#i was adding things from the witcher and breath of the wild so now its all those games combined lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

archies-litterbox · 3 years

Text

of poison, forest floors, and terrified wizards

Summary: Out all alone on what was meant to be a simple errand, collecting herbs for Merlin, Douxie is downed when some pickpocket throws a fistful of black powder in his face - a magic surpressant and poison to wizards, he comes to find out the hard way. Unable to move or use his magic, as attempts to do both cause nothing but agony, the moppet has no choice but to rely on the slim hope of someone finding him before the poison overtakes him.

A/N: This is my first toa fic! I’ve spent the past year mostly just doing fic for witcher, so this is a nice change of pace :) I had fun with this! I thought about what would happen if there was some sort of substance in TOA that acted as a poison/magic surpressant to wizards... and ofc it turned into douxie whump (but it’s moppet!douxie which is even more painful :( ). Enjoyyy!

[CW: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Poisoning/Sickness, Temporary Paralysis, blood mention (but no bleeding)]

---

All Douxie had been sent out to do was collect some herbs for Merlin. It wasn’t even in the uncertain ground like the Wild Wood, but a patch of forest he’d been sent to fetch ingredients from countless times. It should have been a simple enough task for the moppet, which is why he hadn’t woken Archie from his afternoon nap - which he was taking on Douxie’s bed - to have his familiar accompany him. And truly, the task itself was simple; it didn’t take Douxie very long at all to go into the woods and find a patch of the plants Merlin told him to fetch - something about a potion ingredient, the apprentice vaguely recollected.

Indeed, he found it without any trouble, but when he felt a figure speed past his back and steal away the little pouch of herbs he’d collected before speeding off into the woods, that was when the trouble started.

The rational part of him (which said exactly what he’d reckoned Archie would be telling him right now) told him just to pick more, but it was overshadowed by how downright insulting this woodland pickpocket was! Before he’d been taken in by Merlin, conning and using slight-of-hand to his advantage was one of his only means of survival, so to not only be stolen from, but in a way so lacking in cunning? The audacity!

It was the principal of the matter that sent him running after the thief, darting this way and that until he was lost in the thick of the woods, focused only on tailing the pickpocket.

“Hey! Stop!” Douxie panted, “You’re stealing from a master wizard!”

That didn’t seem to entice the thief to stop.

“Well… his apprentice, anyway!” he added for reasons unsure to even himself. Maybe honesty would help?

Well, thanks to his trusty, gangly legs, he caught up to the thief and got close enough to grab their wrist, and he thought it would be smooth sailing after that.

Yeah! Alright! I’ll just get my herbs back and deal with this thief and -

The thief turned around and threw a handful of black powder in his face.

Fuzzbuckets.

Douxie squeezed his eyes shut as soon as he felt them sting, coughing into his elbow to hack up the charcoal tasting powder that flew into his mouth and nose. That little trick stopped him in his tracks, but he wasn’t deterred. Not mentally. He still wanted to try to catch up…

...but his legs wouldn’t move.

No matter how badly he wanted - demanded his legs to obey him, they remained tense, frozen in that position of one in front of the other.

What?

One terrifying moment later, they did move. But not into the sprint he wanted to take - no, to do something worse: to buckle underneath him and send him falling onto his side against the forest floor.

And he couldn’t get up.

No matter how much he willed his body to do it, he couldn’t get up.

It was like when he’d have nightmares and he’d realize he was having a nightmare; it took forcing his body to toss and turn and shift from side to side as much as he could to rouse him back to the realm of the fully conscious.

But he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t rouse himself from this nightmare because he couldn’t push himself up.

Wait.

No.

He couldn’t move.

Nearing complete panic, he internally begged and pleaded to find some sort of mobility, but his limbs grew numb by the second, and wherever he still had feeling, it ached - utterly, reprehensibly ached. Not only that, but it was cold. So, so cold, despite the warm atmosphere of the summer afternoon that hung around him so tauntingly.

He’d never felt more scared in his life. Not even being threatened at swordpoint by Sir Galahad and his men, knowing that he’d be killed for something like a measly alley trick, was as terrifying as this - not even that made his blood run cold (literally, it felt like, as well as figuratively) like this did.

And he was sure that was clear to the thief he’d tried to catch. They stood over him, and he couldn’t see their face from where his head lay on the ground, cheek against the grass, but with his glassy, wide eyes flickering between straining to look at his poisoner - because that’s what this was, a poison - and darting around wherever they could look without him moving his head - because he couldn’t even do that - as black strands of hair lay loose on his cheek because he couldn’t lift a hand to move them, he was sure looked every bit as terrified as he felt.

The thief laughed. Laughed.

“A master wizard’s apprentice, eh?” they spoke, their voice dripping with mock fascination that made Douxie wish that someone, anyone would come to help him, “And your great master never told you to pick your battles? He must not have, if you felt so inclined as to chase me all through the woods for a plant you could have just picked a little more of. It was right in front of you, after all.”

The realization which dawned on Douxie would have made his blood run cold if it didn’t feel like it already was. They’d pickpocketed him because they counted on him pursuing them, even to the point of ending up in the thick of the woods, far away from where Merlin or Archie expected him to be - far away from where they’d know to look for him.

Douxie finally tried to shout for help, but his throat was just as tense - as frozen as the rest of his muscles, and his jaw was too tight to open as much as he’d need to scream. All he could do was gasp and force shuddering breaths in and out of his lungs, which was still a trying ordeal - too trying for something like breathing to have been.

“Trying to scream? Really?” the poisoner-thief asked as if it was an absurd thing to do in the moppet’s position (which it wasn’t), “Next thing you know, you’ll try mustering a spell.”

Against his better judgement, for trying a spell couldn’t have been a good idea if his own assailant was suggesting it, he tried to force a little magic to his fingertips.

It burned. Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, it burned. His hand hadn’t even hurt this badly after he’d botched a lightning spell and scarred his wrist in the process.

Douxie wheezed at the sensation, and the thief laughed again.

“Oh, this is rich!” they exclaimed, “this has already paralyzed you hand and foot, and you thought some conjuring would help? What do you think this was made to diminish, Apprentice of Ambrosius?

Douxie couldn’t even think of a swear worthy of this (“fuzzbuckets” was too tame), his mind still flooded with fear and his hand still aching from his botched magic attempt. How had they already known he was Merlin’s apprentice? Sure, he’d mentioned being an apprentice to a master wizard, but he wasn’t that specific.

But he wasn’t worried about that as much as what this implied about his magic, and what this - whatever it had been - was doing to it.

“This,” His assailant bent down and held up their fingertips to his face, showing him the black powder on them. “Seeps away your magic. Or poisons it, or diminishes it, or eats away at it - I’m not a poet, and apt synonyms aren’t my strong suit.”

They stood back up all the way, and Douxie wanted to plead, but the words wouldn’t come out. They wouldn’t even form. This - he couldn’t lose his magic. Not on something as measly as an herb collection.

“All of this-”

They gestured to his paralyzed, twitching form.

“Is just a side effect. A byproduct of attacking your magic.”

Douxie tried curling his hand into a fist. Not only were his muscles so weak that he could only curl his fingers for a second in what looked more like a spasm than a conscious movement, but grabbing the wrong end of a knife would have hurt less.

The powder-tosser winced mock-sympathetically.

“Shame, really. I hoped the master wizard you served could be the one to deal with this.”

For a moment, in his agony, he wished he was. Douxie squandered the thought as quickly as it came up, hating himself for conceiving it. He couldn’t wish this on anyone, least of all the wizard who saved him, who plucked him off the streets.

But why couldn’t he save him now?

“Ah, well.” They reached down to Douxie’s face and put a strand of hair behind his ear.

Douxie wanted to cry.

“S’pose you’ll do. It’ll be a kick in the teeth for him anyway, when you don’t come back from your little errand after hours and hours, and by the time they send out a search party…”

The smugness and certainty in their tone made Douxie whimper, the first vocal noise he’d been able to make in all of this, after naught but wheezing and gasping. Where was he going to get dragged off to? The Wild Wood? Were they in league with trolls, hoping to get an edge on King Arthur? Or were they a bandit, hoping to take all his goods off of him (which weren’t much, unless they counted the black cat fur on his vest) and keep him in some rackety shack until a ransom note made its way to Merlin?

(Would he even pay it, considering Douxie’s incompetence?)

“Well, they’ll find you right here, I’m sure, but…”

Douxie could hear them mock-wince again, and their implication was worse than anything he’d assumed in the moments before. He couldn’t hear the rest of their sentence over his own panic that, combined with the poison, made his head swim.

He wasn’t going to be taken anywhere.

He was going to be left here, to - to - to -

His panic pushed him to try his magic again on impulse alone, and it felt like both his hands were on fire. His throat, as tight as it was, finally let him groan through his teeth.

“An exercise in futility, little wizard.” his attacker taunted, “In fact…”

They took his bracelet - only three fingers wide at this point in his training - right off his wrist, which made him squeak as he tried, tried, tried to shake his head, and threw it into a bush in what was both further assurance of his powerlessness and an insult to injury.

“I would say you should try to get comfortable…”

They stood up and took a few steps back, leaving the little field of vision Douxie had from where his head lay on the ground.

“...But I suppose that would be another exercise in futility.”

He heard the poisoner-thief run off, their footfalls fading as the pounding of his racing heart, which drummed against his ears in sync with their steps, drowned out the noise until they were out of earshot.

He was alone.

He couldn’t move, some poison was seeping away his magic - his very lifeforce - and tensed his body up so rigidly that he couldn’t even scream, and he was alone.

If he could’ve, he would have curled up into a ball as small as he could make himself in hopes that the dangers of the woods and the dire circumstances of his situation would pass him by.

If he could’ve, he would have screamed, even though he knew he was far away from the earshot of anyone who might have come looking for him by that patch of herbs where he said he’d go, and he knew that Archie, who could have tracked his scent here, was still sleeping because, in his arrogance, he hadn’t thought to wake him.

If he could’ve, he would have dragged himself to his gauntlet, wherever it had been thrown, because even if it wouldn’t have done anything to get him out of this, at least he wouldn’t have felt so helpless, even though helpless was exactly what he was.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and feel his tears run down the bridge of his nose as his lips contorted into a grimace, the only two things he could do with his body where the movement itself didn’t outweigh how badly he wanted - needed to do it.

All he could hope for, against hope itself, was that he’d be found here.

Before all that could be found was his body.

---

He wished he could just sleep.

The grassy ground underneath him was soft enough, and his position on his side could have been comfortable enough. Maybe it would have helped pass the time until the poison ran its course, whatever that entailed.

But whatever this was, it didn’t even grant him that luxury. Whether it was an effect of the poison or a product of his own adrenaline and terror, Douxie was wide awake.

Not only that, but after what might have been an hour or two (judging by the sunlight’s reflection off the dewey grass), his body would periodically twitch because of the poison. Sometimes his leg would kick out like a dog, or his shoulder would seize up to the point where it touched his ear, or his hand would ball into a fist.

But his poisoned body didn’t care which of his movements were voluntary or otherwise - it stung all the same. Not like the horrific burning that came with his attempts at magic, but a grating, awful ache right down to his bones. The spontaneous twitches never let him even come close to unconsciousness, and maybe that was a good thing - every breath was more or less of a laborious gasp, a conscious effort of his, and if he’d lost consciousness and stopped forcing them in and out of his lungs… he didn’t want to imagine it.

He wished his panic would quiet enough for him to get bored laying here - he would have preferred it to this, and it would have made sense, considering that he was stuck staring at the same blades of grass and patch of trees that he’d been staring at for the past hour.

And they weren’t even particularly interesting trees or blades of grass, not that they would have distracted him very well if they were.

He wondered if anyone had started looking for him by now. Maybe Merlin was growing impatient without the ingredients he asked for, and maybe Morgana had started to wonder why “Little Douxie” hadn’t come back to the castle.

He wondered if Archie had woken up from his nap and noticed Douxie’s absence yet. If anyone could insist that someone go out and search for him, it would be his familiar. He didn’t want to delude himself by thinking it would help though.

He wondered the importance of those herbs he was collecting before. Were they really that important to whatever Merlin had been working on? Were they worth chasing that thief down? Were they worth all of this?

He was pulled from his thoughts when a shadow cast over the grass he’d been staring at - the shadow of a creature flying overhead and hovering above him.

If he could’ve curled into himself, just to look as small as possible, he would have. What if it was a vulture, waiting to scavenge him? What if it was a monster, or a winged troll, here to carry him off to some trollish nest in the Wild Wood? None of the thoughts that came to mind were soothing by any means. As the creature swooped down, all Douxie could do was squeeze his eyes shut and hope he wouldn’t be harmed any further.

Even when the figure landed in front of him and stepped closer and closer, he didn’t look at it. It wasn’t until he could feel it’s breath on his face, one of the only sensations of the past few hours that didn’t hurt, that he opened his eyes.

A face of black fur greeted him.

And yellow eyes.

And a round pair of glasses.

Archie!

He couldn’t even say the word, but a sob escaped his throat - a sob of relief? A sob of terror that this might have been the start of an onslaught of hallucinations, the first of which being a sign of rescue? He wasn’t sure. Either way, all he wanted to do was reach up and pet the cat-dragon familiar, or hug him and not let go, but he couldn’t. His arm felt like it weighed half a ton, just like the rest of his limbs.

So, he sobbed. It was all he could do.

“Douxie!” Archie cried.

Merlin’s apprentice could hear the worry in his voice as he stepped back a few paces, his ears back and his wings to his side. Of course, he’d shifted into his dragon form - he must have been able to track Douxie’s scent like that. But Douxie hated the thought of his familiar being in danger because he’d flown here. He was already suspicious enough as a black cat, since they carried the notion of being bad omens. What if he’d gotten taken down? He wasn’t worth that!

Douxie was too relieved - yes, he chose relief, not terror, because that’s all he could afford - to think about all of that though.

“Douxie, I’ve been looking for you! What’s happened to you?” Archie asked, “Merlin expected you back hours ago!”

The first thing that came to mind, despite everything, was an apology for his absence - an apology he couldn’t even say. He couldn’t even say what happened to him, not like -

A spasm cut off from his speeding, scrambled thoughts - a large one in his left arm (his right was still mostly underneath him) that reached all the way from his fingertips to his shoulderblade, forcing his hand to ball into a fist, his arm to fold so tightly that his fist touched his shoulder, and his shoulder to tighten so much that his shoulder pressed to his ear.

The sound of agony ripped from his throat was the closest to a scream he’d gotten yet.

Archie looked horrified, and Douxie could only imagine what the sight of him was like - black strands loose from his bun strewn over his face, his eyes puffy and tear-ringed, his lips contorted in a pained grimace. He imagined he looked as pitiful and helpless as he felt.

(In fact, he didn’t have to imagine it. He could faintly see his reflection in the lenses of Archie’s glasses, and he was right in what he pictured, save for the addition of smudges and speckles of that powder still on his face, the black splotches of dust contrasting his color-drained skin, pale as death.)

His arm relaxed again after a few agonizing moments, letting his hand fall in front of his face and leaving a throbbing ache down to his bones, and Douxie tried to collect himself. He had to tell Archie what was wrong. He had to try. If Archie knew, he could fix it. He could get Merlin to fix it. Right? Right.

“P-” he started, trying his absolute best to form words despite the constriction in his throat and lungs that barely let him breathe at all, “puh- poi-”

His own wheezing cough cut him off.

“Poison?” Archie asked, getting it right much to the little relief that Douxie could manage. He nodded - at least, as close to the motion as he could accomplish - and tried to hum a “mhm” of affirmation, since trying to talk hadn’t exactly worked. Far from it.

Archie stepped forward and sniffed his face. He immediately recoiled, his big eyes widening, and Douxie was proven wrong for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

“Oh, dear.” His eyes glanced to what must have been a few more clumps and speckles of dust on the ground, “Ohhh, not good. Not good at all.”

No. Archie couldn’t be scared. If Archie was scared for him, then this was so, so much worse than he thought. How could it possibly be worse?

Douxie squeaked out a whimper in fear, and Archie’s attention snapped back to him (as if it could have been anywhere else).

“Douxie, don’t worry.” he said, “You’ll be alright.”

Archie was never a good liar, much to Douxie’s dismay. If Archie was going to hide the truth to soothe him, he at least would’ve liked it to work. His immediately telling Douxie not to worry had the opposite effect of what was intended; it showed him his worry - his terror - was entirely warranted, which was the exact thing he didn’t want to know. Even if all he said was “You’ll be alright.”, the fear that seemed to bristle through his fur was indication enough of the contrary.

Archie’s eyebrows, indicated by the grey patches in the fur above his eyes, upturned as if in dread.

“...But I need to go.”

NO!

If Douxie could have screamed the word and reached out to hold Archie, he would have done it right at that moment, but all he could do was whine like a kicked puppy, his eyebrows raising as his head shook - an unconscious movement, minute despite his desperation.

“Douxie, Douxie, listen.” Archie said, softening his voice, “I can’t carry you back to the castle. I wouldn't be able to fly carrying you anyway, but especially not with your-”

Archie got cut off by another one of Douxie’s spasms - this one made his left leg curl up so tight that his thigh touched his torso, causing the apprentice to nearly involuntarily hit Archie with his knee, which the cat-dragon barely dodged.

“-that." Archie said, "Not with that.”

Douxie saw the sense in that, despite his panic. He did, he did, he did.

But -

He sobbed again.

-But he didn’t want to be alone.

Sweet heart of Avalon, he didn’t want to be alone.

The worst of his pain and terror wasn’t from the paralysis, or the aching, or the random twitches, or the burning that came from trying to use his magic, or even the tightness in his throat and lungs that robbed him of speaking or even screaming; it came from being alone in this - from wondering if anyone would come for him, or find his body; it came from knowing that there was nothing he could do but lay there, at the mercy of nature, the poison wracking his body with every beat of his heart, and the determination (or lack thereof) of someone else to find him.

And when he opened his eyes to find Archie there, all of that went away - all of that fear that told him he’d die alone here. He didn’t want it to come back. He would’ve rather the poison take him right now.

“I just need to go back to the castle and bring Merlin here. He’ll know what to do.”

Archie put his paw in Douxie’s limp, open palm. All Douxie wanted to do was hold it, and he so desperately hoped the next twitch would be in his hand so he could.

“I won’t be long. I promise.”

But what if it was too long, even if he hurried?

What if Merlin was too late, even if he hurried?

What if it took too long to convince his master to come here? Would the fact that he’d been poisoned and needed help be enough, or would Merlin refuse because it served Douxie right for his insolence?

(No, no, he wouldn’t do that. Merlin said that mastery over magic was mastery over life, and he had to learn how to live. He couldn’t learn to live if he died here in the woods.)

What if…

What if this killed him before Archie came back?

...No.

It wasn’t the same this time. Douxie wasn’t lost here, hoping against hope that someone would find him. This was hope - someone knew where he was, and help would come. He could handle a little bit more fear for that hope, he knew.

So, fighting the grating, awful ache in his bones, Douxie closed his hand around Archie’s paw and put on as brave a face he found himself able to muster, nodding as much as he could while causing as little pain to himself as possible.

He didn’t trust much in this - not even his own body to keep fighting the poison - but he trusted Archie, and he trusted his promise.

His familiar gently pulled his paw away before slipping it under the side of Douxie’s head, lifting it a little off the ground. The little apprentice was confused for a moment, until Archie reached behind Douxie’s head with his mouth. He could hear the sounds of the woods stifle as fabric came over his ears, warding off the now-coolness of the woodsy air around his head as Archie pulled the hood of his vest over his head and gingerly laid it back down.

Ah, he got it now - it was a little comfort, a little shelter from the world.

And of course he took it, hoping his eyes conveyed his gratitude.

He kept up his brave front as Archie turned away from him, something Douxie could tell he’d done reluctantly, and flew off. It wasn’t until he couldn’t see his familiar anymore - until the sight of the cat-dragon vanished behind the treetops - that he let it fall and shatter.

He just had to keep waiting. That’s all he had to do - wait and trust Archie to come back with Merlin. He knew that.

But he could still feel new tears come down his face.

---

Douxie wished he could see the sunset from where he lay. It would have been beautiful, he knew.

The spasms subsided a little while after Archie flew back, leaving Douxie limp on the ground - still unable to move without hurting himself or try to use his magic without thrusting himself into agony - with a lingering pins-and-needles sensation in his hands and feet that felt like it was crawling up from his ankles and wrists.

(Honestly, Douxie still wasn’t sure if the spasms had truly subsided for good, or if this was just a rather long interval between them. He hoped it was the former. The spasms never hurt any less as they went on, and he was so, so tired of the pain.)

Archie still hadn’t come back with Merlin yet, obviously, and at this point, it seemed like Douxie was fighting off his doubt more than the poison. At least he knew what the poison was doing to him - he could feel it every waking moment. But Archie… Douxie didn’t know what had happened to him, and he wouldn’t unless he came back.

(No, until he came back. Douxie had to keep that certainty alive in his mind.)

But how was he supposed to know that his familiar hadn’t taken a tumble? That he hadn’t been brought down by some witch hunter’s net? What if Merlin was being stubborn about coming for him? What if he’d been busy in another row with King Arthur?

...Indeed, he would have loved to see the sunset - to at least try to let it distract him from the tornado of worst case scenarios in his mind.

But he couldn’t.

For a bit, he tried distracting himself by thinking about how Merlin might’ve reacted to him being in danger - to hearing that he’d been poisoned. He sort of liked imagining how scared he’d be, for he preferred fear to indifference. The mental image of his master dropping whatever book he’d been flipping through and rushing to follow Archie… it was a comforting one, as strange as it might sound. That fear meant he mattered.

But Douxie soon grew tired even of that. He hoped he might’ve ran into a patch frequented by fireflies. Those would at least come low enough to dip into his line of sight, and they were always so beautiful, like stars visiting earth for a night before going back to the sky…

Douxie grew cold again at some point. Not just cold, but damp. Since it hadn’t started raining, fortunately, he rightly assumed that it was sweat. Perhaps he was finally sweating this out, like a fever, but that was too good, too fortunate to figure. This was another progression of the poison, he was sure. Just like…

Douxie noticed something in his left hand that lay in front of his face, something wrong…

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

His veins were black.

Hoping, begging, praying to be wrong, he pushed through that dreadful ache in his arm so he could pull it closer, but it only confirmed his suspicions - his dread - his terrors.

The veins in his wrist, in the creases of his knuckles - they weren’t deep blue anymore, just barely visible underneath his skin, but as black as that powder that got blown in his face. Ink could be coursing through them right now, and he’d have been none the wiser.

In that moment, Douxie was proven wrong once again for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

He gasped as much as his throat and lungs let him, and he didn’t stop gasping. But then his chest -

No no NO!

-his chest started to seize up.

He fought the growing tightness in his chest with every breath, forcing each one in and out like a wheeze, but it wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t tell if it was from poison or panic, but it wouldn’t go away. He’d even started coughing, which was inevitable, but the black splotch that splattered into his hand terrified him all the more.

This was it. He was going to die here. He was going to succumb to this. He’d never come back to the castle - to Archie, to Morgana, to Merlin - from a trivial herb picking. Archie would come back here, but all he’d find was - was - was -

“HISIRDOUX!”

Douxie burst into tears.

He could recognize the voice of his master - his father - anywhere, but he was so, so scared that it was a hallucination. The fear in his voice already sounded so foreign, coming from the great and powerful Merlin Ambrosius, and if the sound of his voice and his footsteps coming near him came only from his desperate imagination, then he’d - he’d -

A hand gripped his shoulder and turned him onto his back. Finally, he could look up at the sky, aglow with sunset, but his glassy eyes only saw Merlin kneeling down at his side, and Archie flying above him.

The terror in Merlin’s eyes was the exact opposite of comforting, but Douxie didn’t get to see it for long before Merlin conjured a damp cloth and wiped off his face what had to have been the rest of that poisonous powder. He hadn’t realized how flushed he’d been until that moment, when that rag felt so cold against his cheeks.

Merlin finished wiping off Douxie’s face and made the cloth disappear. Douxie missed the coolness on his face. He wanted it back.

“Hisirdoux, say something!” he demanded. But Douxie couldn’t - didn’t Merlin think he would’ve already been screaming his lungs out if he could?

“D-” he choked, “Da-”

He hacked up another throatful of black phlegm, whimpering as the violence of his cough made his torso curl up. Merlin dodged the cough, but put an arm under Douxie’s back before he could fall back.

An apology lay at the back of his throat - one he didn’t know the reason for, even if he could’ve said it.

Merlin brought his other arm behind Douxie’s knees and lifted him like he weighed nothing (and he probably didn’t weigh much to Merlin, being the gangly moppet he was). The edges of the plating of the master wizard’s armor dug against him uncomfortably, but it was the least discomforting thing about this, overshadowed near-completely by the comfort that came just by being held. But he was still scared - if more of that powder was on him, and Merlin touched it by holding him, then -

He stifled a cough, and his leg kicked out unconsciously like a thumping rabbit’s foot. He didn’t realize how badly he’d been tremoring until it was contrasted with the steadiness of Merlin holding him.

Yes… steadiness, safety - two things he’d wanted to cling to more than anything since all this had started. And now, he had them. He had his familiar, and he had his father.

His head, still covered with the hood of his vest, lolled back uncomfortably without any support, but he felt something soft push against the back of it- it was actually Archie, though Douxie couldn’t see it - until the side of his head lay against one of the shoulderpieces of Merlin’s armor, cushioned by the cloth of his hood.

He sighed as much as his tightened chest would allow.

He was so scared.

Douxie was still so, so terrified that Merlin couldn’t save him after all; that he’d die tonight; that he’d never use his magic again; that he’d never get to become a master wizard or get his own staff to wield; that he’d never again get to go back down to the marketplace and talk to that pretty girl who frequented the shops.

(What was her name? Zelda? Zona? Zola? Zo-)

He felt something warm settle on his abdomen - Archie had turned back into a cat and curled up on his tummy, purring as he nestled where Douxie’s legs curled.

At least, despite everything else he feared, he didn’t have to be terrified of being alone anymore.

---

Douxie wasn’t sure if Merlin used a portal, or the relief of being found by his master had finally let him lull out of consciousness for the length of the time it took to be carried back, but the next thing he knew, he was in Merlin’s study. Despite the fluttering of his eyelids, he could recognize the shelves, the desk, and the stained glass window letting in the last light of day.

Home.

He was home.

No matter what happened next, he was home.

“Douxie!” He could hear Morgana’s voice shouting his name in worry, followed immediately by her fast-approaching footsteps.

“Mmh…” Douxie whimpered. It wasn’t clear whether or not the noise was just a pained whine or an attempt to try saying her name - not even to Douxie himself. He couldn’t see her very well, but he could tell when she’d come to them, stepping to the side as Merlin walked forward to his desk.

“Is he alive?” she asked.

“Somehow, yes.” Merlin answered. Douxie hated that “somehow” and the fear it brought, but it was just a little more to add to the onslaught of the past hours. He could just add it to the pile, he supposed.

In the middle of the room, Merlin’s big desk was empty, so the wizard laid him down on the surface, having him lay flat on his back with his hands at his sides, his legs straightened out, and his head facing up. Now, he could fully see Morgana, the sorceress he’d come to see as something of a big sister just as he came to see Merlin as a father, looking down at him. Her face was upside-down from where she stood over him, but he could still see her upturned brows and glistening eyes, and the way she clasped her hands close to her chest so they didn’t even touch him. He hated that look of worry on her face. Seeing Morgana - always fearless, always grasping for more from the world than what others had permitted, always steadfast in her ruthless ambition - look so scared for him…

...It was worse, if such a thing was possible, than when he saw how scared Merlin was for him, and there was so much he wanted to say, but he was still just focused on trying to breathe as deeply as he could.

Archie got off his abdomen and sat next to his head, gently headbutting his temple before putting a paw on his forehead. It was a little comforting, almost enough to distract Douxie from realizing that Merlin wasn’t at his side anymore.

Almost, though. Not enough.

Douxie tried turning his head to the side, but Archie gently kept it still with his paw.

“He’s just finding a spellbook, Douxie.” he assured, immediately knowing what the apprentice was trying to turn his head for, “He’ll be right back.”

Morgana looked down on the little scene and closed her eyes for a moment, as if to quell her tears, before opening them again.

“You shouldn’t have held him.” she warned, turning her head to wherever Merlin stood now, “You know what that can-”

“I’m well aware.” Merlin interrupted from wherever he still was, “And you know I’ve little concern for that.”

Douxie didn’t understand. There was still so little he understood about whatever was doing this to him, and he didn’t know how to ask about it - he couldn’t.

But apparently, his upturned brows and whimpers of confusion were enough to indicate - at least to Archie - how lost he was.

“Douxie, that powder - it’s called Draining Dust.” Archie explained, “It’s a magic suppressant, and… a poison, as you know by now.”

“Witch hunters would put this in shackles.” Morgana said, finally speaking to him, “To nullify wizards’ and witches’ magic on their way to the gallows. Or the stakes.”

“Trace amounts, yes.” Merlin came back into his view, an open spellbook floating near him with a signature green aura around it, “Pinches of it, cast in the metal. It would suppress the wearer’s magic as long as it was on their body, with a few side effects. Fatigue, headaches, nausea…” he started listing as he flipped through the pages.

Douxie remembered the handful of the stuff that had been thrown in his face. That was far from a few pinches. And those side effects he’d started listing - they sounded tame, menial compared to what was happening to him now.

“But direct contact with raw powder…” Archie started. Douxie knew he was hesitant to finish that sentence, and it wasn’t hard to assume why (but it was terrifying).

“It’s deadly.” Morgana said, “Few wizards have ever survived inhaling or digesting it. More sadistic witchfinders have used that to-”

“Morgana!” Merlin snapped, urging her to leave off. But she didn’t.

“He should know!” she snapped back, “It’s already in his bloodstream, old man. It’s killing him, and he deserves to-”

Douxie started crying again at Morgana’s brutal honesty, as if this all weren’t brutal enough. His eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down his temples, but when he opened them again, it was darker, like he was looking through a veil. The sight made him want to cry even harder.

It was in his tears.

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, the poison was in his tears.

It made sense now, why Morgana was so scared to touch him. His own body fluids - his blood, his tears, probably his sweat soon enough - were turning poisonous from this. The only reason Archie was still touching him was probably because he wasn’t a wizard, but a familiar, and this wouldn’t affect him so badly.

(It actually very well could have affected Archie for the worse, but watching Douxie endure this without any comfort would have been worse than any poison.)

“It’s not killing him.” Merlin denied as if he was trying to convince both Morgana and himself, “His death is not certain. If it were, I would have already placed a sleeping spell on him by now.”

Douxie clung to that little hope and tried to watch Merlin scan for the spell he’d been looking for. Merlin had a way to fix this, of course he did; it’s as he said - he would have already put Douxie to sleep to grant him some peace if he didn’t.

Douxie watched his master’s page flipping stall as his eyes scanned over one particular page. His face fell - a minute, near-unnoticeable change in expression, but one that made Douxie’s pounding heart sink.

“Merlin?” Archie asked, “Have you found something?”

Merlin said nothing at first, only taking his place by stepping right to the table’s edge, coming right to Douxie’s side.

“I’ve found a spell to expel the poison and it’s remnants,” he explained, still only scanning the book, “But purging it from his body when it’s progressed this far will be…”

His eyes fell on Douxie’s.

“...quite excruciating.”

But Douxie was already so, so tired.

Not physically - the combined force of the poison and his own adrenaline warded off any chance of fatigue - but in his heart. He was so tired of being scared. Of being in so much pain. He didn’t want to do it - he didn’t think he could…

...But he remembered something Merlin said to him before.

“If there is a universal truth in this world, it is that struggle is the flame which forges one’s soul into steel.”

Well, if there was something tougher than steel, that’s what his soul would become.

Because wizards were strong. Brave. Unrelenting to pain or fear. That’s how Merlin was, that’s how Morgana was, and that’s how he would be.

He put on a brave face - as brave as he could possibly muster in the face of what he’d endure - and nodded. He could do this. He had to do this.

And he would.

The green aura around the spellbook faded as Merlin set it down. Archie lifted his paw from Douxie’s head and stepped back a few paces.

“Morgana, keep him still.” Merlin said, “His thrashing may cause him to injure himself.”

Morgana nodded and brought her hands up, an unsaid apology in her eyes. Seconds later, Douxie felt warm, gentle heat around his wrists and ankles. It didn’t hurt, but it was unrelenting. He didn’t test the bonds, lacking the strength or any actual will to do so. Still under a sort of paralysis, he wasn’t scared of being pinned down, for he knew it was just a precaution; he was just scared of how bad the pain would be in order for restraining him like this to be necessary.

The precaution was far from unwarranted, he came to realize in the coming moments.

Merlin hovered one hand over Douxie’s chest and the other over his abdomen. Douxie watched him say some incantation, but he didn’t catch the words. He was too busy bracing himself for the pain as he saw the green aura of his master’s magic out of the corner of his eye, glowing above his torso.

Before Merlin even got to take a breath after the incantation, the pain started.

And no amount of bracing could have prepared Douxie enough.

The sudden agony in his torso ripped the breath from his lungs. He thought - hoped it would start small and get worse and worse, like a simmer that got hotter and hotter, but instead it was like a pot of scalding water got poured over his chest. No, even that would have hurt less. This… it started at the surface, but it bled deeper and deeper under his skin, and then -

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

-then it started to spread.

In moments, as if searing agony itself coursed through his veins, there was nowhere on his body that didn’t burn, not even his fingertips or the tip of his pinky toes. If he could feel it, it hurt, and it hurt unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

As the agony overrode his paralysis, he thrashed against Morgana’s magic that kept his wrists and ankles in place, arching his back one moment and curling forward the next.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to try to open his eyes. It hurt to keep them squeezed shut. It hurt to try to hear the voices of those around him - Morgana trying to tell him to be strong, Archie trying to soothe him, Merlin repeating the incantation. It hurt even to think - the pain, blinding and deafening, flooded out all other thoughts.

For a moment, like a fire burning so hot it feels cold for a fleeting beat, he stopped feeling the searing, searing agony.

But the moment was too, too fleeting before it wracked him again.

Finally, finally, he screamed.

It was a raw, shrill, agonized thing. He felt it come up from the base of his throat, and when Douxie realized, through his hysteria, that he was actually screaming, not wheezing or whimpering or anything he’d had to settle for tonight, he couldn’t stop. He screamed for all the torture of the day, all the fear of being alone, all the panic and terror and despair that he couldn’t let out in the woods, tense and spasming and paralyzed.

All the screams that couldn’t come out before, when his throat was so tight that it barely let him breathe, came out right now, bursting at the seams of his pain-delirious mind.

He didn’t stop screaming until he finally felt Merlin’s magic let off.

Even then, his screams settled only into groans and wails until the burning across his body finally cooled; until the pain weakened from a searing sensation all over him, like the most brazen of fires, to a low ache, like the embers of a dying camp flame.

Once he fully stilled, which took a few more moments, Morgana’s magic came off his wrists and ankles.

Finally, he came back to his senses and see Merlin, Morgana, and Archie still around him. Archie looked relieved and nuzzled the side of Douxie’s head. Morgana smiled a shaky, hesitant smile - still so foreign to see from her.

And Merlin…

Well, he seemed as difficult to read as usual, but at least he no longer had the expression on his face of a man watching his apprentice die. Traces of relief lay there, and Douxie gladly took them.

So… was it over?

Douxie groaned and lifted his arm. It didn’t hurt to do anymore - well, it did, but more like a soreness left in the wake of heavy lifting, a residue of what happened than a symptom of it. He brought it up to his face so he could see his wrist.

His veins were blue again.

Sighing, he let his hand fall on his face and wiped away some tears - lifting it to see they were purely clear, like before - before letting it slide off his cheek and fall limp next to his head.

“Master…” his voice was so little, so hoarse, “‘s it gone?”

“Every bit, Hisirdoux.” Merlin said, putting his hand on Douxie’s shoulder, “It's over.”

He sounded weary. Douxie hoped that spell didn't take too much from him.

“Mm… my magic… 's it gone too?”

Merlin’s eyes said he wasn’t sure himself.

Douxie sought to answer the question on his own and willed forth his magic. He felt his fingertips thrum with the life of his sorcery. Lifting his hand again, he saw little specks of light, blue and true. It didn’t burn anymore, but it felt warm and gentle, like a heartbeat. His heartbeat. Exactly as it always felt.

He sighed. Not shaky, not fighting to keep his breathing level - a tired, relieved sigh. Despite how sore even the muscles in his face felt, he smiled a little smile.

“Thank you…” he said, “If you all hadn’t… I’d be-”

Merlin moved his hand from Douxie’s shoulder to his forehead.

“Don’t pay that scenario any mind, Hisirdoux.” Merlin urged, “You’ve survived, and although you and your magic have been weakened, both will fully recover.”

Douxie’s little smile fell.

“Wha… what about the poison? It couldn’t just be gone.”

“That it can.” Merlin assured, taking his hand off Douxie’s head, “As brutal as it is to the wizard affected, an unaffected wizard with strong magic can eradicate it from their body and return it to it’s untarnished condition.”

...Well, that was that, and Douxie wouldn’t question it. Besides, he remembered something.

“Mmmy bracelet… I lost it. That - they took it off. It’s in a bush out there.”

“I can see that. That’s alright.” Merlin said, “It can be retrieved.”

“And… and I'm sorry.” He said to Merlin’s subtle but obvious surprise, indicated by a little raise in his eyebrows.

“What for?”

“I… the herbs.” he answered, “I couldn’t bring them back. They got stolen.”

“It’s alright,” Merlin said, “They aren’t a rarity, you know.”

...Douxie sniffled.

“That… they only snatched those plants so I’d follow them deeper into the woods. So I’d get lost. So they could throw that dust in my face and - and leave me there, knowing I’d gone further into the forest than… than anyone would’ve looked, and I wouldn’t be found.”

“But you were found, Douxie.” Archie said, “They weren’t counting on you having a dragon that could track scents for a familiar.”

Douxie’s voice started to break.

“I should have left it alone - I knew I should have left it alone. There was more right there, I should’ve-”

“Hisirdoux, cease this.” Merlin said in a tone that left no room for insistence, “You must grant yourself some relief in you and your magic’s survival. I won’t have you fret over something as menial as a handful of herbs, so-”

“But Master-”

“-Don’t “But Master” me.”

Douxie sighed. That statement didn’t leave any room for argument. It never did.

Finally, a little normalcy tonight.

Morgana put her hands to the sides of Douxie’s head. After she’d been so scared to touch him this whole time, the feeling of her fingers against his temples, brushing his hair away from his face, was a final, true assurance that the poison had been well and truly purged.

“Sleep, Little Douxie.” she soothed, “I promise you’ll wake.”

He couldn’t tell if she cast a sleep spell in that moment, or if this was from his own fatigue, but he obeyed without hesitance as he was finally lulled away from the realm of the conscious and fell into slumber.

---

Merlin looked down at the boy lying asleep on his desk, the color slowly trickling back into his face as his chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths.

“He’s a brave little moppet.” Morgana said as she kept her fingers against the sides of his head, her voice hushed despite the fact that the boy’s exhaustion had lulled him into a deep slumber, and he’d sleep like a stone until morning no matter what.

“...No, he’s not.” Merlin denied, “Not for this.”

Morgana snapped her head up.

“He’s just gone through more torment from that powder in one day than either of us have in all our lives!” Morgana she contested, “Not even you have endured effects that brutal from Draining Dust.”

“To be brave requires a choice - being faced with the ultimatum to either run and give up, or face your fight.” Merlin said, too proverbial and righteous-sounding as he stood over Douxie, “A choice was the exact thing he didn’t have in this. Perhaps if he’d been withholding something from that assailant, even with the threat of this, then it might be different. But as it is, even if he’d wanted to succumb to this before Archie had found him, his adrenaline hadn’t let him.”

“Maybe so,” Archie started, “but when I found him there in the forest, and I told him I’d have to come back with help, he was terrified of being left alone again. I could tell. But he put on as brave a face he could have. He chose that for himself, at least.”

“He did the same thing moments ago, when you told him how much that spell would hurt.” Morgana added, “He may not have had a choice in enduring this, but he did choose to steel his nerves when faced with every reason not to, and there’s bravery in that, old man.” She crossed her arms. “Even you have to admit that.”

Merlin almost found it endearing, seeing them both try to defend his apprentice’s honor when they felt it threatened, and maybe he could’ve seen the bravery they saw, if he’d been looking at anyone else.

But as he looked down at Hisirdoux… that’s all he saw. Hisirdoux. His apprentice. His son. His gangly little moppet who tended to cause more messes than he cleaned up, but smiled like the embodiment of joy itself.

If daylight decided to make itself corporeal and walk among humans for a while, Merlin wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if it took the form of Hisirdoux Casperan.

So, the sorcerer didn’t see bravery when he found Hisirdoux writhing and gasping on the ground in those woods, he didn’t feel bravery when the boy trembled in his arms, and he most certainly didn’t hear bravery when the boy wailed and screamed his lungs out as that poison was taken out of him, black tears streaming down his face until they became clear again.

No, if Douxie had been brave, pride in that laid nowhere in Merlin’s mind.

After all, when fear for his son’s life flooded his mind, and hatred for whoever did this to him flooded out that fear, where, pray tell, could pride reside?

Morgana kept looking down at Douxie as he slept.

“How could you risk that?” she asked Merlin.

“Risk what, Morgana?” he asked, “Be specific.”

She snapped her head back up.

“You know what I’m talking about!” Morgana almost shouted, stifling her volume so the sleeping moppet wouldn’t hear, ““Eradicate” my foot, old man. I know the spell you used. You didn’t use a spell of eradication, you used a spell of transference!”

Arhcie had been staring down at his own sleeping familiar, but he snapped up when he heard that word, “transference”. First he looked to Morgana, then to Merlin.

“You told him it got destroyed, but you just - all you did was soak it up like a sponge!”

“Merlin… is that true?” Archie asked, obviously afraid that after all of this, Douxie would wake up without his mentor - his father - because he’d taken the poison for him. The little apprentice left without a master would never stop blaming himself, no matter how hard Morgana and Archie tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Merlin sighed, an affirmation without words or nods.

“I spent the years since it’s conception,” he started, “building an immunity to the dust and its properties. It was too big a risk, potentially having a weakness to something so daunting - something I’d seen subdue and poison countless wizards. Too high a risk - a threat to the greater good.”

“So… the poison’s not having any affect on you?” Archie asked, stepping around Douxie to approach Merlin, “It’s not… he couldn’t have gone through all of this just to lose you.”

“And he won’t.” Merlin assured in confidence, “Much more than a handful of that powder would have had to be thrown at him to have any severe affect on me. No, this won’t need more than a night of rest to fix. Besides, what’s the good in spending all that time building up an immunity to Draining Dust if not to make use of it? A waste of time and tolerance built.”

“You couldn’t have known it wouldn’t...” Morgana said, “You couldn’t have possibly known you’d survive taking all of it like that!”

“I didn’t.” Merlin snapped.

Morgana’s eyes widened, as if everything about what the boy meant to him fell into place.

Because he hadn’t worried about his survival - the matter didn’t even cross his mind, not when he could still hear Douxie whimpering in pain with each page of that spellbook he skimmed. No, he only concerned himself with the likelihood that it would save the boy, his only worry being about how badly it would hurt Douxie when he’d already had to go through so much senseless, ludicrous torture.

Merlin always prioritized the “greater good”, some vast, staggering, intangible concept that encapsulated so much - the lives of thousands, the wellbeing of millions, the good of humanity.

But when he found his son writhing, hurting, suffocating, dying, he found he couldn’t spare any more regard to the “greater good” in that moment than he would a layer of dust on one of his books. If saving Hisirdoux’s life meant casting aside the greater good, then there was no question about it - he’d let the greater good rot.

It didn’t matter to him if his magic would’ve been permanently diminished by extracting the poison, or even if it killed him. Cast the greater good aside - the greatest good was the life in Hisirdoux’s eyes, and by all the heavens, he’d protect it.

And thankfully, he did just that tonight, at the cost of neither his life, his health, or his own magic. And that was the greatest good he could have asked for.

With another sigh, relieved that Morgana chose not to pry, Merlin looked down at the boy, still sound asleep, laid out on his desk. He put one arm under Douxie’s back and the other behind his knees, picking him up just like he did when he found him in those woods.

But this time, instead of trembling in his hold, Douxie made a little noise and unconsciously put his arm over Merlin’s shoulder, snuggling closer, if it were possible, to the master wizard.

Yes. he thought. There’s no greater good than this.

Morgana put her hands over her mouth and looked at the two of them as if the sight was something adorable, and Merlin huffed. Archie took his same spot curled up on Douxie’s abdomen.

“I’m taking him to his room.” he said, hushing his voice even though he knew the moppet wouldn’t wake, “And I’ll let him sleep in tomorrow morning. He needs to rest.”

The sun had set sometime during the painstaking ordeal, but torchlight along the walls of the castle made it easy to take his sleeping apprentice back to his room even once night has fallen. After using a simple spell to swing the door open while his arms were in use carrying the boy, Merlin walked in and used another little spell. The green aura of his magic glowed around the blanket on Douxie’s bed as he folded part of it over using his magic, providing room to lay Douxie down on his bed with head nestled right in his pillow’s usual dent. Once Archie stepped out of the way, Merlin reached over and laid the blanket back over him.

Douxie stirred a little, but only to turn from his back onto his side, his back to the wall and his front facing Merlin. Once the boy settled again, Merlin tentatively reached behind his head and let his bun loose so it wouldn’t get tangled if he moved around too much in his sleep. He doubted it would, considering the exhaustion and soreness in his muscles would probably enticement enough to stay still, even unconscious, but the gesture couldn’t hurt.

Archie crawled right underneath one of Douxie’s arms and nestled against his chest, and the moppet unconsciously held the bespectacled cat a little tighter.

And that was Merlin’s unspoken cue to leave Hisirdoux to rest for the night, so that’s what he did. He needed rest too, after all - his built-up immunity may have saved his life, but the poison, like everything else in the onslaught of the evening, left him weary.

Tomorrow, a search would begin.

Tomorrow, Merlin would find out who was behind this.

Tomorrow, the greatest and most powerful wizard in Camelot would not relent until he found the monster, human or trollish, who almost killed his son.

But tonight, Hisirdoux lay curled up in his bed, sound asleep as he kept his familiar close. Tonight, his life was saved.

And tonight, that was enough.

#tales of arcadia #toa #mine #toa fanfic #whump #hurt/comfort #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #moppet!douxie #archie toa #toa merlin #toa morgana #toa wizards #fic: of poison forest floors and terrified wizards #draining dust

176 notes · View notes

lilith-of-rivia · 3 years

Text

The Bard’s Sister

Geralt X Reader

Part 2

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Masterlist

Summary: Geralt of Rivia and his long time travel companion Jaskier find themselves in Jaskiers home land. A place Geralt had not only never seen nor heard of. Jaskier is ready to reunite its his family after traveling and exploring the world for 20 years. The one person he missed the most was his baby sister (Y/N). Who he hadn't seen since she was 5. The journey is long, but the pay off is grander then they would ever be able to predict. This is still part of our introduction to the main characters and their personalities in this story. Next chapter will be more about (Y/N) and Geralt. I know I am trash at summaries.

I would like to state that I do plan on adding a pregnancy in the future to this story. (I know Geralt is steril. Just bare with me and the story line I’ve created) I just wanted to let eveyone know because I would hate for someone to get attached to the character and story only to have a plot line they do not like for themselves. I know not everyone like pregnancy plot lines but I’m such a sucker for dad!Geralt.

Trigger warnings: Cursing

Pairings: GeraltxReader JaskierxSister!reader

Word count: 6,369

(Changed from 3rd to 1st person)

The sun was high in the sky, it was nearly two in the afternoon. The garden below the large windows of the castle was shining brightly. The birds chirping, children playing in the river that ran through the center of the city. Life was good. The sun was shining a little brighter today. It was because Jaskier was finally home.

I hadn’t realized how much I missed him till he was back. After breakfast, we walked around the castle’s courtyard. He and Geralt introduced me to their horses. To my pleasant surprise, Roach took a particular liking to me, as did her owner. He was nothing like the rumors. There were many times that I traveled out of our borders into the western part of the continent, and every time people had nothing but cruel fowl things to say about the poor witcher. Sure he wasn't perfect, but no one was.

“Would you like to see my studies?” I asked as we walked down the long corridors that lead to three separate staircases. I glanced between the two men that were on either side of me.

“Your studies?” Jaskier asked looking down at me. I couldn’t help but smile.

“I told you in my letter that I’ve been working with a man over the last couple of years. He has trained me well. But I have many books, drawings notes all sorts of stuff that I’ve written about the world outside of our home.” We approached the base of the three staircases.

“I’ve never seen a castle so big in my life.” Geralt’s sultry voice flooded my ears once again. I couldn’t help but smile up at him. He was so polite. He never turned his nose at us. I knew he didn’t have a very positive history with others like us. Yet he sent no judgment towards myself or my parents. He just listened, followed, and learned. I had never met someone so open to the world yet so closed off that the same time, and we’ve barely even begun to get o know each other.

“Our mines are some of the richest you’d ever see in your life. From coal to diamonds. Nearly 85% of all ores get mined and sent out to the rest of the continent.” I started walking up the staircase on the far left, the stairs led up a long corridor that was open and bright, the mountains that shielded us from the rest of the world in perfect view. Both were still by my side. I stopped at the first picture that hung on the wall.

“That’s my great-great-grandfather, he only recently passed but he started all of this.” I looked towards Geralt. He was listing intently, his eyes on me as soon as I looked in his direction. I knew Jaskier knew our history so I wasn't too worried if he was paying attention or not.

“He came here from Termieria with his 6 younger brothers. The mines here had been closed for many many years. The town was completely deserted. There was a serious necrophage problem that no one wanted to deal with, so they just up and left. Leaving the plentiful mines full for someone else.”

“Necrophages?” Geralt questioned his eyebrow tiling in curiosity.

“The people who inhabited the lands before we did, had not known of the creatures. Didn’t properly bury the dead. My grandfather wrote in his journal that when they got here the streets were lined with bodies that had been drug out of their shallow graves, crypts had been broken into. His best guess is that a flue came before the people fled, killing many in a short period.” I started walking ahead of the two men, down the hall towards my room. I pushed the door open walking in placing my books on the night table as they followed in slowly behind me. Their eyes wandered over every inch. Jaskier started wandering through the room looking at every picture on the wall. Most of them were sketches, mostly of him. Or the people he sang about in his ballads. He grabbed one off the wall and laughed softly.

“Who is this supposed to be?” I walked over to him and laughed softly, my cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.

“That, that uh was my first sketch of Geralt.” The sound of his name got his attention, he was trying to be polite and not snoop. Although I didn't care if he wanted to look around. He walked away from the door over to Jaskier and me. He lingered behind me, very close behind me. I could feel his body heat on my back and his warm breath on my face as he peered over my shoulder at the parchment Jaskier was holding.

“How old were you when you did this?” Jaskier asked.

“Eighteen, maybe nineteen. It was after your first balled about your adventures with Geralt that started to spread like wildfire. I went to a tavern one night with a friend and someone was singing it. I was intrigued by the song and asked them who they sang about. I was told they didn't write the song, our very own Prince had. So I listened to them play it over and over. I asked around the and so see if people knew what the famed witcher looked like. I got conflicting answers from nearly everyone I asked.” Geralt reached his arm over me, his hand gently brushing my arm, sending chills down my spine. His hand grasped the paper as he looked at it closely.

“They got the hair color right. That was about all. Some people have some very wild depictions that I drew, but none in any seriousness.” The particular one they were examining was nothing like Geralt. They got everything wrong but his hair color. Many people said he was a scrawny young lad with the strength of thousands of men, making him easier to blend in with the crowds. Granted this was very early on in my brother and the Witcher’s adventures together so not many people had paid close attention to the witcher.

“You drew what people described?” Geralt asked.

“Yes, some people tried to pay me but I told them to give it to the needy. I traveled with Serena for a couple of weeks right after I turned nineteen, we didn't venture far past the mountains but it was enough.” I couldn't help but frown at the memories of the people in the towns scowling and sticking their noses in the air when I asked about the Witcher and my brother.

“Can I see the other ones?” Geralt’s question took me by surprise.

“I don’t know…”

“Oh come on, you're very talented (Y/N), let him see them,” Jaskier said and shoved my shoulder playfully. I smiled softly at him but shook my head.

“It is not that I’m self-conscious of my work, it’s the depictions of Geralt outside of our Kingdom, for the most part, were cruel and inaccurate beyond belief. I only drew them because I was wasting their time asking questions. I honestly don't know why I kept them.” I nervously rubbed the back of my neck, the idea of Geralt seeing those ugly, horrendous, depictions of himself made my stomach turn. He didn’t deserve the hate he received. I never understood why people despised Witchers the way they did. I only experienced it outside of our kingdom. For some reason, whether it be our pure lack of monsters or the abundance of sunshine, my people seemed happier. Less judgmental than the outside world. I was grateful to live in such a kind and caring place, but it does get rather dull after a while.

“I’d still like to see them.” Geralt said softly as he handed the parchment back to me. I sighed slightly uncomfortable with the idea, I took the parchment and hung it back up on the wall.

“Let’s make a deal,” I said turning to them both.

“Oh boy.” Jaskier teased.

“I’ll show you the drawings if you let me paint you now, so I have an accurate model. Not just words.” Geralt’s eyes looked over me, his arms crossing over his chest. A small smirk formed over his lips as he watched me intently.

“If you want to draw me so bad, just ask dove.” The nickname nearly threw me off my feet. My heartbeat quickened at a rapid pace and I couldn't even look him in the eye. Jaskier snickered and pulled out a chair by my desk. He was enjoying this way too much. I cleared my throat swelling thickly.

“T-that I uh..” I had never been one to not have words. According to my parents, I talked too much. Just like my brother. Yet here I was gobsmacked and wordless. I grumbled under my breath moving to the desk Jaskier was sat at and made him move. He got up and I sat down. I opened the top hatch of the desk, lifting out folders and files of archives. Some containing spells, some more drawing, history of the continent, and even monster facts that I knew I wouldn’t ever need. I placed the folders on the floor. Jaskier grabbed a few and moved to my bed plopping himself down kicking his feet up. My head snapped over to him as he put his dirty boots all over my fresh linens.

“Jaskier. If you don't get your boots off my bed, I will castrate you.” I warned turning back around rummaging some more. I heard him kick off his shoes. Geralt chuckled behind me.

“Fiery are we.” He teased but I ignored him. Finally, at the bottom of all my work, I found the folder. I held it up to him, not wanting to watch his face as he looked at the disgusting depictions of himself.

“Thank you, dove.” His lip was right next to my ear. I felt frozen.

I couldn't tell if it was genuinely just a flirt or if this was directed to me. Sure I had heard the rumors of the witcher and his many women of the night, including the sorceress Yennefer. But this seemed different. I snapped back to reality when he let out a low chuckle. I turned around and stood up, peering over his arm to see what one he was looking at. This one was particularly nasty. His eyes were slanted like snake eyes, large fangs protruded out of his mouth, and his hair was a crazy mess. His eyes were blood red, his nose crooked from supposedly being punched so many times. His face was littered with so many scars he had scale-like skin. I remembered the man who gave me that description.

“I met this man in a tavern in Solveiga, it’s the furthest I've ever been from home.” Jaskier stood up walking over and looking at the drawing Geralt was studying carefully. I didn't know why he was spending so much time on such a cruel piece.

“He said you came through a few winters prior, he and a bunch of the townsmen had gathered some coins so you'd get rid of a Striga. I knew was lying the moment he opened his mouth.” Geralt looked up from the payment, his eyes meeting mine.

“Why do you think he's lying?” I took the folder from him, and just as I expected the parchment below the picture he was looking at was full of my notes. Every time I traveled and spoke to people about it. My brother or his companions took incredibly detailed notes, I never wanted to forget anything. I took the parchment out before handing him the folder back. I began to read the notes:

“This man takes me for a fool. No more than some silly girl. While he sits here and tells the tale of the Wolf he seems to be forgetting the incredibly important fact about Strigas, they only hunt during a full moon. He keeps saying that the beast was hunting their people every single night, slashing children, men, women, animals, every night for months. He’s using it to fuel the people's hatred of the witcher. He’s attempting to claim that they sent for him as soon as they knew of her presence. Claiming the witcher waited nearly three months before coming to discard the beast.” I flipped the page over scanning the meticulous notes.

“He said the beast was killed on a new moon, he said he remembers it so vividly because of the lack of moonlight while he escorted the witcher to her crypt. I may not be a witcher, but I am not stupid. The man is trying to make matters worse by lying through his crooked yellow teeth. How dare he tarnish a name for the sake of his prosperity.” Geralt chuckled at the last part making me look up at him, he had an amused smile on his face, his eyes twinkled as he looked at me.

“Why are you laughing?” I tilted my head to the side slightly and he just shook his head, putting the folder of parchment into the desk. He knelt and began picking up the rest of the folders neatly placing them inside the desk where they came from.

“Because you got so mad that someone lied about me, yet you at the time were not even sure I was a real thing-“

“Person.” I quickly corrected him. His eyes glanced at me, he didn't move his head as he continued placing my papers where they belonged.

“What?” He asked.

“You called yourself a thing, you're not a thing Geralt. You're a real living breathing person.” His eyes found my own again. My heart raced as he studied my eyes. I had never seen anything so beautiful. His eyes were like hot pools of gold and honey. The complexity of the colors was mesmerizing.

“And I wasn't only mad that he was lying about you, I was mad that he was lying in general. About something anyone could disprove if they just picked up a book on monsters.” I noticed the parchment with the drawing he was just looking at was on my bed. I grabbed it to put it back on the desk. Geralt's strong hand gently grasped my wrist stopping me. His other hand gently grabbed the parchment from my hand.

“I’d like to keep this one if you don't mind.” I looked at him shocked.

“Why that one?? Of all the ones I've done you choose one of the most inaccurate and the crudest?” It made no sense to me. Why did he want that? Was it some fun game of his to think he was just some stupid monster?

“Because it shows your talent in a way the others don't. And besides, you got my nose perfectly. No one can do that.” I sighed heavily not liking the idea of him possessing such a cured drawing that was drawn purely on lies.

“Fine. Keep it.” He smiled vicariously. I’d let him keep every single one if he smiled like that all the time. The smile quickly vanished when Jaskier came back over with the first file he took. The one he had been studying was full of my notes on herbology and alchemy.

“You are incredibly smart (Y/N), I felt as though I was reading Yennefer’s notes.” A huge smile spread across my face at his compliment.

“Thank you, Jax.” Geralt was now walking around my room, hands tucked under his arms as he studied the drawing and notes hanging on the walls. Some drawings were of monsters, some of the random people I’d met on my short travels, some maps I’d drawn up so I’d remember where I wanted to go when I had the chance.

“Your talent is very wide-ranging, little dove. I have to say I’m very impressed with your knowledge.” That blasted nickname nearly kicked me off my feet again.

I looked out my window noticing the sun was getting lower in the sky.

“If you'd like to get new clothes I’d suggest we do it now, it’ll be dark soon and the shops close earlier in the week.” Gertrude turned to me, nodding his head.

“Please. These pants are so tight I’m afraid I may lose my legs.”

We walked down the street. The sun was close to setting in the sky. The cool air kissed my bare chest as we walked. It was a comfortable silence between the three of us. For the first time in my life, I felt comfortable in silence. I hated the quiet with most people, it left room for negative thoughts, negative energies. Most times when it was unbearably quiet when I was present was because I was shut down from talking by the people around me. I know they meant no harm, I knew I had a lot to handle at times. I was just lonely. Board. I only had a few true friends. Most of the people I grew up with were married and with children now. I spent a lot of time alone, I liked being alone. It gave me space to think about the world. The world outside my small one.

We approached the seamstress, walking through the wood door. A small bell rang in as we entered. Hildi walked out from the back, a bright smile on her face. She was a sweet older woman, not much older than my mum. She had been running this shop for as long as I could remember. She was the best seamstress in the country in my opinion.

“Princess (Y/N)!! What a lovely surprise!” She walked around the counter and hugged me softly. Her hands-on the sweater I was in. She made it for me many years back for a birthday gift. She always had the best gifts. Full of love. I did adore the woman. Her attention turned to the men next to me. Her eyes grew bigger, her hand gently coming up to her chest.

“My gods. The rumors were true. Jaskier!! How wonderful it is to see you again!!” Her hands wrapped around my brother who hugged her back. I couldn't tell if he remembered her or if he was just being nice. As she released him she looked at Geralt who was visibly tense, scared that she may try and hug him.

“You must be Geralt of Rivia!” He nodded.

“Rain!! Get out here!! And bring me my Witcher’s guide!!” Geralt's eyebrows furrowed at the mention of the book. He shot me a glance and I just smiled. A few moments later Hildi’s daughter Rain appeared. She was my age. We knew each other in school. She was never nice to me. Picked on me. Would make jokes about Jaskier not being around. I never told anyone, in fear people would think I was nothing but a stuck up princess. Her presence made me uneasy. I slowly took a small step back, inching closer to my brother. Rain’s eyes landed on Geralt. I could practically see the drool pooling in her mouth.

“Gods save me.” She moaned out. I had to fight off the urge to cringe at her outward burst.

“The tales are true then?” She looked directly at me.

“So maybe you weren’t lying all these years.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

Hildi was very blind to her daughter's cruelness. After her husband passed away it was just her and Rain. She’d do anything for her. I understood that. She was a devoted mother and wife. I knew how heartbroken she was. She walked to Rain and took the book from her hand and grabbed a quill that had been dipped in ink. She turned to Geralt, a very soft smile on her face.

“Would you sign this for me?” His eyes bulged out of his head.

“Y-you want me to sight your book?” I held back a giggle at his shock. He truly wasn't used to being appreciated.

“Yes, please. If it is not too much to ask. Your stories were what got me through my husband’s death. Had it not been for the ballads and tales of your great bravery I may have not made it through.” Geralt’s shoulders softened at her words. He nodded his head and walked over to the counter. She opened the book to the first page and he scribbled down his name before giving her a soft smile. She gently placed her hand on his arm and squeezed.

“You are truly a great hero here Geralt. If our country had a mascot, you'd be it.” Jaskier chucked lowly at her comment making me swat the back of his he’d. He hissed in pain and looked at me. I glared at him.

“Do not ruin this for him,” I whispered.

Hildi turned her attention back to me and smiled.

“What can I do for you today my dear?”

“Well as you can see, Jaskier has a sore taste in fashion and also doesn’t understand sizing. I was hoping you could fit them in some better, more comfortable garments. Maybe a set of nice clothes for my party as well?” She gleamed. She hurried around her counter, grabbing a piece of parchment and measuring tape. She came back around and wasted no time in messing the two men. I sat down at a table by the window and watched as she rummaged through somethings in the back of her store.

“So you're like a real witcher?” Rain’s voice caught my attention. She was leaning over the counter, her dress pulled down, the cleavage of her breasts on clear display as she dumbly curled her blond hair in her fingers.

“No. I'm a fake one.” Geralt said back unamused.

“But like are the rumors true?” She asked leaning even further over the counter. She was trying so desperately hard to get him to look down her dress. But he was simply uninterested. I felt my heartburn with envy. I hated that it did. He wasn't mine, he was nowhere near it. But the thought of him looking at her like that made my blood boil.

“Rumors about what?” He took a step back from the counter slowly making his way over to where Jaskier and I were.

“Ya know. About your huge cock.” Jaskier and I both choked on our spit. My hand flew over my mouth to keep my laugh in. It was a good thing her mother’s hearing wasn't all that great. Geralt looked visibly uncomfortable. He sat down in the chair next to me, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Jaskier and I were both trying to get ourselves under control after her question. She was completely unfazed. She thought she was hot shit.

“Common witcher. Tear me apart. Show me the real monster you can be.” That sentence made my grip on the chair so tight I thought I could’ve broken the arm in half. I probably could have if I did not have any self-control. I’m much stronger than I look.

“Do not call him that.” I hissed. My teeth were clenched so hard I was sure I was breaking them. Her eyes flicked over to me. She looked me up and down trying to size me up.

“Call him what? A witcher. Honey are you dumb. That’s what he is.” In a second I was inches from her face. I could feel my blood pumping thru my veins.

“Do not ever call him a monster again.” I was a bit shocked at how mean I sounded. I had never been this angry with her before. I wanted to punch her stupid smile in more than anything.

“(Y/N)..” I heard Jaskier’s voice behind me. He was very close to me. My hands were balled in fists at my sides. My knuckles were turning white with how angry I was.

“I promise you, studying princess, he's been called worse.” She smiled cheekily at me and her hand came up and she attempted to pat my face like I was a dog. My reflexes were much faster than she realizes. I grabbed ahold of her wrist in an intron grip. I began to squeeze and bend her wrist back away from my face. Her face contorted in pain. She wasn't expecting me to be as strong as I was.

“I said-'' I squeezed harder, and she gasped slightly as she tried to pull her hand away. “Do not call him that.” I threw her hand away from me before turning around and walking by the window. I hadn't realized both Jaskier and Geralt were standing behind me.

Moments later Hildi came out completely oblivious to the scene that just took place. She had a cloth sack filled with clothes and placed them on the counter.

“Alright, dearly that’ll be 45 coins.” She said as she wrote down the total in her book. I stood quickly pulling the amount from my coin purse and putting it in her hand. I smiled at her as best I could, Jaskier grabbed the bag of clothes.

“If something doesn’t go right, bring them back.”

“Thank you Hildi, very much.” Geralt said a charming smile on his lip. He gently shook her hand kissing the top of it.

“Thank you, Geralt. It was a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger.” She patted his cheek as a mum does. I turned on my heels and walked out of the shop. The cold air hit my hot face. My blood pumped slow and hard through my veins as the anger disappeared from my body. Jaskier came out of the shop and threw his arm over my shoulders leaning into me.

“Thank you.” He whispered lowly, Great not being very far behind us as we walked to the castle.

“For?”

“Defending him. Many people don’t realize how much he’s heard throughout his lifetime. I’m glad I’m not the only one who wants to help.” I turned to him and smiled. I leaned into his side hugging him gently before, turning around walking backward as I looked at Geralt.

“If you would like, I’ll show you both to your rooms, and you can change. We can then have tea in the garden and I can draw you.” A soft smile graced his lips, his eyebrow rising softly.

“You seriously want to draw me?” I nodded my head and stopped walking, but he didn’t. He kept getting closer and closer till he was a few inches from me.

“Yes, Geralt I do. You have a special spot in my heart, not just because I believe you are a true knight. And many people are just too scared to admit that, but also for keeping my brother safe all these years. You deserve to feel appreciated.” His features softened as his eyes searched my face before settling on my own eyes. His hand gently came up and he moved a small piece of hair from my face.

“A deal is a deal, little dove.” I felt as though my soul was being sucked out through his hand. Every fiber in my body wanted to pull him closer to me, to show him love, and tenderness. Something I knew he never actually had.

“Good, follow me,” I said with a smile.

After I showed them to their rooms; my brother’s old room not far from my own, and Geralt’s which shared a wall with my room, I went down to the garden. My easel, charcoals, and paints were set up on the table as they came down from changing and freshening up. Geralt looked more beautiful in clothes he could breathe in. his attire was so simple yet he made it look like the finest silks and jewels. It was a soft cotton button-down, it was loos on him, his pants were tight, but in a way that allowed him to move and feel free. I could tell by the way he walked he felt much more comfortable and in his element.

“You look like you feel better,” I said with a smile. Even Jaskier changed. A white shirt. And some black pants. He looked as he always did when I was a kid. The obscene choices in fashion were only adopted after he left home.

“I do.” I plainly said, a small smile on his lips. He and Jaskier sat down and I poured them tea. They both snacked on a few fruit tarts while I began sketching the background of the garden. allowing them to eat and not have to sit still just yet.

“So...while I draw maybe you could both share a story?” I glanced behind my paper and looked at the two. Jaskier smiled and leaned back into his chair fixing his hair and popping open a few buttons for the portrait.

“What story do you want to hear?” Geralt asked. Leaning back, his shoulders relaxing, a small piece of hair fell from the bit that he had tied back. It looked deliciously messy. It made him look disheveled, nearly like he was right out of bed.

“Wait!” I yelled and grabbed his hand gently, pulling his hand back softly.

“I like it. Keep it.” his hand went back down to his leg to rest. His eyes watched me for a few minutes. I studied their faces beginning my base sketches.

“What story shall we tell her Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back to the sky, the last of the light kissing his skin.

“We could tell her about the Djinn?” Geralt said back, glancing at Jaskier before looking back at me, a coy smile on his face.

“A Djinn?? I’ve only ever read myths about them. You encountered one?” My curiosity was blossoming, the urge to get more details about the creatures I had been taught about.

“Geralt here was going onto day gods knows what on no sleep. He was beyond grumpy.” Jaskier tilted his head back up and looked at me with a smirk.

“The git said my singing was like a pie with no filling!!” I couldn’t hold back my laugh. It was much louder than I wanted, not very ladylike at all.

“Oh… I may have to steal that one.” I said in between giggles, whipping my eyes.

“I was hoping to use a wish from the Djinn to help me sleep. But unfortunately, your brother got in the way.” As Geralt spoke I moved into his details on his face, my eyes traveling all over his beautiful face. From the way, his brows arched to the cute little dimple on his chin. His face was beautiful. Some scares were prominent enough that I could see them if I looked hard enough he had one on his cheek, it looked newer than all the others, the skin being a bit lighter than the rest of his skin.

“What did he do this time?”

“He decided that because I told him I no longer appreciated his singing that he would take the Djinn away from me till I took back what I said.”

“And let me guess, you didn’t take it back?” I glanced at him from behind my easel, he was watching me closely, his eyes slanted like he was studying a pray.

“No. No, he didn’t. And I almost died!” Jaskier shouted dramatically causing my eyes to drift from Geralt over to him.

“Don’t be dramatic Jaskier,” I mumbled, putting down the charcoal I had been using. Now turning my attention to the paints I had in front of me. I started mixing the colors Id need for Geralt’s skin tone.

“No, this time he’s right. He did almost die. Unfortunately for Jaskier, he refused to let go of the vase the Djinn was in. While we tugged on it, the lid came off. Maybe the Djinn knew I was a witcher and its curse wouldn’t work on me, or maybe it was just annoyed at Jaskier. Either way, it attacked him.” My eyes were focused on the painting, brows furrowed as he spoke. I waited a moment for him to continue but he didn’t.

“I’m listing Geralt, please continue,” I said my eyes moving to his, the colores pooling in my head as I prepared for what pigments id be using to paint them.

“I don’t want to interrupt.” I shook my head a soft smile on my face.

“I will,” Jaskier said as he sipped his tea, looking at me.

“The Djinn attacked my throat. Made it swell, I was coughing up blood.” My painting stopped as I looked at him. My stomach sank a little as he spoke. I knew Jaskier had been put in harm’s way before but hearing the first-hand accounts made my stomach ache.

“Geralt took me to an elven healer that wasn’t too far from where the river bed was. Unfortunately for me, he couldn’t help me. But he knew of a mage that could help.” My hand started to paint again, filling in the sketch with colors on Jaskier’s face as he spoke.

“We can skip over those details Jaskier.” Geralt huffed crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why? Don’t want my baby sister knowing that we had to sit threw an entier orgey just for you to speak to the mage?” Jaskier snickered looking away from me to his friend,

“Jaskier, shut up.” Geralt grumbled. His eyes avoided my own when I went to look at him.

“An orgey?” I had heard the word but hadn’t ever fully understood what it was.

“What’s that?” I questioned looking at my brother. His head fell back as he cackled.

“Oh dear sister how you’ve been so sheltered from the world.” My cheeks flushed red at his words.

“Jaskier don’t be rude,” I mumbled grabbing a fine liner brush from my pile. Adding some final detail into Jaskier’s blue eyes.

“It’s when a very large group of people get together in one room and have sex.” The blood rushed to my head at his words. I could feel my ears turning red. My brother was right. I had been sheltered about sex in my family. I didn’t have friends who I could talk to it about, and never really had anyone in my life I was willing to have sex with.

Unlike many women my age I never viewed my virginity like a sacred rose that no one could touch, I just wanted it to be lost to someone who deserved it. No someone I was forced to allow to deserve it.

“Oh look at how red she is.” Jaskier snickered standing up and poking my sides. I smacked his hands away glaring at him. He was now able to see the nearly completed painting. All I had left was my Geralt’s eyes and some details in his hair.

“Gods (Y/N), this is amazing.” He whispered his hand on my shoulder. I smiled softly, swallowing the spit that had gathered in my throat thickly.

“Thank you, please sit down and continue your story.” Jaskier did as I asked.

“The mage was Yennefer. She helped me. Saved my life. The mage and I may not get along, but I do owe her my life.” I smiled softly as he spoke of the mage I had heard so much about.

“I’ll be sure to thank her myself if I ever come across her,” I said with a smile. My attention turned back to Geralt who didn’t look please at the topic of our conversation. His eyes were on his leg that bounced slightly. He was anxious.

“Geralt love, I cannot see your eyes. That’s nearly all I have left.” At the sound of my voice, his head tilted up so he could look at me in the eye.

I smiled sweetly at him. I broke eye contact as I added in the different hues of orange and a bit of red. Some gold flecks showed themselves in his inner iris. The depth of the color was so enchanting. I could paint just his eyes forever. I finished with his hair after a few minutes of silence. Both men just enjoying the warm afternoon air. They both looked relaxed, peaceful, safe even.

“I’ve finished, boys,” I said whipping my hands on my apron. I stood up and turned the easel around to the two. They both sat up straight, eyes wandering all over the painting.

“You, my dear sister are beyond talented.” Jaskier mused looking at me, a bright smile on his face.

“We both are.” I smiled at him. Geralt was still examining the painting, his eyes flicking over every inch of himself. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. It made me nervous.

“I know the hair isn’t perfect. I’m still trying to get the brush technique down-”

“It is perfect.” Geralt interrupted me, a smile on his face as he looked at me.

I smiled back at him, my heart beating a little quicker.

“Can I keep it?” Geralt asked.

“Seriously?” I asked him.

“Well, actually it’s probably best you keep it. I don’t have a home, so I wouldn’t want to ruin it…” I smiled softly, taking a step closer to him.

“I’ll keep it safe but if you ever have a place that you want to keep it, ill get it to you,” I said, softly stroking the stray strand of hair behind his ear. His face tilted up as he looked at me.

“I think I’m going to turn in for the night boys,” I said gathering my items in my hands.

“What about dinner?” Jaskier asked.

“I’ll grab something from the kitchen, I’m quite tired. I need a bath. I’ll see you both in the morning.” I said hugging Jaskier goodnight. I turned to Geralt, courage surging through my veins. I bent down and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight Geralt.” His cheeks turned a very, very soft shade of pink, but only for a moment. Our eyes locked again.

“Good night, dove.”

309 notes · View notes

viking-raider · 3 years

Text

Quarantine: Warm Water *Cotton Candy Goodness!*

Summary: Henry’s sore from his Witcher workout, so you take care of him.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 2,225

Warnings: NONE - Cotton Candy Goodness (Yes, More cavities) Fluff, Kal, Very Small Angst, Domestic Kink

Inspiration: A one-shot by @the-soot-sprite! and I’m just really feeling the small, sweet and domestic things a couple does for each other and together.

A/N: This is really starting to turn into a mini Series xD

When you returned from your run to the store, you found Henry lying stretched out on the couch, softly snoring, his arm slung over his eyes to shade them from the dying afternoon sun. You smiled at him, knowing he must have really worn himself out.

Even though you guys were still in quarantine, Henry was still doing his tough workouts for the Witcher. So, you let him rest and put all the groceries away. But, once that was finished, Henry was still sound asleep. You couldn't help, but tiptoe up to his prone body and gingerly fold up the hem of his blue tank top. You grinned impishly, carefully maneuvering yourself between his long legs and gently lowered your head to brush your lips against his flat stomach. Henry half moaned and half chuckled, in his sleep. He had some of the most sensitive skin you had ever encountered on a man before, and you sometimes loved torturing him about it.

Grinning, you pressed your lips to his belly and took a deep breath through your nose, before pushing it out past your lips, blowing a big raspberry against his stomach, just above his naval.

The muscles in Henry's stomach tensed against your lips, his abs becoming defined under the light dusting of hair that covered his torso, and he busted out laughing, a moment before he was even completely awake from his nap. He squirmed and thrashed as you blew another raspberry against his side and several other locations on his tummy, melting him into a flowing stream of laughter, his hands moving from trying to guard his stomach to gripping your shoulders.

“Babe!” Henry panted and giggled, a huge smile on his tired face. “Ba-Baby, p-pleasse!” He begged you, his feet kicking under your mouth's assault on his stomach. “Oh, fuck! Babe, I'm sore!” He gasped, out of breath.

You sat up, your own grin melting down into a frown, suddenly feeling bad. “I'm sorry, Puppy.” You whispered, gently rubbing away the wet spots on his stomach. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” You sighed, rubbing your palms up and down his torso, now feeling the tight knots from his hardcore workout.

“It's all right, baby.” Henry sighed, catching his breath and stared up at the ceiling. “You didn't know.” He added, softly.

You frowned harder at him, then pressed an extra gentle kiss to his tummy and got up off the couch, then climbed the stairs to your shared bedroom and into the master bathroom. You stood there for a moment, reconsidering the thought of starting a nice warm shower for Henry to step into, so he could ease his sore Witcher muscles.

“Hm.”

Pulling out a nice fluffy towel and laying it out on the counter, you hummed to yourself as you plugged the drain to the huge tub and started the tap. Smiling to yourself, you reached under the sink and pulled out two round objects and padded back downstairs to where Henry was now sitting up on the couch, trying to find something on the television.

“Which one?” You asked, holding out two different types of bath bombs to him.

“Um.” Henry frowned, brows drawing together as he looked at them, before picking the one in your right hand. “That one.” He said, blinking up at you.

“Okay.” You smiled, and went back up stairs, turning off the tap of the now full tub.

You took out a washcloth and set it on the edge of the tub, put Henry's two-in-one, Cypress and Cedar scented soap next to it, with the Chamomile and Lavender bath bomb. You even lit several candles, situating them around the rim of the sink and the shelf above the toilet. Satisfied, you removed your clothing and went back downstairs, knowing that being naked would instantly entice Henry into listening to you.

“What's going on, Babe?” Henry asked slowly, his eyes wide as he took in your naked beauty.

“Come upstairs with me, Hen.” You replied, in a silky voice and turned away from him.

Henry blindly turned the tv off and followed after you, like leading an animal back to their pen. “What's this, Nugget?” He asked, as you both entered the candle lit bathroom.

“We're going to take a bath.” You smiled at him, curling your fingers around the hem of his tank top.

Chuckling, Henry lifted his arms and let you take his tank top off. Setting his tank top aside, you gently pulled open the ties of his sweat pants and tugged them down his thick thighs, followed by his boxers. You rubbed your palms up and down his sides, pushing up on your toes to peck him on the lips, then moved away from him.

“In you go.” You told him, with a playful pat on the bum.

Giving you a sly smirk, Henry carefully stepped into the tub, moaning as he lowered his large frame into the hot water. He leaned back and stretched his legs out, opening them, so you could take your usual bath time spot between them.

But, you shook your head at him.

“Nope, you're the little duck in this rub-a-dub-tub.” You chuckled at him; he always referred to you as the 'little duck', when the two of you took a bath together, making him, of course, 'the big duck'.

Henry narrowed his eyes at you, but moved forward, so you could move in behind him, hugging your legs around his waist and wrapped your arms around his upper body to reach out and drop the bath bomb he picked into the water. Henry laughed, finally putting together all the puzzle pieces as he watched the bath bomb spin, bob and fizz out its fragrance and turned the water a purple color.

“You drew me a bath, to relax.” He sighed, looking over his shoulder at you.

“I did.” You smiled, hugging your arms around his torso and pressed your lips to the very base of his neck. “You need to relax and your muscles are sore, cause you're a hard worker, and you deserve to relax and not have to always work so hard.” You told him, rubbing your palms up and down his chest, gently kneading as you did.

“Thanks, love.” He whispered, touched and warmed at your effort to make him feel better.

Smiling softly at him and kissed his shoulder, you sat there like that with him, for several long minutes, cuddling in the hot and steamy purple water, the pleasing and relaxing scent of Lavender and Chamomile permeating in the warm mist around you. Grabbing a small cup, you had also set out while prepping Henry's bath, and filling it with the bath water, you carefully nudged Henry forward, so he could rest against you and tip his head back. You cupped your free hand against his forehead to keep the water out of his eyes and face, and carefully poured the cupful of water into his dark curls.

Pouring another cup of water into his hair, you let Henry sit back up and grabbed his shampoo, squeezing it into your hand, then gently started working the shampoo into his hair and scalp, going extra slow and massaging his scalp and head as you did. Henry moaned loudly as your fingers scrubbed deep into his hair, it almost felt like you were scrubbing and massaging his brain. He slowly melted, like the bath bomb bobbing between his bent knees; hunching forward and nodding off.

You smiled softly, hearing the change in his breathing. Gently leaning him back against you again, Henry barely stirred as you methodically rinsed out the shampoo, then grabbed the wash cloth, using the soap to lather it up and pushed him forward again, careful he didn't go completely forward. You used the soapy cloth to rub and massage Henry's neck and shoulders, spending several long minutes working at each location to untangle the knots his workout and regular stress had caused, then moved over the broad expanse of his back, dipping into the water to knead his hips, before moving on to his heavy arms.

You washed and massaged every inch of Henry's body you could reach, before rinsing the soap away, then leaned back, allowing his body to comfortably rest back against you. Your fingers trailing up and down his chest and nearly falling asleep yourself. Henry took a deep breath, his blue eyes blinking around the bathroom, the cooling water lapping at his chest as he shifted against you, sitting up.

“How long was I out?” He asked, blinking and glancing at the clock.

“Oh, about twenty minutes.” You chuckled and rested forward against his back, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “Sleeping like a baby.” You teased him, kissing the side of his neck.

“It's like you bewitched me.” Henry chuckled back.

“Let's get out.” You whispered, feeling him struggle to keep his eyes open.

“Hmm.”

Was his reply, sluggishly standing up and stepping out of the tub, while you pulled the plug on the water and stepped out with him.

“Here.” You smirked, watching him fumbled with the towel. “You're one relaxed and sleepy, Puppy.” You cooed at him, taking the towel from him, unfolded it and started rubbing him dry.

“I feel like I've been drugged.” Henry lazily smiled back, his large body wavering for a moment, causing him to grab the edge of the sink, to stay upright.

“The wonders of hot water, a clean body and a solid massage.” You replied, rubbing the towel over his side as you moved around to his back.

“You know, what would make it a million times better?” He asked, yawning sleepily.

“Tell me.” You replied, maneuvering him yourself, so he sat down on the closed toilet lid.

“A snuggle, in a warm bed with the love of my life.” He mumbled and hummed, as you draped the towel over his head and stated to dry his dripping curls, like you were polishing something.

“I'll get you in bed with Kal, then.” You quipped, smirking as you finished drying his hair.

“It's going to get messed up.” He protested, as you started brushing his wild and fluffed up curls.

“Hush your face and enjoy it.” You tutted at him, taming his curls. “Arms up!” You sang out, picking up his spray on deodorant.

“I can't pick my eyelids up, and she wants me to put up my arms, Kal.” Henry commented to the Akita, who had come into the bathroom during his nap in the tub.

You giggled and grabbed the wrist of Henry's left arm and lifted it, then sprayed his armpit with the deodorant, before giving his right armpit the same treatment. “I love you to death, dearly and truly, but you're brushing your own teeth, yourself.” You told him, drying yourself off.

“Oh gosh, gone from the Witcher to the invalid with one bath.” You huffed playfully, at his whine. “I'll wet your toothbrush.” You said, taking the electric toothbrush from the cup it was stored in, wet it under the sink tap and put a dab of his Oral-B, charcoal toothpaste on it.

“That's all you're getting out of me, sir.” You told him, turning the toothbrush on and handing it to him. “Well, almost.” You poured a capful of mouthwash for him.

Both of you bathed, dried, hair tamed and teeth brushed, you directed your zombie-like boyfriend to his side of the bed and sat him down, then returned to the bathroom to blow out all the candles. You chuckled, finding Henry hunched over again, having dozed off in the minute it took you to blow the candles out. Shaking your head, you pulled down the blankets and gently pushed Henry over, to lay down on the bed.

“Ssshh.” You cooed at his sleepy whimper, then covered him up.

“Babe.” Henry mumbled, not even really awake.

“What, honey?” You whispered quietly back, not wanting to bother him, in case he was just mumbling in his sleep.

“I don't wanna snuggle with Kal.” He murmured, his brow creasing. “I wanna snuggle with you.”

A smile instantly spread across your face, he had been so tired and relaxed, that your Bear of a boyfriend, had completely missed your humor. “Okay.” You said softly, gently brushing your fingers over his wrinkled brow, smoothing the crease away. “I'll let him know, he has to get out of my spot.” You assured him.

“Okay.” He let out in a soft sigh, his entire body going slack against the mattress.

“Sorry, Bear.” You whispered to Kal, who sat at the foot of the bed.

You turned the lights out and crawled into bed with Henry, gliding your hand up his arm and kissed his cheek as he rolled over at your touch, wrapping his arm around your waist and hugged you against his body, tucking you beneath him as he pillowed his heavy head on your breast. You pulled the blankets over you both and carded your fingers through his damp hair, massaged the back of his neck and caressed the space between his shoulder-blades; slowly falling asleep yourself.

510 notes · View notes

storiesforallfandoms · 4 years

Text

company ~ geralt of rivia;the witcher

part one

word count: 1896

request?: no

description: after slaying a monster all on her own, geralt decides to help the run away princess in cleaning the blood from her body

pairing: geralt of rivia x female!reader

warnings: smut, swearing

masterlist

The bar fell silent as the woman walked in, covered in blood, carrying a sword nearly twice her size that was dripping in blood. She looked around before approaching a table where the Witcher and his Bard were sat. Jaskier looked up in shock and fear as she stood before them, while Geralt took a sip of his beer, almost ignoring her presence.

A smirk came across her face as she declared, “I win.”

Geralt lowered his glass and raised an eyebrow at her. “Where’s the proof?”

Jaskier yelped as she tossed the head of a monster onto the table, its glazed over eyes staring at the two men. Geralt let out a chuckle as he shoved his hand into his pocket and put a bag of silver onto the table. The former princess took her winnings and shoved them into her pocket.

“What the bloody hell is happening here?!” Jaskier exclaimed as he scooted as far away from the head as he possibly could.

“Geralt has been training me in fighting,” (Y/N) responded. “I told him I thought I had a handle on it, he told me he was sure I didn’t. So we made a bet; I said I could kill the first monster I found. He told me I’d crack under pressure, or die.”

Jaskier looked at Geralt in shock. “So you sent her out there by herself?!”

“She’s a commoner now, Jaskier, she doesn't need any bodyguards anymore,” Geralt responded in a matter of fact voice.

It had been months since (Y/N) had ran away from her responsibilities as a future queen and joined Geralt and Jaskier on their adventures. It had taken her court just a month to find her, and when they did she promptly told them where they could stick their royalty. The next day, the news that (Y/N) had been stripped of her royal title and banned from the Northseed kingdom travelled so fast that it got to the trio in no time.

(Y/N) was definitely not upset over this. If anything, she was overjoyed. When they heard she literally jumped and exclaimed with excitement to be free. Geralt found himself also relieved. He was getting used to having the beautiful former princess joining him on his travels.

With this burden off her shoulders, (Y/N) started begging Geralt to teach her how to fight monsters. She wanted to know how to defend herself, whether she continued to travel with Geralt or not. She finally managed to break him down and he trained her in simple battle, something easy for someone who had never even picked up a sword before, but still effective should she find herself needing to defend herself.

(Y/N) smiled at the two triumphantly before declaring, “I’m going to go wash myself off. If you boys are looking for me, I’ll be in my room upstairs.”

Geralt watched as she walked off, her new, leathery clothes so heavy with blood that it stuck to her body, showing off her every curve. Geralt had to reposition himself so that Jaskier didn’t see the lump growing in his pants.

“Go after her, dummy,” Jaskier told him.

Geralt looked at him with his usual stony face. “What?”

“Please, I’ve seen the way you look at her. I know that you want her. She’s about to be alone, and naked, in her room. Go after her, conveniently walk in, or something like that.”

Geralt scoffed. "I’m not going to walk into her room in the hopes that she’ll let me fuck her. She is former royalty, Jaskier, she was definitely raised to wait until she is to be wed.”

“She most definitely was, but that is so she would bare a child whose blood is so noble he would be declared a gentleman right out of the womb. She is free of all of that now, she can fuck whoever she wants. And I see the look in her eye, too, so I know it is you she wants.”

Geralt thought over what Jaskier was saying. He was still of the mindset that he would never defile (Y/N). She may not be a princess anymore, but she was still a lady. Then again, if the lady wished for Geralt to defile her, who was he to say no?

Geralt ignored the exclaims of encouragement from Jaskier as he raised from his seat and made his way up the stairs to where the rooms the three of them had taken for the night were located. The hallway was dimly lit, but Geralt could still make out the faded numbers on the doors. He stopped outside of the one (Y/N) was in, his hand raised to knock. Before he could think against it, he knocked on the old, wooden door.

“Who is it?” came the singsong voice of (Y/N).

“It’s Geralt,” he responded.

There was a pause before (Y/N) told him, “Come in.”

When he walked in, she was laying neck deep in the water. Her bloody clothes were discarded all over the floor. Her face and hair were now clean of the blood, and through the dimly lit room Geralt could just make out the look on her face; it was one of seduction.

“I was hoping you’d follow me,” she told him.

“Did you?” Geralt asked, deciding to play coy. “And why is that?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “It’s scary having to slay a monster on your own. I was frightened to be alone. I was hoping for some company. You know, to help me feel safe.”

“I suppose I could help with that,” Geralt responded. “How would you like me to protect you, my lady?”

(Y/N) put on a face as if she were thinking before responding, “You could always get in with me. I’d like to have you close just in case something comes to attack me.”

Geralt smirked as he began to strip himself of his clothing. (Y/N)’s eyes lingered on his muscular torso before following his hands to watch him strip his pants off. She felt a tingling sensation growing between her legs and had to clench her thighs together to relieve it some.

Once Geralt was completely naked, (Y/N) leaned forward so that he could climb into the bath behind her. When he was sat comfortably behind her, she leaned back against his chest.

“Feel more safe now?” he asked her.

“I feel very safe, thank you,” she responded.

She was pressing back against him. She could feel his manhood against her back. She nearly smirked to herself as she felt it twitch against her.

“So, how does monster hunting live up to the royal life?” he asked her. “Are you missing sitting up in your safe palace with nothing to worry about besides who you were going to be betrothed to?”

(Y/N) scoffed. “Never. That place was more like a prison than a palace. I could not be more happy to be free of that place.” She paused then added, “Well, I suppose there is one thing that is making me happier than that.”

She turned suddenly to face him. Before he could understand what was happening, she was straddling him. “You.”

She was kissing him then. It was different than the last time they had kissed. This one was more passionate, more hungry. She really did want Geralt, and Geralt wanted her more than anything.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her against him. She moaned as she felt him rubbing against her, feeling more needy with every passing second.

“Have you ever been made love to before, (Y/N)?” Geralt asked her. The question alone, especially hearing it in Geralt’s husky voice, drove her wild.

“A few times,” she admitted. “I romanced a few of my guards, another way to rebel against my forth coming ruling of the kingdom.”

Geralt chuckled at her defiance. She kissed him again as she lowered herself down onto him. They both groaned together in pleasure. Geralt caught her lips again, biting at her bottom lip. (Y/N) giggled as she kissed him deeply and began to roll her hips against him.

(Y/N)’s head rolled back in pleasure, and Geralt took it as his opportunity to kiss her neck. She let out a gasp in pleasure as his lips found her sweet spot, and he continued to kiss and suck on the spot until he knew he was leaving marks. His marks, so that any man they passed while travelling knew that she was spoken for.

(Y/N) was in ecstasy. She felt so much pleasure that she almost cried out. She had been with men before, but they were never this good. Maybe because she only used them for passion and for her own version of rebellion. With Geralt it was more than that. They had built a connection in the passing months, one that went far beyond just travelling mates, or even beyond friends. There was something there between them, whether either of them (namely Geralt) wanted to admit it or not.

(Y/N)’s hands were tangled in Geralt’s hair. Her grip tightened suddenly and Geralt knew that meant she was close to her climax. He moved his lips close to her ear to tell her, “I want to feel you tighten around me, (Y/N). I want to feel you finish with me inside you.”

The words were enough to push her over the edge. (Y/N)’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she let out one last loud moan as she hit her climax. Feeling her walls tighten around him pushed Geralt over the edge as well and he grunted as he let go inside of her.

(Y/N) collapsed against Geralt, breathing heavily to catch her breath. She noticed how much of the water from the tub they had splashed onto the floor. She chuckled to herself.

“I hope we didn’t ruin the nice gentleman’s floor. I would hate to cause any trouble for him.”

Geralt lazily looked over at the floor and shrugged. “We’ll leave him a fine tip for his troubles.”

After regaining themselves, Geralt wrapped an arm around (Y/N) and stood from the tub, lifting her with him. He placed her on her bed and laid down next to her. She rolled onto her side to look at him.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” she asked him.

A small smile came across Geralt’s lips. “Since the night we met.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Me too. I thought it wouldn’t be very lady like of me to jump on you the night of our meeting.”

They laughed together. (Y/N)’s eyes began to grow heavy and soon she found herself starting to drift off to sleep. Geralt wrapped the blanket around the both of them and pulled her body close to his. She buried her head in his chest, taking in the warmth of his body against her cool, damp skin.

“How often can we do that?” she asked him. “If you would like to do it again, I mean.”

“As often as the lady desires.”

(Y/N) smiled to herself as she told Geralt, “Then you best get your rest, because when I awake again I’d like to do it again.”

#geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #geralt x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #the witcher #the witcher imagine #geralt x reader smut #henry cavill smut #imagine #smut #one shot #netflix

3K notes · View notes

stormcallart-blog · 3 years

Text

|| A Sliver of Moonlight ||

Life is pretty boring serving for the slowly decaying villa in the countryside in Toussaint. It's when a Witcher comes clamoring into your life that it all changes. Grabbing a few herbs from the city shouldn’t be that bad, right?

Geralt x Reader, Mature content: depictions of injury, gore, violence, animal death, unresolved sexual tension.

This is based off of the Witcher 3 DLC, but no real spoilers! I just love the vibe of it so much. Tbh this is old, wrote it about a year ago but love it so much that I thought I’d post it. Not too sure if I’d do another chapter, but maybe if the mood strikes!

_____________________________________________________________

The estate known as Corvo Bianco Vineyard had been your home since you could remember. Your parents had grown tired of the cold in Skellige when you were but a babe and had made the journey to the endless heat and beautiful landscapes of Toussant. Years had come and gone and with those years so did the owners of the Vineyard. You went from plucking grapes to planting olive trees to tending the grounds as the owners made one financial mistake after another. Where once was beautiful herb gardens there was now only crumbling leaves and rotting wood, the stables were now empty and the once beautiful main house began to peel and fall apart. The last owner had dumped all his coin into just keeping the Vineyard afloat and when he couldn’t anymore handed it off to the Duchess, who luckily saw it fit enough to still need the workers.

No longer needed for picking the Vineyard stock you were tasked to look for herbs for the cooking staff. Even with spending most of your days in the sweltering summer heat searching for various herbs you were thankful, especially since you had gained a new found interest in Alchemy. How a certain concoction could heal wounds or cure illnesses fascinated you to no end and you were desperate for more of that knowledge.

When the whispers of the Beast of Toussant emerged you were hesitant. Whispers of the beast deep in the cellars of Corvo Bianco spiked your interest a little too much. All the workers on the estate stayed far away, sometimes in the night you could hear it scrape its claws against the stone, sending shivers down your spine. Your novice knowledge of alchemical things made it impossible to even research any kind of repellent against the beast, not like it would help since not a soul knew what the beast actually was.

One warm night it came, hissing and slashing through the Duchesses guardsmen as it barreled back into its den as you watched shaking from your chamber. It was terrifying as it moved, slashing and gnawing at the duchesses men as if they were nothing more than paper. All hope seemed lost until a man clad in black with a sword so bright it seemed to hold the moon, silver no doubt, made his way after the monster. His hair as white as his blade and yes, you were sure of it, even from your bedroom there was no mistaking those golden eyes. A Witcher.

Never before had you seen one, your heart leapt at the thought. They were master swordsmen and even better alchemists , expert monster hunters in every way. You had no doubt he would be the one to slay the monster of Toussant .With bated breath you waited for the silver haired man to emerge victorious, tapping your fingers against the windowsill in nervous excitement. Just when you thought maybe the Witcher had fallen prey to the beast a flash of white hair stepped out into the moonlit night once again.

However before you could get a good look at him he was gone from sight, riding off on a dark horse into the warm night air. You sighed, noting the amount of bloodshed and work that awaited the villa in the morning.

That night you tossed and turned, dreams filled with the man they call the Witcher.

After the gorey cleanup you stomached with a handful of other workers the following day, all was quiet. No beast stirred from the depths of the vineyard and it seemed like life would continue just as boring as it had been before you set eyes on that White Wolf.

You heard it from one of the kitchen maids first. A new owner was on their way with the deed to Corvo Bianco! It was hard to remember the last time the estate had ever been governed, which made you both nervous and excited at the same time. Curious of the new owner you wanted to get a good look when they came striding down the street.

Busying yourself with some wild mint that grew from the picket by the road you waited, peering up every few minutes to keep an eye out. The sounds of hooves beating against the stone pulled you from your harvesting as you watched in awe as he neared. The Witcher. The Witcher was head of the estate at Corvo Bianco? Your jaw clenched to keep from hanging as he strode by, yellow cat-like eyes regarding you for merely a second before he continued towards the main house. So it was true!

Your fellow workers were… less enthused about the new owner. Most just scoffed and went about their work, while others tossed around names you’d never heard before but were sure they were not meant endearingly towards the Witcher.

You found him interesting. Knowing very little about them you were less inclined to see them as sub-humans as most others seemed to suggest. If anything he just seemed… exotic. And there was no denying that what you had seen of him so far was attractive.

The smell of fresh mint tickled your nose, peering down to see you’d driven your nails into its soft leaves, pushing the smell into the air. Surely the main quarters kitchen would need some for dinner tonight, a perfect excuse to learn more about the Witcher. The servant entrance was easy enough to slip into, silently greeting the cook who pushed her finger against her lips as you entered. Laughing softly you both listened in.

The Majordomo introduced himself but you weren't prepared for what came next. The deep timbre of the man who spoke nearly knocked you sideways from just a mere greeting. That was definitely … not what you had expected, but not that you were complaining.

The rest was fairly boring conversation which explained the updates needed for the estate to which the Witcher stood silently and listened.

“He’s called the White Wolf.” The cook whispered with a cheeky grin, “ Arrived in Toussaint only a few days ago on orders for the Duchess.”.

“Imelda, you are shameless!” You teased as she smiled, “How do you find this out so quickly?”.

“Advantages of working in the main house kitchen, my dear. ” she said with a wink. “Here child, take this bowl of fruit and set it in the dining room for me , would you?”

Squinting at her smile you took the small bowl of fruit from the table, taking a deep breath before opening the door and stepping into the center room. Walking around you saw the Majordomo first, dark circular glasses facing you. The Witcher had his back towards you, listening as the Majordomo spoke, shoulders square and standing much taller than you first would have thought. His silver hair was shoulder length and lay against the metal chain padding across his broad shoulders. You must’ve been staring because the Majordomo coughed, shocking you out of your daydreaming, prompting the Witcher to turn to see the disturbance.

His golden irises met your own, the slits of his pupils striking as they flared in the firelight. It was impossible to speak while caught in his gaze as he examined you silently. His light brows furrowed , proud nose flaring as he peered down at the fruit bowl you undoubtedly had in a death grip. His grizzled face split into a wry grin as his armored hand reached into the bowl and plucked out an apple. “Thanks.” He spoke flatly, holding the apple up with a slight nod of his head.

You didn’t speak, you couldn’t. You felt trapped, entranced even. Instead you nodded back before hastily placing the bowl down on the dining table.

“I’d like to work on revitalizing the herb garden first.” The deep thrum of the Witcher’s voice bounced off the barren walls. The very mention of the herb garden had you turned on your heels to meet the steely cat-like gaze once again.

The Majordomo nodded excitedly as the Witcher handed over the coin, “That is a good start, sir!” he added in cheerfully, “Y/N here is our closest thing to an herbalist, surely she wouldn’t mind picking up the necessary ingredients.”

The Witcher's creased eyebrows flicked slightly in a mute expression of surprise, “So you know herbs, hm?” his gritty voice almost seemed amused.

“Y-yes.” You spoke finally, a small smirk lined his features, peeking out over a white beard. He let out a chuckle that seemed almost cold, “So tell me then, how does one harvest Ribleaf?”.

The question almost made you laugh. You weren’t professionally trained but certainly not that much of a novice. It surprised even you how confidently the words left your mouth, “Cut from the bottom of the stock, try to pluck or remove from any other point and it’s practically useless.”.

If the Witcher was impressed he was damn good at not showing it. “Very good.” His deep voice bellowed in an even tone, eyes studying you even still. “I’ll leave it to you then.” Was all he managed before he turned for the exit.

Hastily you turned to exit through the kitchen, so caught up in thought you didn’t catch the Witcher’s eyes trail after you as he exited into the sunlight. Imelda was already smiling as you closed the door behind, trying hard not to laugh at your flustered expression, “So? How is the famous White Wolf?” she said lightly, stirring the soup she’d been working on.

“Almost as intimidating as staring down a Gryphon.” You breathed out, mind still reeling from that look. Whatever Imelda said next was lost on you, mind still lingering on the golden irises that seemed to read your mind. Could Witchers read minds? Gods, you hoped not. It was amazing how quickly the workers began tending the Herb Garden as soon as the White Wolf forked over the funds. The Majordomo followed suit and bid the Witcher farewell before the armor-clad warrior mounted his steed and took off into another great adventure no doubt. You heaved a heavy sigh, almost jealous that his life seemed so filled with adrenaline whilst you sat around most days picking ingredients or tending to the ground's needs. The Majordomo turned to you quickly, withdrawing a list from his little notebook, “Ah, there you are! Here is the list. Please go into town and gather these seeds and plants from an Alchemist.” he finished by dropping a good sum of gold into your open palm , eyes widening at the weight in your hand. You had never held so much gold in your life.

“Do you wish for me to go now?” You tried not to sound ungrateful, for any chance to go into town was a welcomed one, but half a day's walk nonetheless.

“Preferably while the day is still young.” He spoke with a high dialect.

“Of course.” You said without a pip of disobedience, you’d walked those roads before and with a knife strapped across your thigh you were confident you could make it there and back.

You grabbed a sizable satchel and placed a good amount of gold in several hidden pockets, just in case. Luckily it was much cooler this morning than it had been all week, the smell of grass and ripening fruit blowing through your tresses as you set off up the hill. The walk to Beauclair was long and uneventful. You stopped briefly here and there to take a break or spotting a herb that was marked on the list , finding it easier to pluck than spend the extra gold for it in town. The Quiet of rolling hills slowly gave away to idle chatter of the city, smells quickly turning sweet to sour, always was a stark contrast to the countryside life. You enjoyed the capitol but the rose-tint seemed to fade quickly while within its walls. Spotting the Alchemists shop sign you weaved in and out of beggars and Duchesses men alike, Rich and poor mingling into a sea of endless faces. There was only one word for the crowds of people, overwhelming.

The shop was a cozy hideaway, empty save for the shopkeeper and her wares. The smell of incense wafted into the air , its smoke crowding at the ceiling, mingling with the earthy smell of plants. Greeting her plainly you read off the list and examined the herbs thoroughly before making a sale, walking back into the late afternoon sun a few gold coins lighter but with quite a sizable workload to haul back. The thought crossed your mind to stop by one of the taverns and have a refresher before returning, with your own coin of course, but you knew if you waited much longer night would fall on your journey back and that’s the last thing you wanted.

All tension faded with the chatter as cobblestone streets gave way to dirt roads and open fields once again. It was nice to breathe without feeling boxed in. Your steps were slower this time, sweat rolling down your temples as the bag seemed to only gain weight with every passing minute. You stopped, pulling the small glass container of water you’d stored away and took a few refreshing gulps before totting the satchel over your shoulders and continued on. At this pace you may not make it back to Corvo Bianco before nightfall and the thought alone made your stomach sink.

It was an arduous journey back home, cursing yourself for picking up a few extra things as the leather strap bit into your shoulder. You guessed you maybe had another hour to go before you could finally unburden yourself, but dusk was nipping at your ankles. Trying to take your mind off the weight you looked out into luscious fields, grateful that the journey had been void of monsters when you saw it. The long stalks of red poking out in a lone field was like an oasis in the desert. Eyes lighting up you stared in disbelief, taking a few extra seconds to confirm what you’d seen. It was Winter Cherry. One of the rarest herbs to come across, something not even the Alchemist shop had in stock. Your heart swelled, remembering the many benefits you’d read not so long ago on your last trip to Beauclaire.

Hoisting the bag higher you set out towards the plant, long blades of grass tickling your ankles and knees, the patch of land long forgotten. You withdrew the blade from your stocking strap, thumbing the blade over the leaves of the rare plant, remembering that the Alchemy book had mentioned it had to be cut from the root or otherwise it would be completely useless.

The blood red petals swayed , knife cutting clean through its roots and you bubbled with pride. This certainly was a treat, a rare find to add to the new herb garden, the Witcher would be undoubtedly impressed. Your excitement was snuffed out in an instant when the blood-curdling howl echoed in the night.

“No.” You whispered, hands beginning to shake as you hastily stuffed the Winter Cherry into the already full satchel, nearly tripping over your own dress as another howl screamed into the now Twilight sky, blade still in hand. “No, no, no!” You continued as you made for the road, as if it was a safe haven from the gathering wolves. The sound of rustling dry grass began to double, triple, before you were keenly aware there was no getting out of this. Heart pounding in your ears you turned, oval eyes reflecting through yellowing foliage as the soft crunch of grass slowed, the animals circling in.

“Come on you bastard.” You growled in your own way back, knowing there was no way out but like hell if you wouldn’t try your best to fight them off. As if responding to your threat the first one lept, jaws snapping and snarling as it went. Dodging to your left it missed your arm by just a hair, the hot breath of the beast tickling the hairs of a limb that could have easily been its next meal.

The next time you weren’t so luckily, the second wolf snapping down hard on the skirt of your dress, yanking you almost completely over as it ripped and tore at the material. Swiping the small blade wildly the animal retreated, eyes still trained on your every movement. Heavy breaths left your dry mouth, adrenaline pumping through every vein as senses heightened. You were going to die.

The third wolf was too quick, coming toward you from the side as you focused on the others. Its Black fur barreled towards you, ferocious teeth biting through your thick dress and into your thigh, ripping a shriek from your throat as it sunk its razor-like teeth into the meat of your leg. You swiped at the wolf, jutting the knife into the scruff of his neck as it whimpered and recoiled, but the damage had been done and now you were merely a game to the hungry canines.

“FUCK OFF!” You howled, which startled them momentarily before the first one jumped you again, pushing you to the ground , shoving your fist into it’s open mouth just in time to keep it from getting a killing blow. Its fangs scrapped at your knuckles, sharp claws digging into your soft skin. A faint sound of a horse barely registered, knowing no matter how proficient the rider, there was no way of saving you. The only thing you could do was take one of the wolves down with you. The wolf atop you bit down, teeth sinking into the flesh of your arm as you let out a pained cry, its pack surprisingly absent. The cries you heard were not your own and soon the wolf that pinned you down with your fist in its mouth seemed dazed, drunk even, eyes glassy as the moon reflected off its dark eyes. It’s jaws relented, your blood now oozing from open wounds. Puzzled at first you seized your only chance, ramming the pathetic blade into the top of its skull, piercing thick pelt and bone. The wolf swayed, eyes rolling back as its blood soaked your hand, pushing it off just before it pooled over your already ruined garments.

Your head was swimming, jolting up as you frantically searched for the other two wolves only to find an empty field and a man.

A man with hair as silver as moonlight.

Adrenaline left your body quickly, eyesight dotting with bright white before fading to black completely.

It was all a blur, the hard motions of a horse galloping faded in and out for you, unconscious to the strong arms that encased you.

You awoke with a start, instead of dry grass beneath your touch there were soft sheets instead. A bed? "Oh, you're awake." The deep rustling voice spoke from the corner , nearly startling you out of the bed. Everything hurt and you peered down at the bandage around your thigh soaked in blood. "How'd i-" you barely managed before the White Wolf intervened, "lucky for you I was on my way back here and heard you off in the distance. Witcher sense does wonders. Have to say you put up quite the fight.". Was that… praise?

"Thank you." You managed, wincing as you sat up against the headboard, "how long was I out?"

He shrugged with heavy shoulders, "Long enough to haul you back here give a few hours or so. It's well past midnight by now. What the hell were you doing in the middle of nowhere at nightfall?" He seemed irritated by that.

You sighed, "getting herbs from the alchemist." You stated plainly, hoping he picked up your satchel, otherwise it would be all for naught. Warmth spreading across your cheeks realizing he had carried you unconsciously and rode all the way back to Corvo Bianco with those large hands around you.

"You won't find an herb shop in a field." He spoke plainly but with just enough sarcasm for your brow to quirk.

"Majordomo sent me into Beauclaire to get supplies for the herb garden you ordered. I found some Winter Cherry in the field and that's when I was attacked by wolves. Was that… a joke?" You should have been more formal, but seeing as you were laying in his bed with half your body bare, it seemed almost pointless to be.

He chuckled, "An attempt at one at least. Witchers have subdued emotions, call it a blessing and a curse." He sat back in the wooden chair he had propped in the corner, " Shame, Winter Cherry is useless unless-"

It was your turn to interrupt "Unless you cut it off at the roots." He looked to you with a hint of a smile.

You gaped, so that's why he seemed so calm and collected. That was definitely something you weren't expecting. "I should have been quicker on the walk back. But I'm glad you were there, otherwise I might've had to kill all those wolves on my own."

He let out a half laugh as did you, Geralt always appreciated a strong woman and you were fastly becoming more and more interesting to him with each passing moment.

"Geralt." He muttered as he stood, metal from his armor clinking and the wood of the house creaking under his shifting weight.

"Hm?" You asked inquisitively as he neared, drawing your legs closer , confused at what he was doing.

"My name." He sat on the edge of the bed, removing his gloves, "I need to check those wounds.".

You nodded, giving him permission to touch you, giving your name with a wince as his large warm hands unbound the bandage around your thigh. You watched Geralt transfixed, breath catching at just how high up his fingers traced since the bite had been dangerously close to your hip. He seemed to feel you tensing at sweeping touches , golden eyes looking up to yours with a muted smirk across such handsome features. "It tickles." You lied and he only let out a small puff of air that hinted at humored before continuing. It was amazing watching a Witcher work. He'd rooted through his belongings finding ingredients for the healing salve without needing any type of recipe. Casually mixing ingredients that, had you attempted, would have surely given you a headache.

"So" your name rolling of his tongue made it hard to concentrate, "you're a bit of an alchemist?" He spoke casually as he transferred the salve into a large bit of wax paper.

"Afraid not, I know but a few things from experiments and what little I've read while in Beauclaire."

Geralt hummed at that, " Well it looks like you'll survive. I've made some salve that'll help heal the bite , but it's only enough for one or two days. Put it on in the evenings and when you run out come back. Maybe then I'll even teach you a trick or two." The last part made your heart leap as he rebandaged your wound, blood now completely stopped. "Thank you for saving my life." You said as you stood, leg in agony but unwilling to show any more sign of weakness.

"I got you into this mess, only fair I should rescue you from it." Geralt replied coolly, eyes transfixed on your heart rate that had thumped harder as you stood. You were in pain but far too stubborn to show it. He liked that about you.

"Goodnight Geralt." "Goodnight. "

You turned to leave, hobbling across the main house stairs and towards your quarters which luckily weren't too far. The plants you'd brought back were already laid on in the garden and you thanked the gods that geralt had brought back the satchel so that your near death had not been for nothing.

Finally in your quarters you bathed and added the salve , teeth clenching at the sting of it sanitizing the wound. You were pretty much asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Dreams emerged from the fog of your mind that night. Large scarred hands gently skating across your legs, pulling up your nightgown forcing a weak whimper from your throat. A deep rustling of a laugh accompanied with cat-like eyes as slightly chapped lips graced your skin. It was heaven , feeling the white beard scrape along your neck, sending you into a moaning fit. "Stop that, you're injured." His voice playfully mocked as you squirmed under him.

…"Geralt" you awoke with his name on your lips. Eyes wide and hand slapped over your mouth you scanned the room. It was bright, so bright. Almost midday by the way the shadows casted along the floor of the small room. The biggest mistake was moving, which nearly had you wailing in pain from the tender wound. Removing the covers it had bled through only a little in the night , of which you were thankful.

When finally dressed and on your way to the main house you waved off concerned workers as you hobbled by, far too tired to give them the entirety of the story of what happened the night before. Instead you stepped into the kitchen and shut the door with an exasperated sigh.

#geralt x reader #the witcher #the witcher 3 #reader insert #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #one shot #maybe??

73 notes · View notes

curvynerdfan · 4 years

Text

Remedies and Recipes

Hey y’all! A friend of mine gave me the idea of Geralt rescueing the reader on a hunt and I kind of went wild with it(almost 2400 words). I hope y’all like it!

Requests are open!

I’m sorry if there are any mistakes, I read over it myself a couple of times and then post

Warnings: curse words?, burns

Geralt x Reader

Geralt of Rivia was renown for his skills at hunting down the most dangerous beasts known to man but even he was wary of the creature he was sent after this time. A dracolizard was from the same origin as dragons, yet more dangerous since there are many more in existence. This draconid can run and fly at astonishing speeds and is the only creature of dragon descent that still breathes fire. Even worse, a dracolizard had a venom-spiked tail. To be frank, Geralt wouldn’t be trekking through the wilderness to kill the beat if it wasn’t for Y/N.

Y/N was beloved by the town of Biala and one of the few people the Witcher held near and dear. She was known for being one with nature. Y/N had what could be considered a green thumb and a free spirit. Many townsfolk would rush to her when a loved one was sick or injured. Y/N cared deeply for the creatures that lived near her cottage and consistently fed and cared for the critters. When Geralt would visit, he’d hunt in the woods nearby but was always aware of her “sanctuary safe line” and made sure not to hunt an animal she may have a connection with. In thanks for all the times she has healed him and provided companionship, Geralt liked to hunt for her and stock her pantry with meat for the winter. Wolves protected her land from trespassers but would also cuddle her in the firelight. She loved to traipse through the woods and collect herbs and plants to use for remedies and recipes. Geralt can only assume that is how the dracolizard captured her.

Geralt tried to push worries out of his mind but all he could scent was burnt flesh and trees. He wasn’t sure how many people the beast had killed and devoured and it took everything in him to keep his head on straight. Usually that wasn’t hard for him to focus on a hunt. Y/N was special to him and now that he was being honest with himself - he’d break if something had happened to her.

Now that he was getting closer to killing the creature, he paused to down an elixir and coat his sword in draconid oil so the blade could slice through the dracolizard’s tough scales. He decided it would be best to leave Roach with his belongings tied to her and let her roam. After he killed the monster he could always whistle and she would find him. He was only six or seven miles from Y/N’s cottage and hoped that he wouldn’t have to search much further. Dracolizards were semi-intelligent, not as smart as a full-fledged dragon, but still very adept. Hopefully, the monster realized that Y/N was more valuable alive but wasn’t smart enough to realize you were important to the man hunting it.

Just as he readied himself and let Roach loose, he heard a vicious screech that made him flinch. Oh, he was definitely close. The elixir was beginning to kick in, as well. His reflexes were enhanced and he could now hear the beasts scales scraping against the charred trees to his left. He steadied the blade in his hand and grasped his shield.

The lizard-like monstrosity noticed the amber-eyed Witcher and raised it’s broad wings in offense. A growl escaped from it’s massive nuzzle filled with razor sharp teeth. The dracolizard’s body was pure muscle. Geralt broadened his stance as the monster began to stalk him. The two rotated in a circle, Geralt keeping a close eye on the creature’s spiky venom-filled tail. The last thing he wanted was to be struck by that.

Suddenly the dracolizard lunged at him letting at another gnarly screech and gnashed it’s teeth at his face. The Witcher blocked with his shield and swiped his sword at it’s chest, managing to rip through some of it’s flesh before rolling out of the way. Geralt quickly hopped back onto his feet and brought his foot down onto the beast’s massive tail. He hoped that this would deter the creature from using the powerful weapon against him. In retaliation, the monster unhinged it’s jaw and released a blast of unrelenting fire in the Witcher’s direction. Geralt barely managed to protect himself with his shield and realized too late that part of his shin was in the line of fire.

Geralt smelt the burning flesh and felt the searing pain and grit his teeth in annoyance.The monster then attempted to fly off but Geralt did not plan on letting it live to attack another dat and dropped his sword and shield in favor of grasping the draconid’s tail. Once he had a decent grasp around the wound he made earlier, he dug his heels in and pulled back. He continued to step backwards,planting his feet and pulling until the beast lost momentum and pain caused it to fall back to the ground and land stomach up.

Geralt quickly lunged for his sword and rolled away from another fiery blast. He ducked behind one of the few remaining trees and waited for the fire to stop. Geralt took a deep breath and launched himself out of his hiding spot, sword raised ready to strike. The dracolizard leapt forward and snapped its jaws. As Geralt ducked, he jabbed the sword upward and into the monster’s neck. Thankfully he hit the beast right in the middle of its throat and as it fell from its charge at him, it fell onto the sword. Unfortunately for Geralt this meant the gigantic draconid was on top of him.

The Witcher huffed in annoyance, “Fuck.”

He began to push the dracolizard off of his body with a groan. Geralt managed to get onto his knees and worked on catching his breath. Once he had a semi steady breath again, he heaved the monstrosity onto his shoulder and stood, shifting the beasts neck off of him. Free from the extra weight, Geralt shook his head and tried to clear his mind.

Once he had his bearings, the Witcher scanned the surrounding area for any other beasts or adversaries in his vicinity. The silence and lack of movement brought relief and worry for the mutant. On one hand it was nice to know that nothing else was going to attack him today but on the other hand, he still doesn’t know where his Y/N is. No, not HIS Y/N, just Y/N.

“Y/N! Y/N are you out here?” Geralt paused to listen before repeating.

He stomped through the forest searching for any signs of life. He kept searching and was becoming frantic looking for her when he heard a small whimper.

“Y/N”, he gasped.

Geralt lumbered towards the boulder he heard the noise come from.

The Witcher couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of her, “Oh, Y/NN.”

Her skin was a sickly pale, several shades lighter than her normal glow. There was a nasty bruise across her face and her nose had dried blood from when she must have hit her head. There was a large, grotesque burn spanning from the edge of her right shoulder and up her neck as well as several smaller burns and scalds on her body. Geralt grunted in annoyance. He wished he had decided to visit a day sooner. Y/N whimpered again and her face scrunched up in pain.

“Shhh, Y/N. It’s all gonna be okay. I’m here now, nothing else will hurt you ever again.”, Geralt soothed softly. “I’m gonna pick you up, okay?”

Geralt asked but didn’t expect a response and he didn’t get one. He bent down to pick her up trying to be wary of any obvious injuries. The Witcher slowly slid an arm under hers and then the other underneath her legs. Geralt let out a classic hmm, lifted her off the ground and away from the ground.

Y/N’s head lolled against his shoulder, “ mm, careful Gera---,” her words faded out but eventually she came to again to warn him, “there’s a , mmm there is a monster here” , she mumbled, “it’ll burn ya.”

Geralt couldn’t help but chuckle lowly and shake his head. Even gravely injured Y/N was worried about the Witcher’s safety. He whistled for Roach but kept his pace steady in the direction he last saw his mare. Roach trotted up to him and he gently asked her to stand as still as possible. Geralt lifted Y/N above his head and placed her on his mare. He then quickly mounted Roach and wrapped his arms around Y/N. He clicked his tongue and led Roach back to Y/N’s cottage.

As they approached the cottage, he noticed smoke bellowing from the wood-burning stove. Y/N had a knack for creating wonderful meals out of what the forest provided and he wouldn’t be surprised to see some type of stew or soup hanging above the fire.

He hopped off of Roach when he got close to the entry-way and quickly lifted Y/N off of Roach. He carried her cradled in his arms and nudged the door open with his foot. He walked through the threshold and straight towards her large bed. Geralt gently layed her down and began to rummage through her herb and medicinal plant collection.

“Need a new salve”, Y/N managed to groan out, “ used the last of it on other victims.”

Geralt hummed in acknowledgement, “Of course you helped everyone possible”

He began to collect the different ingredients he needed. He sliced multiple pieces of aloe vera from one of her many plants and then added calendula, lavender and comfrey. He ground the ingredients together with a mortar and pestle. Once he was sure the mixture was properly prepared, he paced back to her gently propped her against the pillows.

He peeled her dress away from her wounds and flinched when Y/N groaned in pain. Geralt wanted to get her out of the dirty dress and into something more comfortable but didn’t want to do so when she wasn’t coherent. There were also more pressing matters at hand. Once the dress was off of the burns and out of his way, he began to cover the burns with the salve. By the time Geralt got to the neck and shoulder burn, he could tell that Y/N had begun to relax. He gently dabbed the concoction onto the massive burn and reminded himself to ask her tomorrow for scar remedies. Y/N sighed and seemed to be drifting off to sleep.

“Not yet, love. Let me get you some water first then you can sleep all you want.”, Geralt promised.

“Mmmm, love? Finally admitting that you have feelings for me handsome?” Y/N asked gently with an edge of humor in her voice.

“Yeah, I guess I am”, Geralt said and quickly ducked out of the house, heading for the well.

Geralt led Roach to the well and filled up the trough with water for her. He decided to take off her saddle and anything else connected to her, happy to let her roam in the safety of Y/N’s sanctuary. He mumbled at Roach about his slip of the tongue and she neighed back.

Geralt shook his head in amusement “I know, I know.”

The Witcher then pulled more water from the well and filled a pitcher and a bucket to bring into the house. He gently shut the door behind them and placed the bucket on her vanity. Walking closer, he poured some of the water from the pitcher into a cup for her. He then cradled the back of her neck with his other hand and helped lift her so she could sip from the cup.

She hummed when the cold water hit the back of her throat and cooled the inner heat from being surrounded by the burning trees. Geralt then moved across the room to pick up a rag and dip it into the bucket of water. He then used the rag to wipe the dirt and soot off of her face before dipping it again and cleaning her arms and legs, careful to avoid the burns where he had just placed salve.

Y/N was beginning to softly snore and had snuggled down into her pillow. Now that he knew she was safe he decided to clean himself up and apply salve to the burn he received while slaying the dracolizard. He peeled off his leather armor and stripped off his shirt. He reaused the same rag from before. Geralt dipped it in the bucket of clean water and began to clean the dirt, soot and draconid blood from his body. Lastly, he cleaned his lower half, stripping completely to cange into a pair of the loose pants Y/N kept here for his visits and long stays. Completely clean, Geralt pulled a chair towards the bed so he could sit and watch over his self-proclaimed “love”.

Y/N’s eyes open at the sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floors. She lets out a grumble and Geralts’s eyes shift quickly to scan and make sure she was okay.

“Join me… love” She whispers with a little chuckle.

“ I, uh…” he stumbles over his words.

“Geralt, get in the bed.” she demanded, “I am trying to tell you, I love you too…” she paused and started to fall back asleep before mumbling out “ so, get over here and cuddle me”.

Geralt huffs in disbelief for crawling into the bed with Y/N. He gently slides towards the middle of the bed and lets her move and contort herself until she is comfortably resting with her head on his chest and right hand resting gently on his torso. The Witcher hums in content as the lovely beholder of remedies and recipes rests against him. He tenderly kisses the top of her head and lets himself loll to sleep as well.

💕I hope y’all enjoyed it 💕

Taglist: @justahopelessssromantic

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #the witcher imagine #witcher x reader #geralt imagine #my work #witcher geralt #healer #geralt fluff #geralt angst #geralt and roach #request #witcher #witcher fic #dracolizard

215 notes · View notes

seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 4.1)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 4

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Seems like a Hirikka wants to be adopted. Thus, it was the Hirikka's presence that made things a lot more complicated for Geralt as he seemed to have a difficult time saying no to those doe eyes that you and the Hirikka had; leaving Jaskier to realize there was seriously something fishy about you and it was not just because of the witcher's frustration for his great abstinence that he badly needed a woman. Hence, there was something more.

Warnings: Fluff and tension from Geralt and Y/N! A tamed Hirikka who wanted to join the fam-bam! The word vagina and smash 😂 curse words and a very dramatic bard! Brief mention of Yoda. 😂 Soft! Geralt! 😍 Y’all can sense how Y/N has a crushie on the witcher. Taking care of an endangered species at home; but will eventually be freed when...it’s time.

Words: 4,100+

A/N: THANK YOU FOR ALL THE UNDYING SUPPORT! It's still full of fun, excitement and development. You'll have a sip of the plot soon enough! Problems will arise soon and I don’t know if you’ll like it? Heehee!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Some people said that when you're on your way to a journey you never knew about, it would be as difficult as taking a trek up the Mount Everest; saying that the way back home was pretty much effortless because the right path home was already engraved inside your head.

Not for you. You were heaving breaths again as you were not even halfway through the forest till Geralt's house.

Your eyes scanned the whole woods. It was extremely vast, thick and humid. Thoroughly astir with life like you have never seen before. Never, even back in your dimension; in earth to be precised. The forest of Kaedwen was like a fantasy genre game that has came into life and you were completely astounded even though, you were hunched over your knees like a dog panting in heat.

You've heard his horse gallop, wheezing before you as you gave them both a huff of exhaustion; giving Geralt a nasty lour when you've breathed in another deep one. The witcher suddenly jumped off his horse as you carry one with heaving breaths when he'd abruptly called out for you.

"Come," He demanded; standing beside Roach completely poised and with authority. Both hands on his leather belt with those hypnotizing set of peepers fixated on you. His expression lukewarm.

A baffled crease of your forehead coming together as you stood up straight; lips forming a tight thin line full of enervation. You've sauntered to where he is, very languidly and feeling your soles hurt every now and then. With Geralt suddenly conscious of your limping form and the huge cape you were trying to keep away from dirt because you've held the ends of it as you walked through the forest. "Why? Is there something wrong?"

The witcher shell-shockingly tutted when you were at arms reach, shaking his head as he does so. You've felt him take a step closer, towering over you with a stare he could muster that can get your face boiling in twitterpatters.

His palpable warmth was radiating off you quite irresistible. Such a warmth that could want one person to be engulfed in all night against the crisp wind that the kingdom of Kaedwen can offer. A tempting gesture you've wanted to take but had no will to do because it'll be very much strange for a person who'd suddenly appeared out of nowhere and hug the warmth out of him because of the cold wind.

"Turn around," He deeply muttered, slightly leaning his chiseled face down to your side as if to whisper in your ear. You've felt the baffling goosebumps rise your skin; the familiar warmth suddenly itching your face once more like a charger that was about to explode.

Faces close to each other and the vision of him leaning down just to whisper in your ear was enough to make you stammer like a high-school girl again. His Aurum eyes undeniably clearer and different when stared at with only a few inches away. It was giving an effect that makes you question yourself what your name was when you already know what it is, that kind of effect as each day passes.

"Why--why are you so demanding---" you started with a wild stammer. One side of his lips lifting in an inconsiderable amount that got your heart pounding, "Turn. Around." Geralt repeated, very much firmer and clearer with that subtle mischief in his peepers.

The cheeky bastard knew what he was doing.

You've stood your ground. Your eyes narrowing at the Witcher with a tenuous amount of pout because of how he'd gotten out of the ordinary since the moment he'd given you his hooded cloak.

A brief amount of headstrong stares were shared before the other raised his white flag, wanting to roll his eyes at the disobediency. The tall, brooding man sighed exasperatedly before you've felt his gentle fingers hooking your hips and painstakingly turning you around to his satisfaction.

This was the first time he has held you in such way. Your breath hitched and Geralt definitely heard and felt how your body react to his touch. It was like he was injecting a fiery kind of warmth that shoot through your veins when he turned you around.

Your legs were submitting to his demand. He was like your master and you were his puppet that he could play with the strings. Totally controllable with just one whisper.

"A stubborn midget, indeed." He uttered, completely lackadaisical. You bit the insides of your lips in consciousness. Very attentive of his fingers tightly clasping your hips and his warmth radiating from behind.

Geralt couldn't help but get a whiff of that delectable scent you had. The irresistible scent that boils his emotions like fireworks popping in the sky. He deeply sighed, eyes fluttering closed as he breathed. A coherent growl coming out of his chest making you turn your head to the side; wanting to ask what was wrong because he seemed to be having a battle within himself.

His touch was sending you the shudders whenever you were having a date with one of your suitors. These suitors that eventually got tired of courting because of how boring you were in reality. They were just attracted to the outer beauty you had; the adorable expressions you make or a sweet voice that gives them the thrill of having you. But, when they finally had the privilege on seeing the real you; they suddenly stop and find another woman who was worth the courting.

Kind of disheartening but you were used to it. All the damn time. They've called you boring but you've called yourself an idiot for liking them a lot in the end when they were officially pulling away.

Though, with Geralt's touch; there was something different. Something that could get your heart feeling the thrill and comfort you wanted and needed that nobody could ever give and you were beyond dumbstruck because of it.

"Hold on to Roach," the witcher suddenly dictated as you were distracted by those fingers clasping your hips, "What---" you asked out of nowhere, feeling his hold go firm as he pulled you closer to him. The mellowness of your face growing hotter when you've also felt his breath on top of your hair. You were panicking, but in a good; thrilling way.

"---and jump when I carry you," he added with the gruffest tone he could perpetrate. Your hands were quick to grab onto Roach's body when all of a sudden, you've saw an animal sitting on the ground in your peripheral vision; only catching the silhouette of his body.

"Wa-wait," Geralt ceased to carry you onto his horse's back. A curious hum leaving his chest as he haven't carried you midway yet. The sound of feet shifting was heard and you've turned your soles to be met with a brown animal who also had a lanky torso, legs and feet to stand, with arms that had the same structure of a human. Big eyes in the shade of dirty yellow, a stout jaw and nose but with sharp teeth of a wolf.

"Geralt?" the sound of your voice consists of slight fright but also completely fascinated and with utter interest. No words were given to you when you've pointed at the Hirikka who stood on its feet, languidly blinking back at you with those doe eyes, "A walking puppy!"

You've given the Hirikka a toothy grin as you were enchanted by how adorable it is. The animal was beyond out of this world for you as there were no types of animals like it. The Hirikka slanted his head to the side, curiously watching what you were doing as he'd seen you smiling before he languorously tried to smile back but it appears as if he was threatening you and showing its teeth.

The witcher's eyebrows were met with a tight knot; thoroughly judging you from behind. It was the Hirikka he'd given an apple before you even met Cuthbert.

"---Or...It's...It's a walking cat!" you pressed on and pointed at the animal with no idea that it was already a monster standing before you. Your giggle was enough for Geralt to know that you were ecstatic for seeing a Hirikka rather than being scared. He kept silent and continued listening to your rambles, "---A big cat with the ears of Yoda!"

You were about to make a run for it; before Geralt held you in place and tugged you back with his hands still on your hips. Totally unaware that he was still holding you because it felt all natural for him to be touching you like that. Your eyeballs were close to having it pop out when you've felt him keep you rooted in your place as he mindlessly droned, "No, It's a monster. A Hirikka. An endangered one," he paused, feeling you sigh and notice the dejected pout you had because it wasn't just a normal animal but a monster to their world.

The latter was quick to back-paddle; trying to lighten your hopes up, "---But, harmless. Never fear, midget."

Your smile flared up into a grin, all teeth shown at the Hirikka with Geralt's enlightening statement before yanking your head back to meet those gold eyes staring back at you in humdrum. The upper portion of your head; hitting his armored chest with a soft thud. Those peepers of yours overflowing with perversity and a hint of beseeching.

"Geralt?" you beamed wider than ever before; hoping you looked worthy enough for the favor to be accepted.

The witcher dropped his hands to his sides, not even noticing he was holding you longer than he intended to. He crossed his sturdy arms with a look of irritability and refutation from the whole idea. He just knew what you were pointing out as you wanted to hug the Hirikka if he didn't pull you back.

"Can I---"

Geralt sighed a deep one; looking away as he wanted to roll his eyes, "No. Only a demented person will think of having a Hirikka as a pet,"

"I'm not taking him as a pet," you countered and wholly turned your body to give him that puppy eyes of yours, "---I'm befriending the cutie!" with a point of your fingers, the Hirikka smiled another one; entirely benign to even begin with. You've seen the Hirikka blink cutely and wanted to do everything just for Geralt to say yes. If you would be staying in their world, you might as well find something entertaining to get your weariness by taking care of a Hirikka rather than staring at Jaskier who slept all night like a big baby.

"No, you're wanting him to be a pet," Geralt retorted with another sigh of vexation; emphasizing the word 'want'.

Another sally was sent, "You told me it was already endangered," pause. "---The poor little thing needs to be taken care of especially that he's all alone and so hungry. You don't want him dying in starvation, right?"

Geralt groaned to himself, closing his eyes to relax himself from telling you that monsters can't be kept as a pet nor taken care of because they knew how to take care of themselves. Yet, there you are; looking at him like what a Hirikka appeared to be like as you were trying to act pretty cute just to have what you wanted.

"Creatures wandering in our world should be left untouched. Not be taken as a pet," the latter seethed with his jaw clenching when he was met with your twinkling, hopeful eyes.

However, you weren't backing down that easily. "Come on! Even just until I'm here then you can let him go, please? please? please?"

His face was in the correct wrinkle of a wince like he was close to punching a wall. Geralt hardly exhaled and gave you a grimace; a look that could get your knees turn to jelly because of how sexy it looked like. You were definitely out of your mind for finding a scowl attractive from a witcher you hardly knew about.

"Fuck," his cursing seemed to be a definite affirmation for your request and his next words confirmed your hunches, "---Fine!" he gruffly exclaimed.

Thus, you beamed back at the witcher and jumped excitedly, giggling in the process and resisting yourself from hugging him tight, "---Just don't fucking starve the horseshit because you're definitely going to be his next meal,"

Geralt didn't actually mean that because Hirikkas don't eat people. Just plants, fruits and sometimes animals when its that time of the month or a full moon.

Despite of trying to threaten you and having the chance to back out from your wishes, your smile even grew wider if that was even possible; snapping your fingers to tell him that you had something in your weird mind. "I'm naming him Kolby!"

The Witcher's forehead creased more, mouth turning into a frown as he beseeched, "Why?"

"What do you mean why? One deserves a name even a stone!"

He turned his back away from you, shaking his head to open his back that was latched behind his horse, grabbing onto another fruit. It was a plum. He threw the fruit towards the awaiting Hirikka who was now closer within an arms reach and the Hirikka gladly accepted it with a loud wheeze, "I'm not an idiot to be naming a stone, Midget." he gave you the side-eye.

You raised an eyebrow back at him; your smile never seem to be fading since the moment you had with him back in Cuthbert's house, "Says the person who's dressed up in an all-black costume like he was out of an action role playing game,"

"It's an armor," Geralt shut his bag closed, mouth forming a thin line from your naivety and how you weren't taking his world seriously. His voice turned a pitch lower and utmost gravely, "You don't know how this world is filled with beasts, Midget."

He turned his booted heel to see you still smiling back at him. Geralt hummed out of his habit and abruptly pulled you to his solid chest. The uttermost close proximity letting your smile fall from the action. You gaped up at him in question, when he'd given you an answer filled with a touch as he gently held onto your hips and turned you around like you were his stuff toy.

"Now, jump." he rasped. Before you could even comprehend, he'd lifted you with no sweat and you were holding onto Roach's body with all your life. Half of your torso still hanging onto his horse as he haven't lifted you all the way.

"Geralt!" you shrieked, his horse utterly huge for you to jump on by yourself with Roach neighing in the background.

To the witcher's unfortunate position, he was inches away from your clothed bum. His eyes narrowed at what was shown to his face; his nose flared as he stared, turning his head to look away with a displeased hum and seeing the Hirikka judging him from the side.

He glared at the poor harmless monster as it looked like he was judging him for even looking.

They've both stared like they were having a competition before you frustratingly quipped and pulled your whole body to raise your leg to the other but finding that it was quite difficult, "Help me! But, don't touch my ass!"

Geralt gave the Hirikka a death stare before he'd touch your clothed thighs; intentionally avoiding the bare skin of your legs. You could feel him shooting daggers across your back with no reason you'd know and finally had your legs across the other side when he'd pushed you through it. Your face was all red and mellow because of the fact that you've uttered out loud for him to not touch your ass; which was sudden. He wouldn't dare to touch it because who even are you to tell that he wanted to?

Well, you do if it was the other way around. If the bum was....his.

But, he didn't need to know that you lowkey wanted to tap it. The secret should be left alone.

"I-I don't know how to ride a horse," you stumbled over your words from the embarrassment and thought he wouldn't also ride, yet you were surprised when you've felt him grunt from behind; feeling his presence and jumping on his horse as he held onto the halter from behind you.

"Oh," was the only word you could muster as you felt yourself be caged in his brawny arms. Your face started to become beet red as you've realized the meaning of your random thoughts that ran behind your head. Those thoughts that planned to keep you from sleeping all night with the painful reality of not being able to go home yet and probably even the face of a certain witcher that was making the butterflies run wild inside your stomach.

You've finally arrived in their home with Kolby following behind you and Geralt when you were riding his horse.

At the present moment, Kolby was standing before their wooden door. It was Geralt's idea to welcome Ciri and Jaskier for his presence as it would be the best gift for the bard as a token for his benevolence and for keeping their friendship in tact and strong still.

There were padded footsteps behind the door and a booming voice resonating from behind it before the door opened and creaked as Jaskier came into view as he went on and on with his talkative mouth, "Why, Geralt! Have you enjoyed your conquest with Y/N--!!" his words were cut short as he shrieked and jumped on his spot when he was welcomed by a Hirikka that he'd seen before but very much smaller and midget looking.

Jaskier's baby blue eyes were wanting to come out of his eye-sockets as he fell back on his knees. Hastily standing on his feet as Ciri emerged from the kitchen to look at the commotion happening on their doorstep. The bard violently pointed at the Hirikka who stepped foot inside with its doe eyes scanning the whole cavern. "---IT'S ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS AGAIN! I thought he'd already tasted its painful demise from that foolish knight years ago?!"

You and Geralt followed suit after Kolby did; giving Jaskier and Cirilla a guiltless smile while the witcher was smirking behind you; specifically entertained by Jaskier's bolt from the blue.

"What's that creature doing in our home, Geralt?!" the bard jogged away from the harmless monster with a proximate amount of space where as he was already in the far end of their house with that scandalizing frown on his pretty face. You gave the Hirikka a soft pat on the head; automatically leaning closer from your sweet touch and purring in a way he does.

"His name is Kolby!"

To say Jaskier was shocked isn't enough. He was beyond flabbergasted. Extremely floored. "It has a name?!"

The Hirikka's feet was waggling in sheer pleasure; like an animal who loved being pet on the head. Jaskier gave you both a look of pique from how normal it was for you to be petting a Hirikka when a normal person would've stabbed the life out of the monster. "You---You are simply bonkers, Y/N!" he stood rooted on the ground, never paying a chance to get close to the three of you.

Cirilla excitedly strolled to where you were, Her eyes gleaming with pure curiosity and fascination. "What is it?" she'd manage to ask as she stepped in to give you and Geralt a hug for being safe as you've arrived home.

The princess dropped her feeble arms around you and aimed to look at the monster who was shorter than her, studying the monster with a crease of her forehead and noting how adorable its eyes were.

"It's a Hirikka, princess." Geralt dearly answered for you as he gently closed the door behind and stepped inside their home. Cirilla gave him a look before she went on with more queries, "Does it bite?"

The witcher gave her a small beam for reassurance as he shook his head, "Utterly harmless. Just don't starve the poor fella',"

Jaskier gave a glout and inspected the whole scene before him. "Are you perhaps short of a marble?!?!?" the message was sent to you or maybe to Geralt and Ciri as well when he'd gestured with his arms like he was gesturing how long his patience were wearing down for the stuff happening and the changes occurring when you've arrived.

You gave Kolby a short set of your tutting but it was actually for the bard who was judging you from a distance; caressing the Hirikkas head as Ciri wholeheartedly did as well.

"There, there, Kolby. Don't be sad. Jaskier is just mean because he's just sexually frustrated,"

Jaskier was quick to retort, his hands now on his hips as he eyed you who had been downright offended by your opinions, "I AM CERTAINLY NOT!" he bellowed with a huff and a sassy eyebrow raising from your banter. The latter pointed at the witcher behind you who had his smirk raised more than he intended to. Jaskier's vexation towards the Hirikka completely entertaining him that he couldn't help but emit a low chuckle from behind that certainly caught your ear as it was the first time you've heard him laugh. Hence, it was like the angels sung for you, "THE WITCHER BEHIND YOU IS! NOT ME!"

"---Tell me, Geralt," The sonneteer fixated his blue eyes on the man behind you. A frown etched on Jaskier's face, "Were you against this idea that the rat wanted a Hirikka as a pet?!"

Geralt crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at the bard as he thought for a moment before giving him a mocking answer, "At first, yes."

"And now?"

The witcher kept his lips closed, just staring at the bard and trying not to smile back at him from how his mouth went completely ajar from his silence. Jaskier already knew what happened and what his answer is even though his question wasn't verbally answered by the man himself.

He knew Geralt wanted to smash. Maybe because he utmost needed it or not because you were just a woman with a vagina that could give him pleasure. There was something more for his hurried fondness for you. There was something more; deeper, greater and utterly unexplainable. Jaskier knew that the witcher had the hots for you as he was openly accepting what all you wanted and he wasn't just doomed because Ciri already had Geralt wrapped around her own finger with the fact that she was his child of surprise.

But, you weren't any child of surprise nor weren’t you a child. Though, you already had him wrapped around your own fingers by bringing home a Hirikka that he certainly doesn’t do ever in his life.

"---Of course, she'd managed to control your overly deluded fondness for her and used it to her advantage!" It was like he sounded to cry out. You couldn't help but giggle from how he was dramatically crying like a baby as Ciri continued petting the Hirikka for you.

Jaskier exhaled a breath, loud enough for you to hear his denial about the whole Hirikka saving thing. He sent the witcher a glare full of aggravation, "I am utmost disappointed in you, Geralt!" and he shook his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose when he continued to wail like a kid.

"---Please tell me he's not sleeping beside me,"

Geralt hoarsely scoffed as it turned into a smile that appeared faultless. He nodded his head towards the Hirikka who shortly licked Ciri's face as he gestured for the tamed creature, "If I'd choose you between Roach to be noshed for his satiation, you know what my answer would be, bard."

Jaskier groaned to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose tighter and having a mental breakdown for meeting a Hirikka on their doorstep and even getting to live with one when he'd seen his species get killed by a knight and now it was going to sleep where he takes his nap. It was stressing him, everything is.

"Great, utterly great," he muttered with his eyes closed, one last sigh given as a sign of submission for everyone who stood before him.

PLEASE DO GIVE FEEDBACK WHEN YOU HAVE THE TIME, BB’S IF YOU LOVED IT! THANK YOU! LOVE YOU AND STAY SAFE!

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell

364 notes · View notes

belettewrites · 3 years

Text

Some mountains and a dog part 7

previous | next | AO3 | masterpost

Honestly, the sheep shed looked nice; it was obvious that it had been repaired multiple times, some planks of wood lighter than others and a door that looked so out of place that Jaskier had to raise an eyebrow at that.

“My brother’s idea of a wedding gift,” Lila sighed.

Jaskier snorted.

“Well, at least it’s- original?”

“Original is one word for it,” she agreed as she actually opened the monstrosity that was the door. “But it does its job, and it’s only the shed – Violet thought it was rude to put it there, but I didn’t want that on our actual house, thank you very much. I may not see well but I see distinctly enough to know that this would look uglier there than it already does here.”

Jaskier made a mental note to ask her about her sight later – it was one of the things he actually knew how to cure, more or less. His powers were good for two things, actually: making flowers and curing things so insignificant that he would be useless as a healer on a battlefield. Which suited him just fine – he was quite happy to follow his witcher and to watch as Yennefer actually taught useful things to Ciri.

Flowers were so much nicer than all of this. He had been called vain, before, by a fellow mage, because all he did with his powers was changing plants into pretty flowers. His sister hadn’t seemed to mind it, when he made her little bouquets of flowers that didn’t grow on the coast. Flowers were easier, prettier, and could come in handy in potions, which was all that he needed. Though he mostly did it, at first, to watch his sister smile.

He stepped inside the shed and looked around him. Hay was on the ground, and there were sheep just sleeping there. He didn’t know a thing about sheep keeping, and assumed that it was normal.

“What are we going to do? Specific tasks?”

He was careful to watch his steps, as he didn’t want to step into… something that would be hard to wash off.

“Check if they’re fine, and mostly make sure that the latest additions are doing okay. Two lambs were born” she added after a quizzical glance from Jaskier, “and they’re fine on their own but it’s still good to make sure they have everything. Violet usually takes the herd out, but Charcoal is still a bit unpredictable sometimes.”

It was fair – the dog was still young, after all. As Jaskier turned around to look at the inside of the shed, he noticed that flowers had been painted under the windows, and he had to stop to appreciate the decoration.

“Who painted them?”

“Who- ah, the flowers? Violet asked me to. She likes them, you know, and when I learned that, well before we were married or even engaged, I asked my brother to find me a book on flowers, or something that would help me recognize them. He’s a nice brother, when his gifts aren’t… like that. He didn’t find a book, couldn’t have afforded it even if he had,” she shrugged, “but he taught me flowers names and such. So I was able to go and find Violet’s favorite one, and with the little money I had earned, bought paints and – well. She still has the painting I gave her, you know?”

Violet loved flowers, Lila loved Violet – it was easy to understand why their house was full of plants, why the courtyard was full of crocuses and other seasonal flowers.

“The flowers do add a really nice touch to your house,” Jaskier replied, thinking about the new one that he had put on the stairs. “I love flowers, actually – I can make them grow. Sort of.”

Lila raised an eyebrow, before kneeling down next to a small sheep – a lamb.

“Well, if I have a leaf I can turn it into something else – it’s how I told Geralt, by the way.”

“Flowers do come in handy to show our beloved that we care, don’t they?”

“Oh- Geralt and I aren’t-” Jaskier felt himself blush, “It’s not-”

“I had gathered as much, yes,” Lila smiled, “but that’s not what I said, isn’t it? Here, do you want to hold him?”

The lamb looked at Jaskier, who felt unable to resist to the thought of holding a baby sheep that looked like a cloud and seemed just as soft. Not that he had ever touched a cloud.

Plus, holding him meant maybe escaping to the current conversation, so it was a win-win situation for him. He reached out to take him in his arms, and the lamb let himself be taken. He was, quite frankly, adorable and terribly cute.

Lila went on with what she had to do, not adding anything about Jaskier and Geralt’s lack of romantic relationship.

He had been holding the lamb for a few minutes, marveling at his softness and at how much trust he had placed in Jaskier to fall asleep like this in his arms, when he heard Geralt’s voice coming from behind him.

“Jask.”

Not expecting him to be there – the man could be more silent than silence itself – Jaskier felt like his soul had left his body with how much it startled him. Trying to play it cool – because Geralt was always telling him to be aware of his surroundings, and to show that he had let his guard down that much wouldn’t do it – he turned back to Geralt, laughing to hide, well, everything he was feeling at the moment.

“Yes, dear?” he asked, then took in the sight in front of him. Geralt was clearly ready to go on his hunt. “Oh, you’re leaving, isn’t it?”

He tried to hide how nervous it made him, to know that Geralt was leaving. It was stupid and he knew it, but he couldn’t help but worry. It was in moments like these that he resented his lack of magical knowledge – if he had known how to fight, how to heal better, then he could have gone with Geralt, he would have been able to protect and care for the witcher in ways he couldn’t now.

He smiled, still, at his friend who never hesitated to put himself in danger if it meant helping other people.

“Yes,” Geralt replied, oblivious to what Jaskier was thinking. Then he walked closer to him.

“Have you seen him?” Jaskier asked, showing the lamb, because otherwise he would do something stupid like put the lamb down and hug Geralt, and that wasn’t something he should do right now, wasn’t it? “And he’s so soft, Geralt, really, you ought to pet him, look how cute he is!”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied like he always did, and Jaskier had to chuckle.

“Of course you’d say that,” he said, before remembering why Geralt was here and what he was about to do. “Be careful, darling,” he asked, almost desperately, grateful to have the lamb in his arms to have something to ground him, “I- be careful.”

It was almost a prayer to whatever god might listen, that Geralt would be safe and would return to him. And now he sounded like a maiden watching her spouse leave to fight in a war, and he needed to stop that line of thought right now because it would only end up hurting too much – or make him dissolve into nervous laughter as his heart longed for things it couldn’t have.

“I will,” Geralt promised, before-

before kissing Jaskier right on the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve got to go now, can’t wait any longer,” he added. “Behave.”

He walked out without saying anything else, leaving Jaskier standing in the middle of the sheep shed, lamb still in his arms, completely frozen.

“What-” Jaskier started, glancing at Lila who was looking at him as though she was trying not to laugh, “did he just-”

Lila nodded.

“And I-”

“Let him go without saying anything, yes.”

Jaskier started to pet the lamb he was still holding in his arms.

“But he- He doesn’t- Not like this, at least- and I-”

Lila chuckled and took the lamb from him before putting it back on the hay, murmuring sweet nothings to it, as one does to an animal. She then turned back to Jaskier.

“I think you need some wine,” she said, and Jaskier wholeheartedly agreed.

***

“It’s obvious he loves you!” Violet argued as she made her way around the table, putting down a plate of wild strawberries. Lila stole one, and she watched her do it with a fond smile.

“She’s right,” Lila nodded as she filled Jaskier’s cup with more wine, “we can hear it every time he speaks to you, we can see it every time he looks at you.”

That- couldn’t be right.

Jaskier couldn’t stop himself from thinking back about that almost kiss, how natural it had seemed, how Geralt hadn’t even seemed to think about it, how he had turned around as if he hadn’t shattered Jaskier’s world in the very same breath he had stolen his heart.

That was a terrible metaphor for multiple reasons, and Jaskier winced internally. He would put it on his shock, his poetical abilities were not threatened by it, no one would ever know.

After the – not kiss – he and Lila had walked back to the house, where they had met Violet and Charcoal who had just gotten back from their trek in the fields. “Geralt kissed Jaskier goodbye” Lila had said after seeing her wife’s confusion. Seeing the understanding dawning on Violet’s face would have had been hilarious if Jaskier hadn’t been too focused on what the fuck had just happened.

“I-” he started, because he had to reply something, couldn’t let them think that his feelings were returned.

“Jaskier,” Violet sighed, “we knew you didn’t know, but he just kissed you, you have to admit that it has to count for something.”

He took a sip of his wine, because it was easier than to think about things, and petted Charcoal who had put his head on Jaskier’s thigh.

Geralt couldn’t love him that way. And friends kissed each other all the time! Maybe not on the mouth, but to be fair it hadn’t been on the mouth, not really. Maybe Geralt wanted to kiss his cheek but had miscalculated? But Geralt never miscalculated things, Geralt did things for a reason and not randomly like this had seemed.

Maybe he had seen that Jaskier was worried and that was the only way he had found to reassure him – though it wasn’t the first time that he was worried about Geralt going on a hunt.

Geralt couldn’t love him romantically. He liked him as a friend, that he knew, and he cared for him in a way that sometimes confused Jaskier, but Geralt didn’t love him. He loved his family, and Jaskier was more or less part of said family, but that didn’t mean that he loved Jaskier.

Jaskier had left syllogisms back in Oxenfurt and was not ready to use them again, even more so as they would have been wrong. Geralt loved his family, Jaskier was part of this family, but Geralt couldn’t love Jaskier, it was just not- plausible, possible.

Feeling Violet and Lila’s eyes on him, he took another sip of wine. It was a fine wine, a deep red, and he briefly wondered where it had come from before deciding that it wasn’t worth thinking about.

What he was feeling was mostly confusion. Why would Geralt do that? Maybe Geralt did love him – but thinking that meant hoping, and hope was a bittersweet poison that Jaskier didn’t want to take.

He would have to wait for Geralt to return, then. Waiting would be even more excruciating that it already would have been.

“Maybe,” he reluctantly agreed, and Lila rolled her eyes.

“You’ll see,” Violet said, “that we’re right and you were just blind to the truth.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Jaskier sighed.

“That’s the spirit,” Lila smiled. “Now, enough of this, tell me more about you turning leaves into flowers, don’t think I have forgotten that. How exactly does it work? Could I do it?”

Grateful for the distraction, Jaskier put his cup down before straightening up on the bench.

“Well, I’ll answer your last question first: no, you couldn’t – you would need to be gifted with magic for that.”

“It means that you’re a mage, then,” Violet remarked from where she was sitting, hands turned red by the strawberries she had been eating.

“Yes,” Jaskier said, “it means just that, but don’t be fooled, flowers are my only field of expertise – only because I think they’re pretty. They can be useful, too,” he shrugged, “but I like how pretty they look.”

“Does it have to be leaves?”

Jaskier had to pause at that, to think about how he would phrase his answer. He also stopped petting Charcoal, which prompted the dog to whine softly, nudging his hand.

“Well, not really,” he chuckled as he resumed his petting, “It has to be a plant, though, and it has to be alive, as in, fallen leaves wouldn’t work, but if I went outside and picked one right now, then I could turn it into another plant, yes.”

“Is that the only thing you can do?” Lila asked as she took the bowl of wild strawberries from her wife.

“Well-” Jaskier hesitated, but what arm would it cause to let them know? It was not as if they met a lot of people around here. “I was mostly self-taught, so I picked things that I liked, not things that were useful. I can heal a scraped knee, or minor injuries, but that’s mostly all. Oh, and bad eyesight. I can’t exactly heal it, but I have a spell that can enchant glasses to make them always, well, adapted. So even if your eyesight worsens, the glasses will still work. Learned it for my sister.”

He noticed that Violet and Lila were exchanging glances.

“Do you think-” Lila started, “Do you think you could- do the spell for me? If you can’t, that’s alright, it’s just that-”

Oh. Oh, well. Geralt wasn’t the only one who wanted to help people, now was he?

“I would be delighted to be able to help,” he smiled, “but I fear it would take quite a lot of my energy, as I’m not used to doing it very often – or doing any magic, really.”

Now that he was thinking about it, Lila and Violet were pretty chill about him being a mage, but then Violet had beamed when she had seen that Geralt was a Witcher, so maybe people in the mountains actually knew that mages and witchers were people just like them. Immortality and magic notwithstanding.

“Let’s do this, then,” he smiled, “and then I think I’ll take a nap, and wait for Geralt to return – oh fuck, Geralt.”

#geraskier #The Witcher #geralt x jaskier #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #mine

9 notes · View notes

deathonyourtongue · 4 years

Text

Winter Passing | Chapter 10

Summary: After car accident leaves him at the base of a mountain with no sign of civilization for miles, a breakup is the least of Henry’s problems. Just as death’s icy fingers begin to coil around him, salvation presents itself in the form of an old cabin in a clearing. Despite years of being told fairy tales and ghost stories that warn against such things, he uses his last of his strength to reach the cottage. When he wakes, he finds not a demon, but an angel, long removed from the insanity of the modern world. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: None, for once. A/N : I think my tag list broke during the last update. Should be fixed now. Like what I do? Buy me a coffee!

I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX _______________________________________________

Send me a PM me if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

@fumbling-fanfics @skiesfallithurts @pinkpenguin7 @madmedusa178 @fangoria @bluestarego @my--own--personal--paradise @tastingmellow @honeychicanawrites @angelicapriscilla @swiftyhowlz @schreiberpablo @pinkwatchblueshoes @kirasmomsstuff @prettypascal @playbucky @queen-of-the-kastle @cajunpeach @godlikeentity @captainsamwlsn @lilac-tea-time @katerka88 @melaninmimii @alienor-romanova @downtowndk @redhairedmoiraandtheliferuiners @agniavateira @henryfanfics101 @fatefuldestinies @iloveyouyen @justaboringadult @xxxxxerrorxxxxx @bloodyinspiredfuck @peakygroupie @stxphmxlls @trippedmetaldetector @radaofrivia @speakerforthedead0 @oddsnendsfanfics @snowbellexx @leilabeaux @cavillunraveled @woofgocows @andahugaroundtheneck @sofiebstar @kmhappybunny @mary-ann84 @cappot @cheyentjj @cavillhavoc @sleepy-moon-girl @princess-of-riviaa @peakyrogers @hell1129-blog @thethirstyarchive @worldicreate @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @henry-cavill-obsessed @rmtndew @elena-lawley @bichibibi @penwieldingdreamer @scoopitypoopbloop @flightofthefantasies @justrae9903 @raspberrydreamclouds @minton131 @hollydaisy23 @mizzzpink @omgkatinka @rn7rocks @elenas-fanficrecs @ohjules @writernerd23 @whatawildone @toss-some-coffee-to-your-witcher @modernscarlett @jasmindaughteroftheworld @badoopwoop @onlyhenrys @moderapoppins @flouncingxtart @ffreadings @captaingothgirl1996 @schmidten17 @alexakeyloveloki @asylummara @dearlybelovedluke @pinkzsugar @valkyrhys @ntlmundy @livingonmywishes @thotti3evans @whitewolfandthefox @madbaddic7ed @sausagefest1996 @foxyjwls007 @fuckoffbard @bethabear12 @lovieebby @marswritings @mooniiieee @traceyaudette @pumpkinglory @keiva1000 @my-rosegold-soul @geralt-of-baevia @luna-aestas @thereisa8ella @lovefreylove @littlefreya @designedacertainway @worshipping-skarsgard @aletheladyinred @sugarpenchant @evermcfearless @deep-in-my-thoughts13 @wednesdaybraids @lyrafraiser @tumblnewby @pearlkitten33 @initanap @lkay0307 @winchwm @wheretheriversrunintothesea @genuinedonnie @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair @sunnie91

Foraging in the winter was a skill to be honed, and after finishing the morning work on the property, Henry followed Olivia out towards the wilds of the forest that took up the back end of her home.

“I didn’t think anything grew in winter, especially out here,” he murmured, watching her intently, keen to learn and-as he tended to be more and more often with each passing day-in awe of how she moved, how she lived.

“Technically nothing grows in winter, but there’s plenty to gather,” Olivia explained as she opened her hand, showing Henry a seed pod that resembled a dancing flame.

“The pancakes we had the other day? Were made with flour from these Hornbeam seeds. And here? These are delicious when you prepare them correctly,” Olivia explained, her other hand holding a few crabapples.

Eyebrows up in amazement, Henry dutifully turned around, letting Olivia put more foraged goods into the backpack she’d strapped him into. “What about poisonous stuff? Or stuff that you can use for...You know…” He made a face and Olivia couldn’t help but laugh, cupping Henry’s cheek and reaching up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss as they continued their walk through the forest, protected from the elements by the thick overhead cover of the ancient trees.

“That too. Holly and Mistletoe, though I personally have little use for them as nature intended,” Olivia nodded, her smile growing bigger as she felt Henry tuck her in under his arm, pulling her close as they fell in step with one another.

“Tell me a story from when you were...Before you were a witch?” Henry asked, his voice soft and tinged with reticence, lest he say the wrong thing.

“I was born a witch, sweetheart. It’s not like vampires. You don’t get turned into one at the peak of your life,” Olivia laughed sweetly, squeezing his waist with one hand while the other rubbed gently over his chest. “And before you ask, no vampires do not exist. Some of us do blood magic, which is pretty close, but none of us have fangs...That I know of.” Gazing up at him with amusement, she leaned into his strong form as they continued to walk.

“A story from when I was younger. Let’s see...When I first became aware of my powers, my favorite thing to do was hide things up in the trees. I started small; little bits of fur, some meat, one of my mother’s hair combs. No one noticed at first, of course, but then I started to get bolder. My father’s saddle was the first thing anyone really noticed, because, well, we only had one at the time. My crowning achievement though, was putting the family goat in the tallest tree of our village. It lasted all of an hour before the goat began to bleat, and a crowd formed. My parents were none too impressed. I’ll never forget my father having to climb up there, only to throw the poor thing down into an elk skin a few of our neighbors held out.”

“You were-”

“A little shit, yeah.” Olivia grinned proudly up at Henry, earning a laugh and a playful kiss, neither her nor Henry paying much attention to their surroundings, too wrapped up in the moment to care about what might be headed their way.

“Well, you turned out alright, that’s what matters, no?” Henry chuckled, giving her a warm squeeze and another kiss to the temple.

Olivia couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more at peace and more elated. Looking up at him, she knew Henry was the root cause, but after centuries of solitude and suffering, Olivia refused to let the fear of the unknown take hold. What they had was all she’d ever wanted, and she wasn’t about to let it slip from between her fingers.

The choice, however, didn’t seem to be hers.

As they rounded the path into a smaller clearing just west of the cottage, the woods turned silent. Though it was winter, the forest still tended to be a cacophony of sounds, from bird calls to deer munching on berries. The silence was unnerving, and looking over her shoulder, Olivia’s unease grew into fear as she watched Gunnar go into a low crouch. Eyes fixed on the clearing, the husky bared his teeth and raised his hackles, on the defensive.

Olivia had barely turned back around when she caught sight of the apparition. Despite the cloud-covered sunlight that streamed into the clearing, the creature still terrified her, as the light allowed her to see her mother’s visage in greater detail.

Henry’s hold on her tightened instinctively, his eyes fixed on the ghostly image before him. “Liv, darling, what do we do?” He whispered, his concern growing when he felt Olivia begin to tremble.

Hiding her face in his chest a moment, Olivia worked to get her breathing back under control, fighting off every urge to run, knowing that doing so would only aggravate the apparition. Instead, she felt an anger grow inside her, usurping the fear as she forced herself to remember that this land was hers. With a push away from Henry, she turned her full attention to the spirit, drawing it closer with her actions.

“Gunnar, stay.” She commanded when she heard the husky stalk closer, a low rumble making it clear he was ready to attack at any moment.

“You’re not welcome here. Leave. Now.” Olivia spoke firmly, taking off her gloves. Henry’s eyes went wide when he noticed the aquamarine waves entwining around Olivia’s fingers. Moving like the ocean itself, they crashed and flowed, gathering in strength and fury until they created a stormy swell between her hands. There was no doubt, even to Henry, that if she let go, whoever was on the receiving end of the rush of water, would be in for a terrible time.

“Last chance, wretch. Tell me who summoned you and from whence you came, or suffer even more than you already have.”

The water between her hands began to glow, and upon closer inspection, Henry realized there was fire beneath the waves and the true nature of Olivia’s threat became clear. Being hit with a jet of water was one thing, but if that water were hotter than an open flame, spurned by anger, it was something else entirely.

Frozen in place, Henry couldn’t stop his cry of fear as the apparition suddenly lunged forward, screeching when it was hit full on by Olivia’s fury. To his surprise, the thing began to disintegrate once more, although this time, the process seemed far more grotesque. Instead of fading, the water seemed to eat away at the apparition, like acid on metal. It turned his stomach, but he couldn’t look away, fascinated and appalled in equal measure.

Just before its face melted away, the creature let out another ear-piercing wail, the singular word it spoke chilling Henry to the bone.

TABITHA!!

Unable to keep from shivering, Henry only found himself able to move when Gunnar nuzzled at his thigh, the husky’s demeanor back to normal as he sat at Henry’s feet.

“Tabitha? Who’s Tabitha?” Olivia asked as she shook off her own chill, the creature’s all-white stare one that would be burned into her memory for a very long time. Moving back to where Henry stood shell shocked, she rubbed his back, knowing full well this could be his breaking point.

“T-Tabitha’s my ex-girlfriend’s name. I w-was leaving her the day you saved me.”

Olivia could feel the chill in his body, the fear in his heart as he made the connection. Though she had no idea how long they’d been together, the betrayal and astonishment Henry felt coursed through every vein, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that Tabitha had kept her true nature a secret from her lover.

Taking Henry’s hand in hers, Olivia turned them in the direction of home, hoping the hearth, some tea, and her thickest blanket would be enough to ease the pain she knew was imminent in Henry’s very tender heart.

“What I don’t understand is...Why’d she have your mother’s face?” Henry mumbled long after his tea was gone, his gaze still despondent as he sat curled up on the couch, as close to the hearth as he could manage.

“If she’s as strong as she seems, Tabitha will have seen me with you. It doesn’t take a lot of work to conjure up a family line, even one as old as mine. She’d have found my mother’s face in my thoughts without breaking much of a sweat.”

A visible shiver went through Henry and he shook his head, looking for all the world like he might cry at any moment. Frowning, Olivia curled up next to him, making sure he could feel her arms squeezing tightly around his torso, hoping the contact would ground him.

“Am I cursed?” Henry’s question made Olivia’s laugh spill out before she could stop it.

“I wouldn’t say that. After all, only one of us is sending threats, and from what little you’ve told me, it sounds like she wasn’t the most pleasant person to begin with.” Shifting easily with Henry, Olivia let him settle as they both laid out on the couch. With his head between her breasts, she finally felt Henry’s anxiety ease and his heart rate slow.

The crash against the window sent them both flying off the couch, once more on high alert.

“Oh my god, it’s just an owl. Christ, where’s Dyster when you need him?” Olivia muttered to herself as she moved to the window, opening it to let the bird in. Scrambling up the couch and as far away from the black-and-white-feathered creature as possible, Henry’s wide-eyed look matched the owl’s, the two staring at one another for a long moment before the bird turned its attention to Olivia.

“I come on behalf of--”

“Theofina, right? Yeah, I get it. I’m wanted in Rome. Since it seems I don’t have much of a choice, tell her to ready my apartments, and that I’ll be bringing a guest not of our order. How’s your beak? You hit pretty hard.”

“It’s fine, ma’am. Just wasn’t paying attention as there was a mouse and, well, I’m hungry.” The difference between the two emissaries couldn’t have been more blatant, and not for the first time, Olivia wondered just how much had truly changed in her former home.

“Here, I have some rabbit to spare. Warm yourself by the fire. Are you pressed for time?” Olivia asked, doing her best to ignore Henry’s befuddled expression as she pulled some raw rabbit from the floor cooler, cutting it in half before meeting the bird by the hearth.

“What’s your name?” She asked, stroking over his head gently, surprised when she still felt a chill in his feathers.

“Atrix, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Atrix bowed his head for a moment before taking the offered meat and downing it in go.

“Are you treated well?”

“I’m given a home, food, and responsibility, ma’am. That’s all I require.” Atrix nodded, his eyes closing in peaceful enjoyment of the food in his belly, the heat from the fire, and Olivia’s caring touch.

“Good. Go when you’re ready. I’ll leave the window open.” Olivia spoke softly, feeding Atrix the second half of the rabbit before moving to wash her hands.

“Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been most kind. Is this the guest you intend to bring, in the typical way?” Atrix questioned, his eyes going as wide as saucers before he turned his head nearly all the way around to look at Henry.

“Yes. It might be uncomfortable, but it’s the quickest way there, and I know he’s strong enough to endure it.”

“Endure? Endure what?” Henry asked, eyes still fixed on the owl, unsure of what was being talked about, given he could only hear one half of the conversation.

“How do you feel about a quick trip to Rome with me?”

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #henry cavill fic #fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #winter passing

43 notes · View notes

silence-burns · 4 years

Text

Don’t Trust The Chicken //part 4 (the end)

Fandom: The Witcher

Summary: Luck is an irreplaceable part of every good adventure. Geralt wishes he had some more often—right until some is brought straight to him.

Geralt believed in few things. Belief was, in general, not something overly encouraged during the training of young not-yet-witchers. The ways of steel and blood were much more favored among the teachers, and Geralt had spent enough years living by their word not to question things openly. There was no room for belief in a witcher's life. Things either were or were not.

Still, Geralt couldn't help but believe himself to be a man of simple pleasures, one of which, and by far the greatest, was the power of sleep, silence, and an average amount of comfort only a bed could offer, applied over the course of a few hours. It did wonders not only to one's mood, but to their general well-being.

Geralt needed it. But Geralt was not to be granted rest.

Geralt's life, as always, got overly complicated the moment Jaskier and you arrived, almost knocking the door to his room off its hinges, and leaving mud all over the floor.

"Alberto’s lost!" Jaskier screamed into the witcher's ear with all the might of his trained voice.

"He was hunting some mice and ran off to the woods and we can't find him!" Your elbows dug into Geralt's chest, but he still refused to leave the comfort of his bed.

"Good riddance," he said instead. He meant it.

The old bed squeaked when two bodies fell on it and knocked Geralt's breath away. He was forced to finally open his eyes, if only to stare from very up close at his companion's faces.

"Geralt, please," you pouted. "You're the only one who can find him."

"He's just a little chicken, lost in the woods, completely vulnerable to wild animals," Jaskier added, playing with Geralt's hair.

Geralt sighed.

"I was able to lay down on an actual bed for the first time in a week, and it lasted for only 15 minutes. Why are you always doing this to me?"

"Oh, no, no. Don't you forget that you were only granted this bed because of the luck Alberto gave you."

Geralt sighed again. He didn't want to have that discussion again. He still stood firm that there was no luck to be found in whatever creature Alberto actually was.

His arguments did not change even when they had arrived at the village a few hours ago, and when Alberto wandered off to a seemingly random building before they managed to stop him. And there was no luck in finding the last spare room for renting in that same building.

There was no such thing as a lucky chicken. And now that there was no longer a chicken, things should get easier.

Geralt, as often lately, was wrong.

He heaved his tense body off the bed with a moan of struggling muscles. Rest was a blessing that no one wanted to grant him.

"It's getting dark. If we don't find that thing before night, I'm calling this off," Geralt warned, and was thanked by two pairs of arms wrapped around his midriff.

"You're the best," you kissed his right cheek.

"I knew you didn't hate Alberto that much," Jaskier kissed his left one.

Geralt wasn't so sure about that, but he stayed silent.

He was still silent when he strapped his sword on his back, and his silence continued as he followed the road leading to the forest. Geralt was silent when he dropped to a knee to check the fresh marks in the mud.

But that didn't mean his companions followed his example.

"Could you please shut up?" he finally snapped.

The forest was dense, and the canopy stretched far over your heads in a thick blanket hiding most of the sun. The evening colored the trees orange, with deep reds shimmering here and there.

Only when his companions finally ceased their chatter did Geralt realise how silent it actually was.

His hand reached for his blade.

Your eyes darted behind his back. "There's his feather!"

There was nothing silent in your rush, or Jaskier's that followed half a second later. Geralt watched with a sense of detachment as two pairs of knees dropped to the ground, effectively smudging any and all tracks that might've been there.

Lovely.

Geralt looked around, trying to judge the passage of time by the light that was slowly getting weaker. They had to venture quite deep into the forest, following the meandering tracks of the pet. The witcher wouldn't be sad if they lost it, but unfortunately, another feather was soon found not far away.

Geralt followed Jaskier and you to a small ravine, hidden in the bushes. The leaves were thick and plumpy, and packed so close together that they almost completely hid the treacherous ground and small rocks on the edge of a drop.

Carefully, Geralt pushed the springy branches to the side and-

"Alberto!"

Before he managed to stop Jaskier, the bard squeezed himself into the hole. On the very edge of the ravine, sitting on the dry roots sticking out of where the ground used to be, was Alberto. Lucky for him, the ground didn't drop when the bard stumbled there and gathered the chicken in his arms. He brought him back to safety with the biggest grin on his face.

The chicken didn't look happy having Jaskier rub his face into the feathers. If anything, the chicken's attention seemed focused entirely on the ravine.

Geralt frowned.

And slowly turned back to the ravine.

There it was, almost hidden among the stones and roots of the bushes that had long since fallen into the drop several feet deep. The ground there was dark and covered in shadows and moss in places where the light couldn't reach even during the day.

And there, among the shadows, shined a pair of eyes. Big eyes.

"Leave. The chicken. There." The witcher growled between clenched teeth, not moving his eyes from the target.

You froze hearing the tension in his voice. Your smile faltered as you saw what Geralt already noticed.

"Jaskier," you whispered. "I think that's actually a good idea."

Jaskier, who for a few minutes was the happiest man alive, thought you must've lost your mind, or maybe were playing some trick on him with Geralt. It wouldn't be the first time when your jokes were almost indistinguishable from the truth, so Jaskier wasn't alarmed at first. Neither was he at second.

Then he followed Alberto's gaze. And swallowed.

The shadows of the ravine were deep and hard to discern. A lot of things had fallen in there over the years, and as the bushes covered the edge, some animals must've missed it and fell to their unexpected deaths. Their bones were yellowed among the stones and branches and leaves the wind had left there, piling them up over the thick mud.

The eyes that shone among them were the first thing Jaskier noticed. What he thought were leaves moved a little, forming a large, feathered body that blended in with the shadows and mud almost perfectly. The clawed legs were perfectly capable of leaving the traces they'd seen around the camp for the past week.

"What the hell is that? A basilisk?" Jaskier squealed, holding onto Alberto for dear life.

"It's not a basilisk," Geralt whispered, angling his sword. "And not something that I've ever encountered before, but one thing is certain - that is not a chicken and neither is Alberto."

"I think this is Alberto's mom," you elbowed Jaskier. "Give her back her child."

"Over my dead body! You've got no idea if it's actually true!"

The beast prowled a little closer, hiding in the thick shadows obscuring the edges of its huge, bulky body. The closer it drew, the bigger it looked. The huge, hooked beak was a rusty, dark shade of old blood.

Geralt was breathing very slowly. He did not turn from the pair of unblinking eyes of the beast. "Jaskier, once we're back in the tavern, I'm gonna break your lute into sharp, tiny pieces and fit them all, one by one, into your stupid, stubborn arse if you don't-"

"Okay, okay, alright … "

The bard sighed. Even though his pulse was rapid, and his hands shook, he was still reluctant to put the chicken down into the mossy ground. The weeks spent in its presence flashed before his eyes, making them suspiciously wet.

"Goodbye, Alberto," he sobbed into the thick, brownish feathers. "Thank you so much for the shoes."

"Bye, chicken," you waved the beast goodbye as it, at long last, left Jaskier's arms and walked over to the edge of the ravine.

The look it gave Geralt was anything but warm, but you could've sworn that when it turned back to look at the bard one last time, there was no malice in its eyes. And then it was gone, reunited with the bulky shadow of its friend, or mother, or whatever the other creature was. It didn't matter, because they looked happy together as they crawled back into the depths of the forest without making a sound.

"That was sweet," you brushed the tear away from your eye.

Jaskier was weeping openly. Geralt finally sheathed his sword. The slap on the back of the bard's head was loud in the forest's silence.

"That was the last time you get a pet. From now on, you're not even getting close to any chicken, cow, cat, or a horse. If I see you feeding even a tiny little mouse, I'm gonna tie you up to Roach and lead her behind me until you get your brain back."

The bard snorted through his tears. "Who cares about the brain, if my heart has been shattered to a million pieces? You can't even grasp the depth of my grief! To be parted with such a mighty companion is a despair you won't ever-"

"Don't you even think of making a ballad out of that!"

"YOU CAN'T STOP ART!"

You smiled, watching the two of them banter on their way back to the village. The sun was almost gone by then, and only the thinnest rays of light illuminated the trees. You looked at the stray, brownish feather in your hand and put it into your pocket.

#Don't Trust The Chicken #geralt x reader #geralt x you #jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #geralt x jaskier x reader #the witcher #geralt imagine #jaskier imagine #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia

107 notes · View notes

pressedinthepages · 4 years

Text

Ashwagandha

noun. sanskrit. Also known as “Indian gensing,” ashwagandha is popular with herbalists for use as both a sedative, an anti-inflammatory aid, and an aphrodisiac.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier/Reader

Word Count: 2504

Rating: E

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request: [Hello! First of all: I really, really love your writing, it's so good! Could you write a oneshot where the reader helped Jaskier after a bad injury and although they are friends and the reader helped gladly, Jaskier insists to return the favor in a special kind of way, aka fingering/going down on her, while they lay side by side? :3] oh my dear sweet nonnie, i love how your mind works

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: smut, a bit of whump, hurt, comfort, oral sex

Jaskier finds a way to thank a talented healer after a bout of illness.

The scent of sage, mint, and coriander wafts through your home. Winter approaches, and this blend of herbs tends to be the most successful in staving off sickness that comes with it. You have laid out numerous little bottles, intent on filling your stocks for the coming months. The herbs are fine between your fingers as you sprinkle them into each glass. You top them all off with a high-quality spirit, having recently had a very generous dwarf trade with you for the recipe for your remedy for headaches.

Just as you put the stopper in the final bottle your door swings open, revealing a man flushed with sweat and a delirious look in his eyes. Not far behind him is another man, a bit taller and more than a bit broader, clad in armor with two swords strung across his back. The silver of his hair stands out in the earthy tones of your home, and the panic in his golden eyes fades, relief softening his features when you turn to them.

You recognize Geralt, having traded with him several times in the past whenever he would blow through town. His companion, though, is unfamiliar. You figure that he would be devastatingly handsome under better circumstances, chestnut brown hair sweeping just over eyes the color of a clear sky. Now though, he looks horrible, your chest tightening with worry as it does with every person who stumbles through your door.

You rush to their side, fitting your shoulder underneath the other man’s arm as you lead him to the cot along the wall of the room. You lay him down before setting to work, quiet as you focus on what you may need.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him, his heart started beating quickly and then he just collapsed. I brought him straight here, I don’t know how else to help him,” Geralt sits in one of the chairs at your table, his figure almost comically large for the furniture.

“You’ve done the right thing, I think this is just the seasonal funk that hits this time of year. I was actually just making a little tincture for it.” You hum, grabbing one of the bottles and uncorking it. You sit on the edge of the cot, gently lifting the man’s head and tipping the medicine down his throat. He swallows, followed by a bout of aggressive coughing before falling back onto the pillow. His eyes fall closed as his breathing evens out, slow and steady as you stand.

“He wasn’t coughing before,” Geralt says, moving to crouch at his side. You smile a bit to yourself, glad that Geralt has found someone that he can trust and care for.

“It’s just the potion I gave him, it’s got a pretty strong spirit that tends to hit the back of the throat. He’ll be just fine in a couple of days.”

Geralt visibly relaxes, his head falling to his chest for a moment. He then rises, pulling a small coin pouch from his waist. He holds it out to you, but you shake your head and push his hand away.

“No, Geralt, I’ll not take your coin for helping your friend,” he smirks at the word, shaking his head as he moves towards the door.

“I saw a few contracts on the board in town, do you mind if he stays here while I work?” Geralt turns back to you, trusting you to take care of his companion.

“Of course Geralt, do be careful though,” you smile, straightening up the counter where you had been working earlier. “Actually, would you mind doing a favor for me while you’re out?”

He only hums, quirking an eyebrow.

“Coriander grows wild in the forests near here, would you mind picking some for me? That’s what really helps the fever.” You take the little bit that you have left and hold it up, showing it to the Witcher. You then tie a little string around the leaves and hang them from the ceiling to dry.

“Easy enough, but it’ll probably be a couple of days before I can get back here,” his voice always comforts you, low and gravelly. You think that if he wasn’t so emotionally constipated he would make for a good bed partner.

“That’s perfectly fine, Geralt. There’s no real rush, I have enough here for what I may need in the immediate future.”

He nods before turning to leave, closing the door gently behind him. You look over at the man laying on your cot, watching as his chest rises and falls with each breath.

You startle when your door suddenly opens once more, Geralt peeking back in. “Forgot to tell you, his name’s Jaskier. Not that he’d let you have a moment of silence when he wakes up, but he may very well forget to actually tell you.”

He leaves once more, leaving you shaking your head with a smile. You go to sit at Jaskier’s side, placing the back of your hand against his forehead. His fever has already started to wane, and he’s not quite as clammy as he was when he arrived.

“You’ll be just fine, Jaskier,” you whisper, brushing some of the hair out of his eyes as you let the calming scent of the herbs surround you once more.

…

After several days of healing, Jaskier looks much better. He has been a great help to you as well, seemingly unable to stay still if he’s awake. Within the first moments of him waking on the first night, he had attempted to woo you into the bed with him, called out for Geralt more than a few times, and almost hit his head when he tried to stand, looking for his lute. His knees had wobbled with the sudden change and he just barely caught himself on the edge of the bed.

Leave it to Geralt to stick you with a chaotic mess of a bard.

You couldn’t help but find him charming as you got to know him, especially since he seemed so keen to assist you in your daily chores. He turned out to be quite efficient at grinding herbs, which he said that Geralt would occasionally let him do in the evenings by a raging fire.

Now, he sits at your table, barefoot and clad in only a light chemise and a pair of navy blue trousers. Jaskier has a large array of bottles spread out in front of him, attempting to find corks that fit in them. It’s a bit shocking how quickly he can find a properly sized cork, it usually takes you hours of trial and error to get them finished and ready to be filled.

You slide up beside him, gently tilting his face to you with a careful touch of your fingers at his jaw. He looks up at you with those beautiful blue eyes, darting between your own and sizzling with energy that runs just beneath the surface. You place the back of your hand to his forehead, checking that the fever has finished running its course.

“How are you feeling? Still a bit tired?”

“Oh for you, darling? I would never tire, maybe only occasionally request a small water break.” Jaskier smirks up at you, abandoning the small basket that had been sitting in his lap.

“Jaskier,” you chide, unable to hide the smile that pulls your lips, “please be reasonable with me.”

“Hmm, and what do I get in return?” You feel his hand run along the length of your arm and down to your waist, pulling you just a bit closer to him.

“Depends on your answer,” you murmur, smoothing away an unruly bit of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

Jaskier huffs a bit, shaking his head before smiling back up at you. Your heart skips a beat at being on the receiving end of such clear adoration, even from a man you only just met.

“Fine, love, I’ll humor you,” the mischievous glint has returned to his eyes, and you’re sure that they never go very long without it. “I feel almost completely perfect, though I will say that I do still feel a bit run down.”

“Thank you, Jaskier,” his smile somehow grows wider at your thanks, visibly preening with even the slightest praise. “That’s expected, I’d say by tomorrow you should be well enough to continue on your travels with Geralt.”

“You truly are a marvel, my dear,” Jaskier turns to face you completely as he pulls you even closer, his face mere inches from your stomach. “I cannot possibly thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me.”

“Hmm, I’m sure you’ll think of a way,” you tease, your fingers dancing down the line of his neck. He visibly shivers with the touch, his eyes darkening with lust.

Jaskier brings his other hand to your waist, gripping you tightly and pulling you to sit astride him. You gasp at the strength with which he moves you, having greatly underestimated the capabilities of the man beneath you.

“Jaskier,” you whisper, a hair’s breadth away from his lips, “you’re still not fully well, I don’t want to hurt you.”

He only smiles, biting his lip as he brushes his nose against yours. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to come up with another way to show my thanks…”

You feel Jaskier’s hands trail down your hips, roving slowly over the curve of your ass before settling under your thighs. Faster than you can blink he stands, pulling you with him in his arms. You grasp tightly to the collar of his chemise as he walks you over to your bed in the corner of the room.

He sets you down gently before leaning over you, pushing you back to lay atop the quilt. His chest heaves a bit and the high points of his cheeks are a bit pink, but other than that you wouldn’t have been able to tell that he had just lifted and carried a grown woman across the room.

“My gods,” you whisper, running your hands down his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt just under your fingers.

“Nope, just me,” Jaskier murmurs, leaning down to kiss along your neck. His mouth is warm and soft on your skin, and after only a moment you turn your head, chasing his lips with your own. When he finally slots your lips together you sigh into him, feeling like you can finally breathe after days of holding your breath. He still tastes faintly of the herby mixtures you’ve been giving him, and you find yourself winding your fingers into the fine silk of his hair.

Jaskier quickly undoes the ties at the top of your skirt, moaning as you lift your hips to his so he can remove the garment along with your smallclothes. His fingers bring goosebumps to the surface of your skin as he drags them along the outside of your bare thigh. Your legs fall a bit further open instinctually, inviting him to bring his touch to your core.

Instead, he parts from you, only enough to barely brush against you with each word from his lips. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to push you into anything…”

“Please, Jaskier,” you whisper, pulling him back down to your lips. You feel him smile against you before he moves, kissing along your jaw and down the lines of your neck. He mouths at the peaks of your breasts through the fabric of your blouse, sliding down the slope of your stomach before settling himself between your legs, his face level with your heat.

“Just as stunning as I knew you’d be, love,” he hums as his finger slowly drags a line up the slit of your cunt, just barely circling the sensitive bud at the top. Your hips chase him, begging wordlessly for more, faster, slower, anything.

Jaskier slowly pushes his finger inside of you, turning his head to suck a mark into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He hasn’t shaved since he’s been in your home, and his stubble scratches along your skin with every movement. Jaskier’s fingers move expertly with you, pushing a second finger to move beside the first as his thumb rubs lazy circles into your peak.

He moves his head to kiss up your thigh, closing the distance to your core. His mouth connects with your heat, licking a stripe up your cunt and sucking the tender spot where his thumb was. You look down and watch as Jaskier’s free hand moves underneath him, trying desperately to free himself from the confines of his trousers. When he succeeds his hand flies to your hip, holding you in place as his fingers take on a new vigor in your core.

They curl with every thrust, wringing wet, vulgar sounds from your body. Your mouth makes sounds of its own, moans and cries and pleas and curses, none of them bidden by any particular thought.

His fingers brush against a bundle of nerves deep inside of you, causing your back to arch off the bed and into his touch. He hums against you, vibrations singing through your veins as he thrusts relentlessly into that spot. Jaskier’s hips move of their own accord on the bed, chasing his own pleasure as he brings you yours.

Stars burst behind your eyelids as your fingers curl in his hair, holding him tight to you as your high takes over. You chant his name like a prayer into the night, praising any and all gods for bringing him into your life, even for just one moment.

Jaskier slowly works you through the peak of your pleasure, parting from you when you start to twitch with oversensitivity. He climbs back up your body, his cock resting heavy against your middle, flushed and weeping with how close he is to his own climax.

“Jaskier,” you mumble as he kisses deep into your mouth, “use me for your pleasure.”

He groans as his hips immediately begin their rhythm, fast and sloppy where he pushes against your flesh. His climax comes with a whisper of your name, warmth pooling between you with his release.

You hold Jaskier close as he comes back to himself, his eyes hazy and shiny with bliss. You roll the both of you to the side, leaving your arms around his neck as he nuzzles himself into your embrace.

“Okay love,” he murmurs, his eyes fighting to stay open, “now I really am exhausted.”

You chuckle, wrapping yourself around him as he quickly falls asleep in your arms. You know that he’ll be leaving as the sun rises the next day, but you’ll gladly hold him here for as long as you can.

And hopefully, he’ll know exactly where to return the next time he needs help.

#jaskier x reader #smut #whump #hurt #comfort

75 notes · View notes

mhamiltonwrites · 4 years

Text

Chasing a Song: A Witcher’s Tale

The first time had been an accident.

Jaskier had come to the hilltop seeking inspiration. His muse had taken to hiding, squirreling itself away in some forgotten recess of his spirit, and the usual methods of coaxing it out, wine, lovers, old songs, had all failed one after the other. So a different approach; a stroll to the hilltop overlooking the town, that the sight of such grandeur spread out below might just move his hands to pluck similar beauty from his lute.

If he’d known about the griffin, he would have just tried the wine and lovers option again.

The winged terror had not been best pleased to find the foppish interloper reclining upon its hillside, lesser so still when said interloper had attempted to serenade it to peace. The tattered remains of his jerkin now discarded on the slopes spoke to the narrowness of Jaskier’s escape. He had tumbled out the way, lute clutched to his chest, the things talons leaving a crimson line raked across his shoulders that would undoubtedly scar, and in his tumbling had ended up falling into a gully in the sloping meadow. It was too narrow for the creature to reach him, but similarly too smoothed by centuries of rain for him to climb out of. The griffin did not seem in any way discouraged by the difficulties; indeed, in its impotent rage it had begun scraping up great clods of earth and sod, beak snapping, claws reaching, furiously trying to pluck him from his fragile refuge.

All of a sudden there came the tinkling sound of glass breaking and heat as fire flared above him, flames scorching a path across the griffin’s back. It shrieked in pain, its anger now turning to whosever had dared to interfere in its hunt. It had barely turned when a pale figure leapt upon it, cat-like, one leather-gloved hand gripping a fistful of feathers, the other slashing a sword into its neck. Silver flashed, caught in both the light of the summer sun and the orange glow of the fire. Jaskier watched as the battle raged above him. He heard the shrieks of the griffin grow more fraught until at last it gave out a final mewling cry and fell silent. A single smouldering feather drifted down towards him. Jaskier snatched it out of the air and ran it between the strings of his lute. It sat caught there like a garland from some courtly competition. The light above him dimmed once more as his saviour came into view. White hair hung down, thoroughly ruffled in the fight. Jaskier’s eyes widened. “Geralt!?”

“Jaskier.” The leather-gloved hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him and the lute bodily out of the crack in the earth.

“How- What- Why in the world are you here?”

Geralt looked at him flatly. “There was a monster to kill.”

Jaskier stared back, mouth still opening and closing as he dumbly reached for the words. How long had it been since Geralt had told him to leave his side? Six months? Eight? He’d stopped counting after the first few weeks, losing himself to the self-indulgent consumption of misery before resigning himself to a life without his stoic companion. And yet now, seemingly out of the bloody ether, Geralt was before him once more as if he’d never left, behind him the bloody remains of the vast avian terror that had so recently been trying to rip him to pieces. “R-right. Okay then. Right.” Gods damn it all, why did his words have to fly from him now of all times?? “You, um. You look…”

The witcher raised an eyebrow. “I look like shit, Jaskier. So do you. What you get for tangling with a griffin I suppose.”

“Well, yes. Quite. Yes.” The bard looked Geralt up and down. There he was, just as he ever was. The leather a little ragged from the fight, certainly, but that and the mud somehow only added to his rugged perfection. “You wear battle damage just as well as you ever did, for what that’s worth.”

Geralt grunted in response. As if deciding the bard was safe and therefore no longer a concern, he turned away, cleaning feathers and gore from his blade. “You should go, bard. The wilds are no place for a soft-skinned fool.” He glanced back over his shoulder “What?”

“Nothing!” Startled and blushing, Jaskier snatched his gaze up and away from the witcher’s taut buttocks caught in the stretched leather of his britches. “Nothing at all. You’re right. Of course. No place for a fool indeed.”

“A lesson I thought you’d learned back when…” Geralt trailed off, voice fading into uncharacteristic uncertainty. What was that, Jaskier wondered. Could it possibly be regret that traced at the corners of his erstwhile-companion’s eyes? Impossible; Jaskier pushed the thought away. Geralt was many things but the kind of person likely to be given over to regret was definitely not one of them. And yet, those lines remained on the witcher’s hardened face.

Jaskier did his best to smile, pushing away the memories of Geralt’s harsh words the day he’d left. The day he’d been sent away. “Oh, you know me. Never one to learn a lessen so well it stuck!” He was trying for jovial, though it came out more manic. He rested his hands on his hips, willing his heart to stop beating so fast beneath the tattered remains of his shirt. “So, um. You planning on sticking around long?”

“No.”

“I see.” He was powerless to keep the note of disappointment from tainting his words. “In and out, the witcher way and all that, I suppose!”

“Yep.”

That was Geralt. Monosyllabic to a fault. Jaskier stared at the back of his head, watching the way his mouth hardened into a line as he worked on his gear, how his shoulders rose and fell with his breathing; how, even now, he could see the muscles shift under his skin in a fashion that brought the colour surging to his cheeks. “Geralt,” he started, but he had no idea how to continue. How could he begin to put it into words, how much leaving had hurt, how much seeing the witcher again meant? Could mere words even begin to capture it? And would Geralt even hear them?

“I’m not here to talk, Jaskier,” said Geralt, his voice icy. Silently he cursed his rotten luck and the vague cruelties of fate that had forced the bard back into his path once more. How many times would he have to save the poor idiot’s hide before he got the message and stayed in some comfortable college where he belonged? This was no place for the overdressed clown. Time he went back home and the witcher could get back to the busy work of forgetting. Jaskier, Yen, all of it. A witcher, alone. Suited him just fine. “Time to go.”

It was good to see you, Jaskier. The words came to him, unbidden. Seven words, that was all. He could say them, as a kindness. It wasn’t as if they would mean anything. They would, the little voice in his head whispered. They would mean something to him.

Damn it. Geralt took a sharp intake of breath, calling on old instincts to slow his heart and quiet the buried feelings trying to surface. A witcher didn’t have feelings. Feelings made you weak. Reckless. Feelings got you killed. Besides, it wasn’t anything worthwhile. Not really. Mayhaps for a time there he’d allowed himself to think of Jaskier as more than a travelling companion. A friend, even. A friend with soft hands. Soft hands on your back, rubbing away the knots and stresses of a hard fight. He returned the sword to its scabbard. Enough. He had business elsewhere. Anywhere, so long as Jaskier was far behind.

Jaskier felt the harsh words cut into him, sharper than any griffin’s talons. “Right. Yes. Okay then.” He ran his hands down his shirt to keep himself from reaching out, biting back his own response. “I’ll be on my way then.” Gritting his teeth, he turned from Geralt once more. It wasn’t any easier this time either.

Geralt watched him go a little while. Not once did the bard glance back behind. Somehow, that stung him. Why? He wanted him gone. Needed him gone. So why this ache as he watched him leave?

Folly; he dismissed the ache as soon as it had arrived. There was no time for sentimentality in this job. And the work would not be done until he’d found the nest and made certain there would be no mates or offspring coming to look for their fallen feathered comrade.

But a little while later and Jaskier found himself once more engaged in the time-honoured traditions of a soul scorned, drinking himself into a stupor in an all-but-deserted tavern and doing his best to ignore the slow, sad thumping of his heart. Even oblivion had to be better than this. He forlornly plucked at the strings of his lute, its bowl scratched and marked from its tumble down a hillside. The crisp, sweet notes filled the air, cutting through his wine-drenched misery with their unexpected grace. He let his hands move of their own accord, trusting musical instinct to guide them. Notes gathered and strung themselves together into a simple, soulful melody, not a song, not yet, but the start of something… Beautiful.

He stared down at his lute. Where in the hell had that come from? It seemed nothing sharpened the bardic spirit like imminent death.

And seeing Geralt. That helped. He didn’t want to admit it but it was the truth nonetheless. The missing piece of the puzzle, the inspiration he had been craving all these months, it was all thanks to him. It made sense; his times on the road with the witcher, for all the near-constant threat of danger and lack of comfort had been invigorating. Fun, even. He’d found parts of himself on those desolate roads and in those forbidding forests that he’d never known were there. Seeing Geralt in action once again had clearly revived those instincts. But not enough.

The song hung incomplete, its beauty dying as the notes faded away. Jaskier plucked again, repeating the pattern but it was becoming hollow, emptier with every reprise. Shit!!

In a surge of anger, the bard raised the lute as if to smash it upon the flagstone floor, but before he could bring it down a voice cut through his rage. “A terror, so they say. Some monster or summit. Over near Lindenvale.” Jaskier’s ears pricked. It was like the song, buried instincts starting to rise to the surface. “Looks like a man, but cast in clay. Killed a girl.”

Without thinking Jaskier was on his feet and hurrying to the speaker. “Which town?”

The speaker, a stocky man in a stained jerkin, turned, surprised. “What’d you say?”

“Which town,” Jaskier repeated, his voice shaking. An idea had started to form, a plan, crazy and half-baked, but a plan nonetheless. “Which town did you say you saw this clay man?”

The man looked him up and down, concern touching his eyes even as Jaskier’s wine-drenched breath forced him to recoil. “Lindenvale. Why, you know someone from round them parts?”

“No,” said Jaskier, mouth stretching into a manic smile, “but I’m sure I know someone who’ll be heading there soon.”

And suddenly the plan that had been creeping up, inch by inch, was there, fully-formed (or as close to fully-formed as any of Jaskier’s plans ever were); where there was danger, where there were monsters, there would be his inspiration. He’d seek out the risks that he’d encountered by chance before, and in those frenzied flights for his life he’d find the rest of that song that had so nearly been birthed just minutes before.

And maybe, just maybe, Geralt would be there. The thought sat in his mind, unbidden and unmoving. It was born of broken hope and just a touch of masochism and it was not going away. Yes, thought Jaskier to himself. Maybe Geralt would be there. That would be… Nice. Definitely not his goal. Certainly not. Hadn’t crossed his mind once that a dangerous clay man wreaking havoc in the countryside might just draw the attention of a certain professional monster hunter.

***

Jaskier had arrived in Lindenvale in time for a funeral; a girl, no more than sixteen, was to be laid to rest beneath the roots of a cherry tree that grew in her family’s garden. Asking around it seemed this was the girl the man in the inn had mentioned, beaten to death by a golem loosed upon the townsfolk as some wizard’s misplaced retribution. Jaskier solemnly struck a few minor chords from his lute as he watched the veiled procession pass, a thin drizzle wetting the shoulders of the fresh jerkin he’d managed to procure in a handy game of cards. A golem was always trouble. But Geralt was good at what he did. That girl’s family would have justice soon.

The journey may have only been three days’ travel but it still took a week before Jaskier even heard word of Geralt’s arrival. From the talk of the townsfolk they’d driven the monster into the woods around the town but feared it could return at any moment if it were not slain soon. And so coin had been gathered and word sent calling for a monster slayer. Jaskier did his best to steady his heartbeat as he listened to the town bailiff announce that the witcher Geralt himself would be arriving in the morning. He spent that night fitfully tossing and turning, countless improbable scenarios playing across his mind as to how he would go about talking to him, doubt beginning to creep in. This plan was folly, anyone could see that. Geralt had made it clear twice now that he wanted nothing to do with the bard. What kind of man was he to defy him on purpose this time?

The kind who knows he needs to hear it one more time, Jaskier thought. Geralt had been a constant in his life for the best part of twenty years and now he was expected to simply let him disappear? Friends didn’t do that. Sure. Friends.

He woke with a start to the sounds of a commotion outside, sunlight streaming in through his rented room’s window and the sheets tangled about him like a poorly-worn cape. Cursing under his breath he stumbled to the window, the bedsheets almost tripping him. There in the street below was Geralt. His white hair tumbled about his shoulders, rippling in the wind. His orange eyes seemed to glow in the cold morning sun as he took in the gathered townsfolk and dilapidated buildings. He glanced upwards, as if sensing the bard’s gaze upon him. Jaskier threw himself to the floor, his knees colliding hard with the wooden boards. He yelped in pain and rolled away, grabbing his coat and boots. Staying out of sight was going to be essential; the plan would never work if Geralt knew he was in town.

He dressed and ate breakfast hurriedly before bolting out of the inn and into the street. From what he’d been able to get out of the townsfolk, the last place the golem had been spotted was out of town a ways into the dense forest. There was a cavern there, blasted into the side of a quarry by miners long ago, and it was there that it was thought the monster had made its home.

The plan, from there, was even simpler. He’d sit outside that cave, playing his lute, until Geralt showed up in pursuit of the monster. What could go wrong?

***

Jaskier flung himself to the ground out of the path of the clay fist that rushed towards him. Dirt exploded upwards as stone met recently-vacated earth. Jaskier yelped in fear as the terrible thing moved to him once more, impossibly quick. Golems were usually slow, lumbering things, lumpy masses of whatever loose clay the maker had to hand, but this one was different. It was faster, and definitely angrier.

Not an hour after Jaskier had found the cave the thing had come running from the treeline as if pursued by some unseen assailant. It was only the bard’s frequently practised survival instincts taking over and dragging him up onto his feet and out of its path that had saved him from being little more than a smear on the road. Not that the golem seemed ready to let him go that easily.

Jaskier scrambled for the treeline, lute smacking painfully against his ribs, swinging as he ran. The golem started towards him, giving out a monstrous shout, but before it could reach him a figure appeared at the treeline. Sunlight shined off dark leather, glinting silver and all too familiar white hair. Geralt. The witcher paused at the treeline, taking in the scene; Jaskier, his back now pressed against a broad elm; the golem, glaring at him as if unsure whether to finish off the idiot or make a run for it; and the cave where it clearly called home.

Geralt heard his trainer’s voice whisper in his head. First job of a witcher is kill the monster. Saving the civilians comes second. Especially when the civilian in question was clearly just here to torment him once again, Geralt thought to himself, jaw clenching. He darted forward, bringing his sword back to swing. The golem moved impossibly quickly, moving almost in a blur as it pulled away from Jaskier and ran for the cave. Unusual; he’d expected it to stand and fight. Still, the townsfolk had already told him there was no back exit from that cavern, so he had the beast cornered at least.

“Perfect timing once again, Geralt,” Jaskier called cheerfully from the treeline.

Geralt spun towards him, eyes narrowing. “Jaskier. I’m busy. Get out of here.”

“Aren’t you at least surprised to see me? I would risk happy but even I’m not happy to take those odds.”

“I wasn’t surprised. I knew you were here.” The witcher tapped his nose. “Practically followed your scent.”

“Remind me to change cologne.”

“Hm,” Geralt snorted, softly. Jaskier blinked. Was that the ghost of a smile teasing the corners of his erstwhile companion’s mouth? The smile was gone in a moment, fading like a snuffed candle. Geralt’s eyes darkened. “Damn it, Jaskier,” he said, voice softer than the bard had expected. “How many times do I have to pull your arse out of the fire before you understand? This is no place for you.”

“Oh come on, Geralt, have a little faith! I’m a grown man who’s survived more than his fair share of scrapes along the way.”

“Because I was there to fix your problems,” Geralt sneered. “I mean it, Jaskier. No more games. If I smell you around any job I’m called to in future, I will just ride on. There are other witchers. Let them deal with you.”

The words stung as sharply as they ever did, but they sounded to Jaskier just a little hollow. Or perhaps that was just his heart, desperately listening for softness that wasn’t there. “I’m sorry my possible death proved so inconvenient for you,” he replied, his voice cracking at the edges.

“You say that like you didn’t come just to get in my way.”

“Alright, yes. I came, hoping that you would also be here. Truth be told I’ve been somewhat lacking in inspiration since we… Went our separate ways, and I was hoping that the chance to see you in action again might get the old creative juices flowing once again.” And the fact he’d be able to spend some time talking to the witcher, even just to bicker, even just to fight, played no part in it.

Geralt sighed internally. I don’t want to see you get hurt. Why was it so hard to say? Why did he always have to wrap it in cruelty? Geralt looked at Jaskier. The bard stared back, half angry, half hopeful. Because he wouldn’t hear the warning, only the kindness. And that would get him killed.

Telling himself that it was Jaskier’s own good had become a reflex at this point, one almost as finely honed as any in the witcher’s arsenal. His mind would wield it like a log from a pyre, burning away his doubts and unbidden wishes until the coldness, the apathy, the untrue voice that said “you are a fist, not a heart” was all that could be heard. Steeling himself he spoke at last. “I’m not your easel, bard. You don’t get to prop your work up on me.”

Jaskier shivered a little at the icy tone. It wasn’t surprising to hear yet it still stabbed at his heart as keenly as the silvered dagger on the witcher’s belt. “I suppose you’ll be off then,” he replied, fighting to keep his voice airy. “Monsters to slay, coin to collect and all that.”

The witcher nodded curtly, turning towards the waiting cavern.

“And an audience would not be appreciated?”

“What do you think?”

I think you’re being a stubborn ox, Jaskier thought to himself bitterly. I think you might just miss me as much as I miss you and you’re too wrapped up in all your anger to admit it. But the words caught in his throat like gnarled roots too twisted to loosen. “I’ll leave you to it then. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. Gratitude? That was new. The witcher hadn’t turned back towards him but he hadn’t move either, seemingly locked in place by a different battle than the one that lay ahead.

Geralt fought the urge to turn and offer the bard his hand to shake. Somehow he knew that even just that one touch would be enough for his resolve to weaken and ask Jaskier to stay, at least to watch the mouth of the cave. And then you’d be right back where you started. It was true; he’d hurt him enough the first time he’d sent him away and besides, being around Geralt always seemed to land Jaskier in deadly peril. It was better it stayed how it was. Still, a few words wouldn’t hurt, would they?

To hell with it; even if they did, his body was already outlined in constantly criss-crossing scars. What was one more? He looked back over his shoulder, his sharp features caught in profile against the gaping black of the cavern’s mouth. “Take care, Jaskier. The world would be a poorer place without you in it.”

Jaskier caught the gasp of surprise before it could escape his lips but he couldn’t keep his eyes from staring wildly or the spreading smile from his face. “Yeah. You too, Geralt. You too.”

Without another word, the witcher stepped into the cavern. For a moment, Jaskier considered staying and waiting for his return. Perhaps there would be more of this new softer Geralt to see? It was certainly tempting… But no. He’d pushed his luck already. And it wasn’t as if Geralt hadn’t told him in no uncertain terms that he was not looking for another traveling companion. Reluctantly, he started back towards the town and his lonely room.

As he walked his hands fell once more to his lute and, almost without a thought, began to pluck that self-same melody as had been following him since the griffin attack days ago. His hands quickened as he began to hum along, fragments of lyrics beginning to form. The stumbling block of the chorus began to creep up upon him just as it had before but this time as he reached it his fingers moved as if of their own devices, striking a series of crisp, clear chords that closed off the sequence beautifully. He stopped and stared down at the lute. It had worked! Somehow, getting back into the dangerous work was exactly what his muse had needed of him, just as he’d suspected.

Seeing Geralt helped. The thought was burning and undeniable in its constancy. Could it be true? Could it have been not the monster trying to kill him but the witcher coming to save him that had returned his inspiration? It was certainly true that Geralt’s presence was… Comforting, but was that the same as inspiring?

He’s always been there. At the times when you need him most, he shows up. Even when he doesn’t want to. Even when he’d rather stay away. Even when he says he hates you. He still shows up. That was right, wasn’t it? He’d been able to write because of the sight of Geralt and the jolt that always gave him. But then if that were true what did it mean for the two of them? Jaskier, for all his romantic notions, was not one to be so quick to hope that Geralt had a similar need for his presence in his life.

And yet, there were those words he had said before he left. “The world would be a poorer place without you in it.” What was that if not a confession that the witcher was glad to see him alive? Perhaps, even, missed him? Certainly Geralt scolded him for his recklessness, and sent him away as soon as look at him, but what as that if not spoken concern? Spoken a little harshly admittedly, but that was the white wolf’s way.

Alright, so he was concerned; so what, Jaskier thought heavily. It wasn’t as if the witcher would ever admit it. Dappled sunlight streamed down through the canopy of leaves, scattering as birds took flight, startled at his passing. He morosely strummed his way through the melody once again, mood darkening as quickly as the elation had risen. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Even if his muse truly was Geralt, even if Geralt truly missed him, the witcher would never say so, nor would he be willing to stand and hear Jaskier out.

Unless he thought there was cause to.

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed as he glanced back over his shoulder, the faint path back to the cavern stretching away through the trees. Geralt went where there was word of a monster. So if he wanted Geralt to come to a specific spot all he’d have to do is make sure he got word of one.

Jaskier snorted. That had worked once, it wouldn’t work again. Even if concerned, Geralt could be so bloody stubborn there was every chance he’d make good on his threat to simply not show up if he got wind that Jaskier was there, even with a rampaging beast on the loose.

Well. Unless the threat seemed dire enough. If he’d been warned of something terrible, something that he simply could not entrust to anyone save himself. If that were the case Geralt would have to come, Jaskier be damned. Jaskier lost himself in thought. It might even be better coming from him. After all, he could sound apologetic, that he did not want to interfere but he knew that Geralt would trust his word. It wouldn’t be the first time Jaskier had brought such a mission to him. He could do it, couldn’t he? After all, a bard had to be a writer too, and to write a notice worthy of the white wolf’s undivided attention would be a challenge worthy of ballads.

Do you really want to lie to him? The thought whispered across his mind, cutting sharply through the fevered reverie that had started to overtake him. He’s upset already, the thought said, chiding Jaskier sternly. How would upsetting him with some wild goose-chase win you any favour?

But it was that or simply wait for fate to intervene as it had before and drop the witcher back into his life like a glove dropped on a ballroom floor. And how long might that take? He didn’t have Geralt’s long life to wait for him to decide he was ready to talk. A little deception then, to get the stubborn oaf to the table. Then they could at last have it out. Whatever “it” was.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the sense of something… More between them that Jaskier had started to feel was nothing more than his own head and heart joining forces against his reason. But if it proved so, at least he could go forth knowing that he had at least said everything. It was better, the bard thought, his hands repeating the perfect little melody once again, to try and to fail and to know than to live forever with the pain of the possible, the biting torment of the could-have-been.

***

It had been simple enough to arrange. He still had some coin saved up from performances on the road, enough to book a private room for as long as he’d need it and to send a trustworthy courier out after Geralt. He’d stayed in Lindenvale; his scent would already be all over it after all, so there was at least a chance the witcher wouldn’t immediately suspect something to be wrong. In his message he had claimed that it seemed the golem Geralt had dealt with had been but one of a pair, and now the second came hunting for those who had slain its fellow. The town, short on coin and fearing retribution if the witcher returned, had decided to try and keep the matter secret; Jaskier was only sending word to Geralt out of concern and hope that he might find it in his heart to lend a hand. After all, when you thought about it, it was really finishing off the job he’d already been paid for.

It was a good lie. Not his best, but good enough to fool Geralt. And if not, at least enough that he might just return to town simply to castigate him for pestering him further. Whatever the cause, Jaskier was certain it would get him back and that was truly all that mattered.

It was just over a day that the courier sent word of his message being received. If everything kept to plan, Geralt would be back here that very night. Jaskier felt his heartbeat quicken just at the thought of it. He had gotten to work immediately, setting the table in his private quarters for two, fetching candles and ordering wine and a dinner of roasted chicken and vegetables from the inn-keeper. The stage was set; now all that was needed were the players.

It was dark out before he heard the tell-tale crunch of hooves upon the gravel path outside, the gentle murmur of “Easy, Roach,” drift up through the window. He was here. Geralt was here. Finally. Jaskier checked himself in the mirror once again for what must have been the twelfth time that hour alone. His hair was a problem, as neat as he could make it but part of him wanted it ruffled, at ease, as if the witcher had just roused him from a bedroll by a campsite fire. Remind him of the good old days, he thought to himself. “It’ll do,” he said aloud, smoothing his shirt and shifting his hips just a little. The britches were perhaps a little on the tight side but they’d always done the trick when it came to seducing various baronesses and stable-hands across the realm.

He turned away from gazing at himself as a different sound reached him. Voices in the bar, low and questioning. Mutters of a brief conversation. A door opening. The sound of feet upon the stairs. Heavy. Purposeful. Geralt’s.

Jaskier watched the handle of the door to his prepared sanctuary twist slowly, the oaken door swinging slowly open on squeaking hinges. There the witcher stood, caught in candlelight, leather and silver and the promise of deadly violence wrapped up in a man Jaskier knew in his heart to be kinder than he would ever let show. That was until tonight. Jaskier took a deep breath before finally speaking. “Geralt. You’re here. Good.”

“I got your note, bard.”

“That’s good! I’m glad. Yes.”

Geralt’s brows were knotted as if he was wrapped in some complex puzzle. “You mentioned another golem. Funny. I asked the barkeep about it just now. He doesn’t seem to know anything about it.”

“Ah.” Jaskier felt that a stirring in his stomach, the nerves at what he had done, at what he was about to do, starting to truly strike at him. “That’s the thing, I suppose. Time to come clean. Actually…” He paused. Could he do it? Yes. For Geralt? For this? Anything. He steeled himself one final time and let the words flow from him. “I made it up. The whole thing. There is no second golem. I just… I just needed you to come back here.”

“You did what?”

“I made it up. Every word. Complete fakery on my part, I’m afraid.”

“Hmph.” At first, Geralt’s face was unreadable save for the ice-cold anger that seemed to set it in place. Then, after a moment’s breath, the witcher’s eyes narrowed, his gaze taking in the dressed table set for two, the fire gently burning in the hearth, candlelight glinting off silver cutlery and china plates. “Expecting other company, bard?”

Jaskier fought to keep his voice steady. “Actually it’s for you. All for you, Geralt.”

“What are you talking about? What is this?”

“The greatest horror I’m sure you’ve ever had to face. An honest conversation.”

“Hmph,” Geralt snorted again. “You’ve wasted my time once too many. I ought to run you through where you stand.”

Jaskier felt his heart pounding but fought against it, willing himself calm. “Of course,” he said, focusing all his energy on keeping his tone as level as the cold witcher’s. “Because I’m the worst thing that ever happened to you and it’s all my fault that your default reaction to anything being the slightest bit difficult is to turn and run.”

Despite himself, Geralt looked at the bard a little incredulously. “Jaskier, I fight monsters for a living. I don’t run from anything.”

“All you do is run!!” Jaskier couldn’t help his voice from raising to a shout, anger and frustration overtaking forced calm. “Fighting monsters is easy for you, its being a person that’s hard! The second you start to feel something, anything, you get up on that damned horse of yours and disappear over the nearest horizon!” Unbidden tears threatened to overwhelm his eyes’ resolve, but he carried on, the hurt and pain rolling out like a dammed river bursting. “I can see you’re annoyed, of course you’re annoyed, but that’s not from me. You look at me and you get annoyed because deep down you know what you said to me on that goddamn clifftop was… Was fucking unfair, Geralt!!”

The bard’s words hung in the silence between them, months of frustration and distance suddenly spanned by Jaskier’s bridge of accusation. Finally, Geralt spoke, his voice little more than a whisper. “You tagged along when you were not welcome. You dragged me into messes of your own making. You used my work to further your career. And you wish to talk about fairness? Damn you and your fucking lute.”

The words were like daggers in Jaskier’s chest. Was it so hard for him to apologize? For just once to admit that perhaps he had been too harsh on him?

Inside Geralt could feel two voices battling. Right now the louder of the two was his iced fury, ready to reach out and tear the fool’s head from his shoulders for wasting his time like this with such a wild goose chase. But the second voice was becoming almost as hard to ignore. It spoke without thought, without words, instead a simple, silent crescendo of longing and loneliness, its unheard yet unstoppable whispers running across the surface of his anger like red-hot rivers melting his frosty countenance. From the depths of the witcher’s heart he could sense a simple truth emerging; Jaskier was right. It had been unfair. He had yelled out in anger, in the shocking pain of losing Yennefer yet again, pain that needed a lightning rod to draw itself to, and there was Jaskier.

There was Jaskier. The bard stood staring back at him, his own eyes wild in a way that Geralt had never seen. Gone was the buffoon who talked too much and got himself into scrapes so often that it was a wonder he hadn’t yet been killed by a monster or cuckolded husband, and in his place stood a man as strong as any the witcher had faced in battle. Geralt blinked, surprised at the intensity of Jaskier’s gaze back at him. “I tried to move on, Geralt,” the bard said, voice shaking at last. “I really honestly did. But I can’t. Not while there’s so much… So much that I still need to say. So please.” Jaskier’s hands twitched, as if he were fighting the urge to clasp them together in supplication. “Please, all I ask is that you sit and you listen. And if you don’t want to hear it or you still wish to be alone at the end of it, you have my truest word I will let you be.”

Geralt blinked again. Against all instinct he could sense something in him, willing him to stay. “…Alright. I’ll hear you out.”

Jaskier felt his shoulders sag with relief, gratitude surging over the mountains of misery that had sprung up within him. “You will? You will. Thank you. Thank you, Geralt!”

“Hold your thanks, bard. I said I’d listen, that’s all.” The witcher stood where he had entered, hand still on the lintel, though it seemed to Jaskier’s eyes that had tarried over Geralt enough to know the signs, that an undeniable uncertainty had made a crack in the stoic armour of his erstwhile companion.

He gestured to the table. “Come on, if you’re going to stay at least sit down.”

Geralt stood frozen a moment longer, then, with a grunt, complied, settling himself on the opposite side of the humble table. He glanced across the setting once again, as if coldly amused by the effort on display. “So what was your plan here, that we would somehow settle our differences over supper?”

“Something like that,” Jaskier replied, taking the seat opposite. “Can I pour you some wine?”

“Sure.”

With shaking hands Jaskier poured a generous amount of cheap red into the two polished goblets. He gripped the bottle a little tighter, fighting the trembling in his fingers that threatened to send crimson liquid staining across the tablecloth. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Geralt sniffed the wine. His sharpened senses could pick out the bitter notes where the unfinished wood of the cask had seeped into fruit. Not that it mattered. In his experience the only difference between the wine on a lord’s table and the stuff in his goblet was how much bull you were willing to listen to about it.

Jaskier finally sat down opposite the witcher, hands folding in front of him. For a moment there was nothing but silence between them, the awkwardness growing with each passing second. He watched as Geralt took a long sip of wine, his gaze fixed firmly to a section of wall several meters to the bard’s left.

Another moment passed. Another sip of wine. Internally Jaskier berated himself. He’d gotten so worked up so quickly, and all his planning had been so focused on just getting Geralt in the damn room, that now he was actually here and complying his momentum had just run out on him. He’d taken the leap, and quite to his surprise it had turned out there was deep water at the bottom and he was going to have to swim.

The silence was becoming excruciating. Finally Geralt cocked an eyebrow. “Well? Are you going to say your piece or not?”

“Yes! Yes. Sorry. Just… Gathering my thoughts.” Jaskier took a deep, steadying breath. He’d started this whole evening’s performance. He could see it through. “I suppose it all started there on the cliffside. Where you…”

“Where I told you to leave.”

“Yes.” Another moment of silent recollection passed between them, as if despite the warmth of the small room they were both back on that wind-blasted hilltop, without even a final goodbye to ease the passing of their time together. “Like I said just now, it hurt, but I’ve endured your harsher side plenty of times over the years. But this time… I think… This time I think I realised that I never properly told you what our journeys meant to me.”

Geralt snorted, his face as impassive as ever. “They certainly helped line your pockets. If everyone’s tossing coins to their witcher, the bard next to him can always scrape a few off the ground.”

“You needed that song more than you know,” Jaskier bristled. “You might hate it but without that and your still just the Butcher of Blaviken!”

He was right of course. Geralt knew that, in his heart. It had done wonders for his success, to have his reputation restored in the fashion the bard had provided. He’d gone from a reaper-like menace, a mere thug with a specialty, to some kind of rugged folk hero. He was practically beloved in some corners, or at the very least begrudgingly renowned. All thanks to Jaskier. It wouldn’t hurt him to say so. A small kindness. He was worthy of that, at least. “…Fine. I admit it. I got plenty of work out of it too. But you can hardly compare what I do to your ceaseless strumming.”

“You protect, I inspire. It’s a complimentary arrangement. Was a complimentary arrangement. I’m sorry.”

Geralt studied the bard from across the table. A complimentary arrangement, huh? That was one way of putting it. He raised an eyebrow again, almost as if to tease him.

“Anyway,” Jaskier continued, stumbling to get back to his point. What was it about Geralt that could leave him so bereft of words? Nothing else had had this effect on him. “Like I said, I never got to tell you what it all meant to me. And now… The thought I wouldn’t be able to… That was just horrid, Geralt.”

“I’m here now, bard. Tell me what it all meant.” Geralt’s voice was cool and level, without a hint of emotion.

Jaskier paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. He’d tried before, in songs and stories, by flickering fires and in crowded inns, but they’d never come out right. But now, with Geralt here, actually here in front of him once more, they crystalized in beautiful simplicity. “Well… Those days… For all the ups and the downs and the danger… Those days spent travelling with you were the best days of my life.”

Geralt blinked. Honesty radiated off of Jaskier, the bard staring at him almost pleadingly as he waited for his response. It wasn’t as if it had been unpleasant, came that voice inside him once again. It wasn’t like you hated having him around. No; the opposite, really, though he was loath to admit it. And for all his faults Jaskier did seem to understand what he’d done this time was wrong, there was no doubt about that. But there was also no changing just what he had done; it was foolish and preyed on the witcher’s nature in a manner that sat wrong for Geralt. The thought threatened to harden him once again, but before it could a second thought chased it away, twice as potent in its simple truth: Just like you preyed on Jaskier’s nature to send him away.

That was it, wasn’t it? Even speaking in anger he’d known at the time that the words were perfect in their cruelty. They attacked the deepest insecurities he knew the bard carried, like arrows flying straight to the centre of the target that was Jaskier. In his anger and pain, he had allowed himself the bitter indulgence of turning it all on his most loyal companion. Jaskier was right; that was unfair of him.

He’d been running from that fact for so long, convincing himself that his self-righteous anger was justified, that he was better off on his own, that now stopping and facing it head-on was as comforting as staring down a rampaging striga. He coughed, mouth suddenly dry. “…I’m sorry too, Jaskier.”

It was Jaskier’s turn to blink in surprise. “Sorry? For what?”

“For what I said. You’re right. It was wrong. I was wrong. And for what it’s worth…” He paused, considering his next words carefully. But pausing did not make the words on his tongue any less true. What was the harm in finally saying them aloud? “For what it’s worth, I had a good time too. I miss… I miss those days too.”

Jaskier blinked again, eyes widening in surprise. The words had reached him but were still barely making sense. Geralt missed those days? Missed travelling with him? It was more of an admission than he’d dared to consider in even his wildest imaginings and yet here Geralt was, saying it aloud as if it were nothing more than a casual line. As if it the possibility it promised was nowhere to be heard.

He steadied himself as he considered his next words. This was a new side of Geralt, and he knew the witcher well enough to know that if he pushed too hard, too fast into something new he was likely to up and bolt as swiftly as he had come. “I’m… Glad to hear that,” he began, fighting to keep his voice gentle. “I wouldn’t want every memory you had to be of me tormenting you.”

His eyes fell to the table. Geralt had sat as if posing for a portrait, placing his palms flat on the cloth as he listened. It was still, poised— exactly as he’d come to expect from the witcher. Moving seemingly of its own accord his own hand moved across the table, fingers lightly drumming a nervous rhythm as if to betray the pounding of his heart. “And I am more than willing to admit that I took advantage of your loyalty,” he continued, words as carefully chosen as before. “That was wrong of me, I know. But I felt like I had no choice.” Jaskier felt his hand move just a little across the tablecloth, the lace catching at his palm just a little as it closed the gap between his and the witcher’s own resting fingers. “I was dishonest, I betrayed your trust, and I hurt your feelings. I am truly, truly sorry, Geralt.”

“Spare me the hysterics, Jaskier. I’ve told you before, Witchers don’t have feelings.” Somehow the words sounded hollow even to Geralt.

“Bullshit. You feel everything. You feel it more, even.”

“Don’t talk like you know me, bard.”

Jaskier moved his hand a little more, his fingers brushing just the edge of Geralt’s, frozen still upon the wood of the table. “But I do know you,” he said, his voice little more than a pleading whisper. “Better than most, I might add. I’ve seen the good and the bad in you, Geralt. In fact, I’ve seen some of the worst. Perhaps,” he added, with a wry smile, “due in no small part to my own annoyances.”

The witcher’s lip curled just a little. The moment seemed to stretch out between them, a quiet spell cast upon contact, the distance of months finally bridged.

Geralt opened his mouth to speak but before he could utter a word there was a sturdy knock at the door. It burst open to reveal the innkeeper, red-faced and sweating under his generous moustache, arms laden with a tray of steaming meat and vegetables. “Now sirs, I mean no ‘arm interuptin’ ye, jus’ thought you’d be wantin’ yer supper so.”

Jaskier’s hand flew from Geralt’s, the magic spell broken in an instant. He jumped back to his feet, hurrying to the innkeeper’s side. “Yes, yes, thank you. Perfect timing.” He cursed internally but helped the man, taking the tray from him and moving it towards the table, doing his best to ignore the way the skin of his fingers seemed still to burn from where they had grazed Geralt’s. “Do you mind?” Geralt grunted, shifting plates and candles aside to make room for the high-piled tray. Jaskier sat it down, the table groaning slightly under the new weight. “Thanks.”

“Will ye be wanting more wine, sirs,” the innkeeper called across to Jaskier.

The bard shook his head. “No, no thanks, we’re all fine here.” Get out, he thought, get out and leave us alone for Gods’ sake.

As if sensing the bard’s anxiety at his presence the innkeeper huffed once and turned on his heel. “As you say, sir, as you say.” He disappeared, the door swinging back shut as he stomped his way back down the stairs to the hubbub of the taproom below.

Jaskier looked over the tray of food to Geralt. His companion’s face was impassive as he took in the feast set before them. “It’s…

“A lot of food,” Geralt finished, his voice tinged, if Jaskier wasn’t imagining, with just a hint of amusement.

“Rather more than I’d planned, yes.”

“Do you mean to fill me like a goose? Make a pate of me to spread on your morning toast?”

Jaskier blinked. Geralt was joking with him. Genuinely, openly joking. “I’m not sure the flavour would be all that pleasant,” he replied quickly, not wanting the sudden change in tone to stop. “I don’t want to imagine just how you’ve marinated under those leathers all these years.”

“Hmph. Sure you’ve picked up plenty of stench from your own escapades, bard.”

“Perhaps my fair share.” A moment’s silence fell between them as each considered the other. How long had it been since that quiet corner in that no-name bar? Enough that Jaskier had lost count of grey hairs plucked and new lines on his forehead. He’d kept young as best he could but Geralt may as well have been cast in granite for all that they had seen. Time had run off of him like water off of rock, leaving as much impression as a dream forgotten on waking.

Geralt could sense his heart stirring just a little as he looked back at Jaskier. Damn it. Even now, despite himself the bard knew how to make him smile. He shifted his shoulders under his armour. It was a little warm with it on in here, and it wasn’t like there was any immediate dangers…

With a final decisive exhalation of breath, the witcher stood and began to unbuckle the straps holding the sheets of leather and chainmail to his body. Jaskier’s eyes widened. “What… what are you doing?”

“It’s not like I need armour if all we’re doing is talking. Besides,” Geralt said, another slight smile teasing the corner of his lips despite himself, “if you do decide to make an attempt at my life with the cutlery I think I can take you either way.”

Jaskier watched as the leather fell away revealing the simple cotton jerkin and taut britches beneath. Dark marks where the witcher had sweated into the fabric only served to accentuate the physicality of the man, the potential of those muscles that moved so pleasingly as he watched. Even the overwhelming scent of rosemary and thyme wafting off the food was not enough to stop Jaskier from catching the old familiar smell of Geralt’s skin. Musk and woodsmoke, salt and soil, as deep with mystery as a lost grove at the heart of a darkened forest. Just a breath of it and he was back on the road again, the pair of them camped out under distant twinkling stars. Alone with each other. He hadn’t had comfortable beds or sweet wines, but he had Geralt. And that had been all he’d wanted. All he would ever want.

Geralt glanced back over his shoulder at the bard watching him, mouth slightly open. “You’ll catch flies like that, bard.” In two more movements his gloves were pulled off, the pale skin of his rugged calloused hands seeming to glow in the candlelight.

Jaskier caught himself, snapping his lips shut before he could start to drool. “Sorry,” he mumbled, still dazed from the sight before him. “You, uh, caught me off-guard.”

“That makes two of us,” Geralt replied, finally returning to his seat. His golden eyes, still as startling to Jaskier as the first time they had stared back into his, watched him levelly from across their supper. The witcher studied him as if appraising him like a jeweller with a rare stone. Or a wolf with a choice piece of meat. The though caught Jaskier just as unaware as Geralt’s scent had, crashing through his already-shaken mind like an out-of-control haycart.

Jaskier blinked and shook his head slightly, forcing himself back into the present moment. In need of distraction he turned his attention to the feast before them, grabbing a carving knife that the innkeeper had kindly though to leave beside the roasted bird. “Um. Shall I carve?”

“Sure.”

The knife’s edge was imperfect, dulled in places so that it made ragged work of each slice, not helped of course by Jaskier’s shaking hands. After what felt like agonizing minutes, he finally had two plates of meat and vegetables assembled, the juices from the roast making a thin sauce. He handed a plate to Geralt, smiling apologetically. “Sorry about that. Not exactly the suave demonstration I was hoping for.”

Geralt half-smiled back at him, sharp eyes softened in the gentle light. “I was tempted to get my sword. Seemed like quite a beast to wrestle with.”

“I’ll be sure to compose a ballad to its slaying.”

“Maybe leave out the part where it was already dead.”

“Of course, how else could you come riding gallantly in to save me once again?”

Geralt caught the chuckle in his throat before it tumbled free, burying it in a brief cough and a mouthful of sour wine. What was this? How was it possible that the months had fallen away so quickly? It was as if they were living once more in the past, already joking, and teasing back and forth. The roadside bonfire had been replaced by candlesticks and the hunted game by the inn’s offerings but the spark, the flare of something different that made the bard bearable was the same as it had ever been.

No; not bearable. A joy. Geralt furrowed his brow at the thought, feeling it creep through him. It was just so, wasn’t it? Jaskier was a joy. And it wasn’t in spite of the scrapes he inevitably had to pulled from; it wasn’t in spite of the way he refused to take his warnings seriously; it wasn’t even in spite of the way he could so easily get a rise out of him like only Yennefer on her worst days could. They were all part of it. There was separating him down into his component parts, you either loved all of it or none of it. And for Geralt it was all of it.

He froze at the realization. Love. That was a new word, one that had never crossed his mind when thinking of Jaskier before. But then, Jaskier had always been there. He’d never had to think about what he felt. He was just there, a comforting presence, as much a part of his day to day life as his leather armour or the weight of his swords on his back. Geralt glowered down at the plate of food in front of him as if some answer to this new troublesome thought could be divined from the swirls in the meat juices, but any secrets the sauce may have held evaporated like so much steam off a good meal.

Jaskier caught the look on the frowning witcher’s face. “Oh, something wrong with the meal?” His voice was teasing again, still riding the high of discovering this new, softer Geralt. “I know it wasn’t the most elegant of cut-jobs but it should still be edible, right?”

“Jaskier.” Geralt had changed again, his shoulders seeming to freeze while his eyes remained locked on the plate of food. “All these… Feelings of yours. It sounds like…” He drifted off, seemingly unsure of what to say. This was strange, even for Geralt. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen the witcher at a loss for words before. His voice was strange, all at once back to its sharp, cutting tones, and yet, just like carving knife, seemed dull in places, as likely to catch on the shape of what he wished to say as to slice yet another gulley through the bard’s heart.

“Sounds like what, Geralt?”

Once again, silence fell between them. Even the noises around them seemed to quieten in the moment stretching agonizingly between them, the crackle of the fire, the voices from the bar bellow, the crunch of gravel and shouts of night-birds, all fading away so that all remained was the unbroken stillness, a hundred thousand unspoken words silently whispered in their hearts.

Slowly, moving in inches, Geralt raised his head to meet the bard’s pleading gaze. His features were a mix of confusion and something Jaskier hadn’t truly seen before; simply, undeniable fear. Geralt was afraid. “Geralt…” Hardly daring to breathe, Jaskier stood, getting up from the table.

With a tinkle of cutlery the witcher followed suit, quickly rising as if readying to run. “This was a mistake, Jaskier. I should go.”

“Don’t you dare!” Jaskier moved closer to Geralt, putting himself between the witcher and the door. “It wasn’t a mistake. You needed to hear this and I think you needed to say your piece too. I know there’s more you want to say, so say it. While I’m here to hear it.”

Geralt glowered back at him then lowered his eyes, as if looking at Jaskier would stop the words in his mouth. “Just that… The road wasn’t the same without you walking it beside me.”

Jaskier could hear the words between that Geralt could not say. The shaking threatened to return but he quelled it, willing his voice to remain steady as he replied. “I would gladly walk it with you again. If you would have me.” He took a step closer, his body seemingly dwarfed by the witcher’s broad frame. “Where you would go, I’d gladly go also. Your loyal companion to the end.”

His words filled Geralt’s heart, threatening to undo him. “And what if there is more to say, further along the road? What do we do then?”

Jaskier half-smiled. Letting himself be bold, he pressed a hand to the witcher’s chest. The powerful thud of Geralt’s heart thundered ponderously against his flat palm. “Then… We’ll just do what we have always done best. Say it all. Fight, talk, laugh.” He stared wide-eyed into Geralt’s face. “And in the end we’ll figure it out together.”

Geralt gazed back down at the bard, so close now that he could taste his sweetened breath, his perfume filling Geralt’s senses. “…Alright.” His voice was little more than a murmur. “I can do that.” A lock of Jaskier’s hair had sprung out of the carefully lain arrangement he’d clearly combed it into. Moving slowly he reached up and gentle moved it back, tucking it back behind the bard’s ear. His hand felt heavy, as if it had been transformed to lead by some alchemist’s trickery. He held it there, palm close to Jaskier’s cheek, the bard eye’s half-closed, lips open just a little as if to speak. But there was nothing more to say.

The inches between them now felt like canyons. Did he dare to cross them?

For just a moment longer he paused. It would change everything. It could all go wrong again. He could be a cruel, callous fool, speak in anger and ruin it all once more. But Jaskier’s lips, so soft in the candlelight and so close now, seemed to call out to him, an undeniable force. In his heart the witcher knew that to resist would be one fight he had already lost. Would always lose. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, the distance between them shrinking until at last…

Their lips met, gentle, unsure. Then Jaskier sighed and leaned into the kiss, his body pressing against Geralt’s as the witcher wrapped his powerful arms about him. They both gasped at the rising intensity, hands gripping each other’s clothes as if wishing to tear it away, freeing their bodies to be even closer. At last, after what felt like minutes, they broke apart, eyes closed panting, foreheads still resting against one another. “Geralt…”

“Jaskier.”

But there was no more need for words. They kissed again, more certain this time, passion overwhelming them both as they explored each other, the world outside, the bar downstairs and even the room in which they stood melting away in the heat of the moment.

***

The cold, gold-tinged light of morning crept through the blinds of the private room. Illuminated in a shaft of dawn, Jaskier sat on the edge of the table, the lute strung across his bare chest. His hands rested for a moment on the strings as he took in the gentle rousing of the day. A cockerel crowing on a distant farm. The crunch of gravel under the horseshoes of dawn riders. Low voices of those perhaps only just making it home now. And there in the room with him the low bass rumbles of a witcher’s snores.

He’d forgotten the strange comfort that came with those rumbles. It was somehow a promise of safety; if Geralt was ready to sleep so deeply and soundly surely there could be no threat nearby.

Gently so as not to wake him, Jaskier moved his hands along the strings of the lute, the faint whine of the gut under his skin pricking the edge of the peaceful air. Then, just as gently, he began to play. His fingers as if without command began to pluck out that same strange new melody he’d been chasing for so long now, at first unsteady and unsure but quickening with each strum. The chorus came towards him, the chords that had surprised him before now singing out with perfect clarity, like they’d always been there. But this time he played on. The chords moved, progressed, until the melody returned in a beautiful refrain, the same pattern repeated but subtly changed, as if the story told had moved forward just a little. On and on he played, the song filling his heart and mind like no melody had in years, until at last with a final repeat of that perfect chorus it came to a sweet,

Jaskier blinked. There was water on his cheeks. He was crying. He hadn’t even noticed. Quickly he grabbed a cloth from the table, rubbing his eyes and face clear of tears. As the music drifted away he realised his companion’s snores had ceased. He turned to see Geralt stirring, murmuring from the bed. “Hmm. Don’t think I’ve heard that one.”

Jaskier smiled. “It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. It was touch and go for a while there, but now…” He turned back towards Geralt, letting his eyes linger across the tangled sheets caught around the witcher’s muscular form. He smiled again, heart lighter than it had been in months. “Now I think it might just be something.”

#fanfic #geraskier #the witcher #geralt #jaskier #long reads #fantasy

39 notes · View notes

teamfreehoodies · 4 years

Note

I'm two days late with a fic prompt sorry lol but I could not get this idea out of my head so, if you're still up for it: what if Witcher AU where it's Yennefer who meets Renfri at Blaviken instead of Geralt <3 Love your fics

Oh my god this is so interesting?????? (Also thank you!!!! 💕)

Yennefer hasn’t been to the coast in years, and she wouldn’t be here under normal circumstances, but she was.... desperate. Rumor had it that there might be a djinn for sale in their market soon, which meant either someone had found one, or at the very least there was djinn activity in the area and someone felt justified that they could find one and for a dirty little place in the backwoods just off the coast it did seem to have something... off about it. She’d portaled to a field just outside the city, a place that should have been empty of magic entirely except for what she brought with her. And yet... something was different about this town. The air felt heavy with it, a stagnant weight hovering over the people, and as she approached the city’s gates it became more and more apparent that something was deeply wrong with this city. Where there should have been children playing games in the street there were only beggars, staring listlessly forward as they huddled against walls for warmth, a stark indicator of a bad fishing season in a town like this.

But there had been no pleas to the Brotherhood to take care of their ills, no appeal to the mages to find the fish, to feed the fishermen, to save the town. Yennefer had left court, but she still knows all the court mages and none of them had said anything of a town under famine. She kept moving, ignoring the damp dreariness that pulled at her heart. Maybe it wasn’t famine, and Blaviken simply had an unusually large amount of serfs with no fields to tend, and the heavy atmosphere was just caused by the concentrated misery of so many people packed so closely together.

She would get no answers on the street, so she ducked into the first tavern she saw, shaking off the strange heaviness of emotion from staring at the misery in the streets of this thrice-cursed backwater. The tavern at least was decent enough, a good crowd for this time of day, early as it still was. She wound her way to the bar, aiming for a beer and a chance to collect her thoughts. She might find someone in here who could tell her of the fishing spots suddenly gone bare— that might be a good indication of djinn activity actually, now that she thought about it.

The bartender slid her a cup and filled it before turning away with a grunt as he picked up the coin she left on the table. The beer was cold, but that was were the positives ended. “What the fuck,” she muttered spitting the ale back into its cup— she’d tasted piss-water more palatable than this swill.

“It’s an acquired taste but I promise, it’s not poison.” Yennefer looked down the bar, tracking down the owner of the offered opinion. Oh, but she was gorgeous, her hair an asymmetrical mess framing her rounded cheeks, lashes long enough to make the brown of her eyes look bottomless, her mouth curled with just the right amount of attitude as she smirked at Yennefer.

“I’d almost prefer it it was poison” Yennefer replied, sliding closer down the bar and dragging the piss-water with her. “At least then the taste would have an explanation.” The woman laughed, cracking more peanuts from the bar, and popping them into her open mouth. She smiled at Yennefer, leaning back in her seat as she made a short gesture at the barkeep.

“You’ve a lot of experience with poisons then?” She asked, turning to face Yennefer fully.

“Enough to never accept a drink I didn’t order myself,” Yennefer countered, smirking as the barkeep plunked two wine cups in front of them.

“Well that’s a shame then, isn’t it.” The woman said, reaching across Yennefer to drag the cup away before the barkeep could pour anything into it.

Yennefer caught her hand against the bottom rim of the cup, feeling the warmth of her rough hands (and gods she wanted those hands against her skin so suddenly she was surprised by the force of her desire.) “it’s only a shame if we let it be.” she purred, rubbing her thumb along the index finger of the woman’s hand still trapped beneath her own.

The barkeep cleared his throat, breaking them apart as he gestured impatiently with the wine bottle. “Am I pouring this or not,” he said “I’ve got other customers, y’know.”

The woman giggled, than guffawed, a hearty laugh that was more wild and free than any woman Yennefer had ever known— instantly, she was hooked. Yennefer wanted more of that laugh, wanted some of that wild freedom for herself.

“There’s better drinks at my place,” Yennefer said aching to reach back out and touch, needing the heat of the other woman’s skin to balance against the chill of her own.

“Are you seducing me?” the woman asked, smirking slyly at Yennefer from behind her fringe of hair.

“Only if you’re interested in being seduced,” Yennefer leaned in closer, not touching, just letting her proximity work for her. They were facing each other still and as Yennefer leaned in the woman did too, almost imperceptibly, until Yennefer stopped, just close enough that their conversation was a touch too intimate for public (but oh, that had never bothered Yennefer one little bit, and in fact it added to the heat in her belly, the tension between her thighs that demanded release.) “Is it working?” she whispered finally, her breath just ghosting over the other woman’s lips.

(Fuck off,” muttered the barkeep as he plunked the wine down on the counter and stalked towards his other customers. He had things to do other than staring at flirting lesbians.)

“Why don’t we go get that wine.” The woman whispered, sending shivers down Yennefer’s spine. Delicious anticipation was thrumming through her veins and it made her sloppy, so she almost missed the knife as it hurtled up to rest beneath her chin.

“I’m not really into knifeplay as a rule,” she said, one hand against the woman’s where it was trying to push a blade into her throat, the other pressed into the base of the woman’s neck, her thumb just above the dip in her clavicle.

“Yeah well, you can tell that to Stregobor when he joins you in hell then can’t you.” The woman said, nonsensically, as they both strained against the other’s grip.

“Stregobor?” Yennefer repeated, mind trying desperately to connect the pieces.

“He sent you to kill me before I could kill him, why else would a mage be in Blaviken?” The woman scoffed and Yennefer realized that the reason no one had intervened was because the entire tavern was being held hostage by men in line with this woman, a collection of dwarves and halflings with swords and crossbows, the sorriest looking army that Yennefer had ever seen. Yennefer’s grip slipped and the knife slid another centimeter closer to her throat and all of a sudden she understood what was wrong about this damn town.

“Cock.” She said, staring into the eyes of the last girl born under the Black Sun, Renfri, Princess of Creyden, sworn hunter of Stregobor the Mage and something of a local legend amongst Yennefer’s circle of influence, precisely for her vendetta against the man. They all hated Stregobor, and he’d been officially censured for his slaughter of the girls of the Black Sun prophecy, and prophecy work had been falling out of fashion ever since— not that that knowledge did her any good, a knife to her throat and a furious shrike holding it.

“I’m not here on business of Stegobor’s,” Yennefer offered, pulling on Chaos just enough to give her a fighting chance. She pushed the hand with the knife against her throat sharply upwards, a fast enough strike that it stunned Renfri, knocking the weapon from her hand though not for long as she was already reaching for a new one— but Yennefer had space, had time—had purpose, and that was all a mage really needed.

“I bet you want him dead, right?” She said, holding up her hands to ward off Renfri’s continued advances (and also to make portalling away faster if need be. Renfri paused, cocking her head at Yennefer. Emboldened she went on, “I don’t have any particular feelings about the man, but I bet even you can’t hope to succeed against him alone.” Renfri, according to legend, wasn’t the sort of shrike that waited. To find her in a tavern in Blaviken meant Stregobor must be close, and must be hiding if he hadn’t yet been killed. “Ahh, that’s it isn’t is,” she said, as Renfri slowly let her go, flipping the knife in a devastatingly hot) show of skill before she sipped it back in to the sheath on her thigh. Oh, if this worked out the way Yennefer wanted it to, they were going to have a fucking amazing time together. “You can’t get to him. What has he locked himself into a tower somewhere? Magicked up some guard dogs I imagine?” She took her seat, reaching for the bottle of wine the barkeep must have left for them, pouring equal measures into the two cups.

Renfri must have made some motion behind Yennefer’s back (it wasn’t much of a gamble to turn her back on this opponent, sure as Yennefer was of her purpose here, but enough of one that a little shiver of pleasure ran up her spine at the implied danger) because the dwarves and halflings were putting down weapons, retreating to the table they’d been occupying before they took the tavern hostage. There was some grumbling from the patronage, but violence seemed to be the language of these people, so it settled quickly, just in time for Renfri to take her seat again, reaching forward to grab the wine that Yennefer had poured for her. “He’s locked himself in his tower,” she said, taking a sip of the wine and letting her knee bump into Yennefer’s thigh beneath the bartop. “Can’t get him out to face me in a fair fight, which he knows he’d lose.” Now that Yennefer is paying attention she can feel the slight disturbance in Chaos as it bends away from Renfri, refusing to touch. Interesting. “So tomorrow me and my men are going to murder every single person in the market until he crawls down from his ivory tower and faces his destiny at the end of my sword.” She’s puffed up already, like she expects Yennefer to object to this plan. The massive planned loss of life bothers Yennefer on a surface level surely, as unnecessary as it is. There are easier ways to pull Stregobor from his hiding place-- more elegant too.

“What if I told you that I could pull him out of that tower without having to sacrifice the townspeople of Blaviken?”

“I’d ask you for what price. I know mages and witchers are alike in that they only work for coin or power.”

Yennefer smiled, taking a long draught of the wine and then slamming the empty cup back on the bartop. “I want everything, little shrike. But this?” she said, spreading her arms wide, “this I’ll do just because Stregobor deserved more than a slap on the wrist for his actions and I can think of no more fitting end than to watch you butcher him in the streets of Blaviken.”

#AND SO THEY MURDER HIM AND THEN THEY GO OFF TO LIVE THEIR BEST LIVES #Geralt walks through Blaviken like a day later and can't find anyone to take his damn Kikimora but Marilka #(freshly unemployed and looking for adventure) is like HEy Mr. Witcher Sir can I Follow You and Learn to Sword Fight #And Geralt who is secretly desperate for a friend is like no #not until you're at least old enough to marry and make your own choices #so she pouts but also he does teach her some stuff #and then he visits for a while every summer making sure to stop at Blaviken which is a welcoming place now that Stregobitch isnt haunting #the damn place anymore #and when she's old enough to travel she just followed Geralt out one summer #and he gets a friend to travel with #and Marilka gets to stab things to her murderous little hearts content #and then uhhh idk what happens after that but YES I LOVED THIS PROMPT SO FUCKING MUCH #Renfri #Yennfri #Thank you nonny!!!!#Now accepting prompt I should think #this was delightfully fun #amber writes

43 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Note

13 for the NSFW promts? With Jaskier of course 💜

13. “I’m gonna get you off under this table and if you make a sound, you’re in big trouble.”

I already did one where Jask gets you off under a table (twice!) but that doesn’t mean I won’t do it again! This one turned out pretty different anyways, way more subtle than last time. And way fucking longer, oops.

Jaskier was a natural at banquets. He had that gift of gab where he could strike up a conversation with anyone and make them laugh. And that doesn’t even mention his entertainment: he seemed to always know what song to play to get everyone dancing. When the two of you were invited to a dinner simply as guests and not performers, you were curious to see if he would get bored without playing- or if he would just get up and play anyway, since he had a lot of impromptu performances anyways.

Well, it turned out he had a different plan for entertaining himself. While you were chatting up various other guests around the table, he placed a hand on your knee. The heavy tablecloth draped in such a way that you realized it would be hard to see where his arm was from any angle but your own. Honestly, you didn’t think much of it until his hand started to slide up to your thigh. Right as you were about to lean to him and ask what he was doing, he addressed someone at the table.

“You’re from Redania, aren’t you? So is my companion here!” he smiled. The woman looked to you.

“Oh! What part are you from?” she asked excitedly.

“The southwestern area,” you answered half-heartedly, confused as to why Jaskier’s hand had suddenly made its way under your skirt. He’d told you not to wear a dress so short but you hadn’t realized this was a potential hazard.

“Me as well! What city?” she pressed. You tried not to show your frustration on your face.

“Novigrad,” you answered.

“The same! What area of Novigrad?”

You sighed, feeling his fingers press between your legs. You opened them, but then regretted it as you realised that this conversation was about to get a lot more exciting, and not in a very helpful way.

“Actually, it was a village just outside Novigrad. I didn’t spend that much time in the city,” you admitted.

“Oh,” the woman replied.

“Jaskier here taught at Oxenfurt nearby,” you remembered with a smile, turning to him.

“Oh!” the woman repeated, looking to him as well.

“Ah yes, but that’s not as interesting as your work in the royal court,” he smiled back, his fingers finally starting to press against your folds, and you bit back a gasp.

“Oh my! The royal court? That must have been so exciting!” the woman prompted, and a few others at the table turned to you expected stories as well.

“It wasn’t as dramatic as it may sound. I didn’t witness anything of historical importance in my time there: it was peacetime, after all.” You did your best to not inspire any more interest as you felt very much like not having any conversations.

“You played at the prince’s wedding!” Jaskier so helpfully reminded, just as a calloused thumb grazed over your clit. You let out a little whimper just as everyone “ooh”ed in excitement, so thankfully it went unheard by everyone but him.

“Yes, right, I did. It was a beautiful ceremony,” you remembered. “I actually played the harp for that, not the lute. Bride’s request.”

“I heard a rumor that her dress was exquisite!” someone piped up.

“Yes, well-” you stopped as you had to focus on not gyrating your hips into his touch. “Yes, it was beautiful. It had, er, pearls.”

“Pearls!” someone repeated incredulously.

“It’s a coastal town, after all,” you pointed out, and already you were struggling to even remember what the topic of the conversation was. After a few minutes it seemed like the guests had managed to shift the conversation amongst each other rather than all interrogating you, and you took the opportunity to lean into Jaskier’s ear.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed in a whisper.

“I’m going to get you off under this table, and if you make any… suspicious noises, we’re both going to be in a lot of trouble,” he explained, as if it were obvious, “but especially you.”

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be between my legs right now,” you frowned.

“So you want me to stop?” he asked coyly, and you knew you were done for. Because he was already taking you down the path to orgasm and he started doing that thing with his fingers that made you completely unable to say no to him.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you admitted, “just get me off quickly.”

“That spoils all the fun, darling,” he scolded with a grin.

He built up a cruel pattern of bringing you painfully close to the edge, working you with an expert precision normally preserved for instruments, then withdrawing just long enough for the pleasure to die down and starting the process all over again. You managed to keep quiet but you did have an abnormally tight grip on your fork and knife, and occasionally were forced to bite down on your goblet while pretending to drink from it.

“Be honest,” one of the ladies began as she addressed Jaskier, “are you two… together?”

You hoped that you weren’t sweating too profusely but it suddenly felt very hot in the room.

“We’re just friends- and writing partners,” Jaskier answered with a nod.

“But you two have such incredible chemistry! Especially while performing!” someone else noted.

“Trust me, we may look friendly, but he does things that make me want to kill him,” you growled, your throat nearly catching because of the desire to moan as he rubbed every sensitive spot inside you.

“But that’s love, isn’t it?” one responded.

“You know, when my wife and I saw you two play the other night,” another revealed, “she turned to me and said ‘either those two are sleeping together, or they should be!’”

The table laughed.

“We abstain from all sorts of things that we should be doing,” Jaskier smirked.

And do all sorts of things we shouldn’t, you added internally.

“I swear, when you sing that one ballad about the sorceress and the Witcher-”

You had several on that topic, but you still knew which one they were talking about because you, too, noticed that you couldn’t hide the love from your voice when you sang it with Jaskier.

“-there’s so much passion between you two, like you could just pounce on each other any moment.”

“Yes, well, it’d be rather unprofessional to get down to it on stage in the middle of a performance, wouldn’t it?” you joked, but it wasn’t a joke so much as a reminder that this was all a terrible idea. Of course, knowing it was wrong only encouraged him, and you felt the fingers inside you plunge deeper, picking up pace. You really struggled to suppress your quickened breathing at that point, but the laughter from the table around you helped cover it a little.

“And yet,” Jaskier added, “I bet we would make more in tips that night than all our other shows combined.”

Everyone laughed again but you just took a big swig from your drink. “Don’t their appearances complement each other, though?” one of the ladies asked her husband, who agreed.

“Appearances can be deceiving,” you grimaced as you took another sip, but you saw him smile.

“I did always think we’d have beautiful children,” Jaskier interjected, and you nearly spit out the wine in your mouth.

“Children?! Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you warned. He just looked at you with a bemused-yet-knowing expression, taking a drink from his own goblet. Your eyes trailed to the way his ring-adorned fingers looked wrapped around the silver- gods, he was so pretty, and it was really hard not to want him when he was literally inside you. Your mind raced with thoughts (and memories) of those hands exploring every part of you, wrapping around your waist, holding you close to him, guiding your hips forward and back as you rode him like your life depended on it-

“And they’d be so musically-talented!” someone said, and you forgot what they were even talking about.

“We shouldn’t harass them about it anymore,” another guest realized, and you sighed with relief, “they’re probably not permitted to court by their families.”

“Oh, you’re right- forgive our insensitivity,” someone added.

“You must be joking,” Jaskier chuckled. “My mother writes me nearly once a month begging me to propose.”

Your eyes went wide. That was news to you. And of course, the whole table reacted to that quite strongly.

“Then do it!”

"Have children now while you're young! You could start a family band with them!"

“Invite us to the wedding!”

The duke, the head of the table and host of the event, suddenly interjected.

“Jaskier,” he said in a deep, booming voice, “take my advice. Maidens won’t wait around while you sow your wild oats.”

“It’s not that-” Jaskier began to defend, but the duke interrupted him.

“Am I wrong?” he asked you.

“I can’t say I’d describe myself as particularly patient,” you replied, once again inspired by your current situation.

“You seem like you’d make a good wife. Pretty, talented,” he listed, and you smiled.

"But I'm much too picky. I only drink Cintran ale, for one," you replied, knowing the Duke was probably one of the most prolific importers of the drink due to his taste for it.

“A girl after my own heart!” the duke grinned. “Jaskier, you’d better marry this girl before I do!”

The bard looked back to you and suddenly you were the one with the grin, and he was the one with anger flashing in his eyes. Jealousy, specifically; you could tell by his expression, but the way he pressed his fingers deep inside you and twisted them made it abundantly clear.

“I think I’d make a pretty good duchess,” you smiled, though you barely managed to get the words out without moaning or gasping due to some very distracting sensations.

“Only I can give you what you want,” Jaskier whispered, such that only you could hear it, “so you might consider staying on my good side.”

“I didn’t realize how possessive you were of me,” you countered. “How was I to know you would get jealous?”

He flexed his fingers inside you, directly rubbing your spot with enough force to make you yelp- though you just barely managed to bite it back. “I think there were a few signs,” he smirked.

“We ought to go pheasant hunting together sometime,” Jaskier suggested to the Duke. “Say,” he smiled as he turned to you, “would you like to come?” he asked you cheerily as he looked at you with a wide grin. Of course he would be using wordplay to tease you right now, the bastard.

“Most fervently,” you replied through your teeth.

“I’ve never known a woman who could hunt pheasants!” the Duke exclaimed.

“Sometimes you’re in the mood for a little violence,” you growled, though you tried to put on a smile as you said it.

“Go ahead,” he whispered.

“With the violence?” you asked.

“The other thing,” he explained.

And you hoped that there would be a loud conversation to distract everyone but they seemed to be talking quietly all of a sudden so you had to make a last moment save to be able to keep quiet. Of course, you weren’t at your most creative in terms of solutions for this issue and had limited time to decide as you felt your orgasm approaching. You grabbed some meat from your plate and took a bite, thinking it might distract you or something, but instead what happened was you instantly came with food in your mouth, letting out a muffled groan of pleasure.

Most of the table looked to you in confusion, and thankfully Jaskier relented his movement inside you.

“This meat is so good,” you explained, the words slurred with food still in your mouth. Jaskier had to cover his face to hide his laughter. You shot him a glare.

“Some stunt you pulled back there,” you frowned, riding side by side out of the city once the banquet had ended.

“I thought it was hot,” he shrugged.

“Oh, it was hot,” you smiled, “but a pretty bad idea. We cut it way too close a few times.”

“I don’t think they were that close to realizing,” he defended.

“And yet, I was more afraid that they would continue that interrogation about our relationship,” you groaned. He laughed.

“Oh gods, that was torturous!”

“Does your mother really write you monthly about me?”

“At least,” he frowned.

“What do you tell her?” you asked.

“That I’m still looking for the perfect ring, and the perfect opportunity,” he responded casually.

“Lying to your own mother?” you grinned. He looked at you and he noticeably was not smiling back.

“I’m not lying,” he answered.

So overall, it was a strange evening.

#jaskier x reader #my writing #jaskier smut #GUYS this one is my favorite so far

236 notes · View notes

princess-of-riviaa · 4 years

Text

Bewitching the Witcher Part 5

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Summary: Your sickness plays its last hand. As Geralt rushes to save you, will anyone’s efforts be enough to keep you alive? Or is this where you meet your death?

Series summary: You and The Witcher aren’t meant to be together. In fact, the only thing you two should be doing is getting as far away from each other as fast as you can. You shouldn’t. You really fucking shouldn’t. But he’s just too tempting to resist.

Author’s note: This is the final chapter in my first series for The Witcher fandom, and also my first series that I’ve written on tumblr. When I wrote the first part to this I never imagined that the story concept would get as much love as it did. So thank you everyone who has read to this point. SIDENOTE: this part doesn’t contain smut. It’s written purely for the plot. However, the parts prior to this chapter all contain plenty of Geralt love, and I will also be writing more oneshots/headcanons for both the infamous Witcher and his Bard.

You knew it was the last day of your life, but you kept that knowledge to yourself. If you brought it up to either of the protective bastards you’d come to love in the last six months, they wouldn’t let you enjoy it. And you’d be damned if you didn’t enjoy the hell out of your last day on earth.

So you didn’t bother to elaborate when you asked Geralt to make his famous roasted pork. He hunted down a worthy animal in less than twenty minutes and cooked it slowly over the fire, just how you liked it.

And you didn’t let Jaskier evade you when you cornered him in the woods and asked him the question that had been burning a hole in your brain for weeks: “Why did you never try to fuck me?”

Of course, you enjoyed the way his entire body seemed to go red as a tomato in a matter of seconds. “W-what?”

You rolled your eyes at his innocent facade. “Oh, please. You’ve groped everything that breathes. You’ve lied with every woman from Cintra to Nilfgard. So why didn’t you ever try to sleep with me?”

He looked everywhere but directly at you.

“Do you not think I’m beautiful, Jaskier?” You almost laughed at your own question. You hadn’t seen a mirror in a few weeks, though you had no doubt that you resembled a skeleton more than a living, breathing person. You’d never been further from beautiful than at this moment.

But you remembered who you used to be, when the Witcher blood ran strong in your veins. You’d been the perfect height--tall enough to look down on most people but not too gangly--with legs for miles. Your muscled body had curves in all the right places. Your breasts had been huge, your ass even bigger. Eyes followed you wherever you went, as did a line of drooling men. Back when you’d been a goddess of beauty, you hadn’t cared about any of it. Now you longed for it.

“Of course you were, Y/N,” Jaskier replied, then quickly added, “I mean, of course you are. Are, not were.”

“Just tell me why, then,” you pushed.

He laughed, clearly uncomfortable, though he knew you weren’t going to drop it. “Honestly?”

You nodded.

Jaskier kicked the fallen leaves and small tree branches at his feet, still avoiding your gaze. “I used to tell myself it was because you’d probably cut my manhood off if I tried anything.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you. Jaskier had once been terrified to get within five feet from you. Now, of course, he was like your protective, annoying older brother. That might have been the one good thing that had come out of your sickness: your newfound relationship with the ridiculously talented bard.

“I wouldn’t have gone that far,” you finally got out, still grinning at him.

He shrugged. “I know.”

“So that wasn’t the real reason,” you realized.

Jaskier finally brought his blue eyes back to yours. “No.”

You sighed. “Don’t make me beg for it, Jas!”

He hesitated. Then, “Because I knew--even from the night Geralt and I first ran into you and you tried to kill him and nearly did--I knew that you were his. You were always his, Y/N, and he was always yours. I’ve never believed in soul mates. I actually think that concept is complete bullshit. We get to choose who we love in this life, that’s what I believe. But you and Geralt... if there’s a better word than soul mates to describe the two of you, then I don’t know it.”

Oh.

You hadn’t been expecting that. Not from Jaskier. Not now--not today.

“Is that a good enough answer for you?” Jaskier wondered, breaking the silence.

All you could do was nod.

...

You convinced Geralt to take you on a hunt. There was no better way to end your last day alive than by killing a monster. And so, after an hour of pleading and convincing, he finally agreed, though probably just so you would shut up about it.

It didn’t take long for you two to find a creature roaming through the woods: a berserker. You found it ironic. On another hunt for a different berserker in a different mountain range during a simpler time, you and Geralt had finally revealed your feelings for each other. A berserker had started all of this. It was only poetic that a berserker would end all of this, too.

But before you could even strike the killing blow to the creature, your nose began dripping. Geralt beheaded the monster for you, much to your annoyance. You wiped your nose with the back of your hand. Geralt’s eyes widened when he glanced back at you. You didn’t have a chance to ask him what was wrong before you were doubled over in a coughing fit. When you pulled your hand away from your mouth, it was stained with blood.

Your nose was bleeding.

You were coughing up blood.

You didn’t have to be a medic to know that your time was just about up.

Geralt, on the other hand, wasn’t about ready to accept it so easily. In a flash you were in his arms and he was running back to your makeshift camp. He didn’t even explain himself to Jaskier before throwing you over Roach and climbing onto the horse behind you. Roach ran like he was desperate to save you, too.

You arrived at the nearest town in a matter of minutes. Geralt carried you in his arms, screaming wildly in the streets for a medic. Finally one approached you. Geralt followed after him.

All you were concerned about was the horrid, metallic smell of your blood. You were covered in it now. You’d also managed to dampen Geralt’s clothes with it, too. If he didn’t always wear all black, his clothes would have been stained.

You laughed at the thought, though it wasn’t particularly funny. Both you and Geralt knew it was a hysterical laugh; your time was down to minutes now.

“Hold on, Y/N,” Geralt muttered to you. He spoke so softly you could barely hear him. “Hold on for me.”

You stared at him as he carried you in his arms. Something hit you, then. The infamous Witcher, the wild beast of a man that Jaskier had written about and made famous throughout the land--most people feared him because he resembled a monster more often than he resembled a man. But with the fear in his eyes right now he looked so... human.

Your fingers were moving through his hair before you’d even realized you’d told your hand to move. “You’re so beautiful, Geralt. Such a beautiful human.”

“Y/N...” There was a warning in his voice, though you couldn’t figure out what he was warning you about.

“It’s okay, my love.” He had to know you were okay, that there was no better place for you in the entire world than in his arms, feeling his Witcher heart beat slowly against your head. “My love... you’re my love, Geralt.”

The world faded around you. All you could see was a man in the distance--a gloriously beautiful man. His dark hair was clipped short and his shining blue eyes looked longingly at a woman just a few paces from him. The girl’s blonde hair flowed in the wind, circling her tiny body.

The girl was--the girl was you. You, as a human. You, with no Witcher blood inside of you.

And the man who looked at you like you were the center of his universe--

That man was Geralt. Human Geralt.

You tried to cry out to him, to get his attention, to say something, but you had no voice. All you could do was watch as the Human You neared Human Geralt and looped your hands together. He kissed the top of your head and you swear you could feel it on your own head, your Witcher head. And then Human You and Human Geralt walked side by side until you disappeared in the distance, never needing to look back because all you needed was right beside you.

You wanted that, you realized. You wanted a long life with Geralt. More than you wanted to be a Witcher. More than you’d ever wanted anything.

You wanted him.

You wanted to be happy because of him.

You wanted him to be happy because of you.

And you’d be damned if you weren’t willing to fight tooth and nail to get that happy ending.

...

The medic told Geralt and Jaskier that you were dead before the medic could have tried to save you with a potion or elixir. The news made Jaskier erupt into a screaming fit, only occasionally broken up by a painful wail. Geralt, by contrast, became still as a statue. He didn’t move for several minutes. Those long minutes eventually stretched into hours. The night passed. Still, he never left your bedside, despite your body growing colder with every passing minute.

“G-Geralt,” Jaskier finally dared to speak up in the first light of dawn.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t do anything but stare at your body like his gaze could bring you back to him.

Jaskier called his name again. “She deserves...” He swallowed back a hiccup before beginning to sniffle. “She deserves a proper burial.”

Geralt didn’t even acknowledge Jaskier’s presence.

Jaskier moved towards your body on the other side of the bed. Finally, Geralt broke out of his trance. He jumped up and threw his arms around you, cradling you into his chest. Jaskier froze. Geralt’s gold eyes were wild and frantic, his sharp teeth blaring, and Jaskier knew that Geralt would kill him before he could get his hands on you. The Witcher resembled an untamed beast claiming his territory. Jaskier wasn’t about to get in the middle of it.

Jaskier left once the sun had fully appeared in the sky, off to get food for him and Geralt and--though he didn’t include this part--to get flowers for your corpse. Months ago, he’d heard you say that lilies were your favorite, so he went off in search of those.

Geralt remained by your side.

It was surprising, in the end, how your witcher had failed to notice anything changing within or outside of your body. His Witcher senses picked up nothing--not the first beat of your heart, a heart which now beat as fast as a human’s and not a Witcher’s; not the way the heat returned to your skin, bringing a pale color with it, brightening your cheeks and reddening your lips; not even the way your eyelids began to flutter like you were dreaming.

In fact, he was oblivious until Jaskier returned and pointed out that you looked eerily far off from dead. That you looked like you were alive and breathing and--

And that you no longer looked like a Witcher. The physical improvements that had transformed your body after you’d passed the witching test--the longer legs, the muscles that rarely tired, the nimble limbs that allowed you to move as fast as the speed of light--were gone.

Geralt watched you with a frozen awareness, waiting for--for something. He didn’t seem to know what to expect. Neither did Jaskier, which became obvious when he squeaked and moved to the corner of the room upon seeing your eyes open.

Your Witcher eyes had been silver. Not gray, not a soft shade of blue, but silver. They’d glowed as ominously as Geralt’s gold ones did.

But now, the eyes that blinked up at the two people you loved most in the world were an undeniable shade of jade green.

Neither Geralt nor Jaskier moved, unsure if you were a ghost or the undead or what.

They watched, Geralt’s hand moving to hover over the dagger strapped to his side, as you lifted yourself into a sitting position. The room was deathly quiet as you took in everything around you. You must have been staying in an infirmary, which you guessed from the sight of a million tiny jars of potions and healing ointments on the table beside your bed. That was the only decoration in the room besides the bed that you currently occupied. It was completely impersonal.

Your eyes flicked to Geralt. It was strange and unexpected, the feeling of terror that crashed through you. You’d only ever known him as a Witcher yourself, and the sight of another mutant like you hadn’t scared you. But now... now your heart was beating fast, and that was human fear running through your veins. Still, despite the warning signs in your mind screaming for you to run from him, you took in the sight of him with relief. Geralt. Your Geralt. Your Witcher.

You never thought you’d see him again.

The tears blurring his gold eyes were the only sign of his relief. His hand still hovered over his weapon, always cautious. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes from the stressful eighteen hours he’d just endured. But he’d never looked more beautiful to you.

You forced yourself to look away from him and turned towards Jaskier. The satchel at his side was full, probably stuffed with bread and cheese and cheap wine for him and Geralt. Orange lilies were crumpled in his hand as he took in the sight of you--very much alive, when you hadn’t been the last time he’d seen you.

“Those flowers are beautiful,” you said. Your voice sounded strange even to your own ears. Not as loud or as demanding; it no longer contained the strength of a Witcher. “But I don’t think they’ll be any good funeral. Perhaps a wedding?”

“You’re... alive.” There was no connotation in Geralt’s voice, the shock too great for him to generate a tone of voice.

You smiled at your Witcher. “I’m alive, my love.”

“H-how?” He blinked his tears away, though a few slipped down his cheeks. You resisted the urge to wipe them away. “The medic, he said you--”

“That Witcher we found a week ago,” you said, a thoughtful frown on your face, “her words finally make sense to me.”

The men just blinked at you, unable to follow along.

You closed your eyes, remembering the words of that ancient Witcher: “The only cure for my sickness is death.” The men were still frowning at you when you looked back at them. “I had to die before I could get better. Death wasn’t the sentence; it was the antidote.”

“You’re... better?” Jaskier asked, looking doubtful.

You looked between the men. “Well, that depends on your perspective, I think.” You looked down at your hands, thin and bony and small--not Witcher hands. “I’m no longer a Witcher. I’m human.”

Geralt sniffed. You looked to him, thinking he’d begun crying, and realized that he was sniffing the air--for your human scent. He paused when it hit him. His eyes went wide. “You are human.”

You hesitated. “Does that... disgust you?”

He didn’t answer with words, but rather with a quick kiss to your mouth. He held you tight against him, his arm wrapped so tightly around you that you could no longer breathe, but you didn’t dare ask him to stop. His mouth moved against yours, every touch a declaration of his relief.

Jaskier cleared his throat.

You two broke apart, looking over at the bard.

“So you’re just... you’re okay now?” He asked you. “You’re not sick?”

“I don’t think so, though I’m not sure,” you admitted. “But I think my Witcher magic was enough to fight the sickness. I think, now that I don’t have my magic anymore, I don’t have the sickness either.”

“So you’ll be okay?” Jaskier’s eyes widened hopefully.

You let yourself smile. “Yes. I’ll be okay.” You looked back at Geralt, whose eyes had never left your face. “Geralt, I’m human.”

He smiled back at you as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “So I’m hearing.”

He wasn’t getting it. “We can be together now.”

He frowned, the realization finally hitting him. “We can be together.” It came out as more of a question than a statement.

You looped an arm around his neck and pulled him back against you, giving his mouth a whisper of a kiss. “Marry me, Geralt.”

He pulled back, surprised. “W-what?”

“I want to be with you,” you said. “I want to spend every second for the rest of my human life by your side. I want to be yours--and I want you to be mine. So marry me.”

He laughed. “I never imagined myself being married.”

“Well you should start,” you told him as you slowly rose to your feet, unsure how stable your human body was. “Because I want to marry you. Not in a year, not in a month. Now. I want to marry you today, Geralt.” You pointed at the orange lilies in Jaskier’s hand. “And I want those to be the flowers I carry down the aisle with me.”

#geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x you #geralt imagine #jaskier #jaskier the witcher #the witcher #netflix the witcher #geralt the witcher #bewitching the witcher #the witcher series #the witcher tv show #jaskier imagine

228 notes · View notes