#while jaskier is in the corner tearing his HAIR OUT because geralt is perfectly wonderful and doesnt NEED to change thank you very much.

[roughentumble]

that idea of yours that's Geralt in a shitty relationship while Jaskier supports him as his friend while pining for him? I was thinking about it the other day with Geralt's gf just being a real asshole, wanting an 'open relationship' but only she's allowed to sleep with other people and when he tells Jaskier, Jaskier's a little furious, points out she's cheating on him and how if she wanted to bring someone else into the relationship she could've asked Geralt how he felt about a threesome or something with someone he trusts

And Geralt asks, hypothetically of course, "Would you? If she asked?" and Jaskier immediately scoffs and goes, "I'd be flattered of course but I have absolutely no interest in ever sleeping with her"

And Geralt's like !!!!! bc apparently Jaskier's only opposed to the idea of sleeping with her not Geralt and that's gotta mean something, right?

the words rattle around in his head as he lays next to his partner that night, thinks about how much he cares about jaskier. thinks about all the good times theyve had. maybe jaskier's noticed he's been down recently, has tried harder to cheer him up, something corny but sweet like breakfast for dinner while some upbeat playlist runs in the background, which devolves into dancing in the kitchen and laughing... until his partner'd called and brought the mood down. how more and more often jaskier is the break he needs from the stress of his relationship. thinks if only, maybe, in a different life, etc

but he's too wrapped up in the shit relationship to even think about getting an out, cuz theyve sunk their tendrils in too deep.

#in my head its like. geralt and jaskier are roommates and have been for years until this new partner #and geralt still technically lives w/ jask but spends a lot of his nights at the partner's place #the only reason he hasnt moved yet is cuz of their lease #but his partner holds it over his head as ''proof'' that like #he's too childish+afraid of commitment+a Permanent Bachelor and he needs to Leave His Bachelor Pad Behind. #which really doesnt describe his situation with jaskier at all they are Literally just Friends Who split Rent which is very normal #but geralt is unfortunately really really good at taking (even bad faith) criticism to heart and assuming he's doing something wrong #so he just kinda takes it and swears he'll change #while jaskier is in the corner tearing his HAIR OUT because geralt is perfectly wonderful and doesnt NEED to change thank you very much. #witcher tag #ogc tag #its a whole thing and jaskier is watching his best friend whom he loves waste away to an emotional leech #who simultaneously ignores him and yet demands all his attention. #gets bored of him and puts him on a shelf yet gets pissed when he gets bored or even god forbid has FUN while waiting around for them #'i think /i/ should see other people but make sure to wait up to make sure i make it home safe. and you shouldnt bother i'd get too jealous' #you know. real soul sucker type shit #(maybe not ALL these things at once but idk im batting a few concepts around)

[valdomarx]

Geralt and Jaskier visit a brothel together, requested by me

It’s been a long few weeks in the wilderness, and for once it’s as much of a relief for Geralt as it is for Jaskier to arrive in a town with a comfortable inn. Nature may have its bounties, but the body has its needs. Alas, the contracts have been poor of late, and by the time the room and bath have been paid for, both of their purses are light.

There’s enough money for a decent meal or for a trip to a brothel, but not both. Geralt contemplates this dilemma.

“We could share,” Jaskier suggests.

Geralt snorts. “One portion of food barely feeds me at the best of times. I’m not going halves with you.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I don’t mean dinner. We could share a girl.”

“Hmm.” Geralt considers. That would indeed be cheaper, and there would be enough coin left over for a basic meal for each of them as well. The thought of both satisfaction and food wins out over any qualms he has, and he nods.

Jaskier brightens, and hustles him off in the direction of the local brothel.

--

He lets Jaskier do the talking once they arrive. It seems easier that way. Jaskier explains what they want and arranges payment with the madam, who recommends to them a highly accommodating lady by the name of April who resides upstairs.

When they head to her room, they find April to be a sturdy brunette with lovely wide hips and a cute dimpled chin. Taking in the pair of them standing in the doorway, she raises an eyebrow. “Both at once?” she asks, not in the least bit shy.

“We come as a package deal,” Jaskier jokes, which sets Geralt’s teeth on edge.

“Two charming gentlemen,” she smiles beguilingly. “My lucky day.”

She leads them inside, to a bedroom filled with worn red velvet fabrics and the damp, musky smell of sex. They kick off their boots at the door, because it seems only polite, and while Geralt is wondering if there is some sort of etiquette to this sharing business she takes him by the hand and toys with the laces of his shirt.

“How about I start by getting this off you, handsome?” she asks, and he hums his assent. She pulls off his shirt and sucks in a quick breath when she sees his scars. She’s professional enough to cover it, but not fast enough to fool Geralt’s heightened senses. She touches each mark curiously.

“How did you get this one?” she asks, running her fingers over a jagged, red scar curving over his shoulder. Geralt is used to that question from bed partners. He doesn’t even mind it much.

“That one was from an ekhidna,” Jaskier butts in. “Caught him when he was out on a lake gathering buckthorn.”

Geralt glares at him. This situation would be much easier to deal with if Jaskier would keep his mouth shut for once.

The girl gives Jaskier a inquisitive look. “You know all his stories?” She walks over to Jaskier and runs a hand down his chest, catching on the buttons of his chemise and undoing them one by one to reveal a thatch of dark hair. Geralt averts his eyes.

Jaskier preens. “I should think so. I’m the one who made him famous.”

The girl giggles. “Maybe you can tell me what he likes then,” she says, looking back at Geralt from under her lashes. Her hands are still on Jaskier’s chest.

“I reckon I have an idea,” Jaskier says, and something about that sends a shiver up Geralt’s spine.

“Good,” the girl says, sliding the chemise off Jaskier’s shoulders. “It’s hard to tell with the strong and silent type.” She smiles at Geralt as she says it, though, so it doesn’t feel too much like a criticism.

“Do you think he’d like to go first, or would he prefer to watch?” She’s playing with the strings on Jaskier’s trousers now, teasing them around her fingers, the blue fabric bright against her rosy skin.

“Oh, he wants to watch,” Jaskier says, with absolute surety. Geralt’s eyes fly to his, because what the fuck, Jaskier, but he finds Jaskier grinning like this is all perfectly delightful and not gearing up to be the most mortifying thing that’s ever happened to either of them.

“That work for you, big boy?” she asks, and Geralt doesn’t really know what to do other than nod. She indicates a chair in the corner of the room. “Make yourself comfortable, if you like.”

Unsure why this situation has made him so meek, he settles in the chair as he’s told. From here he can’t really help but get a full view of the bed.

April pushes Jaskier on to the bed with some force and he goes willingly, laughing. She climbs onto him and buries her face into his neck, where Geralt knows from prior observations that Jaskier is sensitive. He squirms beneath her attentions, cheeks flushing, hands running up her sides and over her breasts which are spilling out from her top.

Geralt can see glimpses of her hands as well, first opening Jaskier’s trousers, then pushing them down and wrapping around his cock. Jaskier groans and Geralt can smell his arousal, sharp and spicy, making his own heart beat pick up in sympathy.

She sits back to remove Jaskier’s trousers completely, which he tries to help with a gets a playful smack for, and then she’s pushing him down again and bending to lick stripes up his now clearly hard cock. Geralt doesn’t know where to look.

When she swallows Jaskier’s cock down in one go, Jaskier arches his back and Geralt's attention is drawn to the long, elegant line of his neck, the tight cords of muscle running out to his shoulders. Geralt fidgets in the chair, his trousers uncomfortably tight.

It's because of the girl, obviously, that he's feeling so on edge. She really is very pretty, and watching a pretty girl sucking cock would get any man going, wouldn't it?

Geralt finds his fingers playing through his trousers without him meaning to, although April notices from the corner of her eye.

"You can take care of yourself while you watch," she says, pulling off with a wink. "We won't mind, will we?"

Jaskier looks at him with a smirk. "We won't mind at all."

Geralt scowls, feeling strangely put upon. But if that's what’s expected... He unlaces his trousers and sighs in relief when he wraps a hand around his aching cock.

As April gets back to work, Jaskier strokes a finger down her cheek, and Geralt is struck by how tender his is, even when he has no need to be. Most men couldn't be less interested in the comfort of a whore they're with, but Jaskier cares about everyone, it seems, even someone he'll only see for one night.

When she gets her hands involved, Jaskier throws his arms above his head and twines his fingers into the headboard. Geralt's mouth goes very dry, for some reason, at the sight of Jaskier stretched out and braced for pleasure. Geralt spits in his hand and works himself over, carefully not thinking too much about it.

What's somewhat disconcerting is the fact that Jaskier keeps looking over at him, his eyes darting back to Geralt while a woman sucks his cock. The first time it happens Geralt's breath hitches, and he thinks he should really tear his gaze away from Jaskier's face and focus at the action, so to speak. But something in the way Jaskier bites at his lip, head thrown back in gratification, has heat racing under Geralt’s skin. He works himself harder, faster, eyes on Jaskier and discomfort with the situation rapidly eclipsed by desire.

When Jaskier's breath becomes more irregular and more gasping, April pulls off again. "You want to finish in my mouth or inside my pussy, sweetheart?" she asks.

"Your mouth is a joy and a delight, which I would be honoured to continuing appreciating," Jaskier says, effusive as ever, and she gives him a sweet smile.

"As you like." She turns to Geralt. "Maybe now you'd like to join us, love?" She pushes her skirt up over her wide hips, showing off the curve of her arse. Looking at him, she reaches behind herself, sliding a finger over her wet lips and dipping it inside. "You wouldn't leave me so bereft, would you?"

Geralt is nothing if not chivalrous, and he does appreciate being given clear instructions. So he stands from the chair and walks over to the bed, hand still on his cock as he takes in the view.

Jaskier is lying on his back on the bed, with April on all fours over him. And she's in the perfect position for Geralt to stand behind her and line up his cock with the inviting slick of her lips, swollen and rosy.

As he enters her it's like warm, wet velvet enveloping his cock, and by gods, he's missed this.

He sets a slow, languid pace, not wanting to be too demanding. The only issue is that from this angle, he can see the curve of her hips and the soft lines of her back, leading up to her dark hair. But he can also see Jaskier, spread out beneath her, all long limbs and firm muscle, face slack with pleasure as she takes his cock into her mouth. It's... distracting, that's what it is.

There’s nowhere else he can reasonably look though, so he stares down at the pair of them as he fucks her, noting the little shivers that pass through her body and the way Jaskier twitches when she swirls her tongue.

When she pushes back to meet Geralt’s thrusts, urging him to go faster, he doesn’t fight it, letting himself be led. She takes Jaskier down with even more enthusiasm as well, and soon Jaskier’s pants become whines and his hands grip more tightly to the headboard. Geralt watches, fascinated, as Jaskier trembles and arches, making a series of filthy noises that spark something deep and primal inside him.

When Jaskier tenses and comes, Geralt can smell it, the salty tang of his seed flooding the air even as April swallows it down like the professional she is, and it’s overwhelming and intoxicating.

He thrusts into her harder, his control fraying, eyes drawn to Jaskier who sighs and stretches on the bed, soft and smiling, hair flopping in his eyes. She moans encouragements and Geralt allows himself to let go, to give in to what his body wants, drinking in the view of soft skin and a broad chest and long, dark hair and blue, blue eyes.

It really doesn’t take him long after that. His fingers flex against her hips and with a few final thrusts he’s coming inside her, shuddering as his release races through him, unwinding his tense muscles and flooding his body with a feeling of gasping satisfaction.

He lets himself luxuriate in the feeling for a few seconds, eyes scrunched shut, blood racing through his veins, limbs heavy.

When he opens his eyes he sees Jaskier looking right at him, studying his face intently. His heart is still racing and the warm, dozy sensation of orgasm makes him feel strangely vulnerable. He quickly looks away, something like guilt flicking through him, then pulls out and offers a polite hand to April. She thanks him with a saucy grin and stands to rearrange her skirt.

When Jaskier rolls off the bed and goes to fetch his clothes from the floor, April touches Geralt gently on the wrist. "Will you be staying long in town?"

"Leaving tomorrow. Duty calls."

She nods, understanding. "If you're ever back in the area, look me up," she says with what appears to be genuine enthusiasm. "I'm always happy to have repeat customers." She casts a glance at Jaskier and speaks in a low voice. "Though perhaps next time my presence won't be necessary, hmm?"

She looks at him like that's significant. Geralt has no idea what she could possibly mean.

#geraskier #the witcher #my writing #sometimes u gotta write the fic u want to see in the world ya know #geralt and jaskier's brothel adventures

[contemplativepancakes]

killing me softly with his song

3k post-mountain mutual pining fix it. read on ao3 here!

Geralt isn’t supposed to feel things. At least, that’s what Vesemir had purported after he had finished going through the mutations. Had sat him down and had a whole conversation about it, in fact, but at the moment, Geralt is feeling rather lied to. He’s felt things before, of course he has, he knows that being a Witcher doesn’t truly mean his emotions are gone. Muted, would be a more accurate word. 

But now… 

It all feels so overwhelming. He can’t seem to escape the swirling unsettledness deep in his gut, the despair that threatens to crash over his head every time he sees something that reminds him of Jaskier, twisting the knife even more in his gut. Back on the mountain, Geralt had regretted his words almost as soon as they had left his mouth, but they had tumbled out of him, and he was powerless to stop it. 

Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days it’s always you shovelling it? If life was to give me one blessing, it’d be to take you off my hands!

Jaskier had tried to protest, but Geralt didn’t want to hear it in the heat of the moment, he was more interested in lashing out at anyone who would dare to contest his low opinion of himself. Sure, he might kill monsters, but does that really outweigh everything else? 

He’s shit, through and through. He knows that. He’s glad Jaskier finally realized it, too. 

The only thing that Jaskier being present all those times when Geralt found himself in trouble meant was that he was always there for Geralt. And really, if Geralt thinks back, he always was. 

Geralt’s not sure what he ever did to inspire that kind of loyalty, but he knows he didn’t deserve it. The words he had spat proved that. 

Geralt shakes his head as he thinks about all the ways Jaskier has helped him over the years. Even if Jaskier was practically in the middle of sticking his cock some place it really shouldn’t be, if Geralt needed him, he was there. 

Jaskier washed monster guts out of Geralt’s hair too many times to count, and if it weren’t for Jaskier turning his reputation around, Geralt probably wouldn’t have been able to step foot in an inn any time in the past decade without being cast out. 

And despite all those things, Geralt had still yelled at him, still made one of the only unwavering constants in his life walk away and not look back. What had Jaskier ever gotten in return, anyway? Geralt knows he’s not exactly the best company. 

Geralt curses, and Roach noses at his shoulder from where she’s tethered to the tree he’s leaning against. 

Geralt strokes his fingers over the soft velvet of her nose and huffs when she snorts in his ear. 

“Yes, all right,” he grumbles under his breath, standing up and rustling through her saddlebags to find a sugar cube. 

Jaskier had always given Roach too many sugar cubes for her own good. 

Fuck.

Geralt looks at the saddlebags, fighting with himself and failing when he fishes out the blanket Jaskier always rolled up to use as a pillow. It smells of Jaskier’s scent that Geralt had liked the best, not the sour and unhappy scent he was pouring off when Geralt shouted at him to go.

Geralt unfurls it and holds it to his nose, avoiding looking at Roach. He’s sure she’s judging him.

Geralt is judging himself a little, too. What was he thinking?

He supposes Witchers are meant to walk the Path alone, so it was for the best. Inevitable. Better to get it out of the way now than later, that’s for sure. Jaskier will get married and have children and won’t want to travel with Geralt anymore, so Geralt is glad he won’t have to suffer through that. He’s not sure he could take it to have to watch a courtship of Jaskier’s that actually lasted, that didn’t end with Jaskier coming back to him.

No, Geralt has feelings, all right, and he’s never hated them more than he does right now.

Roach snorts, pawing at the ground, and Geralt reaches up to pat her shoulder. She’s getting irritated, so Geralt should pack it in for the night, but he itches to keep moving, to keep putting more distance between him and what happened. Roach huffs again, nickering a bit. “Fine,” Geralt grumbles. “We’ll stop in the next town. Happy?”

Probably not, because Roach never seems entirely happy with him these days. Well, Roach can join the club. Geralt makes a mental note to buy more sugar cubes. At least one of them should be happy.

By the time they make it to civilization, it’s much later than Geralt had anticipated. He hands Roach off to a stable girl, wagging a finger at Roach and telling her to be good. Then he talks to the innkeeper and secures a room before walking over to the bar. He desperately needs an ale. His mind has been going nonstop ever since Jaskier left, and while it probably won’t do a whole lot for him, it might slow his thoughts down enough to fall asleep. Maybe he should go to the brothel and look for a distraction. If he could find a fight, even better.  

The barmaid plunks a mug in front of him, but Geralt hardly notices after a familiar chord emanates from the corner. Geralt whips his head around to look, but it’s just someone else playing one of Jaskier’s songs. Geralt clenches his teeth. He hates this one. Jaskier had made him out to be entirely too heroic. Geralt’s never been a hero. He’s just in it for the coin.

He’d had this conversation with Jaskier until he was blue in the face, a rare amount of words for him, in his desire to get his point across, but Jaskier had refused to believe him. Just fixed Geralt with a look and said, “Hmm.”

That was Geralt’s line, dammit.

Geralt’s eyes catch on a man sitting at the bar, wearing shoes with hardly a speck of dirt on them. They look like they’d pinch his toes quite a bit, and Geralt can’t help but shake his head at the lack of practicality of it all. His gaze travels up the man, noting his opulent doublet, and Geralt quickly looks away, taking his drink to a corner table.

He thumps the mug down, and several of the other patrons shoot him concerned looks. Geralt clenches his teeth. He has only his own social skills to rely on, now. It’s not a situation he prefers, to say the least. Jaskier was always the best at making people see Geralt as better than he truly was, something they didn’t have to be frightened of, or feel the need to drive out of town.

Geralt heaves a deep sigh. He wishes Jaskier was here.

-

Jaskier has never been one to turn down an opportunity for good song writing material, but for the first time, he doesn’t want it. He’s always been told heartache makes for the best song fodder, but somewhere along the way, things have gotten muddled, and he’d be perfectly happy if his heart was never broken again.

It still seems like a nightmare that he’s going to wake up from any second; Geralt is going to look at him from where he’s dousing the fire and tell him, “Wake up, lazy bones,” and Jaskier will protest and lunge for his notes as a new song idea that doesn’t reek of melancholy overcomes him.

Jaskier has pinched himself too many times to keep holding out for that hope, though.

In line with what his teachers at Oxenfurt told him, these days, Jaskier has plenty of song ideas. The problem is none of them seem particularly noteworthy. He doesn’t want to make anyone else listen to him reminisce about better days—about the gentle curve of Geralt’s rare smile, the fondness he held for Roach, the way he looked when moonbeams caught on his hair and made him seem even more ethereal than normal.

Even when Geralt was at his most frightening-looking, covered in viscera and ichor from his latest monster kill, Jaskier never lost that sense of wonder. Geralt could probably kill Jaskier with his pinky, but he let Jaskier tag along with him anyway, for years.

Geralt might pretend to be jaded and cynical, but Jaskier knows the truth. Jaskier saw the way Geralt couldn’t resist helping others, the way he always gave a subtle wave to the children he passed in the streets who didn’t shrink away from him, and let them pet Roach until their parents noticed and ushered them away. Geralt’s mouth would settle into a hard line and his shoulders would square, but he never commented on it, so neither did Jaskier.

Jaskier strums a chord on his lute thoughtfully, but it doesn’t sound right. Nothing has sounded right for days, and Jaskier is teetering over the precipice of despair.

He needs a distraction.

He makes his way to an inn, figuring whatever he’s met with, be it adoration or angriness at someone he’s scorned, it’ll be able to settle the unease that’s lived beneath his skin since that terrible night.

He had stumbled down the mountainside, veering off trail and crashing through the scratchy underbrush in his haste to get away from Geralt. Away, before Geralt had the satisfaction to see the emotion pulling at his face, the tears pooling in his eyes. Geralt’s cruel words could only have been aimed to deliberately hurt, even after all the time they had spent together. Well, hell, because of it.

Geralt thought he brought nothing but bad luck, and looking at the shambles his life is in, he’s inclined to agree. No wonder Geralt hadn’t wanted to take him up on his offer of getting away for a while. He doesn’t know why he suggested it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The coast? What would someone like Geralt want to go there for, anyway? It certainly wouldn’t be for the pleasure of Jaskier’s company.

Too much, too soon. Jaskier snorts at himself. It wasn’t too soon. Geralt just never wanted to hear it.

No lasting relationships, no steady job, no place to lay his head and call his own? Jaskier could be doing better, that’s for sure.

Jaskier lets out a heavy sigh as he stops with his hand on the door to the inn, distracted by a nickering from the stables. He looks over and sees a mare that looks just like Roach. Jaskier pats his pockets for his sugar cubes until he remembers flinging them all into a lake on his way down the mountain. It wasn’t his finest hour.

He walks over to the bay horse and pets her, running his fingers over her wiry fur. She snorts just like Roach would have, and Jaskier can’t help but be overcome by a wave of dejectedness. He really misses Roach; she always let him tell her about all his problems. Namely, Geralt.

Jaskier sighs. He supposes he should cut his losses and try to move on, snip Geralt neatly from his life, but they’re too bound together for any kind of removal to go smoothly.

Jaskier pets the white nose the horse has, just like Roach, and snorts at the coincidence. There’s no way Geralt made it this far south already, so it can’t actually be Roach. Jaskier has been travelling as fast as he can, because if he stops, he’ll have to think, and he certainly doesn’t want that to happen. The horse nips at his sleeve, drawing Jaskier back to the present.

This is practically the longest he’s spent away from Geralt besides during the winters, and Jaskier’s not a fan, to put it lightly. He combs his fingers through the horse’s coarse mane and adjusts the strap of his lute before he walks inside the inn.

-

Geralt sighs, drumming his fingers on the scratched tabletop before noting the stares he’s receiving and pulling his hand back on his lap. He doesn’t need to draw any unwanted attention to himself. He drains his third mug of ale for the night and is getting ready to head to his room when the inn door creaks open.

Geralt jerks his head in the direction of the noise on instinct, and his stomach drops when he recognizes the familiar face. His pulse immediately speeds, pounding in his ears until that’s all he can hear.

Geralt ducks his head, but not before he sees Jaskier returning his shocked stare. Geralt tips his mug back again, even though it’s empty, just to try and look busy. It’s been a month, so he’s sure Jaskier has already moved on, and Geralt speaking to him would just open up wounds for both of them. On a day when he felt particularly ready to lie to himself, he would say he’s mostly over his best friend getting torn from his life.

It reminds Geralt of when healers would try to stitch up his skin when just a little too much flesh was missing. Tight and pinched, and it stung something awful anytime he jostled it. That’s about how neatly having Jaskier walk away has healed, as well. Geralt is still waiting for the wound to stop itching.

Jaskier, for his part, just blinks when he sees Geralt. It’s like he’s seeing a ghost. Geralt looks like he’s been running from something, too, and for a second, Jaskier allows himself to hope. It’s quickly dashed when Geralt looks away from him like he’s been burned. Jaskier turns to settle into the corner, only to see there’s already a bard at this inn. Well. That’s peachy. The other bard stares wide eyed, his gaze flitting back and forth from Jaskier to Geralt, before a look of understanding dawns across his face and he hastily gets up.

Jaskier raises his eyebrows. He wasn’t aware their reputation had spread quite this far. Nevertheless, he takes the man’s spot, adjusting the strings of his lute just a bit, stalling.

Geralt is still at his table.

Jaskier clears his throat and strums his lute.

The fairer sex, they often call it…

He stares at the side of Geralt’s face, but Geralt doesn’t look back at him. Jaskier notices the way his shoulders tense up, though, and he’s not sure what to make of it.

I'm weak my love, and I am wanting

If this is the path I must trudge

I welcome my sentence

Give to you my penance

Garrotter, jury and judge

At that, Geralt turns his head to look straight at Jaskier, and Jaskier tries to resist the shiver that creeps down his spine. When Jaskier finishes the song, he finds Geralt still staring at him. He slings his lute over his shoulder and draws upon his reserves of bravery. He finds they’re about empty, but he walks over to Geralt anyway.

Jaskier approaches him, and Geralt’s eyes widen. Geralt was under the impression they were going to just ignore each other, like any other sensible people who don’t like talking about their feelings.

Jaskier has always been a wordsmith, though, so maybe Geralt shouldn’t be surprised. And by the sound of his song, it seems like Jaskier already knows what he wants to say, even if Geralt shouldn’t let himself hope that it means what he wants.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood,” Jaskier says weakly.

Geralt bites his lip, and takes a chance. “Care to join me?”

Jaskier’s eyes get round, and a peculiar look crosses his face. He sits.

Geralt smells the unease coming off of Jaskier in droves, and Geralt takes a moment to grimace at the realization that it’s because of him. Even the first day they met, when Jaskier knew nothing about him, Jaskier hadn’t been so unsettled. Geralt supposes that’s just a side effect of his personality. It’s not like he doesn’t know he’s not the easiest person to be around. He’s sure many people would say he’s the person to be around, and it seems like Jaskier is inclined to agree.

But.

Geralt wants to try and make this right.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt repeats, enunciating like Jaskier just didn’t hear him.

They stare at each other for a beat. “Interesting song,” Geralt says, casting Jaskier a sideways glance. “Did you find a new fancy?”

Jaskier smiles sadly. “I think you know.”

Picking up on conversational nuances has never been Geralt’s strong suit, but Jaskier’s song wasn’t exactly subtle, was it?

Geralt stands and Jaskier follows suit. Geralt tilts his head towards the stairs, and he can hear Jaskier’s hard swallows as he trails behind Geralt, to his room. Jaskier pulls the door shut behind him and looks at Geralt expectantly.

“Jask…” Geralt starts, and Jaskier tries very hard not to let himself be won over just by the soft tone Geralt’s taken. The one he reserves for the people he loves. Jaskier is sure Roach is the only one who gets to hear it often. “I missed you.”

Jaskier shuts his eyes briefly. It’d be easy to push Geralt away, tell him this is too little, too late, and it would certainly be less complicated than picking up the tattered ends of their relationship, but. Jaskier is weak, and he is wanting.

“I missed you, too.”

#the witcher #geraskier #ficlet #geraskier ficlet #geralt of rivia #jaskier #contemplative writing

[professorjaskier]

A Twist of Fate

Hey guys! I wrote a sad fic for @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde because she wanted a fic that would make her cry! I think I delivered. Thank you to @kuripon for betaing this work!

TW: There is a major character death and depictions of blood and a fatal injury. You’ve been warned! I hope you enjoy(?)

A03 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30468945

Over the many years of their companionship, for all the ways that Jaskier had imagined their inevitable separation, Geralt's death had never crossed his mind as a possibility. Jaskier was always supposed to leave first, involuntarily dragged away by the cruel hands of death, but gone nonetheless. 

There had been moments when Jaskier’s thoughts had wandered to the macabre, wondering when the thin string attaching him to the world would be snipped by the cruel hands of fate. The day when he cuckolded the wrong person or didn’t move fast enough to avoid the sharps talons of a griffin. On the worst days, he would speculate that his death would be brought forth by sickness or worse, old age. Something unpoetic and dull, the opposite of what he’d worked to be his entire life. 

Geralt always hated when Jaskier would voice these contemplations of his own humanity; that flame that burned bright, but was inevitably shorter than the veritable bonfire of a witcher’s lifespan. With these conversations, Geralt would grow quieter and hold him tighter, as though his grasp could fight the continuous march of time. 

Neither of them had anticipated this.

Geralt always said slow witchers were dead witchers. He’d never said anything about slow bards causing the death of a perfectly fit witcher. One still considered to be in his prime.

It had all happened so fast, the bandits popping out of the foliage in droves. Jaskier knew it was his fault, no matter the platitudes his friends would offer him later on. He’d been playing his lute as they’d walked down the deceivingly empty road despite the look of consternation he found on Geralt’s face. The witcher had seemed on edge, but he’d ignored his lover’s distress, instead focusing on his newest composition. Things had been good the last few months, with Ciri ascending to her rightful place on the throne and that entire Wild Hunt business put behind them. Hell, they hadn’t been on the road in months, Geralt settling into his newly acquired vineyard and Jaskier running his own business. Inevitably, Geralt grew bored of his sedentary life and Jaskier had followed him back onto the path. Perhaps those months of respite had made them lazy, unused to the perils of traveling. Jaskier would never know.

What he would remember was the way that he’d been caught off-guard by a young man sneaking up from behind. The man was more like a child than a man, barely growing whiskers on his chin. Jaskier would’ve felt bad for the teenager if he hadn’t been trying to murder him. As it was, that child had stabbed his sword straight through Geralt’s breast as the witcher pushed him out of the way. 

Jaskier watched in shocked silence as the polished steel sliced its way through Geralt’s sternum, the blood bubbling out of his love’s body. The child looked nearly as shocked, staring at the sword in his hand in horror as it speared through Geralt’s body. 

After a moment, Jaskier rushed forward and hit the young man over the head with his lute. He heard a horrendous crack, but had no time to investigate the damage done to his precious instrument beyond checking that the boy was truly unconscious. Once that was confirmed, he hurried over to Geralt’s side.

Red. All he could see was red intertwining with the pale ivory of Geralt’s face and the spun silver of his hair. Things looked bleak. He had seen Geralt in terrible situations before, holding himself together though sheer stubbornness and dumb luck, but this was bad. The sword stuck out of his broad chest, while Geralt stayed unnaturally still on the ground. Jaskier let out a sob, certain that his love was dead, until he heard a quiet, choking sound come from Geralt’s mouth. He immediately kneeled to the ground, uncaring of the damage it would do to his fancy clothes. Clothes could be replaced, but his lover couldn’t be.

“Geralt! You’re fine, it’s going to be fine. Just tell me what potion you need and I’ll get it!” He spoke these words, nearly incomprehensible with the speed at which they were said, but upon looking up he saw that Roach was gone. This latest version of Roach was new, not yet hardened from the perils of the Path, and had run at the first sign of danger. Normally that would be fine, but she also carried every potion Geralt would need to heal.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, gently petting the silver hair he loved so much, ignoring the tacky feeling of blood under his fingertips. Swiftly tearing off his doublet, he placed it under Geralt’s head, hoping to afford him some comfort while he ran to find the runaway mare. “Okay, I’m going to find Roach, just stay here! It’s going to be alright Geralt, I’ll find us some help.”

As he stood to complete this necessary task, he felt a hand weakly grab at his wrist. “No,” Geralt whispered, forming the words around the blood spilling from his lips. “Stay,” he commanded with a pleading light in his eyes.

Jaskier sat back down immediately, gingerly shifting the witcher’s head into his lap. “Geralt, I need to find—”

“It’s too late,” Geralt choked out, looking paler every second. 

Jaskier sobbed at those three words, finally understanding the severity of the situation. He placed a hand on Geralt’s cheek, caressing it in the hopes that it would bring minimal comfort to the man he loved. 

“Why?” Jakier asked as tears spilled down his pale cheeks. “You would’ve been fine, it wasn’t worth it.” His voice broke on the last word, sobs destroying any semblance of loquacity left within him. “Why would you do that, you stupid witcher?”

“Was worth it,” Geralt slurred, exhausted from the fight and the subsequent blood loss. “Couldn’t live without you. Sorry.”

Jaskier choked back a sob, overwhelmed by the inescapable conclusion of their final adventure. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded, staring into golden pools of light that became dimmer every moment. “I shouldn’t have been playing my lute, I saw you were distracted—”

“Not your fault—” Geralt insisted, taking a weak hold of his hand, stroking the trembling fingers with a calloused thumb. They were silent for a moment, the sound of Geralt’s labored breaths filling the space around them like an unwelcome guest. “Tell Ciri and Yennefer I love them,” Geralt gritted through his teeth, fighting through the unbearable pain to say his last wishes. “Bring my medallion to Kaer Morhen. They need to know.” 

Jaskier nodded frantically, wiping away the blood dripping from the corner of those lips he knew better than his own. He watched as Geralt attempted to say more but no words came out, impeded by the blood pouring out of his mouth. With his last vestiges of energy, he saw Geralt mouth, “I love you,” before falling limp in his arms. 

The world fell silent, everything falling still as Geralt shuddered his last breath. “No,” Jaskier brokenly whispered, knowing deep down that no one would answer. “Geralt, no, please, don’t leave me. You can’t leave me!” he cried out, his voice breaking on the final word. When there was no response but the sound of birds and wind blowing through the trees, he laid his head down on the witcher's still chest and clung as tightly as he dared, imparting one last embrace.

He wasn’t supposed to die first. This was wrong. “It was always meant to be me,” Jaskier murmured to the empty shell lying in his lap. 

It was never meant to end this way. 

#major character death #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fandom #witcher fanfiction #Jaskier #Geralt #whump #blood

[king-finnigan]

For your drabble game, can I offer the challenge of a minor-ly altered 10. Soulmate mark au with a dash of 14. "If you don't like what I'm wearing I can go change. " ?

Geralt sighs as Jaskier bustles around the room, getting ready for his performance. It’s been a while since he’s seen the bard this nervous, but then again, it is a very nice, very fancy, very upscale party he’s playing at tonight - of course, nothing as big as a royal betrothal feast, but still - and the only reason Geralt knows this is because Jaskier just won’t shut the fuck up about it for five minutes.

He doesn’t look up from his bestiary as Jaskier calls out, slightly panicked. “Geralt, have you seen my- my boots, the fancy ones with the nice embroidery, you know the ones.”

“No, I don’t. But have you checked under the bed?”

Jaskier lets out an indignant sound. “Of course I have checked under the bed, I’m not stup- oh, there they are. Thank you!” Geralt can hear him fidgeting to get his boots on for a few minutes, before he hears a few footsteps, Jaskier standing in front of him, suddenly quiet. “What do you think?” the bard asks.

Geralt heaves another sigh, and looks up, breath catching in his throat. “The... the shirt...” It’s unlike anything he’s seen Jaskier wear before, really. It’s made of a transluscent, delicate material, perfectly showing off the hair on Jaskier’s chest, the toned lines of his stomach, the candlelight behind him casting his silhouette in an ethereal glow. It leaves the Witcher utterly speechless, and he can do nothing but simply stare.

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, the scent of dust and murky water mixing in with his normal scent of lavender and sandalwood - he’s anxious, nervous - as he fidgets with the hem of the shirt. “Too much? If you don’t like what I’m wearing I can go change...”

Geralt blinks, shakes his head, eyes finally tearing away from Jaskier’s chest and stomach to focus on his face. “No, it’s...” beautiful, perfect, ethereal “fine.”

Jaskier smiles widely. “Aw, thank you, Geralt, you’re too kind to me.” From any other person, Geralt would think it was sarcastic, but he knows Jaskier is being genuine and it makes something warm and fuzzy grow in his chest.

He’s about to shake it off and return to his bestiary when Jaskier turns around to grab his lute, and Geralt catches a glimpse of the bard’s back. It’s absolutely covered in buttercups - or, well, at least the image of buttercups - weaving around each other over his skin, little leaves poking out from the empty spots where there aren’t yellow petals and green stems. The image ripples a bit as Jaskier wipes some nonexistent dust off his lute. 

Geralt’s never seen a soulmate mark this big. Usually it’s rather small and tucked away on the inside of an ankle or an elbow or a wrist. Hell, the biggest one he’s seen so far is... well, his own. Which is also how he knows that the buttercups that cover Jaskier’s back are a soulmark - because the very same buttercups cover the Witcher’s entire left lower leg.

“Alright, time to head out, I guess,” Jaskier mutters to himself, as he slings his lute over his back, the wood of the instrument half covering the buttercups. He starts heading for the door, and blind panic floods down Geralt’s spine.

“Jaskier, wait.” The bard stops, turns around, eyebrows raised as Geralt stands up from his chair. “Your... your back.”

Jaskier blushes slightly, looks down at his own boots - the fancy ones with the nice embroidery, you know the ones. “Ah, yes, that. Quite big, isn’t it?” He shrugs, and Geralt can’t help but imagine the way the buttercups would ripple over his muscles when he does that. “I do wonder what it looks like on the other person, really.”

Geralt blinks, before bending down on a whim, pulling the left leg of his trousers up, revealing the buttercups along his shin and calf. He straightens again. “Like this,” he sheepishly says.

Jaskier blinks, staring at Geralt’s soulmate mark for a solid minute, before looking up at the Witcher’s face. “So... soulmates, huh?”

“Yeah... soulmates.” Oh, this is it, isn’t it? This is the moment the bard finally has enough of him and his bullshit and leaves him on his own. This is the moment he’s been dreading ever since he met Jaskier.

Except Jaskier’s face breaks out in a wild grin, and he practically bounces a few steps forward, placing a featherlight kiss on Geralt’s lips before he can even blink. “Well, I wouldn’t have it any other way, Witcher.”

He can’t help but smile at that, something light and fluttery in his chest as Jaskier bounds towards the door, pulling it open a little harder than strictly necessary. “I really do have to leave, now, but we’re so going to talk about this more. Later.”

Geralt nods. “Later.”

Jaskier grins again. “Alright, bye, soulmate!” Geralt rolls his eyes at that, but can’t stop his own smile from widening, even as he watches buttercups disappear around the corner.

***

Send me a situation and a sentence and I’ll write a drabble!

#gigglechickenfae #squish answers #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #drabble #the witcher #this one is for the queue #also the last one for tonight bc it's 1:30 in the morning whoops #gonna continue tomorrow

[dapandapod]

Fun and games

1420 words,  Three times Lambert kind of wants to kiss Aiden, and a fourth time where he has to.

I had to, alright? It’s been in my drafts for a while and I want snarky boys kissing. Enjoy <3

On Ao3 here!

Friendship is such a weird thing.

You just pick a human, mutant, pony, goat, bard, whatever, and just hang out with them. Lambert didn’t really pick this friend. The friend in question just showed up one day and kept showing up. Aiden, he calls himself. So that is what Lambert keeps yelling when this cat witcher keeps getting them into troubles.

Turns out it's most of the time.

Not that Lambert minds, trouble is fun in most senses possible. But when they (yet again) find themselves hiding out together in a pond because Aiden couldn’t resist teasing the residential lordling, even Lambert is getting a little cranky.

Not that Lambert stopped him, but that is not the point.

Their noses are right above the surface of the black pond, the moon reflecting it’s pale light. Lambert's hair sticks to his forehead, and the water smells old and murky. Aiden gives him a teasing look, corner of his eyes crinkling with mirth, and Lambert resists the urge to swat at him.

He squints at Aiden, who gives his hair a pointed stare. As if he looks much better. Bastard. 

There are men running around the grounds yet, so Lambert can’t do anything about Aiden’s stupid face. But he wants to.

He feels himself scowl, and if possible Aiden looks even happier.

Prick.

Fine. Lambert moves slowly, getting closer without disturbing the water. There must be vengeance for this. Aidens eyes challenge him, sparkling sparking in the moonlight. Lambert gets so close that there are only inches between them.

Aidens smile fades, and he looks at him intensely. Lambert has no idea why, but his heart is beating hard. Their chins rise above the water, Lambert follows the dripping of water that trails down Aidens skin in the darkness.

 He slowly puts his hands on Aidens shoulders under the water, careful not to create sound. He feels transfixed, he has the strongest urge to just-

He pushes Aiden under the water with a satisfying plop.

 That annoying mop of hair disappears under the surface and Lambert's grin is all teeth.

Vengeance is sweet.

Next thing he knows,cold pond water is pushing into his nose and his mouth. Aidens hands are like claws on his chest, pulling him down with him.

Right, Aiden is a bastard too.

They glare at each other from under the water, still close together. Aiden, ever the physical person, bites his shoulder.

All of a sudden, Lambert feels warm. Burning hot.

Fuck those guards up there, Lambert gotta go or he is going to do somethign very stupid.

He pushes himself out of the water and runs.

 ~

 Lambert is bleeding, rather profusely.

He can see black spots in his vision, eyes flicking about without finding purchase. His fingerstips are tingling, and somewhere from a distance he can hear someone calling his name.

Something is poured into his mouth, he recognizes the taste. Swallow.

Then it is dark for a while.

Next thing he knows, Aidens eyes are in front of his, hands on his cheeks.

“There we go, idiot. I told you, you are not allowed to die. Who says you can’t follow instructions!”

“Stupid kitty.” He moans out and Aiden's laugh puffs against his skin.

He wants to press close, but he feels so, so heavy.

He is content to lie there and be laughed at. It’s fine. He will bite back later. Push Aiden to a troll or something.

 ~

 Snow is the best and the worst.

Going up into the stupid mountain to chase a stupid wyvern eating stupid cows for stupid farmers that pay too little.

They find themselves snowed in after the wyvern is killed, in a barely-there hut abandoned halfway down the mountain. It’s stupid cold, and despite lighting a fire in the fireplace and the snow piling high enough to keep the wind out, it’s bitterly cold.

Aidens feet are like ice against his legs where they lie pressed together, huddled under cloaks and what little clothes they could spare to pile on top.

“Do you have to press them against me?! You are freezing!” Lambert complains.

Aiden huddles closer, pushing his hands under Lamberts tunic, and Lambert hisses.

“That’s the fucking point of cuddling!” Aiden retorts, pushing his icy fingers into Lambert's armpits.

“We are not cuddling!” Lambert protests. “We are trying to keep warm!”

Embarrassment burns through him, because he enjoys the closeness a little too much. The smell of old sweat from the fight, the feeling of another body next to his, his arms wrapped around the other witcher to keep him close.

“Sure.” Aiden says, sounding just a little patronizing, and flattens his fingers against Lambert's skin with a content little sigh.

“Come on. You too. We don't want you to lose any fingers.” He wriggles a little, motioning for Lambert to put his hands in Aidens armpits too.

It’s not weird, Lambert tells himself. It is not weird that his heart is beating and his breath is catching and that his hands are getting clammy as he slowly lowers his hands slowly.

It’s not cuddling. It’s not touching.

It's about warming up.

Nothing else.

Nothing to get worked up about.

Aiden pulls back a little, looking at him, and fuck.

“What are you getting worked up about?” Aiden teases, the bastard.

“I'm not.” Lambert grumbles, trying not to look at him.

At his eyes dancing with mirth, his lips and that stupid smile, as his hands travel. When his hands reach the hem of Aidens tunic, it’s Aidens turn to hiss.

“Fuck that’s cold. Come on.”

“So eager, you absolute weirdo.” Lambert says as his hands follow the line of Aidens body upwards.

Every rise of rib, muscle, scar. He looks at the bob of Aidens throat as he swallows, refusing to look higher.

It is a relief when his hands finally rest in the heat under his arms.

 Lambert presses his eyes closed, fighting with everything he is worth to stay on that line.

 Friends.

 Sleep claims them, through some wonder, and when they wake up and the wind has stopped howling and the fire is burned low, Lambert's head is under Aidens chin, nose pressed against his neck.

 ~

 “I dare you to kiss Aiden.”

Fuck. Yeah fun and games and all, but fuck.

Jaskier looks smug as fuck where he sits in Geralts lap, the witchers face constipated as usual when Jaskier is around.

Nerves, Eskel says, and Lambert is starting to relate.

“Fuck off.” Lambert scoffs and Jaskier shrugs.

“Fine. Truth it is, oh brave man.”

Lambert doesn’t trust this bard. This is going to be bad.

“Then tell us why not.”

Lambert doesn’t look at Aiden. Doesn’t look at anyone except for Jaskier.

There will be vengeance.

“Fucking fine.” Lambert growls, throws out a fist and grabs a hold of Aidens shirt and hauls him close.

Finally their eyes meet.

Aiden looks surprised. And hungry.

Lambert's eyes dart down to those lips that he may or may not have been thinking about in the middle of the night.

“What are you getting worked up about?” Aiden breathes and yeah.

It’s just a dare. Just a kiss.

Lunging forward, kissing the smug right of Aidens face. Their lips collide harshly and Aiden's hand comes up to tangle in his hair. Lambert grunts, and Aiden shifts closer, adjusting the angle so that when he takes a breath, they align perfectly.

Lips dragging together, parting, getting greedy.

Aidens fingers in his hair feels good, his other hand clutching at his thigh. Then he registers a whoop of victory from Jaskier, and ah.

Right. It’s just a kiss.

Lambert goes to pull back, their lips parting with a wet sound, but Aidens hand in his hair grips him tighter.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He growls, and dives right back in.

His tongue is hot and wet as it licks into him. The hand Lambert has fisted in Aidens shirt tightens, pulling him closer, helpless to his own needs.

“Room.” He pants between kisses. “Room.”

He tears himself from Aiden, standing up abruptly, Aidens shirt still in a tight grip.

He points an angry finger at Jaskier, because it is time for vengeance while he still remembers to be mad.

 “You. Truth or dare.” Jaskier looks pleased and amused where he sits, and Geralt looks genuinely worried.

“Dare.”

“I dare you to fucking tell Geralt you love him.”

 Then Lambert turns around to splutters and more constipated witcher noises and drags Aiden behind him up the stairs.

#lambden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #snarky boys #the witcher #hiding from guards #mention of minor injury #huddling for warmth #pining lambert #lambert really is an idiot #and he really wanna kiss aiden #and jaskier is just helping out #truth and dare is such a good game for that isn't it #dapanda writes #geraskier mention #jaskier the bard #geralt of rivia #just a little kissing

[fea-warriorheart]

Another Life

His heart pounds as he edges around the side of the barn, peeking out into the field beyond. There's no sign of his hunter, yet he's not stupid enough to think he's safe.

He's given odd looks as he sneaks across the gap between the buildings, from people and animals alike. One of the horses gives him an indignant huff as he brushes past, and he's probably lucky there's a fence between them.

He's in a bad spot. His hunter knows it better than him. He has to get to familiar ground before-

"Found you!"

Jaskier shrieks as strong arms wrap around his waist, lifting his feet off the ground. He can hear the smug grin as the boy behind him adds, "Too exposed, lark."

The hands dart down his sides, tickling him while also letting his feet touch the ground once more. Jaskier shrieks again, but there's no fear this time; laughter and mirth sound in every sound as he squirms in the stableboy's hold.

"Geralt! Stop it! I yield!"

A soft laugh comes from behind him, and the arms around him loosen, releasing him. Jaskier turns, face flushed and split with a grin as he takes in the redhead before him. Geralt's a good head taller than him, despite only being two years older. While Jaskier spends his days studying and being proper, Geralt spends his split between helping at the estate stables and learning medicinal practices under the watchful eye of his mother. He's lean from winter, as most of the village is, but there's already muscle starting to build back up on his frame with the scraps of food he's given by a sympathetic cook.

Laughter sparkles in Geralt's fern-colored eyes, a feature many might call dull compared to some of the other shades sported by humanoid races, but Jaskier was of the firm belief it fit him perfectly. Geralt was a child of nature, just like his mother, and it was fitting for such a prominent feature to reflect that.

"Julian! Get back here!"

The brunette grimaced at the sharp tone. Geralt's expression instantly smoothed into the neutral stance most of the servants took when a member of the house approached, let alone one of Jaskier's parents.

His father stalked over, scowling at him. "You're late for your lessons. I shouldn't have to come out here and drag you around. It's disgraceful."

Julian bowed his head slightly. "Yes, father. My apologies."

An iron grip latched on to his upper arm. His father sneered at Geralt as he started dragging him back towards the manor. "Get back to work, brat."

Julian didn't risk glancing back. Geralt would only get in further trouble; he knew his father already disliked the boy for being friendly with him, but kept him around because of his old friendship with Visenna. The woman had been there for Jaskier's birth, as well as his two sister's. Plus, Geralt had a way with the animals that no one could quite explain - or replicate - and it was too much trouble in his father's eyes to find and train a new boy for the job.

Geralt is one of the few good things Julian has in his life. He won't risk him by being stupid.

-

A fierce storm is raging against the windows of the kitchen. Many of the servants are fast asleep, but Jaskier paces the room, worry lines etched into his brow. Geralt is making them both a pot of tea; a messenger had arrived in the early evening, stating that Jaskier's father had been ambushed by bandits and that his location was currently unknown. Despite being reassured by his mother, sleep had not come easy to the young viscount.

Geralt rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts, and offered him a steaming cup. "Sit down," he murmured. "You'll do nothing for no one wearing holes into the floorboards."

He sits with a flop, tracing a finger along the edge of the cup as he waits for it to cool a bit. Geralt sits beside him, something they're only allowed to do in moments like this; moments of solitude in a life full of company. "You know I worry."

"Yes. It's why I knew you would seek me out."

Jaskier glances at him. Geralt's coat is drying by the fire; he'd accompanied the messenger to the manor through the storm, soaking both of them through, and his mother had insisted the poor boy stay the night. He'd taken a place by the kitchen fire to stay out of the way, and had been waiting when Jaskier slipped inside.

With Geralt, Jaskier is able to be... well, Jaskier. He's able to laugh and tell stupid jokes and not care about being proper, but only with Geralt. With all others, he must be Julian Alfred Pankratz.

It's no wonder why he feels drawn to the boy.

He sighs softly, leaning against Geralt. "What if they hurt him?"

"He's a hardy man, you know. This isn't the first time he's had to fight."

"That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

"I know, lark." Geralt gives him a one-armed hug-squeeze around his shoulders. "He'll be alright. Probably just lost his way in the storm, is all."

Jaskier shrugs miserably, sipping at his tea. They sit in silence for a while; Geralt eventually stands to clean their cups and dry them off. He's placing them back in the cupboard when the door slams open, startling both boys and causing the fire to give a threatening flicker.

Two figures stumble inside; one is unmistakably his father, while the other has broad shoulders and wears a thick cloak, obscuring all but the chestnut beard with gray flecks peppering it. The stranger slams the door shut, bolting it against the wind, and Jaskier's father stands there for a moment, breathing heavily as he takes in the two boys.

The stranger turns, then, and Julian's heart clenches when he sees the Witcher's medallion hanging around his neck. He pulls down the hood of his cloak, golden eyes reflecting the light of the fire. His gaze is on Julian, studying him curiously.

He turns back to Julian's father. "I assume you didn't expect either of them to be here. Which would fulfill your payment."

The man tenses, then shakes his head. "No, I expected my son to be here. He always waits up when I'm late. The stable boy, though- bah. You can take him."

Julian feels his world slow to a halt. When he looks at Geralt, he feels like he's moving through pine resin. The redhead's eyes are wide with shock and fear, and his mouth opens and closes a few times, though no sound leaves him.

"Fine. I doubt I have enough rations to bring both of them with me, anyways." The Witcher turns back to them, crossing his arms. "Your name, boy."

"No!" Julian's voice starts working again, and he stands between them. "You can't take him!"

"Julian," his father hisses, storming over to him and yanking him away. "He claimed the Law of Surprise for saving my life. It must be fulfilled."

"No! He can't take Geralt! Please, father, you can't let him!" Tears burn his eyes. Geralt still isn't moving, still hasn't looked away from the Witcher.

Golden and green gazes snap to them as Julian is backhanded. The Witcher is there in an instant, gripping his father's wrist enough to make the man cry out.

"I don't take kindly to those who would abuse a child for caring for a friend," the Witcher says softly. "Touch him again and lose your hand. Your oath has been fulfilled. Leave us, now."

"Wait." A small voice sounds from the corner where Geralt stands. He's trembling, eyes darting between the Witcher and Julian. "Can I- Can I at least say goodbye?"

Something in the Witcher's face softens, and he steps back, nodding. "Do you have any family?"

"My mother, she lives in the village..."

"You can say farewell to her as well and grab some spare clothes. Make it quick."

The Witcher leans against the fireplace, and Geralt rushes over, wiping at Jaskier's tears with soothing motions. "It's alright, lark. Don't cry... It'll be okay..."

"Geralt... Please, you can't leave me..." Jaskier gripped his shirt, twisting the fabric in his grip. A gentle hand brushes through his hair.

"You know I can't just ignore this, lark... I have to go, but we'll see each other again eventually, yeah...?"

Jaskier sniffles. Geralt lifts his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. He smiles gently, and for the life of him, Jaskier can't help but feel the truth in his words. He nods, even as his bottom lip wobbles. "Yeah."

The Witcher steps in again, a hand on Geralt's shoulder. He hands the boy his coat, and with one last look back, Jaskier's best friend vanishes into the stormy night.

-

He learns in Oxenfurt how few boys survive the Witcher mutations. He does not want to believe it, but part of him mourns his friend. Geralt was strong, but verging on too old for the Trials; his body would be more likely to reject them than to adapt to them. And besides, Geralt was a farmer, a healer, not a monster hunter.

So Jaskier does his best to move on. But there are nights, often dark with storms, where he curls in on himself and wishes things had happened differently.

He graduates Oxenfurt a master of the arts and top of his class, and then he just... wanders. He plays as a bard in taverns and inns, earning enough coin to stay the night and occasionally buy some new clothes. He takes lovers, but never partners; he loves too much and yet too little, flitting from person to person as his very being rejects each and every one.

He's nineteen, playing in some backwater village. The road there had been harrowing; he had been lucky to join a group of merchants at the last town. A nest of monsters - he wasn't sure what, he hadn't paid attention - had been terrorizing most travelers in small groups for weeks. They'd even been so desperate as to put up a notice for a Witcher.

Despite all of the stories, Jaskier hasn't seen another since that night. He's beginning to wonder if they're just a figment of everyone's collective imagination; perhaps the monsters just kill themselves off or migrate elsewhere when the pickings are slim.

He's just finished a song, collecting some meager coin as the door opens. Jaskier is retreating to his table when a hand rests on his shoulder; his mind runs through anyone he might have pissed off. He hasn't been in town long enough to anger any husbands, fathers or brothers, and no one would have followed him through such a dangerous area. So truly, for the life of him, he doesn't know why-

"Lark."

His world goes still in a way that has happened only once before.

He turns slowly. He's no longer a head shorter; his eyes are about level with his nose. His skin is paler than Jaskier remembers, contrasted with dark armor. A wolf's head gleams above it, snarling at his foes, and two swords are visible on his back.

Snow white hair brushes his shoulders, tied back clumsily. Jaskier can't find the strength to breathe as he finally looks him in the eye.

Gone is the green of ferns and grass in the spring; molten gold takes their place, slitted pupils darting in minuscule movements as he searches Jaskier's face. For all the differences, he's still the same boy - still the stable boy Jaskier knew.

He's still...

Jaskier is breathless as he whispers, "Geralt."

A small smile spreads across the boy's - man's, he's twenty, twenty-one now - face. He takes Jaskier's hand in his, squeezing it gently. "I told you I'd see you again."

//An indulgent thing that I came up with out of the blue. Lost steam at the end which is why it sort of trails off, but hey, if anyone's interested in a part two.... (bold presumption, I know.)

#witcher #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #geralt of rivia #fic #what-if

[thewitcherssongbird]

Heartbeat

Chapter 5

Fifth and final chapter of heartbeat is finally here. I know it took a while but what can you do. It is an epilogue of sorts so it's very short

*****

The ceiling doesn’t do anything interesting but they stare at it as if it does anyway. Heavy breaths turn to the clinks and clatters of the town as the rest of the world creeps slowly back into Geralt’s senses. Bliss hangs feather soft between them, it’s so sweet Geralt is hesitant to move or speak, as if the feeling were made of glass and it would come crashing down in pieces if he did anything at all.

Time seems to move too fast and too slow at the same time as he tries to bottle the feeling before it disappears.

Fingers sweep tentatively over his own and lace into his and for the first time, they are effectively holding hands for no reason other than to hold hands. Geralt doesn’t dare turn his head, breath caught in his throat.

“It won’t break.” Jaskier’s voice should have swept the feeling away, but it doesn’t. Jaskier squeezes and the tension bleeds out of him like a breath being finally released.

His fingers are gentle as they leave Geralt’s to curl around his jaw and turn his head to look at him. Something shimmers in the poet’s eyes, glinting around the corners.

Suddenly Jaskier bursts out into sobs. “What’s wrong?” Geralt asks frantically, eyes roving stupidly around but finding nothing. The tears are streaming down his cheeks but still Jaskier is smiling. Geralt can honestly say he’s never been so confused. 

“Nothing,” Jaskier insists with a laugh even though he’s crying.

“Why are you crying?” Geralt asks, amused. Jaskier holds his arms open and Geralt moves readily so that Jaskier can wrap his arms around his shoulders and bury his tear stained face in his shoulder.

“S’just… S’just that I love you too much and I’m too small to contain it all,” he sobs, and starts laughing again. Geralt might just have broken his bard. “They were all about you.”

“What was all about me?”

“The songs,” he moans pitifully and Geralt will deny it until his dying day but his heart flutters straight out of his chest and into Jaskier’s hands right then and there because godsdamnit this is what it is to be in love.

“A bard needs a muse, Geralt.” Jaskier grabs the blanket and dabs at the corners of his eyes and is now taking advantage of Geralt’s body heat by wriggling on top of him and entertwining their legs.

“Muse?” Geralt sputters.

Jaskier giggles, “Who said big bad Witchers can’t be muses?”

Geralt doesn’t answer and instead huffs in amusement and wraps his arms around Jaskiers skinny torso and smiles into his hair.

“Will you sing it for me?” Geralt asks then and they both know what he means.

“Of course I will.”

Geralt moves his hand into Jaskier’s hair. Gods he’s never realized how much he’s always wanted to run his hands through Jaskier’s hair. “You never told me,” he states.

“I was afraid.”

“Of me?”

“Of losing you.” And for the first time in a long time, his throat tightens and tears blur his eyes as he holds Jaskier a little tighter.

They don’t get out of bed and instead let the quiet consume them. Geralt basks in doing nothing. It must be wonderful being Jaskier.

Just when he thinks Jaskier has fallen asleep, he says: “You know when I said they were all about you, I meant all of them.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Oh you’ll figure it out.”

Geralt has no idea what he means and heaven only knows what is running through Jaskier’s head. But still, after the events that should have explained everything, Geralt still cannot read the man. A smile pulls insistently on his lips and he lets it break like a brilliant dawn on his face.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

*****

Two weeks later, they’re at some party of someone important who’s name Geralt has long since forgotten. Jaskier is twirling gracefully around the room, his singing and strumming unhindered by his dancing. The crowd is entrances, as is Geralt.

Jaskier is singing a song with lyrics of pure sin but the crowd is drunk and loving it. They clap in time with Jaskier’s steps, perfectly in sync with the beat. Geralt lingers on the outskirts, avoiding attention as he leans inconspicuously against a pillar.

He watches his lover sweep around the room, belting out the lyrics without an ounce of shame and suddenly, with words Geralt never thought he’d hear outside whorehouses, he winks at Geralt and he remembers.

“They were all about you.”

*****

So uh needless to say something happened that night😉

Thank you all for reading! Please leave likes and comments❤

@karasuya @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @wanderinglilgirl @saraiskindasad

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #The Witcher #the witcher netflix #witcher netflix #geraskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier #geralt z rivii #geraskier fluff #geraskier smut #gerskier #idiots in love

[imaginesblvd]

Title: Begin Again 

Part 1 of 10(?)

Jaskier x Reader 

This is mostly just to get the story on the way. Just thoughts and mentions of him so far. Second part, will definitely have more of Jaskier. Anyway, sorry that it wasn’t posted last night, but I got very busy. Hope everyone enjoys! 

Also, contains she/her pronouns!

(Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Before you had settled in the small village of Sunfair, you used to travel with Geralt and Jaskier. You saw valleys, castles, mountain tops, and more. You cherish the memories you made with them. Some memories more than others, some you wish you could forget. The ones you wish to forget are always the ones that keep you awake at night. You often wonder if you made the right choice to leave, or if you acted too quickly. Those thoughts are often washed away by the man you're with, Colton.

He's a sweet man, but he's not Jaskier. It's been years and you thought you were over him but something in the back of your mind won't let you, let him go. You hate it because you have a perfectly wonderful man in front of you willing to give you what you want despite the fact that you wont marry him. He'd go to the ends of the earth and back for you, but you don't find yourself willing to do the same for him. You think it might be because you still talk about Jaskier, in the stories you tell to the young children.

All the children gather around you every morning to hear the stories you have to share. It started with a couple kids, but then more kids showed up over the years. All of them wanted to hear about magical beasts and how Geralt defeated them. You shy away from some details that might scare them because you don't want their mothers complaining to you about how their kids had nightmares. It happened once and Colton dealt with it.

Today is just like any other day. Colton had gone off to work, and you sat at the lake shore with a swarm of children around you. You had just finished telling them about the time Geralt saved a village from werewolves. They're begging for more, but you can't tell them another because of how late it is. Their parents would come stomping down here and complain about how late you are keeping them.

“Honey, are you ready?” You turn at the sound of Colton's voice

“Yes” You smile as you stand, the children start to whine “There will be more tomorrow, don't worry” You tell them, that doesn't quite settle them but it's enough to have them agree

“I'm running out of stories to tell them” You turn your face as he plants a kiss to your cheek

“You'll make up new ones” He's not wrong. You could come up with new ones, but it wouldn't be the same.

He smiles as he wraps his free arm around your shoulders. He leads the way to the small cottage he had built. As you walk he tells you about his day and you listen. He says the fish weren't as lively today due to the fact one of the fishermen brought his son. His son wouldn't shut up, he kept scaring the fish away. He asks about your day but what's there to say? You do the same thing everyday.

Once you're back inside the four walls of the cottage, you start to gather things for supper. Colton tires to help, but you don't let him. Instead you let him relax and work on the other projects he's come up with. He wanted to make a barn so he could get some horses. He wants to travel and oddly enough you'd rather stay put.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next morning, you sit at the lake shore. The children should be here soon and you don't know what adventure you should tell them now. You wonder if you should let them pick between two opinions. The cursed princess, or the one with the djinn. You lick your lips as you look up to the sky.

It's just as beautiful as the first day you saw it. There's a mist over the water, and a slight breeze that sends a chill down your spine. You can hear the fishermen yelling around about not tangling the nets. You tear your gaze away to see if you can see Colton, but a black mass in the corner of your eye makes you look further into town. Your brows knit together in worry. Standing just in the middle of the town is a person in a black cloak.

“Hmm” You hum, as you turn away.

Maybe they're just passing through, after all there's always a few people that stumble through. You shrug it off knowing they won't be here long, perks of a small town there isn't an inn or a tavern with a couple beds to spare. So they'll be gone soon, probably just stock up on some supplies before heading out.

There's a thunderous sound of pounding feet. You turn and smile brightly at the children. You tell them they're able to pick the story this time, and they do. They want to hear about the cursed princess. You clap your hands together to get their attention and when you have it you press your index finger to your lip. They all shut  their mouths shut as they vibrate with excitement, so you begin your story.

It's about noon when you send the children off to have their lunch. Colton sits next to you, as he eats buttered bread. It isn't often you both have lunch together but when it happens, there's usually the question not far off. He'll either ask it after he's done eating or when you get back to the cottage. You wish you could tell him 'yes' but again, something won't let you.

“What story are you telling them?” He asks as he wipes his hands on his pants

“Striga, when a friend told me about it, it scared the shit out of me, so I'm trying to keep it child friendly” You tell him with a smile

He laughs, as he shakes his head. He leans forward and you turn your face letting his lips fall against your cheek. He pulls back and says he'll see you after work. You tell him to be quick because this story isn't as long as the others. You want to ask if he heard about the cloaked guest but he hasn't gone into the market just yet, he usually stops there before he comes to get you.

When the children return, you smile at them and pick up where you left off.

As the sun begins to set, you send the kids on their way. They don't whine this time knowing their parents are waiting up for them. You wipe your hands on your pants as you stand. Stretching your body out, you catch the figure once more in the corner of your eye.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest, it has been so long since you've been in a fight. You're not sure you could take this thing on. You look around for anything to use as a weapon, but instead your panic filled gaze lands on Colton walking towards you. Quickly looking behind you wondering how the hell you were going to be able to save the both of you, but the figure is gone. You turn back to him, and he's grinning ear to ear.

“Ready to go home?” He asks, and you nod unable to say anything in fear that your voice would shake

He wraps his arm around your shoulder, and you fight with your body to keep the shake in your knees somewhat subtle. You reach up to take his hand in yours for some comfort and it works but only a little.

The walk home he spoke about how the rest of his day went. His words are lost on you though, your worried gaze keeps flying everywhere. Making sure the figure isn't following, because again you're way out of practice. However, when he says the words “I need a bath” you want to cuss him out for picking tonight. You always get his bath ready while he makes something for you to eat.

“Did your story spook you?” He asks with a soft chuckle

“Yeah, a little” You lie, as you follow him into the house.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You stand at the door, with a couple buckets in each hand. You lick your lips before letting out a shaky breath. It's now or never, and if that thing wanted to attack it would have done it by now, right? Or would it wait for you to be separated from Colton? Was this your past coming back to bite you in the ass? You shake your head trying to stop the swirling questions but it doesn't work. More questions fill your head, but you ignore them, as you reach for the door knob with your now free hand.

It's not too dark, and the well isn't that far away. You could run there but running back with two buckets of water in your hands? That's going to be a bit tricky.

You aren't going to lie, you kind of missed this feeling. Being scared often kept you close to Jaskier. Even now, it should make you want to stay close to Colton, but that stupid tug at the back of your mind tells you just step out of the house. The shake in your leg is what makes you take a step outside.

“I thought that was you” A familiar voice causes you to turn to your left “You're a hard person to find, y/n” the hood of the cloak is pulled back and your eyes go wide at the person in front of you

“Yen?” You drop the buckets and walk over to her “Holy shit, how are you? What are you doing here?” You rush out as you wrap your arms around her

She tells you how she's still looking for a way to regain her ability to have a child. You wish you could help her with that but you know your useless when it comes to that. You don't even understand the workings of her magic, however you did learn two or three spells back when you were with Geralt and Jaskier. It's foggy but you're sure if you had to work the two or three, you would be able to. She tells you about her travels, and how she sees Geralt every now and again.

You find yourself wanting to ask about Jaskier, but don't because just then Colton walks out. Worry clear on his face, and he looks a bit freshened up. His hair that sat on his forehead is pushed back. His hands clean and holding flowers. He's changed his clothing, no fish guts or the smell of fish to be smelled at all.

“Are you okay? Who is this? Look if she gave your kid night-”

“Colton, relax. This is an old friend, Yennfer, this is Colton, Colton, Yennfer” You walk over to him, and press a hand on his chest “Go back inside, I'll be in, in a few” You tell him, he nods and leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head before heading back inside.

“Married life doesn't suit you” She sounds almost disgusted and you snort shaking your head “I'm not married” You tell her

She looks a little pleased as she nods her head. Her hands clasp together as she takes a step towards you, and you take a step back, brow furrowed in question.

“Jaskier says hi”

Your eyes close as you lower your head. You could almost see him, with his lute and Geralt sitting, glaring in his corner. Shaking your head, you shrug trying to play it off like it wasn't a big thing but it's too late. Her knowing eyes sparkle as a smirk spreads on her face.

“You know he truly misses you”

“I miss him too, and Geralt, but I'm not going back”

“I didn't say you had to”

“Yen, stop”

She laughs as she shakes her head. She knows exactly what she is doing. You pick the buckets off the ground and hold one out for her. She takes it and walks with you to the well.

You can't just walk away from this, not when you left for a reason. You were young when you met Jaskier and Geralt. Feelings got in the way and you couldn't do it anymore. This really is the past coming to bite you in the ass. She won't leave until she knows you are happy here, or until she can convince you to go back home. You have a home though, here with Colton.

“What happened? What made you leave?” She asks as she leans against the well, her eyes trying to meet your fleeting gaze

“I don't want to talk about it, I don't even want to think about it, it's stupid” You kick at the grass as you pull on the string that brings up the bucket attached to the other end

“Just tell me, maybe I can help you make a choice” You laugh at her, and shake your head as you pour the water into your bucket

“What choice do I have to make, I'm not going anywhere” You tell her, and she laughs this time

“You know you're going to tell me” You look at her, she's not wrong. 

#the witcher imagines #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #jaskier imagines #jaskier imagine #jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier x y/n #jaskier fanfic #jaskier fanfiction

[tenpointstoq]

Geraskier Oxford Professor Modern Au

Geralt is sent to watch over Jaskier a Mythology teacher at Oxford.

I am putting this up to see if people even want me to bother with it so 🤷🏻

He’s so impossibly beautiful it makes the wolf’s heart ache. His glasses slipping down his delicate nose, brown curls an utter mess because he’s been running his hands through it idly for hours now. Geralts been watching the man for a few weeks now. He’s a suspected target, a fancy word for, this pretty boy is bait. Oxford is a rather pleasant place to camp out, considering some of the places Geralt has been lately, watching a beautiful professor for days on end inside fire warm rooms, indulging himself in the mans chamomile and honey sweet scent. He’s counting himself lucky.

Jaskier naturally had no idea about any of this, he’s been a professor of mythological studies for a few years now. While his subject matter covers a lot of rather dangerous cases, he’s never come close to being in actual danger. His battles are read in the depths of the library, not out in the wilds like some of his friends who chose to do field work studies. For one it would mean Jaskier would have to give up his fine easier costs, suits and wonderful jumpers and no thank you. He was all too fond of his wardrobe. Jakier likes his life, his students are a dream to teach, eating up his every word, the paper he’s been writing is coming along nicely and if he plays his cards right he may just romance the new library assistant into an evening of fine wine. With the protection of the college mages he believes his teachings on the more recent occurrences of occult magic and their capabilities of conjuring dark entities will bring him no harm. The poor boy couldn’t be any less wrong.

Yen is the one who get’s Geralt the job, she’s been freelancing for oxford for a while now, with the rise in varying schools of magic over the recent years the way her order works has had to adapt. Almost no one stayed at a post for too long, with Witcher’s on the decline and unknown magics raging war around the world Yennefer and her fellow mages had their hands full. Geralt himself had been overwhelmed with work as of late, for once the idea of protection duty actually sounded nice. Though the dark creatures that he was tasked with protecting Jaskier from rather took away from the holiday like experience Oxford otherwise promised.

The campus was crawling with magical beings, many the kind that were simple pests Geralt wouldn’t mind swatting, however the rules of the damn college gave the creatures safe passage. The students and teachers studied them and as payment the creatures were given a safe space to reside. They had a Kelpie in the lake for fucks sake. Though when Geralt had visited it, he was glad to see that it seemed entirely uninterested in eating him, though it was delighted to meet roach. Things were going oddly well for a solid month of Geralt's protection duty, during winter Witcher’s tended to return to their training grounds, while Geralt no longer followed such traditions he did tend to leave the wilds when the frosts set in. Getting paid to stay indoors with fires and good food wasn’t something he was going to complain about anytime soon. The people at the college were perfectly pleasant, watching Jaskiers classes were in general rather amusing, the mans love for his subject matter was highly evident as his excitement bubbled from him in every lesson. It was rather endearing really, the way his ocean blue eyes would light up at a particularly tricky question posed to him by a student. When the man wasn’t teaching he tended to be stuck in dusty corners of the library or in his own quarters, frantically writing and reading. That wasn’t to say Jaskier was a saint, no, Geralt had spent many a night watching the gorgeous young thing drinking at the university tavern, chatting up men and women alike, he was rather popular, though on more than one occasion Geralt had helped Jaskier escape a jealous partner who had gone after Jaskier for dipping his hand into someone else’s box of sweets. He was discreet of course, Jaskier had no idea he had a guardian angel, if Geralt had it his way he never would.

That was the thing with a world of Monster and chaos, one rarely got their way and so it was that half way through a presentation on a collection of relics Jaskier had surprised the head of his faculty with, that Jaskier almost fell prey to a corrupted Jorogumo. The Yokai was clever, she had masked herself well, with the scent of magical creature so thickly wound into the damn campus Geralt had needed to use his other senses to detect his prey. As the pretty woman beside him burst open, enormous spiders legs unfurling from her back, an inhuman scream tearing from her lips, Geralt was already pushing Jaskier behind him, barking a ‘FUCK OFF’ to the other equally shocked staff as they scrambled to get out of the way and escape.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide as Geralt, his silver hair flashing in the twilight, stood over him, his silver sword slashing through the air before him. “Stay close” he growled at Jaskier, before he dodged to the side, drawing the woman’s poison oozing mandibles as far from Jaskier as he could. While Jorogumo were a bit of a handful on a good day, a corrupted one was something all together, Geralt’s eyes flooded black as he side stepped another attack, the glass bottle in his hand smashing across the floor. She moved with a grace that Geralt would have admired if she wasn’t trying to kill him. There was so much to watch with this kind of creature. Her objective was to capture Jaskier with her web, something she could do even while bound in combat. Geralt was fast, casting signs to push her back, his teeth gritting as he met her claws with his blade, the dark magics within her allowing her exoskeleton to act more like armour. He would have to be clever, to strike the woman’s body, hanging in the middle of it’s form. In the end it was Jaskier who allowed him to make the fatal blow. As he and the creature went toe to toe, parrying each blow, crushing one another into the ancient stone of the hall, Jaskier had scuttled back to gather his bags, inside he kept several potions, which, if mixed just so could be of use for such situations. While he wasn’t a trained fighter, he wasn’t foolish enough to study monsters without any form of protection.

“HIRUMI!” Through the haze of his potion Geralt blinked as the creature slowed, dropping him as she turned towards Jaskiers a feral grin spreading her too wide mouth into a horrifying expression, her long teeth red with blood. Jaskier had poured a potion of some kind all over himself, the scent drew as Geralt's senses for a moment, he felt the beast within him shift, his nose raised to the air, the man's scent utterly intoxicating. He really was making himself bait. He had used a scenting spell that made it near impossible for magical beings to resist him. In her haste to get to her prize, the creature lost her footing, allowing Geralt a moment to strike, one he took with precise action, slicing through the soft space between her front legs, dragging himself up as she began to rear back Geralt let out a growl as he watched Jaskier run forwards, drawing the woman’s attention once more, as Geralt pressed his blade through her heart. The creature collapsed upon the two men, coating them in black acrid blood, pinning them to the stone flagstones.

As Jaskier panted, a gentle groan emerging from his chest as he pushed one of her legs from him, he turned, looking as Geralt through smashed glasses, “Suppose this is about as good a time as any to introduce myself?” Geralt gave the young man a grunt in response, pushing the dead carcass from his sword. Once on his feet he pulled Jaskier up, pulling at his clothing to check for wound marks. “Or you could manhandle me, that’s fine too. You know if you want to know if I am inured you could just ask?” Jaskier chimed, black blood dripping onto his cheek as Geralt's hands stilled, his thumb settling over a red mark towards the back of Jaskiers neck. “When did you get this?” Geralt growled, cursing under his breath as he looked at the wound site.

“Oh that? Sometime yesterday? Hirumi was helping me unpack the relics I was… oh.” Jaskier stopped, his eyes going wide as he looked over the obliterated room around them. “The Relics! There are utterly destroyed! Fuck, they were on lend from Cambridge. They are going to have an utter field day, it been hard eno-.” “JASKIER.” Geralt interrupted, drawing Jakiers gaze back to the man who’s strong hands were fisted in his jacket. “Yes well see it’s just a little bug bite, when you deal with old books and relics you can’t help but end up with creepy crawlies.” He admitted, watching as the dark color in Geralt's face slowly began to retract.His eyes shifting from black to gold. Realising all too late that he was in the presence of an actual Witcher.

“That’s why I couldn’t smell her.” Geralt cursed, glancing over his shoulder before he slid his sword back into its hilt and started to make his way towards the door, Jaskier in tow. “Shouldn’t we do something about that?” Jaskier squeaked, glancing over his shoulder as part of the ceiling rained down onto the dead monster. “Your people have people ready for this kind of thing, we need to get you to a mage.” Geralt growled.

So shall I bother with this? Y? N?

#the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraskierfic #geraskier au #geraskier fic #transboywitcher writes