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fandom-junk-drawer · 1 year

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The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Game Night

Jaskier loves music. It is his career, and he spends the majority of his days listening to it, creating it, and sharing it. It's an important part of his life that he is very passionate about.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't have other interests or things that he obsesses over. He likes games in particular. He'll sit down with Geralt and the other Witchers and play some video games, a card game, or a few rounds of pool. Sometimes he'll play a board game with Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri.

But there is one game he gets really excited about playing. He is a huge fan of D&D. He has a custom D&D table, and has made a few diroamas. And he is obsessed with collecting dice. He follows several custom dice makers on tiktok, and is constantly showing the ones that catch his eye to Geralt, but he very rarely buys any.

Everytime he goes on a tour with his band, or goes on the Path with Geralt, he always keeps an eye out for places that might sell dice. He almost always comes back empty-handed.

He could easily buy anything he wanted, being a sucessful bard, and a Viscount, but he rarely buys anything for himself. He prefers to use his money for more sensible things, like taking care of his family, and making sure his band has what it needs. And making sure he is more fashionably dressed than Valdo Marx, because f**k him!

Yennefer doesn't understand Jaskeir's obsession with the dice. The closest she can compare it to is a magpie's obsession with shiny things.

He had been so excited when Eskel had brought him a custom made set of dice that looked like they contained small galaxies. He had hugged the Witcher, then run off, doing this weird little excited goblin run. The dice had been placed in a display box, on a special shelf in his room. He would occassionally bring them out to use for special game nights.

And he doesn't just use the dice for his games. He uses them when he and Geralt can't agree on something, or to make a decision.

Yennefer cannot acurately the describe the feeling of utter dread/panic/suspicion, or Impeding Doom that twisted up her stomach every time Jaskier hands her a die and says "Yen, quick! Roll this for me!"

Yennefer: *reluctantly rolls die*

Jaskier: "20!? Thanks, Yen!" *runs to the kitchen excitedly shouting* "Geralt! Geralt, 20!"

Yennefer *sits there internally panicking* 20 what? What was the number for? Was it 20 kittens? Was it number 20 on a list of options for snacks? Was it a destination? Was it the number of grapes Jaskier was going to try to shove up his a**??? She doesn't know. All she knows is that if Geralt starts laughing, it's going to be something cringey, stupid, dangerous, or possibly all three.

She hears them giggling in the bathroom later, and someone whispering "Stop laughing, you're making them fall out!"

Yennefer bangs on the door. "Jaskier! You better not be shoving grapes up your a**!"

"I'm not!"

*muffled giggling*

Yennefer: You better not be shoving grapes up Geralt's a**!

Geralt: *muffled giggling*

Jaskier: *disappointed whine* "Awww-! D*mn it, Geralt! Now we have to start all over!"

Yennefer decides she doesn't want to know.

She doesn't really have a great deal of interest in D&D itself, but she knows just about everything there is to know about it, thanks to the weekly game nights.

She was excited at first, listening to them talk about their campaigns the following day, but when she actually sat in on a game, she found it...tedious. Their characters,on the other hand, were interesting and creative.

For example, Jaskier's character (a Bard, of course) was just a pair of hands that (at first) communicated in a combination of sign language and rude gestures, played the lute, and made sex jokes.

His character later gained the ablity to speak by making a 'talking' motion with the hands. And proceeded to talk and argue with himself, carry on an almost non-stop Statler and Waldorf running commentary, sing, and make rude/inappropriate gestures. And try to randomly poke his companions in the a**.

His favorite spell was 'Mega B*tch Slap', which he'd made up, they'd argued about, but had ended up allowing it because 'why not?'.

The world itself was interesting, but the actual quests/adventures took forever. This was mostly because they spent the majority of their time rolling to end a parade of arguments. Most of the game was spent rolling to see if one of them would be allowed to do something.

They spent an hour at an Inn, rolling to see who the barmaid liked best.

They rolled to see who the horses liked better.

They rolled to see if Lambert could start the campaign completely hammered.

They rolled to see if one of them could fight a battle bucka** nekkid

They rolled for d*ck length.

They rolled to see if Geralt was allowed to turn himself into a horse.

They rolled for Horse Geralt's d*ck length.

Yennefer discovered that there was barely a serious moment in any of their campaigns. All manner of improbable and impractical things happened. Dead Cow Balloons, Dead Elf Boogie Board, Crab Tornado, Exploding Chickens, Bag of Singing D*cks... and the she couldn't forget the most powerful weapon ever forged. The Jabbing Stick of Instant Death. It was literally just a stick with a pointy end, but one jab and it was all over.

Yennefer did find all the absurdity and unpredictability amusing, but she just didn't have the patience for all the rolling.

Which is why she volunteered to be in charge of cooking for game night. That and she was appalled when she found out what they were eating during their gaming sessions.

Yennefer had walked into the game room with some drinks, "What the h*ll are you eating?"

"Grilled Cheese Sandwiches and Tomato Soup?" Jaskier had said, casually stirring his soup.

"That's not-! Those are cheese puffs floating in, in tomato sauce!"

"I put some of that chicken powder stuff in it,"

"That's not tomato soup! Or grilled cheese!"

"But it's like tomato soup and grilled cheese." Jaskier replied.

Yennefer turned at the sound of a plastic water bottle crinkling, and saw Geralt squeeze a mushy white substance into his mouth, then follow it up with a handful of shredded cheese straight from the bag. "Geralt! What the-!"

"Baked potato," Eskel explained, shaking some instant mashed potato flakes into his water bottle, letting Geralt heat the water in it with Igni, then shaking it.

Lambert glared at her, daring her to say anything about the bowl of pizza rolls covered in so much ranch dressing that he was eating them with a spoon.

There was a soft scrape of a plastic spoon against metal. Coen was eating Spaghetii-O's right out of the can.

"You all eat like f***ing stoners!!! I'm going to make you some real food!"

From then on, Yennefer cooked for them on game nights. It was simple fare, mostly things that made her feel like she was feeding a pack of children.

Dinosaur chicken nuggets, macaroni, and cheese, hotdogs, etc. But they never complained about it. In fact, they seemed excited about the food. Especailly one dish that she discovered was their favorite.

Jaskier had walked into the kitchen for some drinks, saw the cans and the hotdogs on the counter, and gone bolting back to the game room, with an excited whoop of, "F**K YEAH, BEANIE WEENIES!!!"

Sometimes, if Jaskier hadn't been too aggravating that week, Yennefer would make tavern food for them, to kind of fit the theme of their game.

Yennefer would leave them to their game and go about her evening, then curl up with her old cat plush, Sammy, and go to sleep. Sometimes she would have to make a trip to the game room to yell at them to be quiet.

And in the morning, she was woken up by The Ritual of The Most Holy Burrito. Every morning following a game night, five grown-a** men would microwave breakfast burritos, hold them over their heads, and dance through the living room while singing every verse of the sacred hymn "Yum Yum Breakfast Burritos".

She started leaving blankets and pillows on the couch after she'd gone in one morning after a game night and found them all sleeping scattered around the room and using various items as blankets.

Lambert was using a week-old pizza box someone had forgot to throw away.

Coen was under the gaming table.

Geralt and Jaskier were using Eskel.

Yennefer had started a collection of Game Night Aftermath photos that she regularly shared with Madeleine when they would go out on their Girls Only Days.

Unless the photo was so extraordinarily humorous or adorable that she would text it to her immediately.

Like the photo of Jaskier using Eskel's a** as a pillow.

Or the picture of Geralt passed out on the game table with his tits out.

And the assorted photos of shirtless Witchers in cuddle piles

Yennefer decides that game nights aren't so bad after all.

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bylightofdawn · 5 months

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So I started a rewatch of Witcher Season One because it's been a hot minute since I watched it. Pretty sure I only watched it when it aired so my memory is definitely not as great as it should be. Things standing out to me:

1) I still continue to detest the hefty garbage bag armor Cahir/Nilfgaar soldiers where in this season. It is such a STRANGE choice. Yes, boiled leather armor did exist (Which I'm assuming is what this is supposed to be yet why they go from this to plate mail for the other seasons is beyond me) but it I've never seen an example that looks like that. But boiled leather armor that was embossed and sculpted is a thing that happened in history so I'm willing to admit it might be out there but holy shit it looks like wrinkled up black garbage bags. It's also shit armor compared to the plate armor Cahir is rocking in later seasons but that's neither here nor there. LOL I wonder if there's some behind the scenes stuff with the series armorer about the choices they made. I'd actually be interested to see that. I geek out over historical armor in case ya'll can't tell.

2) I forgot how much I DETESTED the random way they were jumping all over the timeline and how fucking LOST I was the first time through. There's really no reason to literally have three+ parallel time lines running all at the same time. It CONFUSES your audience. Especially when you get to the flash back scenes where Geralt ends up in Cintra for Duny's whole Law of Surprise thing with Pavetta before Ciri is even born yet we're following Ciri in the same episode. I just....that was a Choice. A ballsy one and one I question even now. Especially since they immediately do a switch to a pretty linear timeline for seasons 2 & 3.

3) Rewatching the stuff with Duny and Pavetta now knowing what I know about Emhyr is just.... SO ICKY AND UNCOMFY. The whole 30 year old man marrying a 15 year old is hard enough to swallow but he clearly spent a year seducing her and it's just.....BLECH. I try and put aside modern sensibilities as much as I can when engaging in historical fiction but that one is pretty hard to swallow. And then of course the incest and yeaaaaah there's a lot of uncomfy stuff in this series. I was talking to Lisia about how I keep forgetting how grimdark and bleak the show is in between seasons only to get smacked in the face with it.

4) I really want a spin off series with Renfri. She is such a FASCINATING character and APPARENTLY, she was a bastardized version of Snow White??? Fuuuuuck I want more of that but alas, I know that's just a pipe dream doomed for failure.

I'm only on episode 4 so we'll see what I pick up in the second half of the series. I'm sure I will have some more lukewarm takes.

#el watches #the witcher #witcher spoilers

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

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An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 2)

Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

Just three days after the first installation and 4,000 words? That’s right baby! Because I run on validation and whew! Y’all provided. The courting gift scene based on a recommendation from @tempered-char. Also with a hint of Geralt’s Delicate Sensibilities, as inspired by @valdomarx +Thicc Eskel as a bonus

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“Come in.”

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door.

Geralt wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. From what he’d seen of the world he wasn’t so sure he believed in love at all. He could imagine, however, that if he were a painter or a poet he could have fallen in love right there.

The room was a tiny, dusty study, and standing in front of the window was, presumably, Julian. The light haloed him, dust mites floating down. Grey-blue doublet and slightly darker pants brought out clear, bright eyes, rimmed with thick lashes.

He had a rounder jawline, the sort that was in style with painters at the moment. It leant a softness to his face. Maybe that was the fact that he was...nineteen? Geralt couldn’t remember.

He realized he was staring and bowed. It was awkard, still holding his gift and the gift from the countess. He looked up, Julian was smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Julian,” Geralt said. “I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Geralt, and please, call me Jaskier,” said the young man. He stuck out his hand. Geralt quickly shifted the gifts to one hand and shook.

The hand was soft but not uncalloused, at the fingertips and base of the thumb. Long fingers, good for playing the lute that sat, gleaming and well cared for, in the corner.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, tasting the name. It was a good name, bright and pretty and a deadly poison if treated incorrectly. “I have a gift for you, and her ladyship gave me a gift but I haven’t opened it yet.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sat on a plush chair, gesturing Geralt to one opposite. “I have my own gift for you,” he said. “Father and Amaria didn’t think I could get my own courting gifts.”

Geralt decided to give up on subtlety. He wanted answers and he hoped this young man, Jaskier, was willing to give them.

“They want rid of you,” he said. It was a question but without the inflection at the end. “Enough to marry you off to a witcher.”

Jaskier sighed. “Just father, Amaria doesn’t have much to do with anything these days.”

“She seemed...” Geralt trailed off, not wanting to be disrespectful.

“It’s all about heirs,” Jaskier said, standing and beginning to pace. “Suitable heirs, which I’m not.” He sent Geralt a bitter little smile and flopped back down. “My father is not a nice man, you see. He’s never taken kindly to disagreements, and to him there’s only one ‘right’ sort of man. Men like him, manly and strong who kill first and don’t bother asking questions later. I questioned him, maybe three years ago, I didn’t think he should raise taxes again. He doesn’t forgive that sort of slight.”

Jaskier leaned forward, elbows on knees and stared at the ground for a second.

“I think he’d decided long before that, but he wants me struck from the family tree.” Jaskier looked up at Geralt. Some of his confusion must have been showing on his face.

This world of heirs and court intrigue was far from anything Geralt knew, and seemed more complicated than necessary.

“Follow me,” Jaskier said, rising and stretching out his hand again. “You can leave the gifts, we’ll be back.” Geralt set dow the gifts and hesitantly stretched out his hand, unsure if the gesture was figurative or if he was actually supposed to take it. Jaskier took him gently by the wrist and led him from the room.

“The halls are a maze,” he said, letting go a coridor later. “Follow close behind me, you could get lost.” Geralt did so. He couldn’t imagine anything more embarassing than having a footman fetch him from one of these little stone tunnels.

They emerged in yet another dusty hall, lined with tapestries. Jaskier stopped in between two, and in front of a large, painted wooden panel. It had a tree.

A family tree.

“My father,” Jaskier said, tracing his finger along dusty, painted branches. “Finds it very important that the next Earl be his direct blood, and also his kind of man.” He looked at Geralt significantly. “That meant ridding himself of Amaria’s sons from her first marriage, by the laws of our country, he could have been heir. That also means getting rid of me.”

This explanation did not help Geralt’s bafflement. Jaskier sighed again, although he didn’t seem to be doing so at Geralt.

“Amaria had two sons, both manly and well suited to my father, but not his direct blood. And they were older than me, set to inherit the role of Earl first. They met with horrible accidents.” A shadow passed of Jaskier’s boyish face.

“Strange coincidence, how a large rock managed to tumble from the ramparts on to Isak not even a week after the same thing happened to Tomas. Especially since there’s not rocks up there. I checked.”

“Your father,” Geralt said, a little numbly. “Had his stepson’s murdered.” He knew nobility could be nasty but still... “And we’ve made a deal with him.”

Jaskier patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it, Father mostly doesn’t do too much harm these days, and Filip, that’s my half brother, seems like he’ll turn out okay. Then again, he’s only seven.”

“Is he going to have you killed?” Geralt asked, knowing as he did that the Earl was trying, by way of marrying Jaskier to him.

“Not exactly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m blood or just because another ‘accident’ would look suspicious, but there’s an easier way.” Jaskier pointed to a name circled in blue. “That’s my aunt Matylda, father’s older sister. She got married, which officially makes her part of her husband’s family tree, not ours, and she can no longer inherit,” Jaskier paused. “If she weren’t already a woman, I mean.”

“But we’re both men,” Geralt said. “I could just as easily become part of your family tree and then your father’s problem.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, “In theory, but of course that isn’t how he played it. I’ll be an honorary witcher, and my name,” here he tapped some fine script. “Will be circled in blue and removed from the line.”

They both looked at the tree, looming darkly for a while.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt offered, although he supposed it wasn’t worth much.

“I’m sorry too,” Jaskier said. “You shouldn’t be roped into all this.”

Geralt privately considered that, yes, while he would have preferred to avoid all this intrigue and politics, Jaskier didn’t seem too bad.

Jaskier led him back through the stone rabbit warren that made up the bowels of the castle.

“Is her ladyship...like that, because of the death of her sons?” Geralt asked when they paused at the top of a staircase.

Jaskier cocked his head sadly, and then continued walking. Aftr a few more paced he said, “Yes, mostly. She wasn’t always...present, I suppose before but when they died so close together, and in such an awful way-- there’s nothing nice about a block of stone dropping on you from four stories up--something broke. She’s a nice lady, just happier living in her head, I think. Maybe she goes somewhere else, where her boys and her first husband are alive, I hope.”

They arrived back at the study without another word.

They sat.

“I, um.” Geralt said. “Hmmm. I got you,” he proferred the package, not knowing what to say and begging Jaskier to save him from trying to figure it out.

Jaskier took the package and pulled the string so that it fell open. The doublet slithered out. Vesemir had sent a letter asking for measurements as soon as Geralt had told him the idea.

“It’s basilisk leather,” Geralt said. “Witchers, um, our Path, it can be dangerous, so you should have this.”

Jaskier held up the fabric, watching the colors, deep blue and green, shift across the slick material. Privately, and for no reason Geralt could really guess at, he was very pleased, both that the doublet was in what seemed to be Jaskier’s colors, and also at the awe struck look on his face.

“It’s as light as silk,” Jaskier said, passing the fabric between his fingers. “And you said it’s leather?”

“Basilisk leather,” Geralt said. Monsters. They were talking about monsters, which he knew about. Thank the gods. “It’s like armor, and it won’t burn or get wet, water just runs off.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as basilisk leather,” Jaskier said, holding the doublet up. “Where did you get it? It’s incredible.”

Geralt coughed modestly, and tried not to puff his chest. “I killed the basilisk. Making the leather needs different skills than normal tanning, it’s more like potion making.” He remembered that most people knew little about witcher skills and needs. “All witchers know some alchemy, and we make potions for combat so I...I tanned it. My brother Lambert drew up the design, I don’t know much about clothes.”

The tailor had nearly cried when they’d presented him with the fabric, exclaiming about it’s luster and the ‘glorious smooth hand’, whatever that meant.

Geralt watched Jaskier’s face anxiously. It wasn’t a courtly gift, no crown of pearls or whatever nobles expected, but it had taken him two months to turn the basilisk skin into leather. It would have taken him half the time but he’d had to do it on the road. Lambert had fussed about the design for almost a week too, and it had been Eskel’s idea to ask for the buttons to be little black pearls like that.

Vesemir had smiled at the team effort, calling it the wolves gift to their new pup.

Jaskier looked up at him, face like a sunbeam.

“Can I try it on?”

Geralt just nodded, and looked away modestly as Jaskier divested himself of his previous doublet before buttoning the basilisk leather.

He twirled, and in the light from the window the fabric seemed to glow, shifting and turning with each movement.

“And it really will keep me safe?” he asked, looking down at himself, beaming.

Geralt nodded. “It would take a battle axe a dozen tries to pierce it.”

Jaskier smiled at him again, and it made Geralt’s stomach tingle, although he had eaten some suspect meat on the ride to Lettenhove. Then Jaskier threw his arms around his neck.

Geralt wasn’t old fashioned. He could move with the times, whatever Lambert said, but manners had been stiffer sixty years ago and Geralt was just thankful that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his ears going red.

“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier said, pulling back. “Thank you.”

Geralt shrugged uncomfortably. Jaskier smelled like soap and some sort of oil. Linseed maybe, probably for the wood of his lute.

“I have a gift for you, it’s not as lovely, but I hope you like it.”

Geralt carefully took the package. It was wrapped much prettier than his had been. “The countess already...”

“That was from her,” Jaskier said dismissively. “And maybe even from Father, although I doubt it, he wouldn’t waste money on me. But this gift is from me.” He sat forward eagerly. “Go on, open it.”

Geralt wasn’t about to refuse that eager, open expression, so he pulled at the ribbon, feeling rather like a bear trying to tie a shoelace.

The bright paper just fell away and there was a stiff paper box. He opened that too.

Three glass bottles sat inside, nestled in paper. The paper was only there to keep them from clinking because as he pulled one out he saw the telltale dark sheen.

Brimstone glass. It was unbreakable. Sometimes witchers carried their more noxious potions in it but rarely, it was frighteningly expensive, usually only mages could afford it.

“How?” he said. How did you afford it? How did you know it existed? Did you know witchers use potions? He looked up at Jaskier, who looked nervous.

“Are they alright?” he said. “Only I won them off a sorceror in a pub. He told me they were indestructible and threw one at the ground to prove it. I thought they’d be useful...Was it a trick?” He looked so upset at the prospect.

“These, Geralt said, “Are Brimstone Glass, they are indeed indestructible and very, very useful.” Jaskier’s face split into a grin again.

“Thank you,” Geralt said. It didn’t seem like enough, but if he hugged the lad like Jaskier had him he would kill him.

“Should I open the box from the countess?”

“Do,” Jaskier said. “I want to know what it is.”

The latch flicked easily under Geralt’s hand and the lid popped open.

Jaskier gasped.

“It’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “I don’t remember her well, but I remember her hands...”

It was a beautiful ring, opal, if Geralt was any judge, but Eskel knew stones better than him. Silver wound around the stone, with smaller gems studding the setting to either side.

“I will use it in the ceremony,” Geralt said, offering it to Jaskier. “If it fits.”

“It won’t fit,” Jaskier said sadly. “Mother had very small hands, but it’s a nice thought.”

Geralt looked at the ring and Jaskier’s left hand. “Try it?”

Jaskier did, sliding the ring onto his finger easily. He looked at it in amazement.

“Amaria must have had it enlarged,” he said.

“A good gift,” Geralt said, although not sure who the gift was really for.

There came a polite knock at the door, interupting the moment, whatever sort of moment it was.

“My lord, it is time for supper.”

Damn.

Jaskier slipped the ring back into the box and Geralt looked away as he changed into his regular doublet. He didn’t look away fast enough and caught a scandalous glimpse of collarbone and soft chest hair where the chemise got pulled down a little. The air felt a little stuffy suddenly.

The gifts, and Geralt was proud to see that Jaskier folded the doublet carefully back into the paper, although nothing could have harmed it, were handed to a footman to be taken back to their respective rooms.Geralt offered Jaskier his arm, like he’d seen the nobility do, and then Jaskier led him to the dining hall.

To his relief, the hall wasn’t packed. They were what Lambert would call ‘fashionably late’ (and what Vesemir would call a reason for three extra laps) and all the guests were seated. A table held Lady Amaria and a man who must be the Earl, although there was little visible resemblance to Jaskier. They were seated with perhap half a dozen other nobles, as well as a red headed boy of about seven, Filip, probably, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. There was another table of presumably more minor nobility, and then a small table with the wolves, two seats still empty.

All eyes turned to look at the pair. Jaskier bowed deeply, and since his arm was still linked with Geralt’s he was made to bow too, or else risk having his arm pulled from its socket. Then they made their way to the smallest table.

Geralt pulled out Jaskier’s chair for him and saw Vesemir’s approving nod, as well as Lambert’s smirk. He didn’t see the swift kick Eskel delivered below the table, but caught the way Lambert’s eyes watered suddenly, and smiled at his brother in thanks for the retribution. Then he sat.

“Julian,” Vesemir said, reaching over the table to shake hands. “I am Vesemir, Geralt’s teacher. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I am happy to make your aquaintance, Master Vesemir,” Jaskier said, and Geralt was impressed that he only winced a little bit as Vesemir inadvertently crushed his knuckles in a grip that could moor a boat. He did, however, gently shake out his fingers under the table once he’d been released.

“If you please, however,” Jaskier continued as if nothing had happened. “I prefer my nickname, Jaskier.”

“Jaskier it is, then,” Vesemir said, moustache twitching up at the corners. Geralt suspected he was thinking the same as he had done. Buttercups, pretty and poisonous.

“You were educated at Oxenfurt, is that correct?” Eskel said.

“Yes, in the fine arts, although I specialized in music composition and lute performance. I didn’t catch your name...?” The most delicate question mark was added to the end of the statement. Eskel blushed, Jaskier wouldn’t know it, but Geralt could see the back of his neck reddening.

“Eskel,” he said quickly. “And the asshole who’s snickering is Lambert.”

Jaskier didn’t look even a little intimidated by either of Geralt’s brothers, which was impressive, because Lambert could scowl like it was a contest and Eskel, although only an inch taller than Geralt, was naturally hugely muscled in a way even the mutagens hadn’t managed for Geralt. His chest and arms looked like they’d withstand a siege weapon.

Jaskier turned a smile on Lambert, who was sputtering indignantly at Eskel’s entirely fair description.

“I’m told you helped with my beautiful courting gift,” he said. Then he turned the smile on all of the wolves. “A team effort I imagine.”

This stunned all three brothers, and made Vesemir smile. Lambert shrugged uncomfortably. For all his prickliness, he couldn’t take a compliment.

“Eskel’s idea for the buttons,” he muttered, and Geralt knew he’d been entirely won over.

“The buttons are beautiful,” Jaskier said, smiling warmly at Eskel now, who looked like he’d rather be facing a mountain troll.

“Was Vesemir that got your measurements,” he said, looking down at the tablecloth. Jaskier beamed at the whole table then.

“Truly a team effort, thank you all, it’s beautiful and I cannot wait to wear it.” With that the whole table was well and truly won over by Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t help but brag a little.

“Jaskier gave me Brimstone Glass bottles as a courting gift,” he said, and preened slightly under the others’ slightly jealous noises of amazement. Jaskier flushed a very pretty pink.

“I just thought they’d be useful,” he said, although his smile was pleased.

Serving girls entered the hall with trays and the chatter in the hall expanded excitedly. A plump young woman set a tray down at their table and Eskel hummed in appreciation.

“It smells delicious,” he said. She smiled at him, looked him up and down, and then winked.

“Oh doesn’t it just, I could just eat it all up,” she said, not looking at the food even as she lifted the cloche from the appetizers. Then she winked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Another girl appeared and filled the goblets but the witchers hardly noticed for laughing at Eskel’s face.

“Seems Mabel took a liking to you,” Jaskier said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Through his own laughter, Geralt watched Jaskier’s father glaring at their table. Good. The old fuck could choke on it, he didn’t look like he’d ever laughed a day in his life.

“Careful though,” Jaskier was saying. “She looked ready to take a bite out of you.”

“But,” Eskel gestured, baffled to his face.

“Oh pish,” Jaskier said, taking a swig of wine. “Nobody cares about that sort of thing, do they? Plenty of ladies around here like a few scars, makes men look rugged and dangerous.”

“Rugged?” Eskel rubbed his hand over his face, contemplating.

“Definitely,” said Jaskier, nodding. He took one of the appetizers. Geralt moved a few to his own plate and slowly their little table descended into a quiet contentment. The appetizers were good, hors d'oeuvres , Geralt remembered Lambert telling him once. They were little bits of paste, meat and vegetable mostly, inside pastry casings.

He smiled when he noticed that he and his brothers were all looking between Jaskier and Vesemir to make sure they hadn’t missed any manners. Eskel swiped Lambert’s elbows off the table.

Eventually the appetizers were replaced with soup. The saucy kitchen girl, Mabel, Jaskier had called her, made a positively salacious remark to Eskel. Something daring about him licking everything clean. Eskel smiled faintly and turned redder than the beet soup.

“You should flirt back,” Jaskier said, once Mabel was gone. “If you’re actually interested, I mean.”

“It’s not that I’m not. Interested I mean,” Eskel squeaked. “But I can’t offer her anything, no marriage or security.”

Jaskier looked at him. It was definitely a look, although not a nasty one. “She asked you to lick her clean and you think that was an invitation to marriage?”

“I wouldn’t want to defile...”

“Oh shut up Eskel, sex doesn’t defile anything. It’s natural and normal and if you think it some how ‘decreases the value’ of a woman than you aren’t the man I thought you to be.” Lambert cut in. “Have some fun, maybe she can remove the stick you’ve lodged up your ass.”

“You’re right, of course,” Eskel said. But now Jaskier was looking worried.

“It won’t be a problem, right?” he asked Geralt. “That I’m not, um a virgin, I mean?”

“No,” Geralt said, probably missing the mark on reassuring, but doing his best. “Unless you mind that I’m not one either. And there is no fidelity clause, and no consummation, you needn’t sleep with me, and you’re free to see other people.”

Jaskier looked at first relieved and then impish, licking the soup from his spoon in a way that made significant parts of Geralt’s brain go numb. “I dunno,” he said, leaning towards Geralt and bumping him with a shoulder. “I can’t imagine consumation with you would be such a chore.”

Melitele’s great gauzy veil, this boy would be the death of him.

There was a pause between soup and the main course, but when Mabel picked up the dishes Eskel leaned towards her and asked if he’d licked it clean enough, to the woman’s obvious approval.

They sat and chatted, Jaskier, Eskel, and Vesemir debated over some old literature that Geralt had never heard of, and then they were interuppted with a cough.

The earl stood, face like stone, beside their table.

They rose. Vesemir bowed.

“My Lord,” he said. “It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance. I am Vesemir, of the school of the wolf.”

Lord Pankratz inclined his head. “Greetings, Master Vesemir,” he said. “I wish to discuss some of the terms of the contract with you.”

He snapped his fingers and a footman brought him a chair, without waiting for Vesemir’s response.

The wolves sat, feeling wary. Jaskier was looking down at his hands, shoulders shrunk in.

They sat in suspense as Vesemir and Lord Pankratz hashed out details of the legal protections. The main course appeared and the earl stood, and bowed.

“Why don’t we continue this after desert,” he said, smiling smoothly. And it was a very smooth smile. Like an oil slick.

Dinner after that was subdued, despite Eskel returning Mabel’s flirtations. Jaskier looked down at his plate most of the time and the witchers picked up on his unease.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt whispered.

“I don’t know, but he’s planning something, and I don’t like it.”

Then coffee was served after dessert, and the Earl de Lettenhove sat at their table again.

“Now, for what I really wanted to discuss, I know political marriages can be...challenging,” the earl said in a voice like a snake. “But I wanted to make it clear, should either member express a wish to anul the marriage, the contract will become void.” Here he squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder so hard he winced. “I couldn’t bear for my dear Julian to be unhappy, you see. He’s high maintainance I know, but I wish him the best.”

The earl smiled a despicable little smile. “Now, I think you two shouldn’t really see more of each other before the wedding, yes? Bad luck and all.”

The earl then hauled Jaskier away by his collar.

“What a cunt,” Lambert said.

“I figured that was in the contract anyway,” Geralt said. “Isn’t that normally how it works?”

Vesemir nodded. “Indeed, it’s how these marriages go. But I expect the earl is betting that the two of you wont be able to stand eachother, and so he gets rid of his son and doesn’t have to help witchers all in one go.”

“Yes, Jaskier explained things.”

And then Geralt told his family what Jaskier had told him. The suspicious accidents, the laws, the family tree.

“I agree with Lambert,” Eskel said. “What a gigantic fucking cunt.”

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

What’s with my thing about clothing descriptions and fancy cloth? I’m a fashion design major, that’s what.

We’ve got answers about Amaria, and the reason for the engagement, but what’s the wedding going to be like? oooh, cliffhanger, but not too much so I hope it makes up for last time when I was so bad to you all.

Tag List! @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam@sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest@innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna

@ailorian @toothhurtyam I’m having trouble adding you, I can’t tag if this is a password protected side blog or if you have Allow Blog to Appear in Search Results off, I think.

#geraskier #the witcher #arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #its part two y'all #and the earl is a slimy sob

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imagineredwood · 3 years

Text

"Bad day, mama?"

Request: Quarantine based imagine. Tranq’s Old lady is an essential worker. She’s a manager at a grocery store and she comes home after a long day dealing with rude customers and very few nice people and he lets her rant and he cooks dinner for her. Very fluffy.

Pairing: Tranq Loza x female reader

Warnings: Talk about the pandemic and shitty people, that’s it

Word count: 1K

“Bad day, mama?”

You nodded with a tired sigh as you walked into your home, kicking your shoes off, and enjoying the freedom of no longer having them compressed. Tranq pouted and held his hands out to take your purse and other belongings from you.

“Go take a shower. I already got dinner started, it’ll be done soon. Then we can talk about it.”

With a kiss to your forehead and then other to your lips, Tranq gently pushed you in the direction of the master bedroom. You headed in his direction and went to the bathroom, stripping out of your work clothes and tossing them lazily into the hamper.

You took your time in the shower, washing up, and then simply standing in the hot water for minutes on end. You let the water soothe your tired and tense muscles, eyes closed as you relished in being back home. Having to work in a pandemic was one thing but having to work in a pandemic with customers who only cared about their own selfish wants added on an extra layer of stress that had you near tears out of frustration. You felt like you could almost fall asleep, your body swaying slightly. The sound of someone knocking on the bathroom door startled you, your eyes shooting open.

“Baby? You almost done?”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you and finished rinsing off, calling out so he could hear you over the water.

“Yeah! I’m coming.”

Washing off the final bubbles from your skin, you shut off the water and climbed out, drying off and hurrying through putting on your lotion.

Clean and dressed comfortably, you made your way out to the living room, Tranq in the kitchen already serving both of your plates. He smiled as he saw you and motioned down to the plates, showing you that he had made your favorite. Your stomach growled and your mouth watered, thankful more than ever for your husband.

“Looks so good.”

Tranq smiled, eyes crinkled in the corners at your compliment. He was pulling out your chair for you then, letting you sit before pushing you back in. He sat down across from you the way he always did, eyes on you and giving you his full attention.

“Do you wanna talk about it? You don’t have to if you rather forget about it, but I’m here if you wanna vent.”

He gave a soft nod and you returned it, taking a bite before starting.

“It’s just…people can be so stupid. We’ve got signs plastered everywhere saying that masks are required to enter, and they come in without one. Then they want to get pissed when we tell them they need to put on a mask. Then you have people taking shit out and then putting it back where it doesn’t belong, so not only do I have to make sure that everything gets put back where it belongs, but we have to sanitize them all over again. People wanna yell and get angry because we’re out of stock like I can just go fly the shit in on a private jet. Everyone is just so rude and shitty and I just- “

You stopped yourself and took a deep breath, not wanting to give into the anger once again. Tranq felt the same way and reached across the table, placing his hand on top of yours and stroking his thumb along the back of it soothingly.

“It’s ok, sweetheart. They ruined your day; don’t let them ruin your night too.”

You nodded and fed yourself another bite, calming down slowly.

“It’s just annoying. We’re all stuck in shitty situations. Why be a dick and make it worse for us when we’re just trying to keep the world running?”

Tranq nodded, understanding your frustration. He wished he could do something more about it, but alas, he couldn’t make people be more sensible, nor could he make them be nicer. He could try his best to distract you though.

“Were there any nice customers? Anyone that was helpful or appreciative?”

You nodded, a small smile coming to your lips as you recalled the elderly woman who had come in thirty minutes before closing.

“There was this little old lady that came in at the end of my shift. Said that she was sorry for coming in so late, but she burned the chicken that she had told her husband she would have for dinner for him when he came home from fishing and she didn’t want him to know. So, she bought one of the whole rotisserie chickens and said she would just pretend that she made that. Said she would come in tomorrow and let us know if she fooled him.”

You chuckled and Tranq did too, the mood already lighter from the story. Tranq took advantage and jumped in then, letting you eat while he told you the positives about his day. About the pranks the guys had been playing all day, about Letty and how she was doing well in school. By the time the two of you had finished eating you had relaxed, and your bad mood had lifted, your mind and body no longer weighed down with the stress of the day.

You and Tranq washed the dished together, talking quietly, happy to be home with each other. With the kitchen clean, you both went and sat down on the couch, the bear of a man taking you into his arms and letting you lean back to rest against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, keeping you in a snug hold as he nuzzled into your neck.

“At least you’re home now, baby.”

You nodded, resting your chin on his forearm, and relaxing into the warmth of his embrace, unable to agree more.

“At least I’m with you. You are home.”

The Mayan blushed and leaned his cheek to lay on the top of your head, more and more in love with you each year you were together.

“Always.”

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @elcococruz @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast @iambabyharry @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114 @saturnsaree @multiyfandomgirl40 @destynelseclipsa @sadeyesgf @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben @all-the-boys-to-the-yard @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @abby-splace

Mayans MC taglist

@dazzledamazon @abunnykisses @briana-mishell24 @angelreyesgirl @wrcn9fvlcver @peaches009 @capt-canadian @thesandbeneathmytoes @krysiewithak @veracruz-djarin @appropriate-writers-name @cind-in-real-life @blessedboo @montanaraed @kkim120 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @emoengelfurleben @blowmymbackout

#Tranq Loza #tranq loza x reader #Mayans MC #imagines #mayans fx #mayans imagine #tranq loza imagine

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valdomarx · 4 years

Text

Anon requested: Could you possibly write something with Jaskier finding out he’s half incubus and having no clue what to do?

His horns don’t start growing in until he's 30.

Jaskier had heard rumours throughout his childhood of his mother's infidelity and her penchant for bedding magical creatures, but he'd thought that was typical malicious court gossip. His father's coldness toward him he'd assumed to be the way of nobility and due to his own failures as a son.

And sure, he's always attracted attention from men and women alike, but he'd believed that was due to the charisma he worked hard to exude. People often wanted to sleep with him, but he was young and handsome and talented, so why wouldn’t they?

He certainly does like sex, though that's hardly unusual. And he does feels better afterwards: sated, fulfilled, more energetic. But wasn’t that the point?

And then one day he’s washing his hair and feels prominent bumps on his head. He thinks he must have hit his head when he was drunk, not an unprecedented occurrence. But within days a hideous mass of bone is pushing out from his skull and he realises something is terribly wrong.

He locks himself in his rooms at Oxenfurt Academy and tells everyone he has a fever. The students leave food outside his door and he spends three weeks in isolation, watching in horror as horns sprout and grow terrifyingly fast until they form neat curls on either side of his head.

He stares into a polished metal plate at his newly monstrous countenance, and knows that the path of his life stands at a precipice.

No, he decides. He has worked too hard to get away from his hateful upbringing and to become his own person to allow his family to drag him down once again.

Taking a knife to his own head to remove the horns is the most painful thing he has ever experienced, but he will not let the life he has built be destroyed by this thing inside him. He stands alone in his room, blood dripping down his face, and stares in horror at the curled mass of horn in his hand, gory and vile.

Even after that, the horns continue to grow back. He assiduously files them down, though it hurts every time.

When spring arrives he heads out to meet Geralt as usual. If Geralt notices anything amiss, he doesn’t mention it. They travel together and it’s blessedly normal - at least until Jaskier gets kidnapped.

He’s snatched by a band of ruffians, thrown in a dank underground cell and left there. Things could be worse, on balance. At least he’s marked as a hostage so he’s fed and not tortured. A few days in he overhears the bandits discussing how he’s the perfect bait for a much greater prize, the White Wolf himself.

Jaskier oscillates between hoping Geralt stays the hell away from this obvious trap and fantasising about being rescued. It’s cold and dark here, but most of all it’s lonely. And he can feel his horns growing back in, inch by terrible inch. He has never been comfortable being alone.

After two interminable weeks, he hears the distant sound of fighting from above, clashing swords and yells of pain. That has to be Geralt, and he knows that afraid or not, he has to help before Geralt ends up locked in here too.

So Jaskier does what he does best. One of the guards has been staring at his horns with obvious interest, and it’s laughably easy to attract his attention and seduce him. When Jaskier backs him up against a damp wall and swallows down his seed he feels a zing of energy and the man drops to the cold stone floor, unconscious.

Jaskier feels strong. He pushes open the door to his cell and faces three armed men between him and the door. He picks up a nearby oak table like it weighs nothing and tosses it at them, smashing it into two of them who go down immediately. The third is knocked to the floor and scrambles for his sword, but Jaskier is on him in moments, foot pressed against his chest.

“Give me the keys,” he says, voice vibrating deep in his chest. The man squirms but doesn’t answer and Jaskier pushes down with his foot, feeling the man’s ribs crack and buckle beneath him. “I won’t ask again.”

“Okay, okay,” the man croaks, coughing up flecks of blood. “In my pocket.”

Jaskier snatches the keys, unlocks the steel door to the dungeon, and magnanimously leaves the man alive. He hasn’t the time to stop and kill him anyway, Geralt must be nearby and he needs Jaskier’s help.

As he hurries up the stairs and away from the rank dungeon, the sounds of battle increase and he hears a familiar voice raised in an unfamiliar shout.

“Where is he?” the voice yells. The clashing of blades rings through the fort. “Where is he?”

Jaskier rounds the corner to a courtyard to find Geralt spattered in blood and surrounded by the corpses of bandits, their leader on his knees with Geralt’s hand around his throat and Geralt’s sword pointed between his eyes.

He should have known that this rough bunch would be no match for a witcher in full swing.

“I’m here,” he says, and his voice comes out scratchy. He’s been dreaming of this moment, but now he finds himself poleaxed by the reality of Geralt seeing him in his true, hideous form.

Geralt looks at him, and his eyes widen in shock for just a second. He slits the throat of the man in front of him and pushes his body to the side without ever tearing his eyes from Jaskier.

He steps toward him, sword still raised, and for a moment Jaskier truly thinks that Geralt will run him through with his blade, just another monster to be slain.

But then Geralt tosses his sword aside and races over to Jaskier to wrap him in a hug so tight it’s stifling.

“Jaskier,” he breathes. “You’re alive.”

Oh. He pats Geralt awkwardly on the back. Even in this most dire of situations, he enjoys having strong arms around him more than he should.

“I'm okay,” he says, and Geralt buries his face into Jaskier’s hair and inhales, as if despite the rank state of his unwashed hair, Geralt has truly missed him.

Geralt pulls back and his eyes flick ever so briefly to Jaskier’s horns.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier blurts out. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I can only imagine what you must think of me. I won’t be any trouble. I’ll go. I’ll leave you be. But please don’t turn me in.”

Geralt frowns. Well, frowns more than unusual. “You being half incubus has never bothered me before. Why would it bother me now?”

Jaskier‘s mouth drops open in disbelief. “You knew? All this time?”

Geralt huffs, but there’s an undeniable edge of fondness to it. “Jaskier, I’m a witcher. Of course I knew. I could tell the minute I met you.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

Now it’s Geralt turn to look shocked. “You didn’t know? Hells, Jaskier. I thought you were trying to be circumspect.”

“Circumspect?” Jaskier laughs hysterically. “Right, because that’s just my style. Do you think I, a monster, would have rocked up in Posada and imposed myself on you, a monster hunter, if I had known? Does that seem sensible to you?”

“Not sensible, no.” The corner of Geralt’s mouth flicks up. “But it does sound exactly like something you’d do.”

Jaskier intends to pout but instead feels himself smiling for the first time in weeks, because Geralt has him there.

Geralt runs the back of his fingers down Jaskier’s cheek, and the leather of his gloves is warm and smooth against his skin. “You’re not a monster,” he says, like it’s that simple. “People might think you monstrous, but their ignorance is no reflection on you.”

He moves to brush his fingers delicately along the edge of one of Jaskier’s horns. Jaskier can’t feel it, not directly, but the vibrations of his touch send tingles racing across his scalp, making him weak at the knees. “And you don’t have to hide yourself from me.”

Jaskier looks at the floor, because he can’t look at Geralt right now, he just can’t. “Even like this, I can stay? You won’t send me away?” His voice sounds so small and pathetic.

Geralt’s fingers slot under his chin and lift his head until their eyes are locked. “You can stay,” he says, certain and sure; Jaskier‘s rock as always. “We can be monstrous together.”

#me: haha imagine jaskier is a sex demon who files down his horns #also me: ... unless ...#geraskier #the witcher #my writing #tw body horror #incubus!jaskier

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

Note

So for your modern shifter au does Ciri ever make an appearance? And would she be a shifter too? Like a little lion cub who at first us mistaken for a cat. And how would the others acquire her? Would she find them or they find her?

The shifter AU is one that I have been wanting to come back to for a while, especially for this prompt with Ciri. As it happens, I was talking to @ohnomybreadsticks who is the best enabler and source of inspiration. Thanks to this video (which is absolutely Lambert) we now have Ciri and reminiscing of when the wolves were pups.

Baby’s First Roar

Rumours of an unusually large house cat in the area were not something the wolves were really bothered about. They lived in a secure and safe area thanks to Jaskier’s success which meant people with money around them. And people with money did idiotic things like have exotic or unusual pets like hairless cats and extreme sized dogs. So one large house cat wasn’t a worry. What was an issue was when animal control was called in. It seemed the cat didn’t belong to anyone and, if Jaskier was out and about as a fennec fox, he was in danger. The only sensible thing to do was not to let animal control handle it but to have a patrol to find and chase the cat out of the area.

They had a rota in place, one wolf snuggled up to Jaskier, another slept on the doormat by the front door while a third took the garden door. It left the fourth free to patrol the neighbourhood to track the stray cat.

There was no smell of cat that Lambert could find and he sulked the whole of the next day, pouting that he was going to be outdone by one of the others. Not that Eskel had more luck, he said he caught an unusual scent on the wind, one he couldn’t identify but tracking it was a whole other problem because it just vanished by some bins. On the third night, Vesemir went out. He made a beeline for the bins and hid behind one of the carts. If his pups couldn’t track the mystery cat, it meant it was no ordinary animal. To evade Lambert and Eskel meant it was intelligent. Therefore hunting it down wasn’t going to work. But it the trail led to the bins, it might be back.

Sure enough, in half an hour, Vesemir’s nose picked up a musky scent. Approaching the bins was a large cat with even bigger paws. It was no cat. Vesemir rose to stare down a lion cub. He had to hand it to the cub, its hackles rose and a warbling rumble of a growl vibrated through it.

Shifting, Vesemir held up his hands. “I mean you no harm.”

The cub sat down with a surprised blink, looking up at him. From one moment to the next a dirty young girl was sat in the cub’s place. She stared at Vesemir then looked at the bins.

“This is my find. Get your own bins.”

Really, Vesemir couldn’t not soften at that, she reminded him too much of his own pups.

“Or I could go and eat something from my fridge. So could you if you want.”

Shrewd eyes stared at him. “Whose are you?”

“I’m my own. But my pack runs with Jaskier.” That name seemed to at least spark a bit of recognition in the girl’s eyes. “I’m off for a midnight snack. Join me if you want.”

With that, Vesemir turned around and headed home in wolf form. The smell of the cub followed him and he felt quite smug.

As Eskel had been out the night before, he got prime spot next to Jaskier that night, leaving Geralt by the backdoor and Lambert by the front. With a bit of a shove, Vesemir opened the door, pushing his youngest pup out of the way. It earned him a snarling growl as Lambert responded while still half asleep. As soon as he realised it was Vesemir, he quieted down to a grumble that passed for an apology.

Sauntering in, Vesemir waited for the cub to come in. After a brief nose bump with Lambert, she swiped at the wolf in warning and Lambert leapt back with a startled whine. Really, Vesemir had to laugh at them. From over his shoulder, he heard the soft pad of paws and watched as the cub and his white wolf stared at each other.

What was intended to be a quick snack turned into a feast as they raided the fridge. Only Vesemir took his human form, the others too wary of each other to shift. It was kind of adorable to watch though, obviously the little lion was a young cub and Geralt nosed the best snacks towards her. Even Lambert kept his snatching to a minimal and reserved it for Geralt alone. The one time he eyed up the end of a sausage, the cub growled at him and, remembering the swipe, Lambert allowed the bests bit of the sausage to be gobbled up by her.

Tummy full, warm and in a seemingly safe place, the cub swayed as she began falling asleep while sitting up. She was herded to the sofa by careful wolves and left to sleep.

Come morning, Jaskier walked in on an unexpected scene in the hallway. Geralt was curled up by the front door as before. But he had a lion cub pressed against him.

“Well then,” Jaskier declared and looked at Lambert who had a new scratch on his cheek. “We have a guest.”

Ciri, it turned out, had escaped when shifter trophy hunters attacked her home. She had no one to turn to, couldn’t trust anyone. All she knew was that Jaskier was a famous and respected shifter who lived with other shifters so the world near him was probably safe.

There were no questions, the wolves were already protective of Ciri and, given that she had nowhere to go, she could stay with them at least until the authorities found survivors from her family. And if they didn’t....they’d all been there, when the world didn’t want them. Their family had room for a cub.

“You’re going to need to protect yourself,” Vesemir said. “And your best defense is to scare enemy off most of the time. So, lets hear you roar.”

Ciri shifted and looked up at Vesemir. Her nose scrunched up into a teeth baring growl. Jaw opening, a croaking yowl burst from her throat rather than a fierce roar. Lambert fell onto his backside laughing.

The chagrined and embarrassed look Ciri gave him had Eskel suppressing his on smile. “It’s not like he was any better with his first howl. More like a rasping yapping mess.”

“True,” Geralt chipped in, Jaskier curled up on his lap in fox form. “He was hopeless. Remember him in Vesemir’s arms?”

Pouting, Lambert crossed his arms and looked away. He had a better idea and shifted, throwing his head back and letting out a full howl. It was a bad idea because Eskel joined him, deep and long, nose pointed up. Jaskier ended up on the floor when Geralt shifted too and howled.

“They show off now,” Vesemir said to Ciri, “but you didn’t see them as pups. Eskel could whine with his mouth open before croaking up.” At the mention, Eskel tucked his nose under his tail as he curled up into a ball. “And Geralt, well, he had his head up so high, he toppled onto his back.”

Suitably embarrassed, Geralt whined and turned to Jaskier for comfort. However, he was ignored in favour of Jaskier holding his head high and chuffing out a few proud screams.

Sighing, Vesemir shook his head. “We have plenty of time to practice. Maybe when this lot don’t feel like showing off.”

Who was he kidding though? That was never a potential outcome. Ciri had a steep learning curve ahead of her but Vesemir suspected she would fit in just fine.

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #lambert #vesemir #eskel #witcher wolf pack #shifter au #tldr: there's a new cub in town

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

lucky accidents

pairing: geralt/jaskier

fandom: the witcher (tv)

rating: teen and up

word count: 2408

warning: swearing, alcohol

summary: Jaskier's dog runs away. He might have to sneak into a random house to get her. Needless to say, it's going to be an interesting night. (modern au, teacher jaskier, single dad geralt)

(a ridiculous meet-cute(slash ugly??) and geraskier being chaotic as a very late birthday present for the queen Sabrina / @poirot my love!!! really really hope you like this fic babeee 💖 and thank you my ride or die Cat / @inafaithforgotten for beta reading for me, saved my ass once more MWAH 💕✨ enjoy!!)

read on ao3

Out of all the ridiculously stupid and awfully humiliating things Jaskier’s done in his life, this has got to take the cake.

Granted it isn’t completely his fault. Promise.

It’s rather Buttercup’s fault, his darling beloved cocker spaniel, who’s decided to pay a visit to a random house’s garden, and house, right in the middle of their perfectly fine 2am walk, thank you very much.

Curse her loveable face. He supposes she gets her curiosity and recklessness from himself, really.

And in the end, what can Jaskier do other than try to find a way in?

It’s taken him three months to get her rid of that habit of eating just about everything dropped on the floor (his local vet probably hates him), so he’d be damned if he’s gonna lose his baby to a stranger.

Maybe he’s way past sleep deprived right now. Maybe he’s had a couple of rums in his coffee. Maybe he has no fucking idea what he’s doing.

But, oh, what a perfect time for an adventure!

Okay, if he was in his right state of mind at this point, he’d probably stopped in his tracks and realised there’s a perfectly sensible way of solving this problem, involving a fucking door bell.

Alas, as mentioned earlier, embarrassing.

Whether it’s the daunting scenario of disturbing someone’s beauty sleep or the judgement a stranger might lay upon him from having a dog who doesn’t listen to him that scares him the most, Jaskier isn’t really sure.

So, here he is.

It took a little less than an hour for him to decide his plan of action, after about ten minutes of frantic searching, ten minutes of dawning realisation, and the rest a frantic panic staring at the god forsaken house.

Ultimately, Jaskier climbs over what he assumes is the gate to the backyard. Remember, definitely not sober right now.

It’s moments like these that leave him wondering how he ever landed his teaching job, but he prays to whatever gods might be up there that this doesn’t end up with him losing it. He’s too fucking passionate about that school and those kids to let it go.

But fuck! He wants his dog back!

Jaskier lands in the backyard, right to his assumption, and well, now that he’s officially trespassing on private property, he can’t really chicken out.

Luckily, a window is propped open for his convenience. It’s an extremely hot summer night, as the last two weeks proved, so he’s in no way surprised.

And a plastic chair and table-set to jump from, wonderful!

Don’t think about the illegality of all this too much. Jaskier’s trying his best.

At least, he proves that to himself climbing in, surprising himself in how quiet he can be. Even dodging a potted plant on the window sill, he sets his foot on wooden floor, huh, those years of ballet did pay off after all.

And, yes, he took his shoes off beforehand, duh, he’s not an idiot.

But soon enough, well… uh, let’s say that’s as far as Jaskier’s plan went. Now he’s officially breaking into a home , and he’s standing as if glued in place, staring at the living room that looks stuck in a forgotten century.

Focus!

He ponders on calling her name, or rather, whispering, but Buttercup’s familiar, frantic running footsteps get ahead of him.

“Buttercup!” he whispers, willing his voice as stern as possible for the troublemaker, “Come on, girl!”

Shakes are heard, more padding of feet, and his baby comes running along from what looks like the kitchen. He’s, like, 50% sure, it’s dark and the rum is making the world a little crooked.

Thank heavens she hasn’t broken anything.

And thank heavens he’s in time to shush her before the inevitable bark comes. She looks so clueless, but so happy with her big twinkling eyes, it’s a bit annoying.

She’s in deep, deep trouble for this. Can’t get out of this that easy. Nope.

Jaskier’s gonna scold her anyway, but right now, relief washes over him more than anything else. Entry succeeded, goal obtained, now it’s time for his exit.

To be honest, not really something he planned, either. But surely the way in works the other way around too, right?

See, that’s the funny thing, because it’s not his happy pup smashing anything in her spontaneous adventure, no, it’s when he heads back for the window the crash happens. Or, well, he thinks it’s the way for the window, the general direction at least, but Jaskier’s hip meets with a table, and he’s pretty sure a lamp’s involved in the fall.

That really hurt, thanks for asking.

But instead of fleeing the scene even faster, like any sensible person would do, he’s frozen half-standing, half-leaning against the windowsill, as light switches on in a room down the hall, and a voice calls, “Dad?”

Shit . Why is Jaskier drunk doing this? Why is he doing this at all?

Buttercup tilts her head at him and he’s none the wiser. He really does try to move, but then she’s running off again and he can’t even get to chase after her before a high pitched scream meets his eardrums.

He’s caught.

Yep, he’s so caught, because he’s an idiot who didn’t jump out the window when he should, and soon enough he’s being hit over the head with a slipper. Best night ever.

Jaskier becomes a bit of a flailing mess of limbs, attempting to dodge without much success while Buttercup starts barking excitedly somewhere in the other room. He even throws out a couple of “Ow!”s, because, seriously, that slipper hurts, what the fuck?

He can’t exactly blame his attacker, of course. In fact, very much the reaction he’d have himself. Still, he’s rather glad the hits come to a halt when the room is suddenly illuminated, the lamp he pushed over staring at him in offense.

The gruff voice from the hallway surprises him, when it says, “Princess?”

However, he’s a little more than shocked right now, because once Jaskier blinks himself to clear vision, he sees a young girl in front of him he in no way expected to meet today. Tonight. Whatever.

Ciri, one of his students, is clutching a blue slipper, used as a weapon only seconds ago, to her chest while staring at him with teacup wide eyes.

Well, this just got a hell of a lot more embarrassing.

And when Jaskier averts his eyes from the blonde girl, a giant blonde man who he can only assume is Ciri’s father, with arms that he’s pretty sure could snap him in half like a twig, is staring with a similar shocked expression, face twisted to a frown.

Why, oh, why in the name of all that is sacred and good, is the first thought jumping into Jaskier’s mind how he’d let those arms do all sorts of things to him.

You absolute goddamn clown. His brain’s too busy scolding him to say anything, but turns out he doesn’t need to since his pup jumps his student happily, because she doesn’t understand the situation at all and just found new friends in her post-midnight scavenger hunt.

He thinks he might’ve hit a new low at this point.

However, Ciri frees him of her father’s scrutinizing eyes for a minute, as she giggles in excitement, and now looks up at Jaskier with such a huge grin her cheeks are bound to hurt, “Mr. Jaskier!”

Okay. Okay, out of all the homes he could’ve possibly intruded in, this definitely isn’t a worse case scenario. Luck, maybe?

Not that he feels particularly lucky looking back at the man watching the scene, looking rather, uh, furious, which is understandable.

“You know this man?” he questions his daughter before Jaskier even gets time to consider his options, and the young girl looks back with an eager nod.

He himself is pretty much frozen in place.

Kind of fearing the brick wall of a man will murder him on the spot if he even moves an inch. Practically already killing him with his eyes only. Embarrassingly enough, he finds that even more attractive. Think with your head , idiot.

Meanwhile, Ciri’s face is painted with brief confusion, “My music teacher, dad! Didn’t you listen when I told you? Mr. Jaskier’s classes are my favorite.”

The girl seats herself on the floor and scratches Buttercup behind the ears, who seems to finally have used up all her energy for the day.

Ciri maintains her excitement, though, while looking painfully disappointed at her father. The man instantly reacts, it seems, because the glare vanishes into thin air, his stance less volatile, his expression almost… soft?

That word doesn’t exactly fit the blonde man, but it makes Jaskier feel a lot of ways. Man, is he drunk or just horny at this point?

“Of course I did.” his student’s father tells her, still eyeing him warily while apologising, “That doesn’t explain what your teacher is doing in our house, princess. At night.”

Jaskier wants to fucking die.

He tries to stammer something out, it takes, uh, a while, only landing on, “My dog.”

The blonde man frowns again.

Ciri still has zero judgement in her eyes, God bless her, and he laughs nervously in the attempt to elaborate, “Buttercup here, she, uh, ran away from me. In here. Didn’t wanna wake ya. Sorry.”

And Jaskier shakes his head at himself like it’s second nature. Well, sort of is. If you knew all the stupid shit he accidently gets himself into, you wouldn’t be surprised.

Luckily, his (favorite) student just giggles when Buttercup licks her hand, and her father seems degrees less inclined to call the cops, so that’s good. Ciri even asks him if she can give the pup a treat, and Jaskier can’t exactly say no to that, can he?

Buttercup’s clearly in love with her now, it’s adorable.

Which is why it makes him feel like a bit of an asshole when he clears his throat and tells the duo it’s probably time for him to make his exit. Ciri’s heart might as well have just shattered in pieces in front of him.

But he’s just still pretty terrified of her father’s rather menacing figure. Note to self to not be present at that parent-teacher conference.

The eye candy, though.

Focus on not getting arrested, Jaskier!

Ultimately, she looks to her dad and stands up hesitantly, her and the pup looking at each other like they’re being torn apart for eternity, and then directs her pleading eyes back to him, “Could I walk her sometime, Mr. Jaskier? Please ?”

His student drags out the word almost to the point where she loses her breath, and Jaskier can’t help his chuckle. Thankfully, her dad gives him a look of approval.

“Sure thing, kid.”

In return, he gets his second scare of the day when Ciri screeches again, only for a few seconds when she probably remembers it’s the dead of the night, and jumps for a hug. Bless her heart, but he can’t help still feeling utterly embarrassed.

Jaskier pats her back before she lets go and her father ushers her to her room, and the yell “Goodnight!” is way too endearing, although it was most likely more directed to his pup than himself, fair enough.

Well, then. He finds himself standing around awkwardly, nervously still not moving until said giant of a man crosses his arms and gets Jaskier out of his own head.

“Ah, well, that’ll be my leave then.” he says, looking everywhere else than the person in front of him, scratching his neck.

It’s almost obvious he’s getting a cold shoulder until the deep voice speaks again, “Make sure to use the door this time.”

Yup, he deserves that.

To be honest, Jaskier can’t quite believe he’s… uh, survived this. Better not jinx it, though.

“I, sir, uh,” he starts, holding out a hand for Buttercup to follow along, “I cannot stress how sorry I am for this. Seriously. If you tell my superiors about this, I’ll understand, uhm, I guess I just want to let you know I thoroughly enjoyed teaching your daughter.”

And the blonde is frighteningly silent once more, though he lifts one eyebrow, whatever the hell that means.

At last, a sigh.

“Well, I hope you’ll continue.” are the words coming next, shocking enough, Jaskier almost thinks he’s sound-hallucinating, or something, “Apology accepted. Nobody’s hurt, and Cirilla seems to like you quite a lot.”

He honestly can’t help but smile, in relief more than anything else. Buttercup barks once, and the man glances down. “And your dog, too.”

Is- is that a smile? Jaskier can’t really tell, because it looks oddly out of place with, well, everything else about him. Not that he doesn’t like what he’s seeing.

The not-so-scary-anymore man even opens the door for him, gosh, he does like his men with good manners!

Maybe, possibly, he really needs to sober up. Or eat something, now that he thinks about it.

“Then, adieu!” he offers with a little flourish of his hand, but while the pup’s already running eagerly out into the rose bushes, the blonde man stops him in his tracks with, “I suppose you’d like my number.”

There’s that familiar awkwardness again! Jaskier realises this when all he can do is gape like a moron, but honestly, those might be the most surprising out of this whole evening. That says a lot.

He finds himself stammering, “Uhm, uh, pardon?”

The giant’s already writing it down on a fucking post-it note. “So you don’t have to use the window when Ciri’s going to walk her new friend over there.”

Jaskier blinks, “Ah!” Of course, what else? He’s bordering on a thin line to delusion, truly, “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” he repeats back, and Jaskier pockets the note hilariously quickly himself.

Good, good, don’t humiliate yourself even more now. He guesses he can be thankful he’s just sober enough to not try one of those… horrendous pick-up lines of his.

Guess the eye candy will be enough.

He gives the blonde a nod at last, taking his final leave after a way too strange night, but not before the man forms that almost-smile, pretty sure it’s a smile, again (good God, did he just check out his ass, or has Jaskier officially lost it?) and says, “Name’s Geralt, by the way.”

Jaskier nearly chokes on his own breath.

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vagrantblvrd · 3 years

Text

Modern day spy/assassin AU where former singer/musician/~artiste works in a cozy little coffee shop neatly sandwiched between a bookstore and, idk, a flower shop.

Expected to be one of the hottest new stars coming out of Oxenfurt if it hadn’t been for that scandal with fellow band member and rumored lover Valdo Marx over alleged song theft and so on. Followed by a messy break up - band and personal - and a drawn out legal battle that drained what money Valdo hadn’t stolen from him.

(And a year or so after all that Jaskier doesn’t like to think about too much before he got his feet back under him and a friend mentioned this coffee shop she frequented, and anyway, he’s doing much better now and also somehow ends up owning it himself when its previous owner retires and sells the business to him for like, five bucks, because the power of friendship or something, idk.)

One day on his way home he stumbles over someone half dead in an alley and is like oh, oh, no because the last thing he needs is another scandal attached to his name?

Like.

He’s kept his nose clean for just over six month now, has been playing around with new melodies and bought a new notebook for lyrics and whatnot. Looked into playing at some local places, not really wanting to be a megastar or whatever these days, but he loves music and performing in a little bar somewhere would be nice, you know?

ANYWAY.

Turns out the guy isn’t actually dead, thank goodness but might as well be? Has this medallion around his neck, a cat? Which, okay, whatever he’s seen stranger and he’s getting his phone out to call an ambulance or whatever, crouched next to the guy.

Memory from the CPR course he took in college surfaces in his mind - the instructor was hot and even if Jaskier never got the guy’s number he learned valuable life skills. (And also met Shani and that proved better than getting the guy’s number because she’s one of his best friends and also incredible and anyway.)

Reaches out to check for a pulse, which is when the guy grabs his wrist - surprisingly strong grip for someone who looks like he lost a fight with a freight train - and hsi eyes snap open and they are...extremely striking and not at all normal - cat eyes, to go with the cat medallion and hahaha, oh shit, this is bad, bad news, isn’t it?

The guy tries to threaten him, which. Not as effective when the growl he’s trying for just sounds sad and pathetic, and anyway, there’s something...not fear, no, in his eyes, that has Jaskier forgetting to put the call through for an ambulance.

It’s very close to fear though. Worry? Concern? Something that Jaskier relates to in some incredibly fucked up way.

(The way he felt when Valdo Marx fucked him over and everything he’d built fell apart around him, and anyway, yes.)

He doesn’t even know why, he does, or why he ends up hauling the guy up to his apartment and patches him up best he can with wwhat he has on hand.

Will probably end up being murdered by the guy the moment he’s on his feet, but eh, that’s a problem for future Jaskier, really.)

Anyway, Aiden - because of course it’s Aiden - is super suspicious of Jaskier and his everything and there is indeed a moment where he pins Jaskier to a wall with a kitchen knife - it was an apartment-warming gift from Shani and Essi and Jaskier’s more worried about it being damaged than Aiden slitting his throat, which just confuses Aiden?

Because what even is Jaskier and his priorities???

But he doesn’t kill Jaskier and the knife gets put back and aside from that little bump in their relationship they actually become friends after that.

Jaskier takes to referring to Aiden as a stray cat whenever one of his friends or whoever asks why he buys more groceries or hurries home after work instead of sticking around to gossip a bit the way he usually does.

Aiden thinks it’s hilarious as opposed to insulting, which is great seeing as how Jaskier’s pretty sure the man’s a hitman or assassin or other similar career?

(Might be the way he mentions past jobs and his dark sense of humor and also the time he could have killed Jaskier if he felt he was a threat? So, yes.)

And Aiden, okay.

Got burned or something to leave him half dead in an alley for just anyone to stumble over and since Jaskier hasn’t made any fuss about him moving out decides he might as well stay where he is for the time being, you know?

He goes and gets a job...somewhere to help with rent and so on. Offers Jaskier enough hints to make it sound like he’s out murderizing people right and left the moment he’s out of the apartment, but then Jaskier sees him helping Triss bring in deliveries out behind the flower shop so he knows Aiden’s been fucking with him on that front and is like, dude, not funny.

(Aiden begs to disagree, but whatever.)

And then!

A month or so after Aiden’s back on his feet Jaskier runs into one of the owners of the bookshop next door?

New management and so on, and oh no, he’s exceedingly hot.

White hair and gold eyes and, sure, he’s not the most talkative guy around? But Jaskier’s cracked tougher nuts or some other way of phrasing it that doesn’t sound like a euphemism.

Also, also, there’s another painfully attractive man working there who is incredibly sweet and has a menace of a goat that they have instead of a bookstore cat?

Which.

Seems like a bad idea since Jaskier often hears about how Lil Bleater nibbles on the books if someone isn’t watching her and anyway, it means he gets to listen to Eskel lament about her latest misadventures while Geralt stands there and tries not to let on how amused he is by both the bookstoer goat and her owner and Jaskier is like shit, because Geralt and Eskel are so, so hot and he’s only human and Aiden, Aiden, do not laugh at his pain, you utter bastard of a man.

ANYWAY.

Shenanigans in which Geralt and Eskel think Jaskier has this insufferable bastard of a former stray cat at home and Jaskier piiiiines like a sad bastard while Aiden laughs and laughs and laughs.

(It should be pointed out that not once in all the time Aiden started working for Triss - and Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert - who Jaskier has heard all about but not yet met - have seen one another even though they spend most of the working day a few hundred feet apart, because Plot Reasons.)

And then!

Some shenanigans in which Geralt or Eskel - who are totally spies who are using their cozy little bookshop as a cover - get tangled up in trouble and Jaskier stumbles on them with this incredible sense of deja vu.

He drags them into the coffee shop to patch them up, and he forgets to lock the front door, which is convenient because then Aiden wanders in hoping for a free coffee?

(Power of ~friendship, and also roommates, and yes.)

Jaskier is kind of covered in blood - Geralt and Eskel’s - and Aiden is immediately in Assassin!Mode because he’s fond of Jaskier, right, owes him his life and such.

But also, Geralt and Eskel who have also had their oh, oh no he’s hot moment when it comes to Jaskier are likewise fond of him - and working up the nerve to ask him for a date, but that’s neither here nor there - go into Spy!Mode and there’s an honestly kind of terrifying, kind of sad stand-off.

Jaskier is in Adrenaline!Mode because fuck his life, of course Geralt and Eskel can’t just be incredibly hot bookstore owners and is like “If you fuck up my coffee shop I will not be happy, and also please consider my delicate sensibilities,”

Which manages to stop whatever fight was about to break out and he essentially does the Chris Pratt with the raptors thing, only with a couple of spies and his assassin roommate.

Pretends the three of them aren’t throwing menacing looks at one another as he patches Geralt and Eskel up and then is like “Well, that was fun!” because no, no it was not, and his heart is going to burst with all the tension and whatnot in the air. and hahaha, this is fine.

Which of course is when Lambert comes stomping through the front door and there is even more Drama and Angst because his ~forbidden relationship with Assassin!Aiden and heartbreak when it was assumed he’d been killed by his agency a few months back, but wait, he’s still alive???

And idk, just a lot of ridiculous spy movie cliche nonsense in which Jaskier is reluctantly dragged into things because he saved Aiden’s life that one time, and is piiiiining for Geralt and Eskel and of course he gets taken hostage and they have to band together to save him but shenanigans and ~plot twists and so on.

(And then when it seems all is lost Triss and her utterly terrifying girlfriend Yennefer actually save the day because they, too, are spies and Jaskier would honestly like to know if he’s the only normal person he knows or what, because really, what are the odds???)

Whenever the death-defying events and such are over Jaskier does, actually, go on a date with Geralt and Eskel and some smooching happens.

(Technically not their first, because that happened after they saved Jaskier’s life in that oh thank god none of us died moment after all the danger and excitement, but none of them mind, because smooches.)

Lambert and Aiden make fun of the three of them, but gently because they, too, are prime targets for mockery as they also decide to try a proper relationship and not just stolen moments here and there, and anyway, anyway

A year or so down the road Jaskier gets tired of coming home to find the two in compromising situations and is like, why, though, which conveniently happens around the time Geralt and Eskel approach him about moving in with them somewhere and he’s like, well, if he must, like he’s not thrilled about it because he’s kind of gone on the two of them, you know?

So they get this place big enough for the three of them and Lil Bleater and Aiden and Lambert get his old place and it all works out?

Sure, sure, there are a few close moments where Geralt and Eskel’s work puts Jaskier in danger, and that time whoever tried to kill Aiden targets Jaskier and so on?

But he’s like, eh, it happens, because obviously it does.

Which means Geralt and Eskel take it upon themselves to teach him to defend himself - and half the time it ends in smooches and sexytimes because hand-to-hand and being pinned to mats and adjusting his stance while learning how to use firearms and such, you know?

But also Aiden and Lambert teaching Jaskier knives and explosives - “I’m sorry, but one of these things is not like the others,” in regard to Lambert and his explosives, but it’s a ~bonding moment, so whatever.

(Also, also, that time Jaskier was able to defuse a bomb in some highly improbable and ridiculous bit of shenanigans with spy nonsense and Lambert being a smug prick about it for forever afterwards.)

And then Jaskier finds out Geralt has this incredible kid with Yennefer and what the hell is his life that all these people know each other and he doesn’t find out about it until ages afterwards, but anyway.

Ciri is awesome and after her Vesemir comes to meet the guy two of his sons are in love with, and Coen shows up along with other assorted characters I’ve forgotten and anyway, yes???

(Also, also, Yennefer happens to find out about Valdo Marx and she straightens out that mess quietly and efficiently in such a way that Jaskier doesn’t realize it until long after the fact and is like hm, because he didn’t think she particularly liked him, but apparently he was wrong? Which leads to brunch dates with her and Triss and gossiping about the other idiots in their lives and discussing Jaskier giving Ciri music lessons and anyway, yes.)

#witcher nonsense #geraskel #geralt/eskel/jaskier #aiden/lambert #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #stray cat au #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#long post #the witcher

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innaminitus · 4 years

Text

White wolf

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Request: Hello! May I request a Geralt of Rivia smut about prompt 31? Reader is from a good family that is hosting Geralt because they required his services. They have lots of children, including reader, and they are very overbearing parents. She is always obedient in front of them, but cannot stand them, and the handsome brooding Geralt arrives! Thank you!

and

Hi I love your works so so much!! Could you please do a Geralt with thigh riding or cockwarming pls thank you !!! (both from anon)

Warnings: smut, like, really bad plot

Word count: 1982

A/N: i should be studying so i’m writing. who needs to pass these exams anyway?

Gods damn this rain, these puddles and your father, who ordered you to pick up some boletes for supper, as if you didn’t have servants to do such things. You’ve only found three before it started to rain like hell, not leaving a single dry string on you and blurring your sight. Your shoes were also wet within seconds, getting sucked by slimy mud. The sky was suddenly dark and it definitely was going to get worse than just this rain. The storm was coming and you were far from home. Great.

You walked through the forest, barely seeing anything, with water flowing to your eyes and hair sticking to your forehead. You were either going to freeze to death or drown in that rain. Or get lost completely and get eaten by wolves. That was the least optimistic option and you very much hoped you would not meet any wolf on your way back.

You almost thought that your situation wasn’t hopeless until you slipped on the mud and fell on the ground, hitting your leg hard on the rock. You cried, turning on the ground and grasping the leg. You got nauseous when you saw blood dripping through your fingers.

“Gods help me…”

Did wolves smell blood? You hoped they did not, because in that case you were dead.

You heard some noise through the noise of the rain and with heavy breath and raging heart waited for something to show up. You tried to stand up and held the nearby tree. Your leg hurt awfully, the heat of the blood and wound was the only thing keeping you from freezing.

What you saw was a horse and a big figure riding it; the rain created a halo around white hair. He jumped off the horse and walked to you. From up close he wasn’t so scary.

“Are you alright?” He asked, narrowing his eyes to see better.

“Yeah, I’m fine, don’t mind me. I often hug trees in the rain with bleeding leg.”

You could swear you saw a smile on his face.

“Well then, I shall go away. I wish you pleasant day.” He turned away and wanted to walk back to his horse.

“Oh, for gods’ sake, wait!” You tried to approach him but almost fell. The mud was very efficiently making it even harder for you to walk. He turned to you with raised eyebrow. “Will you help me?”

You realized it was probably unwise to ask a stranger to help you, but your situation was not the best and you really didn’t see yourself spending the night in the forest.

“I will,” he laughed and with one move picked you up and almost threw on the horse, which made a funny sound at the sudden weight. He jumped behind you and pleasant warmth surrounded your back. “Where should we ride?”

“Mayor’s house. I’m his daughter. I’m Y/N, by the way.” He moved the rein and the horse moved. “Will you tell me your name?”

His chest against your back was very nice indeed, and you were quite satisfied to be leaning on him.

“Geralt.”

“Wait, like the Witcher?” You tried to look at him, but in this position it was hard to do.

“Exactly like the Witcher,” he said and you could hear amusement in his voice.

“Oh, wow. The white wolf himself, rescues a girl from the mud and rain.” You nodded. “I should probably shut up before you push me off this horse.”

He only laughed again. So you’ve met a wolf, after all.

The ride was shorter than you expected and when you reached your home your father run outside to meet you.

“What happened?! What did you think, going out in such weather?!” He helped you to get off the horse. You didn’t say anything about it being his stupid idea. “Thank you, good sir,” he said to Geralt when you stood on the ground. Well, almost, because the leg was hurting like hell and you could barely stand straight. “This girl… Always causes trouble! And you, sir, must stay for the night! There is no need for you to stay in the inn.”

Geralt nodded and got off the horse as well.

“Oy! Boy!” Your father shouted to one of the men taking care of the horses. “Feed the horse and take care of it!” He completely forgot about you and grabbed Geralt’s arm to drag him inside the house. You limped behind them, imagining your sight could kill and piercing you father’s dad with it. “My wife you see, makes the absolute best pork ribs…”

When Geralt was dry and in a well lit room, you could clearly see how handsome he was. He didn’t talk much, but everything he said was witty, as if there was a lot of things going around in his head, but he wasn’t eager to express any of them.

You were quick to grow fond of him, especially in his deep voice and smirk he showed from time to time. Oh, and his amber eyes. And the jawline. Well, you liked pretty much everything in him, but who could blame you? He was the most handsome men you’ve ever met and you were sure that under his clothes he was even more impressive.

Your sister was bandaging your leg when he and the rest of your family were finishing dinner.

“So he’s the famous Butcher of Blaviken?” She asked, trying very hard not to look at him.

He could butcher my pussy if he wanted to.

“He is.” You nodded. “I was lucky he found me.”

“I hope we won’t have any distress because of it.”

“This girl, she’s the eldest, you see, but she doesn’t want to get married!” You overheard your father and rolled your eyes. “One would think that’s what woman is made for, to get married and bear children, but no!”

“I know many powerful women who are more than fine without a man,” Geralt said calmly and you felt a warm feeling towards him.

“She’s obedient child, I tell you, but a difficult one,” your father kept speaking as if he didn’t hear the Witcher. “I say she needs a man with a heavy hand to keep her in her place.”

Geralt murmured something and got up, saying something about leaving in the morning. He walked past you and sent you a ghost of a smile before climbing up the stairs in the direction of the bedroom your mother prepared for him. A little further than the bedrooms of you and your family, “just in case if he brings trouble”.

You couldn’t sleep that night, the thought of the handsome man was more than enough to keep you awake. Awake and horny when you started to wonder about how his hands would feel on your body, how his fingers would pull your hair to give him access to your neck…

You weren’t sure where you found the courage to leave your room, but there you were, walking careful to not stand on your wounded leg for too long, walking down and up the stairs to reach Geralt’s bedroom in the attic. You knocked silently, but got no response, so you opened the door and slipped inside. It was complete darkness, only a small window was letting the moonlight in.

The Witcher was sleeping, with one hand behind his head, and, to your delight, with no shirt. He wasn’t covered with blanket, the night was really warm. You walked to him.

“Geralt,” you whispered.

“What?” His eyes were still closed, but he must’ve been awake from the moment you walked into his room.

“I came to say thank you.”

“This is odd hour to do so.”

“It’s not, you’ll see.”

You were either really stupid, or really confident, because you climbed on top of him. Probably the first one.

He opened his eyes in an instant, but wasn’t surprised nor angry at your actions. He just slowly moved his hands to your thighs, crumpling your nightgown in his fingers.

“How’s your leg?” He asked, slowly rolling the fabric to reach your bare skin.

“Hurts like hell,” you sighed when he got to the hem of your dress and gently caressed the skin under it.

“Then you better be careful with it.”

“I will.”

You leaned in the same moment as he rose, your lips met somewhere in the middle. You cupped his face and deepened the kiss, shivering at the sensation of his warm skin against yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth just when his fingers travelled up your thigh. He groaned when he found out you had no underwear on.

He wasn’t going to play. Your nightgown was off within seconds, exposing your naked form in front of him, one of his hands touched your hardening nipple, making you sigh and kiss him even more passionately. He moved slightly, you were now sitting on his thigh, almost dripping onto it from the excitement you felt.

His hands slid to your hips, he forced you to grind onto him. A soft moan escaped your lips at the feeling, he swallowed it with his, kissing you fiercely. He was guiding you as you rode his thigh, electricity was rushing through your veins, destroying every sensible thought you’ve had. His leg was completely wet from your juices, only making you grind onto him harder. One of his hands grabbed the side of your neck and pulled you for a kiss, his tongue darted into your mouth, not letting you go even when bits of pleasure started to build into orgasm. Electricity turned into lightning bolts when ecstasy hit you hard and he silenced you with his lips, not letting you make any loud sound that would wake anyone up.

He let you go when you calmed yourself down a bit and with one move turned you, so your back met the mattress. He took of his underwear, freeing his impressive length, hard and dripping for you.

Geralt positioned himself between your legs and thrusted into you rapidly, painfully stretching your walls. He gave you a second or two to adjust and started to move, slowly at first, turning the pain into pleasure. He was pulling almost entirely only to push himself balls deep into your heat, each time making you moan a little louder.

“You have to be quiet,” he said hoarsely, fastening the pace.

You nodded, not being able to form letters into words and wrapped your arms around him, bringing him closer. His chest was almost pressed against yours as he thrusted in you, faster and faster, reaching the point where you simply could not be silent anymore.

At another loud moan he covered your mouth with his hand, leaning to your ear. He didn’t say anything, just bit your earlobe slightly before moving to your neck, leaving wet marks everywhere he could reach.

You moved your hips to his pace, trying not to lose your mind just yet, to make it last longer, as long as possible, but it was too hard when his cock was reaching the best spots, and his abdomen rubbing on your oversensitive clit with each move.

Orgasm hit you once more, this time even harder than before, shattering you whole, turning you into whining mess. He was just behind you, his moves became uncontrollable, he was pounding fiercely into you, biting on your shoulder to not make any sound. Your legs were shaking and hips were moving when you milked him entirely, the warmth of his cum spilling deep inside of you made you shiver even more.

He stayed like this for a moment before he pulled out and lied next to you on a small bed.

“So,” you were breathing so heavy it came out as a sigh “thank you for your help.”

“You are very much welcome.”

___

tag lists:

💞: @taylorswiftloverforever13 @thomasfoockinshelby @kaylig02@daddyloki @it-jinxed-us @themusingsofmany @randomlea @annakohanasworld @theunofficialduke @prismroot-starlight0@deathofmissjackson@tricksterwinchester @villanellevi @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @forgoshsake-watchyourlanguage @grace-barnes-13 @starofthedawn @superconfusedandreadytorumble @glimmerlove9 @emmandhercoffecrisp @dancingunicorn113 @kaylig02 @jesseswartzwelder

🖤 - @winterpoohbear @emmandhercoffecrisp @moonlightreetops @smokahuntis

#geralt x reader #witcher x reader #geralt x reader smut #geralt x y/n #witcher x reader smut #witcher x y/n #geralt x you #geralt x y/n smut #witcher x y/n smut #geralt x you smut #witcher x you smut #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #the witcher imagine #witcher imagine

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slasherwife · 4 years

Note

hey hey hey ✨ how are you? ♥ ️me? new request hihi so i'm good. Why not a fic with either Loki or Geralt where after a long time they meet Reader again, but each thought the other was dead pwease ♥️✨

“My Heart Returns...”

LokixReader

by jena marie

Summary:

Reader and Loki reunite after several years of thinking one another were dead. Warnings: mention of suicide, extreme angst, death, but fluffy ending uWu.

thank you so much for sending in requests @seutarose pLEASEE send in more! i’m so bored haha 😊💜💜🌸🌸

I wrote one for Loki since dis boi has only one fic so here you go!! 💕💕💕💕 it’s kinda itty bitty long (i kinda went crazy XD) but i hope you like it!

It was like an eternity without passion. Without affection, caring for nothing. His eyes, empty. Lips, always open yet never moving. His gaze was the stare of a snake, piercing yet flat— like he stared right through anyone who dare to draw his gaze. Empty as he was, the only person who could ever really make him talk was his dear brother. Thor visited him regularly, which was at the cottage on the beach where Loki and his love were supposed to live, undisturbed and peaceful. He built it before returning to Asgard, where he fought his older sister and escaped with Y/n. She was put in a different ship, but he sent messages about the cottage that they would live in with great joy and compassion.

The first stage of Loki, a troubled, timid, yet calculating boy turned man. The second, overturned with greed and envy, pushed to torture and murder and take. Then the third. It was born out of an image that Y/n had saw in him. As she described him, he was nothing short of an angel, composed out of pure light. Because what Loki let her see, he never revealed to others. He was only ever kind to her, only ever a gentleman to her. Only ever himself with her. Vulnerable. He saw what she was— something innocent, capable, maybe naive, but could see nothing but love and kindness in every person’s eyes. If anything, she was the angel. Even from her first breath, she was so sweet. He didn’t know where she came from, it was like he was manipulating his family, and betraying his people, and all the sudden this woman with a soul woven from flower-petals and diamonds, and galaxies for bones came into his life and loved him like he was the only thing that mattered. In what world, what universe or dimension is that sensible?

Now she’s buried somewhere. Thanos, tearing through the galaxies and stars came to where she was put, taking care of the old folks and children on a separate ship, and demanded her an answer to every question he asked. He knew about Loki’s lover, since Thor and Frigga couldn’t shut up about her since they found out she was courting the prince of Asgard. They made sure everyone knew, which was of course before Thanos was even heard of within a 20000 light-year radius.

She was cooperative. Not warm, not kind, but cooperative. That was until he asked where Loki was. Her lips were open, ready to answer, but then she closed them.

Five minutes of more refusing silence passed, and she was dead on the floor. Blood pouring from her back as her skin whitened and her eyes paled.

It was something Thor never wanted to tell him, but he found out anyway. No man or woman wants to hear what Loki did that day.

Then Thanos found where Loki was anyway.

All she remembers is waking up in a field of yellow flowers, and being immediately comforted. But if she remembers further, she also recalls hearing a piercing cry, a scream. Loki’s scream in a void of darkness, before opening her eyes against the sun of the tulip field.

Then, waking up in the field. She was on Earth, and she asked everywhere of what had happened to the ship set off for Earth, a few hundred light years away. No one knew. And it never arrived. That only meant one thing. Her love was lost. Without a proper funeral, he was gone.

She stayed on Earth for several months, like a tortured and lost soul, waiting for someone who she couldn’t name.

It was like she could still feel him, feel that he was close. Yet the truth kept punching her in the gut whenever she felt hope.

That was, until she saw him. Thor had come to visit her grave. He reasons that he never brought up your name in his presence, let alone suggest that Loki visit your grave— because when he even spoke of you indirectly, his eyes twist into complete agony. His expression as if someone had lit him on fire. He missed you indefinitely, irrevocably, and so immensely that every second of the day was misery. The only reason he didn’t end his life was because he wanted to stay strong for you, and it was hard.

Thor watched, thinking that he was hallucinating, seeing her grave dug up and her casket empty. He went searching, and found Y/n by a lake, having lost a lot of weight, only fed by berries and grass. Her dress was torn, caked with mud. And yet, her beauty still glowed like the brilliance of a thousand suns.

They embraced, and Thor took her to Loki after she had washed and put on a new dress.

The joy and relief was unexplainable. The flowers in her bones were immortal, ever glowing and ever living.

Loki opened the door to their home he had built with his own hands, and he saw his heart and soul standing in front of him, looking up at him with those e/c eyes, with wonder and love. She broke seeing him, and it was like her body had a mind of its own. She practically threw herself at him, sobbing with her arms wrapped firmly around his neck. He was stunned. In shock. His heart returned to him. Loki saw that the moment they saw each other for the first time in years. He almost went into a panic attack, smelling her scent and feeling her soft hair under his chin. He was hyperventilating, eyes wide, running his hands all over her squeezing her tightly with tears in his eyes. He didn’t know what to do.

He thought he was having another hallucination, and yet couldn’t convince himself. She was iridescent. Years and years and years of pent up despair and loneliness spilled out in that moment. Tears spilled endlessly the first hour, and she clung to him like he was her lifeline.

Once they made their way inside and the tears were gone, they held each other for hours. No words, just touch. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck, and he was wrapped around her in a giant teddy-bear hug. The sun went down and they slept like that.

In the morning, they started to talk. Small things. Simple things. They were confessing their love for one another like there was no tomorrow. And so much touching but a little toned down than the day before. Not sexual in any way, just pure love.

They never looked at each other the same way again. If you thought he looked at her sweetly before the incident, this is nothing compared to that. His eyes fill with nothing but hearts as his eye brows arch and his heartbeat picks up. They’re always touching when around each other. Good luck getting him to focus when she’s around.

They seemed to never leave their cottage. Loki was glad there weren’t any people around, because he wanted her gaze all to himself. They walked along the shore, talking endlessly about anything and everything, laughing, kissing, hugging. They put every love story to shame. They weren’t seen for months, and yet they were so happy with each other that they didn’t care that they were practically shutting everyone else out.

But above all, when Loki heard that Y/n was dead, he died with her. But when he saw her again, it was like his own soul was hiding, buried underneath empty liquor bottles and painkillers. All the torture was washed away, like it never existed.

And now he can talk with passion again. He can care about things. He can think. He can live, laugh, and love with her by his side, forever.

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frywen-bumbles · 3 years

Text

The Way to a Man’s Heart Goes Through His... Cat? Ch5

AO3

Days later Jaskier is still thoroughly embarrassed by accidentally calling Geralt while drunk. He is sure he had picked Essi's number but what is done is done. They haven't talked much after that. The next day Geralt inquired after Roach but since then it's been radio silence and it does not bother Jaskier at all. Geralt must just be busy, that's all. No other reason what so ever.

<that's good. daddy said i shouldn't lie to him any more but he wouldn't like if i told someone mom yelled at him>

<yeah, it's bad to lie to your parents> <but maybe little secrets like this are okay> <no more texting anyone without permission though!>

<yeah, i'm sorry I lied mrJ> <hows the trip going now? i hope you don't have to be alone today like yesterday>

<no, today i got to help uncle A with a new video!> <uncle A came here yesterday and he and uncle L were being gross> <they make the best videos> <but daddy is better than them> <daddy is the best> <even grandpa says so but he told me not to tell uncle L because he would get upset>

<that's very sensible off him>

There's a link to a youtube video Jaskier clicks open without much thought. Except when he sees the channel he has to check to make sure he got it right. He knows this channel, he has watched almost every single video, including the one Fiona just sent him.

Camera zooms into a ginger headed man holding a sword, knee-deep in what looks like a natural pond.

"Oi, did you see it?" the cameraman asks laughing so hard the camera shakes

"Of course, not, you bastard! You were holding me down while it swam past!"

"Do you know what it is?"

"Fucking drowners I bet." the ginger man grumbles and lets out a yell as a blue-skinned monster leaps out of water. "Oi, fuck you, put that camera down and come help me!"

"Eh, you're doing fine! Show me that arse!" the cameraman laughs and the camera shakes.

"Fucking bitch ass cat!"

"I love you too!"

The camera moves to reveal a second blue-skinned monster closer, close enough to reach the camera.

"Oi, cub, catch!"

The camera flies in the air and for a while nothing but sky and leaves are visible. The camera turns back to show the cameraman killing the monster with a sword, a spray of blood flying in the air.

"Still struggling there, love?"

"I killed four while you were a prick killing only one! I'm not cooking for you tonight!"

"Oh, I'm wounded, how will I survive without the love of my life cooking for me?"

The ginger man gives the giggling cameraman the finger, a smile tugging at his lips.

Jaskier doesn't even glance at the comment section where the evergoing debate about the videos is going strong. In Jaskier's opinion it's stupid, no real witcher would post videos like this of their work. It's just two guys having too much time and energy in their hands making the videos look as realistic as possible, probably a combination of CGI and practical effects.

He has to admit, he is slightly hooked. Kittencam69 has been making these videos for a couple of years and while this is no way his favourite video, it's clear it was important to Fiona to be a part of making it.

His favourite videos are probably the ones where the ginger man yells from his window at werewolves. Or the one where they fight a wyvern, the effects of that one were truly gorgeous.

Why would someone spend their talent on something like this is beyond him, but who is he to judge? He still can't believe how anyone thinks the monsters in the videos are real though. He's far more interested if the two men are really dating or if that's just their way of talking to each other. He's 95% certain they are dating.

A text from Yen interrupts his thoughts.

<I'll drop it in an hour>

<oh, thank you, that's very kind of you>

This time around, when Yen comes, Jaskier is wearing trousers.

"Here's your book," Yen greets him and tosses an old book on the kitchen table hard enough Jaskier has to leap to grab it before it slides off the table and drops on Roach who is of course right there.

"Hello, nice to see you, why won't you come in and have some tea?" Jaskier says with a mocking voice and bows, pulling a chair out for her.

"I see you haven't set the house on fire," Yen says as she sits down.

"Please, I'm not that terrible of a cook!" Jaskier exclaims as he puts the kettle on.

"Right, you were eating nothing but instant ramen last time I was here."

"That!" Jaskier points at Yen in mock outrage, "was one day! One unfortunate day I was a mess and you think I live like that?!"

"Of course, I'm never wrong." Yen smiles sharp and Jaskier can't help the cold shivers running down his back.

"You're terrible, that's what you are..." he mumbles as he digs out mugs from the cabinet. "So what this book then?" Jaskier takes the book he'd put the cover down on the table and almost drops it. 'Fifty Years of Poetry' stares at him from the cover of the book.

"Oh, just something I had lying around, you know," Yen drawls in what Jaskier is quite certain is mock indifference. He squints his eyes at her in suspicion.

"So you're telling me you had one of the most sought after books in the academic world just 'lying around' and decided to give it to some random uni student?"

"Please, don't think I'm doing this for you." Yen waves him off, "You're an idiot."

"Why, thank you for the compliment, ma'am." Jaskier bows again. "Do you want the pink or the white mug?"

They settle down on the table, cups of tea and some biscuits Jaskier got after last time Yen visited.

"I- ah- had some questions about Geralt." Jaskier admits shyly as he puts the 'Fifty Years of Poetry' safe away from the table. He wouldn't want to ruin a book that valuable by accidentally spilling something on it.

"Hm, what did he do?"

"Oh, no nothing! It's nothing like that. I was just- maybe if you could- you don't have to of course-"

"Just spit it out, Julian," Yen interrupts him, sounding both put-out and bored, a feat Jaskier can only hope to master.

"Maybeyouwouldknowifhe'sseeinganyoneorsomething..." Jaskier manages to mumble out, which makes Yen burst out laughing.

"Oh, gods, I thought this was something serious, you had me for a moment there." Yen falls into a fit of giggles Jaskier is sure is aimed at him. Or perhaps at the thought of Geralt seeing anyone but the way Yen thrills at his discomfort tells him it's the former.

Of course, the hot cat dad is not single, who is he even kidding. He should probably just think about the book he got. And his thesis. And definitely, not the hot cat dad whose bed he's been sleeping in for the past month.

He is doomed.

***

It's high time to do something about the vegetable garden.

Or literally anything to avoid his thesis, if Jaskier is completely honest with himself.

Roach is chasing something in the bushes and Jaskier is happier not knowing what unfortunate small animal will face its maker. He stares at the vegetable garden which at this point seems to be about 50-50 vegetables and weeds. At least the plants are alive.

"I should have done this several times already, right, Roachie?" Jaskier asks the cat who emerges from the bushes covered in leaves and dirt. She gives him a wide berth and digs a hole at the other end of the patch.

"I swear to gods, Roach, if I find cat poop when I'm weeding this thing you will not get out for a week, do you hear me?"

Roach does not listen to him. Of course, she doesn't. She covers the hole she made and runs back into the bushes.

"That's disgusting, Roach. You have a perfectly fine litter box inside why would you do that to me?"

Roach doesn't answer. In fact, Jaskier is quite certain she's not listening to him at all, far more interested in whatever is the bushes.

A large lock on the door of the shed stops his gardening endeavours quite efficiently. He tries in vain to find the key somewhere close by but has to give up after a while.

"Okay, so if I were a key where would I be?" Jaskier rummages through the kitchen and the living room, only finding a stash of cat toys under the sofa.

"Oi, what are you so happy about? I know it was you who hid them there!" Jaskier cries at Roach who jumps in the middle of the pile startling him.

His search leads him into the study, Roach hot on his heels. She jumps on top of the bookshelf and Jaskier finds himself marvelling yet again how effortless Roach makes the almost two and a half metre jump look like.

"Hey, Roachie, came in to check what I'm up to?" Jaskier asks as he tries to open the top drawer of the desk. "Aaah, shite, why I never remember which side is locked..." he mumbles as he moves to the other end of the massive desk and opens the top drawer on that side.

All he finds is stationary in an amazing array of boring and practical to colourful and silly. He suspects the likes of the pink glitter pens with pompoms at the top are the results of Fiona getting to decide what to get.

He moves to the bookshelf next, more out of boredom than any real thought about finding the key. The books all look incredibly boring, ranging from computer science to physics and the sort. Nothing that would catch Jaskier's eye.

He takes one book out in random and opens it to leaf it through if to do nothing else at least he gets to avoid writing his thesis. But what greets him in the pages makes him almost drop the book entirely.

Monsters.

Pages after pages about monsters. Detailed drawings, stories, myths, facts. Anything in between.

Jaskier feels his fingers turn numb from the sheer shock. He looks at the bookshelf again and pulls another book, then another and another.

Monsters. Potions. Magic. Elder races. It's all there. Jaskier can't even comprehend the sheer volume of knowledge that has been at his grasp for over a month without him knowing anything about it and it makes his head spin. He needs... he needs to read everything.

The bling of his phone brings him back from his frantic search for more and more books.

Jaskier stares at his phone, panic rising in his throat. He's... well him? Not some sort of accomplished tutor Fiona's mother is surely expecting.

Just as he presses send he hears the front door open.

"Julian? Are you here?"

Oh shit. Oh. Shit.

He's so screwed.

<now>

"Yen? I'm upstairs, I'll be right there!" he shouts. He's so screwed. Yen, of all people, is Fiona's mother.

She is going to kill him.

Another surge of panic hits him. He asked Yen if Geralt was single! She's his... wife? ex? An old flame? Whatever she is, that is not someone to ask something like that.

"Julian? What are you doing- oh! You found Geralt's books."

"I'm sorry...!" Jaskier whispers, suddenly terrified of the woman in the doorway. "I didn't mean to snoop, I swear, I was only looking for a key to the shed to find some gardening tools, I never meant-!"

Yen silences him with a dismissive gesture with her hand, "I don't care about the books. If he's stupid enough to leave them for you to find it's not my problem. What I came here for was to talk about Fiona. Care to offer me some tea?"

"Tea? Um, yeah sure... tea coming right away..." he feels like he avoided death.

"Sooo, I'm finally face to face with the famous Mr J." Yen says when she has a steaming mug of tea in front of her.

Jaskier slumps on a chair opposite of her and buries his face in his hands.

"Please, don't murder me, I didn't know you were her mother..." he mumbles from between her fingers, wailing up in his misery almost far enough he doesn't hear Yen snort.

"Please, I wouldn't murder you for that. For something else though..."

"Please, don't murder me for any reason," Jaskier begs, not lifting his face from his hands.

"Don't worry, you're way too unimportant to be murdered." Yen pats his arm.

"Why am I relieved to hear that?" Jaskier moans and finally uncovers his face to look at Yen. "So, you presumably wanted to talk about Fiona before you murder me?"

"True. She has her final tests coming up before summer and she's fallen way more behind than I thought."

"Wait, wait, I thought you didn't want to murder me?" Jaskier squeaks. Yen gives him a terrifying smile.

"Like I was saying. She has fallen behind on her studies. And I need you to tutor her, properly this time, not just helping with her homework. I will pay you of course. And a bonus if I feel she did well enough in her tests."

"Pay me?" Jaskier asks, suddenly way more interested. He could, in theory, save the extra money towards a deposit for a place for his own, which he'll need soon if some other gig doesn't come up during the next few weeks.

"I'll give you double what Geralt is paying you. Tripple if Fiona's grades are good enough."

The biscuit Jaskier was eating drops from his mouth.

"Ah, shite, fuck!" he tries desperately to stop the crumbs from spreading everywhere, failing spectacularly.

"I'm so glad we have an agreement. I'll see you around, Julian." Yen rises from her chair and before Jaskier has the chance to collect a single thought, she's already gone.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #Yennefer of Vengerberg #cirilla fiona elen riannon #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #frywen writes

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dancedelion · 3 years

Text

Sleep of the Dead (part 1 / 2)

Genre: some humour, angst with a happy ending Summary: Jaskier thinks he hit rock bottom when Geralt flushed twenty years of friendship down the drain, but then he finds himself suddenly translucent and rudely walked through by a traveller. Apparently he's dead - that's certainly a new low. He needs to find out what happened, and who better to help him than the man who's made more than clear he wants nothing to do with him. ao3: Sleep of the Dead

Jaskier is reasonably certain that he is dead. The evidence is staggering: He’s got a killer headache, like from the worst kind of hangover. He’s tired and sleep of the dead sounds very appealing right now. And on top of that, a man just walked through him. So that can’t be good. And he is cold the way people get when nothing is touching them except for freezing air.

(He thought it would feel like relief. He had expected it to be a gorgeous, final, end-of-the-road sort of ending. But it’s only more – more pain, more emptiness, heavier limbs. Relief is further than a daydream away.)

How did this happen? All he remembers is going to sleep and then waking up in the forest. Only he didn’t wake up the way humans do. He blinked and then he was here, on his feet, amidst the tall-standing trees of the forest. He – appeared. Like by teleport. He would suspect it was some prank by a mage who (probably rightfully) has it out for him if it weren’t for being half translucent.

“Fucking great,” Jaskier roars at the vast forest, trying to make his voice big enough to fill the space so it can reach whatever deity is listening. “Yes, thank you! What more could we do to Jaskier after we fucked up his life and turned everything to horseshit? Oh, yes, I have the idea. Why don’t we just take it from him? He can’t have a bad life if he doesn’t have a life at all, is that what you were thinking? Hire another solution-maker, you bastards!”

So. So. So, so, so. All he needs to do is keep his cool, which should be easy, considering he’s bloody freezing. Step one after dying: Figure out your where-abouts. Should be useful to know whether he’s about to be ripped to shreds by hellhounds or worse (like running into that nincompoop from court who thought he could actually play the hurdy-gurdy better than Jaskier and died from slipping in the stables a month later).

Taking stock: Trees. Lots and lots of trees. How to categorize those? Trees more a sign of a friendly atmosphere or eternal damnation? Or are these the naughty trees, sent to be punished in the afterlife? (Can a tree commit a sin? Splurged on sunlight, now off to hell with the greedy thing?) He’ll mark it off as a maybe. What else? He’s standing on a path, which is where that rude wanderer just walked straight through him without even so much as an apology. Next to the path, a horse – woohoo, a clear score for eternal damnation. (What do you think is holding them upright? Their frail spindly legs? No! It’s undeniably the power of Satan.) And – might that lump by the road be a person? Jaskier steps a little closer, leaning over the lump.

Ah. Who else could it be but Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken and Jaskier’s fragile heart himself? There was never any question he would be in Jaskier’s afterlife. But which is it? Exquisite hell or torturous paradise? Right now, Geralt is sleeping, so it could be either option.

(Do you wish your last words to me had been different?)

Jaskier steps around Geralt and focuses on the horse.

“Roach!” he coos. “Oh, I’ve missed you. Sorry for what I just thought about horses. I meant it as a compliment, I swear! My mischievous lady.”

He lifts his hand to pet her head, but his hand glides right through her.

(You are careful with your wishes now.)

And she meekly turns her head, takes no note of him, as if he weren’t here at all. And he isn’t, is he? Maybe this is no illusion, no magic, no unknown adventure. Maybe this is the real Roach and the real Geralt and Jaskier is where he is not wanted once more. Forced to spend forever running after Geralt while he’s invisible to the Witcher. Ha! And Jaskier had thought the afterlife was supposed to be different.

(Those rare moments when you let me touch you, when I could find an adequate excuse.)

He stumbles and leans against the tree next to Geralt’s sleeping body, but he falls right through it. The ground can still hold him, but nothing else. He lets his heavy eyelids drop. Legs stuck in a tree. It’s all just a bad dream.

(Does a song still taste so sweet without the lute and with no ears but his own to hear it?)

Nothing has a presence. You can always tell when it’s close by. Years ago, Jaskier was stupid and starry-eyed. He thought he owned the world, he thought he had the future to fall for. At some point, all that hope and optimism had to make room for… nothing. When he starts to listen and stops believing, his chest hollows out.

(This is just the final step, yes? This is where he was headed. No sense in regrets.)

This is what Geralt always thought of him and his songs, all talk and no substance. Har, har, Geralt, bad bloody joke. He is no substance now, only cold air. Once Geralt wakes up, it will hurt so much more. Jaskier lets out a laboured breath that brings no relief. He liked being alive, he thinks. Even when he hated it.

(Marmalade sandwiches. Gosh, he will miss marmalade sandwiches.)

He can’t feel the ground beneath his back, but panic still readily comes to him. The tears don’t. Dreadfully sorry, no tears available at the moment. Why don’t you ask again in an eternity?

Jaskier stands up again and paces the floor around Geralt. Oh, nobody, I’m sorry, did I step on your feet? No one, may I ask for this dance? Here, have a glass of nothing. This is terrible. Jaskier won’t have anyone to talk to. He doesn’t know any ghosts, he doesn’t know the most popular ghost-social-spots, he doesn’t know ghost-etiquette. Although he could always talk to Geralt. This time, there will be no complaints. And Geralt’s responses have always been a rare commodity.

But the terrifying truth is, Jaskier has only himself for company now. No one to sigh at his antics, no one to suppress a laugh at one of his jokes. And he wants – yes, despite the tiredness weighing him down, he still wants. If he is still here, in a world he doesn’t belong in anymore, if the desperate longing is somehow strong enough to keep him here, then he won’t get to rest.

What a sensible man would do: accept it’s over. Accept his chances are up. Put those silly wants and needs into a clean box – place them there like something precious. And then bury them as deep as he can.

Jaskier has not, by any stretch of the imagination, ever been a sensible man.

He lies down next to Geralt, like in a dream, one of the good ones, and thinks about words.

He doesn’t have matter, but no matter, he doesn’t matter.

He lies and thinks about words that have content. Even nothing has meaning. But not Jaskier. He is just – gone.

is dead air now. Literally dead. A spot of nothing.

thinks about spirits. Don’t lose your spirit. (Don’t be one.)

is as tangible as the songs carried over the lands.

A hole in the world.

When wants, wants everything. wants too much. Of course, turns up empty, the way the greedy do, with their slippery hands.

The leaves rustle, and say: You have lost your grip. We have seen many fall. You are no different, helpless, unbalanced, immobilized. A nestless child.

The wild wind whispers: You are alone.

Lying in a dreamish nightmare, watches as the moon moves across the cloudy sky.

But the tiredness doesn’t leave. It clings to like oil, hanging at every strand of hair, gathering in eye sockets. It does not wash off. Tiredness, paradoxically, does not get tired.

And is tired of wondering. And is tired of regret.

When sleep will not come and stays away, turns on side and watches Geralt. At least has this. There were times when thought would never see Geralt again. But here he is. Still the same way he looked all those years ago when first became intrigued by him. Beautiful white hair, beautiful features, but tense lines on his forehead, even in his sleep. He is not restful either.

Finally, finally, after hours or minutes he rouses. gets up, elated.

“Rise and shine, Geralt! Don’t sleep your life away. Take it from me,” says lightly, and only because knows Geralt can’t hear . But Geralt jerks and rolls away in an instant, making a grab for his sword.

“Wait, can you see me?” asks.

It’s impossible. The man on the road couldn’t. Surely a random peasant won’t be so unfazed by the appearance of a ghost that he just casually strolls through .

“I can,” Geralt says. “And you know what that means?”

“Maybe I’m not quite as dead as previously estimated?”

“It means I’ll know where to aim.” He presses the sword closer.

“Woah, woah,” Jaskier holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Calm down. I know we didn’t part on the best of terms, but surely this is not necessary.”

“You’re not Jaskier.”

“Wha- why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because Jaskier isn’t dead. He wouldn’t dare. He knows I wouldn’t let him touch Roach for weeks if he died on me. You’re a doppler. An imposter. Something.”

Jaskier’s teeth gnash together. He is dead, all out of the blue. He didn’t expect this. He didn’t plan for this. He certainly didn’t choose to show up next to Geralt’s sleeping body. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he’s had a really bad fucking day.

“Go on then!” Jaskier is seething. “Put your sword through me. The only thing you’ll hurt is my feelings.”

Geralt hesitates. How courteous indeed, at least to hesitate before impaling his only friend with a sword. Or. Well. His “we’re not friends”. His “if life could give me one blessing”. His never-friend.

“So prove it,” Geralt says.

“What do you want me to say? What haven’t I put into a song that half the country has heard?”

He was proud of those songs once. Now they’re only painful reminders.

“What was the last thing I said to you?” “Really? That’s what you’re going with? Out of all things you could ask me?”

Geralt’s face twists again, in an agonizingly familiar way. He lowers his sword, but keeps it in his hand.

“Dammit, Jaskier.” “Oh, yes, that’s what you started with. You want me to give you the whole speech? Because, believe me, I have it memorized word for word.”

Geralt looks conflicted, confused, but also like he is trying desperately to hide everything away again. He takes one step toward Jaskier, and Jaskier twitches, not sure if he wants to step backwards or forwards, so he just stays.

“It’s not the sort of thing you forget.” Jaskier shrugs. “There are very, very few things that could have ever made me even look at you again,” he lies, and spreads out his arms. “It’s your lucky day.”

Geralt is still looking at him like he’s seeing a ghost – oops. Jaskier keeps forgetting.

“But you can’t be,” Geralt says, completely stiff. “That would mean that Jaskier –“

He reaches out to grab Jaskier’s wrist, but his hand glides right through it.

“No. No, you’re not him,” Geralt is nearly shouting now. He is clenching his jaw and has to turn around. He has so much presence in the world. He would leave craters, if he were ever gone. Whole cliffs.

Jaskier gives Geralt one more glance. It’s not like he really expected anything. He’s not Geralt’s problem anymore. Jaskier only really stayed because he thought Geralt would never know.

“How about the last words I said to you, then?” Jaskier says, because he knows when he is defeated. Even when it takes him twenty years to realize. “See you around, Geralt.”

He turns around and doesn’t know where to go and goes anyway. It’s colder now. There is no body to drag around, but Jaskier feels heavy. He is walking down a mountain. He can hear something shuffling in the bushes. He is alone and he can never learn from his mistakes because he is addicted to this one, even though it leaves him bleeding every time.

With every step, he feels himself fading a little more. It would take so little to just – “Wait!”

He should keep walking, but disaster smells so sweet.

Geralt is standing in the same spot, like he is frozen, but Jaskier comes back to him.

“What happened to you?” Geralt asks.

“Ah, I was just, you know, enjoying the afterlife and then I thought to myself, I’m gonna fucking haunt your ass.”

Geralt looks so unhappy and somehow, Jaskier regrets waiting for him to wake up even more now.

“I’ve known my share of vengeful spirits,” Geralt says warily.

“Melitele, Geralt, I was kidding. You’re so self-absorbed.” Kind words have grown tired, don’t find their way onto Jaskier’s lips any longer and sleep at the bottom of his stomach instead. “I know this is the last thing you want, but I need a favour.”

And he doesn’t mention that Geralt is possibly the only person who can see him and he doesn’t want to be alone.

Doesn’t mention he has dreamed of Geralt every night and thought of him every day.

Doesn’t mention he would do it all again, even with the heart ache. (He knew what he was signing up for from the start.)

“What do you want?” Geralt presses out.

Jaskier doesn’t want to be just another person who takes from Geralt, who doesn’t know how to stop giving. But he is not asking for protection or shelter or food. He is only a shadow now, in the corner of Geralt’s eye. And he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I want to know how I died. And why.”

Just let me keep you, he does not say. Just for a little bit.

Geralt sheathes his sword. “What do you remember?”

“I was headed home, I think. Maybe.” Jaskier watches Geralt’s face carefully, trying to analyse his expressions, but not quite daring to come to a definitive conclusion, seeing how badly he misread the room – or, well, the open mountain plane - the last time.

He decides to skip the reaction.

“So? Come on. Avenge me or something.”

“Really?” “It’s the least you could do. After what you said to me.”

Geralt grumbles, but he starts to pick up his bags, which Jaskier takes to assume they’re going. Which is good. Geralt will know what to do. Once they know more - (Once Geralt doesn’t feel guilty any longer -)

Roach neighs softly, and even though she might not be able to see him, Jaskier walks toward her, intending to say something.

“Get away from Roach,” Geralt calls immediately, although Jaskier was reasonably sure he hadn’t even been looking in their direction.

Jaskier starts pouting.

“You know what you did,” Geralt says.

“Can’t touch her anyway.”

Jaskier lifts his hands and backs away.

They start walking then, the Witcher and Viscount de Can’t-take-a-hint. Side by side. And it’s almost like it used to be. And it’s almost perfect – if he had a lute, if Geralt weren’t so unnaturally tense next to him, if it weren’t for the overwhelming tiredness seated deep in his bones. But all anyone would see is a lone Witcher wandering by himself. (And it’s true - Jaskier has long since been written out of that story.)

(When a humble bard

graced a ride along with

Geralt of Rivia)

Geralt can’t look. Looking makes real. The sound is bad enough, but can be written off as a memory, an earworm, a voice in a deranged head. (Impossible to touch what he so often flinched away from.) (Impossible to hold what has always flown and flickered.)

(All those sweet, tender things Geralt never wanted.)

Jaskier is safe. Jaskier is somewhere. Jaskier has a pulse and a breath and a fluttering heartbeat.

It’s just him and Roach and a faint hallucination to keep him company. Anything else. Any other option. There are no other options.

(So much to miss when you almost have it.)

(Such a distantly warm feeling in his chest where he was once happy.)

(His worst mistake cuts deeper now.)

Jaskier is at the coast. He is playing in taverns. He is safe from Geralt. Safe.

Geralt is doing what he does. He gets scowled at in the streets. He takes a room.

Lies in a lonely bed.

Safe. Warm. Breathing.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to sleep again. It’s simply rude at this point. After all, it’s not like I can join you.” Closes his eyes, all by himself.

“Have you never heard of ‘no rest for the wicked’?”

Safe. Warm. Breathing.

“So how is the mourning going? Maybe you should start wearing black. Oh, wait.”

Sleep makes it go away, for a little bit. Guilt he doesn’t know how not to feel. Regret, his most cherished companion. His… (safe.)

(He must be.)

Waking to a nightmare. Geralt does what he does. He sharpens his sword.

“Am I just supposed to sit here and watch you make the same hand motion over and over? Not gonna lie, I’m a little starved for entertainment here in ghost-land.”

Geralt lays a book open on the table, for no particular reason at all. At random times, he turns the page.

(Still whole.)

(He must be.)

A monster to hunt, that’s what he does.

“Oh my, finally I can see one of your hunts from the premium seat.”

Geralt talks to himself sometimes.

“It’s a hunt, not a performance.”

“You really haven’t seen yourself, have you?”

A group of rotfiends. Looking dead, rotten flesh hanging off their bodies. Necrophage oil coats Geralt’s sword.

“Geralt! Watch out!”

He twirls around, takes off the head of one that was about to lurch at him. Geralt keeps moving, slicing his way through more, but they get up again, stubbornly hard to kill.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

A shriek, the rotfiend is about to miss him, but right behind him is… Geralt twists his body, ensures the rotfiend doesn’t miss. It manages to scratch his chest before he kills it too.

“Why, by the Gods, did you do that?”

Only one left now. He kills that one too. Does what he does.

“How is your furniture doing? Because I suspect very strongly that you have got more than one screw loose.”

He wipes the blood and oil off his sword and sheathes it.

“Are you a squirrel? No? Then how come you are behaving like such a nutter?”

Geralt starts walking, grits his teeth. He’ll have to tend to the wounds back at the tavern.

“I’m dead! I’m literally dead, gone, pushing daisies, bit the dust. It’s a little late for the sacrifice game, understood?”

He arrives alone, with a rotfiend head for proof. Gets disgusted looks in the tavern.

“What were you even thinking? Melitele forbid Jaskier gets stumbled through by a rotfiend? How will I ever live with myself knowing I let a rotfiend unknowingly touch the same air as my deceased friend? What is wrong with you?”

“I’ve done what you asked,” Geralt says.

The man who hired Geralt slides over a bag of coin. Geralt doesn’t count.

Safe. Warm. Breathing. Somewhere far away from monsters and witchers and a life not suited to humans who are far too fragile, who have lives far too short…

(He has never known a vengeful spirit like…)

On his own, he goes to his room. There is no one to tend to his wounds but himself.

#the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher #geraskier #the witcher fic #geraskier fic

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Text

Thicker Than Water (Part 4)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (here) Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Ao3 link HERE

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He awoke sore and badly rested, tears dried on his face.

Jaskier made it through the next day. He ate a little of the food Ciri offered him, only because when he tried to decline the first time her eyes got large and her bottom lip showed just the barest hint of a tremble. He couldn’t bear it. The dry horse bread that was usual for traveling rations crumbled in his mouth. He was so hungry, it was one of the best things he’d ever tasted.

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to even unsling his lute from his shoulder during their trek. His fingers itched to play, of course. He continued his story for Ciri and in his mind he played music for the background, he just couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t sell his lute in this next town, but before they reached Kaer Morhen he would have to. It would give them money, and he wouldn’t be a burden. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and continued telling Ciri the story.

He noticed a bit before mid day that Geralt was watching him. That wasn’t out of sorts, of course. Yennefer and Ciri were watching him too, he was an excellent storyteller and the tale was enthralling. Geralt didn’t seem to be paying attention to the story though. He was staring-- glowering--brow low and furrowed, at Jaskier.

Jaskier felt hurt lance through him and he almost staggered, avoiding Geralt’s gaze. He knew Geralt didn’t want him along, didn’t want him at all, but he couldn’t even pretend? He couldn’t go back to their relationship before? Not the warm, almost companionable silences that had been nurtured between them, but the grunts and stone faced silence of the beginning of their acquaintance.

Jaskier breathed through the pain in his chest. Twenty years of silences, all kinds of them, stony and friendly and sleepy and painful and quietly nice. But they were back to the beginning, or worse, Geralt angry and Jaskier’s voice filling in places it didn’t belong.

“Jaskier?”

That was Ciri, and Jaskier realized that he’d actually trailed off mid-sentence.

“Sorry little highness,” he smiled and gave a funny little bow. “I’m but a simple entertainer, a poet and a fool, sometimes my mind runs away from me.”

“Fool is right,” Yennefer snorted. It wasn’t totally unkind, but it still stung. It stung even more when Geralt, so taciturn all day, snorted with laughter at her comment. Jaskier felt his ears burn and his chest ache.

“Now, where was I?”

“The king’s son met the North Wind,” Ciri said, matching Jaskier’s steps. “And he has to beat him in a game of wit to gain knowledge of where the sorcerer’s daughter was taken, that’s what you said, but you didn’t tell us what game yet.”

At least someone treasured his words, Jaskier thought. Although they weren’t worth much, he threw one out after the other.

Like garbage, whispered the back of his mind.

“Ah yes,” he said instead. “the North Wind sat before the king’s son, and laid out a chess set made of ice and wind.”

“How can chess pieces be made of wind?”

Jaskier smiled, Ciri asked questions at all the right places. “The North Wind wanders, he goes everywhere, blowing cold breath across The Continent. When the North Wind is present and we breath our breath can be seen.” Jaskier smiled here and added an aside, “My little sister used to call it dragon smoke. But by the same magic that gives the North Wind a body to walk the world, he can take our frozen breath and turn it cold and solid as glass.”

Jaskier let himself tell the story on autopilot. His feet ached. He’d been darning the socks he was wearing for a year or more, but he wasn’t good at it and the lumps were rubbing his toes raw. Worse than that, the soles of his boots were almost worn through. Just one more thing he’d have to buy.

He felt ashamed of himself. His boots had been going thin for a while, and instead of saving his coin and getting them repaired or just buying new ones, he’d drowned himself in drink, feeling sorry. Oh, he hadn’t known he would be making a trip up a mountain, but he needed boots regardless. No wonder Geralt had always been upset with him, he always put pleasure over sense, couldn’t even spend coin sensibly.

Couldn’t darn socks, couldn’t budget his coin, couldn’t shut up. A fool.

He stumbled on a tree root and nearly swore. Couldn’t even walk right. One of the blisters building on his foot had burst, he was sure. It was easy to tell, the pain had gone from a rubbing ache to stinging and warm. Only years of practice and performance kept him from interrupting the story.

Something must have shown on his face though, or his scent changed or whatever because Geralt was staring at him intently. That face, always so unreadable.

Jaskier wasn’t going to give him anything else to scowl about. He kept walking, keeping the story rolling and his voice light. His bones ached. He had to stop for just a moment when a button, long past hanging loosely on his doublet, finally pulled free. He picked it up and the head rush nearly took him to the ground. He’d eaten little, slept poorly, and the only food he’d had in a long time before this was ale. He blinked the grey from his vision, trying not to let the panic show when it didn’t go away as quickly as he’d have liked.

It was okay. It was all going to be okay. They’d make it to the village by nightfall. They wouldn’t sleep there of course but he could get proper food. Maybe even slip away and catch a quick nap in a stable or hayloft or something. His whole body was buzzing with a sort of exhausted energy and his heart was pounding.

Jaskier reflected that he hadn’t been well before meeting up with Geralt and his little family. He’d been sick with drink and heartache and had not enough food then too.

Smile through the pain.

This wasn’t even bad as performances could go. Once he’d actually broken a finger just before a set at Oxenfurt. Simple clumsiness, he’d closed his index finger in a door, but he’d played his whole set, with a perfect score from his professor.

It grew darker, the sun just setting when they reached a field at the edge of the town. It was a large open field and, in warmer months, it was likely home to fairs and large market days. Probably in these rural areas people traveled for a week to bring their goods and livestock to this town. It didn’t matter now, mid autumn settling into late autumn. To Jaskier the town was nameless.

They set up camp in the field. It left them exposed to being seen, but they hid themselves behind a small rise on the edge of the field, blocking them mostly from sight. Still, Geralt seemed on edge. Jaskier wasn’t sure it was about the camp. Geralt kept looking over at him with his eyebrows pressed together. Whenever he did that it formed this little crease right between his brows that Jaskier wanted to kiss away.

Jaskier bit his lip, hard, to focus on anything other than that.

The three of them sat, too tired to talk much more. Jaskier had finished most of the story and decided to leave the rest for the next day they were traveling a lot, to give Ciri something else to think about. She was definitely Calanthe’s blood. They traveled all day and she never complained, but also told them when she needed to stop, advocating for herself in no uncertain terms. It was the princess herself who interrupted his thoughts.

“You said you had a sister, do you have lots of siblings?”

“Not really,” Jaskier said, settling down on the ground and feeling his bones pop. His blisters were definitely bleeding inside his boots too. “Two older brothers, Henrik and Teodor, and I had a younger sister, Lotte.”

“Had?”

“She was sickly, always too small for her age,” Jaskier said quietly. “I learned the lute for her, at first. She liked music and was often bedridden. A fever took her when she was about your age.” Jaskier looked down at his battered boots.

“I’m sorry,” Ciri whispered.

“It’s allright little highness, it’s been almost thirty years now. Time flies.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” Geralt said. It was growly, but Geralt always used that tone.

“You never really asked.”

Dinner was a quiet affair. Jaskier ate the last of the rations in his pack, waving away Ciri’s offerings and showing her his food as proof that he had some. It didn’t really settle the hunger that had been eating him from the inside out all day, but at this point he figured he could eat a mountain and still have room for dessert.

“Tomorrow,” Geralt said gruffly once dinner was cleared away. “We don’t all enter the town as a group. Yen and Ciri go together. I go alone. Jaskier goes alone.”

Jaskier nodded, so did Ciri and Yennefer.

“If we see eachother, act as though we don’t know eachother,” Geralt said, then he turned his gaze on Jaskier. “Don’t attract too much attention.”

Jaskier bristled at getting his own private reprimand. “I’m a bard, Geralt,” he said. “How am I supposed to earn coin if I don’t play.”

Geralt grunted. “I didn’t say don’t play just no... don’t do the whole...” he gestured a vauge hand.

“The whole...me?” Jaskier said sarcastically. He was pulling at the lion’s tail he knew, but he was in pain and tired and hungry and Geralt had no right to be so cruel.

“The whole bright colors, loud and annoying thing. Country bard, not court bard, got it?”

Loud and annoying.

“Got it,” Jaskier said, looking back down at his boots. He didn’t say that none of his clothes could have passed for courtly anymore anyway.

They set about getting ready for bed. Ciri gave him a quick hug before she and Yennefer disappeared into their magical tent. Jaskier sat and pulled off his boots, not letting a single flicker of pain show on his face. He knew Geralt would be able to smell blood, but Geralt had gone to get water from the nearby river. He had to peel his socks off and yes, there was blood there, by now stuck into the threadbare fabric. He let himself wince then. He rinsed off the wounds but he was without bandages, so he just dried off the area and put his other pair of socks on. He only had the two pairs anyway, but at least the blisters would stay dry.

He rolled himself into his bedroll and thought of tomorrow. At least there were no tree roots here.

The next day dawned slowly, instead of bright pinks and oranges it was a kind of runny yellow that just leeched into the sky before fading into early morning blue. Jaskier watched in admiration as Yennefer changed Geralt’s hair to short and dark, and then gave herself brown eyes and a slightly different bone structure. To look at both of them was odd, because Jaskier could see the similarities. Yennefer’s nose was changed and her cheekbones were a little different, but it was still her, and Geralt just looked like a different, although quite handsome, version of himself. Ciri was simply given mousy brown hair and some extra freckles.

Just like that, the perfect and all powerful family looked like two normal people and one witcher who was still clearly a witcher but not the white wolf. Jaskier shouldered his lute. He’d cleaned up the scruff he’d been growing into a more respectable look and with his longer hair and tatty cloak he looked like any poor traveling musician. If he’d traded the lute for a shortbow he could have looked like a woodsman, totally nondescript.

He was entering from a different direction, so as not to arouse suspicion, and so was Geralt. Jaskier began walking around, so that he could enter from the east. Yen and Ciri would walk into town the closest direction, and Geralt was entering from the west. This early, it was unlikely they would have been seen all together.

Jaskier made his way to the eastern edge of the town and walked in, scanning the streets. If this were a farm people would be up and awake long before now, farmers wake well before dawn, but this was a town, and so few people wandered the streets. Shop keepers were just beginning to open up. Jaskier bought a couple pears, slightly overripe but cheaper because of it, off of a fruit seller and had breakfast. He tried to lock into his mind all the shops around so he could find his supplies easiest later.

His mind was resisting him though. In spite of the softer ground, Jaskier had still slept badly last night. His body ached and he wished he could find somewhere warm to lay for an hour or two. Instead he found the well.

As wells should be, this one was right in the center of town. He set down his lute case beside it, tuned his lovely lady, and began to play.

In his very first few months after leaving Oxenfurt he had learned this trick, and used it often. If you get into a town early, play at the well. People get their water first thing in the morning and there you are.

A few young women with yokes and buckets smiled at him and he nodded in return. The day brightened a little further as the sun crept above the buildings and more people came to gather in the town square. They weren’t there to hear Jaskier, not at first, most of them came for water, or to chat with neighbors, or discuss business. Many of them gathered around him though.

Coins clattered into the case. Mostly coppers, but in a little town like this that was quite normal.

“As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed, A sudden strange fancy came into her head. "Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove, I'll 'list as a soldier, and follow my love,” he sang.

“So early next morning she softly arose, And dressed herself up in her dead brother's clothes. She cut her hair close, and she stained her face brown, And went for a soldier to fair Rinde Town.”

Sweet Polly Oliver was one of his favorites, a simple country song about a girl and her lover in wartime. This town was far enough north that with luck Nilfgaard wouldn’t attack, but the anxiety threatened.

Jaskier gave a good performance, perhaps not his best, but he was tired and cold and the flagstones beneath his feet were very hard. He danced about, playing sweet folk songs and jigs and reels, delighting in the people who swept up and danced along. Still, though, he felt his feet bleeding inside his boots. He played from just after dawn until perhaps an hour after noon before bowing away and taking his coin.

He’d done better than he’d expected, but there wasn’t nearly enough coin for all the things he’d need for Kaer Morhen, and extra food to help Geralt and Ciri. He’d buy what he needed now, and they’d stop again in Ard Carraigh before the keep. He’d sell his lute there, it was a large city, and he’d get a good price. The thought still made him ache, though.

It wasn’t just his emotions causing him pain, he realised. The aches he’d been experiencing were in his chest lately, and both physical and emotional. He just needed more rest.

Jaskier slipped through back alleys and bent streets. He’d seen a stable on his way into town. He stepped in quietly, startling a stable hand, no more than a boy, who’d been quietly talking to a horse.

“You’re the bard,” he said. “Saw you in the square jus’ this morning.”

“That’s right,” Jaskier said, bowing a little. “I’m afraid I’ll be moving on this evening and--”

“And you want to have a kip in the stables,” said the boy. “Yeah lots o’ musicians and peddlers do that. Rule is though, I got to get a coin off ‘em first as payment. I’m sorry, but I get a beating if’n I don’t.”

“No worries,” Jaskier said, he’d expected as much. He handed the boy two copper coins. “There’s pay, won’t have you getting beaten for my sake, the second coin is to wake me in two hours.”

The boy gave him a lopsided grin. “You got it sir, thanks.”

Jaskier snuggled up in the hay loft. He’d often done it, it was pretty common, if you couldn’t buy a stay at an inn or especially if you just needed a ‘kip’ as the boy had said, during the day. He’d slept in haystacks once in a while on the road too. They were sort of comfortable and surprisingly warm and, best of all, robbers didn’t get you if you kept yourself mostly under the hay.

The scent of hay and oats and horses lulled him to sleep.

He dreamed about haystacks. For some reason Roach was in the haystack with him. Geralt and Ciri too, even Yennefer. It was a crowded haystack indeed, and it grew smaller and smaller until Jaskier had to leave it and sleep on the ground so that the others weren’t squished.

He awoke to the stable boy nudging him.

“Pardon me mister,” he said. “But it’s been two hours.”

Jaskier thanked him and brushed off his clothes.

The shops were doing a good trade this afternoon and he’d be sure to be a face in the crowd. He bought a small cooking pot and plenty of ground oats and barley for porridge at one shop. They were light to carry and owner packaged them nicely, first in one cheap, cloth drawstring bag, and then in another such bag, but with the drawstring on a different side, so he was unlikely to lose food.

In another stall he bought plenty of nuts, walnuts were cheap here and would keep well. Good for traveling and they had protein. Some dried jerky, dried peas, and dried lentils finished his food shopping, and also most of his coin.

It was three days to Ard Carraigh, another week to trek up to the keep. The food would sustain him for that long, and they’d probably just pool their food to make sure everyone was fed. Still, he wasn’t being a burden, not too much.

He couldn’t afford new boots, gloves, or a cloak right now, but with the last of his coin he bought a new pair of thick, warm socks, a small roll of bandages, and a couple pieces of candied ginger in a little paper twist. He tucked them all away and left the town, disappearing back to the field and their little camp well before the sun set.

Jaskier’s heart sunk to see that he was the last to arrive. Everything was packed up, they couldn’t risk staying in the same place two nights in a row. Geralt grunted at him, but didn’t unleash any thoughts on Jaskier being a burden, so he counted himself lucky.

He hung his head a little at having delayed their parting and trekked after the perfect little family, his pack much heavier than it had been. Ciri slid her hand into his and they walked on in silence. The hand was nice though.

In an odd way, it hurt, too. He wasn’t part of the family, so he didn’t really deserve this, but it was painfully good to have just a taste of being wanted.

What would happen, he wondered, when the winter was over. He was a danger to Geralt and Ciri if Nilfgaard found him. He wasn’t wanted by Geralt at all. Jaskier was reminded once again that it would be so much easier for Geralt to kill him, or for Yennefer to wipe his memory. Maybe he could fake his death to get Nilfgaard of his trail.

“Jaskier?” Ciri asked. “How did you become a bard?”

Jaskier looked down at her, maudlin thoughts interuppted. “Oh, well, it’s not as though you have to register, you just become one. Walking into an inn and saying ‘let me play for you pretty please I need food’ is a good start.”

“No,” Ciri giggled. “I meant, you said you learned the lute for your sister, but you write your own music and stuff too.”

“Oh, well, anyone can write music if they have an instrument and a good enough memory,” Jaskier said. “Indeed, many of the greatest bards had little education at all, I, however, studied at Oxenfurt.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sometimes. It was school, and some parts were dull but I learned much.”

“I heard some of the maids giggling once about a young scholar who’d come to stay with us,” Ciri said, matter of factly. “He was always in the library and was kind of snooty with me when I asked questions, but the maids were saying he certainly had a lot of ‘carnal knowledge’. Did you study that too?”

Jaskier was choking on thin air.

“I, um, no it was more of a hobby,” Jaskier said before his head could catch up with his mouth. “Little Highness, I suspect you weren’t supposed to hear that conversation, and no, I studied the seven liberal arts.”

“So it was about sex, I was never sure,” Ciri said.

Jaskier coughed awkwardly. “Yes, princess.”

“It’s okay, I know about that stuff, Grandmother explained it.”

Jaskier let out a breath, at least he wouldn’t have to be the one to explain anything to her.

“When you went to school were you scared to leave your family?” Ciri asked.

“No, pet, I was excited to go,” he wasn’t about to get into all his trauma with her, she had enough of her own, poor thing. “I couldn’t wait to learn about music and poetry.”

“Grandmother said all poets were silly romantics and dreamers, but I think that sounds nice. Do you have a moose?”

“A what?”

“I read it in a book, a moose, somebody you love and you write about it.”

“Oh, that’s one of the trickier words Ciri, it’s said ‘muse’, and yes, I had one or two.”

“Only one or two? In the book the poet had hundreds,” Ciri sounded almost disappointed.

“I only ever needed one,” Jaskier said quietly. “One that mattered anyway.”

“And your Countess still left you,” Geralt said, rather coldly. He was doing his annoyed face and Jaskier could have kicked himself. He’d been talking too much. The reminder that the Countess de Stael had left him too hurt, but Jaskier wasn’t going to risk Geralt’s ire to say that she wasn’t the muse he was talking about. That was maybe something he should keep to himself.

“Do muses often leave?” Ciri asked, wide eyed. “If somebody was writing me poetry I wouldn’t want to.”

“No, usually the poet does the leaving,” Jaskier said. “After his muse asks him to go. There’s a shelf life on a bard, you know. We only have so many stories and songs before we’re used up and no one wants us around anymore. That’s when we move along.”

“I’ll hear your stories again and again,” Ciri said. “I won’t ask you to go.”

Jaskier’s heart curled up and whimpered inside his chest. He’d have to go sooner or later, he’d have to leave her. Geralt would get sick of him, too sick to bear even for Ciri’s sake. Or Jaskier would just have to leave of his own volition, lest he shovel shit into her life too.

If he could give her life one blessing...

“This’ll do for a campsite,” Geralt said. It was a tiny, clear area. Jaskier almost groaned. It was surrounded by oak trees, with dropped acorns that would dig into his bedroll and mottle his back with bruises come morning. He’d had a good rest in town, though, so another bad night of sleep wouldn’t be too bad, he told himself.

The others had eaten in town. Jaskier said he had too, so he wouldn’t waste rations. He had plenty, but strangely, he wasn’t so hungry lately. Anyway, always best to save.

He pulled off his boots and his freshly bloodied socks. Ew. Ciri retired to the magic tent early, exhausted from their long days of walking. Jaskier listened to Yennefer and Geralt talk.

“We’ll need lots of supplies in Ard Carraigh,” Geralt was saying.

“We don’t have any money,” Yennefer replied.

Jaskier had his back to them as he cleaned the wounds on his feet, but he could picture grave expressions.

“We’ll get some, I’ll do a quick contract there, something. We’ll need a cart and pony to get Ciri up The Killer, it’s too much for her, it’s too hard for some witchers even.”

“That’ll cost,” Yennefer said. “But you’re right. I wish I could portal us but--”

“Tracking, exactly. There’s always plenty of contracts in cities, it’ll be fine.”

Jaskier looked at the blisters on his foot, they’d opened more with his long performance that day. It was no matter, he wound the bandages around them and put on his new, thick socks. At least his feet would be warm.

Not too warm, though. He spotted a hole in the bottom of his boot that he hadn’t noticed before.

And they needed lots of money for Ard Carraigh. No matter. He knew how to get some.

He pretended his eyes filled with tears from the pain of blisters, not from heartache, as he pushed his feet back into his boots and opened the lute case. He pulled out his beautiful girl. He wouldn’t play her, it would annoy Geralt. He’d always hated Jaskier’s music, although he hated to hear Jaskier sing even more.

Pie with no filling.

Jaskier wished he could play her, though. It was going to break his heart to part with her, and he didn’t think he’d ever played another instrument as fine. If he could, he’d play her every second until he had to sell her.

Probably for the best, though, if he was going to fake his death. She was distinctive.

He brushed a hand over the beautiful wood work on her front. There was a little bit of linseed oil left, and he poured it on the rag he kept in the case and began to work over his girl lovingly. His eyes teared up again, but he fought it back. He would have smashed his lute if it meant helping Ciri. And Geralt.

Jaskier longed for Geralt to forgive him, to take him back and let him stay by his side, but he’d meant what he’d said, bards have a shelf life, and Jaskier’s time was up.

He wished Geralt would at least speak with him, though. His heart was aching. In a completely different sense, so was his chest.

“Play us a tune, bard,” Yennefer said.

Jaskier turned around. Yen and Geralt were sitting beside eachother, close together. She looked so beautiful in her fine cloak that Jaskier wondered how he ever thought he could catch Geralt’s eye when beings like her existed.

“You know,” he said. “It’s late and I wouldn’t want to bother Ciri.”

“Tent’s soundproof,” Yennefer said, waving her hand.

“I mean, really,” Jaskier protested weakly. Disobeying Yennefer’s request/command was like bathing your brain in lava, but Geralt was looking angry again. Some would say there wasn’t much change from Geralt’s normal expression, but Jaskier knew his face better than he knew his own. Something had made Geralt angry or upset. The only possible answer was Jaskier. It was always Jaskier.

“Play us a song, bard,” Yennefer said. “You’ve been so quiet other than stories, I’d almost think you were a doppler, Melitele knows no one could have taught you to shut up.”

Jaskier swallowed the lump in his throat.

He began, slowly, to pick out a gently tune on his lute. It was a song about winter and home, and he knew the lyrics well. Yennefer had only asked him to play, so he would. His music was at least less offensive than his voice.

He reveled in the feel of his lute beneath his fingers, letting the feeling wash over him, committing it to memory.

When he was finished Yennefer said, “I suppose your voice was tired from your performance, I heard in the town how the bard had played such a long set.”

Jaskier smiled grimly back at her. “Just earning my keep.”

He went to bed, feeling the cold seep into his bones.

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Tag List!

@frywen-babbles @mordoriscalling @thedarkestangel1 @kerfufflezz @live-long-and-trek-on @holymotherwolf @gryffinqueen

@samukai @charlies-dragon I can’t seem to tag, but they’re on the list

#geraksier #adhd Jaskier #the witcher #angst #jaskier #geralt #yennefer #ciri #platonic yennalt #yennefer is a good mom #and deserves nice things #kaer morhen #soon but not yet #emotional hurt/comfort #just hurt now #the comfort is yet to come

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oatmilkcoffee8 · 4 years

Text

Geraskier Fic

Jaskier had been fighting mid-air for long enough before Geralt intervened. Geralt recognised a nightmare when he saw it and the stench of fear surrounded Jaskier like mosquitos above a stagnant pond. Geralt knew he had to calm Jaskier down if he wanted to sleep, his senses were giving him alarm bells with the racket Jaskier was making. There was only really one sensible thing to do, even if Geralt was a little embarrassed by the notion.

Geralt slipped from his own bed and into Jaskier’s. Closer up, he could see the sweat beading on Jaskier’s forehead, glinting in the moonlight. He lifted Jaskier with ease, placing the man’s back on his chest. Skin to skin contact calmed humans and this gave the most contact with the least questions, just in case Jaskier woke up before his usual noon.

Jaskier settled almost instantly, fear dissipating and body going supple over Geralt’s. Finally, Geralt could get back to sleep without the young man’s interruptions.

The next morning, Geralt shimmied out of bed without alerting Jaskier, there was no reason to bother him this early. It would only make him grumpy and in a bad mood for the next couple hours. Instead Geralt clothed himself and went down to breakfast, the cockerel crying in the background and a sleepiness floating through the tavern below the inn.

Eventually Jaskier came down to join him, lute in hand and jacket slightly askew from his hurried dressing. From this angle, Geralt could almost understand how so many found him endearing. It wasn’t often that you saw a star this close up. That illusion fell the moment Jaskier opened his mouth and returned only once he slept or was quite far away. Don’t get him wrong though, Geralt admired Jaskier in his own subtle way but once you spend such a long period of time with someone it becomes easy to get frustrated with them.

Jaskier sat down and smiled at Geralt, he looked better rested than he usually did. This was most likely on account of the fact that he hadn’t had to suffer through his usual nightmares after Geralt stepped in. Neither of the mentioned it however, Jaskier most likely hadn’t even noticed and Geralt didn’t want to bring it up if he didn’t have to.

Geralt began getting into bed with Jaskier most nights, and eventually every night. He reasoned with himself that it was simply because when Jaskier slept better he was easier to deal with. But he knew too well his actual reasoning even if he couldn’t admit to himself. Sleeping beneath Jaskier became second nature, the comforting presence of another body benefitted both parties, even if one of them was in the dark about the matter. Geralt had decided early on that what Jaskier didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him and he got the same benefits even in the dark.

But secrecy isn’t made to last. And the tongue bound to keeping this one made its slip by no fault of its own. Geralt had only himself to pin this on in fact. Well, his instincts were technically to blame but Geralt never had been one of technicalities.

The slip occurred on a winter’s night in an unfamiliar inn with naught but woodlands for miles around. This already had Geralt on edge. His senses heightened and he was hyper aware of everything around him. Jaskier had noticed, they’d spent enough time together for Geralt’s alertness to concern him.

“What is it?” Jaskier had questioned him after a snapped twig had Geralt acting like he was awaiting assassins. “New town,” Geralt had answered. That was all the conversation he had in him.

Once a room was secured in the inn and the men had settled for the night in separate beds, Jaskier’s nightmare began. In line with usual routine, Geralt hauled the other man onto his chest and awaited his settlement. Geralt was crossing out of consciousness when a door slammed down the hall. In seconds Geralt was in the middle of heading for his sword and dressing himself when he heard rustling and a grunt.

“Fuck.”

Now Geralt hadn’t necessarily meant to keep his and Jaskier’s sleeping arrangement secret but when there’s no pushback there is no reason for conversation. But now secrecy had been forced into the limelight and he found himself at a loss for words. Jaskier, however, seemed to be running his mouth.

“What’s going on? Why am I on the floor? Why do you have…”

“Shut up, bard.”

“You’re the one giving me more questions!” Jaskier hissed into the darkness of the room.

Geralt never had been one for explaining himself. But now he had little choice.

Reluctantly, Geralt explain the first night to Jaskier, how he seemed much happier and well rested, how it had simply become routine to keep him from seeming so damn frightened every night. He even let slip that it saddened him to see the bard so fearful.

And Jaskier took it in, with a lack of interruption, quite uncharacteristically.

“You could have let me know, Witcher. You’re allowed to care and still be the big, bad wolf.” “I know that.” “Do you?” Jaskier asked. His eyes were sincere and curious, not challenging. Geralt sighed.

Geralt turned to get up, the conversation had finished, and walk towards his own bed. He realised the bard probably wanted to go back to sleep. Alone, this time.

But Geralt felt a tugging on his hand that turned him around to face the bard. The bard’s eyes were clouded by sleep but not enough to hide his question. Geralt nodded, after so long without nightmares Jaskier wasn’t exactly going to give that up just because he had to be in bed with Geralt to get rid of them. The bard had dreamed of them sleeping with each other for a long while, even if there were different intentions on the Witcher’s end, his touch meant a lot.

Geralt laid down first, he expected Jaskier to either settle next to him or back to chest. The bard had a different idea.

Jaskier clambered onto Geralt. He positioned them chest to chest an buried his head into the side of his neck. Despite his muscular form, Geralt was incredibly comfortable. Soft and welcoming like the countess’s goose feather mattress. He made a little ‘oof’ as Jaskier put his full weight on him.

“Good night, Geralt.” “Good night, bard.”

The new nightly routine became quite simple. Arrive at quarters, bathe, argue briefly in the tub (force of habit rather than actual arguments, almost childish bickering), get into bed and sleep. Jaskier started waking earlier too, often with Geralt due to sleeping arrangements.

***

“You are going to get yourself killed if you continue like this, Geralt.”

“I’m fine, bard.” “No! You act like you’re fine, but you aren’t. if you keep pushing yourself like a fool you won’t reach the next town!” “You are incredibly dramatic, even for a bard, Jaskier,” Geralt growled as Jaskier rubbed a salve onto a smattering of new wounds. Surprise wound itself around his brain when he realised the bard had stopped rubbing. Geralt raised his eyes slightly to the bard knelt before him in the tub, “What?” “You only use my name when we argue,” Jaskier pouted. Geralt huffed. Jaskier was in one of those moods again. “And?”

The bard turned sour and his emotions got the best of him, he began yelling. “I’m sick of being treated like you have no ties to me,” Jaskier screeched, he now had Geralt’s full attention, “I basically grew up on the back of your damn horse and you have the audacity to treat me like a stranger! We sleep in the same goddamn bed every night because you don’t want me to have nightmares but you’re more comfortable being seen as with that whore of a sorceress- “ “Don’t talk about her like that.” “You’ve just proved my damn point! Where are you when I’m being called a whore?! I’ve worked harder to help you than she ever has and you repay me with cold stares and distain.”

Geralt wanted to be mad but he knew he couldn’t be. Jaskier was right, well that and the way the bard’s eyes flamed in the lamp light in a way that suppled his body like clay by a river bed. With Jaskier’s lean form and defiant stare the way it was, Geralt couldn’t be angered beyond trivial matters. His eye’s trailed to the bard’s lips. “I’m going to bed,” Jaskier stated, water trickled down into the tub.

Now or never.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the torso. Jaskier’s eyes turned from defiant to alarmed in a matter of seconds until recognition of the current movement bloomed in his eyes and his eyelids fluttered closed. The kiss was quick, the steam off the water’s surface increasing the temperature between them tenfold. The men met at the forehead.

“I’m still angry with you,” Jaskier grumbled. “Put it into something else then, Jaskier,” the Witcher challenged.

#jaskier #geralt #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #fanfiction #post netflix series #the witcher #the witcher netflix #this is m first fic pls be nice

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ohvalleyofplentyyy · 4 years

Text

request

I was wondering if I could make a request with jaskier and geralt?

I really love the innocent shy reader stories and I wanted to request something maybe where the reader is a very sensitive person emotionally and the boys freak out slightly and make a super harsh comment after reader screws up during a hunt, maybe they accidentally blow up on her for putting herself in danger and getting hurt, but they end up making her cry or hurt her feelings in the end then end up feeling really bad when she starts to distant herself, not really talking to them on they’re trips and ignoring them

A/N: What a fantastic prompt, this really gets the writing juices going!

She always put her heart before her head, feelings and emotions seem to overrule and logical ideas and sense that came to mind because if she felt in her heart it was the right thing to do– she was damn well gonna do it.

The boys knew this as her nature and always took it with a grain of salt, knowing to not press certain buttons that could result in catastrophic results. But one night, Geralt just snapped.

It had been an easy mission really. A small village that sat near a lake had been experiencing ‘problems’ with fishermen going missing and the occasional child taking a dip to cool off but never coming back. The trio had been passing through when Jaskier overheard a group of drunken men exclaiming, “I’m not gonna catch me one more bloody fish until that thing is gone!”

After a bit of asking around, the Witcher deduced that a Vodnik, or Drowner, was the reason for these killings. Y/N made quick work with the pub owner that if they killed the water creature they would be rewarded. The group set out that night to take a “lovely boat ride in the moonlight while awaiting our doom,” as Jaskier grumbled on the walk to the water’s edge.

The huntress-in-training chuckled at the bard’s statement and turned to Geralt. “So how are we going to do this?” She asked, pulling her cloak tighter around her. He grunted, “There’s not a we in this situation Y/N, I’m just going be in and out as fast as possible.” Y/N lower her eyes and hummed, “Look Geralt, I know I’m not as experienced with this species of monster as you are, but this of it this way, it could be another lesson?”

Y/N had joined the two after a horrific war broke out between two mages in her town. Her mother and younger brother were in the market square when the first spells had been fired, and well, Y/N didn’t make it in time. With no one and nowhere to go, she somehow convinced the ‘Great Geralt of Rivia’ to take her under his wing as a sort of apprentice, given that she didn’t get in the way. (Also, Jaskier had been very excited from the idea of a girl accompanying them.)

Training had been going very smoothly for the past 6 months and Y/N was itching to get some action in the field, but Geralt didn’t seem to think her mind-set was ready for it yet as she acted mainly from impulse and not strategy. “I won’t have you die from a snide comment inside your head tell you it’s time to be a martyr Y/N, it’s not sensible.” Geralt had said a while back. Still, she wanted to help and it was starting to get to her that the only thing she’d killed or used her sword for was hunting game.

Geralt shook his head at her question, “Not a chance, you’ve only been practicing on land and now I’ll be in the water at night, I can only focus on so many problems—” “Hey!” “—in the moment.”

The conversation subsided and they reached the lake. It was beautiful at night, the moon glistened off the surface and a gust of wind made ripples in the water, making it seem like the reflection was dancing.

There was a long dock that stretched out into the water, boats hooked to the right side of it in the water, leaving the left stretch of wood for fun times in the summer heat. It creaked underneath their shoes as they came to a stop.

The Witcher started taking off pieces of armor and items that would only weigh him down in the dark liquid of night. Soon all he had on was his billowy grey tunic and the black trousers and boots that he always wore. Tying his hair into a small bun, he turned and said, “Hopefully I can lure it to the coastline so at least I won’t be underwater the whole time.” With one quick swig of his potion, the hunter’s eyes turned black, grabbed his sword and dove into the water.

The bard tsked and muttered something along the lines of ‘of course his dive is effortlessly perfect’ and leaned down against one the wood poles, strumming his lute and listening to Geralt’s movement in the water every so often.

Y/N stared out at the lake when it seemed like nothing was happening any time soon, she took her cloak and travel pieces as well, not wanting to carry the weight while she waited. She dropped the satchel and co. deciding to take a walk along the beachline where this fight was hopefully about to take place.

All of a sudden, Geralt emerged from the water with the Drowner in a chokehold. It was a slippery battle between the two as they sloshed in the water, Y/N was frozen on the bank watching this happen, she could hear Jaskier in the distance running over across the sandy ground.

But then the Drowner somehow got a hold of Geralt’s shirt and flung him over into the liquid below. She acted in an instant, running out into the water and holding her sword ready to strike.

Sloshing towards the creature ready to drown the Witcher, she called out, “Just because you’re constantly pruney doesn’t mean you need to take it out on others!” The monster turned at the noise and grinned, deciding that this smaller person would probably be a good appetizer before the main course.

Y/N swung her sword down across it’s legs, dodging it’s arms that tried to wrap around her. The long gash now to Y/N’s surprise didn’t bleed at all. But then the upper hand was lost when the monster reached out and snatched the sword right from her hand, grabbing the blade like it wasn’t cutting into its palm. The Drowner grabbed Y/N by the throat and shoved her underwater, holding her to the soft sand below.

Y/N struggled, hands around the arm holding her down. This is it, she thought, the moment I die by trying to prove myself, gods what an idiot I am. But then the hand was ripped away from her neck as something above had taken the Drowner by surprise.

She pushed up out of the water immediately, gasping in desperately needed gulps of air. She was able to see Geralt with one fast chop, cut the head off the monster, letting the body go limp and fall into the water. He wadded over to her, scooping her up effortlessly and walked back to shore. Jaskier was there pacing on the beach line.

“Y/N? Geralt is she breathing?!” The bard worried, racing to the Witcher’s side as soon as possible. “She’s fine,” he huffed and dropped her on the sand, now with a glare on the drenched girl before him.

“What were you even thinking?! I told you I would handle it, and you go and get yourself almost killed?!” The Witcher shouted, jabbing a finger into her face to emphasize the situation. “Geralt, I’m sorry— it’s just it looked like you needed help and—“ “Sorry? Sorry doesn’t cover it!” The monster hunter laughed, throwing his head back and then turned, a look on his face that seemed, dangerous.

“I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think a person like you would amount to anything, let alone be a logical hunter.”

Hurt flashed through her eyes, and she shrank into herself. “You don’t think Y/N, and I can’t waste my time on someone who’s just going to get themselves killed on their first hunt.” The girl turned to the bard, who had been quiet during the argument at hand.

Shakingly, she stood up, “Do you agree, Jaskier?” She said with a small voice. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, looked down at his hands a mumbled, “It’s not that you don’t mean well, it’s just sometimes your decisions affect us as well and mostly in a bad way.”

Y/N stumbled back, her bottom lip quivering slightly. They don’t trust me, they never did.

…

The next few days went by in slow motion, Y/N hadn’t spoken to the two boys since their declaration.

The trip through the dense forest almost seemed too silent, usually Jaskier and Y/N would be dancing around the large burly man they both adored, singing all the bard’s song until Geralt threatened to snap his lute and use the pieces as fire kindling. Every twig break under one of their shoes seemed to make the tension worse.

Geralt had made no move to try and apologize and deep down, Y/N knew he never would. And that in itself made her swallow into herself more.

Jaskier had been trying to talk a bit to her, any time a conversation was had about other kills, he tried to look to her for feedback, but all he got was a blank stare.

Only one thing kept repeating in her mind.

They don’t trust me, they never did.

And they never will.

A/N: I didn’t know if you wanted a happy ending or not so I chose to leave it and could add to it if you want a redemption part added! thanks for the idea!

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