn’t place whom or what it was. Was it the woman? If so, were there more? Was this an ambush?

What a way to die that would be.

Looking left and right he sniffed the air. That same mixture of fresh pine sap and blood hung in the air.

A scream.

In a rush of whirling wind that crushed a tree branch up ahead, the woman came hurling at Geralt. Her skirts were ripped and somewhere in the past minutes she had lost her cape.

Geralt steadied his breath, ready to strike. But as the woman came near he noticed that the winds around her were off. They were irregular, like a wall of mists chasing her down.

‘RUN!’ She belted, eyes wide.

Geralt did not run. He only raised his sword a little higher, head twitching to the side to take that ever important decision; attack or defend.

The woman was a few footsteps away as he made his call. With a twirl he slashed down, hacking straight through succulent flesh.

The woman froze, gulping as a frosted grey creature fell apart by her feet.

‘Ah!’

‘QUIET.’ Geralt growled, eyes focused. The Yrden flames now cast a purplish hue over his pale features. Keeping his sword in one hand, his other was held out, ready to cast another spell if needed.

The woman nodded. With her arms grasping around some undefined wooden object in her arms she looked around skittishly. The wall of magical winds was now encircling them, causing the temperature to drop even further. Icy breaths broke from their mouths and the pinetrees above their heads went berzerkers. Whipping wildly to and fro it felt like they would soon pick up their root systems and fly off.

‘We’re gonna die.’ The woman cried.

‘The fuck we aren’t.’

The woman stepped back to get her back closer to the Witcher. Geralt snarled.

‘Don’t make this any harder woman.’

She let out a little breath but kept her complaints to herself. ‘Ha..typical this is.’ She whispered.

The winds were now inching closer, investigating the curious sign that was losing its force. Without hesitation Geralt called upon it again. The purple blue flames rose higher and as they did another creature was caught in their wake. A demon-esque, mangled face without eyes or nose reached out its claws, howling.

‘Foglet.’ Geralt growled, shoving the woman aside to make a clear path for his sword. With a fine sweep he mowed down the creature, slashing straight through its narrow body.

What Geralt didn’t notice was the launch of two more creatures that came from behind. And unlike their fellow packmember, they weren’t quite so distressed by the magical barrier that Yrden cast. Howling in pain they lunged forward, taking both the woman and Geralt by surprise.

Yrden’s light flickered as the woman was thrown to the ground, taking Geralt with her. Though the ghostly lights did not harm them, they did feel the cold return as they tumbled over the circle’s border. In moments another wave of slim limbs materialized, turning the blue-hued night into a true nightmare.

Geralt struggled to get the monsters away from them. Claws raked through supple skin and in moments the fresh white snow beneath them started to fleck with drops of blood. And not just his. The woman screamed bloody murder as one of the grey creatures found purchase on her neck.

Not that Geralt could care.

Swinging his sword in wild abandon he pushed away the aggressors that were toppling over him. The white world became a blood soaked nightmare. Greyish limbs went flying and though cold on his skin, Geralt felt warm blood thrum in his ears as the thrill of the fight returned. Practised stances echoed through his limbs as he cut through the foggy air. Though he did have to admit that even the adrenaline couldn’t qualm the ache in his leg. With a protective stance he kept the weight on his good leg, hoping the creatures weren’t smart enough to topple him over again.

A new windy cloud of snow came his way and he started hacking.

It was enough occupation to move his attention away from the dying light of Yrden. A few flickers of blue lit the trees and swirling snow before all went terribly dark.

The woman cried out again, though this time there didn’t seem to be terror within her. A snarl came from her vicinity, closely followed by a few damp thuds.

Bones cracked. Monsters howled. And as the foglets fell dead by Geralt’s feet, so did the howls behind him.

The woman panted. ‘So far for a warm welcome.’

Geralt turned, feeling the ache in his leg worsen by the second. He wasn’t even sure if he would be able to make it back to his chair without making a complete fool of himself. In the dark stood the woman, the object that she had kept in her arms now falling apart in misery. A lute, that’s what it must have been. The strings curled broken around her bloodied hands. Her eyes were bewildered as she looked around in what must be pitchblack darkness for her.

‘Hello?’ She stopped panting to swallow deeply.

She couldn’t see him.

Geralt felt his lip curl up, though he wasn’t sure whether he was smiling or grimacing. The thrill of the fight was slowly seeping away with the blood that was gushing from his shallow wounds. He had to take care of that soon.

‘We don’t have visitors here.’ He finally said, allerting the woman. She held her breath and held her broken lute a little higher. The poor instrument was beyond repair.

‘I’ve learned otherwise good Sir.’ She shuffled nervously, still not able to see him.

Around them the storm had returned to a quiet snowfall. No stars were to be seen and little flecks of snow were starting to stack back onto the tree branches. In a few hours the paths to Kaer Morhen would become near impossible to cross by normal footfolk. And that was all fair and game, until you have a visitor at the wrong side of the tracks.

Geralt sighed. ‘Visitor or not. Claim your business here.’

The woman huffed. ‘You’re my business.’

‘I am your business?’

‘The Butcher of Blaviken? The White Wolf of Rivia?! The--’

Geralt started walking off. Or better said: limping off. His leg was smarting so terribly that he already felt his head whirl after just a few steps. That, or it was the blood loss in combination with the biting cold.

‘Hey!’ The woman heard his dragging feet and followed.

Every few steps Geralt could hear her slip and slide, but she was not one so easily dissuaded.

‘I don’t do visitors.’ He growled, clenching his teeth. His vision was starting to swim as he laid eyes on the gates up ahead.

‘Well then count me as an old-new friend.’

Geralt halted, but as he wished to tell the woman off he could feel the world starting to blur. The sharp jolts of pain from his leg were starting to numb -- bad sign.

‘I don’t even know y--’

[In perhaps a dream]

‘Now you take good care of him, okay?’ Ciri whispered to Roach. The horse wiggled her ears as they both kept a mischievous eye on Geralt. The spring sun was streaming warm light over Kaer Morhen’s courtyard as all inhabitants stood around to wish the young woman farewell.

Meanwhile Geralt kept a small smile on his lips. He wasn’t really feeling happy, but he had to quell the less desirable feelings that were bubbling up inside him. Ciri was leaving. She was a grown woman now. This was a good thing. This was supposed to happen, right?

He eyed Vesemir who seemed far more relaxed. Arms folded and hip leaning into the stair balustrade, he winked at Geralt.

‘Hmmpf.’ Geralt huffed through smiling lips.

‘Now, now. You start sounding like me there, young man.’ Vesemir grinned.

‘It’s not the same.’

‘Oh I think it is.’ Vesemir raised up as Ciri skirted up the stairs to jump-hug him. He chuckled merrily as he patted the back of her shoulder.

‘Uncle Vesemir.’ Ciri swallowed, smiling and fighting back tears.

‘Goodbye Cirilla. Return to us soon.’

‘I will.’ She turned and readied herself for the poorly kept tempest that was Geralt.

Geralt awkwardly tried to keep his lips in a smile, but looked far more malicious and mad than happy.

‘Geralt.’ Ciri mumbled, stepping in to press her head under his chin. Like old times their arms folded around one another, their noses turned to take in each other's scents.

‘Cir-.’ Geralt’s voice cracked and he chose silence instead. Unsure where to look he looked at the blurry cascade of mousy blond hair that Ciri had started growing out the past year. She kept it braided most of the time and it would always snag with small twigs and branches as they roamed around the grounds and forests of Kaer Morhen.

Her time of training was over. It was time for her to set out on The Trail and carry on the knowledge and skills he had taught her. It felt odd after all these years together.

‘Hang in there old man.’ Ciri whispered, hugging him a little tighter. The sun burned hot on their skin and Geralt wondered if he was feeling her sweat or her tears. Either which it was, he held on tight just a moment longer.

‘And tell Jaskier he cannot, I repeat CANNOT use my flute. Don’t want his spit all over.’

Geralt huffed. ‘Of all the things..’

‘What?’ Ciri leaned back and quickly dried a tear on her cheek.

Geralt smiled. This time a real smile. Squeezing her back into his embrace once more he pressed a kiss on top of her head. ‘Come back whenever.’

A melody. Too happy for the way Geralt was feeling. Squinting hard against the ray of light that fell exactly on his face, he woke up from a fitful dream. The melody hadn’t been part of the dream though. As he looked around he found himself laying on a wooden bench with some animal skins propped up under his head.

The music continued to flow through the large hall where the first light had arrived some hours ago. The air was fresh with the snow from outside -- the door had been opened recently. And there was a fire. Well-kept, warm, smelling of just a tinge of lacquer.

A figure sat there, wrapped in a worn blanket, naked feet dangling from the bench. The woman. It all came back to Geralt as he pushed himself up with a grunt. His leg was feeling terrible, but his wounds were bound. His shirt had been removed, he noted, and replaced by a simple blanket. His arms and shoulders were wrapped in blood speckled bandages and he could smell the heady aroma of some herbs peaking through.

‘Fuck.’ He groaned, sitting up completely.

The music stopped and the woman looked over her shoulder.

‘Look who’s alive.’ She said, getting up.

Geralt’s eyes shot daggers at her. ‘You could’ve killed us.’

It was the first time since he saw her well and true. She had dirty blonde locks, which fell away from a messy braid. And her eyes were a striking cornflower blue. Her clothes, once quite expensive, were torn to pieces. Her face. Hmm her face. He was sure he didn’t know the woman and yet she tingled a familiar sense in him.

Grunting Geralt got up from the bench. His body was aching like he had been pummeled in a fistfight with Eskel, and he couldn’t wait to dip into his stash of potions. Potions.. With a weary eye on the strange woman he moved his attention to the cellar door in the far back. It was open.

The woman squeaked in delight. ‘Quite a collection you have here! Are there others? There are other Witchers right? My father always --’

‘WOMAN.’

The woman quieted, biting her lip. ‘Actually my name is --’

Geralt stepped forward with all the power he could muster, willing the strange woman to be gone as soon as possible. He could lock her up somewhere. He could throw her out. He could.. He clenched his jaw as he realised how rapid his heart was beating in his chest. Little beads of sweat were falling down his brow and before he could utter another retort at the woman he felt the clammy cold of unconsciousness crawl back over him.

‘Geralt..?’

Her voice swam like a breeze through his mind.

‘I’m going to be a father.’ Jaskier sighed, staring out at the dipping sun. The sausages they had roasted on the campfire were almost all eaten by him.

Geralt sighed. ‘You don’t know the trouble you’re getting yourself into Jaskier.’

Jaskier smiled dreamily. ‘And yet we wouldn’t have it any other way.’

Part 3 >

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#henry cavill fanfiction #the witcher #fanfiction #geralt of rivia #ciri #jaskier #kaer morhen #multichap

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ao3feed-geralt-jaskier · 3 years

Link

by Hallianna

Geralt's never met a Cat he liked.

Except for Aiden, and it's a begrudging kind of thing, since that Cat makes Lambert happy.

The Cat he runs across is strange and off-putting, smarmy and smirking. And very attractive. Jaskier (the aforementioned Cat) thinks Geralt is handsome and fascinating and wants to know more. To get closer. To maybe even fall for him.

A story of enemies to friends to lovers, angst, denied feelings, flirting and smut.

Words: 9290, Chapters: 3/12, Language: English

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), The Witcher (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Aiden (The Witcher), Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel (The Witcher), Vesemir (The Witcher)

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden/Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)

Additional Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Canon-Typical Violence, Awkward Flirting, Flirting, Geralt gets drunk on Leshy sap, Cat School (The Witcher), Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Idiots in Love, Jaskier in jewelry, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Library Sex, Roach Ships It (The Witcher), Eskel/Aiden/Lambert as a hot Witcher sandwich, Dildos, Good lord Jask is a brat at first here, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), Scenting

#ao3feed #fanfic #the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii

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on-a-lucky-tide · 3 years

Note

Vipurr: Gaetan accidentally ticks off a mage and gets cursed into heat (like a queen cat, yowling included) Letho has too much fun to be pissed off and the mage lives.

Gaetan double crosses a sorcerer who takes a very peculiar type of revenge…

“Letho!” The door slammed against the inside wall of their tiny, dingy room and the resulting vibrations rattled Letho’s carefully arranged alchemy flasks. He reached out to steady them as Gaetan hurtled into the room and began manically stripping off his clothes. “Get your dick in me now, or I’m going to die.”

“What?” Letho laughed, incredulous, head tilted to the side as Gaetan bounced around the room on one foot, trying to pull his boots off.

“It’s sex pollen. I’ve read about it in… stories, if you don’t fuck me, I’m gonna’ die. Like, my balls’ll explode or something—oh my fucking gods it hurts!” Gaetan buckled over, hands pushing down on his crotch, face screwing up in pain. The distress was real. Letho could scent it on the air; thick and sickly.

“I’ve been doin’ this job for over a hundred years,” Letho grumbled. “If there was such thing as… uh, what did you call it?”

“Sex pollen,” Gaetan wheezed.

“Sex pollen, I woulda’ fuckin’ heard of it,” Letho stoppered his flasks, and swaggered over just as Gaetan managed to whip off his trousers. His erection was monumental, and even Letho raised an impressed eyebrow. “What’s your medallion doin’?” His own had been handed to Geralt of Rivia many years ago to misdirect bounty hunters. Without a school to return to, there was no hope of another. It made getting work difficult sometimes.

“Vibrating. I thought about shoving it up my ass to alleviate the pres—sur—ah!” Gaetan pressed his hands between his thighs. “Come on, this isn’t a hundred-thousand-word slow burn romance novel, it’s fuck or die, scales. I am fuckin’ dying! Please, please.”

If Gaetan was, in fact, dying, Letho needed to know. He grabbed that narrow chin and tilted the Cat’s face into the light. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin, but his pupils were still lively, and other than the smell of distress and discomfort, there was nothing else… off. “You pissed off a sorcerer, didn’t you?”

“Letho,” Gaetan whined, pressing on his balls in hopes of—something, he had no fucking idea. “Yes, yes. He asked me to go spike a duchess’ drink… something about enchantments around her bed chamber, and I told him he needed to find another sap to help him get his dick wet. I’m not some perv, and—holy fucking Kreve almighty—can you fuck me already?”

Now that he was certain his unfortunate moggy wasn’t about to spontaneously combust in a cloud of pollen, Letho nodded with a quiet grunt and began to strip off his clothes.

“Are you—are you folding your underwear right now? My cock is about to rupture, Letho. My ass feels—I’m not even sure but it feels bad, fuuu—ck,” Gaetan yowled, his eyes watering, and then finally—fucking finally—his beast of a lover was naked, with that huge monster of a dick already semi-hard. “Yes, yes, come here. I’m ready. Take me, big boy.” The Cat flung himself dramatically on the bed, knees spread wide, ass presented. Then Letho paused. Gaetan could feel him close. The heat of it, the throb of the pulse thickening the big, swollen head with blood. And it wasn’t getting in him. He dropped his face, eyes wide and desperate. “What’s the fuckin’ hold up?”

“Are you sure?”

Gaetan’s mouth dropped open. “I swear on my mother’s life, if you try and have the consent talk right now, I will cut your dick off with that knife.”

“Don’t disrespect the dead,” Letho rumbled, eyes narrowed. His gaze dropped to the beautifully sculpted backside perked towards him, and raised an eyebrow. “Huh, don’t think we’re going to need any oil…” He ran a finger down Gaetan’s cleft and it came away glistening with slick. “What did the sorcerer say, exactly?”

“Oh my—,” Gaetan seethed into the rough linen below with a suffering groan. “I told him to quit being such a horny old bastard, stop thinking with his dick, and he said I sounded like a woman, and—nnngh.”

“Alright, alright,” Letho ran a soothing palm over Gaetan’s lower back. “Gimme a sec’. Flagged a bit.” It was difficult to maintain ‘interest’ when your lover was writhing in pain before you. Letho lined his prick up in that slick cleft and rocked his hips slowly, pushing his shaft across soft, pink skin. Gaetan groaned in a mixture of relief and desperate need. Letho was a goliath among men in every single way, and usually he took a bit of working up to. But Gaetan didn’t have time for that, he needed now; the gentle slide across his hole not quite enough. “Easy, moggy. Just relax. I’ve got you.”

“Ahh, ahh,” Gaetan keened as his body stretched open around Letho’s cock. It pushed into him with slow, shallow thrusts that soothed the pain of whatever horrific curse had been placed upon him. “Oh, fuck, so good. Letho, fuck, yeah, yeah.”

When he was full, with the heavy heat of Letho’s balls pressed to the back of his, everything settled. The agony subsided into penetrating throbs of arousal. The familiar weight of his lover blanketed him; Gaetan arched into the barrelled chest pressed to his back, and tilted his head to accept the passionate kisses anointing his neck. The sorcerer had believed Gaetan would find a corner to curl up in, or humiliate himself by begging on the street; he’d miscalculated. This was one tomcat who didn’t travel alone.

Letho moaned into Gaetan’s skin, thick body deceptively agile, its raw strength demanding and dominant as he fucked Gaetan into the straw-stuffed mattress. As the pace quickened, Gaetan panted and yowled a little louder, but what fell out of his mouth next surprised them both. “Oh fuck, I want your kittens,” his eyes widened, and he clamped his mouth shut. But it was too late. Letho had heard and was now chuckling breathlessly, nipping at Gaetan’s shoulder.

“Breeding kink?”

“Fuck you,” Gaetan scowled, but his embarrassment was short lived. It dissolved in the heat of his orgasm as it coiled tightly in his belly and then spilled through the rest of him in a warm tide. His body clamped eagerly around Letho, desperate to keep him buried deep, and Gaetan was overcome with the desire for his womb to quicken. He didn’t have a fucking womb. “Please, please.” He clamped his mouth shut, but a soft moan still broke free when the thick cock in his ass pulsed through its climax.

Letho’s deep, satisfied pants puffed across the back of his neck, punctuated by the odd kiss and sweet nothings. Then he went to withdraw, and a sudden panic gripped Gaetan’s chest. “No! No, you have to stay.” He tightened every muscle he still had control of, and Letho grunted in surprise.

“Gaetan, I need to—mmph,” Letho grimaced. “Alright, just… loosen up a bit, will ya’?”

“I… it’s… I can’t explain it,” Gaetan whimpered. “I’m worried someone else will, uh, try to give me their kittens instead.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“None of this makes any fucking sense, Letho,” Gaetan snapped, and then flopped dejectedly. “Just stay for a little bit.”

“Gonna’ readjust, alright? Don’t panic,” Letho scooped an arm beneath Gaetan’s chest and held him close as he rested down on his side. At this angle, he could hold Gaetan close and slowly ease out as he was permitted. “What else did he say?”

“He said if I was so worried about what women thought and felt, then I should be bred like one,” Gaetan grumbled, head cushioned on Letho’s huge bicep. “Well, jokes on him, I want your dick all the time anyway.”

“Hm,” Letho nuzzled his nose across the stubble on Gaetan’s jawline, and slowly drew his hips away. His softening cock flopped against his own thigh, and Gaetan whined at the loss. “Figure this ain’t gonna’ be a one and done.”

“Worried about your stamina, old man?”

“Worried about your ass,” Letho shot back, and left the bed briefly to get Gaetan some water and a towel. “So, this mage. Know where to find him again?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’d like to thank him for the good night we’re about to have,” Letho stretched his arms above his head, and then cracked his neck. “And then we’re gonna’ cut his head off.”

Gaetan smirked over his shoulder and then grimaced as the cycle of pain started again. Thank every fucking holy pantheon for a Witcher’s short refractory period. A little bit of kissing, a touch of grinding, and Letho was all ready to dance again. Gaetan clambered onto his hips and sank down onto him with a delighted groan.

Tomorrow, they’d rid the world of yet another unpleasant individual—they seemed to be doing that almost as much as normal contracts these days—but first they were going to keep the whole village awake for an entire night while they fucked this curse out of Gaetan’s system. There were worse ways to spend a weekday evening.

#rawrkinwrites #Vipurr #Gaetan #Letho #Smut #TW: Dickhead Sorcerer #TW: Dubious Consent #It ends well though #Scales loves his Moggy

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