#jaskier: 'well you never brought them up so i thought there was a reason. i just bathed extra well in case it was a sensitive subject'

[ultralightpoe]

Spellbound - Geralt

Spellbound - Geralt

Authors Note: I’m back because I quit my job and have a better schedule at the new job 

Warnings: semi smut 

Word Count: 4012

Description: geralt fights his feelings until you get trapped in a spell 

brothel worker! reader x geralt 

Enjoy!

Geralt was going to tear whoever did this to you to pieces. He would gouge their eyes out and make them eat them. 

That was just one of the thoughts that rang through his mind as he cradled you in his arms, your nose bleeding onto his now naked torso, the shirt you had torn off of him a mere moment ago nearly in the fire. 

This was not supposed to be how this happened, this wasn’t supposed to happen at all. He had made himself stay away for this exact reason, everything he loved was destroyed. 

The witcher had always been against you joining the group. 

You had been a brothel worker when you came upon Jaskier six months ago, walking the streets with achy legs from a long shift, smelling of the salt water you had bathed in when you saw a group of men holding him up and beating on him. 

A yell had crossed your lips and without thinking you picked up a log near your feet, launching at the men and swinging anywhere you could to scare them off, hitting a couple of them harshly before they finally scampered away leaving you standing in the mud with a log and the poor fool laying bloody and beaten on the ground. 

You had brought him to your tiny rooms at the brothel, helped him clean up and soon enough he was asking you to join them. You hesitated for a moment, watching him use one of your rags to dot at the cuts along his face before shrugging. 

Anything is better than the life of a brothel worker, right?

Wrong. 

Brothels didn’t have the annoying attitude of Geralt the fucking Witcher. Okay well some did since Jaskier admitted to Geralt being a frequent guest of them, but you had never seen him and you wished you never met him either. 

He spent every waking moment snapping at you, or blatantly ignoring you when you were trying to ask questions. It was either you didn’t exist or everything you did was wrong, and you could never figure out why the way he treated you bothered you so fucking much. 

Men had done far worse to you in that brothel, but Geralt giving you the cold shoulder nearly brought you to tears? What?

Then again none of the men that came to the brothel were like Geralt at all. None of them had those melting golden eyes or the firm touch of a protector, none of them could turn a sword in their hands the way he does or make anyone feel at ease in his presence. 

Well……anyone but you. 

Maybe he knew you had feelings for him, maybe he hated your guts. Many reasons why he never wanted to talk to you filled your head and none of them were good. 

You spent your days obsessing over a man that barely glanced back at you, your horse in the back of the group with Jaskier always a force between you both. 

Geralt takes a moment to tie the corset of your dress so you weren’t exposed before pulling you into his arms and laying you on his bed, moving to grab a cloth from the basin in the corner of the inn room. 

When he returns to your side he takes a chance to slide the hair from your face, swiping the damp cloth along the blood trail your nose left in soft strokes as he watches you sleep. He would make sure you were breathing and comfortable before he went out and broke some limbs. 

It had been six months of that behavior, and it was truly beginning to wear you down. 

The days were spent either passive aggressively ignoring him back for scoffing at any mistake of yours he pointed out. Today was a passive aggressive silent game. 

He had woken you up by snapping in your face and the months of travel and anger were beginning to catch up so you had slapped his hand out of your face, watching a small amount of shock fill his face before his eyes narrowed in anger. 

“You overslept….again.” In the beginning you would have a snarky retort, something mocking his breath or face, but now you merely rolled your eyes and turned your back to him as you packed up your bedroll. He doesn’t seem to understand your silent game since he tries to piss you off once more. “We are going to be behind if you keep sleeping like this.”

It would be so easy to turn around and tell him to shove off, but then he would know he had that effect so you simply picked you belongings up, fixed your boots and walked to the horses where Jaskier sat atop his own. 

The bard gives you a knowing look as you mount your own horse after fixing everything onto it, legs swinging with a natural ease and a slight warmth on your thigh. When you look down you see Geralt's hand placed on it, and you realize he had helped you up. “Are you angry with me? Or have you lost your voice?”

“Just matching the treatment given to me.” You snark, a feeling of pride in your chest when you see him all but snarl. You kick the horse into gear after that, this time taking the lead as his hand slips from your thigh and he rushes to Roach. 

By the time he catches up he makes Roach walk alongside your horse, his face furious. “The treatment I gave you?”

You hum out, moving to speed up your horse but Geralt is too quick, within moments he has the reins of your horse in his hand, pulling on them until you are close enough for your thighs to touch. 

“Answer me.”

You hum again, your heartbeat rising and you wonder if he can hear it when his eyes cast down to your chest before looking back at you. 

“Humming is not an answer.”

You hum once more, moving to snatch the reins but his hand reaches out to grab your jaw. “I need to hear your voice.”

You slap his hand away once more and snatch the reins, giving him a glare before moving forward. 

“I don’t understand.” He grunted to Jaskier later that day, fixing his travel pack on roach as the bard leans against the same post the horses were tied to. You had gone to the market to grab some necessities and when Geralt demanded to go with you he had been met with another empty hum and Jaskier had told him to back down. 

“She’ll avoid attention if she isn’t traveling with a witcher, not to mention she knows how to bargain for cheaper prices when she isn’t flanked by your glare.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He growls, watching the bard smirk.

“The market workers like the attention she can give them-”

“We agreed she didn’t have to do any of that stuff if she traveled with us.”

“She does this willingly, and even so it’s not the same as in the brothel. She doesn’t have to offer up her-” A heavy growl slips from Geralt and Jaskier chooses not to finish his sentence, instead rolling his eyes and moving to his own horse. “I think you would be better off if you just told her you love her.”

“I do not-”

“Oh hush. I see you watch her sleep every morn, then I see you yell at her for waking up late because you forgot to wake her up.” He laughs. “And I see you hover whenever she mounts and dismounts Lugo. Not to mention the way you give her the bigger rations of whatever we eat and-”

“Fuck off.” 

Jaskier takes the win and turns away from the witcher, fiddling with the lute while Geralt tries to make himself look busy. 

After a moment of silence the witcher stands quickly. “Why won’t she speak to me?”

A laugh escapes the bard once more. “Because you ignore her any chance you get?”

“I do not.” 

“Well I know that. But she doesn’t, because you never even bother talking to her. You’d rather silently pine like a lost-” He trails off when he sees you emerge from the hills, sacks of produce in your arms with a small smile on your face. “Fresh hells.”

“The men were ready to lose their money today boys!”

“Did they bother you?” Geralt growls and you give him a glare back before shoving the sack of apples into his chest. 

Once he is sure you are breathing properly he covers you with the blanket, before moving to grab his sword, careful not to wake you up. 

You spend the rest of the day simply ignoring them both, too busy being proud of the way you scammed the merchants and all you had to do was lift your skirt to your knee. 

Geralt kept Roach near your own horse, and Jaskier took the back for once, all of you traveling in silence until Jaskier begins to whine. 

“It has been forever since we slept indoors.”

Silence follows for a moment before Geralt turns to glare at him. “And Y/n just saved us so much coin we can each get a room in the next town.”

“This is true! I did!” You laugh, turning to look at Jaskiers mopey face. 

“Fuck.” Geralt grunts, turning back to the road so he doesn’t have to look at either of you again. 

Jaskier is still sitting in the hall with his lute, strumming softly in the drunken daze as the crowd they had gathered earlier has finally died down. 

“Bard.” Geralt grunts, trying to get his attention. But Jaskier doesn’t move, simply keeps his eyes closed as he plays a chord. So Geralt kicks his chin. 

The bard before him jumps up with a shout before his eyes land on the white haired witcher before him. 

“I got us all rooms and I found you in a hallway.” 

“I was merely resting for a moment.” He sighs, reaching down to grab the ale mug filled with coins he earned from his performance. “It’s hard to be a -”

The silver amulet is shoved in his face before he can finish the sentence, eyes widening as Geralt grunts. “Who gave this to Y/n?”

“The charming blonde who had been dancing with her all night while you sat in the back and glared.”

“Where did he disappear to?”

“You mean after you snatched her?”

By the time the three of you made it to the next town your ass was worn from the saddle and you were a bit wobbly when you got down, Geralt standing behind you and you scoffed as you looked at him. “Waiting for me to fall so you can lecture me?”

He opens his mouth to respond and you find yourself excited that he is actually about to answer back before he huffs and glares before disappearing. And once more you are left feeling like nothing. 

You watch as he disappears into the tavern before turning to Jaskier. “I asked around at the market…”

“About?”

“About work.”

“Ah!” He smiles, moving to lean on you. “And what did you find for our dear witcher to do?”

“Not for him actually.” Your throat tightens as you struggle to find the words. Jaskier doesn’t seem to catch on to your solemn mood. 

“Oh? A performance for me? I’m sure I can prepare a lullaby or two-”

“For me.” You interrupt, pulling yourself away from him and crossing your arms uncomfortably as he stares at you. 

“For…..you?” You nod at his question, trying to gain some power here. “What do you-”

“Madame Horchels brothel is in this town, she is famous within word and if I met with her then I am sure I would be set up with a room and a hot meal a day-”

“Why in fucks sake would you ever want to go back to that?”

Tears were welling in your eyes as he stared at you and you struggled to find words. “I am just……tired of feeling useless and pathetic……”

“So you would go back to whoring?”

“You don’t have to act so disgusted!” You snap, shame filling you at his reaction. “I never saw you complaining about my past when I was flirting with guards or-”

“I am sorry, I never meant to judge. I just think…..” He sighs out and rubs his face aggressively before moving to pull you into a hug. “It’s been a cold couple days. How about we go in and get a drink, a good night's rest in actual beds before we make decisions? Yeah?”

A hooded figure passes you both to get into the tavern and you simply shrug. “I think my mind is made up Jask.”

“I think it would be a mistake and we would miss you terribly……..okay I would miss you terribly.”

“Why would you miss her?” Geralt snaps out from a couple steps away, eyes squinted in an angry manner. He had originally come to snap at you both to watch your surroundings but had caught the tail end of the conversation instead. 

“Y/n here was just rushing a decision. But we aren’t gonna talk about that, right now a round of ale on me.”

“You spent all your coin two towns ago on new strings for your lute.” Geralt reminds, eyes never leaving your figure. 

“Then I shall make more coin!” He cheers, pulling you into the tavern and snatching the room keys from Geralt. 

Things escalated from there, and any time Geralt asked about their conversation they changed the subject and he was beginning to lose his mind. Were you okay? Why would Jaskier miss you? Why was he so worried about this? He watched you drink all night, ignoring him, and he watched as many of the men in the tavern asked you for a dance. He knew none of the men were a threat, and you knew how to handle them, even if it got out of control he could have his sword to their throat with a mere minute. So he didn’t really pay attention to your dance partners. 

 But one in particular caught his attention, the hooded figure that had walked too close to you both earlier had emerged from his corner and asked for a dance, and something in Geralt screamed for him to go and get you away. But he didn’t, instead he sat back and drank, allowing you room to have fun. 

The blonde stranger whirled you around and spun you and bought you drink after drink. Your eyes glazed over and your smile was wide enough to split your face, a jealous feeling crept into Geralts chest and the urge to punch the stranger grew and grew as Jaskier played song after song. 

“Can I get you another drink?” 

“Hmm?” Geralts attention snaps from your figure to the tavern wench beside him, giving him a small smile. 

“Another ale?”

“I think I am fine. Thank you-” She doesn’t wait, walking away since she didn’t get more coin and when Geralt sneaks his attention back to you he can’t help but slam his empty mug down. 

The stranger had you turn around with you lifting your hair as he placed an amulet on your neck, kissing your shoulder and before Geralt could stop himself he lunged to grab you. 

One moment you are giggling about the gorgeous, the next you are thrown over Geralts shoulder as he shoves the gorgeous fae away from you, hauling you up the stairs of the inn with no care. 

“Put me down!” You shout, slamming your hand into his back as he walks through the first hall then up the next flight of stairs. 

“You’ve had too much to drink.” 

“And you care why?”

“Because that man would take advantage.’ He growls. 

“Well he gave me a necklace, that’s how the business works.” You giggle, reaching up to touch the necklace but the world whirls once more as Geralt places your feet on the ground and pushes you into the wall. His hand stopped your head from hitting the wood but the rest of you was pressed between him and the wall. 

“Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” You ask breathlessly, watching his face with adoration. Had he always been so…..

“Joke about that. You need something then I will get it for you.” 

“What if I want the prettiest jewels in the kingdom?”

“Then I kill more beasts.” He was dead serious and the hazy feeling was taking over so before you know it you find yourself leaning in to whisper “What is I want an orgasm?”

A red tint crosses his neck but his face remains serious as he leans his head against yours to whisper. “Then you ask me.”

And for a moment you can’t breathe, you find yourself aching, every part of you wanting to touch him suddenly. But before you can he whispers once more. “But not tonight. My first time with you will be sober.” 

Then the wood behind you disappears and you realize he had pressed you against the door to your room. Landing in a ball on the floor he sends a small smile before slamming the door and the heat that had filled you dims for a moment. 

But just for a moment. 

You pull yourself up from the floor, moving to the bed before the aching returns and your body heats up twice as bad. Everything begins going hazy as a sweat covers you and then you lose it. 

“I need to go.” Geralt snaps, shoving Jaksier to the direction of the stairs. “You go watch her. Don’t let her make any more mistakes.”

“Where are you- Geralt? What happened?! Hello?!” Jaskier calls after the witcher, watching him storm through the tavern before slamming the doors on his way out. With a deep sigh the bard grabs his jacket and mug of coins before making his way to find the rooms. 

It had been an hour since he left you in your room and Geralt could not relax himself. Jaskier had just stopped singing and Geralt was still pacing the inn room, back and forth back and forth. 

The aching hard on he had refused to go away, the image of your dazed eyes all he could think about, and the way you whispered to him had him so close to snapping all together. But he didn’t, and you were safe in your room with him just two doors down. But the floorboards creaking by his door caught his attention, and he reached for the sword as the doorknob jiggled. 

Stepping towards it slowly as it creaks open only to reveal you, standing in the hall in nothing but your dress slip and a flushed face. “Geralt-” You moan out and his knees nearly buckle when you rush in and slam the door. 

The sword falls from his hands so he can catch you when you come hurdling to him, pulling him in for a harsh kiss. Your lips melt into his and you moan in victory when he kisses back, pressing yourself against him as your hands fly into his hair. 

His own hands find purchase on you hips, and before he can tell himself not to he moves them to start a grinding motion the both of your would like. It stays like this for a moment until you bite his lip on a particularly aggressive moan, pulling back to catch a breath as you press your hips into his harder than before. 

For a second he admires you, the way your face scrunches up in pleasure and the moans that he is pulling from your lips, letting out a heavy ‘FUCK’ when you circle your hips. 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” You gasp out, hands dragging from his hair to his chest before you start tearing the clasps on his shirt, scratching it a bit in your struggle to get it off. “Ineedyou, it hurtssobad-” 

This makes him hesitate, pulling back a little just as you fling his shirt, your hands flying to undo the slip and he finally catches your eyes. Only they weren’t the eyes he had fallen in love with, instead they were a deep red. 

“Y/n?” He asks, heartbeat racing as he snatches your wrists in one hand, the other coming to grab you chin. “Look at me.”

“Geralt, please. It hurts.” You whine and the gem in the amulet glows the same red as your eyes. 

Dread fills him as he reaches down to tear it off you, the silver cutting you a bit before he chucks it across the room. 

He couldn’t breathe properly as he watched you come down from the spell, anger filling him. You hadn’t meant any of this, this had been a spell. 

He was a fucking fool. 

“Geralt?” You breathe out, taking in the room before looking at his shirtless torso and the small scratches you had made to get the shirt off. “What-”

And just like that you were gone. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your nose started bleeding as you passed out, he barely caught you before you hit the floor. “Fuck.”

You awake mid day- the sun blaring in through the blinds and you do your best to cover your eyes.  “Oh make it stop-”

“There are no covers for the window.” Jaskier sighs from where he is laying on the floor. “I tried stealing the blanket from you and you hissed at me.”

“Serves you right….” You mumble, taking in the room as you realize that last night hadn’t been a dream after all and a deep embarrassment fills you. 

“H-have…..have you seen Geralt?” You ask, leaning over the bed to look at him.

“He left around sunrise in a pissy mood.”

“Did he… did he say anything?” You felt like an utter fool, and you were doing your best not to be sick. 

“Said to watch you so you didn’t make any more mistakes.”  Jaskier shrugs before yawning. 

“He said that? He said mistake?” Your voice cracks as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself. 

“He did. I assumed he caught you with the blonde gu- Y/n? What’s the matter?”

“I…… I have to go.” You rush out, jumping over him to leave the room. 

- - - - -

Geralt finds Jaskier waiting at the horses when he rides up, tired and cranky, and he gets even crankier when he sees that your horse is empty of all your travel bags. 

“Is she not awake? Do we need to get a healer?” He rushes out, launching from roach to get to the tavern only for Jaskier to hold the lute in front of him. 

“She woke up several hours ago, it’s nearly dusk.” 

“Then where is she?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?” His heart is racing too fast and he’s hoping that Jaskier starts laughing soon and this is all a joke. 

“I told her you said to make sure she didn’t make any more mistakes and she got really sad and started crying as she packed up.” He explains. “She went to this brothel and they wouldn’t let me in but they let her in and she came out to say bye soon after that.”

“She went to a brothel?!” He snaps, grabbing the collar of Jaskiers dress coat. 

“Don’t blame me! This is your doing!”

“How. So.”

“You were the one that made her feel worthless! Never looking at her and always in her business about her mistakes-”

“Her mistakes get her hurt, or worse, killed!”

“Then tell her that! Rather than yell at her all the time with no explanation-”

“Where is the brothel?”

“It’s no use.”

“Where. Is. The. Brot-”

“She made a deal! The madame owns her!”

“Not on my fucking watch.” Geralt snaps, mounting the roach in one fluent move before nodding to Jaskier. “Hurry.”

He had to get you. 

Part Two

#geralt x reader #geralt smut #geralt imagine #geralt angst #witcher #witcher smut #geralt of rivia #witcher angst #witcher imagine #witcher fanfiction #the witcher imagine #the witcher angst #the witcher smut #the witcher c reader #witcher geralt #henry cavill #Geralt Geralt Geralt #witcher season 3 #rory the frenchie

[fangirleaconmigo]

Jaskier finds out about Geralt’s enhanced senses months after meeting him. He is outraged. But it works out just fine in the end. Rated teen and up. First kiss.

🚨 now on AO3!! 🚨 the AO3 version is a filled out and shined up version of the one below.

—-

“You’ve been reading my mind?!” Jaskier shrieked.

“No,” groaned Geralt, “it’s not like that.” He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose, regretting every choice he had made in his life that had led him to that moment.

“How could you?! You never said!!”

Geralt opened his eyes, hoping to end the conversation with a glower. He leaned back against the closed door of their shared room. It was an awkward angle for a glower, but he made it work.

“Ohhhh ho ho, I don’t think so, Geralt.” Jaskier raised an indignant finger. “Don’t even try your little angry face. I do not give a single shit.”

Geralt sighed. “Stop that.” He gently but firmly removed Jaskier’s finger from where it shook in front of his face.

Jaskier sucked in a breath, ready to launch into a tirade. But when Geralt grasped his hand, he stuttered to a stop. A flush crept across his cheeks.

Geralt sensed the window of opportunity and leaned in. “Jaskier, to be fair,” he tilted his head forward and employed his best I’m trying to be reasonable here face, “a drunken mouse could tell when you’re lying.”

Jaskier wheezed shakily. “Rude!” It was an outrage. But Geralt hadn’t released his hand yet, which was scattering his nerves. “You leave Gordon out of this. He’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Gordon- Geralt blinked, momentarily stumped. “—nevermind.” He finally let go of Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier exhaled.

“Look,” Geralt continued, “It’s not mind reading. Its feelings. And normal, non mutated people can tell what others are feeling too. Can’t they? You can tell how people feel. Can’t you?”

“That’s different.” Jaskier crossed his arms and hunched forward. He had just been performing, so he had a sheen of sweat and a post-performance glow, despite his sour mood.

“Is it?”

“Yes!”

“It isn’t though. Think about it. How can you tell when someone is angry?”

“Well, Geralt, you can tell I’m angry because I am telling you that you are an asshole.”

Geralt pretended he didn’t notice the sarcasm. “Exactly. Or because your arms are crossed.” He gestured at Jaskier’s arms where he held them tight against his chest. Under Geralt’s scrutiny, he released them and laid them back at his side.

“Or, because your lips kind of-“ Geralt gestured at his own lips, wiggling his fingers, “puff up.”

Jaskier blinked in surprise. He brought his fingers to his lips. “Puff—?”

Geralt swallowed hard. “You know. They. Pout. Stick out. Look kind of…” his voice trailed off.

“Kind of what, Geralt,” Jaskier deadpanned. “My lips look kind of what.”

“The point is,” Geralt said strenuously, suddenly feeling the need to mop his brow with a sleeve, “my heightened senses are the same. It’s just putting together physical clues. I can just…add a few clues to the list.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes dubiously. “Like what, exactly.”

“Um.” Geralt looked around as he gathered his thoughts. “Heartbeat. Pupil dilation. It’s not mystical I just don’t have to stand close to see your eyes or press my ear to your chest to hear…” Geralt’s eyes dropped to where the generous thatch of chest hair peeked out from Jaskier’s open shirt. He tended to unlace everything after a performance to “air himself out” and he traipsed around like that, driving Geralt to mad. “…your heartbeat.”

Geralt cleared his throat with an awkward hack and refocused on Jaskier’s face.

“Ok, and what else?” demanded Jaskier.

Geralt shrugged. “I can smell more.”

“Like sweat? If someone is nervous?”

“Yes. And pheromones.”

Jaskier yelped and stood up stock straight, startling Geralt. “Pheromones?? You know it when I’m horny?!?!”

Geralt frowned. “Sure.”

He said it casually as though it weren’t the single most humiliating thing that anyone had ever said.

Jaskier began to flail again and the register of his voice crept up to one better suited for dogs. “You absolute rat fucking bastard I am never speaking to you again!”

Geralt rolled his eyes and groaned dismissively. “Yes, Jaskier, like everyone else on the continent, I know that you’re horny literally all the time. Who cares?”

Jaskier jammed his hands on his hips. “I care. Because that means you know that whenever you are close enough to scent me, I am horny.”

“Right. You’re always horny.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “Do you really not see how those two things are different?”

He was standing close. So close. Geralt couldn’t think. And if he were being honest, he was extremely grateful that Jaskier could not scent lust. He tried to focus, replaying his words, and comparing them to what Jaskier had said.

“Wait for it…” said Jaskier with a voice so dry it could rival Geralt’s legendary sarcasm.

Geralt’s eyes widened in shocked realization. His jaw fell open, and his lips parted with a soft pop. “You feel. For me? No. That’s not true.”

Jaskier sang about sex and love. He wrote about sex and love. And people threw themselves at him at every performance. Geralt had always assumed that the warm, percolating, barely restrained desire that clung to the bard was just a permanent condition. And if it had been in response to any individual, it would have been for the fetching young farmboys and pretty infatuated barmaids. Not for him.

Too late, Geralt realized that his frozen expression of shock could also be taken as one of horror.

Jaskier slapped his arms against his side. “See what I mean? This is fucking humiliating. I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?” Geralt blurted out.

“Anywhere but here.”

“When are you coming back?” he demanded.

“Never.”

Before he could stop himself, Geralt slapped a hand on the door. “Stop. This isn’t fair.”

Jaskier let go of the handle and turned the full fire of his furious blue eyes on him. Geralt almost took a step back.

“It isn’t fair, Geralt?!”

Geralt almost backed down. But he didn’t. “No. I can’t help that I have these powers.”

It was true. It wasn’t fair. It’s not like he’d chosen to have enhanced senses. And it’s not like there was a guidebook for when to notify your best friend that you knew far more about him than he realized. Also. He didn’t want Jaskier to leave. He just didn’t. Jaskier could not leave him.

Not over this.

Right?

“Let’s talk fair, Geralt,” Jaskier shot back. “You know everything I feel, and I know fuck all about how you feel, because you never tell me anything. It’s an unequal friendship Geralt. And I hate it. I feel so…exposed.”

Jaskier spun again and yanked at the door handle. He actually got the door open a crack.

“Wait!” Geralt almost shouted. The desperation in his voice shocked the both of them.

“What? What, Geralt?”

Geralt stammered and scratched the back of his head. His eyes slid away. Jaskier huffed and turned again to leave.

Geralt’s hand shot out, seemingly of its own accord. Jaskier looked down at Geralt’s hand curled gently around his bicep. This was the second time tonight he had touched Jaskier for no good reason tonight. He couldn’t think to hard about that right now. He began speaking fast, pushing the words out before he could take them back.

“Youcouldlistentomyheartbeat.”

Jaskier pushed the door closed with a click, and thankfully he was still on the inside of the room. Geralt heaved a sigh of relief.

“What was that, Geralt?”

“Alright. Ok. Um.” Geralt looked at the floor. “Say you…listened to my heartbeat. And you stood close enough to me to see my pupils. You would have the same information I would have.”

Jaskier sucked in his cheeks and considered for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Alright.”

He took a step into Geralt’s space.

Geralt hadn’t thought this one through.

Fuck.

He could feel the warmth of Jaskier’s breath agains his neck.

“So. You can see my pupils, right?” he breathed.

Jaskier hummed in the affirmative. His heart thudded furiously. That fetching flush was back on his cheeks, the one that made his eyes stand out, making them an even more powerful a force on Geralt if that was possible.

He felt the same way about Geralt. He had said it. Out loud. Geralt inhaled and found the courage to reach for Jaskier’s hand again. He dragged it to his chest and with both hands, pressed Jaskier’s palm to his chest.

“And that’s my heart,” he said stupidly. He tried to cover it with a joke. “See, I have one after all.”

Jaskier’s lips curled into a devious smile. He tilted his head. “We still aren’t even, Geralt.”

“No?”

They were almost pressed against each other now, chest rising and falling together. This went leagues beyond something just good buddies would do. But it was anyone’s guess how much further it would go tonight.

“No.” He flicked his eyelashes up and caught Geralt’s gaze. “I still can’t scent your lust. So how,” he brought his second hand up to press against Geralt’s chest, “am I supposed to know when you’re feeling desire?”

Geralt hooked his fingers in Jaskier’s waistband and with a firm yank plastered him against his chest.

“Can i just. Show you?”

Jaskier whimpered and nodded. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s knees going weak. So he wrapped his arms tight around his waist, and he kissed him.

They kissed soft and tentative at first. Then they grew desperate and searching. Geralt cradled his face and pressed his tongue between his lips. It was a long time coming, so neither had any intention of leaving it at one polite kiss. They kissed until they were both out of breath, and they staggered closer to the bed. When they finally pulled apart, Geralt asked

“Are we even now?”

Jaskier smiled primly. “I’ll let you know.”

And he dragged Geralt into bed.

——-fin

——————

I am rewatching Daredevil and the scene where Foggy finds out about Matty’s enhanced senses is SO emotional and SO beautifully written and acted.

And since Geralt has enhanced senses, that made me think about how Jaskier would react finding out that way. So I indulged in a little alternate canon fun.

Xo

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #Geralt x jaskier #witcher fic #descarada writes #descarada writes geraskier #my fics on ao3

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Trouble Bonus Scene - Part 4

The days marched by, and Yennefer grew more concerned. She could find nothing in her books or scrolls about what the curse on Jaskier needed in order to break it.

She divided her time between helping Geralt take care of Jaskier, and trying to figure out the curse. She finally had to admit that she needed a break, and maybe a little help.

It was almost time for the Witchers to go home for the winter, and maybe there was something in Vesemir's library that could help. So, she made a trip back to the market and soon they were on their way to Kaer Morhen.

They traveled at Witcher Speed. Which meant the only regular stops they made were for sleep, bathroom breaks (for Yen. Everyone else just did the equivalent of p*ssing out the window), or setting the world speed record for changing a diaper. They all agreed that it was still a little early, but they wanted to make sure they beat the winter snows.

A Watch Rota was established for when they made camp. The Witcher whose turn it was was had the job of keeping Jaskier out of trouble. Lambert's turn was riddled with exclamations of displeasure. It was as if he just couldn't get anything right. He never knew his brothers had so many f**ks to give.

F**k! Lambert, Don't let him play with that stick!

F**k, Lambert! He's too close to the fire!

F**k, Lambert! Get him away from the horses!

F**k! Lambert! He's putting bark in his mouth!

F**k! Lambert! Don't let him wander!

What the f**k, Lambert! Don't give him your dagger to play with! What the h*ll is wrong with you?

Lambert rolled his eyes and gumbled. "Oh, calm the f**k down! I'm standing right here! Let the poor little b**tard have some fun! I'm not going to let anything happen to him!"

Lambert wondered if the the only reason he wasn't dead was becasue he was holding said 'little b**tard'.

Geralt had suppressed a smile. Lambert was the uncle that would give you anything you wanted. He was the uncle that, when you got in trouble, would give death the middle finger and with zero f**ks, tell your mom to leave you alone.

They reached the foot of the mountain and paused to get ready. The air was cold and Jaskier was bundled up in a thickly padded red jacket with gold stitching that matched his heavy red wool trousers. Yennefer adjusted his little fur lined cap and made sure he still had both of his little boots on before they started up the mountain.

Yennefer had not told Vesemir exactly why she needed access to his library. The only thing she said was that she was researching a strange curse. It wasn't that she didn't trust Vesemir, it was just that she wanted to see the look on his face when he saw Jaskier.

She had been vague with Geralt as well. She didn't tell him that Vesemir didn't know that Jaskier had been cursed. He'd been teasing her about Jaskier calling her Ma, and she felt she was due a little retribution.

The look on the old Wolf's face when Geralt and Yennefer had walked into the Great Hall, holding a baby had been worth it. Vesemir had been rendered speechless mid greeting. He'd looked back and forth between Geralt and Yennefer, shocked and confused. Neither of them should have been able to, but there they were, with a pup.

"When did...how?" was all Vesemir could think of to say, right before Jaskier babbled and reached for him. Vesemir melted as he took the boy from Yennefer's arms. "He's beautiful, Wolf! What's his name?"

Geralt suddenly realized that Vesemir thought that Jaskier was their child. "It's Jaskier, Vesemir." he grumbled with an irritated look at Yennefer and his brothers, who were clearly in on Yennefer's prank judging by the grins. "He's been cursed..."

Vesemir paused, gazing at the toddler in his arms, smiling. "You should have brought him sooner! I could have helped you take care of...helped you look for a way to break the curse."

He waved vaguely in the direction of the library saying "There's surely something in the archives and lorebooks. But that can wait for a few days. All of you need to rest." Geralt saw right through the excuse. It had been several human lifetimes since there had been a pup in Kaer Morhen's halls, or in Vesemir's arms, for that matter.

Jaskier had claimed another victim.

"Come sit with your Grandpa Vesemir!" he rumbled happily as he whisked Jaskier away. His soul just about ascended when Jaskier chirped 'Pa!' and patted at his cheek with his tiny hand.

Vesemir spent most of the morning spoiling Jaskier. The toddler never touched the ground. Grandpa Vesemir carried him everywhere, and refused to let the other Wolves take a turn holding him.

He sat on Vesemir's lap while the old Wolf fed him little bits of soft meat and mashed up potatoes with his fingers.

Aiden arrived as they were eating, and his eyes immediately went to the baby, then to Geralt and Yennefer. "Congratu-!"

"It's Jaskier! He's been cursed!" Geralt and Yennefer shouted in unison before the Cat could finish.

"That's Songbird???" Aiden exclaimed, hurrying over to get a closer look. "Oh, sweet Melitele...he's so cute!"

"Who picked out your clothes?" he asked Jaskier, admiring the red wool trousers and white linen shirt with the red and gold flowers embroidered on the sleeves. "Did Yennefer pick those out? It looks like she did! She always did have good taste in clothes!"

Jaskier smiled and put a hand out towards Yennefer and said "Ma, Ma, Ma!" as if agreeing with Aiden. Yennefer winced, and Geralt 'hmm'ed uncomfortably. Aiden's pupils dilated in interest and he started grinning.

"We didn't... He just..." Geralt stammered, trying to explain the awkward situation while his brothers laughed their a**es off.

"Babies call you whatever is easiest to say." Aiden laughed. "I had a friend when I was a kid, who's Grandpa's name was William. They tried everything to get his baby brother to call him Grandpa Will, but he ended up being Wee-Wee. It stuck, and he was Grandpa Wee-Wee for the rest of his life."

"Who's this?" Aiden asked the toddler, pointing to Yennefer

"Ma!"

"Who's this?"

"Da!"

"Who's this?"

"Pa!"

Aiden went around the table, pointing at each Wolf in turn. Jaskier couldn't say anyone elses name yet, so he just babbled random sounds. Until Aiden pointed to Lambert and asked "Who's that?"

And Jaskier squealed and loudly procalimed "F**k!"

Eskel and Coen roared with laughter while Lambert shifted uncomfortably.

"That's what you get for constantly cussing in front of him!" Yennefer sniffed. "Now he thinks that's your name!"

"Uncle F**k!" Eskel howled while he pounded on the table and Coen laughed himself onto the floor.

"F**k!" Jaskier said, reaching his arms out to Lambert. Geralt snorted his ale out of his nose, and Eskel slid off the bench to join Coen on the floor.

"Alright," Yennefer said, as she scooped the toddler out of Vesemir's lap. "It's time for a nap, Julek."

Geralt stood as well, heading off first to get his room ready while Yennefer wiped Jaskier's face with a rag and told him to say bye to 'Grandpa' and his 'Uncles'. Jaskier did the little hand twisty thing before blowing kisses.

Every single one of the Witchers caught a kiss and held it to their heart before they could stop themselves. There was a moment of embarrassed silence and side-eyeing where they silently dared each other to say a word.

Jaskier slept cuddled up with Geralt and Yennefer. He slept peacefully, in the way that babies do, relaxed and without a care. Geralt and Yennefer slept like Tired Parents, passed out, with an air of desperation, open mouth snoring, limbs in whatever position they hit the mattress in.

Eskel and Lambert had gone to check on them after about an hour, incase Jaskier had woken up, and found them setting the gold standard for Ugly Sleeping. And it was ugly. There were arms and legs sprawled in awkward positions, disheveled hair, twisted clothing, oddly bent and twisted torsos, drool, gaping mouths and horredous snoring.

"Oh f**k-!"Lambert choked on a snuffling snort as he tried not to bray with laughter at the sleeping figures. Eskel quietly backed out of the room and ran like h*ll to get Coen and Aiden so they wouldn't miss out on the sight. Afterwards, they all piled into Coen's rooms so they could howl with laughter.

Geralt woke up when he felt Jaskier roll onto his back. "Ooooooh, big stretch!" he whispered with a groggy smile as the toddler stretched, little arms and legs quivering with the intensity.

Geralt carefully slipped out of bed, wincing at all the stiffness he'd aquired from how he'd been laying. He took Jaskier and quietly shuffled out, leaving Yennefer to sleep.

With Yennefer still sleeping, Geralt had figured he'd have a little while to enjoy not being hen-pecked. He quickly found out that Vesemir was almost as bad about it as Yennefer. He ended up just handing Jaskier to 'Grandpa' to avoid being harrassed to death.

They ate dinner in a nest of furs and cushions infront of the Great Hall's fireplace. Jaskier toddled around the furs, going from Witcher to Witcher for cuddles and to try to get his little hands on anything shiny on their persons. Eskel gently batted Jaskier's little hands away from his dagger with a soft, but firm 'No.'

The little Bard pouted and toddled unsteadily through the nest until he reached Vesemir. He looked up at him with sad blue eyes. Then he whimpered "Pa! Pa!" and babbled in an accussing tone while pointing at Eskel. Coen tipped over backwards laughing "He's tattling on you Eskel!"

Vesemir nodded gravely, saying "I see." as the toddler went on. "That's such a shame, pup!" Jaskier pouted and looked at Geralt and Yennefer. They shook their heads, and Geralt touched his index and middle fingers to his thumb.

(No.)

Jaskier's bottom lip stuck out even farther. He made one last attempt, trying to appeal to the one person who might be sympathetic to his plight. He let a few tears fall and he whimpered "F**k..." while looking directly at Lambert. The group burst into laughter, while Jaskier stood there, looking confused and mildly offended.

"He's calling you!" Coen laughed, slapping Lambert on the shoulder.

"Do something, Lambert!" Geralt said with a grin.

"Yeah, do something, Uncle F**k!" Eskel said as everyone broke into another round of laughter.

The prickly Witcher growled roughly, but his hands were gentle as he gathered the toddler into his arms. "Alright, alright, quit yer squallin'..." He let Jaskier hide his face in his neck, and to everyone's surprise, started rocking and humming quietly to him until he stopped sniffling. Then he pulled up Jaskier's little shirt and blew a raspberry on his belly. Jaskier shrieked and chortled.

"You big softie!"

"Sod off, Aiden!" Lambert grumbled, flipping him the bird over Jaskier's head. He paused, sniffing. Oh...sh*t... He looked down at Jaskier, who chuckled.

"You smell it, you change it." Geralt said placidly...

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #geralt #geralt of rivia #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #baby!jaskier #geraskier #geraskifer #yenskier #yennskier #yenneskier #yennaskier #lambert #coen #aiden #eskel #vesemir #kaer morons #twn #the witcher netflix #geraskefer #trouble headcanon

[dancingwiththefae]

How about “ i feel like shit. “ “ you look like it, too. “ “ hey! “ for Yennskier? Because it just fits them SO well 💚❤️ love you

Thank you for the prompt! It feels like ages since I've done one.

I somehow made this sadder than I thought I would but apparently I am in that kind of mood.

CW for blood and canon injuries, aftermath of torture

wc: 845

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

They'd found a moment of respite. They'd lost Rience – or at least it seemed that way – but Yennefer couldn't warn Geralt without her magic. It seemed neither of them knew where to go from this point. In an alley, hidden amongst lines of washed clothes and sheets, the pair of them stood in silence. Things were getting very serious very fast and they needed to plan their next move. Of course, it was hard to think when you'd just spent a night strapped to a chair, tortured by some insane mage who for some reason thinks you have the answers to everything. He hurt. His whole body hurt. The burns on his hand were especially painful and definitely needed checked by a healer.

“I feel like shit,” he sighed.

“You look like it, too”

“Hey!”

She held out her hand expectantly.

“Let me see.”

He instinctively covered the burns with his other hand. Logically, he knew she was going to pull anything. But he was hurt and the residual fear hadn't left him yet.

She gestured impatiently and he conceded, hesitantly holding his hand out to her. She met him halfway, taking his hand in her own. He hissed at the contact. She gave him an apologetic look and cradled his hand gently in hers. Avoiding the worst of his injuries, she turned his hand palm up and brought it closer to examine his fingertips. They were angry, raw, and Jaskier could cry at the thought of whether he could play again. How long that be, if ever.

A crease appeared in Yennefer's brow and she swallowed.

“I could fix it if-” she bit her lip. If I still had my magic. He sighed and pulled his hand away. He didn't really have a response. It wasn't like he thought she would be able to help. They were both helpless, defenceless. This wasn't the way this was supposed to go. She wasn't supposed to be like him. She was powerful, amazing, terrifying. She was everything he wasn't and now? Now they were one in the same.

He sat back down. Weariness was starting to set in. The adrenalin that had carried him from that godsforsaken bar was slowly ebbing away. He just needed a minute. Just a minute, and then he would be fine. The ground below him started to blur as he got lost in his thoughts. Or maybe his eye was starting to swell. One of the two.

He had been stupid. The thought he could do something good. That he could be more than he actually was. And what was worse, he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't have let something slip if Yennefer had not come to his rescue. He didn't think he knew anything worthy of any note. But what if he did? What if she had never come back for him?

He was pulled out of it by a sudden tearing sound. Yennefer shredded a sheet on the line with her hands, carelessly discarding the larger part onto the ground.

“That's- that's someone's washing, you know!”

“Frankly, I don't give a fuck. Now stay still,” she ordered as she crouched down in front of him. He was not one to defy and order from Yennefer of Vengerberg and so he stayed perfectly still, eyeing her warily as she brought the scrap of cloth to his face. It was cool and damp as it touched his skin. In fact, Jaskier had just become very aware of how hot his face had become. He felt the sting of the swelling as Yennefer dabbed at the blood and bruises on his face. He didn't even want to think about how he must have looked.

“For what it's worth,” she mumbled, brushing his hair back to wipe the sweat and blood from under it.“It was quite brave, what you did. And just a little bit stupid.”

“'M not brave, Yennefer. I was...scared. I thought I was going to die in there.”

A hand brushed his cheek and Yennefer tilted his chin up to look him in the eye.

“You didn't tell him anything.”

“Because I don't know anything.” He wasn't angry he was just...defeated. Weary. Afraid. All of the above. She refused to let him look away.

“We both know that's not true.”

He must have been hallucinating – perhaps the pain had got to him – because he swore that Yennefer brushed her thumb across his cheek in the most tender way. It was the kindest touch he'd felt in a long time, he realised. He wanted more. He didn't know how to ask for more.

She backed away suddenly and he missed her instantly.

“Come on,” she said, holding out a hand to help him up, “we can't stay here much longer.”

Taking her hand with his uninjured one, she helped him up onto his feet. She held on until he was sure he felt steady.

And then they were interrupted by a group of men. One of them insulted Yennefer. She kicked him and the chase began all over again.

#yennskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #jaskier x yennefer #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #faye writes

[amzngdevil]

"Remember me", I ask; "remember me", I sing - Yennskier Modern!AU

Summary: Yennefer goes to one of Jaskier's concerts and the two end up opening up about how they feel about Geralt and how they feel about each other.

Warnings: angst, mention of vision issues, mention of parental abandonment.

Shipps: Yennskier are the protagonists, but this is sort of a Geraskefer story too.

Notes: This just popped in my head and I couldn't do anything but write it. Ofc you'll find some TAD references.

The pub was full, but despite that there was an atmosphere of comfort completely opposite to the way Yennefer felt in such places. She shook her head in response to a few nods from strangers as she looked for a place to sit and enjoy the show. A familiar face appeared on stage and, as made eye contact with her, gained a twinkle in his eye and ran towards her.

"Yennefer!" Jaskier tucked his hair behind the ear after they hugged. "Why didn't you let me know you were coming? I could've saved you a seat..."

"Don't worry about it!" she lightly touched his arm to make him stop looking around for a vacant seat. "I didn't even know I was coming, actually."

Jaskier caught a shadow in her eyes.

"Did you decide last minute or someone decided for you?"

The sad expression on Yennefer's face was answer enough.

"Where is he?"

"Watching a movie with Ciri." the mention of the girl brought the smile back to Yennefer's face. "Some nonsense with cars and explosions, just the way they like it."

"Good. We know Ciri is the only one capable of getting him to open up about his feelings."

Jaskier led Yennefer by the hand to a table by the window, unoccupied by a couple who had joined some friends at another table. She sat in one of the chairs as he set the other aside and crouched in front of her.

"Well, we can talk about it later. For now, I'll be happy if you forget about your problems and enjoy the concert."

"What can I expect?" she had never seen Jaskier and his band perform.

"Not much." he smirked and blinked at her. "Just the unexpected."

He kissed her hand and got up to go to the stage. She remained feeling the cold and softness of his lips for minutes long.

☆

They were... stunning, for lack of a better word. In addition to Jaskier leading vocals and guitar, the band also had backing vocals by Essi, who played violin and cello, and Priscilla on bass. Valdo - whose feuds with Jaskier she had grown tired of hearing about - rounded out the harmony on drums and percussion.

Fret not, dear heart

Let not them hear the mutterings of all your fears

The flatterings of all your wings

Their music given, at the same time, sadness and joy. The lyrics were pure poetry, catching the most hidden human feeling and transforming it in words beautifully cadenced. She fight against some tears that tried to come up while listening her heart being ripped from the ribcage in that pub, or at last it seemed. The song ended without her noticed and they started another one, this time with just Jaskier and Essi remaining on stage. He strummed the guitar and a smooth melody filled place.

Dear heart, it's me

It's me

You don't need to pretend to be someone you're not

'Cause it's not like I've never heard you fart and snort

Despite her melancholy, Yennefer giggled at the lyrics. It were so Jaskier - finish a sentence capable to make the old poets envy with a ordinary joke. The song has make her think of Geralt, of herself and of Jaskier. The singer and she loved Geralt so much, and he surely loved them back. Why was it all so complicated, then? They never named their relationship for some specific reasons - don't put feeling into boxes, Ciri maybe were still too young to comprehend, and people definitely would talk. But was the price worth it? Yennefer feared that if they keep acting that way, they would end up killing that love so pure cultivated between them.

☆

The concert passed in a blur. Lost in her own thoughts, Yennefer only came to her senses when Jaskier touched her gently on the shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he looked really worried.

"Yeah, I just... The concert was amazing, your songs made me think of so many things..."

Jaskier understood. Her look was the same that appeared on his bandmates' faces when he came up with new compositions and, he suspected, on his own face when he wrote it.

"You know what we need? A good drink. There's a little garden on the roof and, well, I can exercise my musician privileges and get us a few hours of conversation there." he held out his hand to her. "What do you say?"

The scent of night flowers plus Jaskier's presence made her feel safe enough to share the whirlwind of feelings that had swept over her. He listened patiently between sips of whiskey, muttering occasionally to punctuate his agreement.

"I know the love we feel for each other is immense, and it scares me." Yennefer sniffed, giving up trying to hide her tears. "The last time I was so scared was around the time of my surgery."

Jaskier's arm around her grew stronger.

"I wish I could take that fear away from you or at least say I don't share it." he sighed. "I wonder if it wasn't a mistake that we started all this."

"Definitely not. Of that I'm sure, you know why? Because when I got the diagnosis that I might go blind, I knew that what I would miss the most would be seeing you both and Ciri."

Now Jaskier was crying too, but not bothering to try to hide it.

"Sorry. Maybe thinking that was a reflex, since that's how I've felt all my life: like a mistake, a weight in the life of the ones I loved." he shrugged with a tired expression. "That's the big problem with being abandoned by your parents, I think."

They remained silent for a while, looking at the stars like all the answers for their problems were hidden in the sky.

"We should give a fuck and assume our relationship." Jaskier whispered.

"What?" Yennefer turned her head to face him. "What about Ciri? How she would react?"

"I think she wouldn't bother have a mother." he waited for her reaction. "And you certainly would love to have her as your daughter. Geralt wouldn't opposite to it, too."

Yennefer's face was a rock. Jaskier wondered if he passed through the limits, but she just sighed.

"We're drunk, what means that your idea doesn't sound bad. But we should talk with Geralt first, obviously. Ciri might haven't worry, but people at her school could use this against her."

"I doubt that children could be that cruel."

"Not the children, but their parents."

"You know what? Fuck them!" Jaskier stood up. "Fuck this weird society incapable to accept love in all it's ways. Can you listen to me? Fuck you all!"

"Jaskier, your slutty bard! Stop screaming! For God's sake, it's past midnight!"

Yennefer started laughing while Jaskier sat and cursed the pub's owner. They spend the rest of the night drinking and talking about their own feelings, about Geralt and Ciri too. They ended up sleeping curled into each other, dreaming about fight the world's rage for their loved one's.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #jaskier #yennefer of vengeberg #yennskier #geraskefer #the amazing devil #amzngdevil writing #amzngdevil

[d-andilion]

sorry i’m late

@thepassifloradiscord‘s bards week - day 5: broken strings

(valskier, post-s2, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, love confessions, 1.3k)

read on ao3

Valdo slams the door almost immediately. One minute Jaskier is taking in the face that’s been swimming around his dreams for weeks, big brown eyes and dark raven curls, and the next he’s jumping back to save his nose from the assault of the wood currently blocking his way.

This is a touch dramatic, even for Valdo. Jaskier’s opening line admittedly left something to be desired, but the trip down from the Blue Mountains was a rough one, even in early spring. Gods forgive him if “Hey” was all he could come up with after three weeks of shivering himself to sleep every other night.

Jaskier digs around his new pack for his key. Valdo gave him the spare after he started spending the night more often than not, and it had been one of the few things left in his pockets when destiny decided it was time for another adventure. Though Jaskier wished many times over the past few months that it would transform into a clean shirt, or better yet a pair of smalls, he’s glad to have it now.

Inside, Valdo is standing about as far away from the door as he can without climbing out the window, his arms folded stiffly over his chest. The sharp features of his face are fixed in a practiced mask of lightly annoyed indifference, but Jaskier sees something simmering behind his eyes, and he’s pressing his lips together the way he only ever does to keep them from trembling.

“Get out.” Valdo throws his words like darts at a board—quick and a little bit deadly.

Jaskier drops his pack onto the floor and puts his hands on his hips. “I must say, your welcoming could use some work.”

“My apologies,” Valdo says with an acridly false laugh. “Hello, dearest! Get. Out.”

“What’s the matter?” Jaskier asks. It is not well received.

“What’s the matter?” Valdo’s eyes widen with fury and he takes a few stomping steps forward. “You disappear for months without a trace and you think I’m the one with the problem?”

He may have a point there, but Jaskier’s hackles are already raised, and never let it be said that he is a man of reason. “Forgive me for thinking you’d be happy to see me.”

Valdo scowls. “There is no one in the world I would like to see less of right now.”

Jaskier heaves a defeated sigh, preparing to give some ground. “Look, I know it was an unexpected absence, but Geralt needed—”

“I don’t care,” Valdo cuts in. Jaskier takes a few steps forward himself.

“I’m trying to explain myself!”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Then what do you want me to say?”

“I want you to leave.”

“Val—”

“I thought you were dead!”

Any pretense of control slips away as Valdo shouts. His arms aren’t crossed anymore so much as wrapped around himself, clinging for some semblance of comfort. His face collapses, tears escaping from the corners of his eyes and something in the center of Jaskier’s chest sinks to the floor. Dead?

“You didn’t come back,” Valdo continues, trying and failing to breathe through sobs. “I—I told the guards you were missing. That you played by the dock, they— They brought me your lute, it was—”

Valdo can’t seem to finish, but it’s hardly necessary. Destroyed is probably apt. Jaskier didn’t need to see the aftermath to know that much. Being used as a club over someone’s head surely left it with more than a few broken strings.

“I thought you were dead, Jaskier.” Valdo’s voice is reduced to something weak, little more than a whisper. “It took them a fortnight to put the fucking dots together and tell me you’d been arrested and freed the next morning. They probably wouldn’t have bothered if they didn’t think I could tell them where you’d run off to.”

Jaskier stands there watching Valdo cry, watching him try to hold himself together, and his chest feels hollowed out. Of course, he knew Valdo would worry, that this unannounced separation would be hard on him, but he didn’t expect to leave him in mourning, even for a handful of days. How does he apologize for this? How does he even begin to make this better?

“Did you even so much as spare me a thought?” Valdo croaks.

“If there had been time—“ Jaskier stops himself curtly as Valdo’s eyes begin to roll. “Don’t roll your fucking eyes at me!”

Jaskier doesn’t mean to shout, doesn’t want to. Shouting is the last thing either of them needs right now, but he can’t bear this. Every thought in his head not occupied by staying alive has been here, with Valdo, from the moment he woke up in that tavern. He has seen horrors beyond imagining in the past few weeks, but he won’t sit here and be accused of abandoning this man without a care in the world.

“If there had been a spare moment in the midst of it,” Jaskier says, calmer, “I would have taken it because the only thing I was thinking about all the while I was being fucking tortured was you.”

Shock colors Valdo’s expression and he holds himself a little tighter, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt—no. Jaskier’s shirt. He remembers choosing it for the flowers embroidered around the cuffs and collar, though he hardly got a chance to wear it.

It was Valdo’s favorite to steal. It’s an ill fit, billowing around the other bard’s narrower frame, but Jaskier always loved to see it on him. Jaskier feels heat behind his eyes as his own tears well up.

“While I was waiting for that bastard to finish me off, I wondered if you would ever know what happened to me. I wondered if you would look for me. If you’d weep for me. If anyone would be there to hold you. I was thinking that I’d give everything, what little I had left, for one more minute with you standing in front of me so I could—”

Jaskier’s voice breaks and tears spill over his cheeks. This is not how he wanted this moment to happen. They were supposed to be tangled together in bed licking wine from each other’s lips or at a candle-lit picnic by the river, not crying in Valdo’s sitting room with an ocean of space between them. It’s a fucking disaster is what it is.

Jaskier wipes miserably at his cheeks. “So I could tell you that I love you.”

Valdo’s eyes, it seems, could swallow the world whole. Jaskier thinks idly that he needs to write something for them; a sonnet, a song, perhaps an entire volume of poems to capture what they do to him. How, he wonders, could he have lived so long without singing their praises?

“And now I’m here,” Jaskier says when Valdo doesn’t reply. “I saw monsters and demons and the gaping maw at the end of the world, but I am—miraculously—here.”

Jaskier takes it upon himself to close most of the distance between them, but he stops short of those last few inches.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he says. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry for everything you want me to be sorry for, but I’m here and I love you. So get your prickly arse over here and let me hold you before I lose my fucking mind.”

Valdo doesn’t need much more encouragement. He crosses that last stretch of space tentatively, but the moment Jaskier has an arm around his waist, Valdo melts against him. He’s still crying. Jaskier can feel it on his skin as the other bard buries his face in his neck, but it’s alright. Jaskier is crying too, watching his tears roll off the end of his nose and into a mess of black curls.

“I love you too, you know,” Valdo mutters, stroking his long fingers gently through Jaskier’s hair.

Jaskier holds him tighter. “I should hope so. That was an excellent speech, I’d hate to think I wasted it.”

~~

bards week masterlist

#posting from my ipad pls forgive mistakes #my fic #mine #valskier #valdskier #jaskier x valdo #valdo x jaskier

[surpriserose]

In honor of the new season coming soon, please horse girl Geralt x doctor Jaskier where Geralt keeps getting thrown off his horse (unnamed until Jaskier steps in and gives her a name 🥺) because she's so untamed and Jaskier keeps bandaging him up. Geralt is a city boy so he's not used to the country but Jaskier IS (and with that sexy as hell buttery smooth southern accent) he helps him tame Roach (what they name his horse because Jaskier lives in a dump with plenty of roaches and he is friends with them so thinks it's a cute name. Geralt can't help but agree with him). They find a baby on the side of the road when they're out riding and they adopt her, realizing that there is more between them than just a bandage and a scraped knee. Moodboard please btw ❤️

omg thats sooooooooo cute 🥺 i hope you dont mind that i was really inspired by you switching up one of my favorite tropes (country boy geralt and city boy jaskier) so i also had to write a little something to go with the moodboard so theres a little drabble under the cut ^_^

Geralt stopped counting the number of times he fell off this damn horse. He swore into the dirt again. Damn his brother Eskel for buying such a shitty wild horse for him. Geralt had taken a trip down south to see his family again and they surprised him with his own horse. They knew how much he loved horses despite hating the rest of the family farm. His step dad Vesemir smiled at him and gave him a wink when Lambert and Eskel brought him to the barn.

"Now you'll have a reason to come down more often, huh, son?" Vesemir joked.

There was no way that was happening if Geralt couldn't get a handle on this damn mare. He sighed, pushing himself upwards and dusting off his riding clothes.

"Nice horse you got there," a man's voice with a heavy drawl said. "What's her name?"

Geralt's head snapped up, meeting the bright blue eyes of a man leaning against the old wooden fence. Oh shit, Geralt thought, he's hot. He hoped he wasn't blushing, it would be a dead giveaway on his porcelain skin.

"She doesn't have one yet," he replied, looking over the stranger. As if he didn't sound southern enough, he was wearing a large cowboy hat shading sun kissed skin.

"Is the same true for you?" the stranger smiled.

"No," Geralt started, suddenly nervous. The charms of other city men had never reached him, but this man with his cowboy swagger was seconds from sweeping him off his feet. "No, it's Geralt."

"Pretty name for a pretty boy," the cowboy chuckled. He held out a hand, "My name's Jaskier, and if you need some help with your horse, I'm the man to ask."

"Oh yeah?" Geralt raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, but I don't need any help."

"Not even with giving her a name? I'm a real creative guy, you know."

"I'm good," Geralt said. If I don't get away from here I'm gonna end up making a fool of myself, he thought.

"Are you sure? You look like yer bleeding," Jaskier shouted as Geralt turned away.

Geralt stopped and looked over his arms for wounds. Jaskier hopped the fence and jogged up to Geralt. Now they were face to face and to Geralt's surprise Jaskier was almost as tall as he was. Before Geralt could say anything Jaskier knelt in front of him, cowboy hat tipped back to Jaskier could throw him a wink. "It's on your leg, Geralt? Don't you feel it?"

Geralt gulped. "Let me sit down. This seems...compromising..."

"Hurts my heart that you wouldn't want me in a compromising situation."

"Well, that's..."

"Or is that not the problem?" Jaskier grinned. "Because if there's a problem, I'm a problem solving kind of guy."

"Well, there's maybe one problem," Geralt said nervously, his Boston accent breaking through.

"And what's that?"

"There's no Dunkin for a thousand miles."

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #netflix witcher #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #dandelion #geralt x dandelion #geralt x jaskier #city boy #country boy #moodboard #witcher moodboard #yaoi #witcher yaoi #witcher fanfiction #drabble #fluff #help me

[witchersgoldenbard]

hold me together and give me a reason

some comfort after the hurt | part 1 | read on ao3

It takes a witcher and a sorceress both to put Jaskier back together again.

wc: 3.3k | tags: comfort, first kisses, geraskefer

Of course, because there are not even the smallest of mercies on this Continent for the most useless of people, no silver linings for the weakest in a war, no breaks for those who challenge Destiny by falling for a witcher and his sorceress in the middle of saving their Child Surprise. Of course, this is how Geralt finds him. This is when Geralt decides he is important enough to be humiliated by his own panic, this is when the door opens to reveal the witcher and his sorceress, this is when–

Yennefer wraps his arms around him once more, holding him to her chest with a gentle hush. Jaskier is too surprised to even escape her hold, and then too weak to even try. In another life he would have got up now, trusting his legs enough to carry him through the room to preserve a modicum of dignity and take his leave with a final dramatic flourish. But then again, in another life, he would have something, someone, somewhere to turn to. In this life, all he has is the embrace of a sorceress who not so long ago had thought everything lost, too.

The embrace of someone who knows.

Jaskier doesn’t even have it in him to call himself pathetic for leaning into her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, chokes, sobs, scrunching his eyes shut to stop the fucking tears.

Yennefer just shakes her head, lets him cry, her fingers running through his hair as though she were soothing a scared cat.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breaks the silence that is only interrupted by Jaskier’s sobs. He has no right to say his name with such tenderness, with such worry that Jaskier can feel it in his heart even though he can’t see it in the witcher’s eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

A voice in Jaskier’s head agrees viciously. He doesn’t even have that now, does he? Not if the witcher so readily takes it from him.

“I do,” he sniffs and leans away from Yennefer, immediately missing her warmth. He is cold once more, freezing, shaking for more reasons than he can even count. “You brought me here for help and I didn’t. I couldn’t help. There’s nothing I could do, can do, ever, that would be of help to any of you. With all your powers and… witcherings and. And all that. And it’s not your fault or mine, but let me be sorry. Let me have this. This one thing, okay?”

“You’re not useless, bard,” Yennefer says then, and it stings that she immediately goes to calling it useless.

“I never said useless,” he snaps, giving her a half-hearted glare, hoping that they would go back to bickering like they did before. Before.

But she doesn’t rise to the bait and he doesn’t get that. Another thing lost. “It’s all over your mind,” she says instead, calm and soothing. Or, it would be if his mind weren’t already so frayed, taking this as another reminder of just how powerful she is, and how he doesn’t stand a chance.

“Right, yeah. I forgot you have your magic back now,” he says and dares to stand. It would be so easy to walk away now, to leave them here, leave them to their fate, their grand finale and everything that will lead up to it. Everything he won’t play a role in because he’ll be rotting in the gutter somewhere in Novigrad. Or maybe Nilfgaard will come and get him when they’re done with the elves and the dwarves. Nothing is safe.

Well, Yennefer’s arms had felt safe, but he went and lost that, too.

Leaving. Right, that’s what he wanted. Now, if his mind could please stay focused on one thing, that thing, instead of Geralt’s impossible puppy eyes or Yennefer rising from the bed to step towards him again, that would be peachy.

“You know,” she says from behind him and Jaskier closes his eyes because maybe that will make it easier. “You were the first friendly face I’d seen in forever. That stinking shit-hole in Oxenfurt. I was… burning. Ready to burn everyone around me once more. But then I heard your stupid song and it was the first time since… Well, the first time I felt warm again. All that fire, but I was still cold. And then along came you. Ready to insult me once more, like the old times,” she chuckles, and Jaskier wants to cry all over again. He remembers. Gods, how could he forget? “You were there and I didn’t even like you. But suddenly, that was the best thing that could have happened.”

She steps forward and around him, he can hear her steps, her dress rustling on the stone floor. The smell of lilac and gooseberries surrounds him and he can breathe again. He imagines a smile on her lips. Hopes for one.

Hands come up to cradle his cheeks, bruised and scabbed as they are, but the hands are so warm and gentle. They come up and wipe his tears away.

“I won’t have you give me all that… sense of belonging, of something good, only to then go ahead and say you don’t matter. I won’t have you believe yourself useless when without you, I wouldn’t be here.”

He frowns, if only to cover up all the ways in which his heart is aching, melting where just now it was frozen into nothing but shards. “But. I didn’t… I couldn’t even–”

“You got me on that ship. You got dozens of elves, maybe hundreds or thousands, on that ship. You risked your life for people you didn’t know. Didn’t even like. At this point, I think Destiny herself would have kicked my ass if I hadn’t come to save you right back.”

“I’m just…” he shrugs, still not daring to open his eyes. “Sorry that you had to.”

Yennefer seems to have enough of his theatrics now because she pulls her hands back. Before he can agonise over that, though, she pulls him into a tight hug – she gives great hugs, that woman.

“I’m not. I would do it in a heartbeat,” she whispers, and it sounds a lot like a promise. “And, knowing you, I will probably have to.”

She means it as a jab, as a way to break this scary sincerity, and normally Jaskier would join her. But normally, he doesn’t feel quite so useless.

“No,” he sighs and steps back with resolution, out of her warm embrace and back into the cold of his lonesome panic. “No, you won’t. I’ll be leaving anyway and then you can just…”

“Jask–”

“Don’t Jaskier me, Geralt. I’m done. We all know I am. I’m no witcher, I’m no mage, and I sure as hell am not a princess of Cintra who will soon be both. I’m no warrior who could help you slay the beasts on the Path. At this point I’m not even a bard anymore. I don’t– I can’t help you, Geralt. And I didn’t. I couldn’t. All I could do was hide under a table and hope it wouldn’t be the unfortunate one that a monster would smash underneath itself. What an absurd and untimely demise that would have been, huh?”

He paces now, getting the agitation out of his system.

“I have nothing to offer you. Either of you. Any of you.” He swallows and meets Geralt’s sorrowful eyes, his hands burning again and he has to clench them at his sides to stave off that particular sensation. “They already got me once. They will again. I’ll only hold you back and you know it.”

They’re both shaking their heads and it makes him so angry, so hopeless, so… so treacherously hopeful.

“Why can’t you see that?” he sobs. “Why can’t you just accept that I’m… That I have nothing left to be? It’s not like you cared before, so why lie to yourselves now?”

Geralt takes careful steps towards him and Jaskier eyes them warily. When the witcher pulls him into his strong arms, he doesn’t have it in him to resist, melting against him readily for the last time.

“Cirilla,” Geralt starts, because of course he does. Jaskier wants to leave. “Cirilla, she’s… You… Hm. I think you could help her. Everything you are, everything you can be. She could use a bard in her life. This world, with all its darkness, is only going to get more frightening. Between learning how to be a witcher and training her magic, between all the agony that’s going to bring… I think you could save her life in more ways than we could. Like you saved mine. Friendship, Jask. And love. If it’s a purpose that you seek, this could be one.”

He mulls it over, half of his mind resisting to be rid of its conviction of uselessness.

That’s when Yennefer steps in. “On the boat in Oxenfurt, remember? You said you feared the day you couldn’t do the one thing you were set on this Continent to do. And I told you that when that happens, we–”

“Find a new purpose. A better one. A stronger one. Yeah.”

Geralt grunts, apparently impressed at the philosophising they got to do in his absence. Jaskier smiles at Yennefer’s amused look.

He swallows then and turns to Yennefer, Geralt’s arms never leaving his shoulder. And that’s something he can overthink later, thank you very much.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to have a new purpose. I still have nothing to offer you. Or her.”

“You already have more to offer to me than every single witcher in this keep, including Geralt,” Yennefer grins, though it’s a gentle one that promises a truth to her words.

“We’re gonna keep you safe, Jask,” Geralt promises then, and his fingers are on fire again with fear and doubt and the conviction that he’ll be nothing but a burden. “I will treat you right this time. If you’ll let me. I will apologise until you don’t have the energy to wave it off anymore and hear me out.” He smiles and Jaskier rolls his eyes with a tentative smile of his own.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he whispers then, ripping his half-molten heart out of his chest and presenting it on a platter.

“You’re not,” Geralt says, pulling him gently back into his chest, though Jaskier is still looking at Yennefer.

“Never that,” she confirms. Then shrugs. “An idiot, maybe.”

“Oh, definitely that,” Geralt agrees.

“And I will want to strangle you. Might hex you into a toad or two, or tell Ciri not to go easy on you when you two practice with swords because I know you will. Or maybe I’ll douse your bedroll into icy water…”

“Hey now!” Jaskier protests, but he can’t help the laugh now.

“But you’ll never be a burden.”

“And you never were,” Geralt says, rumbling words right by his ear that make him shiver. “I promise you that.”

He swallows then, not trusting his words but desperately clinging to theirs.

Yennefer reaches out and carefully takes a hold of his hand. He flinches away from her touch, but after a moment trusts her enough to let her take it. She holds it in both of hers, and only then does he realise he’s still trembling. Shaking. Ever-restless as he is.

She smiles, though more with her eyes than with her lips. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. If it’s a purpose you seek, take Ciri. Be her tutor, her friend, her chaotic confidante she can come to when she doesn’t trust Geralt or me with it. Tell her about the good things that we long forgot about. Tell her about the light in the darkness. And if it’s friends and family you seek…”

“Then you can have that,” Geralt finishes where she left off. “This. I don’t… I don’t want to lose you again, Jaskier. I need you.”

“To do what?” he asks because he doesn’t understand. He wants to understand but he doesn’t dare to hope.

“To be there. With me. With us. If you… If you’ll have us. This.”

Oh, those sweet, sweet rumbling words that make his eyes well up once more. Those words that he has been yearning to hear, dreaming of the moment that he would. In those dreams, well, he was never quite as much of a mess as he is right now.

He looks down at Yennefer, who never once turned her eyes away from him. Gods, she is beautiful. And she seems almost hopeful, but that can’t be more than a figment of his imagination, because there simply is no way.

“Why?” is all he says, because he doesn’t understand. Why now? Why him? Why them? Just, why?

Yennefer sighs and a small smile plays with her lips that Jaskier feels he wants to chase with his own. “When Geralt travelled with you and I knew you as his obnoxious bard, I wondered why he kept you around. Why you? What was so special? And then I thought nothing was special, he just couldn’t shake you.”

“Well, thanks.”

“And I was convinced of that up until Oxenfurt. Because… I don’t know, but you make it better. Those things that we fight. The purpose we seek or follow, the fear in the face of Destiny herself. You make them better. With your silly face and your stupid songs and your bad, bad jokes, and–”

Jaskier kisses her. All that adrenaline, all that panic, all that anger and misery and all that pain goes into that kiss. And everything is turned into hope when she kisses him back.

“And that,” she breathes when he breaks away. “Yeah, okay, that too.”

He just smiles at her stupid, beautiful face and leans in for another kiss. He didn’t know that this was something he wanted to do. Much less something he could just do. But then again, nothing makes you quite so brave as when you have nothing to lose.

His fingers are still in her hair, sliding down now to cradle her cheeks as he loses himself in her deep violet eyes. Her hands come up to hold his own, pressing them against her skin for a moment before she lowers them and keeps their joined hands between their bodies.

“Are you going to apologise for that, now, too?” she challenges him, though he revels in her breathlessness.

“No,” he says with a smile, and it’s a promise. But then he gets to think about it, and, “Well, maybe, because I didn’t really ask for consent and that’s usually super important to me, and I really shouldn’t have attacked you like this without knowing if you wanted this – hell, I didn’t even know I wanted this. So, yeah, well, maybe I should apologise, shouldn’t I? The most powerful mage on the Continent isn’t someone you just k–”

His rambles are interrupted by an almighty rolling of her eyes swiftly followed by Yennefer of Vengerberg leaning in to kiss away Jaskier’s breath and with it his every last thought. She’s kissing him. And he can spare no thought to apologies and excuses as he breathes her in.

It’s only when they break apart that Jaskier realises Geralt’s presence is no longer warm against his back, and he turns around, still holding onto Yennefer’s hand. What he sees in those golden eyes is a strange sort of yearning, an ache that he is only used to seeing in the mirror, and he has to stop himself from melting once more as he meets this longing glance with one of his own.

“Geralt,” he whispers, and he doesn’t know what it means. Maybe it means everything.

He swallows, and so does Geralt, taking a tentative step towards him. Yennefer is still holding his hand and it no longer feels like it’s burning, as secure as it is between her own cool fingers.

The witcher is now standing before him, breathing heavily, deeply, as though it pains him. Jaskier wants nothing more than to soothe his pain, but he needs Geralt to speak. To talk. To tell him what he needs to hear. He needs to know what this means. If it could mean everything.

“Jaskier,” he starts, and they are so close that they’re almost touching.

Jaskier doesn’t dare to breathe, only clings to Yennefer some more. The irony of this is not lost to him.

Geralt sighs and leans in, his forehead resting against Jaskier’s with a gentle sigh as he closes his eyes. “Jask. I don’t… I don’t need anything you could give me aside from everything you already are. I need you, Jaskier. You. Just as I know you, just as I have missed you all this time.” His hands come up to Jaskier’s cheeks, more insistent now, more desperate. Jaskier still can’t breathe, and one of them has started to tremble again, but he’s not sure it’s him. “I need you to let me apologise, I need you to forgive me, and I need you to let me forgive myself. But when that is done, I want you just the way you are. Just the way you can be. For me, for Ciri, for the future of the whole Continent and for what’s left of my heart.”

His voice is breaking now, his throat closing up, and Jaskier finds one of his own hands moving to Geralt’s cheek as his heart is put together again.

“There’s nothing you have to offer me but a second chance. If you’ll still have me, that is.”

His eyes are stinging again, tears freely rolling down his cheeks and following paths long since created as Geralt is holding him like something precious, speaking to him like he means it. And Jaskier is helpless in the way they both hold onto him, can’t even let himself fall apart for how they hold him together. It’s almost unfair. Unfair how much he loves them, chooses to love them, has chosen it over and over again.

It’s unfair that they choose him right back when they have the weight of Destiny herself weighing them down. It’s unfair that they would make their happiness dependent on a man who once was so much more than he can be right now. It’s not fair.

But when Geralt leans in further and presses his lips to Jaskier’s forehead in so much more than a simple promise, and when Yennefer gently caresses his once burning hand with her cool fingers, they melt his broken pieces and put them back together again. And he feels stronger than ever when he leans in to capture Geralt’s lips with his own.

“I don’t understand this,” he whispers finally, burying his head into the crook of Geralt’s neck. “But I want nothing more than to learn what it means when I get to kiss you like that. Both of you.”

His hand, still resting in Yennefer’s hold, is lifted until he feels a press of lips to his knuckles that makes him want to cry again for how tender it is. No fire could take hold there when Yennefer keeps them safe like that.

“So you’ll stay?” she asks, all vulnerable and hopeful.

He nods into Geralt’s neck, not ready yet to face the world.

“Then let’s figure it out, huh? Together.”

“Together,” says Geralt, almost like a plea.

“Together,” Jaskier repeats, and it tastes like hope. Like a purpose. Like a life worth living. Together.

~

All my thanks once again to @horsedadgeralt and @endrega23 💛

Tagging: @cthulhusteve @hurtyknees @jaskierisbi

#witcher season 2 #witcher spoilers #geraskefer #geraskier #yennskier #nat writes #my mind on fire as my heart is freezing // hold me together and give me a reason #a reason to be and a reason to stay // a reason to love you to the very last day #am feeling poetic okay #they make me very emotional

[pillage-and-lute]

Prompt: Either out of embarrassment or being a little shit, Jaskier lies outrageously to Geralt about humans (on the level of “I’m molting” or “These? They’re rocks, to snack on.”) and might get away with it?

Hi Dahliavandare! I always love seeing you in my inbox. I changed this just a *teeny* bit. WARNING: VERY SLIGHTLY HORNY (it’s Jaskier, duh) There is also a little bit of angst because Jaskier gets sick.

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

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“What?” The young bard yelped. “I wasn’t even singing that time.”

“No, you just--hmmm.”

“I just hmmm what?” Jaskier asked, pausing in his near-constant strumming.

“You smell like...hmm.”

“I smell?” Jaskier said, both hands planted on his hips. “That’s pretty rich coming from you, my friend--”

“Not friends.”

“You smell like a barn. Anyway-”

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt said, running one, gloved hand through his hair. “Witchers can sort of smell emotions, right?”

Jaskier looked up at him, a sudden hint of anxiety in his scent. “I thought that was a myth.”

“Not entirely.” Geralt shook his head as if clearing a thought from it. “We can’t smell complex things, but joy, fear, anger...desire.”

Jaskier, for once, didn’t look at Geralt, studying instead the flowers at the side of the road. “Desire?”

“I-yes.” Geralt said. “And I wanted to know if all humans smell like...”

“Desire?” Jaskier said, then began talking fast. “Oh yes, of course, most humans, especially my age, well, they smell like this all the time. All the time. Naturally.”

It sort of checked out, at least to Geralt’s thinking. Young humans were horny, and although the overriding scent when Geralt was around was fear, he remembered being a teenager, with all the baggage that entailed at Kaer Morhen, and yes, constantly horny was among those memories. Jaskier himself was definitely still young by human standards, perhaps twenty or so from his youthful features. 

Geralt chalked the horniness up to humanity and hormones and left it at that. 

--- 

Later on, Geralt had other questions related to humanity, more specifically that part of humanity that included Jaskier. 

“I thought humans couldn’t eat those?” Geralt couldn’t, he’d eaten one during training on a dare and spent the next day with his head in the privy.

Jaskier looked down at the mushroom in his hand. It was a beautiful, bright red, with little white spots. He’d been snacking on similar ones for the last mile or so. 

“Of course we can,” he said. “Humans eat these all the time.” There was a rising tone in his voice that indicated something, but as Geralt had mentioned before, witchers couldn’t actually smell the more complicated emotions. 

“They, um,” Jaskier said. “They just can’t be eaten by humans during-er- during summer. It’s fall now, so it’s okay.”

Geralt shrugged. What did he know of human biology? He wouldn’t be eating another of them ever, at any time. His stomach lurched a little just at the thought.

---

“You didn’t buy the ring.”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt, eyes bright in the sunshine. The bustle of the market around them pushed against him like a tide, but a little patch of space was left around Geralt. Jaskier stepped into the space. “The ring?”

“You liked it,” Geralt grunted. “I could tell.” It had been a little thing, cheaply made of poor materials, but the bard’s eyes had lit up upon seeing the little buttercup detailing, and he’d admired for several minutes, although without touching. 

Jaskier shrugged. “It was made of iron.”

“And?”

“Human’s can’t wear iron, Geralt.”

“Then why did the man sell it?” 

“Well some humans can wear it of course, those with very tough skin, but I’m delicate.” Jaskier sniffed. 

“Humans...can’t wear iron?” It didn’t sound right.

“Not right up close to their skin,” Jaskier said. “It turns us, um, purple.”

Geralt shrugged it off. He’d once been called to a castle where a baron had believed himself cursed because his finger was turning green, but he’d simply been wearing a cheap brass ring.

---

After the first winter they met again in the spring something was definitely different.

“Your freckles,” Geralt said.

“What about them?” Jaskier said, looking away.

What about them indeed. They glimmered like chips of mica. At first Geralt had thought it a trick of the light, but no, there was a definite glitter to Jaskier’s skin.

“They’re...shining?”

Jaskier cocked his head at Geralt, cheeks shimmering. “Geralt,” he said slowly. “You know humans shimmer in the spring...right?” 

Shimmer?

“I’d never noticed,” Geralt said. Admittedly he paid a little more attention to Jaskier than perhaps he ought, but still, one would think he’d have seen this before.

“It’s part of the growing process,” Jaskier said. 

---

“Jaskier, your cheeks are red,” Geralt said, stepping out of the small bathtub the inkeeper had brought up. He stepped closer to the bard, still naked and dripping water, and pressed the back of his hand to Jaskier’s forehead.

“Nnhgh,” Jaskier said.

“Are you well?” Geralt asked, cupping Jaskier’s flushed face with his other hand. It didn’t feel like he had a fever.

Jaskier pushed his hands away, face even redder than before.

“I’m perfectly fine, Geralt,” he said, higher pitched than usual. “Human faces get red for no reason now...put on some pants.”

---

“Jaskier you’re drunk,” Geralt said. It was a pretty obvious statement, considering he had his bard draped over him like a shawl.

“Hehe, yep,” Jaskier said, reaching up with one, long finger and tracing Geralt’s jawline with it. 

“You didn’t have any alcohol, I’m sure of it.” Jaskier normally had an extremely high alcohol tolerance in any case.

“‘O course not,” Jaskier said, leaning even more fully into Geralt’s hold. “Had milk.”

“Milk can’t get people drunk.”

“Milk can’t get witchers drunk,” Jaskier slurred. “Get’s humans drunk though, dunnit?”

“Can it?”

“Yeah, definitely, not the kids, but like, how often do you see, like adult humans drinkin’ milk?”

Not often, Geralt thought. He put Jaskier to bed in the inn and it was like pouring an octopus into a bucket. One loose yet gripping arm pulled Geralt closer to Jaskier, the bard leaned in and brushed soft lips to Geralt’s cheekbone.

Geralt wondered if it was another mystery of humans that the spot seemed to tingle all night and he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.

---

Geralt clutched Jaskier as the bard fell to his knees, groaning. His face was sickly in it’s palor and he was trembling. He’d just lurched up from the table at the inn and stumbled to the door. Geralt had followed him and the young bard had just collapsed like this.

“Jaskier,” he said, clutching a chilled cheek, his other hand seeking one of Jaskier’s. “Jaskier what’s wrong.”

“Lemon,” Jaskier whispered, lacing shaking finger’s with Geralt’s. “In the fish, there was lemon.”

“Lemon’s fine, isn’t it?” Geralt asked, slow heart racing as he looked into eyes that were becoming glassy and clouded.

Jaskier shook his head and it seemed to exhaust him.

“’S fine for humans.” He said. “Not fae.”

“Fae,” Geralt said, cradling his friend. “Jaskier you’re not making sense.” 

“Mmh,” Jaskier said, smiling sadly. His face changed, his eyes going glow bright and his ears lengthening a little. His skin took on a slightly green tint. 

Geralt looked into the face of his fae bard, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone and the shimmering freckles there. “How do I heal you, you have to tell me.”

Jaskier blinked slowly, eyes dimming further.

Geralt shook him, desperation taking over.

“Jaskier what heals a fairy?”

What heals a fairy? He’d learned that at some point hadn’t he? Long ago. They were rare, and most witchers never saw one in their whole lives but if you could help one they’d grant you one wish, not tricks. 

Poetry. 

Fuck.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasped, throat feeling dry. Those beautiful eyes blinked at him, slowly. 

“I...I think you have pretty eyes,” Geralt said. “And I like when they, um, match the skies.”

Jaskier blinked at him in confusion, brow wrinkling slightly.

“You look pretty in blue,” Geralt managed, inventing wildly. “And look pretty in green. You look lovely in about every shade in between.”

Some of the deathly palor was fading from Jaskier’s face now and Geralt sought more words. “I thought you were pretty that day you wore purple,” he said. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, idiot he was an idiot, nothing rhymes with purple. 

“I like your spirit, your moxy, your...your yurple.”

Jaskier was indeed looking better now, and he was smiling.

“I like the way you talk to me, and how you’re always there,” Geralt whispered. “I like the way you hum to me when you help me brush my hair.”

Jaskier sat up slowly, blinking in the dim light.

“I like the way you give treats to Roach, um, and I like the way you smile,” Geralt gulped at the look on Jaskier’s face. “But most of all I like how much I love you, so I want you to promise to, uh, stay? For a while?”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier said, cupping his cheek. “That was bad.” Then he kissed him and Geralt’s brain went very very fuzzy.

A little later, in their room in the inn, where Geralt was finishing the fish and Jaskier was having stew avec no-lemon-at-all, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jaskier tilted his head thoughtfully as he chewed a piece of potato. “Well, at first I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he said. 

Geralt nodded. Fae were a feared and reverred group amongst humans, so caution was reasonable.

“Then it became a sort of game,” Jaskier said shrugging. “I couldn’t resist. So I left you little hints. I thought you’d figure it out for sure with the freckles or the milk.”

Geralt huffed a little sheepishly.

“I don’t care that you’re fae,” he said after a moment.

“I know,” Jaskier said. “And I don’t care that you’re an awful poet.”

“It worked, didn’t it.”

“It did, and now you get a wish, no tricks,” Jaskier held up his hand as if taking an oath. “I promise.”

Geralt thought for a moment. A wish from a fae was no small thing. It should be something powerful, something earth shattering and precious and rare.

“I wish you would kiss me again.”

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

Oop, here it is (after quite the wait, sorry about that) I’m actually so proud of this and it’s super sweet and fluffy.

#geraskier #fluff #creature Jaskier #fae jaskier #Roach borrowed the braincell and she isn't giving it back #the witcher #geralt of rivia

[luteandsword]

Only 2 days later than I planned on, but I did finally go through that prompt list again. And found two one prompt for geraskier. “ all i’ve known are temporary people, the leaving and the hoping, the begging someone to stay… so forgive me if i break apart when you say the word “forever”. “

Looking forward to reading whatever you come up with based on this! 💖

It would be my pleasure... ouch, this hits hard for me, because I know that feeling very well-- so, this will be a bit based on my most recent breakup and my own feelings about myself. 

Pairing: Geraskier. Warning: FWB situation (not with Geralt and Jaskier) self deprecation, cuddles, kissing, crying, heartache, pining, getting together.

Wordcount: 967 words. 

Jaskier laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, as tears rolled down his cheeks. Another failed relationship, that he had had such a big part in-- the begging for them to come over, to spend time with him. Only for texts to be shot back, that they didn't want to spend time with him.

And this morning, at the kitchen table, as his roommates heard it through the thin walls, the horrible words--"you were more invested in this than I was, from the start. I don't want to be with you anymore."

But oh, they had wanted to stay, to keep fucking him, to keep using him, and he had been to blind to see, that they never really cared about him-- he was just a hole to them.

A string of failed lovers, failed romantic attraction-- he was too much, too intense, and too needy, and he could never hold anything down for longer than five months.

Jaskier didn't know what was wrong with him, and why he wasn't good enough. The music playing from his phone only served to remind him, and he clutched the pillow tighter to his chest, rolling tight into a ball, letting the tears flow.

A knock on his door made him sit up, and hastily brush the tears from his eyes. "C-come in," he said weakly.

The door swung open to reveal Geralt, blankets piled in his arms, his hair pulled into a bun, his eyes soft and careful.

"Thought you could use a cuddle."

Jaskier wiped away his tears, though they kept leaking out of his eyes and gave a short nod. Geralt was there in an instant,discarding the pillow and reaching for him as he hopped up on the bed.

Geralt came to him easily, and Jaskier buried his face in his chest, breathing in the scent of Geralt-- pine, sandalwood, and underneath it, the comfort and reliability that he brought.

"You're going to be all right", Geralt mumured into his hair, his strong arms winding around him and holding him close. Jaskier sniffed, and clung to him.

"But why does it keep happening to me? Why am I not enough?" He asked.

"You are enough, sweet heart, it's just people not being able to see it, and not seeing your true value," Geralt said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest.

"I... I know, but I don't want to keep doing this, and having my heart broken for no reason. How can I trust anyone, now, when I keep making mistakes? Who is going to stay forever, and want to be with me?" Jaskier sighed, trying to focus on the feeling of Geralt against him, holding him close.

Geralt, who had his been his roommate for two years-- Geralt, who held him when he needed to be held, who cooked him food and brought it to him with great pomp and ceremony, who watched sappy movies with him, who came to get him when he was too high or drunk to function.

Never mind the endless crush that Jaskier had had on him for years. But that was neither here nor there.

Geralt shifted, and when he spoke next, something broke a little inside of Jaskier.

"I would stay with you...forever, if you'd have me."

Jaskier pulled away, so he could look at his face. Geralt wasn't smiling, but his eyes were soft and tender, and he looked at Jaskier with... some modicum of hope, perhaps.

"Geralt, love... All I’ve known are temporary people, the leaving and the hoping, the begging someone to stay… so forgive me if I break apart when you say the word “forever”. Jaskier said, trembling with emotion. It was welling up in his heart, in his eyes, and he could barely breathe through the want.

"You've never once begged me to stay, and yet, here I am." Geralt said simply. Jaskier felt the tears escape from his eyes, but he made no move to wipe them away-- Geralt was his rock, and he clung to him.

"Geralt? Are you... suggesting something here?" Jaskier replied, licking his lips subconsciously.

Geralt's eyes dropped to his lips, and Jaskier was surprised to see him mirror the action, his tongue tracing over his own lip, and disappearing back inside.

"I'm saying, I want to take care of you forever, if you'd let me. Enough of this heartbreak, Jaskier-- I see the way you look at me. And don't you know I feel the same?" Geralt slid closer, till their noses were brushing.

"I didn't...dare to hope." Jaskier said, sighing at the admission, his heart swelling with love, with yearning, with adoration.

"But you knew it all along. I was here, waiting for you to make a move," Geralt whispered. "I want you to be mine forever, Jaskier. What do you say?"

Geralt blocked the light of the window, but Jaskier could see the hope, see the nervousness in his eyes.

Jaskier leaned forward, and did what he'd been waiting to do for years.

Jaskier. Kissed. Geralt.

While it was nothing more than a mere brush of the lips, Geralt gasped like a man starved for air, and he pressed forward, and suddenly Jaskier was on his back, lips pressed fervently to his.

Kissing Geralt was nothing like he'd fantasized about. It was better, better than Jaskier could have ever thought. Geralt kissed him like he was precious, like he was the most important man in the world, and Jaskier kissed him the same, their lips meeting and parting in the dark room, all else forgotten.

When Geralt pulled back to breathe, Jaskier said timidly, "Do you really mean it?"

"More than anything, Jaskier."

"Can we go slow? I'm... a little scared."

Geralt nodded. "But may I kiss you one more time?"

Jaskier met him halfway.

--

Taglist: @slythnerd @gorkipelin @tellhound

#geraskier #the witcher #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #jaskier #geralt #promptsforlou

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part I

Ahh I can’t believe it’s finally done! After a year of working on this beast, it’s finally ready for me to share. This is something I started way back last summer, and I decided to finish it as my project for this year’s @geraskierbigbang. It will be ten parts in total, and I will post one part per day until it is complete! There are several art pieces that were created by the wonderful @herostag​ and Miranda.draws for this story, which I will link when the appropriate section is posted. For a summary and further links, please see the masterpost.

Next | Ao3 | Masterpost

“Alright,” Geralt said. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Yennefer looked up at him with bright eyes, curious and already mirthful. She was sitting across from him in his quarters, reading through a tome she’d found in Kaer Morhen’s disheveled library. Geralt had just come from a bath after hours spent training Ciri in the yard, and the room was filled with the warm evening light, supplemented by the fire crackling in the hearth. Yennefer had insisted on carting dozens of tapestries and drapes to hang around the drafty keep, and the room was nearly stuffy with their bulk keeping the heat in.

Yennefer gave him an amused smirk. “I will make no such promises before I even know what you’re going to say.” The gentle teasing brought a fond smile to Geralt’s face. After the events of the mountain all those years ago, things had been understandably tense. Yennefer had been reluctant to join them when she had finally met up with Geralt after Sodden, but had eventually agreed to seek refuge in the witchers’ keep and teach Ciri to control her magic. Once she’d met the girl it had all been a wash; it was clear as soon as their eyes met across the room that Yennefer was as much a part of Ciri’s destiny as Geralt was.

Geralt had expected that to either mend the rift between them enough for things to go back to the way things were, or make things even more awkward. Instead, they found themselves in a sort of in-between. Over the years his affection for Yennefer had only grown, but he found himself looking to her more and more as a friend—maybe his best friend. After Jaskier, of course.

Speaking of. “I was thinking about Jaskier.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes obviously. “As you are so frequently wont to do. The thaw will come soon enough, dear, and you can run off in search of your bard.”

Geralt felt his ears grow warm. Witchers couldn’t blush, not truly, but he still felt the tingle of it as he fidgeted with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, absently tracing a finger against the grain of the wooden table. There were two goblets of wine sitting between them, but so far neither of them had begun to drink. “Do you know how many winters it’s been since I found Ciri?”

If she was confused by the odd turn in subject matter, Yennefer didn’t show it. Instead she looked thoughtful. “Two, perhaps three? You know I don’t follow the seasons with diligence.”

“Neither do I,” Geralt agreed. “I was thinking the same though, two or three years since the fall of Cintra. Which means Jaskier is…” He paused, trying to do the math. “He was a few years past forty, during the dragon hunt, I think. He must be closer to fifty now than not.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him. “I recall mentioning something about his crows feet. What of it? Humans age. Are you only just discovering this?”

Geralt forced himself not to grumble. In a way, he was only discovering it. He’d known humans across the years, of course, and knew that many that he’d once been acquainted with were no longer alive or were in their twilight years. For decades Geralt had wandered through the world, changing no more than a ghost would, touching the lives of regular mortals for a brief instance, maybe a few times if they were particularly unlucky. No one had stayed by his side, dedicated themselves to a relationship with him, the way that the bard had. The amount of devotion that Jaskier showed to him had made Geralt antsy, in earlier years, and then confused and angry by turn. He had hated the idea of someone needing him, had hated needing someone in return. The way his chest felt heavy when he and Jaskier parted ways had left him furious with himself and the bard.

And then Ciri came into his life, and everything had changed so quickly.

With Ciri, it didn’t matter whether Geralt felt like he should care for her, or if he wanted to. He needed to. Without him, the girl would die, or be kidnapped by Nilfgaard for who knows what purpose. He had to feed her, and clothe her, and teach her, and he had to love her for her to thrive.

She made it very easy. It was only afterwards that he realized how much of an idiot he’d been to Jaskier, and the thought of how he’d treated the bard over the years had plagued him. It had been months before he could find him to apologize, but Jaskier forgave him almost immediately—which Geralt found both relieving and infuriating at the same time. This was the first winter they’d spent apart since. Geralt left the keep more rarely now, heading out on the Path only when the months grew truly warm and returning at the first hint of falling leaves. Ciri was safe on her own, he knew, but he missed her when he was away. And he could admit now that one of the forces driving him back into the world over the last few years had been the itching desire to find Jaskier again and settle the yearning in his chest for another year. He was less inclined to venture forth when his bard, his daughter, Yennefer and his brothers were all in one place.

This winter Jaskier had begged off, saying that he had “work in the south,” which could mean anything from spending a decadent winter in the court of some noble or sludging through the front lines as a Redanian spy. Geralt had learned not to pry too deeply into Jaskier’s business when he wasn’t around. It was often either too explicit for him to stomach or too confidential for Jaskier to share freely.

It worried him, being away from the bard for so long. He could get hurt, or captured by Nilfgaard, or worse. But what really terrified Geralt was the idea that he would find Jaskier in a tavern along the Path and realize that the bard had grown old, to find silver in his hair and wrinkles beside his eyes. “He’s getting too old,” Geralt said to Yennefer, who looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

“You must have known when you started travelling with him that he would eventually leave you,” Yennefer said, not unkindly. “Humans are so short lived.”

“I didn’t exactly get a choice about becoming his muse,” Geralt said with a huff. Despite his improved relationship with Jaskier over the past few years, he still found it difficult to admit that he had always been more than willing to let the bard tag along. If he’d wanted to travel alone, he would have. But he never had. “I just didn’t realize…”

“It always comes sooner than you think it will,” Yennefer sighed. She set her book aside and picked up her goblet of wine, turning to look out the large window their table sat in front of. It faced west out of the keep wall, towards the mountains and the forest beyond. The sun had set below the craggy peaks, throwing the snow covered valley below into darkness. Geralt could just make out the ruins of the old tower, its stones dark against the white landscape. “You can’t cure his mortality, Geralt.”

“We did.”

The look that Yennefer gave him was sharp, almost angry. The firelight in the room turned her violet eyes darker, like mulberry wine. “At great cost,” she snapped. “I can’t imagine you would put him through the Trials.”

A stab of panic shot through his gut at the thought. “No. Of course not. He wouldn’t survive it anyways. Only children stand a chance at all.”

Yennefer nodded, apparently satisfied that Geralt hadn’t completely lost his mind. “The boy hasn’t got an ounce of Chaos in him, in spite of his rather chaotic nature, so I highly doubt they’ll accept him as a late trainee at Ban Ard.”

“There must be other ways,” Geralt said, feeling petulant. “Less conventional.”

“I cannot believe we are actually discussing this,” Yennefer said, rising to her feet. She picked up her book from the table as well as her glass. “There is no way to achieve immortality, especially not without sacrifice. You know that, Geralt. Drop this foolish line of thought.”

Geralt rose after her, reaching out to catch her retreating wrist. A grasp loose enough that she could break it, if she wanted, but Yennefer paused. “Please, Yen. Just… look into it for me? I can’t—the thought of—” He cut himself off, dropping his hand away from her arm. The look she gave him was more pitying than he would have liked.

“I’ll do some research, but nothing more. Don’t get your hopes up, Geralt. There’s a reason there are so few of us,” she said. Her face softened slightly, as much as it ever did. Despite Ciri, Yennefer was still made of more glass and fire than anything else. “I know you love him, even if you can’t admit it to yourself. I promise, I will do my best.”

Geralt nodded wordlessly as she left and wondered if Jaskier's eyes would be as bright next time he saw him.

*

For weeks Yennefer said nothing about his request, and Geralt refocused on spending time with Ciri and preparing to depart for the spring. Lambert and Eskel had already left a month before, as soon as the road down the mountain began to thaw, but Geralt had hung back. The roof needed repairs, a difficult job to do in the midst of winter, and it was a hard task to leave for Vesemir alone. It was always like this, now—him looking for odd jobs to keep him at Kaer Morhen, with Ciri, making excuses until Jaskier’s jitteriness or Vesemir’s raised eyebrows forced them on the road again. Some of that was mitigated this season by the silence he heard when he found himself listening for the sounds of lute strings strumming gently in the background, and Geralt’s increasing anxiety about Jaskier’s wellbeing. Even so, it was hard to leave Ciri behind.

The girl was progressing rapidly as she entered her teen years, the chubbiness of her youth morphing into lean if awkward muscle as she continued to work on her swordsmanship. When Geralt and his brothers weren’t pushing her through drills, she was studying monsters and alchemy with Vesemir, or practicing her magic with Yen. She never seemed to tire, eagerly absorbing any lessons passed on to her and desperate to prove her worth. The only person she seemed to let her guard down around was Geralt, who found himself often goading her into mock wrestling matches (which he refused to throw on principle) and humoring her when she became restless and wanted to explore beyond the keep. Kaer Morhen was dangerous in the winter, but as spring approached and the deep snows on the surrounding mountains began to thaw, the duo spent more and more time trekking through old ruins and sleeping beneath the stars.

He could put off his journey south no longer.

“I’m going to be fine, Geralt,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. He wondered if he’d been this petulant as a teenager. Certainly Lambert had. “I can take care of myself, and Yen will be with me.”

Geralt tapped her wooden training sword with his own, indicating that she should prepare to go again. When he was a boy he’d trained against the other foundlings, stumbling around like pups through drills and sparring matches. Ciri trained against full witchers, and only Eskel ever faked a misstep here or there to allow her to get in a good hit. When she won a fight for the first time, it would be on her own merit.

The girl raised her sword into a decent fighting stance, and Geralt moved to correct her footwork. Her sword work was exceptional above the belt, but she consistently forgot her stances, throwing herself off balance. They’d begun putting her on the pendulums to force her to focus, dancing between posts to attack the dummies. Geralt had spent many a night rubbing salve into her bruised shoulders, gained from taking fall after fall from the low poles. No one forced her, but if there was one thing Ciri hated, it was admitting to weakness in herself. “Sword up,” Geralt said, and launched into his attack.

He stayed on the offense, forcing her to practice the defensive drills they’d started going over recently. “I know you’ll be fine,” he said, continuing their conversation. His breathing was relaxed, almost meditative through the slow exchange of blows. “Just seems cruel to leave you with only the old man and Yennefer for company.”

Ciri giggled despite herself, and Geralt found himself grinning back before he smacked her lightly in the ribs with the training sword. She swore—Lambert, Geralt thought with chagrin—and danced back a few paces. “Gotta focus,” he said, still smirking at her.

She poked her tongue out at him childishly and reposted off of one of his blocked attacks. He easily swayed out of the way, but the movement was fluid and smooth, which meant someday it would be fast, faster than he could dodge. He gave an encouraging nod.

They continued to spar for another half an hour or so before breaking, heading to the well to fill their water pouches. Geralt sat on the short ring of stones and Ciri slumped on the ground beside him, leaning against his leg. The simple trust and familiarity she exhibited around him still took him by surprise, sometimes. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said, rubbing a hand over the top of her head. Her hair was almost as white as his.

She sighed, wiping dripping water from her chin as she tossed her water pouch down. “I figured,” she said. “Say hello to Jaskier for me, when you find him? I missed his songs this time.”

Geralt’s caress turned into a playful ruffle. “I will. Any requests for books?”

“Ones about Elves,” she said immediately, “and Skelligan alchemy. It’s different from ours, did you know? The Druids—”

Geralt chuckled. “I know. You’ve said half a dozen times. No fairytales this time?”

The girl hummed, reminding him for a brief and touching moment of himself. “Just bring Jaskier back. He tells about your adventures so much better than you do.”

“He’s certainly made a career out of it,” Geralt grumbled, feigning annoyance. “I’ll do my best. You know how he is.”

“You missed him too,” she said, hitting his knee with one closed fist. “I know you did. You get all…Well, more grumbly and mopey than usual, when he’s not around.” She wrinkled her nose up at him in exaggerated disgust. “It’s gross. But I do want you to be happy.”

Geralt knocked back against her gently with his knee, swallowing around the feelings that rose in his throat. “You just think I’m a boring old man who won’t help you put toads in Eskel’s bed. But you never even ask. I’m the expert, not Jaskier.”

Ciri laughed, bright and crisp in the morning air, and Geralt felt warm despite the fading winter chill. Tomorrow he would leave, and he would find Jaskier, and next winter he would tell Jaskier that he had to stay at Kaer Morhen. For Ciri, if nothing else. And if it was more for Geralt’s sake than anything, well, no one had to know.

*

Yennefer found him before he left, saddling Roach in the stables.

“Go to Triss,” she said by way of a greeting. Geralt knew what she meant by the gravity in her tone and the tension sitting in the corners of her mouth. “Ask after Ida. I don’t know where she is or if she’ll speak with you, but a Sage is the only one that might be able to give you anything.”

Geralt reached out to grasp her hand firmly in his own. “Thank you, Yen,” he said honestly.

The sorceress sniffed. “Well, you owe me one, I suppose. I hope you find what you're looking for. But be careful.”

“I won’t do anything that might put him in harm’s way,” he promised. “I swear it.”

“Good.” She gave him a slight smile before leaning in to brush a kiss over his rough cheek. The simple touch warmed him from inside out. “Say hello to the bard for me. Tell him I heard about that disastrous competition in Vizima. Ought to have him stewing for a good long while.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’ll give him your love as always.”

“Goodbye, Geralt,” she said, patting his arm lightly. “Be safe. You know how to reach me, if you have need.”

“I do,” he said. “I will. Take care of Ciri.”

“It’s more the other way around, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft smile, and Geralt understood exactly what she meant. Ciri had saved them both, in more ways than one. Every time he left her was more painful than the last. Someday, he knew, they might travel the Path together, a witcher, a sorceress and their daughter. Maybe even a bard, if he was extremely lucky.

Geralt hoped he would be.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #big bang #geraskier big bang 2021 #multichapter #fic #fanfic #the witcher #witcher #writing #my work #geraskierbigbang #me lamh

[wherethewordsare]

I am once again hitting up your ask box to ask for fic

Can i pwease get selkie jask🥺👉👈

Cheese... As always, sorry this took a fucking age? I hope you like it? And just in time for Monster March!!! <3 <3 <3 

There had always been something about Jaskier that set Geralt on edge. But not in the way that he was used to. The way he would smile so easily even when Geralt was gruff and unrelenting left him disarmed and at ease. But it was also the way that there were nights when the moon was high and Jaskier couldn’t seem to find sleep that Geralt’s medallion seemed to buzz with a low but urgent hum. Those nights the smell of brine and sun and sawgrass was nearly chokingly strong, rolling off of Jaskier in waves stronger than a riptide. 

Magic. What kind, Geralt could never figure out. There had been something about the way Jaskier wore his heart on his sleeve that made it feel like there was so little the bard would actually hide from him, but this one thing. Maybe there was siren blood in him after all, maybe it was fae? But no matter what it was, Geralt wasn’t about to send Jaskier away for something he couldn’t definitively prove. And even if he could, would he?

They were near Oxenfurt, summer coming to an end and Geralt watched with interest as every so often, Jaskier’s head would pop up from where he sat around their campfire, looking westward. The way he tilted his chin as though someone had called his name. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked. He kept his tone light, his own eyes following Jaskier’s gaze west. 

“Hmm,” was all he got, Jaskier not turning to look at him, his eyes focused on the line of trees across from him. It took him by surprise, their sudden unexpected role reversal. He chuckled. 

“Jask!” Geralt set down the armor he was cleaning, waving a cloth in front of Jaskier’s face. 

“Ah! Right, sorry. Got lost in thought for a moment,” he turned to look at Geralt, his eyes still glazed over with that lost look. “You know, my home isn’t too far from here.” 

“Oxenfurt is just a day’s ride. Have someone waiting for you?” Geralt teased but the idea of Jaskier having someone that could pull him away from the path they traveled together made his tone more accusatory than he had intended. 

“No, not…” Jaskier’s eyes wandered back west again as he fidgeted. “Geralt, I need-” he licked his lips as if he was ready to say something. 

Geralt’s medallion gave a soft hum where it rested against his skin, warmer than it had been. There was nothing here to fight, only Jaskier, face flushed from sitting too close to the fire, his white linen shirt clinging to him slightly in the late summer heat. The nights wouldn’t be cool for another few weeks and they wouldn’t part for a few weeks after that if the snows held off. Or maybe. 

Whatever it was that Jaskier wasn’t saying hung between them in the slight vibration of low magic and crickets. 

“Come with me to the coast? There’s something I need to take care of,” Jaskier was suddenly on his feet, striding with unsure steps to his bedroll, his hands wringing in front of him. The magic stopped and Geralt watched as Jaskier turned his back on where he had been watching. He could see it for what it was, an offer to an answer of a question neither of them had been brave enough to ask. Not yet. 

“Could be some contracts that way,” Geralt mused, reaching for his sword to clean next. 

If he hadn’t been a witcher, if his sight hadn’t been so keen and had he not been already so attuned to Jaskier, he might have missed it. They had been traveling together for what must have been well over a decade now, and never once had Geralt seen Jaskier pull away from him not even remotely. In the fading daylight, it was hard to miss now. The moment Geralt wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, Jaskier had flinched away. 

He made no comment, only letting the sword rest back against the log as he changed tactics, reaching instead for another piece of his armor to clean. He couldn’t seem to catch Jaskier’s eyes as the bard finally settled down into his bedroll, turning over so his back was to Geralt. 

There had always been something about Jaskier that had put Geralt on edge, the smell of sea salt and warm sand and kelp that always surfaced, even with all the oils and perfumes he would soak himself in. A kind of worry gripped him, a beginning of an end to the unsaid things between them. Geralt waited patiently for him to drift off, keeping an ear open for the steady even breaths that came when Jaskier slept. Only then did he reach for his swords to clean them.

Silently he prayed to whatever deity would hear him that he would not find reasons to draw them when they reached the coast. 

--

It had been an easy kind of journey, a day to Oxenfurt then another few days to the coast proper. Once they had left the last village behind, Jaskier led the way, keeping always a few strides out front, his fingers nervously tweaking out half conscience tunes on his lute, barely paying attention to anything other than moving onward. Geralt found that there were moments of unending chatter and then complete silence. 

The last night that they camped, the trees had become pine and the grass was rough under Geralt’s hands as he gathered wood for the fire. Jaskier sat quietly by his bedroll, his eyes brighter than they had been in what felt like weeks. He moved his jaw every now and again as though he was trying to find the words to say but the most Geralt could get out of him was broken off sentences and hesitant glances. 

“Do you always kill the monsters?” He asked finally, setting aside his quill and lacing his fingers together in front of him, thumbs twirling anxiously.

“Only the dangerous ones,” Geralt said quietly. He had made sure not to reach for his swords in front of Jaskier since that night he had asked to go to the coast, afraid that the answers would slide away like the tide. 

“Oh, and how do you know when they’re not dangerous?” It had been a conversation they had had before, but then Jaskier had been less pensive, more chatty, taking notes for his ballads. Now his eyes barely looked up from the fire. 

Above them, the moon hung heavy and full, silver catching in Jaskier’s dark hair and casting his features into ethereal shadows where the firelight did not quite reach. Geralt risked moving a little closer, using the poking the fire as pretense before sitting beside Jaskier. 

“What are we doing here, Jaskier?” He wasn’t accusatory or flippant. There had been answers that he needed and he wasn’t sure what the right ones would be. 

Jaskier sat very still, his tongue darting out for a moment. “You know I trust you?” 

It wasn’t what Geralt had been expecting. Hell, it wasn’t something he had even really knew needed saying, not out loud. But they sat there, the words hanging between them like a door that would either be thrown wide open or slammed shut and locked forever. 

Jaskier chuckled, looking away. “I… Can you trust me, Geralt?” He looked over then, his eyes seeming endlessly blue just then, and so full of something that tugged at Geralt’s chest. He only nodded and let the night slip into an easy quiet between them. 

“Fall isn’t too far off at this point. It will be winter before you know it.” It felt so off-balance, Geralt being the one to keep breaking the silence between them. “Unless you have an engagement in Oxenfurt already lined up, I was wondering if you might-” 

Jaskier made a choking sound, his head whipping around to look at Geralt. “Wait!” There was panic in his voice as his hands came up as if to protect himself. 

It wasn’t hard to scent in the air, the sharp sting of fear and anxiety, Jaskier’s heart hammering behind his ribs. His eyes looked wild and it took Geralt a moment not to pull back himself. 

“Wait,” Jaskier took a shaky breath, swallowing. “There’s… Before you ask anything of me, let’s get down to the beach tomorrow. And then-” He looked down, pulling his hands towards his chest. The fear was gone but the anxiety only seemed to grow. It spelled of kelp in the sun and cold oceans in a storm. “Then you can decide if you still want to ask.” 

“Jaskier-” 

“Not here, witcher. Let me get to the shore first?” It wasn’t uncommon for Jaskier to ask things of Geralt but it was rare that they felt this important, this urgent. 

The sound of the fire and the crickets and the ocean far down the hill were the only sounds between them after that. Jaskier after a time made a murmured good night and slipped into his bedroll without another word. Geralt tried to ignore the sharp scent of salt that came from him, different than the ocean, deeper, tinged in everything that made up Jaskier. He doubted either of them slept much that night. 

--

Geralt must have drifted off at some point, however. When he woke up early, the sun was barely up, the fire had banked itself overnight and he was alone save for Roach who grazed in the hazy morning light. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt called, bolting upright and turning. 

“Let me get to the shore first,” he had asked. 

He debated with himself for a moment before deciding that he would leave his swords behind him, though Geralt couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the dagger in his boot behind as well. He moved down towards the beach, following the path through the thinning trees. 

Something was off the moment he stepped out past the first dune. There in the sand, clothes trailed down to the water, Jaskier’s boots kicked off just at the bottom of the first outcropping of rock. Down the beach, a wall of stone rose above the breakers. It would no doubt have a system of caves throughout it. The last of Jaskier’s things seemed to lead that way.

Geralt followed, wishing that he had in fact brought his swords. His medallion hummed then vibrated, shaking against his chest violently as something broke above the waves just to his right. 

A smooth head and wide eyes tilted towards him in the early morning light. The sky above the ocean still dark, the last stars slipping over the far horizon with the last sliver of the moon. The thing in the water moved up to the beach, a large slick body, flippers pushing into the wet sand. 

It gave a kind of greeting, nodding at Geralt as it rested in the sand. 

He hadn’t seen one in so long, Geralt almost didn’t recognize it as a Harbor seal, it’s pelt dark around its face, fading into a spotted silver coat. He didn’t move, let alone breathe as they watched each other for a long moment. 

 When the seal began to push up its body contorting unnaturally, Geralt took a step back, automatically reaching for the knife in his boot. Dark eyes watched him and seemed… disappointed suddenly as the body of the seal continued to convulse and shift. 

The sun broke above the trees and caught the creature in the face and those eyes suddenly shimmered a bright blue. He couldn’t throw his knife down fast enough as the hood of a cloak fell back from Jaskier’s face, sullen and terrified. 

“Well, was worth a shot,” Jaskier gave a wet laugh, pulling his cloak tighter around him. 

“You’re a selkie.” Geralt said flatly, his hands coming up to show he had no weapons. “I thought you were a viscount.” 

To his surprise, Jaskier snorted, the tension in his shoulders relaxing some as shuffled his feet in the sand. 

“I am in fact a viscount and a selkie, on my mother’s side,” he winced. “My father keeps her cloak from her. I just barely managed to-” he swallowed looking down. “Listen, Geralt, I know you plan on going back to Kaer Morhen this winter, and even if you-” he huffed, his hand shooting out from his cloak to rub at the back of his head. 

“You need somewhere to hide your cloak.” a decade of unasked questions started to click into place.

“Yes,” Jaskier sighed. “But you don’t have to-”

“And you trust me? A witcher? Jaskier, if something happened to your cloak you-” would be stuck, would die, would never be free again. He left everything to blow away out to sea in the wind. 

“I do, I trust you as a man, Geralt. I know what I’m asking,” his eyes were sad and suddenly infinitely vast. 

The wind tugged the hem of Jaskier’s cloak, the silvery ends snapping in tune with the crash of the waves. Geralt could see the top of his one thigh peeking between the slick material and suddenly he was far too aware that Jaskier was standing naked in more ways than one on a beach telling Geralt he trusted him with his life. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a steadying breath. “Get dressed bard.” This level of vulnerability left him feeling dizzy with a feeling he wasn’t ready to look at just then. 

Before going to collect his clothes, Jaskier closed the distance between them, sliding his cloak from his shoulders, the fabric shimmering in the sunlight as he folded it carefully and rested it over Geralt’s arm. 

“Hold this for me?” he asked softly, not meeting Geralt’s eyes. “Keep it safe?” 

There was no hesitation in him as Geralt nodded, laying a careful hand over Jaskier’s, still on the cloak. “Always.”

#geraskier #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #nonhuman jaskier #selkie jaskier #monster march #pre relationship #idk you guys

[patroclusdefencesquad]

I've never asked a question on here; I don't know how it works. I hope I'm doing this right. Feel free to skip this....

Anyway, proceeding as if I am doing this correctly, regarding the gay noble who's supposed to flirt with Jaskier and the confirmation of a character who's supposed to be a prince.

I've been tentatively excited about the idea of a gay noble flirting with Jaskier. Excited because I'd be overjoyed to see a canonical gay romance and because I'd be absolutely delighted to see Jaskier fall in love with someone who loves him back (I do ship Jaskier with Geralt but I doubt the show will make it canon because it'd piss off the book purists, and I think the way the show will make the most audience members happy is to have Geralt end up with Yennefer and then set up Jaskier with another man [all that said, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer is my OT3 but that would require Netflix being brave enough to allow polyamory]). Let the bard be happy!

However, I've been nervous that there will be even more bard whump in S3. When Jaskier was talking to Yennefer about people donating to the cause of helping the Elves, it sounded like he thought that they were all, well, donations. Money sent in good will. But then the spymaster dude said he wanted the bard brought in to pay up and.... I'm nervous about how the payment will be collected. My guess is that, most likely, Jaskier will be forced to be a spy but....

And then, because I haven't yet read the books (waiting on my library hold), I went to TV Tropes. I didn't find a Prince Radovid but I did find a King Radovid and he's apparently about as bad as the Emperor. He's apparently just a terrible person. So if the Prince isn't a separate character but is the same character prior to becoming king, I don't see how Jaskier would be interested in this guy.

So, maybe they are separate characters and the Prince is a much better person than his father and he and Jaskier will just be a sweet couple. But I'm nervous. I'm worried the storyline could get pretty dark but maybe I've just read too many hurt/comfort fics.

you're doing wonderfully don't worry lmao!

in terms of jaskier and relationships (and presuming you don't mind book spoilers since you've had a sneaky look yourself, and if you DO mind spoilers ignore all this and send me an angry ask and I'll answer again lmao), I haven't read the books but I'm pretty sure he ends up with a woman in them? and although the writers clearly aren't sticking to the book content (cough season 2 cough) they are definitely going down the yenralt route (terrible a job though they're doing of it) so yeah, geraskefer/geraskier unfortunately is unlikely to be a thing. I am however surprised at just how blatant they've made the unrequited love between jaskier and geralt, even if they haven't actually stated anything there's so much that can be taken that way, so who knows where jaskier is going to end up relationship wise. i would assume, if it's anything at all, that this "relationship" with the prince guy is likely to just be a fling though.

here's where we differ lmao bc I'm a sucker for jaskier whump, I just hate the lack of comfort we get for him 😔 so yeah if they whump him again i need some sort of resolution to it not just "oh hey let's torture the bard and then never mention it again." but anyway, considering the set up of this storyline at the end of s2, and that I think spy!jaskier is a significant plot in the books (?) i'm hopeful that it's going to be a decent story!

with this information given from twn twitter, and what we already know about jaskier in s3, it's probably reasonable to assume that these two characters are going to be connected, and the "until someone gets hurt" makes me🤞in a vaguely evil jaskier stan sort of way.

but again, this info compared with the book character doesn't seem to add up, especially when taken with the actors "character types" lmao and twn propensity to ignore the books.

basically, we know nothing lmao i'm just speculating and hyperfixating on a random line of a script that may or may not even be real. we move✌️

#el asks

[flowercrown-bard]

Promp idea: Jaskier finds a new born Griffin and Griffin thinks Jaskier is the mom. It starts to follow him. Like how hard it can be being a mother of a cute but deadly baby.

hello my dear <3 Ahh I am so so sorry it took me forever to get to this prompt! But better late than never, right? *laughs nervously*

word count: 1877

warnings: none

pairing: Geraskier, pre-relationship

AO3

---

Geralt spent more time than necessary brushing down Roach. If anyone had asked for the reason, he would have told a lie, or more likely just grunted noncommittally. Anything but tell the truth, which was that facing Roach allowed him to smile like an idiot without Jaskier seeing it. If the bard were to see that his ramblings made Geralt drop his mask of gruffness, Geralt would never hear the end of it.

“- really is heart-warming how much you care about Roach,” Jaskier said from where he said on the forest floor, something he would never have done when they had first met – or at least, he wouldn’t have done so without complaining about getting dirt on his breeches. “There’s nothing more charming than a man who takes care of animals, wouldn’t you agree?”

Geralt’s hand accidentally brushed against the braids Jaskier had plaited into Roach’s mane, while Geralt had been away on a hunt this morning. He faltered, but then he gripped the brush tighter, doing his best to pretend he hadn’t reacted to Jaskier’s words at all, when really, he couldn’t help but think that Jaskier was right.

Each winter, when Eskel brought Lil’ Bleater inside the keep to make sure she wouldn’t be cold, Geralt would feel a new wave of affection for his brother. When he saw a pompous lord drop all decorum and posture to bend down to pet a cat, Geralt would feel an unreasonable sort of respect for the otherwise stuffy and unlikable noble.

And when Jaskier snuck Roach treats when he thought Geralt wasn’t looking, he – well. He was glad that his travel companion was someone who got along with Roach. Her liking him was the main reason why Geralt had let Jaskier travel with them. He couldn’t break Roach’s heart by making her leave one of the few friends she made on the Path. Empathy for Roach - that was all he felt as he thought of her and Jaskier together. Definitely.

“Say, Geralt, how would you feel about getting another pet? Hypothetically speaking.”

Geralt huffed, his lips twitching up.

“I have already enough work feeding and cleaning up after you, songbird.”

“Excuse me?” Geralt didn’t need to see Jaskier’s face to know his mouth was opened with indignation. “Well – I have enough work washing and brushing your hair. Between the two of us, you’re the one who gets muck everywhere, wolf.” There was a brief pause. “But…that means you wouldn’t want another pet?”

Geralt’s shoulders sagged as he sighed and finally gave up on his pretence of brushing Roach. He turned, carelessly tossing the brush to the bags sitting on the ground next to Jaskier.

“Careful!” Jaskier squealed.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Calm down. I didn’t hit you, did I?”

“Well, no, but –“ A strange noise coming from bags made Jaskier stiffen, his eyes widening, before his smile turned painfully artificial. “As I was saying, it is very rude of you to just throw-“

“Quiet,” Geralt hissed, his eyes not leaving the bags.

Jaskier shifted his weight on the ground and it was obvious he was avoiding looking at the bags. “Now really, I know you just love complaining about my voice, but –“

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s tone made Jaskier’s mouth snap shut.

For a moment, there was utter silence. Then the strange noise returned and the bags began to move.

With slow and silent steps, Geralt crept closer, praying that Jaskier wouldn’t panic and make any sudden movements that would startle whatever was lurking in their bags and make it attack the helpless bard.

With one hand, Geralt unsheathed his silver sword. The other hand he held up in a signal for Jaskier to remain calm.

Jaskier, of course took that as a sign to do the exact opposite. The spiking of his pulse and the sudden scent of nervousness hitting Geralt’s nose were the only warning Geralt got, before Jaskier jumped up. But the bard didn’t run away from the danger into the thicket or to hide behind Geralt. No. He stood in front of the bags, holding up his own hands defensively.

“Geralt, listen. I –“

“Get away from the bags,” Geralt growled, a sudden spike of fear piercing his chest at having Jaskier so close to that unknown thing.

Jaskier only shook his head, a look of determination crossing his face.

“No. This is what I wanted to talk to you about. I…uh… might have acquired a pet? While you were off fighting…that ugly thing with the deadly teeth that I wasn’t allowed to get close to.”

Geralt halted, blinking.

“A pet?” he replied incredulously, lowering his sword.

Jaskier swallowed thickly, his eyes darting to the side, revealing that he was about to lie, even before he opened his mouth.

“Yeah. It’s a cat.”

“A cat.” Geralt repeated deadpan.

Whatever Jaskier saw on his face, he must take it as Geralt believing him, for his own expression flooded with relief. “Yes! A cat.”

“And you kept it hidden from me because…?”

“Because cats don’t like witchers! Or witchers don’t like cats. I’m still not sure about that. But anyway, I thought that maybe, if I got Daisy used to your smell first and talked to you–“

Daisy chose that moment to tumble out of the pile of bags, knocking her small head against Jaskier’s shins in the process.

Geralt and Jaskier both stared dumbly down at her. For once, Geralt was the one who found his voice first.

“A cat, huh?”

“Yes?” A furious blush rose in Jaskier’s cheeks. “In my defence, when I found her I did actually think she was a cat.”

Geralt rubbed a hand over his face, while the griffin-baby that could in no way be mistaken for a cat, began climbing Jaskier’s leg until Jaskier took mercy on her and lifted her up in his arms. He groaned with the effort. The griffin was nearly big enough to obscure the sight of Jaskier’s face. Jaskier’s nose scrunched up adorably – no, there was nothing adorable about an idiot who was snuggling a griffin-baby! – when the griffin’s fur tickled his nose.

“What the fuck made you think that was a cat? Was it the beak?” Geralt lifted a brow, shooting a pointed look at the wiggling beast. “Or maybe the wings?”

Jaskier gave him a decidedly unimpressed look. “It was dark in that cave you left me in! Not all of us have witcher-eyes. And she was alone and happy to keep me company while you were gone on your hunt.”

“Yes,” Geralt said slowly, so that Jaskier couldn’t possibly miss the ‘I-think-you’re-an-idiot’-tone of his voice. “I go on hunts. Where I kill monsters like her.”

Jaskier squawked in outrage, pressing the griffin protectively against his chest. The griffin made a noise not dissimilar to the one Jaskier had just made, but after the shock of being nearly squashed receded, the griffin snuggled contently against Jaskier, chewing happily on the fabric of his doublet.

“She is not a monster! Daisy is a baby and an adorable little darling that would never do anything wrong ever!”

The sound of fabric tearing and a triumphant griffin-shriek disproved Jaskier’s words instantly.

Geralt groaned. He did that far more often since he had started travelling with Jaskier. Life had been so much easier when it had been just him and Roach. No bard who had made it his life’s mission to get in as much easily avoidable trouble as possible.

Life had also been much more boring and lonely without Jaskier. Still.

“She won’t stay a baby forever. Give it two months and she will do more than just tear holes into your clothes.”

Jaskier’s face lit up. “So I can keep her for another two months?”

“I – that’s not – “

“Besides, did you just imply that Daisy tearing holes into my clothes isn’t a bad thing?”

Geralt didn’t dignify that with a response, which Jaskier apparently took as a victory on his side, for he came closer to Geralt, holding Daisy out to him.

“Look at her, Geralt. Look into these eyes and tell me, she isn’t the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.”

Geralt didn’t need to look at her to know that that was objectively untrue. It couldn’t be true, not while Jaskier was standing right in front of him. Still, he indulged Jaskier and reluctantly stared into the little monster’s eyes, glaring at her in the most intimidating way he could. His own eyes reflected back to him from the dark griffin eyes.

An excited noise that almost sounded like purring left the griffin and with her beak, she snapped at Geralt’s hair that had fallen into his face when he had bent down to look at her.

“She likes you!” Jaskier cooed, while Geralt quickly straightened his back and put some distance between his hair and the beak and claws of the griffin. Still, she tried to snatch the strands, not unlike a cat would. Alright, so maybe Jaskier had had a point with that comparison.

That didn’t change the fact that the bard was holding a damn griffin in his arms.

“She’s already practicing hunting,” Geralt said.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “She’s only playing. Tiny adorable griffins are allowed to play, aren’t they?”

“She won’t stay tiny! Don’t you listen to anything I told you about monsters?”

“Of course I do.” Jaskier lifted his chin in a challenge. “Which is why I know for a fact that we have to keep Daisy.” The narrowing of Jaskier’s eyes stood in stark contrast to the gentleness with which he stroked the griffin’s feathers and fur. “Griffins are reliant on their parents’ care until they learn how to fly. And!” Jaskier added, before Geralt could so much as open his mouth to protest, “You can’t leave me to take care of her on my own, because I also know that griffins mate for life and a griffin baby needs both parents to survive.”

A triumphant grin spread across Jaskier’s lips.

Geralt’s brows drew together. “I am not letting you rope me into becoming that griffin’s parent.”

Jaskier huffed. “Oh please, don’t be silly. Of course you’re not her second parent.”

Small mercies. Geralt was already about to release a sigh of relief, when Jaskier added, “That position’s already filled. Her other parent is Roach.”

And Roach, the traitor, took that as her cue to trod over to them and nose at the little creature in Jaskier’s arms that returned the mare’s greeting.

Geralt stared incredulously at the bard and Jaskier…Jaskier’s eyes softened as he watched that display. His fingers buried into the soft fur of the griffin and he pressed his cheek against the griffin’s head, nuzzling into her. He looked…happy.

Something twisted inside Geralt’s chest. He looked at Roach – a last hope of getting the moral support he needed to keep him from making a very very stupid decision.

But Roach payed him no attention. She huffed some warm breath into the griffin’s face, before nibbling on Jaskier’s already ruined doublet affectionately.

Just like that, Geralt’s fate was sealed. After all, Roach seemed to like Daisy and he couldn’t break her heart.

And…well, Jaskier had been right. There were few things more attractive than a man who liked animals.

#thank you for the prompt! #again sorry for the delay #prompt #my writing #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #roach #witcher #the witcher #fic #fanfic

[rebrandedbard]

@greyduckgreygoose Tumblr ate your ask when I tried posting it two minutes ago. You requested prompts 5 or 6, which I choose to read as 5 and 6. Stay tuned for prompt 6 in the future. If you like this, perhaps I’ll make it more Valdo. Whump or healing—you pull the trigger, goosey. Or perhaps I’ll use prompt 6 for some Filavandrel fun. Let me know.

5. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

tw: alcohol, depression

WC: 1600 even. Whoo! Even hundredth place! Two goose eggs!

A Good Man

Geralt meets Valdo Marx while taking a contract on a ferry, protecting its passengers from an unknown threat on the water. Valdo himself is an unknown threat, until the two of them get to talking, and Geralt learns a quiet truth.

Geraskier. One-sided Valdo/Jaskier

-

Valdo Marx, troubadour of Cidaris, was the last person Geralt expected to meet on the ferry from Brugge. Per Jaskier’s rambling, he’d assumed the bard stayed put, living it up in Oxenfurt or Cidaris—Geralt was never quite sure if Cidaris were his home or simply a place he’d chosen for his adopted title. He’d wondered if Jaskier were a ‘Bard of Thereabouts,’ but he was never curious enough to ask where-abouts. They both travelled so much, Jaskier could be from anywhere. Something told him that Jaskier would choose Lyria if asked; the name was lyrical.

But Geralt supposed bards were of a travelling nature after all. Besides, the ferry down the Yda was the fasted way to travel inland from Brugge to Craag An, and just beyond was the Adalatte. A straight shot through Kerack would have Marx home in Cidaris in no time at all, and people with coin to spare liked to hurry to and fro in laid-back comfort. It was a paradox Geralt often found amusing.

He paid no fare for his ride, having been hired on for protection. It would seem that, of late, people were disappearing from the ferry before reaching their final destination, reaching a much more final destination than anticipated. Drowners, probably. Sirens were less likely, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility. The channels were connected to the ocean; something could have come washing downriver. It wasn’t altogether unheard of to find displaced sirens after the summer rainstorms. If asked which he’d be more likely to meet, Geralt would have chosen sirens before Valdo Marx.

Geralt recognized him as a bard from the off: it was impossible to mistaken anything so brightly decorated. True, the man did not carry his lute about his person as Jaskier would, but he wore the uniform of satin, the season’s colors all in coordination and too impractical for the weather. It was a mark of their trade, their plumage like birds of paradise and that theatrical air.

Well, the atmosphere around Marx was less the foppish theatrics Geralt had come to expect. He did not saunter across the deck wooing a crowd, nor reciting poetry. He did not do much of anything to draw attention to himself. In fact, he was quite unlike anything that made up Geralt’s image of bards, drawing back against the bulwark, completely silent. Like a fool, Geralt presumed they would go all the way to Craag An without confrontation, but it would be a snowy day in the desert before bards acted predictably.

It was late afternoon the second day on board when he approached, the sun falling low, bringing on the evening. Geralt was keeping watch at the stern: if anything was about it would be disturbed, knocked back as the ship made headway, clawing its way onto the deck from the rear. Geralt kept to the lower main deck, closest to the water. If anything came crawling up from below, he would be in position to dispatch it. The passengers aboard had likely been warned beforehand, or else they’d heard the rumors, as they stayed on the upper deck and bow. With the lower deck abandoned, he easily read Valdo’s approach from a distance.

“White Wolf?” he asked, leaning casually a few feet away from Geralt. The question was monotone, almost disinterested, but he would not have come if there had been no reason.

There was nothing else to do and, truth be told, Geralt was bored. So he turned to Valdo and nodded. “Geralt,” he replied. He’d never quite grow used to the fanciful title, but it brought him good business. It made him recognizable, and therefore comfortable, in so much as anyone could be comfortable around a witcher. Reputations had influence.

“Valdo Marx. I’m sure you heard of me.”

Geralt hummed. There was something in his manner of speech. It was not an obnoxious flaunt of his fame: there was something resigned in it. Bitter, perhaps. It was the same tone Lambert used to say, “There was a wraith in Gulet. I’m sure you’ve already heard.” It had taken a witcher down from the school of the viper. The tone implied notoriety.

For a while, they did not speak. The only sound came from the water below lapping against the side of the ship. Geralt waited, glancing at the troubadour once more before he turned his attention back to the water. He supposed that had been it, a simple acknowledgement. People were often curious, coming to him only to confirm his identity as Jaskier’s witcher. It was a title he’d grown comfortable with more quickly than the White Wolf. It was truer, and he smiled to himself when he thought of such instances in private.

“You’re a right lucky fuck,” Valdo muttered.

Geralt looked up again from the water. He turned to examine Valdo silently, wondering what, exactly, Valdo thought he had going for him to mark him as lucky.

Valdo stared back at him, looking tired and severe. “Maybe I would have had better luck if I didn’t talk so much,” he continued. “If I didn’t sing … ”

“Bards are supposed to sing,” Geralt replied. He now wished Valdo would go back to the upper deck. Nothing aggravated him quite like people who refused to get to the point. He scented an undercurrent of hostility in the air. That, and an abundance of vodka.

Valdo produced a flask from his jerkin and gave it a swig. “Never was trying to be a bard,” he muttered. He took another sip, let it sit, then concealed the flask once more. It occurred to Geralt that the man’s leaning was not entirely owed to false causality.

Geralt knew not what to say. So he simply said, “Hm.” He heard the knuckles crack in Valdo’s tightening fist.

“Melitele’s tits. Years of poetry and songs, and you come along with your … ‘hm,’” Valdo mocked, “and that’s it. Not even a melodic hm. Just … hm.” He raked his fingers through his hair, hissing through his teeth in frustration. He was muttering something under his breath, but it was incoherent, even to a witcher’s ears. When Valdo looked up again, his eyes were red. Neither that, nor the sour note in the air were owed to the alcohol, Geralt surmised.

“He won’t love you,” Valdo said. “He can’t. He doesn’t hold on to things that way. You’re just—” he flapped a hand, searching for the word “—a fascination. You’re something shiny and new. He’ll forget about you the moment he leaves your bed.”

“Who?”

“Who the fuck do you think, witcher. Don’t mock me,” Valdo snapped, voice cracking. If he didn’t look so pathetic, if his words did not carry such weight, Geralt might have chuckled to hear Jaskier’s infamous rival croak unprofessionally. It was not flattering of bards. But there was nothing funny in what he said, nor in how he said it.

“Wait a minute,” Geralt said. He had said less than ten words to the man, none of them mocking in the slightest, and he meant to say as much.

But Valdo held up a hand to silence him. The broken man slipped down to the deck, curling against his knees, head bowed. When he spoke, he mumbled against his knees, fingers tangling in his hair. “I went to Oxenfurt for him. I chased after him for so long, watching him fall in and out of stranger’s beds for less than a wink. But all he wanted me for … he only met me on the stage. Irked if I played below standard, livid if I won. Try what you will, there’s no pleasing Jaskier.”

Geralt thought he understood him then. “Are you jealous?” he asked.

Valdo lifted his head enough to meet his eye. His cheeks were wet, shining in the fading light. “Are you Jaskier’s witcher?”

“Yes,” Geralt replied.

“Then you have your answer.”

Geralt paused a moment. He approached Valdo slowly and lowered himself to his side. They sat together in silence, hidden in the shadow of the bulwark as the sun set behind. Valdo produced the flask again, offering Geralt a sip without a word exchanged. Geralt took the flask.

“Have you kissed him?” Valdo whispered.

“No.”

“Don’t. If he never kisses you, he might not leave.”

Geralt watched as Valdo finished the last of the vodka. “Did you?” he asked.

Valdo stared across the empty deck. “No,” he replied. “But I don’t count. He sings songs about you. I only exist to him three days a year at the bardic competition.”

“He talks about you,” Geralt offered. It was a poor comfort when one knew how Jaskier talked.

Valdo sighed and tucked away the empty flask. He stood on unsteady legs, turning back toward the stairs to the upper deck. “I know. I have a rough idea what sort of man you must think I am from his gossip.”

“I don’t hold with gossip.”

“No,” Valdo chuckled. “Your kind wouldn’t.” It wasn’t an insult, but empathy. There was an understanding between them on that mark. “I wanted to find out for myself what kind of a man you were to entice him so. I hate to think I see it.”

“What do you think you see?”

“A man. One whose best friend’s first wish would be to strike death upon his rival, and knowing him, would allow that rival to approach him without preconceptions. Who would share a flask with a sobbing drunkard and listen earnestly. A good man, in short. So ... hatefully good.”

-

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#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #valdo marx #jaskier/valdo #valdo/jaskier #is there a mushed name for this? #eh whatever slashes work #a good man fic #grey's tag #I love one-sided valdo pining #ESPECIALLY if Jaskier doesn't know #Man I just love the potential dynamics Jaskier has with everyone #It's obvious that I have a favorite #should I put the titles at the top or should I leave them in the tags? #hm #I guess I'll go back and put them at the top