#like jaskier loved him first!! geralt didn’t think anyone (at least any non-Witcher) could love him BUT JASKIER DID | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreamofbecoming · 2 years

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pale shadows of forgotten names

so people seem to be enjoying my writing lately, and i realized i never properly posted my first witcher fic on here when i first wrote it- i posted a link to the ao3, but i wasn’t super active in the fandom yet and i didn’t make it readable on tumblr. so i thought i would share it here now, in case anyone is interested, and because it’s nice to have all my writing together in my tag on here

pls note i knew even less about the non-netflix canon then than i do now, so everything about spying is just made up lmao

ao3

geraskier, post-s2, getting together

rating: t

wc: 13k

“Might be best if I stay out of Redania for a while, actually.”

“If you get arrested, I’ll just break you out again. There’s a book there I need, the copy in Kaer Morhen’s library was destroyed. Vesemir said he knew someone in Oxenfurt who might be able to get his hands on one.” Geralt’s tone, as usual, leaves very little room for argument. Luckily, Jaskier has never needed much room when it comes to arguing. Certainly not with Geralt.

“It’s not just that, I really shouldn’t get close to Tretogor anytime soon, either. Especially with Ciri being hunted by half the Continent.” He’s hoping desperately that they won’t ask why, but who is he kidding. His luck is never that good.

“And why, exactly, is Tretogor a problem? Not that we would want to parade around a capital city regardless, but I’m curious. Oxenfurt I get, they’ll be looking for the Sandpiper, I’m sure, or at least the twit that broke out of their jail, but what’s in Tretogor?”

Damn the fucking witch, always too perceptive for her own good. And to think he was almost starting to like her. Well, at least the familiarity of wanting to claw her eyes out is comforting.

Jaskier sighs. He should probably be honest with them if they’re going to travel together, though who knows how long that state of affairs will last this time. Still, he’s not going to risk Ciri. He’d have kept his silence if it were just Geralt and the witch- he already has, in fact, and it worked for nearly 20 years, after all- but Ciri is precious cargo. The rules have changed.

Plus, Yen could probably just read his mind now that she has her magic back. Fucking sorceresses.

Speaking of, “Alright, but not here,” he sighs. “Wait until we make camp and Yen can set up wards or silencing spells or something.” He hasn’t noticed any white owls following them, but she’s always been good at avoiding being seen. That’s sort of the point, he supposes.

“Who do we need wards from, Jaskier? Are you being followed? Should I have left you behind? Did I put Ciri in danger by trusting you?” Geralt’s voice is hard, and Jaskier feels hurt pool in his belly for a moment before cold anger takes its place again.

“Considering I just traipsed halfway across the continent and back, no questions asked, and nearly died trying to help stop a fucking demon from killing her, what the fuck do you think, Geralt? I’ll remind you that only one of us has known and loved her since she was small. Do you really believe I would do that to her? To you?” And maybe that last bit wasn’t really meant to come out, certainly not in that small, sad little voice, but Jaskier is nothing if not a master of pushing through slip ups and missed lines. He’s a goddamn professional. He doesn’t let his expression change where he’s glaring up at Geralt’s stupid, angry, handsome face. Fucker.

He’s traveled with Geralt a long time. Almost a quarter century, on and off (including this last year, which was most decidedly off), more than half of that physically by his side. He knows the Witcher’s face better than he knows his own, and he can predict Geralt’s reaction in almost any scenario you care to name. A perceived threat met with scorn will make him double down on his anger, almost guaranteed. Jaskier knew this going in, but he didn’t spend half a year belting his rage and betrayal to every student and passing traveler in a hundred miles (not to even mention the whole ‘living through a massacre’ thing) to be cowed by Geralt’s glower now, no matter how distressingly sexy it may or may not still be. Or how it maybe still makes his stomach twist with something sick and anxious at the idea of having disappointed him. Again. Fuck that. Geralt has no right to be disappointed in him, not this time.

So naturally he’s a little shocked when, after a few more seconds of unreasonably attractive scowling, Geralt, improbably, backs down.

He heaves a sigh where’s he’s perched on (new) Roach, a sleeping Ciri safely ensconced in his arms on the saddle in front of him. His eyes fall shut for a moment, and when they open, the cold fury is gone, replaced with something that looks a lot like…regret? Sadness? It’s hard to tell in the dark, but regardless, the air of melancholy around him right now is out of character for this particular situation, and extremely disconcerting. Jaskier is definitely disconcerted.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Jaskier. I do trust you. There’s a cave not far from here, it shouldn’t be too hard to secure. We can make camp soon.”

Was that…an apology? An actual, genuine expression of remorse, unprompted and freely given? He pokes Geralt’s upsettingly firm calf, staring incredulously.

“Are you really Geralt? Do I need to check you with silver or something? Yen, read his mind. Is he some kind of Doppler? Is this actually our Witcher?”

Geralt’s face is flatly unamused, and he kicks out to swat Jaskier’s hand away. Luckily, Jaskier has decades of practice avoiding Witcher speed for annoyance purposes, and pulls his hand back before Geralt can accidentally break his fingers or something. At least, he thinks it would be accidental. Probably.

Atop her borrowed mare, curtesy of Kaer Morhen’s surprisingly impressive herd, Yen raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Geralt’s obvious irritation. “It’s a fair question, Geralt. Immediate, unsolicited apologies for bad behavior are not exactly your brand.” Jaskier is grudgingly impressed that she manages to keep the arch look on her face despite his current frigid distance from her. Apparently they’re not back to mutual teasing levels of familiarity yet, though he’s sure it will only be a matter of time before they’re back to forgetting he’s there mid-sentence to go fuck like stupidly attractive, scary, powerful rabbits. Won’t that be fun to live through again.

Geralt glares harder. Jaskier can’t actually see his face well enough to be sure, but he can always feel when Geralt is glaring, and the angry face quotient in the air definitely goes up a few degrees.

“Cave’s just up here. Jaskier, start setting up camp. Yen, wards. I’ll get Ciri and the horses settled and find something for supper.” He nudges Roach’s flanks and pulls ahead, aiming for a little gap in the trees near a rocky outcropping Jaskier can just barely make out in the scant moonlight. Conversation over then, at least for now.

Yen looks vaguely affronted. “Is it always like this? Traveling with him?”

“What, the glowering? Or the barked orders and being left behind?” If perhaps those words are a touch more bitter than they would have been a year and a half ago, well. That’s no one’s business but his own.

“Both, I suppose? The time I’ve spent with him has rarely been on the road, but he’s never been quite so…demanding. We didn’t exactly do much talking on the way to Kaer Morhen. I’m quite sure he would happily have killed me, or at least have been actively trying to shake me and leave me in the dust, if he hadn’t been so focused on getting to Ciri as quickly as possible.” There’s something brittle and harsh in her tone that feels uncomfortably familiar. It’s far too much like the heavy weight in his ribcage these days, sharp-edged and desperate and miserable.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!” The hurt and dread freezing his blood in his veins, ice cold and inexorable. The awful silence, waiting for him to take it back, to laugh, to say it was all a horrible joke, or even a dream. The yawning pit of heartbreak and despair that started to rend his chest open, as the reality set in that this was actually it, actually the end, after everything-

Nope. No. Absolutely not. He is done with that, thank you. He is quite finished reliving that moment again and again (and again), he has put it behind him, he is a different man now. A stronger man. A man who won’t betray the loyalty he promised so long ago, but who refuses to let his heart back into the mix this time. He wrote a song about it and everything.

Funny how he almost believes it.

“Oh, I’m sure he was always far more…solicitous with you, darling. This is pretty much standard. The apology is new, and I’m a little surprised he’s letting me set up camp unsupervised,” (this is said with an impressively deep eye-roll, of course), “but besides that, yeah.”

He should be offended that he’s surprised to be given that responsibility, probably. He’s actually a remarkably competent traveler, both with company and without, but even towards the end it rarely occurred to Geralt that Jaskier managed to survive by himself for months or years at a time, or that the camp ended up much the same as it started even when he felt the need to redo all of Jaskier’s work, or that he wasn’t the one cooking the food he hunted or patching his own wounds when Jaskier was around. Not even the handful of times their camp was targeted by bandits, and several of them were already dead by the time Geralt got to them, seemed to register. Or all the times he came back addled and injured from a hunt, and Jaskier knew exactly which potions he needed to recover, and where to find them. Jaskier isn’t sure the great White Wolf ever even noticed a difference. He’s once again a little amazed that it took him so long to see it, that those furious words on the mountaintop actually managed to catch him by surprise. Love really is blind, he supposes.

The cave isn’t huge, but there’s enough room for four bedrolls and a small fire pit without having to snuggle up too close to each other, and it’s dry and lacking in horrid smells or angry monsters, so Jaskier has definitely seen worse.

Roach is tied near the cave entrance, under a small overhang jutting out from the rock to provide her some shelter from the elements. He wants to ask what happened to the old Roach, his- well. Not his Roach anymore, he supposes, not for a while, but he was still fond of her. It had taken years to win her over, but they were good friends by the end, he thought. Certainly she was freer with her affection than her rider. (Which, he realizes now, probably had more to do with his dearth of affection actually available than with his crushing emotional incompetence.) It isn’t really his place to ask, not anymore, but he wishes he could. New Roach is fine, she’s admittedly beautiful and probably a lovely animal, but he misses his friend.

Jaskier has the camp fully set up and a small fire going, near enough to the entrance not to fill the cave with smoke, but far enough inside so as not to be easily seen, and Yen has left her mount next to Roach, filled their waterskins, and is finishing up with the last of the wards shielding them from being found or overheard, when Geralt returns bearing…an entire deer. Fucking overachieving cockhead. He’s cleaning that shit himself, Jaskier isn’t interested. It definitely isn’t sexy seeing Geralt stride in, slightly blood-spattered, biceps bulging, thighs flexing, evidence of his prowess slung easily over his shoulders like a king’s mantle…nope. Not sexy at all. Jaskier isn’t even looking. He certainly isn’t biting back an embarrassing whimper.

He turns around hastily to begin rummaging through his pack for his spices and cooking supplies, filched from Kaer Morhen, of course, since all he had on him when Geralt found him in Oxenfurt was his charm and good looks. He wishes he had his lute, but it’s probably in pieces, rotting in a rubbish heap in Redania. He’ll mourn her at some point. Besides, he’s not sure he would be able to stop himself playing Burn, Butcher, Burn just on reflex, so it’s probably for the best.

They eat a decent supper of venison stew, Ciri waking just long enough to scarf down a bowl and collapse back onto her bedroll. Demon possession and Sphere-jumping really seem to take it out of a person.

Yen tosses another silencing charm around Ciri’s bedroll (they’ll fill her in tomorrow- they don’t intend to keep secrets from her but she deserves her sleep) and Geralt gets to work packing the leftover venison in salt for the road, before they both look up at him expectantly with eerily similar, piercing gazes. Violet and gold, a royal combination if ever there was one. Oh, that’s nice actually, there’s a song in there somewhere. Not one he wants to sing, really, but he’ll probably end up writing it at some point anyway.

“Alright, sharing time, I guess. Always figured this was coming eventually. Not that I imagined anything like this, what with the demons and the horrible rock monsters and the dimension hopping and- yes, yes, alright, I’m getting to it. Calm down.” He heaves a sigh. Hopefully they don’t toss him out on his arse after this, or just kill him. He doesn’t think they’d kill him. Would they? No, they wouldn’t. Probably.

“So you know I’m technically Redanian.” Yennefer nods expectantly while Geralt just. Blinks at him. Fucking gods, honestly. “Wow, ok, you really never paid attention at all when I talked, huh? That makes sense, actually. I guess I should have figured that.” He’s staring into the fire to shield the hurt in his eyes, so he misses the matching look on Geralt’s face before he presses on.

“Anyway, yeah, I’m Redanian, from Kerack, Lettenhove to be specific. Seriously? I’ve introduced myself to a dozen people in front of you with my full name, you really never- ok, yeah, right, never mind. Moving on. Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. That’s me. Or, it was. Technically it still is, but I never wanted the title. I never wanted that life. I left for Oxenfurt as soon as I was old enough, and when I graduated I went on the road, and then. Well. Then I met you, and, well, you know. You were there. For the rest. Some of it, anyway. Right. Well, Vizimir, or more likely someone on his council, since Vizimir is about as savvy and creative as a garden slug, and almost as charming, and I’m not sure if Dijkstra was advising him at that point-“ He catches Yennefer’s sharp look at Dijkstra’s name, but barrels on, “-anyway, someone noticed that a minor Redanian noble was doing a lot of very visible traveling all over the Continent and associating with a lot of people the Crown wouldn’t normally have an in with, and figured that would be useful. I think at this point, we’d been traveling together…2? 3 years? Something like that. Long enough that I’d started building a name for myself, definitely. Or, for us, I suppose. That’s why they noticed me in the first place.”

He knows he’s babbling, but there are nerves roiling in his gut like a cauldron, and that feeling has always translated into more words, for him. Like a pressure valve. He pauses and risks a glance at the person whose reaction he’s genuinely worried about.

Yen will understand, she’s been in and out of courts and noble circles and political tangles for decades, she knows how this works. She probably won’t trust him, but he’s fairly sure she doesn’t trust him now, so that’s no great loss. He doesn’t trust her either.

Geralt has a more…rigid concept of morality. In Geralt’s world, there are Right Things and Wrong Things. Sometimes you have to do Wrong Things to prevent Wronger Things, but that doesn’t make them not Wrong. And anything to do with kings and courts is usually Wrong. There’s a good chance Geralt might never forgive him for this, or if he does, he won’t be able to look past Jaskier keeping it from him so long.

Geralt’s eyes are fixed on his face, sharp and intent, and utterly unreadable. Jaskier thought he had gotten pretty good over the years at reading the subtle shifts in Geralt’s expressions- the tiny crinkles around his eyes when he wanted to laugh, the minute furrow between his brows when he was confused, the slight tick in his jaw when he was frustrated- but his face is as blank as new parchment right now, nothing but the glint in his golden eyes that says he’s listening to every word out of Jaskier’s mouth.

What a time for him to start doing that, he thinks bitterly. Decades of tuning him out when he thought they were friends, and now that Jaskier might be driving him away for good (again, a tiny voice whispers viciously), he’s hanging on every syllable.

“I was approached by a member of the royal intelligence service, and told that the king had ordered that I be recruited as a spy. Technically I am still nobility, and as such I’m obligated to obey the crown. And while I would gladly give up all the trappings of my title and never be anyone but Jaskier the bard ever again, at the time there would have been serious consequences for refusing, and not the kind that would fall on me. I’m technically a Lord, and I do have people I’m responsible for. I left people in charge that I trust to take care of them in my stead, but it’s my name they’re working under. And if I refused a direct order from Vizimir, I wouldn’t be the one to suffer for it. It wasn’t an option.”

He doesn’t look up from the fire. He doesn’t want to see the expressions on their faces, so he presses on, heart thumping wildly in his chest.

“I did my best to keep my reports…not vague, exactly, but mostly useless, I guess? Obviously I have no interest in being a part of whatever bullshit Vizimir or any other king feels like stirring up, but I had to send them something. Little stuff, mostly, frivolous gossip from the taverns I played in, details of drama and rivalries I picked up in various courts or nobles’ beds. Sometimes accounts of monster populations or incidents if there was anything especially notable, since they knew that’s a lot of what I was doing with my time. Nothing actionable, but useful enough that I couldn’t be accused of shirking my duties.” He’s suddenly struck with an awful fear, and he looks up desperately into slitted golden eyes. “I never said a word about Ciri, Geralt, you have to believe me. I told them about that night, and I had to mention that Pavetta had magic because there’s no way that wouldn’t get out some other way, but I never said a word about a Witcher claiming a Child Surprise. I would never risk her like that, or you, you have to believe me. Please say you believe me Geralt, whatever you think of me, that I would never betray you like that. Please.”

He knows he sounds frantic, that he must look insane, that he can’t stop his begging mouth like a runaway cart, but the thought of Geralt thinking even for a second that Jaskier would ever put orders from a king he cared nothing for over Geralt’s own life, over the life of a child, is a knife in his gut, twisting and pulling until Jaskier thinks he might vomit if Geralt doesn’t say something.

The blank expression is gone, and Geralt looks somewhat taken aback. His brow furrows a little in what looks like confusion, before settling into resignation, or maybe chagrin. Jaskier thinks for a moment that he sees a brief flash of what almost looks like…grief? That can’t be right…in his eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared, and Jaskier thinks he must have imagined it.

Geralt takes a swig from his waterskin and draws in a deep breath before speaking.

“I wasn’t worried that you betrayed Ciri, Jaskier. I know you would cut off your own arm before you did something like that. I don’t love where it sounds like this story is going, but I promise, I’ll never be concerned about that.”

That’s…well, those are more words than he was expecting, surely. And different words than he was expecting, too. He would assume that Geralt is placating him, to calm him down and get him to finish talking, but he can hear the sincerity in his voice. Geralt’s eyes are almost imploring, as if he’s as anxious for Jaskier to believe him as Jaskier had been to be believed. He…isn’t sure what to do with that, actually.

He knows Geralt came back for him, knows he was at least not lying when he said he missed him (though how much is anyone’s guess), knows he trusts him to travel with his…his little family, to help keep them safe or at least not make things worse, but he never assumed it went beyond that.

Geralt was clear, on that mountain. Even if he’s sorry now, even if he missed having him around, he meant those words at the time, and Jaskier has no illusions that he won’t get to that point again. Geralt may have spat those words in helpless anger, may have turned his ire on someone who had nothing to do with the state he was in at that moment, but Geralt doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. He says plenty of things he regrets, but he always means them at the time. He did, at one point, believe Jaskier to be a curse and a burden, and Jaskier is fully aware that he will come to that belief again, eventually.

He knows what that particular heartbreak feels like, now. He knows he can survive it, even if he wishes he wouldn’t, sometimes. Mostly, he knows that it will always, always be worth it. Geralt will always be worth it.

Gods but he’s a lovesick fool.

But now, instead of cold distain, or fiery wrath, or, worst of all, blank indifference, Geralt is looking at him like…like he’s sorry. Like he’s desperate for Jaskier’s forgiveness. Forgiveness for what? Jaskier is the one who hid the fact that he was a spy for most of their relatio- friendship. Acquaintanceship. Association. Whichever one wouldn’t piss Geralt off. Geralt hasn’t fucked up here, this time at least.

But he could never resist when Geralt asked him like this for anything, with genuine emotion instead grunted contempt, with even the vaguest hint of affection, like maybe Geralt enjoyed spending time with Jaskier, too. Like maybe Jaskier mattered to Geralt, at least a fraction of how much Geralt mattered to Jaskier. Gods above, he’s so weak for this man.

“Ok. Alright, good. That’s good. I’m glad. Thank you. I know I- anyway. Thank you. Right, where was I? Yes, ok, reports. So I kept myself mostly useless for pretty much the whole time we were together. I mean- not. Not together, obviously, but traveling together. As friends. Or not friends. Whatever. What was I saying?” He’s spiraling, fuck, he’s spiraling, he needs to get out of this, how does he get out of this?

Geralt is looking even more confused than before, but Yennefer is definitely laughing at him in her head. Witch. Like she isn’t just as much of a mess for him. She should be on his side! They bonded over this already and everything!

At least the indignation is enough for him to pull out of the whirlpool of awkward babble and self-sabotage he was trapped in, and he manages to right himself.

“Anyway! Ok! So! Right, well, things changed not quite a year ago, now, after the raid on Bleobheris.” He sobers at the memories, the scent of blood and the sound of screams suddenly heavy in the dry air of the cave. “It was…brutal. I’ve never seen anything like that, not in all my years Witchering with you. I wanted to help. I needed to do something, to…fix something. Anything, no matter how small. That’s when I was contacted by an anonymous benefactor, who offered to fund an effort to smuggle refugees to Xin’Trea. Word had spread about Nilfgaard’s alliance with the elves, that they could be safe there.”

“So the Sandpiper was born,” Yennefer says.

“Right. But I don’t like not knowing where my help is coming from and why. I may not have been a very useful spy in Redania’s eyes for the last 20 years, but it actually takes quite a bit of effort to be ineffective without being useless enough to fire or kill, and as it turns out, I’m actually quite good at it. Call it the performer’s heart in me, or something. So I was able to ferret out that the man behind the money was Sigismund Dijkstra, who had managed to get himself appointed spymaster to Vizimir, which, interestingly, made him my employer, as well as my benefactor.”

Yen looks up sharply again at Dijkstra’s name. Jaskier turns to her, curious.

“You’re familiar, I assume?”

“He’s been causing rifts at Aretuza, riling up the Brotherhood,” she says, brow furrowed. “Pretending to bring counsel and information but really just sowing discord. I’m not clear on the details, but I know elves were mentioned. There are those on the council who take issue with my heritage, so I try to keep on top of the rumors. I wasn’t at Aretuza for long, though, and I…didn’t exactly leave on good terms. I haven’t got many friends left there.” Geralt glances at her sympathetically.

Jaskier nods. “That sounds like him. I wouldn’t trust that man to clean my privy, much less provide thousands of crowns, probably from Vizimir’s coffers, for a worthy cause with no expectations of repayment.” He shakes his head. “I kept my suspicions to myself, though, the network needed the coin and regardless of his motivations, we really were helping people. I wasn’t going to let that go to waste.

“I guess, with me finally settling in one place for so long, and probably Dijkstra feeling like I owed him for the funding, even though I wasn’t meant to know it was him, they started expecting more from me, in terms of intelligence. I didn’t really have a choice, since now they always knew where to find me if they wanted to cause me problems, and besides, Dijkstra was already privy to the network’s efforts anyway as the main benefactor, so I figured it was mostly alright that I’ve had to give more…comprehensive reports to Vizimir the last several months.

“Since Cintra fell, most people know about Ciri, or at least that she’s on the game-board somehow. There are rumors of Nilfgaard searching for a Witcher, so I’m sure some people have put together that you’re involved somehow, but I don’t think too many of the courts, at least, have details. Just that Nilfgaard wants her and maybe there’s a Witcher involved. I made sure not to include too much information that they didn’t already have, but I can’t say for sure what every Northern king knows, or what the Brotherhood knows.” He glances at Yen, who shakes her head and shrugs.

“Anyway, so that’s the meat of it. The concern is that since I became an actual useful asset for them, they’ve been keeping a much closer eye on me. That’s why I was worried about the wards.”

“Alright, I can understand all of that,” Geralt cuts in. “I don’t like that you kept it from me, but I can’t fault your choices. You’re right that we can’t have them sniffing around you, not with Ciri in your orbit.” He frowns. “Would it be possible for you just…fall off the map? Disappear? Redania can’t demand anything from a missing viscount.”

Jaskier winces a little. “I would love to do that, the problem being that Dijkstra works closely with Tretogor’s court mage, who has the charming little talent of transforming into a bird whenever she wants.”

Yen’s eyebrows both go up this time. “Phillipa? She’s quite impressive. A little too entrenched in political intrigue for my taste, but I can’t deny she’s talented. Tissaia speaks very highly of her, certainly.”

She looks thoughtful as she gazes at him over the fire. “You’re worried she’s following you, then? For information on Geralt, since everyone knows Jaskier the Bard is the man to talk to if you want to know about Witchers.”

Her tone is…teasing? Is she teasing him? First hugging, and now teasing? Yeah, he’s not dealing with that right now. He sticks out his tongue at her (he does still have a bantering streak to uphold, after all) before nodding.

“I don’t know for sure if she was in Oxenfurt when Geralt broke me out. I don’t think so, but I certainly wasn’t combing every tree for owls, and there’s no chance of me noticing her out here in the woods. I’m just hoping that if she were around now, you’d sense her, Yen, and that she wasn’t able to bring back anything about Ciri or Geralt or Kaer Morhen to Dijkstra. Or you, either, since the Brotherhood are so unhappy with you.”

Yen looks surprised and very slightly pleased to be included in Jaskier’s concern. Or at least Jaskier thinks that’s the expression he can parse under her normal very scary murder face, which he finds is almost a relief to see. The soft regret and concern of recent weeks has been…unsettling. The sun rises, the rain falls, Yennefer of Vengerberg is gorgeous, aloof, and terrifying. This is the natural order.

Geralt is wearing a pensive expression, frowning slightly at where Ciri lies, sleeping peacefully. Dear girl, Jaskier hopes she isn’t having any nightmares. She’s been through hell lately, and she’s always had trouble sleeping anyway. Jaskier wonders if he can find the name of that tea Mousesack used to give her to help her sleep. Jaskier even tried it once or twice, when winter nights in Cintra without his Witcher’s soft, even breaths became too much; the stuff worked wonders.

“Alright,” he says eventually, nodding. “I’ll see if I can go to Redania myself, and leave you two with Ciri until I can get back. We’ll keep our campsites warded if we can, Yen, I don’t want you to wear yourself out, but some protection would probably be best. Are you able to see if you can sense anyone from here, or do you need to go outside the wards?”

“I’ll do a lap around the area, but there’s a chance anyone who is out there will sense me as soon as I start casting about. It would be best if you all stayed here, to protect Ciri in case someone actually has come for her.”

“I don’t like any of us going out alone, Yen, especially with the express intention of seeking out danger. I should go with you.” Geralt makes to stand and grab his swords from beside his seat, but Yennefer waves him back down.

“You’d only distract me, and besides, do you want to leave the totally untrained sorceress and the normal human alone here?” Jaskier makes an affronted squawking noise.

“Hey! I’m plenty competent, thank you!” He prudently ignores the minor inaccuracy of his humanity, and instead huffs at the matching incredulous looks he receives. “Rude. Honestly, I get no respect around here. I survived just fine on my own for years, you know! Besides, I traveled with a reckless idiot Witcher for 20 years, you pick up more than you’d think.” He glares at them both until Yen smirks and Geralt looks baffled and vaguely offended, but at least they both look away, which is an improvement.

Until the two of them end up in a stare off, clearly having some sort of emphatic conversation with their eyes alone, and Jaskier has to turn away to start putting away the cooking supplies they won’t need for breakfast tomorrow. He’s warming up to Yennefer, much to his chagrin, but he’s had quite enough of watching the man he loves eyefuck someone else, for this lifetime and the next, thanks ever so.

He hears Geralt huff, a sound he recognizes as him realizing whoever he’s arguing with is just going to do as they please anyway, and he might as well make the best of it.

He made that sound at Jaskier a lot. Usually when he talked his way into coming along on hunts, but really any time Jaskier wanted something from him beyond some seared rabbit, a fire to sleep beside, and monosyllabic grunts in response to questions (if he was lucky)- a night at an inn, a stop at a local festival, an actual hot bath with herbs and flowers and scented oils. Arms to hold him on especially cold nights, when blankets weren’t enough to warm (mostly) human skin.

Jaskier used to think it was cute. A game, just for the two of them, Jaskier pushing, Geralt pulling, or the other way around, always meeting in the middle (or, more often, closer to Jaskier’s side) with what Jaskier had always assumed was mutual amusement and affection. He knows better now.

There’s the telltale swish of Yennefer’s skirts, a strange popping sensation in his ears, and then the feeling of the wards coming back up behind her.

The silencing spell around Ciri is still up, as far as he knows, and she’s dead to the world besides, so it’s just him and Geralt now.

It isn’t the first time they’ve been alone since Oxenfurt, but it is the first time since Jaskier was invited (by Ciri, it should be noted, not Geralt) to travel with them as a companion, not as backup.

That one still stings, if he’s honest. He held out hope for months that Geralt would come back for him, would seek him out with a stuttered apology (or more likely a silently offered ale and an invitation to come with him to his next hunt). Maybe at a tavern, or the Seat of Friendship, or even a ball or musical competition where Jaskier was playing. He knows how much Geralt hates getting dressed up, how much it would have meant for him to go to that effort just to see Jaskier.

He imagined seeing him sitting silently in the back of one of his lectures one day, watching the lesson with quiet affection and waiting for him to be finished so they could talk. Imagined hearing the sound of Roach’s hooves coming up behind him on some backroad to nowhere while he strummed his lute in the sunshine.

He imagined a thousand different reunions, a thousand apologies, a thousand ways for them to turn back the clock. (During some of the longer nights, when he was alone in his rooms staring out at the moon through the window, wondering if Geralt was lying on his bedroll in a forest clearing somewhere staring up at the same moon, he imagined a thousand different love confessions. But he has no intention of admitting that to anyone but his own foolish heart. He may be a bard, and a hopeless romantic, but there’s no need to bare all of his weeping wounds, especially when there’s no hope of healing them.)

For all his daydreaming, he never imagined that Geralt would seek him out only when he needed an extra set of hands and all his other options were exhausted. Never imagined he would be not just a tool to be used, but the last resort as well.

He shouldn’t be surprised, after everything, but the knowledge that he was never really anything else to Geralt still aches like a broken rib, flashes of pain shooting through his chest with every inhale.

This is the first time they’ve been alone together without an immediate crisis, without a clearly defined mission beyond the open road, just like it used to be.

Except nothing like it used to be, because how it used to be is gone. It will never be that way again. Geralt burned those memories down, with words as sharp as swords and as destructive as dragon fire.

Jaskier has no fucking idea how to deal with this.

“Jas-“ Geralt cuts off and clears his throat. Jaskier can hear him gulping from his waterskin before trying again. “Jaskier.”

“Yes?” He tries to keep his voice light, but he doesn’t turn around.

“Jaskier, can we. Can we talk? Please?”

It’s the ‘please’ that does it. Geralt so rarely says please. Jaskier may need more than his fingers to count the times he’s heard it directed at him, but he can still remember each one in perfect clarity. Besides, they had more than 20 years together, “more than 10” is still not exactly a stellar ratio.

Jaskier’s resolve breaks (did he ever really have any? Has he ever had any when it comes to this man?) and he turns, schooling his face into something meant to look bright and open. He’s not sure how well it works. “Of course, Geralt. What’s on your mind?”

“I-“ Geralt looks…lost. He looks like he has absolutely no idea how to get where he’s going, and it’s killing him. Jaskier crumbles.

“You’ve already apologized, Geralt, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve forgiven you. You were angry, you needed a target, I was there. It’s behind us.” He looks at the fire, for lack of anything else that isn’t Geralt’s stupid awful gorgeous face, wishing desperately he had his lute. He never felt awkward with his lute. Never rubbed anxious circles around his calluses for lack of anything to do with his hands. Never sat in a silence so painful he wondered if his ears would bleed.

Geralt lets out a breath like he’s trying to remember how. “That’s not. I mean it is. But. I. Fuck.” Jaskier looks up from the fire to see him scrubbing a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. The adorable fool manages to get his hand tangled in the locks when he forgets about the band holding half of it back from his face.

“Oh for Melitele’s sake- stop moving, you lug, I’ll fix it. You’re going to tear it out in chunks if you keep pulling like that, just hold still, or I’ll have to rewrite all the songs to be about The Bald Wolf instead. Ye gods, Geralt, how did you survive without me? Honestly.” He’s across the cave and kneeling behind Geralt on the other side of the fire before he consciously registers the decision to move. Fucking hells, even his own body is against him.

He has his hands in Geralt’s (soft, silky, gorgeous) hair, untangling it gently from where it’s wound itself tightly around his (scarred, strong, beautiful) fingers. He thinks he hears Geralt’s breath catch, but he’s too distracted trying to keep his own lungs working at all to focus on it.

Once Geralt’s hand is free (and does Geralt seem as reluctant to let go and put his hand back in his lap as Jaskier is to let him?) Jaskier sets to work on the much more finicky task of removing the band without pulling half of Geralt’s hair out with it, which would honestly be a crime against…well, anyone with eyes really. Jaskier may be in love with him, but he’s also seen a truly exorbitant number of beautiful people across the continent, many of them naked, so he thinks he’s fairly qualified when he says that Geralt is one of the most singularly stunning people on the face of the earth, bias or not. Especially now that he seems to be taking better care of his hair than he used to when Jaskier wasn’t around.

Jaskier is actually rather shocked at how well-kept Geralt is. His hair is smooth and soft and clean, and smells like…is that apple blossom? That’s one of Jaskier’s favorite scents. It never fails to make him feel light and warm, like spring sunshine. He uses it in his own hair more often than the other oils he carries.

Back when washing Geralt’s hair for him was an occasional but deeply treasured privilege of his, Jaskier used to use it for him, as well. That Geralt has somehow, for some reason, gotten some of his own to use during their separation…it makes something warm and fragile stir in Jaskier’s chest. Warm and fragile and dangerous. Hope is easily crushed, and when it is, it takes everything else down with it. Jaskier isn’t doing that again. Not so soon.

He finishes detaching the tie as efficiently as he can, and hands it over Geralt’s shoulder before sitting back on his heels and exhaling violently.

“There you are darling, all fixed. Now,-“

“I didn’t.” Geralt interrupts him, whisper quiet but still somehow deafening over the crackling fire.

“What?”

“Survive without you. I didn’t. Or, I guess I should say I did, but that’s all I did.”

Jaskier has, for once, absolutely no idea what to say, so he tries something new, and says nothing. He’s barely even sure he’s breathing, staring at the back of Geralt’s head and all his moonlit hair like he’s staring into the jaws of a barghest as he waits to see if he will continue.

He does, words falling out of him in a rush like a river pouring through a broken dam, desperate in a way Jaskier has never heard him before.

“I knew I’d fucked up, on the mountain. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew it. It’s like. It’s like I was a bottle of juice, gone off, going ranker and ranker until the cork flies right out and takes someone’s eye out. I thought I was angry at Borch, at Yen, at Calanthe, at fucking Destiny, at everything. Even you, who hadn’t done one thing wrong. But really it was just me. I was just angry at myself, and there’s. There’s not. There isn’t anywhere for that kind of anger to go. It just builds up and up and up until it explodes, and you with it, and I knew I was going to let it out at someone. And then you were there, and you were trying to help. Like always. You always help. You make everything better, like you were just trying to make me feel better. But I was so angry, and it was all my fault, it was all my stupid selfish choices, the djinn, the wish, Ciri, all of it my fault, and I didn’t deserve to feel better. I didn’t deserve it and I had to make you stop and so. I did. I did it on purpose. I did it because I knew that was the thing to say that would hurt you the most. That would make me a monster like I know I am. Monsters are easy. Easier than mistakes and bad choices. So I made another bad choice and hurt someone else and decided to be a monster.”

There might be tears streaming down Jaskier’s face, but he can’t tell because he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t hear anything but the rushing in his ears and Geralt’s voice ripping into him with savage, gentle claws.

“Once Yen was gone- It’s hard to think with her around, sometimes. It’s the wish, I think. Everything else gets duller, quieter, a little out of focus. Like in a dream when the only thing you can see clearly is the person you know the dream is about, the person you’re supposed to talk to.” Oh this…this is actually torture. Geralt might actually be killing him because he still can’t fucking breathe and he just keeps talking.

“It’s better now. Maybe it’s Ciri, my Destiny is split between them now so it’s not so overwhelming. Or maybe Ciri is her Destiny too, and now that we’ll always have her, the both of us, the wish doesn’t need to force us to be in love for us to stay nearby. I don’t know. It’s easier now, though. And even easier when you’re here.”

Wait, what? Now Jaskier knows he’s dead, or dying, or hallucinating, or something, because there’s no way that means what he wants it to mean.

“After Yen left, my head started to clear. Things came back into focus. I realized what I’d done, but suddenly I could also see that it wasn’t just what I yelled at you. It was so much more, so much deeper. I had been so awful to you, for so long, and you just. Took it. All of it. Everything I had, all my anger and my fear and my loneliness. You just let me. You always came back. You kept choosing me, even when I was cruel. I was ashamed, but I also thought…” He breaks off with a great shuddering breath, his head hanging.

Jaskier feels a little like he’s floating. Like he can see his body, kneeling there in the dirt behind Geralt, staring at his sculpted shoulderblades with a blind, devastated look on his tear-streaked face. How odd.

Geralt, somehow, impossibly, keeps going. This is more words than Jaskier has heard him say in the last two decades. This is more words than he knew Geralt was capable of saying. Where are all these words coming from?

It’s like all this time, he had been saving these. Stockpiling them, though for what Jaskier can’t begin to guess. A rainy day? An emergency? This? And now the doors of the granary have come loose and the winter stores are flooding the yard and Jaskier thinks he might end up buried alive.

“I thought you’d come back.” Geralt’s voice is thicker, somehow, and oh, gods, is he crying? “I thought you would come back, like before, like always, and it would be ok. And I would try to be better. I would try to be the man you thought I was. And it would be ok. But you-“ He cuts off with another great shuddering breath, and seems to center himself. “You didn’t come back. And that’s when I realized I had finally gone too far.”

Jaskier has been trying to process all of these many, many, many, mostly incomprehensible words, and he’s maybe fallen a little bit behind, because he hears himself cut in with an incredulous “Wait, are you saying that every time you were rude or dismissive to me, it wasn’t just because you don’t know how to conduct yourself in a normal friendship because you’ve never had one, but actually because you knew you were being cruel and you knew you could get away with it because I would always come back?”

Geralt’s head hangs even lower, and Jaskier has to strain to hear his gravelly whispered reply.

“Yes. Maybe not consciously, or in so many words, but yes.”

Jaskier flounders for a moment, wounds he spent the last year trying to close tearing back open even wider than before.

“All this time? You thought so little of me, all this time? I was just a- a- a practice dummy? Something that won’t fight back or feel pain, so you can hit it has hard or as many times as you want?” His voice began at a whisper, to match Geralt’s, but has gotten steadily louder and more tear-filled the more he speaks.

“No, that isn’t-“

“I can’t- I’m not- I need a moment. Please, Geralt I need- Please.” He can’t keep sitting this close to him, feeling his body heat just as warm as the fire he’s blocking Jaskier from, can’t keep listening to his low rumbling voice, like thunder and gravel and home, like a silver sword through the midsection. Not when the pain and the anger and the hope are all bleeding together and he doesn’t know how to feel them properly and he still can’t fucking breathe.

Geralt’s breath hitches, a tiny little wisp of sound, and Jaskier is going to fucking lose it.

“Please, Geralt.” It comes out in a broken whisper, which is more revealing than Jaskier was hoping, but it’s not like he’s managed to hide anything anyway, so it hardly matters.

Geralt nods, back still to Jaskier in front of the fire, and stands smoothly to walk over to a corner near the entrance, where he can see all four bedrolls and the cave mouth clearly. Ready to protect. Always ready to defend. He sinks to his knees and his breathing takes on the familiar cadence of meditation.

Jaskier takes a moment to look at him. At the way his hands are clutched a little tighter on his thighs than they normally would be while he mediates, like he hasn’t managed to purge all the fear from his body the way he has his mind. At the new scars he can see on his forearms and one snaking over his collarbone, scars that Jaskier wasn’t there to bandage and fuss over. At the way his hair spills over his shoulders, still tousled from Jaskier’s fingers. At the single tear track carving a path down one marble cheek.

Jaskier sucks in a breath and turns away before he breaks down and Yen comes back to find him catatonic on the ground.

He ends up standing at the mouth of the cave, stroking New Roach’s neck and petting his hands through her glossy mane gently. Her slow breathing and the familiar warm, earthy smell of horse help ground him, bring him back from that awful frantic-floating feeling, where he was nowhere and trapped all at once.

He chatters to her quietly, just like he did to her predecessor. She, at least, warms up to him much more quickly.

A warm, black nose thumps gently into his chest. “Yes, my love, I know I need to protect my heart. I’m trying! Can’t you see how hard I’m trying?” She nickers softly, more of a puff of breath than a proper sound.

“Well aren’t we feeling smug this evening, sweet thing.” Another thump. “It’s alright darling, I don’t blame you. I think I’m ridiculous, too. I just don’t know how to fix it.” He strokes a hand down her forehead, scritching lightly.

“No, me either. You know what the problem is, don’t you?” She lips at his hair, which he takes as an invitation to continue.

His voice is even quieter now, the barest thread of a whisper, quiet enough that even Geralt might not overhear if he comes out of meditation. “The problem is that I’ve spent all this time coming up with plans and strategies and contingencies for not giving my heart away again, when the truth is I don’t think I ever got it back in the first place.”

He rests his forehead against hers in defeat, tears falling silently again. He’s going to dehydrate at this point, but what does he care when he has a beautiful lady providing him such warm, solid comfort right here?

“I have to say, songbird, this is not what I expected to find when I came back tonight.”

Jaskier does not flail. He is a professional performer, he has immaculate control over his body at all times. And he definitely doesn’t squeak, no bard would ever be caught dead making such an undignified noise unintentionally.

So no, he neither flails nor squeaks, and if New Roach gets very slightly spooked and a lot disgruntled, it was from Yennefer sneaking up out of bloody nowhere like a wraith in the night, and certainly nothing Jaskier did. If either of them say different, they’re lying.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Is this your plan to kill me and make it look like an accident? I’ll tell Ciri, she’ll come after you with her dagger, see if she doesn’t. Ciri likes me. Ciri would avenge me.” He’s clutching his chest, heartbeat gradually beginning to slow.

New Roach is still giving him a dubious look. That’s rude, this is hardly his fault. It’s Yen she should be grumpy with.

“Well, I was rather hoping that by this point in the evening, you wouldn’t need a miniature Witcherling-sorceress to defend you, since you’d have your big strong Witcher back, but somehow things seem to have gotten worse in my absence. Did he not manage to tell you his real feelings? Bloody Witchers, trust him to be resistant to my recipe, it’s never bloody failed before, if he’s made this worse somehow I’m going to bloody dissect him to figure out where I went wrong-“ She continues muttering darkly while Jaskier stares at her in shock.

His mind is valiantly trying to shake off enough of the lingering fog of tears to pull some of those threads together and figure out what the fuck she’s talking about.

Recipe? Real feelings? Make what worse? Did she…did she dose him with something? Did she put a fucking spell on his Witcher? He might have to have Ciri stab her after all, since he has no illusions about his own abilities to take her in a fight.

“What the fuck are you talking about, witch? What did you give him? What the fuck did you do? I’ll kill you myself you vicious little shrew, see if I don’t!”

She waves a hand dismissively, scoffing at his threats. Admittedly he is not at his best, though in his defense it’s hard to adopt a proper fighting stance when you’ve just spent half an hour kneeling in the dirt while your still-beating heart was slowly diced into bite-sized pieces. Tough on the knees, you know.

“Please, you should be thanking me. It was fucking exhausting, these last few weeks, watching you two throw longing glances back and forth when you think no one’s looking. I’m just trying to help things along.”

“Help- what? What things? Help things along how?” He’s trying very hard to hold onto his righteous anger at her for (possibly?) drugging the man he loves, but she keeps saying things that dredge up that dangerous warm feeling from before, and he’s losing his resolve.

“Nothing sinister, songbird. I’m done with that, I’m on the side of the White Knights now, remember? Have a little faith in me, for Lilit’s sake.” She rolls her eyes, but either he’s getting better at reading her or she’s making an effort to be easier to read, because he can feel the sincerity in her words. “We both know all that nonsense about Witchers not feeling is horseshit, yes?” He nods. Obviously it is, Geralt feels more deeply than anyone he’s ever met. “But I know you also understand how much he struggles to make sense of what he’s feeling, or to make himself heard when he does.”

She’s right about that, too. Jaskier knows the emotions are there, has always known, since the moment he saw Geralt in that tavern in Posada. But he’s watched Geralt get lost in the tangle of feelings inside him so thoroughly that all the words get stuck and nothing comes out. He’s seen it happen hundreds of times. That’s part of why he’s always wanted to badly to sing about him, to tell the world what Geralt can’t, to be the words when he can’t find them.

Yen gestures to the corner where Geralt is still meditating peacefully. “I didn’t do anything to his feelings. Couldn’t if I tried, that’s not really how my magic works, anyway. But I knew there are things he’s been wanting to say, and he’s been suffering for not knowing how. And as antagonistic as we may be, I don’t actually hate you nearly so much these days, and I find myself discomfited by your very obvious pining, as well.” Well, that’s…actually quite sweet. And rather disquieting, if he’s honest.

“So I gave him something to help him articulate himself. It won’t make him say anything he doesn’t want to, won’t force him to reveal any truths against his will or create any feelings that weren’t already there. It just…smooths the way. Untangles all those knots in his head so something coherent can make it out of his mouth. But you two aren’t cuddled up by the fire making me want to vomit, which means it didn’t fucking work, and I have to figure out why!” She looks rather like she would huff and stomp her foot at this, if the great and powerful Yennefer of Vengerberg would ever stoop to something so childish.

Jaskier thinks very hard about the last hour or so of his life. He thinks about Geralt saying “please,” and he thinks about the way all those words fell out of him and just kept coming and coming and coming, like a pot boiling over, piling up in a heap at Jaskier’s feet. He thinks about Geralt crying.

“Well- uh. Hmm. You know, it occurs to me now- it’s funny really, I think you’ll laugh, definitely laugh, not look at me with that petrifying glare you’ve got on right now, no you’ll be laughing I’m quite sure- Alright, yes, ok! Yes! Right, well, um. I think, looking at recent events, fresh eyes and all that you know- I’m just saying, it would have been helpful to have some of this information going in, is all- Ow! Melitele’s tits, that hurt! Do those nails come standard at Aretuza, or were you just born lucky? Ouch! Ok, ok, stop pinching me, witch! Like I was saying, with the benefit of this new information, I think it’s possible your magical intervention whosit thingy may have worked exactly as expected?”

She narrows her eyes. “If it worked, why are you crying to a horse instead of snuggling with your man?” His man. That can’t be right. Can it? Geralt isn’t his. Except. Except for all the things he sounded like he might be gearing up to say when Jaskier cut him off. Fuck.

“I, uh. I maybe. I maybe stopped him partway through and told him I needed a break?” He winces back as her already truly impressive glare intensifies even further- yep, she’s still got it.

“I did not go to all the effort of brewing that fucking potion, tailoring it for Witcher metabolisms, and making it fucking tasteless and odorless so he would drink it, not to mention standing out here in the fucking woods in the middle of the night with nothing to fucking do, just so you could chicken out halfway through getting everything you ever fucking wanted.” Her eyes are glowing violet now, which is. Wow. Scary. She’s so scary. He remembers now why he always thought she was so so scary. She jabs her finger towards the kneeling figure by the wall. “Get the fuck back in there and finish the damn conversation, bard,” she hisses. “I will not deal with this bullshit all the way to the Redanian border.”

She turns to leave again, and Jaskier shoots out a hand to stop her. She looks at his hand on her elbow and he briefly worries he’s going to end the night as a slug of some kind, but she just looks up at him questioningly.

“I just. Fuck. I know- I know this probably wasn’t easy for you. You know I know better than most what you’re feeling right now. But you’re helping anyway, so. Thank you, Yennefer. Even if it doesn’t go like you think, like I hope, you were willing to try even though it hurts, so thank you.” He isn’t sure what his face is doing, but he hopes she can see how genuinely grateful he is.

She smiles a little sadly. “Come on, songbird, We both know he was never really mine. And besides, I’m not the settling down type. Now go, don’t make me curse you.” She shoots him what would be a very passable glare if it weren’t for the slight glimmer of tears in her eyes, then spins on her heel and stalks off into the night.

He turns back to the cave, hesitating for a single moment before there’s an irritated huff, a nip to the sleeve of his jacket, and a frankly unnecessarily forceful shove to his back. He glares back at Roach, who seems unperturbed. “I’ve got entirely too many black-haired gorgeous women trying to run my life right now, do you hear me? Too many!” Roach huffs again. “Fine. I’m going, are you happy?” He takes another step and looks over his shoulder. She looks smug. Of course she does. “I think you’re just the old Roach reincarnated. Never seen another horse look so damn satisfied with herself,” he mutters, but he’s already heading back into the cave, so he figures she’s won this round.

He feels slightly guilty about grabbing Geralt’s waterskin before going to him, but he isn’t sure how long Yen’s potion lasts, or if meditating will have burned more of it off. Maybe it’s disingenuous to give him more without telling him what’s in it, but, weirdly, he trusts Yen when she says it won’t force Geralt to do or say anything he doesn’t want to, and Jaskier isn’t sure he’ll ever get to hear the words otherwise. He’ll tell him afterwards. He won’t keep this secret forever.

He sits down quietly next to Geralt, leaning up against the wall of the cave. He takes one deep breath, then another, and another. He rests his fingers gently on Geralt’s hand where it sits on his thigh. Geralt’s breathing gradually picks up until he’s back to almost his normal, slow rhythm. His eyes open, landing on Jaskier’s hand on his and following the line of his arm back up to his face.

Jaskier hands him the waterskin, and Geralt takes it with a nod of gratitude before taking a long drink. “I’m alright now,” Jaskier says. “I’m sorry I stopped you.

Geralt searches his face, eyes searching Jaskier’s for signs of dishonesty. Apparently finding none, he nods slightly, golden eyes closing again for a moment. When they open, he’s not looking at Jaskier any longer.

Jaskier looks at his hand, fingertips still resting ever so lightly on Geralt’s palm, and considers taking it back. He thinks about what Geralt has told him so far tonight, about the conviction in Yen’s voice when she insisted Geralt had feelings for him. Fuck it, he decides, and lays his hand more firmly in Geralt’s, lacing their fingers together. Geralt draws in a sharp breath and looks up at him in shock, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he grips Jaskier’s hand tighter, like he’s worried Jaskier is going to try to run.

“I know you,” Jaskier says slowly. “I’ve known you for more than half my life, and I know that you aren’t cruel, or callous, or unkind. I know that there is always a reason behind the things you say, and the things you do, even if no one else can see it.” He swallows hard, closing his eyes briefly. Geralt squeezes his hand lightly, which…helps, actually. It helps a lot. “I’m sorry I accused you of hurting me on purpose, for the sake of causing me pain. I was overwhelmed and having trouble processing things, but I shouldn’t have jumped to a conclusion I know wasn’t true. If you still want to talk, I’m ready to listen now.”

“It wasn’t an illogical conclusion to draw. And it wasn’t even completely wrong.” His voice is calmer than before, measured and even. Not as frantic. The river is still flowing free, but it’s calmed, no longer the violent rush of a broken dam. He sighs, a great, world-weary thing. “It was because you’re safe.” Jaskier looks at him quizzically.

Geralt draws in another deep breath before continuing. “I can’t ever show emotion. Not to humans. Not anger, or fear, or sometimes even joy. The myths about Witchers not having feelings…they aren’t just vicious rumors made up by bigots. They’re there to protect us. From them.”

Jaskier frowns. “You mean Witchers put that rumor out yourselves? But why?” Surely demonstrating how human Witchers really are can only help matters, right?

“In a way.” Geralt tilts his head in the way Jaskier knows means he’s remembering something long past. “It’s part of how we’re trained. We’re taught to suppress emotion, to hide it from everyone, including ourselves. It’s how we’ve done things for 400 years.” His thumb sweeps little arcs across the back of Jaskier’s hand, and Jaskier’s heart trips in his chest. He knows Geralt can probably hear it, but it must not worry him and he keeps talking.

“The first Witchers were experiments. Men twisted by mages hoping to combat the monsters that plagued the world. The process has been…refined, since then. At first, they really were- well. More monster than man.” Geralt tips his head back against the rock wall. “Humans were terrified of them. One and all, right down to their bones. The first Witchers didn’t take contracts, because no humans would even speak with them. They just wandered around until they found a monster to kill, and then moved on to the next. Eventually, people started to realize that Witchers were only killing monsters, and leaving humans be, so they slowly started reaching out for help.”

“Ungrateful sods, the lot of them,” Jaskier mutters, and hears Geralt’s quiet huff of laughter in response.

“You’re. You’re so special, do you know that?” Jaskier jerks his head up in surprise to see Geralt’s eyes on his face, liquid gold lit like sunrise by the light of the fire, a tiny smile playing around his lips. “You’ve never been afraid of me. Not once. Not even when the only things you knew about me were that I scowled a lot and I had two very scary swords.” Jaskier flushes at the reminder of the babble that spilled out of his mouth the moment he laid eyes on the single most attractive person he had ever seen in his 18 years of life.

He drops his eyes, knowing there’s no hiding the blush on his cheeks but ignoring it as hard as he can anyway. “What’s there to be scared of? You’re a puppy, not a wolf.” He expects a grumble, or a glare, or for Geralt to ignore him completely. Certainly not the bark of laughter that would have woken Ciri were it not for Yen’s charm. He stares at Geralt’s face, firelight flickering over pale skin, honest joy written in the curve of his mouth, and grins back helplessly.

“You’re the only one who’s ever thought that. Except maybe Eskel.” He laughs again, more quietly this time, then sobers slightly. “Humans are afraid of us. They always have been. Less now, since you,” he squeezes Jaskier’s hand again and Jaskier flushes even darker, “but the first Witchers were barely more than feral, and that impression…stuck. Humanity never got past it. Even when new generations of Witchers were made, when we became something closer to men than to monsters, their fear never went away. Any emotion, even the faintest irritation, was enough to make most humans think a Witcher was about to go berserk, to start tearing out the throats of anyone who got too close. So, we learned to shut them down.”

His eyes are downcast now, and Jaskier thinks of a tiny Geralt, just a boy, younger than Ciri, excited about the world, curious and clever and mischievous, thinks about him learning to hide his heart away until even he couldn’t find it anymore, and he wants to scream. He wants to cry, he wants to rage, he wants to find every human who ever judged a Witcher by his eyes and not his deeds and mount their heads on spikes. He wants to tear out their hearts and make them watch as he throws them on the pyre, burning them out like so many boys were made to burn out their own.

Geralt can smell his turmoil, he knows, and he clings to the comfort offered when he holds Jaskier’s hand as tightly as he can without hurting him, still tracing circles into his skin with his thumb.

“It isn’t safe, to have feelings. Humans may spit on a mutant with a heart of stone, but they’ll hunt and kill a monster with teeth they think will harm them. It’s safer to be cold, to be hard. To let all of it roll off of us like snow off a mountain. And after a while, you forget how to be anything else. You forget that it’s a lie, that it’s something you had to learn. You start to believe it too.” There are tears dripping off of Jaskier’s nose now, but he doesn’t dare interrupt again. “I had forgotten, until you.”

He looks at Jaskier with such naked feeling in his fiery eyes that Jaskier can’t fathom how anyone could believe this man has no heart. “You made me feel. You walked into my life and just-“ He huffs another low laugh, the faraway look on his face impossibly fond. “You just didn’t listen to a fucking thing I said. Ever! Not once! And it drove me up the godsdamned wall. I was going out of my mind, I was so fucking annoyed. You never stopped talking, or singing, or playing that damn lute, you never stayed out of the way on hunts like I told you to, you ignored me whenever I said I didn’t have feelings or I didn’t need anyone or we weren’t friends. And you wouldn’t leave! You just kept coming back, no matter how much of an arse I was, even when I acted in ways that would have made other humans shit themselves, or come after me with torches and pitchforks, or both. You just kept coming back, and you kept not believing me when I told you I was a monster, and you never smelled fucking afraid, and after a while I realized that irritated wasn’t the only thing you made me feel anymore.”

He seems to withdraw into himself a little, his shoulders hunching and his head hanging slightly. He tries to withdraw his hand, but Jaskier isn’t sure he can get through this conversation without it, so he hopes Geralt will forgive him for pushing yet more boundaries and simply holds onto him tighter.

Geralt sighs again, but stops pulling away. “But there’s still so much shit in the world. There are so many humans who hate me, or fear me, or try to cheat me, or who end up being monsters worse than the ones they want me to kill, and the problem with having it smacked over my head that I do actually have feelings, is that it makes it so much harder to ignore them. And there’s so much anger in me, Jaskier, and grief, and loneliness. And I can’t ever show it to anyone, or it will confirm everything they think they know about me. It will make me a monster. It will make me the Butcher all over again.” He looks up again, his expression anguished. “You’re the only one who’s safe. You’re the only one I can be angry around, or sad, or scared, or just annoyed, without thinking the worst of me. You’re the only one who ever comes back.”

Jaskier is back to feeling like his heart is being fed through a sieve, but he thinks he understands what Geralt is trying to say this time. He feels a renewed rush of guilt for assuming the worst of him before. Is he any better than the rest, jumping to the foulest possible conclusion while Geralt wrestles with his tongue to try and make him understand? He turns his head away, closing his eyes against the tears and trying to breathe through the shame.

Fingers grip his chin gently and coax his head back until he’s looking into Geralt’s slitted eyes again. The look on his face is so soft, so open, that Jaskier feels like his ribs are being pried apart at the sight of it. “You have no idea how much of a blessing you have actually been in my life, Jaskier,” and those words just crack his chest wide open and bare his heart to the whole room, don’t they? “I took advantage of you. I wanted so badly to have someone in my life I could show all the darkest parts of myself to, without them running away, that I forgot to show you the rest. And I forgot to help carry your darkness in return. I left you with such a burden, Jaskier, and you never once complained or asked me to help. You have done nothing but give, for as long as I’ve known you, and I wish I could show you how sorry I am that I was content for so long just to take.” Jaskier is pretty sure he’s openly sobbing now, but Geralt is sliding his hand up from his chin to cup his cheek, sweeping the tears away with his thumb, so it’s probably ok.

“Let me make it up to you, Jaskier. Let me be the one to give to you for once. Let me carry your burdens for a while. Let me give you a reason to forgive me. A reason to come back.” His eyes are pools of molten gold, wide and dark and shining with- emotion. An emotion. Jaskier isn’t going to hazard a guess at which emotion, because he isn’t sure he can handle the answer.

“I’ve already forgiven you, you great lummox. For all of it. A safe place is all I ever wanted to be for you. I only ever wanted to give you a home. Like you gave me. Just- just share it with me next time, please? The anger, or the fear? Share it with me first, instead of letting it fester and burn us both. That’s all I need from you.”

Geralt’s hand on his cheek guides him forward until their faces are inches from each other, foreheads resting together. Jaskier’s eyes want to close but he can’t bear to look away, too afraid this is all an impossible dream that will disappear as soon as he opens them again. He can see the way the firelight glimmers off his silver hair, the scars through his eyebrow, the tears clinging to his eyelashes as they sweep gently over his cheeks. He’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever deserved you, but I would do anything for the chance to try to be someone who does. I’m yours, Jaskier. You need only say you’ll have me.”

Jaskier is a man of words. He’s a bard, words are his trade, his weapons, the blood in his veins. No matter what else is happening around him, no matter what he has or what he’s lost or what needs to be done, there are always words ready to spring forth from him like water from a spigot. He has never, in all his life, been out of words.

Until now.

Fuck it.

Geralt’s lips are softer than he imagined, given that his skincare routine seems to consist primarily of monster innards. But they’re soft and they’re warm and they move so gently against Jaskier’s that he thinks he might simply melt into a puddle, to be absorbed into the earth and never seen again. The kiss is tender, and sweet, and longing, and not at all how he imagined his first kiss with Geralt would be. It’s perfect. Jaskier breaks it with a watery laugh, keeping his forehead pressed to Geralt’s.

Somehow his free hand has found its way back into Geralt’s silky hair, and he threads his fingers deeper into the moonlit locks and hopes he’ll never have to let go.

“You’re mine?” He knows he sounds a little pleading, disbelief coloring his tone, but he can’t help it. He’s had this dream so many times, he needs to be sure it’s real this time. “Really?”

“Really, little lark.” Geralt is smiling just as wide as Jaskier is, his cheeks just as damp. “I’ve always been yours, I was just too stupid to admit it. I won’t make that mistake again. I love you. I’ll never leave you behind again, not for the rest of your life, if you’ll let me.”

And, oh, there’s a conversation they should maybe have, because after all the revelations of tonight, Jaskier is fairly sure Geralt thinks he’s completely human, and is probably in pain over his supposed mortality. At some point before they go to sleep Jaskier will mention it, because apparently Geralt hasn’t noticed that his face hasn’t changed a lick in 25 years, the stubble he wears these days notwithstanding.

Because Geralt is a ridiculous, incredible, oblivious, stupid, wonderful fool, and Jaskier loves him so much he can hardly breathe. So he tells him so. The rest can wait.

#the witcher #twn #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla fiona elen riannon #the witcher fanfiction #my writing #i'll do the same with sleep now eventually i think but i want to finish it first

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asweetprologue · 3 years

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Nili’s Benchmark Geraskier Fic Rec List

hey yall! I officially hit 750 followers (a few days ago, I blew past the benchmark without even realizing!), which is... insane. I truly can’t believe that so many people over the last year have enjoyed my presence in this fandom enough to continue to follow my work. you guys are so great and I love you all so much, so I decided to put together a gift for you!

this is a list of my favorite geraskier fics from the fandom, which I have been putting together over the last year or so. a few of these are big in the fandom, but a lot of them are smaller pieces that I feel deserve more attention! I have provided ao3 and tumblr links where I could find them, as well as ratings and summaries. Most of these are canon!verse because I’m not personally a big fan of modern au’s, but there will be a few of those scattered throughout as well. I’ve divided the fics into two sections: oneshots and multichapter. See the list below the cut!

Being in this fandom truly has gotten me through the pandemic in a big way and I have made so many good friends while here. thank you all for validating my weird obsession with these characters and enabling me in these trying times <3

Oneshots

all that was good, all that was fair (all that was me is gone) | M | 7517 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions Of Violence | @xdandelionxbloomx

Somewhere, deep in a forest, a man drags himself from his grave by sheer power of will. He lies gasping on the forest floor and does not know who or what he is. The world is wide and wonderful, though, and there is so much to see.

Or, Jaskier is so stubborn that he literally comes back from the dead.

Another fascinating addition to the mythology of the Witcher. Jaskier’s slow rediscovery of himself is so well done here. One I’ve come back to again and again.

As Fast As Love Can Go | T | 9628 | @bygodstillam

There are Faeries in the Wood.

That's what everyone said, at least, not that there was any solid proof. Jaskier had tried, more than once, to find some. Just a hint somewhere, of a real story, of real magic. But all anyone seemed to have was stories.

Jaskier was determined to find proof. He wasn't expecting to find a witcher in the process.

Fascinating fic with some really interesting worldbuilding, and a fresh new take on True Love’s Kiss. Also with some great art by @hehearse!

beautiful, he stirs up still things | T | 2575 | @alittlebitmaybe

“You’re not asking me to dance,” says Geralt.

Jaskier turns his palm up on his knee, offering it. “I think you’ll find I am.”

Just them dancing. This is a lovely sort of pre-relationship dynamic. So soft.

Dialogue Prompt | NR | 2932 | @reinvent-and-believe

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

Geralt gets Jaskier a gift, which prompts some confessions.

Even a small love | E | 22,272 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con

“Well,” Jaskier replies distractedly. “Lots of things want to strangle you.”

“You don’t.”

It isn’t a particularly troublesome accusation, or even necessarily an accusation at all.

This is one I read early on in the fandom, and it really stuck with me. The dynamic between Jaskier and Geralt is perfect, and the misunderstandings between them feel so realistic. The non-con is not extreme, but do mind the warnings.

For the Space of a Heartbeat | T | 2021 | @drowningbydegrees

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Just sweet, morning after discussions. I love to see them talking for once.

Greensleeves | T | 10,414 | @rebrandedbard

When Geralt crosses paths with Jaskier in the spring, the world is dressed in green. Quite literally. Everyone everywhere is wearing green, and it all comes down to a song Jaskier has written that, to his mortification, has become popular throughout the Continent. It's torment, being forced to preform the song over and over again and have his heart broken anew. But who is this Lady Greensleeves the people say Jaskier is so maddeningly, heartbrokenly in love with? At the baron's wedding party, Geralt is determined to find out.

This is one of my personal faves - there’s just something about Jaskier’s feelings being put on blast while Geralt remains totally oblivious that I think is so very them. And the resolution at the end is delightful.

I Don’t Wanna Fall (If It’s Not In Love) | E | 13,902 | @writinglizards

The first time it's out of desperation. Things get rapidly out of hand from there.

OR the building of a relationship through mutual wank sessions.

I love everything Ashley writes, but this one was the first fic I read by her and it still has a warm place in my heart. I also highly recommend It’s Been A While (makes me cry every time) and Tell Me Honestly

Like a Storm, Like a Flood | T | 1065 | @valdomarx

Jaskier is leaving for the winter, and Geralt can't bear the thought of not seeing him for months.

It was soooo hard to pick only one fic by George, but this one is so soft and sweet and yearning I just had to go with it. This is really just about Geralt finally hitting a breaking point and saying enough is enough.

one flesh | E | 10,763 | WARNING: MCD

“Well, then. I’m a ghost.” Jaskier spread his arms grandly. Geralt held his gaze for a moment, then dropped his head and laughed. Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “Do fill me in on what’s so funny.” It wasn’t funny. It was just so - ridiculous, the things Geralt’s fucked up brain would invent. This had to be the last nail in the sanity coffin, it just had to be.

Or: Jaskier is a ghost, and Geralt is a mess.

Jaskier dies and comes back as a ghost to haunt Geralt into taking care of himself. Geralt does not handle this gracefully. This fic is so sad and heartbreaking, but the ending is so sweet.

to render it transparent | E | 23,901

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

Sigh. This fic. This is a time travel fic - Geralt ends up in the future living with Jaskier on the coast, just after the mountain. It’s slow and beautiful and extremely bittersweet, all about how we choose to love people despite how much it can hurt us.

With All the Continent A Stage | M | 4745 | @greyduckgreygoose

Later, Geralt learned that the play was four hours long. Four hours long. It didn’t feel like it. Most of it passed by in a fever dream of ominous music, dance-fighting and dryads in gossamer leaves, swinging from hoops attached to the ceiling. Yennefer made an appearance, played by Priscilla in a glittering negligee. She sang a song to Geralt about putting him “Under Her Spell”, and they had a sensual dance number which was made a little strange by a sickened Jaskier (played by Jaskier) coughing loudly in the background.

(Jaskier invites Geralt to a musical production inspired by his own life.)

Jaskier basically writes Geralt a love letter in the form of a four hour long play. Geralt is an idiot about it.

Multi-Chapter Fics

A Lover’s Lament | M | 25,364 | @somedrunkpirate

So,” Jaskier begins, as casually as he can, “you are telling me, that in theory, if I were to be in love with someone — anyone — that person could well be in terrible danger?”

Of all terrible and ridiculous things that have threatened Geralt’s safety, Jaskier’d never thought that loving him might be what will get him killed.

I honestly can’t count the number of times I’ve read this fic. The monster is so interesting, and the mythos of it fits seamlessly into the world of the Witcher in my mind. Jaskier being so afraid that his feelings are going to put Geralt at risk, clearly unable to see that Geralt is going through the exact same thing. I think about the scene with them looking at each other almost daily.

A Pair of Gloves, the Scent of Roses | M | 24,134 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence

In the bustling days before the Midsummer festival, Geralt is sent into the countryside to deal with a monster - with Jaskier once again by his side. But the bard has not forgiven him, and while he's not hiding his contempt for the Witcher, he is recalcitrant about revealing his true motives for joining him. As the hunt turns into a desperate mission to save an innocent man and the monster is not what is seems to be, Geralt learns a few new things about his old friend and decides to finally attempt to mend the rift between them...

This is one of my favorite’s in the fandom - it feels so believable, the world is so rich and the oc’s are convincing and charming. Geralt and Jaskier feel so honest here, stumbling around each other but still drawn together. Beautiful beautiful beautiful

Bearing the will of the flower | NR | 11,449

The way Jaskier sees it, his hobby of following a witcher around was always pretty likely to get him killed.

The fact that it's happening now because the witcher in question doesn't love him, he thinks as he coughs up crumpled flowers, hardly makes a difference.

My favorite hanahaki fic in the fandom. I’m such a sucker for these, and these two idiots being so incapable of talking about their feelings really makes them prime candidates.

Food of Love | T | 22,488 | @wallatile-qvibbler

I brought a dead princess back to life through the power of song is the kind of thing that would have got an eyebrow raise even from the stone-faced Geralt of Rivia, so it's a good thing he and Geralt will probably never see each other again.

(or: the one where Jaskier channels magic through his songs, and it almost never goes as expected.)

This is a Jaskier and Renfri centric fic, which wasn’t something I knew I wanted until I read this. Jaskier is a bard which in this AU comes with magical powers, but it feels so well integrated into the universe that I wish it was just... how the Witcher is. Renfri is so good here, and even though Jaskier and Geralt barely even interact you can feel the tension and love between them. Cannot recommend highly enough.

friends and allies of the witcher | T | 10,312 | @theamazingbard

Yennefer crawls over to her newest cellmate. They’re curled up on their side. Breathing, but only just. She’s not sure what she’s hoping for when she turns them over. Still isn’t when she sees that it is indeed Jaskier.

“Shit."

Yennefer and Jaskier each suffer in more ways than one at the hands of Nilfgaard.

Yennefer and Jaskier get capture by Nilfgaard and tossed into a cell together. Exactly what I want out of season 2 honestly. Their interactions are gold.

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope | E | 45,188 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con | @lesdemonium

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier's mother with Jaskier's obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the "gift" became more of a curse.

You know I’m not gonna make a rec list without listing Zoe’s Ella Enchanted au. Need I say more?

Silver and Copper | M | 56,139 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence | @kaer-cuan

Geralt is just supposed to pass through the quiet Lettenhove area. He's not anticipating being begged by its people to help save their viscount from a curse that keeps him from daylight. Lord Jaskier, they call him, and he's likely dying.

As Geralt struggles to untangle the ugly web of history that has lead to the increasingly complicated curse, he finds himself spending more and more time with the strange young viscount and wondering just what he might have been before the curse, and who he might be after. But things are not always as they seem, and as the curse tightens its grip on Jaskier, Geralt is forced to face the fear of failing yet another person whose choices were stolen from them.

Or-

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

This is a fic that haunts me. It’s very scary in parts, and mind the tags - there are some very heavy themes here. But it’s beautiful and touching, and Jaskier feels very true to himself even though his origin is so different.

we could be married (and then we'd be happy) | E | 50,222 | @a-kind-of-merry-war

Jaskier reached into his pocket, fingers grasping around the little box. He pulled it out with what he hoped was a romantic flourish, flipping it open to reveal the simple gold band inside. “Geralt,” he said, confidently, cooly, like this wasn’t terrifying, “Will you marry me?”

Geralt and Jaskier fake marriage proposals to get free deserts and shit but it goes tits up when Vesemir catches them in the act. Not knowing how to fess up, they go along with it for a while, which is hell because they’re both pining like mad. As I said, I don’t love modern au’s, but it’s merry so of course this one had to end up on my list.

And that’s it! 20 fics for you, and hopefully you can all find one or two you haven’t read before. There are a lot of people and fics that I didn’t include in this list only because I was trying to not put a million down (which I could). I highly recommend anything by @wherethewordsare, @julek, @contemplativepancakes, @witcher-and-his-bard, and @inber, as well as those linked to fics above, and I’m sure there are others I forgot to mention. Yall have truly made being in this fandom worthwhile <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic recs #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #witcher #fic recs #fic rec #I'm certain i missed a lot of good ones I've read over the years but I didn't want to risk making this super fucking long anyways #if you didn't see your name listed it isn't bc I don't adore you and your fics it's because i'm stupid <333

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

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Drown In My Desire

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: siren pls see ao3 for the full list of tags, this is... something edit: some formatting got fucked up and I had to make some adjustments, sorry if there are any wonky bits now 😅

Geralt is barely off the boat back from Skellige when he hears about the contract. There's a lone Siren causing trouble along one of the trading routes; drawing the ships closer until they wreck on the jagged rocks of the bay. The fishermen complain loudly about it as he disembarks and as soon as his feet hit dry land, Geralt makes straight for them. It's basic Siren behaviour, likely to be an easy job and then back on his way.

The men are offloading barrels and Geralt keeps out of the way as he approaches the one giving orders.

"Heard you've got a Siren problem," he says and the man straightens up to look him over.

"Aye, we do. You're a Witcher, right? You'll take care of it for us?"

"What are you offering?"

"Godsdamn anything at this point. Things wrecked six shops, we've lost 11 good men, countless hours of labour... Name your price, Witcher, we'll pay it."

"Five hundred," Geralt suggests.

"Fine by me. Bring back proof of the kill and you'll get your coin."

"Agreed." Normally, Geralt would request half in advance, but he's dealt with Novigradian merchants before and they're reputable and trustworthy most of the time. Plus, this is a simple contract, probably not even worth the 500 he asked for.

He stays to get the rest of the details from the merchant, then heads into town to rent a room at the Kingfisher. He won't be in town long, but he may as well have somewhere comfortable to sleep when he inevitably comes back cold and wet.

Geralt bribes a local fisherman to take him out to the bay or as close to it as possible - no one will go right in any longer. They moor on the far side and Geralt disembarks, thanking the man and paying him a generous fee for his service. He didn't have to bring him out here, and many other men wouldn't dare go this far.

He hears the song immediately and it makes him pause. Geralt has heard the Siren song before, has even fallen under its spell in the past, and this is not it. This is a Siren, for sure, and he is singing, but his song is... sad. Geralt frowns as he makes his way over the swell of the hill, the beach sprawling out before him in a wide arc.

It's sandy, devoid of rocks and debris but the tide is down and large, jagged rocks break the surface of the water. Waves roll up gently onto the shore and Geralt scans the shoreline, looking for any sign of the Siren. The song is coming from the far side of the small bay, but he sees nothing.

Readjusting the belts across his chest, he makes his way down to the beach and across the sand.

He spots him shortly, tucked under a shelf of rock out of the sun, curled around himself. Geralt thinks at first, that he may be injured, hence the despair in his song, but as he approaches he recognizes a sense of desperation in the tune. Approaching further, he catches the creature's interest and he looks up at him, his confusion a mixture of desperation and fear and resignation. Geralt looks him over as he approaches, not trusting the Siren not to jump out and attack. He knows well enough they're crafty and wouldn't stop short of setting a trap in dire situations.

But when Geralt is within a few feet, the Siren still makes no sign of wanting to hurt him. If anything, he looks miserable to have been discovered and Geralt does a quick once-over for injuries. There are none visible, but as the Siren unfurls himself, stretching out to his full length, Geralt pauses.

He doesn't know a lot about Siren anatomy past what a sorcerer will pay for what, but he's seen enough pricks in his life to know one when he sees it.

Jaskier whines internally and shuts up as soon as he sees the figure approaching. He was trying to attract... well, not him. Not a Witcher. He needs someone to solve his problem, not to be killed as the solution to someone else’s. But maybe that would be better than going through this every five years out here alone. Maybe the Witcher will be kind and put him out of his misery and then- well, at least he wouldn't be stuck here on his own like this.

But the man approaches and doesn't do anything. He just looks, walking closer until Jaskier could nearly reach out and touch him. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he can, he uncoils himself to prove he's not a threat. His cock aches and he's reminded of the fact that it's very blatantly on display, but that's the least of his problems now.

"You're the one who's been wrecking ships?" the Witcher asks and well, yes, Jaskier assumes that's his fault.

He's seen the wreckage washing up on shore, seen the men floating lifeless amongst the waves. He tries to help, but in this state, it's impossible to do much before the burning need overtakes him again and he's rendered useless.

"I didn't-" he starts, but he doesn't think a Witcher will care whether he meant to or not. He just wants a companion, wants someone to help ease this ache as his own attempts aren't helping any longer, he didn't mean for the humans to get in the way.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't mean for them to get hurt." Jaskier doesn't look at him, but the Witcher is quiet for some time and then,

"It’s... a mating song?" he guesses and something in Jaskier’s stomach twists uncomfortably that he could figure it out so quickly. Jaskier avoids his eyes looking instead at the way the sand coats the toes of his boots.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jaskier's head snaps up at that and he looks the Witcher dead in the eye. He's never heard of a monster being given a chance to tell their side of the story, to redeem themself. The Witcher drops to the sand, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"I-" Jaskier starts, unsure if this is some sort of twisted game. "I just- I was hoping someone might be nearby to hear-" he feels pathetic, his only consolation the fact that the Witcher doesn't know that he came here willingly, he left his family willingly to go out and explore the vast oceans and now he’s miserable.

"How long have you been here?" the Witcher asks, "you've never caused problems before now."

"Before now I wasn't-" he rolls his eyes in frustration at himself, slapping his tail against the sand. "Sirens," he starts again, "go through cycles. I'm in heat and I'm alone and every attempt I've made to reach out has only ended in ruin." Jaskier scowls at his own confession.

"I tried to help," he adds solemnly, "I just... I can't focus, I don't have the strength to pull them to the surface- I tried," he persists, "but I'm not much use like this." His cock aches and he groans at the timing. "I hardly think that deserves a death sentence." He wraps his tail protectively around himself, hiding the evidence of his situation.

"Not here to hurt you," the Witcher explains, "just here to keep people from dying. I could... help?"

Jaskier starts at the offer, his wings snapping tight against his back. "What do you mean, help?"

The Witcher huffs a light laugh and Jaskier tries not to be too hopeful. He's never strayed beyond his race, though he knows many who have and if he were to, well, the Witcher isn't awful to look at. In fact, Jaskier thinks, taking in his shining golden eyes and shock-white hair tied back in a loose bun, he’s quite lovely.

"Now, I know you're not stupid," the Witcher says, almost sounding amused. "The offer’s there. I'll help if you stop with the singing."

Maybe it's the need coursing through him, or maybe it's the fact that no one has ever been so kind to him before, or maybe there's just something about this man's smile that makes him weak. Jaskier agrees.

"Not here," he says. "Can you swim?" The Witcher cocks an eyebrow at him. "I'd prefer not to have to do this out in the open where anyone could just wander upon us. I do have some sense of decorum."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," Jaskier says simply. "It's not far." He shifts in the sand, sitting up and gesturing out toward the sea. "A human could make the swim, surely a Witcher can as well."

"Fair enough. I'm Geralt, by the way. And I can swim."

"Jaskier."

He squirms in the sand, trying to force his cock to withdraw, but it's no use. Geralt rises, kicking off his boots and removing his gear, tucking it away into a crevice in the rock. He bends down, scooping Jaskier into his arms. It's a shock and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but wind his arms around Geralt's neck and hold on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way his cock juts out obscenely, betraying him.

Geralt walks into the waves, releasing Jaskier as soon as the water is up to his waist. He holds his breath, lets Jaskier take his hand, and follows him down beneath the surf. Jaskier feels marginally better out of the sun and sand, in the cool water, but not much. He swims quickly, eager to return home and get on with... whatever Geralt has in mind to help.

He ducks into the narrow tunnel, dropping Geralt's hand and gesturing for him to follow behind. He does, and Jaskier leads the way back to an underwater cave. Glowing coral grows near the ledge of rock, where the water gives way to open air again. It gives off a little light, but Jaskier can see perfectly well and he knows Witchers have night vision.

He slips up onto the stony cave floor and offers a webbed hand to Geralt as he breaks the surface. To Geralt's credit, he only seems a little out of breath as he's hauled up out of the water.

Jaskier flops back on his side, watching the way Geralt rises to his feet, tugging his soaked shirt off and wringing the water from it. His trousers remain in place and Jaskier finds himself disappointed, curious to see what's hidden beneath. But this isn't a fun romp for the sake of it; this is an agreement, Geralt is simply doing him a favour.

When he seems pleased with the state of his shirt, Geralt lays it out and lies down next to him, lining his body up with Jaskier's. He's... stunning up close and it takes more of his effort than it should not to simply reach out and touch him just for the sake of it. He remembers fucking other Sirens, the touching, the press of bodies - he misses it, and he finds himself wishing this was something more than a simple favour. But that's selfish; Geralt is already offering him so much, for so little in return and nothing, even, for himself.

"You'll have to walk me through it," Geralt says with a smile, "I've never fucked a Siren before."

"Oh. You can just... touch me?" Jaskier says and Geralt reaches out tentatively, slipping a hand over the swell of his hip.

"Like this?"

Jaskier nods. It's not exactly what he wants, but it does feel nice and he's not about to try and direct. Geralt's hesitation is short-lived and he slides his hand up Jaskier's chest, brushing his thumb over a nipple and Jaskier's breath catches. He watches the movement of Geralt's hand as his fingers press into his skin, warm, despite the swim through cool water.

He shifts slightly, leaning up on one arm and pressing back down, over the swell of Jaskier's hip and he tugs him forward before abruptly before dragging his fingers up the length of Jaskier's swollen cock. He's slow, but delicate like he's learning his way around, but it feels incredible and it's hard for Jaskier not to just thrust up into the touch and take the pleasure from his hands.

Geralt's fingers slip over the ridge at the base of him, curling around him beneath it and squeezing as he pulls up over it.

"What is this?" he asks. He sounds intrigued, curious, and Jaskier can't help but indulge him.

"'S hard to fuck underwater," he hums, moaning as Geralt's fingers reach the tip of his cock. One dips into the slit, pressing against it, and Jaskier whimpers. "Keeps me from... slipping out." The noise Geralt makes in response is hard to determine, but it sounds interested. He moves his hand back down to squeeze around the ring.

His fingers slip over the swell of skin, pressing against it and running his thumb along the edge. He likes it, Jaskier realizes. It prods at something inside him and he presses his hips forward encouragingly.

"Does that feel good?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead against his arm to keep from moaning out loud. He wants to show his appreciation, wants Geralt to know he can do as he pleases with him, but he doesn't want to push too hard.

Geralt’s light touches grow bolder, pressing more firmly, jerking him quickly and firmly and as Jaskier whines and squirms beneath him, Geralt grows more confident. His fingers slip down, pressing between the folds of his sheath, pressing right down to the base of his cock and within. No one has touched him like this before, the sharp jab of a Siren's claws not conducive to pressing inside.

Something warm spreads through his chest and he finds himself pulling away, embarrassed by how vulnerable he suddenly feels letting a stranger touch him this way, a Witcher no less. Immediately, Geralt withdraws his hands and the look on his face implies worry.

"Sorry," he blurts, then softer, "tell me if it's too much."

"No, I just. No one's ever-"

"I'll stop."

"No," Jaskier says again, a little too abruptly. "No, it was good, it just... caught me off guard." Geralt doesn't wait to be told twice, but his fingers move more slowly as they slip back into place at the base of his cock. Jaskier gives a little thrust on encouragement and Geralt presses his palm against him, giving him something to rut against while he explores.

Jaskier rocks against him, burying his face in his arm as the need takes over. Given an inch, he's no longer able to control himself, so needy for it that he's invited a perfect stranger into his home to fuck him. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind his desperation, doesn't mention it. He picks up quickly on Jaskier's most sensitive spots, going back to rub over them, pressing his thumb beneath the swollen ring and Jaskier's mind goes blank with the pleasure of it.

He's never noticed how sensitive it is there; the use of hands in Siren coupling is rare and limited to squeezing and jerking, not prodding and rubbing like Geralt does so easily. It's hardly Jaskier's fault that he can't contain himself in the face of this new, wonderful sensation.

The swell of his climax creeps up on him slowly, his mind too preoccupied with where Geralt's fingers are and what they're doing. It's not until Geralt wraps around the base of him, pushing as far into his sheath as his fingers with reach, that Jaskier realizes how close he is. His hips jerk hard and Geralt's other hand shoots out to steady him, holding him close as Jaskier writhes against him.

There's not much else he can do like this, just squirm and try to press as much of his cock against Geralt's palm as he can. Otherwise, he's under Geralt's control, letting him do what he wants, take him apart as he will. Geralt's thumb presses along the underside of his cock, pressing up toward the tip and Jaskier jerks hard as his orgasm washes over him, spilling over Geralt's hand and up his arm.

His hips twitch, cocking slipping easily against Geralt's arm with his own spend to slick the way. He'd be embarrassed, coming so quickly with so little stimulation to anything but his cock, but Geralt hums, sounding very pleased.

He continues touching him, fingers slipping through his spend and using it as slick, rubbing down the full length of him and rubbing against the slit at the tip.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier can only nod and whimper, still struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck abruptly and Jaskier shifts onto his back to allow him better access. He likes the warmth of Geralt's breath on his neck, the soft press of his lips and the occasional flick of his tongue against his skin. Geralt says nothing as his kisses become firmer, pressing down the column of his throat and down his chest.

His hand remains on Jaskier's cock, stroking slowly as he kisses down the length of his body, not even pausing as pale skin gives way to shimmering scales. He seems unbothered by it and Jaskier likes the feeling of his lips on his tail. Geralt doesn't release his cock until he's moved fully down the length of Jaskier's body, straddling the end of his tail.

Geralt kisses around the base of his cock, not touching it but for the barest brush of his cheek as he passes. Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation, arching off the bed with each kiss that gets closer to where he wants it. When Geralt's lips finally press against him, he lets out a strangled groan and arches off the ground, hands immediately and automatically groping for Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt kisses up the length of him, teasing the tip with his tongue before moving back down again. Jaskier wants his mouth, wants to feel that wet heat around him, so different than the cool touch of one of his own kind. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a mouth around his cock, but he's used to sharp teeth, to slow and cautious strokes. When Geralt gets his mouth around him, he's anything but.

The moment Geralt's lips wrap around him, quick and eager, sliding his tongue over him and pressing his lips in close, holding him tight as he sinks right to the base. His tongue presses in where his fingers had been and Jaskier knows now that he likes exploring, likes discovering what makes Jaskier squirm and taking advantage of it. And he's incredibly good at it.

His fingers that had, up until now, been happily settled on his hips, push up to brush against his skin. One hand remains, seeking out the smallest part of his waist and settling in the dip as the other moves down again. Jaskier's foggy mind suggests that he intends to wrap around the base of his cock, but Geralt gets distracted somewhere between. His fingers pass over Jaskier’s slit and he pauses. Slowly, Gerlt lifts his head, licking up the length of Jaskier's cock and looking at the opening beneath his fingers.

"Can I?" he asks and Jaskier nods.

This is... new. He knows for women it can be pleasurable to be touched this way, but he's never had anyone do it to him. As a child, they told stories about men who fucked each other like this, the way they fuck women, but Jaskier had been young and naive and passed them off as nothing but stories. He'd never found anyone who wanted to touch him that way and had assumed, like most things children talk about, it was a rumour.

But Geralt's fingers tease the opening and sparks rush over his skin. Jaskier's cock throbs and he pushes himself up to watch. Geralt catches his eyes for a brief moment, before dropping back to his work and pushing inside.

"Oh," he breathes, "you're wet." Jaskier squirms, as his body gives way to Geralt's finger, quickly joined by a second.

As with everything, he moves slowly at first, pushing deep and rubbing into him. It feels good, much better than Jaskier could have expected and then Geralt bumps against something inside him and Jaskier cries out, digging his claws into Geralt's shoulder.

When he realizes what he's done, he releases him quickly, but Geralt seems unfazed and he's smiling when he meets Jaskier's eyes again.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathy, yes. Geralt grins at him and ducks down to wrap his lips around the tip of Jaskier's cock.

Geralt's fingers work in time with his mouth, picking up speed as Jaskier's groans become more frequent, less controlled. It doesn't take him long like this, with his cock slipping down Geralt's throat and Geralt's fingers constantly pressing against whatever that is inside him that feels so fucking good.

He comes with a gasp as Geralt thrusts up into him again and Geralt makes no attempt to keep him from pushing his cock deeper into his throat. If anything, he seems glad for it, and when Jaskier slumps back against the ground again, Geralt pulls off his cock with slow precision, careful to wrap his lips tightly around the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and his chest heaves, but he's aware of Geraly lying back down next to him.

"That felt... good."

"No one has ever touched you like this?" Geralt asks lightly. Jaskier waves a clawed hand at him in response. "Mmm, understandable. But you liked it?" Jaskier huffs a tired laugh and turns to face him.

"Very much."

"Can I?" Geralt asks, already sliding slick fingers along his waist.

"Please."

Geralt rises to his knees, straddling Jaskier's hips for a moment before dropping to the ground on the other side of him. He presses right up against him, slipping an arm under his neck and holding him close as his other hand presses flat against Jaskier's stomach, sliding downward. He crooks two fingers, pushing inside him and seeking out that same spot again.

He finds it with ease and when Jaskier jerks hard, Geralt pulls him in against his chest. He drops his forehead to Jaskier's, breathing hard against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, letting the pleasure wash over him. Geralt thrusts into him, quick and precise, then slows to tease at the opening, fingers slipping slowly in and out, and Jaskier can't decide which he likes more.

When he's quick, it punches the breath out of him, leaves him mindless and aching for more, but then he slows, gently caresses and rubs into him and it's like a slow fire burning within him, gradually burning brighter. His mind goes blank, foggy with lust, and he wraps himself around Geralt's shoulders, drawing him close. Even with Jaskier wrapped around him, he never falters and before long Jaskier is writhing again, his tail slapping hard against the floor as pleasure courses through him.

He's overwhelmed, so entirely encompassed by pleasure that he can't do more than cling to Geralt and whimper until, at last, he comes, his cock untouched where it spurts over his hip.

Slick drips from his slit, mixing with his come and Geralt pulls out slowly, swiping his fingers through it and sliding them around Jaskier's cock. He cries out at the first touch, oversensitive from multiple consecutive orgasms, but it still feels good underneath the sensitivity and he can't bring himself to tell Geralt to stop.

When Geralt finally lets him go, Jaskier flops onto his back and stares up at him. Geralt is watching him, his eyes dark but bright, and he smiles. Unthinking, Jaskier reaches up, wrapping one hand around Geralt's cheek and tugging him down toward him. At the last second, he realizes what he's doing and hesitates, but Geralt closes the distance, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

It doesn't last long and Jaskier has to keep himself from nipping at his lips when they part. Geralt presses up close and for the first time, he feels the hard line of Geralt's cock beneath his trousers and it makes his breath catch. For a moment, he just stares at him, enthralled by the idea that Geralt is turned on by this.

"You're... aroused?" he asks and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm, if you like."

Jaskier grins, shifting onto his side and pushes Geralt over. He laughs and goes easily, watching as Jaskier spreads a hand over his chest. He maps out the planes of his chest, pushing clawed fingers through soft chest hair before dragging them lightly down toward the hem of his trousers.

He rakes his eyes over the jut of Geralt's cock, but doesn't touch, afraid of pushing too far. A favour, he reminds himself, Geralt is doing him a favour here. So he slips his hand back up to his stomach, mimicking the way Geralt touched him at first, exploring the little dips and rises in his skin, careful not to catch his claws.

And when he looks up to him again, Geralt is watching him. Something in the way he looks at him makes Jaskier's chest tight and he dips down again, catching Geralt's lips in a kiss. Geralt kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Jaskier on top of him.

Both hands move down, cupping the swell of Jaskier's tail and rocking him slowly forward. Jaskier's cock, still sensitive, presses against Geralt's through the rough fabric of his trousers. He hisses at the drag, but Geralt moans at the friction and the sound goes straight through him. This time, Jaskier does it on purpose.

They find an easy rhythm between the two of them and even with Geralt's trousers in the way, the sensitivity soon gives way to pleasure and Jaskier ruts against him, kissing him hard despite the lingering fear that he'll bite too hard. Geralt however, seems unconcerned. He's got one hand buried in Jaskier's hair, the other pressing between them, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. It takes him a moment, but he gets them undone, finally pulling his cock free and Jaskier groans as he ruts against him.

Geralt is hot, his cock even more so, and Jaskier basks in the warmth, pressing himself closer, even with Geralt’s hand still between them. He's sure he could come just like this, happy to rut against him, but then Geralt's fingers are pressing against his slit again. His fingers come away slick and he winds his hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking him slowly.

"What do you need?" he asks and Jaskier whimpers.

"What you did before," he breathes, "could you... do that again?" In an instant, Geralt flips him onto his back again, dragging his fingers up to his slit, but Jaskier stops him. "Could you... with your cock?"

"Oh. Fuck, yeah."

Geralt shifts, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off before pressing up close again. He pulls Jaskier into a deep kiss, his hand sliding away to bring his hips closer. He ruts against him, pushing through the slick and come and when he catches on Jaskier's slit, Jaskier lets out a little gasp and grasps at Geralt's shoulders.

Geralt pushes forward pressing into him and Jaskier holds his breath as he stretches open on his cock. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he settles and then he rocks forward, slowly at first, just short little thrusts that leave Jaskier aching, pushing himself onto him, wanting more.

And Geralt gives it to him. He sinks deep, hooking a knee over Jaskier's hip to hold him close as he ruts, his cock pressed firmly against that spot that makes him wild. Jaskier bucks and whines, his own cock slipping against Geralt's with every thrust. He delights in the feeling of Gerslt inside him, of his warmth and the stretch of his cock, sliding into him and filling him wholly.

He's surprised to find Geralt as breathless as he is when he looks up at him and he can't help but tip forward and nip at his lower lip. Geralt groans and kisses him hard. He pushes him onto his back so he's straddling his hips and when he sits back, Jaskier's cock presses between his cheeks.

He rocks his hips, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat around his cock and Geralt shudders as he pushes back against him. His eyes flick up to Jaskier's and he licks his lips.

"Can I try something?" he asks and Jask nods enthusiastically.

Geralt withdraws immediately, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's slit. When he withdraws, he reaches behind himself, and Jaskier burns to know what he's doing, but the slick fingers wrap around his cock, and Geralt sits back on him. Jaskier groans low as Geralt's body engulfs him, heat seeping into every inch where they touch and he reaches out, fingers digging into his thighs, so careful not to leave scratches.

Geralt rocks back onto him, taking the full length of Jaskier's cock and grinding back against him. He rolls his hips and squeezes around him, pulling right up to the tip before dropping back down the length on him. Jaskier is breathless, helpless to do anything but squeeze Geralt's thighs and bite his own lip.

Tentatively, he wraps one hand around Geralt's cock, slipping webbed fingers over the head of his cock. Geralt moans softly, sliding one hand over Jaskier's and guiding it down. Jaskier nearly stops breathing as the head of Geralt's cock nudges against his slit and then he's sliding in again, filling him up even as he squeezes around Jaskier's cock.

It's so much. Jaskier's body sings with the twin pleasures of being filled so wholly and sinking into Geralt himself as he shifts his hips up.

"Fuck" he groans and Geralt drapes himself over his chest, kissing the moan from his lips.

He finds a rhythm, a careful balance that keeps them joined in both places and Jaskier has never felt such overwhelming pleasure in his life. He meets Geralt's thrusts, thrusting in deep as Geralt sinks into him and it's hardly surprising when he finds himself creeping close to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake around him and he wants to hold out, to make Geralt comes first, but Geralt reaches up, nipping at the sensitive skin over his throat and the pleasure that zips through him is too much.

His hips snap up hard and Geralt kisses him through it, deep and hard, his whole body arching against him. He follows shortly, burying himself deep in Jaskier's body and rutting into him urgently. The moans and pleas that drop from his lips do nothing to ease Jaskier's persistent erection, but as Geralt slumps against him, Jaskier feels the exhaustion creeping in.

Geralt, too, seems tired and Jaskier withdraws reluctantly, mourning the loss of Geralt's body around him. His cock remains stubbornly hard, still unsheathed, but the aching desperation wore off some time ago and he flings himself into the water, quickly rubbing himself down to prevent waking up sticky and uncomfortable. A moment later there's a splash as Geralt rolls off the ledge next to him.

He swims closer enough for Jaskier to reach him and he makes a point of wiping Geralt down first before wrapping a hand around his cock and sliding slowly. Geralt's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Jaskier's neck with a soft, shuddering moan.

"How long does this usually last?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Anywhere from a week to six."

Geralt gawks at him. "Six weeks?"

"On and off," Jaskier huffs, amused. "I don't swim around with an exposed prick for six weeks. And besides. It's usually two, though it is much more in much more... concentrated bursts."

"Meaning I should stick around?"

Jaskier's heart thuds heavily at the suggestion which is, realistically, ridiculous. He's known Geralt for all of a few hours and under normal circumstances, the man would have just killed him. But the idea of keeping him close spreads warmth through his chest.

"You don't have to," he says anyway. "You kept up your end of the deal. I'll be quiet."

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, nosing at his neck, "but it'll get bad again. What would you do with no one here to get you through it."

"Are you..." Jaskier starts, hesitant. "Are you saying you want to stay?"

"Maybe not exactly here," Geralt shrugs, "I'd appreciate being warm and dry part of the time. But I don't intend to go far. Maybe I'll camp out on the beach."

"Will you stay for now?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Yes."

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge the way his heart clenches a little. He shouldn’t want Geralt to stay, shouldn’t care what he does with himself now that he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, but as they finish cleaning up, he seems happy to be there.

Once they're both clean and Geralt has managed to pull another orgasm from him, they settle on the ground, Jaskier curled up around him. His cock rests perfectly against the cleft of Geralt's ass and he has to be careful not to move too much, lest he work himself up again. He spreads one wing out over Geralt, using it as well as he can to keep him warm.

“You should go back,” Geralt says quietly and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded almost disappointed, “leave here and find more of your kind so you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jaskier admits, “but I like it here.”

“Mm,” Geralt hums sleepily, “guess I’ll just have to come back then, hm?”

Five years later…

The need returns, just as it always does, creeping up slowly and then hitting him all at once, but this time it's worse. This time he has the memory of his Witcher, soft and sweet touching him and kissing him and working him through it. And the memory only serves to make the need stronger.

But he made a promise.

So Jaskier holes himself up in his cave and deals with it as well as he can on his own and when that quits working on the first day, Jaskier swims to the surface in the hopes of coming across some other passer-by who might be willing to risk their life to fuck a Siren.

But when he breaches the surface of the water, there's a figure on the beach, moving oddly. He keeps low in the water, just his head breaking the surface and when he gets closer he realizes it's a man taking off his boots. It takes a couple of seconds to register as the man strips completely naked, but as he gets closer, as Jaskier swims further, he recognizes him. There's a swell of something warm and pleasant that settles in his chest and his heart beats just a fraction too quickly.

Geralt came back for him.

#geraskier #siren #monster march #spicy #nsft #rex writes

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

To give without knowing (1/ ?)

Inspired by YorkandDelta <3

pairing: Geraskier

word count: 2k

summary: Jaskier finds a wooden figure Geralt had carved and thrown away in the woods and thinks it’s a gift from the fae

read on AO3

Witchers didn’t carry pretty trinkets and momentos with them. What use would they be? All they did was take up too much space in the bags and get in the way. So Geralt made a point not to get attached. Not to places, not to people and not to objects that weren’t strictly necessary for his survival. Least of all he got attached to the small wooden animals he found himself carving whenever he was alone with his thoughts and certain that no one was around to watch him craft them. Which happened less and less these days, ever since meeting the bard that refused to leave his side and was doing everything in his power to get Geralt to grow attached to him.

On the rare occasions that Jaskier was away, playing at some court or visiting his friends, Geralt found himself carving the little animals with more vigour than he had before he had met the bard, as if the scraping of the blade scratching over the wood was replacing the noise the bard was taking with him whenever he left. If Geralt were a man of pretty words and poetry he might have looked at the figures he carved to fill the silence left by his friend's absence and thought it poetic and meaningful in a way. But Geralt wasn't a poet. He was a witcher and witchers didn't give objects meaning. They didn’t grow attached. So he dropped the useless figures after finishing them on the forest floor and forgot about them. He didn't care about what happened to them. Didn’t care that he would never see them again. Until one day in early spring he found himself caring more than he'd ever thought possible.

Geralt had just closed his eyes, enjoying the thought of a quiet night of rest in an actual bed at an inn after a day of a brutal fight when the door was thrown open unceremoniously. Geralt cranked one eye open and shot a glare at the bard - dressed in obnoxious colours and with a smile that really shouldn't be so blinding - striding into the room. "You couldn't have knocked?" Geralt grunted, hoping his tone would hide the way his lips wanted to lift into a smile at the sight of his friend. The winter had been too long and if Geralt’s protesting muscles hadn’t made him aware of the movement he had made to get up, he would have probably tried to do something stupid like hug the bard. As it were, the only greeting Jaskier received after all the time spend apart was a grunt and a nod. Jaskier didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his face brightened at the familiar mannerisms. "I think we both know that if I had knocked you would have told me to fuck off. But now that you are in my wonderful presence you would never dare do that." "Jaskier," Geralt said, looking Jaskier deep in the eyes. "Fuck off." Jaskier threw his head back laughing. "Not a chance. We both know you're happy to see me." Geralt rolled his eyes but didn't deny the accusation. He couldn't tell if Jaskier noticed. His friend was too occupied putting his lute down and letting himself fall onto the bed with a content sigh. "Oh the joys of uncomfortable inn-beds," Jaskier groaned, running a hand down his face. "You are free to sleep on the floor," Geralt said with a bemused grin. "Aha!“ Jaskier shot back up and pointed a finger triumphantly at Geralt's nose. "So you do want me to share the room with you!" Of course I do. Geralt huffed and crossed his arms. "You wouldn't leave no matter what I said." Somehow Jaskier's smile got even brighter and Geralt's mouth went dry. "You know me too well, dear friend." Geralt hummed non-committally. Jaskier seemed to take it as a sign to start unpacking. Geralt leaned back and listened with closed eyes to the sound that had become routine; the noise of Jaskier bustling about, of the fabric of his night clothes unfolding, of Jaskier chattering away as he found the best spot to put his lute. It all sounded painfully like returning someplace safe.

For a foolish moment Geralt let himself imagine that they weren't at an inn, but in a place they could call home. The illusion and the routine were disrupted by a noise that didn't belong to their normalcy; the dull thud of wood on wood. Geralt opened his eyes again. His breath got stuck on his throat when he saw what Jaskier had put on the night stand. It was a chunky wooden figure of a bear, the wood unpolished and weakened by rain. The craftsmanship was clumsy at best and Geralt knew exactly why: because this figure had been carved with a dagger I stead of the appropriate carving tools. More specifically, Geralt's dagger. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the little bear. His little bear. No, not his. He had no use for these kinds of things. They didn't mean anything to him after he left them in the woods to rot. And yet... The thought of Jaskier having found one of them didn't sit right with Geralt. It did something strange and uncomfortable to his chest. It shouldn't bother him as it did, but he couldn't help but wish Jaskier had never seen Geralt's clumsy attempts at crafting something beautiful. Not when Jaskier himself was a master of creating beautiful things; weaving flower crowns with clever fingers and spinning tales and songs with his silver tongue. Geralt's eyes flickered up to Jaskier who had gone strangely still. Their eyes met and for a terrifying moment Geralt was certain Jaskier knew. He knew that Geralt was the one who had made this imperfect thing that wasn't worth picking up and Jaskier was mocking him with it. Geralt's stomach clenched painfully and he was overcome with the sudden need to flee. But then Jaskier's eyes crinkled with his brilliant smile and a wave of giddy excitement rolled off of him. "It's pretty isn't it?" Jaskier said and took the figure in hand again, holding it up as if to inspect it more closely. "I can't believe I finally found one too." Geralt stared at him dumbfounded. "Too?" "Why of course. Sometimes I think I'm the only one who hasn't been blessed by the forest spirits." Geralt's brows drew together. Jaskier must have noticed his confusion - or maybe he was just happy to talk and have Geralt listen - for he began to explain with shining eyes. "Those figures appear all over. Mostly in forests but sometimes they appear on the road as well. People have been finding them for decades. Have you never noticed how people put them on mantle pieces or carry them with them for protection?" Geralt schooled his face into neutral expression while his mind was racing. He had never intended for anyone to find his carvings. He had never wanted anyone to find them. They were... They didn't mean anything. There was no reason for people - for Jaskier - to get so excited about them. "They say that it's the fae's way of showing their favour,” Jaskier continued, unaware of Geralt’s inner turmoil. “The figures bring luck to those who find them. Well, at least that's one version of the tale. Over in Brugge they say that the figures are charmed and protect the bearer. One of my old teachers in Oxenfurt always said that someone who finds a wooden animal in the woods is bound to get together with their true love within a year. I always liked that version the best. What do you think, is this the year I finally get my true love?"

Jaskier winked at Geralt and nudged him playfully in the ribs. Geralt's mouth went dry and he forced himself to look away from the way Jaskier's eyes lit up. He told himself the only reason why his stomach was churning was because Jaskier would be disappointed when he realised that there was no magic in these carvings. It had nothing to do with the thought of Jaskier finding someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and leave Geralt for them. "Fae would never show their favour to humans. If those things," he nodded his chin to the bear, "were made by the fae they would probably bear a curse. And they would be prettier," he added in a tone that wasn't meant sound that bitter. Jaskier gasped outraged and clutched the bear to his chest as if that could protect it. "How dare you!" he half-shouted in a voice if utter indignation. "I'll have you know that my little bear is perfect. And it does bring luck. After all, I found you mere hours after finding it." Jaskier lifted his chin triumphantly as if he had won an argument. Geralt huffed. "You call that lucky?" It came out more as a grumble than the playful tone he had aimed for. Geralt hadn't meant it to sound so dismissive, but it was better than letting the softness that rose up in him at Jaskier’s words creep into his voice instead. "Yes I do," Jaskier said with a finality that didn't allow any more protests. "And I would appreciate it if you could stop scowling at it as if you wanted to smash it." Geralt turned away with a shrug that looked more nonchalant than he felt. "I don't care what happens to it," he repeated the thoughts he had had so many times before and that for the first time might be a lie, "It's just a piece of wood. Nothing special about it." "I beg to differ. It's quite special to me." There was something in the way Jaskier said it so softly that made it hard to breath. Something unpleasant squirmed in Geralt's chest. He risked another glance at Jaskier who was looking down at the figure in his hand as if it was something to be treasured. It shouldn't feel so nice to have Jaskier hold something Geralt had made and look at it as if it was precious. It felt as if Geralt had given him a gift. Except, if Geralt actually had done that Jaskier wouldn't look at the figure with shining eyes. He wouldn’t smile like that if he knew who it really was from. No one wanted a gift from a witcher. Least of all Jaskier who had admirers sending him expensive doublets, bottles of wine and other luxuries a witcher wouldn’t be able to afford in his wildest dreams. Anything Geralt would have been able to offer Jaskier would have been nothing in comparison. So Geralt did the only thing he could and always pushed the thought of buying Jaskier nice things as far away from his mind as possible. Trying to gift Jaskier beautiful things that might make him happy was bound to fail for someone like Geralt. But here was Jaskier, stroking a finger absentmindedly over the wood as if it was polished and smooth. Geralt cleared his throat. "I'm glad you like it then." That seemed to content Jaskier, for he rewarded Geralt with a dazzling smile and put the little figure back in the nightstand right in Geralt's line of vision. Jaskier probably did it out of some sense of petty smugness, but as night fell and the little bear that for some reason meant so much to Jaskier watched over them, Geralt couldn't help but feel warm. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so bad if his figures had found their way to a poet after all who could give meaning to them. Maybe sometimes tall tales of fae gifts and blessings from forest spirits helped bring a smile to a bard’s face and bring him some happiness that Geralt wouldn’t have been able to give him otherwise.

Next to him Jaskier turned over in his sleep and pressed his forehead against the space between Geralt’s shoulder blades, sighing contently. Under the curtain of the night Geralt allowed himself a little smile.

Maybe sometimes it wasn’t so bad to get attached after all.

#I'll probably write a second chapter #maybe #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt #jaskier #witcher #witcher fic #fanfic #my writing

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vampire--dad · 4 years

Text

For the Witcher Writers’ Circle Server prompt bingo! @lovelyeskel

Prompt: Established Relationship

——————

“You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

Jaskier smiles. He wasn’t sure about growing a beard, but since Geralt did for the winter, he thought he might as well. Over the years his hair has slowly become streaked with gray, including his facial hair. He just about fainted when he saw the first one grow through. It only spread from there. Geralt loves it. He never thought the bard could be any more beautiful, yet here he is, his ageless smile framed by brown and silver hair. The hair in the top of his head has grown as well, now brushing against his jawline. Geralt can’t help but run his fingers through it whenever he gets the chance. It’s as thick and soft as ever.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, mister,” Jaskier says, setting aside his lute and delicately placing himself across Geralt’s lap. The witcher’s arms slide around his waist and pull him close. “You still owe me ten ducats for throwing that snowball at Eskel’s backside because you didn’t have the balls to start the fight.”

“Mmm. What’s mine is yours… or some shit like that...”

Jaskier laughs as Geralt peppers his cheeks and lips with kisses.

“I’m sorry to tell you, dear heart, that’s not how it works,” Jaskier chuckles.

“What are you going to spend it on anyway? It’s the middle of winter.”

“I happen to be saving up for new lute strings.”

“I’ll buy you new lute strings.”

“Is that an excuse to get out of paying me?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Geralt.”

They chuckle and share a slow kiss. Ciri feigns gagging as she witnesses them over Eskel’s shoulder. Her uncle laughs and scratches his head, wondering when this girl got so good at gwent.

Lambert sees it too. He hates to admit that seeing his brother happy with Jaskier stings. He once had someone like that. Once. And he slipped right through his fingers. He should never have let Aiden go on that contract in Ellander alone. He should have gone with him. Maybe they could have fought off Karadin and his assassins together. But there’s no use in reminiscing. He and Geralt saw to it personally that Aiden was avenged. Perhaps killing Karadin was cold, but he couldn’t let the man go on after what he had done. Philanthropy means fuck all when your past is covered in blood. You don’t get to walk away from that. Or at least that’s what Lambert tells himself.

The doors to the keep burst open, groaning loudly enough for them all to hear. All eyes shoot up to the hall that leads to the entrance. Several of them reach for swords as the wind howls inside. Vesemir goes first, scowling at the hallway as he approaches it. Eskel and Ciri are the next to stand, Ciri holding a blade as they walk towards the hall. Not just anything can open those doors when they’re bolted shut. Geralt shifts Jaskier off of his lap with a frown and joins Lambert as they disappear down the hall together. Jaskier is left in the common room by the fire, knowing he won’t be much help.

A man covered in snow leans against the open door, shivering and clearly too weak to stand on his own. Short, sandy brown hair hangs damply from his head. Vesemir grips him by the collar and tosses him against the stone wall as Geralt and Eskel struggle to close the doors against the wind. Ciri props the man’s chin up with the tip of her blade, revealing a pale, scarred face, a weak toothy grin, and a pair of familiar yellow eyes— one, at least. The other is covered by a thick leather eyepatch.

“Alright, sweetheart, lay off. I don’t mean any trouble,” the witcher chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender.

Lambert stands frozen in the hallway, staring at the man, but at the sound of his voice, his heart almost stops beating. It can’t be. It’s not possible. Before any more can be said, he forces himself between Ciri and Vesemir, shoving his father and niece out of the way, and stands before the man with tears gathering in his eyes. He knows that voice, that smile, that beautiful man he tortured himself for ever letting go on his own.

“Aiden…?”

“Here he is, the man of the hour,” Aiden laughs weakly. “I was just looking for you, wolf—”

Whatever shitty joke Aiden had planned for him is cut off. Lambert throws his arms around Aiden and squeezes him tight, trying to reassure himself that this is real. He is real. Aiden is alive. His arms are wrapped around Lambert’s middle and his head tucked into the crook of his neck just the way he used to. He grabs Aiden’s face and plants a bruising kiss on his lips as the others watch in bewilderment. He barely even notices they’re there. Aiden’s lips are ice cold and just as sweet as he remembers. A tear slides down his cheek as he squeezes his eyes shut. Ciri doesn’t think she’s ever seen her uncle cry. He pulls away with a relieved laugh.

“You asshole, I thought you were dead,” Lambert breathes, brushing Aiden’s wet hair from his eyes. He pulls Lambert closer in desperate search of any warmth he can cling to.

“Please, takes more than a measly little crossbow to rid you of me, wolf,” Aiden says affectionately, gently wiping a tear from Lambert’s cheek. “Now can we please talk about this somewhere warmer? I just about froze my ass off getting here.”

Without a second thought, Lambert lifts Aiden from his feet and carries him to the common room to sit by the fire. The other four witchers stand about, looking from person to person in confusion. Geralt smiles knowingly.

“So that’s why he killed Karadin,” he mumbles. “He thought he had lost the man he loves.”

“You seem to know what’s going on,” Ciri says with her hands on her hips. “Mind filling us in?”

Geralt explains their story as he remembers from Lambert. Vesemir and Eskel glance down the hall with reproach at the mention of a cat witcher. Geralt gives them a look of warning. He remembers feeling the same reproach, but he won’t judge the man if Lambert, of all people, loves him.

“I know the reputation that the School of the Cat has made for itself, but this is Lambert. He doesn’t trust easily, we all know that. If he can trust this one enough to let him get that close to him, perhaps we need to trust his judgment.”

Eskel and Ciri nod slowly. Vesemir doesn’t, but Geralt knows better than to push it. They return to the common room where Aiden is wrapped in a blanket before the fire with Lambert by his side. Jaskier has run off to the kitchen to get him something to eat. He and Lambert talk quietly about the things that had happened to him while he was gone, the wolf staring lovingly at the cat and stroking his hair gently. Eskel’s never seen that look on Lambert’s face. Perhaps Geralt is right. If anyone can break through that rough exterior Lambert keeps up, they deserve their trust.

As the others take their seats nearby the fire again, Lambert sits up a little straighter and introduces everyone. His arm is wrapped tightly around Aiden’s shoulders.

“These are my brothers, Geralt and Eskel, Geralt’s daughter, Ciri, and Jaskier is Geralt’s husband.”

“Daughter?” Aiden asks, cocking an eyebrow at Ciri. “Witchers can’t have children. What kind of chaos did you have to meddle in to end up with one?”

“It’s a long story,” Ciri and Geralt say in unison.

Aiden had always known he was going to end up at Kaer Morhen with Lambert’s family. He could never tell if he looked forward to it or dreaded it. The School of the Cat has a reputation and he knows the wolves will hold him to it until he can prove otherwise. He nods slowly and turns back to Lambert.

“And what about the old bastard— where’s he gone off to? What about him?” Aiden asks.

“That’s Vesemir. Our... mentor.”

Vesemir has retired to his room without a word. Lambert is almost relieved. If anyone is going to give Aiden a hard time, it’s him. Lambert was never one to refer to Vesemir as their father. Geralt and Eskel do, when he’s not around, but he can’t. The man might have taught him everything he knows, but he’s not his father. His parents are long dead. Aiden nods slowly.

“I remember you telling me about him.”

Jaskier returns and hands Aiden a bowl of stew. He smiles gratefully at him, noticing at last that he is the only one who doesn’t have yellow eyes, the only non-witcher in the room. He quirks his head slightly at him.

“It’s not common to find a human in a witcher’s keep, let alone married to one,” he says. His voice constantly carries a tone of mischief. “How did that happen?”

Jaskier chuckles as he sits next to Geralt and slips an arm around him. He sees why Lambert would like this one. He’s got that same snarky sense of humour.

“Many, many years of following him around and trying to keep him alive until he realised I wasn’t so bad for a bard,” he teases, gazing at Geralt lovingly. The witcher chuckles and kisses the bard’s cheek.

“More like many, many years of annoying me until I realised there was no getting rid of you,” he says with an amused smile. Jaskier laughs softly and shakes his head. They could save the flirting for later.

“Enough of that, you old brute. Aiden, how did you get to Kaer Morhen in the middle of winter? It’s bad enough to travel in winter in general, but up here in the mountains…”

Aiden shrugs as he shovels stew into his mouth. It’s been weeks since he’s had something proper to eat.

“The mages that found me had planned on keeping me until spring. I had other ideas. One of ‘em found me pretty enough to help me sneak out with a few of their warming potions and some extra cloaks,” he says with a smug grin. Lambert’s hold around his shoulders tightens possessively. Aiden rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry, wolf,” he teases. “Nothing happened. I was busy sneaking out to get back to you. Couldn’t let you go without me for too long.”

“Just making sure,” Lambert mutters.

Lambert lays on his side, propped up on his elbow, watching as Aiden strips himself of his sodden clothes before the fire. As long as it has been, neither of them want anything. They just want to spend the night in each other's arms as they used to after a hunt.

“That scar is new,” he observes. He knows all of Aiden’s scars like they’re his own. Aiden glances down at the thick pink line that creeps across his ribs and down his back.

“Oh, right. Cockatrice. Little fucker caught me off guard,” Aiden says indifferently, slipping under the covers with Lambert. His skin is cooler than usual. Lambert runs his fingers along the scar as if he’s committing it to memory along with the others.

“If that’s the case, you deserved it,” he teases, kissing along Aiden’s jaw with a smirk. “Should never have had your guard down.”

“I’d just lost an eye, wolf,” Aiden chuckles.

“Shame, too. You’ve got the prettiest eyes…”

“Lambert…”

The wolf sighs with content as he pulls Aiden into the circle of his arms and presses a soft kiss on a scar on his shoulder. It’s his favourite, that scar. The one he gave him when Aiden decided to introduce himself by trying to kill him. His hands roam down Aiden’s back, fingers brushing over old bumps and ridges from past battles. It’s soothing, for both of them. He still can’t quite believe that Aiden is here, he’s alive. He might just go visit those mages and see if he can return the favour once winter passes.

“I’ve missed you, kitten.”

Aiden smiles softly. He loves when Lambert calls him kitten. There were times he thought he’d never hear it again.

“I missed you too, pup.”

#geraskier #lambden #let lambert be soft #i love that bastard so much #i promised kellie something soft after the amount of angst i wrote yesterday #fanfic #the witcher

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

The Shape of Love pt.5/6

Geralt had Jaskier’s lute slung over his shoulder with his swords as Jaskier padded quietly next to him. They’d just finished a contract on a wyvern and were both a bit bloody and broken. Jaskier’s muzzle was bloodstained from when he’d pulled the wyvern off of Geralt after he’d been trapped under its talons. Jaskier had also been very effective at grounding the wyvern. He’d shifted into a royal wyvern to chase after the draconid and managed to puncture the wyvern’s wings, forcing it to land. Jaskier had landed soon after and shifted to wolf form. The large canine was clearly one of the bard’s favourites. He’d mentioned once that it had been the first animal that he had ever shifted into so Geralt assumed he must feel some kind of affinity to wolves.

The irony did not escape the witcher from the school of wolf.

Jaskier was limping slightly after the encounter, his back leg had been clawed in the attack so he’d chosen to remain on four paws as they made their way back to town. Geralt had suggested that Jaskier changed to something he could carry but the wolf had whined and shaken his head. Geralt surmised that it would be too painful to change after that so he’d taken the lute and satchel from the wolf and slung them over his shoulder. Geralt had grumbled about it looking less strange if anyone saw them but they both knew the truth.

As they approached town Jaskier whined loudly and laid down. Geralt sat beside the wolf on the ground. Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s lap and gazed up at him forlornly with those beautiful blue eyes. Geralt scratched behind Jaskier’s ears.

“Reckless shit.” He grumbled softly.

Jaskier pressed his head into Geralt’s hand and let his tongue hang out his mouth in a sort of wolfy smile.

“You can’t come into town like this. I left with a cat.” Geralt tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as he saw the blood still oozing from Jaskier’s leg. “I’ll need to stitch that up.” He noted.

Jaskier whined again.

“It would be easier if you were a human for that. The fur gets in the way.” Geralt grumbled as he gently ran his fingers through Jaskier’s fur. He never ceased to amaze him how thick the wolf’s fur was and how warm he was. A dead wolf’s fur just didn’t have the same effect.

Jaskier’s ears flicked and he let out a heavy breath. Geralt laughed. Jaskier sometimes did that when he wasn’t a cat. It was like he was still trying to purr but the non-feline form didn’t quite allow it.

“Come on, Jask. I don’t want you bleeding out on me.” Geralt scowled at the bundle of fur in his arms. “It’s going to be fucking hard to replace you if you die.”

Jaskier snorted but raised his head to lick Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier” Geralt groaned but the wolf seemed to have regained some of his energy and he stood up and put two paws on Geralt’s chest. Geralt let himself be push back and Jaskier howled happily and wagged his tail before attacking Geralt’s face with licks.

Geralt grimaced as he caught the whiff of wyvern blood but he was happy that Jaskier seemed to have perked up.

The moment of happiness didn’t last long. It never did for Geralt. Jaskier’s ears pricked up and he suddenly spun round, growling as another witcher came charging down the path.

“Geralt!” Lambert yelled, his sword raised and ready to swing. “What are you doing you arse?”

“Lambert! No!” He jumped to his feet and unsheathed his own sword ready to stop the blow.

Jaskier seemed to have forgotten his injury. He was snarling at the ginger witcher and snapping his teeth.

“Jaskier! Down!” Geralt reached for the scruff of Jaskier’s neck to pull him away from Lambert but he was too late. Lambert had swung at the wolf. Jaskier managed to dodge the attack but Lambert was well trained and he turned straight into a second attack, hitting the wolf over the head with the hilt of his sword.

Jaskier yelped and crumpled to the floor. Geralt’s sword caught Lambert’s before he could make the killing blow.

“Lambert stop!” Geralt yelled and managed to flick his sword to disarm his friend who’d been startled by Geralt’s protests.

Lambert’s sword clattered on the ground and Geralt knelt next to Jaskier.

“Jaskier!” He frantically ran his hands through the wolf’s fur. He felt the rise and fall of his chest. He was still breathing, just knocked out. He kept a hand in Jaskier’s fur as he turned to face the other witcher. “What the fuck, Lambert?”

“It was attacking you!” Lambert put his hands up in defence. “It was all over you and you’re both covered in blood.”

“I told you to stop!” Geralt shouted, panic rising in his chest like he’d never felt before. “Why do you never fucking listen?”

“I’m not fucking apologising for trying to protect you!” Lambert crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What’s the deal anyway?”

“He’s a shifter” Geralt muttered and tugged gently at Jaskier’s ears, trying to rouse him. “and he’s already wounded.”

Lambert laughed. “My my, White Wolf, it almost sounds as if you care.”

Geralt snarled at the other witcher. “Do not test me.”

Lambert raised his hands. “Alright, alright. Fucking hell. You really do care.”

“He’s… mine.” Geralt grumbled as Jaskier whined under his hands. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier growled under his breath and his cornflower blue eyes fluttered open, glaring at the redhead who was watching sheepishly from a safe distance.

“He said sorry.” Geralt shrugged. “I don’t recommend biting him, you’ll probably get sick.”

“Hey!” Lambert protested but fell silent as both wolf and witcher glared at him.

“Do you have any healing potions?” Geralt asked with a tilt of his head.

“Only witcher ones.” Lambert shrugged.

Geralt grunted and whistled for Roach. She came cantering up the path, from where she had been grazing, and Geralt found some bandages. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. He needed to stop the bleeding. He pulled out a bottle of dwarven spirit and poured it onto Jaskier’s wounded leg. Most of it soaked into his thick fur but Jaskier howled as Geralt held him down.

“Stay still, you bastard.” He grumbled. “I’m trying to help.”

Jaskier growled back at him but let Geralt tie a bandage around the wound. “It still needs stitches.” He noted glumly. “Can you stay here with Lambert whilst I get our stuff?”

Jaskier barked and nodded his head.

Geralt looked between his brother and his friend. “Behave. I want you both alive by the time I get back.” He glanced at Roach. “Look after them, Roach.”

Geralt only stayed in town for as long as it took to finish up the contract on the wyvern and grab their stuff from the inn. He also managed to pick up a healing potion. The merchant overcharged him and he was left with only a handful of coins

He didn’t care.

Jaskier was hurt.

By the time he returned to the edge of town, Jaskier was whining softly in Lambert’s lap.

“Look, I said I was sorry.” Lambert grumbled at the blue-eyed wolf. “Stop looking at me like that, wolf.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at the pair of them before walking over.

“Well, isn’t this cosy?” Geralt smirked and cross his arms in front of his chest.

Jaskier looked up at him and barked. The bandage on his back leg was already turning red with blood. He whined as he tried to stand up.

Geralt scowled. “Jask, you have to shift back so I can stitch that up.”

The wolf whined and closed his eyes. The fur rippled on his back and the whine morph into a very human howl of pain.

“Fuck!” Jaskier hissed.

Lambert jumped as the wolf in his lap suddenly shifted into a very naked grown man. “What the fuck?”

Geralt usually turned his back when Jaskier shifted back to human but this time he was more concerned about treating Jaskier’s wounds. The bandage fell loose around his upper thigh and blood was matted in hair on Jaskier’s leg.

“Geralt.” Jaskier choked and reached out for Geralt’s arms, falling from Lambert’s lap and passing out.

Geralt caught Jaskier in his arms, sharing a concerned glance with Lambert. He poured the potion down Jaskier’s throat and Lambert helped him stitch up the wound. They received a couple of strange looks from passers by but the four swords meant that they kept a wide berth.

“Should’ve taken him back to the inn.” Lambert drawled.

“Hmm. Couldn’t do anything whilst he was a wolf. Wouldn’t have gotten near the place, let alone to our room.” Geralt muttered as he worked.

He pulled the stitches carefully together. The wound had already started to heal better with the healing potion in his blood. The bruising around his temple was also starting to fade. Geralt would just need to watch out for concussion. He mentally cursed Lambert for his act before thinking attitude.

“Our room?” Lambert smirked.

“Cheaper than two.” Geralt replied dryly. “Jaskier usually sleeps shifted.” He added, which was mostly true. They’d only shared a bed a couple of times without Jaskier bothering to shift, normally when the bard was drunk or tired from performing.

“Right.” Lambert grinned.

Geralt punched him in the arm. “Fuck off.”

Lambert laughed but stood up, wiping Jaskier’s blood off his armour. “Always a fucking delight, White Wolf. Bring the shifter to Kaer Morhen. He seems like a laugh.”

Geralt grunted. He had thought about inviting Jaskier to the keep. He wondered whether Vesemir would have anything in his extensive library about shifters like Jaskier but he hadn’t been sure how the other witchers would react to Jaskier’s abilities or whether Jaskier would want them to know. After a rough start both Lambert and Jaskier seemed to get on alright, at least they did when the shifter was a wolf, which was something.

Geralt wasn’t sure why but it was important to him that Jaskier and the wolves of Kaer Morhen got along.

Geralt managed to manhandle Jaskier back into his clothes, leaving the doublet unbuttoned and loose. He threw Jaskier over his shoulder, trying to avoid putting pressure on his freshly stitched wound and led Roach down the path. It was getting dark and they’d have to make camp soon. He needed to make sure the shifter could rest. A room at the tavern would have been ideal but Geralt didn’t have the coin left after buying more healing supplies.

He sighed and looked up at the dusty grey sky. Streaks of red painted the edge of horizon, Jaskier would have cooed and started waxing poetry about the pretty sight. Geralt was just happy to admire the view. He’d always preferred to be on the road than in a town.

The stars were glittering in the sky by the time Geralt had finished setting up camp. Jaskier was still sleeping. Geralt had thrown a spare blanket over the bard and settled by the fire. He would have to stamp the fire out soon but he knew that Jaskier needed the heat. He didn’t usually sleep in human form whilst they were on the road, he preferred to sleep as a wolf or bear, something with a thick coat.

He was half way through sharpening his swords when Jaskier groaned.

“Geralt?” He slurred and reached out with his hand.

Geralt dropped his sword and moved across the camp on one stride and took Jaskier’s hand. “I’m here.”

“The fuck happened?” Jaskier groaned. “Did I drink too much?”

“Lambert hit you over the head.” Geralt explained.

Jaskier scrunched his nose. “Lambert?”

“A witcher. He thought you were attacking me.” Geralt scowled. “Do you remember anything?”

Jaskier frowned. “Wyvern, wyvern hit me. Hurt like a bitch.”

Geralt nodded. “Took a while to get you to shift back. You passed out almost immediately.”

“Huh.”

“You had me worried, bard.” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier smiled weakly and squeezed Geralt’s hand. “I’m sorry, dear heart.”

Geralt’s heart clenched in his chest at the nickname.

He ignored it.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me in winter.” He grumbled instead. “Vesemir might have some information on shifters.”

Jaskier winced as he sat up, closing his eyes and hissing in pain. “You want me to come to Kaer Morhen?” He asked through gritted teeth

Geralt nodded as he watched his friend carefully. His chest ached as he assessed Jaskier’s injuries, noting every movement that caused the shifter pain. He was going to murder Lambert over winter, maybe get a necromancer to bring the bastard back to life so he could kill him again. Then maybe he’d track down any nearby wyverns.

He sighed.

He couldn’t do that.

Revenge was not their way.

Jaskier put his hand on Geralt’s cheek. “I’d love to come, but winter is still a few months away, my dear. We have plenty of adventures to have first.”

Geralt gave him a small smile. “Not until you’re healed.”

“I heal fast. Not as fast as you witchers but faster than a normal human. I’ll be back to my ever so charming self in no time.” He winked and kissed Geralt on the cheek.

Geralt’s thoughts stopped and he just stared at the blue-eyed shifter.

Jaskier tilted his head, tossing his fringe from his eyes. “Geralt?”

“Rest. Jaskier.” Geralt managed to say in a strained voice.

“Whatever you say, witcher.” Jaskier rolled his eyes and settled back into his bed roll.

He fell asleep quickly and Geralt was left watching the soft rise and fall on his chest. The fire crackled in the darkness and bathed Jaskier in a soft orange glow.

He was beautiful.

The thought caught Geralt off guard but once it was out in the open he couldn’t contain it. He smiled fondly at the sight of the sleeping bard.

Yes.

He was incredibly beautiful.

And Geralt never wanted to let him go.

__________

#the witcher #geraskier #jaskier pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #shapeshifter!jaskier #shifter!jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #the shape of love #wolfie's witcher writing

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 4 years

Text

The girl from the Prophecy - One

Geralt of Rivia x Mage!Reader

Story Summary: In the world of mages, Witchers and monsters there is a prophecy about a young sorceress, a heir of the one and only Jan Bekker. The one to subject the ‘Force’. The one to control all the Chaos. But it’s just a prophecy after all. An old one and well forgotten.

Chapter Summary: Living alone in the house in the middle of the forest was always quiet. Until Geralt of Rivia and his very loud bard-friend decide to stumble at the swamp near your house.

Story Warning: Possible spoilers from books and games! Swear words, angst, fluff, possible smut, Witcher-like violence.

A/N: So this idea has been in my head since I read the book (which was around 10 years ago), but because the Witcher community was almost non-existant I decided to never post it. But now that Netflix series came out, I can finally post this story. I am super excited. Because I read those book and played the games in Polish I do apologise if some wordings aren’t right (sorry, English isn’t my mother tongue)

I hope you all will enjoy this little story <3

You were used to being alone. You lived on your own since you were seven. The walls of your family house were the only thing that surrounded you all day. The walls, your bow you used to kill the animals in the forest and the teenage boy that always came here to pick up lotions for the people in the town. The villagers. You went to the town once after your father killed himself. It was a week after you buried him by yourself at the little lake he used to love so much. You were tired, hungry and sad. A kid left alone in this world. You did not understand why your dad hated you, why he left you alone. And so you didn’t understand why he always forbade you to go to the town. But you understood it quite quickly that day.

The way they looked at you. Their whispers and hissed words directed at you. They hated you. They despised you and for some bizarre reason, they feared you. It did not matter to them that you had the money for food. No one wanted to talk to you. No one even cared to help you. They called you a WITCH. There were even some that believed you were the one who killed both your mother and father. You remember coming back home that day and cry yourself to sleep that night.

But you decided not to give up on life and follow the steps of your father. You took the bow that belonged to your mother and taught yourself how to use it. While cleaning their bedroom you found some books and scrolls and spent your free time reading.

Before your mother died she read you a lot. She taught you how to read. She told you stories about the world beyond the village and the forest you lived in. She used to tell you about a beautiful power you had inside of you and how she would help you to master it one day. She gave you a necklace one day and told you to never take it off. She even showed you basics of hunting. Until one day she got sick. You remember your dad sitting next to her bed all day and night until she gave away her last breath. Your mother was a strong, beautiful and kind woman. She knew what she wanted in life. She knew what she wanted for you and wasn't afraid to put the most bizarre dreams and adventure plans in your head. But she wasn’t able to fulfil any of the promises she gave you.

Before she died your father was a nice man, who worked at the stable in the village. He loved horses and always told you stories of them, promising to take you there one day, to meet his friends, as he called them. Another unfulfilled promise.

You remember this kind man who made you this awful porridge every time you were sick. You remember the man that loved your mom with all his heart. You remember him, even when he changed. After your mother’s death, he changed. The way he looked at you was similar to the way the villagers looked at you that day. He ignored you, only giving you food. He didn’t speak. He went to work very early in the morning and came back at night.

A night before he killed himself he came back from the town completely drunk and dirty. He looked at you in the same way as he did since your mom died and spoke to you, the first and the last time since the love of his life died.

“I tried to love you. When you were born and your mother told me you had the same powers she did, I knew she would be able to teach you and hide it from the villagers… But someone found out about her and you. Have you got any idea how hard it is for me to go to this damn place and hear about the Witch I live with? God! How I wish it was you who died and not her. I see you reading those damn books this woman left behind and all I want is to slit your throat in the middle of the night. But I can’t, you know why? Because you look just like her!” You remember the tears in your eyes and your little heart, breaking into million pieces because the only person you had in this world hated you. “You are nothing and will be nothing. The villages hate you because you are a Witch. I go to sleep every night afraid you will kill me in your sleep. But I’m done! I’m done with you and with all those idiots in the village. I can finally go and see your mother! I curse you! You will never be loved and you will die alone! ” You didn’t understand the meaning of his words until the morning when you find him at the kitchen table with a knife on the floor and a slit throat. You remember not screaming, unable to move. You stood there for what seemed like hours and looked at the dry blood on the kitchen floor.

It has been 10 years since that day. And nothing changed. You were still living alone, away from the villagers. You did, however, try to learn from your mother’s books. You were able to use some of the magic you learned to help the animals in the forest that needed your help. You were happy to be able to heal them. You were a Witch, but at least you tried to use it for a good purpose. You avoided the village, getting your own food from the forest and water from the lake a mile away from the house you lived in.

By accident, you met a boy, no older than 8, five years ago. He was swimming at the lake with his four years old sister. He didn’t seem to be afraid or disgusted by you. You gave him a pie you baked for yourself, and since that day he was your mediator. You were selling different kinds of ointments and creams thanks to him. He would take it from you and sell it, saying to everyone it’s from the village next to yours. No one questioned him how he got it. But were happy to buy them. You gave him food and 10% of what you earned and he never turned you on.

You were used to the monsters in the forest. There were some from time to time. Normally some Drowners that were coming out from the lake. You read about all of the possible monsters and always had some silver with you. Your arrows had a bit of it in them.

You knew the flow of the air and the energy in the sky when the monster appeared. But today, it was different. There was something else in the forest. No… someone else.

Quickly, you took your bow with you, with that little dagger you always carried around, put your hood on and left your house to examine what was wrong.

So many times you tried to fight the feeling of not caring what would happen to the villagers. But you couldn't. You quickly realised that you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if something happened to anyone while you could have done something. So you played the role of the saviour without no-one realising it.

Your steps were cautious afraid to scare whatever, or whoever was there. Your bow ready for action. Possibly needed spells already memorized in your head. You didn't care if you died, but it did not mean you wanted to die.

You stopped, hearing grunts and squicking of what you assumed were drowners. Your hand squished the bow and you took another step, holding when you noticed a huge man, with incredible white hair and a sword that in normal conditions would get your eyes to shine with curiosity. He was standing there alone, fighting all those monsters. And to your surprise, he was doing quite alright. You frowned noticing the black orbits. Witcher.

You never saw one, but you read about them enough to know that this man in front of you should be able to handle himself.

"I wouldn't come closer, my lady!" You turned, pointing your arrow between the eyes of the man that just came standing near you. You frowned seeing his colourful clothing.

"Who are you?" You asked quietly, not lowering your weapon. Just because he didn't seem like hurting you didn't mean he wouldn't.

"Julian Alfred Pankratz, but you can call me Jaskier my lady. A bard. One and only who shares the adventures of Geralt of Rivia!" Saying it he showed to the man who was fighting right now. "You must have heard of…"

"Why are you not helping him?" You lowered the bow and turned to the fighting man. It must have been your imagination but it seemed like he became slower.

"Geralt of Rivia does not need my help", your hand moved a bit when the Witcher hissed with pain. The monster did not seem to lower in numbers and his energy did not seem to grow.

You waited, trying to ignore the whispers from Jaskier near your ear. The man - Geralt - seemed to lose energy faster than you expected. He must have been hurt somewhere vital. You took a deep breath and secured the hood on your head. You could not sit and watch a man die on your watch. Not when you would be able to help him.

Not thinking of the consequences, you mumbled the words of the spell and invisible barrier appeared around the man, at the same time he fell on the floor. The drawers turned towards you, the moment you threw them away with your magic. Raising your bow, you killed three of them and while the others approached you raised your hands in front of you and whispered.

"Henenaa fireaoth kerelanth!" The bright light came out from your hands and the monsters in front of you dilacerated into pieces.

"Fuck!" Jaskier shouted in disbelief when you stood there, breathing a bit faster than you liked. You closed your eyes when this weird voice in your head came back. It always happens when you used a stronger type of spells. "You are a mage! Fuck that was amazing!" Relaxing you turned towards the Witcher who was lying unconscious on the grass. Ignoring the bard you kneeled in front of the white-haired and checked his pulse. Alive. Good. You looked around and sighed. It was dangerous to heal him here in case the drowners would come back.

"Sir Jaskier", he shut up hearing your formality. "Your friend seems like a heavy man. I live nearby, would you be kind enough to help me to bring him to my house. I should be able to help him there." The bard nodded and helped you to raided Geralt to his feet. He growled but didn't say anything. Apparently, he wasn't fully unconscious. You glanced at the drowners bodies and promised yourself to come back here and ran it up, after taking care of the Witcher.

You found out pretty quickly that the bard was a talkative man, that had no boundaries. He spoke of Geralt, of the adventures, the beautiful women he came to see and wish to see more. Despite it being tiring, you enjoyed hearing him talk. When you're so used to leaving alone, the voice of another human is always pleasing.

"I was able to heal his most vital wounds. When he wakes up, I'd like him to take a bath and clean the blood out, before I put him back to bed." You mumbled making Jaskier shut for a while. “The bandages should last till he wakes up but the wound on his thigh worries me…” You weren’t accustomed to a half-naked man in your bed, but the clothes he was wearing were sticking enough to his body due to the mud and water. “He seems to heal pretty well by himself, so probably I shouldn’t worry.”

“He lived through worse”, Jaskier joked, sitting in front of the fire that you kindled to help the Witcher sweat whatever possible toxin could travel through his body.

“Yeah, I can see that.” You mumbled looking at the enormous amount of scars plastered on his body. You could only imagine the number of monsters he had to fight in his entire life. It saddens you to see that, but also, you could not help but think of the chunk of adventures he lived and feel a bit jealous. “Stay here for a while, please.” The bard looked up at you when you started to head to the doors. “If he wakes up, please make him drink what’s in the cup, there.” He nodded and you smiled a bit, thanked that he was willing to help. They may have a weird relationship, but this annoyingly talkative man truly cared about the Witcher.

Taking your bow you came back to the river and collected what could be useful to make any potions. Drawners’ bodies were full of important ingredients and if they were already killed, you weren’t the one to pass on the occasion to pick it up. You took the man’s swords that he lost during the fight and was about to walk back home when you heard a shuffling in the forest. Your bow ready to attack, but you lowered it, when a horse came out, moving his head around, almost as if looking of its owner. A small smile appeared on your lips and you slowly started to walk to the animal.

“Hey, beautiful!” You whispered, stroking its magnificent mane. “Do you belong to the Witcher?” It moved its head, pushing you a bit. You chuckled at its reaction, almost as it understood you. Well. Even if it did not belong to the men you left at your house, you wouldn’t say no to some company. After all, animals were always better for humans, at least to you.

To your surprise, the Witcher did not wake up before you came back. What’s worse Jaskier has fallen asleep and he was snoring. Not annoyingly, but still. You were able to make your own bed for Geralt and some extra sleeping for Jaskier and even start preparing some food for the three of you when you heard voices in the next room.

“She said you need to drink that”, you watched from the door how the bard tried to make his friend drink whatever medicine you left for him. “Y/N!” He finally exclaimed, noticing you. He stood up and walked to you, gesticulating with his hands. “I told him to drink it, but he’s as stubborn as…”

“Who are you?” Your eyes landed on the Witcher, who was gazing at you, almost as you were an assassin sent to kill him.

“I’m Y/N.” You started, slowly walking towards him. “I live him and you, dear Witcher stumbled across some awful Drawners.” You smiled softly at him and took the cup that he put away just seconds ago. “I tried to make it drinkable, so please take it.” He stared at the liquid inside of the cup and with a growl, he drank it all in one go.

“What am I doing here?” His tone a bit less offensive now as he was during the previous question. His low voice bringing you shivers, that ran through your whole spine.

“We saved your life, Geralt!” Jaskier chimed it, apparently unhappy to be left behind. “Ok, fine, she saved your life.” You chuckled quietly when Geralt raised his brow. “I did help carry your heavy ass in here…” He grunted, crossing his arms at his chest.

“You did indeed.” You answered, making him smile at you. “You were fighting Drowners, and as impressive as it was, you were outnumbered. You should think of a better companion next time.” The Witcher smirked and poor Jaskier gasped offended. “I was able to stop the bleeding and take care of your major wounds, but the one on the thigh is still making me worry.” You repeated what you said to the Bard not so long ago. Your eyes travelled down seeing how the blood managed to soak through the bandages.

“You used magic…” You froze, hoping that he would not remember it. You already asked Jaskier not to tell anyone. “Two spells at the same time.” He looked you in the eyes and frowned. “You’re the Witch the village is talking about.” He noticed how the little happy sparkles disappeared from your eyes. Your shoulders collapsed a bit and you started to nervously play with the little necklace around your neck.

“Is that why you were so near my house?” you asked. Your voice low and flat. “You got a job on me? Kill the awful Witch from the woods?” The gravelly sound of your voice made Geralt frown. Yes, he did hear stories from the villagers about the awful Witch that lives near the swamp. But none of those stories seemed to be real when he has an opportunity to see you in person.

“What if I do?”

“Geralt!” Jaskier hissed, but one look from his friend and he piped down.

“Tell me, Y/N, what if I did get a job to kill you?” He looked at you waiting for your answer. You didn’t look frightened, nor like someone who was about to kill him. not after you spent so much afford on keeping him alive.

“Then I guess I wouldn’t stop you, Witcher…” His eyes widened just a bit at your open surrender. You looked up and smiled sadly at the man. “But there is something that tells me you don’t plan on ending my life just yet.” With that, you took a fresh bandage and started to walk to the last of your room. “I will get the bath ready. Some warm water should help with the herby medication I put on your wounds.” And with no words, you left the two men behind.

“That was awful, Geralt!” Jaskier hissed at his friend, looking at the now-closed doors. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“She’s a mage. A good one.”

“Well, yeah! She helped you with the Drowners.” the bard rolled his eyes, still feeling sorry for you.

“No girl with powers escapes Aretuza.” Jaskier frowned, remembering Yennefer mentioning something about it once or twice. “She’s too ordinary looking, which means she wasn’t taught there…”

“So...She’s really a Witch?” The Geralt hummed and shook his head. That necklace you had. It interfaced with his necklace. There was something different with that necklace. Something mysterious about you as well. Something that Geralt for sure wants to find out.

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king-finnigan · 4 years

Note

For the mash up prompts: 55, Established Relationship and 69, Flirting Under Fire. Geraskier is my OTP, but I also feel like it'd be fun with any Witcher/Witcher pairing 😍

Sorry for the late answer, dear! I’m a bit busy with school right now, so anyone who’s still waiting for a reply, please bear with me! I will get to it eventually.

Also I did make this Geraskier, because I haven’t read the books or played the games, so I’m not entirely comfortable writing the other Witchers as major characters 😅

***

Of three things Jaskier is absolutely certain.

1. He regrets each and every action that has lead up to now, to the situation he has suddenly found himself in.

2. There are two pairs of eyes trained on him and Geralt, as they sit at the bar, one friendly, one hostile. Or both friendly. Or both hostile. He’s not sure of things like that anymore.

3. He loves Geralt. He really does. But his boyfriend might be the worst undercover cop he’s ever seen in his entire goddamn life.

As the son of the patriarch of the Pankratz family, he’s seen a lot of undercover cops - some better than others, yet no matter how good, all of them were found out by his dad, and got executed and dumped into the ocean. But none of them have been as bad as Geralt.

He really does wonder how the hell his boyfriend managed to get hired by the FBI, as Geralt looks at him, unease evident on his face - even though he’s supposed to seduce Jaskier - and says: “I- I like your... eyes. They’re... very blue.”

Jaskier swallows thickly, hand tightening around the pint in front of him, as he fights the overwhelming urge to slam his head into the bar. He can feel his dad’s eyes boring into his back, and remembers the conversation they had earlier that day, when he pulled Jaskier aside, telling him he’s a hundred percent sure that their latest acquisition is an undercover cop - because of course he immediately knew Geralt wasn’t a criminal, big shocker - and that Jaskier needs to get close to him, find out what the Feds know about their operations and criminal activity.

He sighs, softly, trying to save Geralt’s awkward flirting, by shooting him a quick wink, putting on his most charming smile. “Thanks. My eyes are pretty special, though, they’re only blue when I’m looking at hot people.”

Geralt stammers, frowning a bit, mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land, and Jaskier has to fight not to smack his forehead.

“But...” Geralt eventually replies “they’re always blue, no matter who you’re looking at.”

Now Jaskier has to fight the urge not to smack Geralt. He shoots a quick look over his shoulder, seeing his dad still staring at him. He turns back to his boyfriend who is actually not supposed to be his boyfriend at all. “Geralt, work with me goddammit. We’re supposed to seduce each other and it’s not gonna be believable if you say stupid shit like that,” he hisses.

“Sorry, I’m not good at this,” Geralt whispers back.

“Fucking clearly!”

He shoots a look over his other shoulder, meeting the other pair of eyes that keeps staring at them. Geralt’s colleague, another undercover cop. She’s been in the family a while, and his dad only keeps her around to feed her false information about their activities, to put the Feds on wild goose chases for drug or weapon deals that are never gonna happen.

Though, he knows that she’s aware that the information they’ve been feeding her is false, by now. That’s why the Feds sent Geralt - to seduce Jaskier, the brazen, gay wildchild of the Pankratz patriarch, and maybe get correct information about the family’s business. And she’s keeping an eye on them, to make sure Geralt does his job and doesn’t betray her or himself.

Little does she know Jaskier’s dad already knows Geralt’s a cop.

Because Geralt fucking sucks at being undercover.

He tries again. “Your eyes are lovely, though.” They’re one of the first things he noticed about Geralt when they first met, about a year ago, a few hours before they slept together for the first time. Neither of them had known about each other’s occupations at the time, and by the time they figured out that they were supposed to be mortal enemies, it had been too late - they had already fallen for each other.

“Thanks...” Geralt mutters, toying with his own pint “I... need them to see.”

Jaskier wonders how the fuck he ever managed to fall in love with this idiot.

But, then again, there hadn’t been any need for flirting, when they first met. They had instantly been attracted to each other, and talking just got in the way of kissing, really. And after that, Jaskier had fallen for Geralt because he always expressed his love through his actions, not his words.

So, really, deep down, he had already known Geralt would suck at flirting and would fail at ‘seducing’ Jaskier, especially with Jaskier’s dad and the other cop staring at them the whole time.

The question, really, is: how the fuck didn’t the FBI see this coming? Did they really think they could just put a hot man next to Jaskier, and he would immediately dive into bed with him and tell him all his family’s secrets?

Granted, that’s exactly what happened - a year ago, though. Not that the FBI knows. Not that they’ll ever know, hopefully.

He tries to summarize the situation for himself, as all these schemes and intrications have got his head spinning.

So, long story short: He is part of the mob, Geralt is a cop. They’ve been in a secret relationship for about a year now, and Jaskier’s dad expects him to seduce Geralt so they can find out what the Feds know, and the Feds expect Geralt to seduce Jaskier so they can get correct intel on the Pankratz’s activities.

Fucking marvellous.

He tries to have one more go at this ‘seduction’ thing, just to at least keep up appearances a little bit. “So, Ger-” he blinks, trying to remember his boyfriend’s undercover name “James. Is your hair white everywhere, or just on your head?” He leans his elbow on the bar, putting his chin in his hand, his index finger pulling his lower lip down slightly, looking up at Geralt through his lashes.

Just because his boyfriend sucks at flirting, doesn’t mean Jaskier can’t do it.

And, fortunately, it works. Geralt’s eyes flick down to Jaskier’s lips for a brief moment, as he shifts in his seat a bit, a blush creeping up his neck. “I- uh...”

Jaskier looks at him innocently, batting his eyelashes, exaggerating it so he’s sure his dad and the other undercover cop can see it. “I would love to find out.”

Geralt blinks again, leaning towards Jaskier. “You already know that, though.”

Jaskier sighs, once again resisting the urge to smash his head into the bar. “Geralt, I love you but you’re so fucking stupid. How the hell did you ever get hired by the FBI?” he hisses.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit stressed.”

“Yes, I can see that! The whole fucking bar can see that! This is never going to be believable if you keep acting like I’m holding you at gunpoint!”

“Oh, my bad, sorry I’m a bit nervous about this. It’s not as if your dad’s gonna execute me if he finds out I’m an undercover cop!” He sounds properly angry now, brows knitted together over furious amber eyes.

Jaskier scoffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He already fucking knows, Geralt. You’re literally the worst undercover cop I’ve ever seen and the FBI sends us, like, a dozen a year. He’s only keeping you alive if I can seduce you - or, at least” he waves his hand non-committally “if he thinks I’ve seduced you.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to worry you even more, you absolute idiot! You’re already acting like someone shoved a stick so far up your ass it’s triggering your gag reflex!”

“You of all people should know that I don’t have a gag reflex!”

Jaskier blinks, raising his finger at Geralt. “I know that, and I love you, but that wasn’t my point. My point was-” he lowers his hand, frowning. “What was my point?”

He looks up when he hears his dad’s voice next to him. “Everything alright here?”

Jaskier smiles, leaning away from Geralt until he’s sitting upright again. “Everything’s perfectly fine,” he shoots Geralt, who’s still glaring at him, a warning look. “Right, James?”

Geralt stares at him for another second, before leaning back as well, smiling at Jaskier’s dad so unconvincingly it makes Jaskier cringe. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

The patriarch looks between them for a split second. “Right.” He looks at Jaskier. “If anything’s the matter, tell me.” He looks at Geralt, though his words are still directed towards his son. “I’ll take care of it, then.”

“Nope! Everything’s perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about.”

Jaskier’s dad nods, and walks away. Geralt glares at him again. “And I thought you said I was a shitty actor!”

Jaskier grits his teeth together, standing up abruptly, taking Geralt’s arm, dragging his boyfriend/supposed-to-be-mortal-enemy to the back of the bar, into his dad’s office, slamming the door behind him. “Fucking stop looking at me like you’re going to kill me! You’re convincing no one that you’re seducing me!”

“Maybe that’s a good thing!” Geralt half-shouts. “Maybe if I can’t seduce you, they’ll pull me out of this operation and things can go back to normal!”

“No, they fucking can’t! Cause if I can’t seduce you, my dad’s gonna have your head because you’re the worst fucking undercover cop in the history of the FBI!”

“I could just leave! I could walk out of here and never show my face again! Problem solved!”

“No! He’ll just track you down and kill you anyways, you mud-for-brains idiot!”

“Then what do you suppose we do? You pretend you’ve seduced me and then what? We can’t fucking keep this up forever!”

Jaskier frowns, thinking for half a second. “Then you just out yourself as an undercover cop and say you’ve switched sides! There! End of discussion, problem solved!”

“But I won’t switch sides!”

“It doesn’t fucking matter whose side you’re on if you’re dead!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck me yourself, you coward!”

“I already am!”

Jaskier blinks. “Fair enough.” He laughs when Geralt leans against the wall and almost knocks a painting off its hook.

He stalks forward. “Gods, Geralt, you’re so fucking stupid.” He grabs his boyfriend by the back of his neck, pulling him closer, smashing their lips together.

Geralt groans in surprise, but immediately kisses him back, pulling Jaskier flush against his chest.

The door to the office opens, and Jaskier pulls back, meeting eyes with his dad, who’s standing in the doorway.

“My apologies,” the patriarch says, “I didn’t realize you two were... busy.” He closes the door behind him.

“Right,” Jaskier mutters, as Geralt laughs softly. “Problem solved, I guess.”

#squish answers #geraskier #drabble #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #modern au #mob au #cop au #that's a lot of au's honey #coconutjellystory

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lesdemonium · 4 years

Text

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 11

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 30619 (total) Chapter: 11/16 Summary:

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

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It was almost a relief to travel east again. Jaskier didn’t have to carefully consider how he could lead Geralt in the direction he wanted without raising too much suspicion. Instead, he could simply allow the witcher to direct their travels and lead them in whatever direction seemed to suit Geralt at the time. It allowed Jaskier to follow blindly, trusting that Geralt had a plan, even one that was only as far as “Go to the next town for a contract.”

They managed nearly a week without discussing any matters of importance. If Geralt was waiting for Jaskier to open up, as Jaskier suspected he was, Geralt would be waiting for a long, long time. Jaskier had no intention of bringing to light the events of Lettenhove unless forced. He had gotten this far without betraying his secrets; a few days was nothing.

They were camping somewhere outside Kagen, near the Yaruga river. Jaskier had almost been expecting it--Geralt seemed to be braver outside, under the stars. Inside townships his footing was lost, and Jaskier was at a clear advantage. Being outside put them on Geralt’s terrain, and Geralt seemed to be able to handle clashes with words, Jaskier’s weapons, far easier there.

“Jaskier,” he began.

Jaskier already didn’t like this. The night was cold and dark, and he was close to the fire. So close, he had to keep turning his body, lest he burn. Jaskier continued playing his lute, but nodded his head.

“Jaskier, could you put it away?”

Jaskier bit his lip and stilled his hands, though he did not, in fact, put his instrument away. He felt it was far safer to keep it. They had a great deal to discuss, and Jaskier preferred to have something comforting to hold onto. A crutch, of sorts. He met Geralt’s amber eyes. He was safe, here, he knew. He could do this.

“Ask your questions, Geralt. I know I owe you that.”

Geralt hummed and nodded. “You have to do anything anyone commands?”

“Yes.”

“How does that work?”

Jaskier blew out a harsh breath, and shrugged his shoulders. “If I get a command, my body follows it. Tell me to sit down, and I sit down. I have… some level of control. I can interpret the commands in certain ways, but that’s imperfect and doesn’t always work. Vague commands, like shut up, can be satisfied easily. Specific commands, with time or goal limits, leave less wiggle room. Short ones are hard to avoid, like come here. Others, I can get around. Half do them, or bend the rules, but it takes… thought. And control. And a lot of cleverness.” He shrugged, helplessly. “It’s a bit of a fickle curse. Doesn’t seem to work well with vague-aries of language.”

Geralt hummed. “Have you… have you been commanded to do things you didn’t want to?”

“Geralt, come on,” Jaskier answered, rolling his eyes. “You’ve seen me do things I didn’t want to do.”

“What was the worst?”

“Don’t make me answer that.”

Geralt sighed, but he nodded. “With your. Your lovers, did they--”

“At times. They don’t always know what they’re doing. I don’t usually tell anyone.” Jaskier shrugged, but Geralt looked pained.

“The countess?”

Jaskier bit his lip, and shrugged again. He was quiet for a long moment, looking for the words. A half truth, then. “She didn’t know. She didn't mean to.”

What Jaskier didn’t say was that there were some questions better left unanswered. If the countess knew, maybe she would be good to him, protect him, even. Or maybe she wouldn’t. He could pretend, then, that his capture was an accident. That she did love him. That he wouldn’t have been kept if only he had told her the truth. It was easier that way.

“Have I--”

“No,” Jaskier insisted.

“You didn’t let me finish the question.”

Jaskier shook his head. “You want to know if you ever commanded me to do something I didn’t want to. Or if you ever trapped me with you. You haven’t. Nothing worth mentioning, anyway. Maybe a stray ‘Stop talking’ here or there. Nothing malicious, nothing that bound me to you. Nothing intimate.” He shook his head again, hoping that maybe if he kept talking, the deep lines on Geralt’s face would smooth out. “I’m with you because I choose to be. You’re the only one that noticed I don’t like being told what to do. You’ve done your best, even without knowing. I won’t have you think badly on yourself because you might have triggered my obedience errantly.”

Geralt’s jaw moved like he wanted to dispute this, and he turned away from Jaskier, looking into the fire instead. He didn’t argue, and for that, Jaskier was thankful.

“Your family knows,” he finally said.

“They didn’t as I grew up. Only my mother did. She must have told them before she died.” Jaskier’s heart tightened at the thought of his mother. He wasn’t quite ready to confront the fact that she had lied to him all his life, nor the fact that she had done this to him. At least he knew, now. He knew where he stood with his family.

“It’s possible to break your curse, then.”

“I don’t know how.”

This was the thought that had been plaguing Jaskier the past week. It was all there before him. Lazuli made it seem as if Jaskier could now break his curse whenever he wanted, but Jaskier didn’t know how he would do that. What truths did Lazuli want him to tell? The truth of his curse? He had already laid that out to Geralt, and Jaskier didn’t know who else mattered enough. What else could the fae want?

“We’ll find a way,” Geralt replied, nodding as if a decision had been made.

Jaskier watched him, mystified, as Geralt seemed to have declared that done with. As if Geralt could help him. Nothing had changed, this was still Jaskier and his curse against the world. Even if Geralt wanted to help him, there was nothing Geralt could do.

“This isn’t a monster you can slay, Geralt,” Jaskier retorted, finally letting the anger of the past few decades color his words. “There’s nothing you can do to fix this, nothing for you to put your silver sword through. Lazuli was being purposefully cryptic. There is no fixing me . I will be obedient for the remainder of my life. I might as well get used to it.”

“No,” Geralt said, shaking his head. “We will find a way to break your curse. And I will protect you. You will not be enslaved to any whims, or accidentally held captive. Your life will be your own. I will see to it.”

Jaskier sighed, and pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes. He was suddenly so, so tired. Tired of this conversation, tired of this life, tired of everything.

“What if I say no? What if I say I will do this on my own?” Jaskier said, a long while later. He dropped his hands and turned his eyes to Geralt. There was a challenge in his eyes. It wasn’t fair, but this was a test. He had to see what Geralt would do, what he would say.

Geralt sustained eye contact for a long time, but he was the first to break it. He looked back into the fire and suddenly Geralt looked just as tired as Jaskier felt.

“I will not command you, Jask,” he answered. His shoulders slumped. “I won’t take away your choice. Not ever.”

Jaskier watched him closely, looking for any hint of a lie. He didn’t find it. Jaskier’s heart burned and swelled in his chest, and he found himself standing, crossing the short distance to his witcher, and climbing into Geralt’s lap. His legs wrapped around Geralt’s hips and his hands cradled his face, forcing Geralt to look up at him. Geralt’s arms wound loosely around Jaskier’s hips, holding him, but not restraining him.

Jaskier’s lips pressed softly upon Geralt’s brow, melting away his tension. He thumbed at Geralt’s cheekbones as he peppered kisses down the side of his face until finally capturing Geralt’s lips in his own. He kissed his witcher soundly, until they had no more breath to give each other, and only then did he pull away to touch their foreheads together.

“I believe you,” he breathed. “And I don’t want to do this alone.”

Jaskier knew, then, how to break the curse. Or he thought he did, anyway. Unfortunately, it was the one thing he couldn’t do without risking losing his witcher forever. Jaskier would always be trapped by Lazuli’s--his mother’s--gift. But for the first time, Jaskier felt as if he was safe. For the first time in his life, he felt hopeful. All because Geralt gave that to him.

read chapter 12

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #my writing

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fanficfeeling · 4 years

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No Place Like Home - Jaskier x Modern!Reader

A/N: Jaskier x Modern!Reader for anon. Thanks for the request, I had a lot of fun with this! Also, I feel like all some of these references might be a little bit dated, which I didn't realize until they were all in there. They're all still fairly famous though, so I hope you don't mind! I went with she/her pronouns on this, but if anyone wants to see me start using gender neutral pronouns, please let me know, or just add specific pronoun requests in your requests!

Request: hi! a jaskier x reader request for the witcher! would love a one shot of a modern!reader, who decides to follow the boys, either about them singing modern songs or making stupid modern day references that they wouldn't understand!

Warnings: Possible second hand embarrassment ahead? Also Wonderwall

Word count: 2300

Requests are OPEN

~~~

Y/N starts her day like she does every other day: by opening her window and breathing in the comforting Velen air.

Y/N doesn't know how she ended up in this world. For the first few months, she searched for a way home, or even just for answers about why she found herself in this place. She ended up empty-handed, and with no more leads to follow. She was forced to give up, and start making her own way. It was by a pure stroke of luck that she'd ended up with the house, and with a fairly easy, flexible job to pay for it, and after a while, she found she preferred this life to her old one. She stopped wondering why, and let this place be home. After the few years she's been here, she finds she's glad it all happened the way it did.

She finds herself smiling as she looks out into her little village, reveling in the peace it offers.

"Get out of here, you filthy Witcher!"

And that shout from the main road was the end of Y/N's peaceful lack of involvement. As she saw people go running towards the sound of the growing shouts, Y/N quickly left her home and began to follow suit in that direction, eager and anxious to see what could cause such a fuss. When she reached the scene of the commotion, her shock was evident.

There, trying his best to make his way through this small village with a bard at his side, was a Witcher. An actual, real life Witcher.

Well, as real as this world actually is, anyway.

Even more shocking was the townspeople harassing the seemingly unassuming men -- it seemed that most of the town were in on heckling them, despite their usual, friendly neighbor attitudes. It seemed the Witcher was used to the treatment, as he did his best to shield himself and his horse and continued walking calmly forward, although the bard was a bit more theatrical in his defenses, holding up his lute to cover his face and sighing dramatically at every passing insult.

I wonder if this could be the pair that the internet flipped out over when that tv series came out before I left? I never got into it, but I'm fairly sure that's where I am, and their faces seem familiar.

Y/N's heart nearly stopped when the Witcher's golden eyes made contact with hers. It seemed to take him but a split second to make a decision and begin a new course in her direction. She held her breath the entire time he made his way over.

When he finally stopped, he stopped directly in front of her, looming over her, far closer then she expected him. He was shockingly intimidating.

"You don't seem in the business of heckling strangers. I'm here to clear out a noonwraith I'd heard of in the vicinity. Do you know anything about that?"

It took Y/N far too long to gather enough courage to speak, and when she did, she could only hope her voice wasn't shaking too much, "A... noonwraith? Oh, yes, the ghost in the abandoned barn, just a little ways out of town. It's, uh... been a nuisance for farmers and travelers for some time."

The Witcher let out a small, "hm." in response.

"I could... show you to the location, if you need assistance? I know this area very well, and I would be happy to assist you if you would rid us of the... wraith."

"Geralt! How could you leave me to fend for myself like that?" The bard came up behind the Witcher quickly, like a burst of raw energy. He smiled when he spotted the Witcher talking to the woman, "Hello! Thank you for not hurling insults at us as we walk past! My name is Jaskier, a humble bard, at your service." Swiftly, he reached for her hand and pressed a swift kiss to her knuckles.

"Oh! It's really no problem, It certainly does no harm to not go out of my way to be rude. My name is Y/N, it's nice to meet you."

"Y/N has offered to lead us to the noonwraith, Jaskier. Y/N, how soon can you be ready to go?"

"Oh, well, I'm off work today, and I really don't have that much to take care of this morning -- if you'll allow me to grab some better shoes I should be ready in minutes."

"Take your time, I need some to prepare potions for the battle."

"You can come spend some time at the tavern with me while we wait for him." Jaskier punctuated his sentence with a wink.

Y/N felt her heart palpitate, and she'd never scrambled to get ready so quickly for anything.

When she found him in the nearly deserted tavern, he sat with a notebook in his hands, writing something down leisurely. If he's a bard, Y/N assumed it was some sort of song.

"Jaskier, yes? May I join you?"

He flashed a smile up at her, "Anything for such a beautiful woman." Y/N felt herself flush at the compliment as she sat down.

"So, Y/N, where are you from? You don't have the Velen accent, nor do you have the same... dispositions as your fellow townsfolk, I can't imagine you were born and raised here."

Y/N felt her heart speed up once more, just a fraction, "I wasn't. I came here just a few years ago, just sort of ended up here by chance. I was looking for something, but it didn't exactly work out, and I just never really bothered to leave. I'm thankful enough for it, Velen suits me very well."

"Very cryptic and fascinating story! You are dodging my original question though."

"Only because I don't think you'd have heard of where I'm from. It's not very well known around here."

"I'm not from around here."

"I doubt it's well known where you're from, either."

Jaskier gave her a quizzical look, but left her odd behavior alone, "Well then, what does the mysterious lady do for fun?"

This was the thing Y/N struggled with the most in this world. Her access to all her favorite tv shows, books, and movies were gone, and all she was left with were the only few books she had at her disposal, most of them terribly dry reading. Even worse: every pop culture reference she ever knew was now rendered completely useless.

"Well, I read as much as I can, with what little I have, and I go for long walks, but other than that, I mostly just work. Not much to do around here, honestly. I sing a little to myself sometimes to pass the time-"

Jaskier's face lit up like a Christmas tree, "You sing? What songs do you know?"

"I highly doubt you'd have heard of any of them."

"Nonsense, my trade is music! At the very least, you must sing something for me!"

"No! I don't sing for other people-"

"But if I've never heard of these songs of yours, you must educate me!"

"That's not exactly my job-"

The pair only stop upon hearing a gruff voice clear behind them.

"Are the two of you done?" Geralt asks, a minor level of annoyance evident. Y/N is the first to scramble to her feet, embarrassed.

Their departure is smooth, and Y/N promptly informs the pair that the journey should take but a half an hour or so.

In response, Jaskier slings an arm over Y/N's shoulder, flashing her a smile, "Plenty of time for you to teach me a song or two."

"Are you really back at this again? My answer is still no."

"But would it not benefit my musically inclined soul to be exposed to a bit of your culture, wherever it may be from? You mustn't let my poor, culturally deprived soul wither away like this, fair lady."

"Don't you travel for a living?" Before Jaskier could sass her further with another response, Y/N took a less than graceful stumble over a tree root.

Geralt stopped walking and grabbed her arm as she steadied herself, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I think I'm fine. Unfortunate that such a lack of grace had to come out around near strangers, but that's on me, I suppose." She laughed it off, playing glaring at the root that tripped her, "I'm walking here!" She said quietly to herself in her best fake New York accent, reveling in her classic movie references that no one else in this world could understand. At least they brought her a little bit of personal joy.

"Y/N, did you just speak to that tree root?" Jaskier asked, trying his best not to look concerned, and failing miserably.

The lady flushed crimson, "Oh, no, well, actually yes, but it's just a -- well, I guess it's just a reference to something you wouldn't understand. I apologize, that must have looked odd."

Jaskier let out a small chuckle (which Y/N had to admit, was distressingly attractive), "You've said a lot of odd things so far, but I'm certainly not minding."

In an attempt to escape her ever-expanding blush, Y/N began walking ahead of the men, "Right, well, on we go then."

After but a minute of silence, Geralt spoke up, "Y/N, would it suit us better to take an actual path, instead of just cutting through the forest?"

Y/N turned back to him and shook her head, "This will get us there much quicker, if we cut through here we'll end up right across the field from where you're trying to go."

Jaskier shook his own head now, "For a non-native, you do know this area very well."

"Elementary, my dear Watson. To anyone living in the area, anyway. Besides, I take lots of walks, remember?" She laughed to herself, and quietly shook her head once more as another movie scene came to her, muttering quietly, "Roads? Where we're going, we don't need roads." Thankfully, the men seemed to not hear that second reference, but she failed to see as they turned to each other in confusion over the first.

Y/N's impressive knowledge proved accurate after about the half an hour she promised, as the trio cut through the trees and ended up in a large field, a run-down barn just visible on the other side.

"See? That's where you're trying to get to."

"Thank you very much, Y/N. I'll take it from here." With that, Geralt strode off through the field, radiating with purpose. He really was truly quite intimidating.

After a moment of silence, in which Jaskier decided to make himself comfortable as he sat down, Y/N spoke once more, "So do we just wait here now?"

"That we do."

"What if he doesn't come back?"

"He will. No need to worry your pretty little head about that. However, if you're concerned about the waiting time, you could sing me a song to pass it."

Y/N sighed, "You truly won't give that up?"

"I had no plans to."

"I never should have told you about that."

"Or perhaps it was destiny that you did."

"You're so determined to make clever remarks, but that one didn't even make sense."

"Fair enough. Perhaps I would stop talking nonsense if you would keep me occupied with a song."

"Fine! Fine." Y/N let her shoulders sag in defeat as she sighed. "What do you want to hear, then?"

Jaskier pretended to contemplate her question for a moment, but he spoke far too quickly when he replied, "Sing me something romantic."

"You sly bastard. Alright, let me think a moment. Uh..."

What's something easy to sing, something well known enough that I'll know all the words, something romantic? Oh, I have a bad idea.

"Well, I suppose this could be interpreted as romantic." Y/N had to suppress her laughter. "And it's terribly catchy, so I know all the words quite well. And it's been around for quite a while. A lot of people don't like it because it's sort of overdone-"

"Y/N."

"Alright, fine, anyway, here's Wonderwall.

Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you By now you should've somehow realized what you gotta do I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now"

Before Y/N knew it, the song was over - perhaps she'd just heard it so many times she blacked out the rest of the song - and to her dismay, Jaskier began clapping.

"And you say you don't sing for other people. That was lovely."

"You only say that because you haven't heard the song a million times."

"Also because your voice is joy to listen to."

"Oh stop it, you're just saying that-"

"Oh, is that the battle you want to fight?"

~~~

By the time Geralt had slain the wraith, Jaskier had insisted that they walk Y/N home ("Geralt, she helped us out here, it's the right thing to do!" "I'm quite capable of finding my own way home." "We insist."), and the trio had finished their more leisurely walk back along the main road, it was approaching evening. Before Y/N even knew it, they were at her front door.

"Ah, here we are. Thank you gentlemen, for your assistance."

"And thank you for yours, my lady."

"Anytime, Geralt. It would be my pleasure to assist you again if you're in the area and need a guide."

"I may yet take you up on that. Until then, have a good evening."

"You too. Safe travels."

The duo began to walk away, leaving Y/N feeling just a little bit sad, when Jaskier turned around and walked back to her. When he reached her, he grabbed her hand and pressed yet another kiss to her knuckles, like he had that morning.

"I will surely be counting the days until I can have the privilege of hearing your voice and odd sayings again."

Before she could retaliate, he had run off, and soon he was out of sight. She felt a little less sad now.

This is a home worth having. Yes, I'm quite happy things turned out this way.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier x modern!reader #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #modern!reader #should i tag wonderwall?#I'm tagging wonderwall #wonderwall #fluff #reader x jaskier #jaskier fanfiction #modern!reader x jaskier #mine #request #modern day references in a fantasy setting'

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little-bard · 4 years

Text

So I have this idea for gender fluid in the witcher universe. So humor me if you will.

So I’ve seen the idea floated around the community how there could easily be trans people because they could just do the same thing as Yennefer. But obviously, you give up fertility to live in the body you should have been born with. I was thinking traditional non-binary could do it to appear more androgynous if that’s what they wanted as well. But then I started thinking of myself. I’m technically non-binary but I’m gender fluid. And sometimes I want to present highly masc but can’t because of my body but I would also be depressed if I couldn’t present femme anymore on the days where I felt that way.

So here’s my fantasy solution. You can go through the same spell but it’s ever-changing. Whereas Yen’s is a permanent appearance change this is one that changes with your true inner self. You obviously give up being fertile but I’m not sure if it would require more yet. It would obviously mean no casual sex as you don’t want the man you just bedded as a woman to wake up next to a man. Or reverse. And it would be hard to maintain friends because you could have two lives almost but once you maneuver telling the people you’re close to I think it would kinda be like a superpower? Like you can be a wanted criminal as a man and a queen as a woman. I also don’t imagine there being a lot of people who would be gender fluid in the universe. So it’s odd and many people don’t even know it exists. I think I would write a binary gender-fluid character with male and female. But they could be any genders. And it’s not like shapeshifting (I mean kinda but also no?) like strictly still their race and usually still similar looking.

I kinda have an original character in mind, obviously friends with Jaskier because I feel like the little bard draws special people to him. Maybe an Ex-lover? No definitely because Jaskier is bi/pan as heck and being able to love one person who’s both man and women and amazing and sweet. And ATTRACTIVE that’s amazing! Also, this person probably felt the most comfortable letting their pent up sexual energy out with the man Because let’s be honest, Jaskier is a sweetheart and treats them exactly the same no matter if they feel like a different gender in the morning. (Also they’re both huge sluts and enjoy the same things sexually.) And that’s exactly what they needed, someone who cared about them and understand they were one person, just someone who experienced 2 genders and needed to be both to be happy and fulfilled. But they realized they weren’t right for each other and remained best friends.

I imagine them meeting the gang in a female form. Short and curvy, long flowing wavy brown hair a beautiful dress and a soft almost doll-like face all tied together by their piercing green eyes. Jaskier sees them at a random event at court and invites them to travel with the crew to the next town as they’re all heading that way. At first, they’re weary but they agree, as it’s Jaskier there’s no way he would travel with anyone unaccepting of who they were.

Geralt is almost jealous when they arrive to begin the journey with their own horse (a bigger bag too. Normally one person didn’t need that much) and even lets Jaskier ride with them. Jaskier begins playing his lute and singing a song that Geralt isn’t familiar with but they certainly are, as they sing along to his song bird-like voice with a soft and beautiful voice of their own. At camp later too, the two were inseparable. Geralt tried to not stare at them. Jaskier had always been a flirt and could get any person in bed if he wanted to. But it was the familiar feeling between the two that put Geralt on edge. Nobody but him was supposed to those soft smiles on Jaskiers lip or having Jaskier sing them songs only they knew. Geralt felt the Magic on them but he and yen agreed that it was just like the spell on her. Appearance-based nothing more. The two old friends put their bedrolls basically on top of each other and Geralt often heard a small giggle from either one of them throughout the night. He kept his eyes looking up at the sky as to not know if his bard was bedding another.

In the morning Geralt stared shocked, as where there once was a small woman the night before there stood a tall buff man maybe even two inches taller than him. The man had on a simple tunic and leather pants, his hair was longer then Geralt’s and brown and wavy but was pulled up in a bun, he was broad-shouldered but still seemed to have a clumsy air about him, most importantly, he had green piercing eyes. Jaskier was basically hanging off the mans arm as he begged for the man to make him breakfast. All the man did was let out a low deep chuckle. Geralt forced a cough and that alerted the pair to his presence.

“Jaskier.” Geralt basically growled. He was demanding an explanation but the bard was busy trying to shove a pan into the taller person’s hands.

“You didn’t tell them?” The man said as fear ran through his eyes. “Jaskier!” They said in a deep roar. “You always do this”

“I didn’t think it was any of there business Cass! Who you are shouldn’t be that much of a big deal.” Jaskier responded. Geralt was almost hurt that he was being ignored but at least they weren’t being close like before. Somehow them fighting calmed him. “Also I don’t always do this.”

“Oh yeah? What about that time you basically demanded we have a threesome with that warrior woman? We bedded her as two men. You remember how you promised me, you would make sure I got to our room that night before the morning in case I wasn’t the same and it put our lives in danger? You know I get sleepy after sex! But you wanted another round so you let me fall asleep then and then you did after. Remember her reaction when she woke up and a woman was curled into her side? She almost killed us for ‘tricking’ her!” This statement did not calm Geralt. Especially coming from the beefy man in front of him. Jaskier definitely had a type. By now yen was awake and listening intently. It’s almost as if you could see the popcorn in her hand. Both of them were slowly piecing, where the women had disappeared to, together though.

“I thought you liked when I demanded you. You know you could have always said no. I only did that because of both of our enjoyment.” Jaskier genuinely looked worried and stepped closer to the other person before him, resting a soft hand on their arm.

“Jask, you know it’s not that. I did enjoy it...” they suddenly got quiet, becoming more aware of the others around them. “...can we not discuss my sexual desires in front of a witcher and a sorceress, please? I was saying you normally forget how hard it is for people to understand who I am. Not everyone is you Jaskier. Some people like a heads up that the women they met yesterday is now a man who looks like he weight lifts 3 cows every morning.”

“I know I’m sorry. I just forgot it’s not normal. You’re one of the most important people in my life, I just assumed others would judge you on character, not gender.” Jaskier apologized in a soft voice.

“It’s fine. I know you don’t mean harm.” They smiled and picked up Jaskier for a strong hug. Jaskier let out a giggle and hugged them back.

Geralt coughed letting them know of his presence once more. The taller person pulled away from the hug with a deep blush.

“Oh, I guess I’ll formally introduce myself as Jaskier didn’t. I’m Cass. Born Lady Cassandra. Jask likes to joke it’s actually short for Casanova. I have a similar spell as Yennefer if what Jaskier tells me and what I know about sorceresses is true. But mine is a bit more complicated. I don’t feel one gender or the other. I feel both but normally at different times. I settled mine with changing each day based on how my true self felt when the sun rises.” They extend their hand for Geralt to shake. He grabs it hesitantly.

“So your Jaskiers lover?” Yennefer asks bluntly.

“Ex-lover. No need to fear dear sorceress, I’m very much free for the taking.” They said with a chuckle and wink. “Me and Jask work much better at friends. So you need not worry either Witcher! I promise to not lay an ill-intentioned finger on your little bard. But if you don’t soon someone will. I mean unless you're not into small boys, if that’s that case I’ll over myself then” They laughed and it was deep and jolly. It felt like it could shake the whole forest.

“Cass!” Jaskier lept back into the conversation and slapped the other. “Stop flirting with my friends. They’ll start to like you more than me. Go make breakfast, Geralt always burns it.” He shoved the pan at them while pushing them to the fire.

OKAY IM STOPPING THERE.

Basically, I needed to get this out of my system to focus on actual fics. But it was really cute in my head. I hope you enjoyed 💕

#geralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #jaskier #cute #gender #genderfluid #the witcher netflix #jaskier x geralt #geraskier #yennefer of vengerberg #yenneferthewitcher #oc #littlebardfic #fanfic #fanfiction #writing

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trulycertain · 4 years

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Thoughts on the Netflix Witcher:

Not many people are tossing a coin to their Witcher, are they? Geralt still has to buy his own drinks, it seems.

Jaskier’s lyrics need, er, work, but Joey Batey has a lovely voice.

Love the wardrobe design, Yen’s in particular. It’s distinctive, not always “pretty” in that it sometimes feels like medieval experimental haute couture, and combines sexuality with hard lines. It feels very her.

I love Freya Allan’s Ciri. Allan’s a really good actress, in my opinion, with a really hard arc to carry, and also apparently show!Ciri has the same effect as games!Ciri - that of me turning into Geralt and muttering “must protect” a lot and wanting to stab anyone who tries to hurt her. Her eyes are very cool.

I think it's interesting that in the books, Yen is clearly based off Polish archetypes and the wild raven curls are part of that; in both the games and the show, it's played down. (Not least because I've seen her in other stuff and Chalotra naturally has pretty poker-straight hair, so curling that for any length of time without the curls falling out, even with a ton of product, would be a pain.)

My one issue is that I still think she looks a bit young and I would've been perfectly happy to chuck out the whole "sorceresses enchant themselves to look early twenties forever" thing, but actually... I also kind of really like the "soft-faced, soft-voiced enchantress is actually hard as nails" idea. It lets her presence speak for itself, which Chalotra does very well, and means people tend to underestimate Yen, which is also handy. I mean... I will always be frustrated by “somehow, conveniently, they look like a 22-year-old actress and a 35-or-so leading man”, but Chalotra’s work itself is good. It's different from the Yen in my head, but I like her performance and interpretation.

I like Triss, and I like seeing her here. I hope they’ll go more into their friendship. It’s been rocky at times, but I found it quite annoying how the games treated all that, as opposed to the books. This is one of those things where I’m really glad it’s adapting the books in particular.

Critical stuff, written in December, with warnings for discussions of consent and stuff:

The Last Wish is the short story where Geralt and Yen meet, with the capture of the djinn. I read it once, coming up for four years ago? now, so I'm really muzzy on memories and it might well have been like that originally. Now, knowing Sapkowski, who does pull this shit, it probably was. (I love his female characters as characters. It’s just that often, his gender worldbuilding bothers me. The two shouldn’t be different, but they often are.)

All right, so the sexual dynamics going on are... uncomfortable, and perhaps you get a bit inured to it in the books because there's just so much uncomfortable stuff, but it stands out a bit more starkly in the show, which has been better for it. (I do not like rapey canons. At all. I have no idea how I got into the Witcher; really liking the female mains and liking Slavic mythology? And the fact that the games and show were pretty good with how they treated it as part of someone's story rather than a "haha, look, so titillating" on-screen scene? And certainly, Calanthe and her people killing themselves to avoid enslavement, torture and rape is depressingly historically accurate. Anyway.)

Things I'm bothered by:

The implication that the orgy is basically sex pollen/a possible humiliation tactic, rather than her manouvering her way into circles with everyone's embarrassing secret being "we like to willingly fuck the whole village," which would also have been political humiliation. I mean, you can make a point that she's had a background of being sexually and romantically manipulated most of her adult life - look at the Istredd thing, for a start, with the rectors - and is just shrug about it all, but. It's different from Stregobor's illusion because these are real people. They all look like they've just come out of a trance and scrabble panickedly for clothes and their reputations, they look like didn't know quite where they were, and spells for that kind of thing had been established an ep or two earlier in the series.

So the first time Geralt and Yen meet, we've got non-con sex played for laughs, or at least played off as "yeah, she does that, don't worry about it" (which is fed into by Geralt's later enchantment, which I actually don't mind, humiliating him and then sending him to hang because he's in the way is somehow less objectionable to me? Maybe because i just hate non-con storylines that much, or maybe because it's less of a direct attack). And then when they meet, you've got: strong-arming him into a bath (sure, he says yes and I guess you can say he figured there'd be sex, but he seems surprised about it all), getting naked in front of him when he's already in a position where it'd be difficult/awkward to leave, the first kiss which has a pretext but was very specifically a kiss and which again, he's kind of too taken-aback/assessing to reciprocate... I mean, if all this sounds kind of OK, swap the genders; heck, even watching it at the time, some of it was pinging me as "hey, this sounds too much like rl things that have happened".

Now, one can say, "Well, he stuck around, didn't he?" - hmm, OK, but you've got the trickier things of magical intimidation at play (even before the enchantment, he knows he's dealing with a powerful sorceress who fucks with people's heads) and just "eh, I guess I'll go with the flow" that can kind of characterise Geralt. And even Witchers freeze. And you can say, "Well, she could probably tell he was attracted to her, with magical mojo if not just through observation." Aye, but dude was kinda busy and on-duty and clearly mistrustful of her, so he would probably never have acted on it - and didn't, because of all those factors. The later thank-god-we're-alive/angry sex when they actually get it together? Totally fine with that, that seems about par for the course with those two.

I also feel like the fact that Geralt, who I fondly say is the biggest horndog in Temeria a lot of the time and will rarely turn down a bit of afternoon delight, doesn't make a move and stays questioning her, albeit amusedly, says a lot about where their relationship is at that point and the fact he's still trying to figure her out. (Not that that implies he's not interested; quite the opposite, mistrustful boffing is kind of a thing he does at times, and heck, look at Renfri.) And on Yen's part, it's definitely more of a power play than needing to save bathwater (I mean, she's pretty rich).

Now, as said, the original story was prob at least a bit like this, because Sapkowski *eyeroll*, but considering the amount they changed (Istredd's entire backstory! A whole bunch of Yen’s! Yennefer's transformation! A bunch of other things), they could've probably adjusted this and/or at least put a different lens on it in the script. It's also frustrating because a lot of people I've seen make this argument are using it for "Yen is such a bitch, Geralt deserves better, I hate her." I'm not interested in char-bashing. No, I love games!Yen (one of my favourite characters in... anything) and what of books!Yen I've read, and I really enjoy Chalotra's version... aside from these scenes.

And aye, one can say that Geralt/Yen is about two people who've been shaped by a truly awful world learning to be better and of course they have their flaws (uh, completely ignoring consent is a pretty darn large one), but it's definitely played as intriguing/romantic/casual mischief.

Update, as of January, when I went back to it:

I literally love every single other scene with her. Hmm. Also, I’ve spoken to a couple of people about this, and neither one of them had it ping to them as coercion. Perhaps I’m just overthinking things or not being good at romance storylines again. Just... not sure, I guess. Nothing else bothered me. Is this my books knowledge being wonky? Am I being daft? If anyone else has thoughts, I’d be glad to hear them.

#tru watches the witcher #netflix witcher critical

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lesdemonium · 4 years

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I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 12

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 32959 (total) Chapter: 12/16 Summary:

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

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The weeks went by, but Jaskier hardly noticed them.

There was a monotony to it all. A familiar pattern. They would come to a town, Geralt would take a contract, they would argue about whether or not Jaskier could come on the contract, and then Jaskier would usually follow Geralt on the contract, no matter the answer. Kill the beast, get the money, find another town. Jaskier would compose his songs, Geralt would roll his eyes, and sometimes they’d fall into bed together.

Now, Geralt noticed things. He sat closer as Jaskier performed, primed to call off any hecklers. He had never bossed Jaskier around when they were intimate, but now he was more wary of it at other times as well. Every time he started to say something to Jaskier, only to pause and restart, Jaskier’s entire chest felt warm with affection. The first few times, Jaskier kissed Geralt breathless, drinking in the way Geralt grew embarrassed and bashful under Jaskier’s attention and adoration. It made Geralt sheepish, though, and soon Jaskier learned to back off. Now, whenever Geralt caught himself, Jaskier reached out to touch him, either with a hand on the witcher’s shoulder, a press of their knees together, or a nudge with his hip.

It took Jaskier a while to notice that something was going on. What Jaskier had thought was just idle traveling, he soon realized wasn’t the case at all. Geralt had brought them to every single township they could reach after they left Lettenhove. He had done so with more painstaking detail than Jaskier had seen him put into any other venture.

Once Jaskier realized this, he then began to notice Geralt slipping away for about an hour, every time they first came to a town. Jaskier hadn’t thought anything of this before, as sometimes Geralt went off to inquire about contracts without Jaskier, but he had never done it intentionally or secretively like he was now.

“Where are you going?” Jaskier asked him in Mayena. Geralt’s face was as stoic as ever, but Jaskier saw something flash in his eyes, just for a moment, before it was gone again and Geralt shrugged.

“Going to talk to the alderman. See if there are any monsters here.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “I’ll go with you.”

Geralt shook his head immediately. “No, you should go secure us a room at the inn. This won’t take long.”

“If it won’t take long, then surely I’ll make it go quicker, and then we both can get the room,” Jaskier argued. “Besides, I negotiate price better than you do, and with how often we’ve been staying in inns, we could use the extra coin.”

They had never stayed in inns as often as they had since leaving Lettenhove. At first, Jaskier had enjoyed it, had loved the hints of luxury they had been able to indulge in unlike ever before. This was what had tipped him off that they were stopping in every town, though. It wasn’t practical to stay in towns as frequently as they had, and the monster contracts were lacking. Jaskier had made far more money than he ever had before, but Geralt was growing restless and Jaskier was wanting for new material.

“No, this town looks busy,” Geralt lied. Geralt had so few tells for when he was lying, but Jaskier knew this was a lie. He knew Geralt. And, he could see for himself that the town did not look particularly busy. “If we wait too long, there won’t be any rooms left. And I want a bath.”

He had wanted a bath in the last three towns, as well, and used that for an excuse for Jaskier to go on ahead. Jaskier huffed, but he knew better than to argue with Geralt now. If he was so insistent on this lie, Jaskier would have to tackle it from a different angle. Jaskier watched Geralt walk away. If Geralt were anyone else, Jaskier would take matters into his own hands and follow Geralt. As it was, though, following a witcher would be impossible.

Geralt slipped into a building--probably to see the alderman--and Jaskier huffed, finally turning toward the inn and stepping inside.

When Geralt returned, an hour later, Jaskier was sitting on the bed in their room. He had left instructions for the innkeeper to direct Geralt this way, and Geralt opened the door to their shared room with a raised eyebrow, silently questioning why Jaskier was here , rather than down in the tavern making coin. Jaskier ignored it.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt hummed at him, then set about putting his things away. Jaskier watched him, watched the easy, comfortable way Geralt mixed his own belongings with Jaskier. It was almost domestic. Jaskier wasn’t sure when they had become so comfortable with each other, when they had developed such deeply rooted routines. It was the first time being with someone, reaching comfort with someone, put Jaskier’s mind at ease. And, yet, still it was tinged with something . Their clothes and weapons and mundanity of their lives belonged together, but not their secrets.

“Are you looking for something?”

Geralt turned to Jaskier, his eyebrows furrowed and confusion in his eyes. “A place to keep my scabbard?” he answered, with just a hint of amusement.

“We’ve been in every town since the court. Every single one we’ve passed. Not a single night of camping in weeks, and I know you’re not getting good contracts,” Jaskier said, crossing his arms and leveling Geralt’s amusement with a glare. “You’re sneaking off for at least an hour every time and you’re lying to me. Why? What have you been doing?”

Geralt was silent for a moment, just staring at Jaskier, then he turned and continued unpacking. Jaskier watched his back, which Geralt resolutely kept turned to him, and waited. He would speak. He would explain.

“I’m not lying to you--”

“He says, lying ,” Jaskier bit back.

“You lie to me all the time.”

“I can’t lie to you, remember? Obedience curse!”

“Obedience curse, not honesty curse. You lie all the time, Jaskier, even Lazuli said so--”

“We’re not talking about me right now, we’re talking--”

“We’re talking about both,” Geralt said, turning around. “You’ve been listless. Since Lettenhove. It’s like traveling with a ghost.”

Jaskier gaped at him. “I have not been listless . I’ve been acting just the same--we argue, I perform, we fuck, all of which takes enthusiasm , thank you--are you saying traveling with me has been boring ?”

Geralt shook his head. “The only time you argue now is when you want to go on dangerous contracts. When you’re on those contracts, you are underfoot and in the way, as if you want to get hurt. You’ve so narrowly missed so many--” he cut himself off with a frustrated groan, and swiped his hand roughly across his stubble. “Your performances have been less . I don’t know how to explain it. You get this far-off look on your face and you’re… dreamy, in a way. You go somewhere else.” He shook his head again, and leaned against the wall. “And when we fuck, you do the same thing. It’s a process, nothing more. You aren’t there with me.”

Jaskier listened to all this, growing more and more agitated. He turned away from Geralt abruptly, his face pinching in his frustration. The worst part was that he couldn’t even argue against it. “I don’t see what any of that has to do with what you’re doing,” Jaskier grumbled.

“I’m looking for Yennefer.”

Jaskier’s mouth went dry. Of course. Of course Geralt was looking for Yennefer. Jaskier had made the mistake of thinking his witcher had moved on from all that, that the years they had spent together accounted for more than whatever pull Geralt and Yennefer had developed in the few days they knew each other. Jaskier stood up from the bed, abruptly, and flitted about the room, gathering his things. He was in such a frenzy he didn’t even notice Geralt moving toward him until Geralt had grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing ?” Geralt asked, his voice breathy in his exasperation as he pulled Jaskier to a stop.

“I’m leaving . Clearly if you want other company so badly--”

“That’s not what I--”

“Far be it for me to stop you--”

“Jaskier, would you just--”

“I just thought maybe I was important enough that you wouldn’t have dragged me along as consolation--”

“Jaskier, shut up .”

Jaskier’s mouth closed with an audible click that was more Jaskier’s doing than the curse. The look he gave Geralt was so murderous, it must have made Jaskier’s very skin boil with how quickly Geralt let go of him. His hands went up, as if he was trying to convince Jaskier he meant no harm.

“Shit, Jask, I’m sorry, I didn’t-- Talk freely,” Geralt said.

Jaskier took a deep breath. “What do you want to say, then, Geralt?” he asked. He stepped out of Geralt’s reach, just to show he could. Jaskier had some control here.

“I’m looking for Yennefer to help you,” Geralt started, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. “She might know something about how to break this. Give us somewhere to start. You’re not… yourself. I wanted her to help us find a direction to break this for you.”

There was so much earnestness in Geralt’s face. The corner of his eyes pinched, his mouth made a thin line, and his hands were held out in front of him, palms up. He was struggling, Jaskier realized, and trying hard to find the right words. Whatever had been wrong with Jaskier these past few weeks, Geralt had noticed. Geralt had noticed that Jaskier felt a little dimmer, a little more hopeless, a little more resigned to this being the rest of his life, and miserable because of it. He had noticed more than Jaskier did, and for that Jaskier found himself conflicted.

“So we’ve been going to every town so you can find her?” Jaskier finally asked.

He turned away from the weight of Geralt’s stare. He didn’t want this earnestness. He didn’t want to know that his curse mattered to someone else, to Geralt. It made the feelings he had been trying so hard to keep at arm’s length come closer, overtake him. Geralt wasn’t his. Even if Geralt had sought out Yennefer to help Jaskier, he still thought of Yennefer for help first . Jaskier returned to perch on the bed, feeling empty, just barely held together by the thought, He’s doing it for you .

“I’ve been asking around. No one had heard of her, until tonight. There’s a rumor of a sorceress that sounds like her in Yspaden, so we’ll head there.”

Jaskier gaped at him. He stared long enough that Geralt grew visibly uncomfortable, and took a step forward. Then another. Geralt lowered himself onto the bed and still Jaskier stared at him, until Geralt reached out a hand and tried to touch him.

“No,” Jaskier finally said, jerking away. Geralt’s hand froze, an eyebrow raised. “No, I’m not going to Yspaden.”

“Jaskier, be--”

“Be what, Geralt? Reasonable? No, I won’t. You heard Lazuli as well as I did. Her magic isn’t going to fix this, there’s no other direction. I have to find a way to break it, which if the past entirety of my life isn’t evidence enough that it cannot be broken, I don’t know what would be. But I would really rather not go on a quest to find your sexy sorceress. If you want to go, fine, I won’t stop you. But you will not tell me where I am going next.”

Geralt sighed, and tried to touch Jaskier again. Though Jaskier stayed rigid, he did not pull away this time. Geralt’s hand started on his shoulder, then slid down to his forearm, then tugged Jaskier’s hand out. He held Jaskier’s hand between both of his own, tracing his thumbs over the veins and lines. They were silent for a long time, and when Geralt finally spoke again his voice was soft.

“I’m not abandoning you,” he said. Already, it was too much, and Jaskier’s eyes slipped down to their hands, rather than Geralt’s face. “I don’t want to go without you, but I think seeing Yennefer is a good idea. You said you didn’t know what Lazuli meant. Maybe she does. Or she can point us in the direction of someone who can.” He cupped Jaskier’s cheek, then tilted his face back up, forcing Jaskier to meet his eye again. “Please, Jaskier. I want you to come to Yspaden with me. If she’s no help, I’ll leave off.”

Jaskier pursed his lips, his jaw going rigid as he considered Geralt for a long moment. Then he nodded, just barely, a small enough gesture that had Geralt not been holding his face, he might have missed it.

“Thank you,” Geralt murmured, and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to Jaskier’s lips.

It was too much, the way Geralt peppered Jaskier with soft, slow kisses. Jaskier felt like a raw, exposed nerve, and every gentle caress of his witcher against Jaskier’s body sent Jaskier ablaze with want, desire, and a blooming of affection Jaskier wanted so badly to dispel. How could Geralt hold him this way, as if Jaskier was precious to him? As if he didn’t know that Jaskier’s sun rose and set with Geralt?

Jaskier would follow Geralt off the edge of a cliff, if only Geralt promised he would take him there. And so, they journeyed to Yspaden. They camped and traversed and went at a breakneck pace. The closer they got, the more haggard Jaskier became, and he knew it wasn’t entirely because walking through the continent was grueling.

Geralt grew more hopeful, the closer they drew to the township. Jaskier tried to pretend it was out of hope for Jaskier. He knew it was because he felt himself drawing nearer and nearer to his sorceress. They would reunite, and Jaskier would be forgotten again.

read chapter 13

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfiction #gerlion #my writing #i want you guys to know how much trouble i had JUST EDITING THIS TO POST ON TUMBLR #i am having a MORNING #but hoo boy next chapter y'all #lucky number 13

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