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writersblockedx · 10 months

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The End of What Could Have Been

Pairing - Jaskier x Fem!Reader Summary - Jaskier finally gives in at trying to flirt with his favourite barmaid - something that only makes her fall harder for him. Warnings - alcohol, mention of a brothel? Words - 2.1K

A/n - Hi, I’m back! I know I’ve been gone for a little while; writers block has been killing me. But I’m back at it again, hopefully back at posting regularly again.

Masterlist

It had become the cycle of the night. As the stragglers of the Inn began to make their way back to their own beds - or hay stacks for some of them - he would appear. Far too wide-eyed for this time in the night, lute strapped over his shoulder and a glistening smile most female bar keeps had never been able to resist. Well, most expect for yourself.

Jaskier was sweet, that was true, but he was equally greedy. And the whole town knew of it. The stories of his lewd behaviour with his several different partners were laced throughout his lyrics, right alongside the fantastical story of the Witcher and the many creatures the two fought off together. Though, with that very bard in front of you now, you struggled to believe he had the same strength of a Witcher.

"Same as always, Y/n." His elbows leaned against the wooden bar as he slid a couple of coins across for you. Always a couple extra for your own pocket.

You simply nodded your head in an act to show your acknowledgement of him before turning to gather a pint of beer for the bard. "Not in the mood for conversation tonight?" He questioned while you had your back turned.

You only said anything when the cup that was brimming with frothy ale was in your hand. "Not with you. Not tonight." Ever so bluntly, that snap in your tone slipped from your tongue as you placed the drink down in front of him with a thud.

He flashed his puppy eyes; he had gotten good at doing that. "And whys that?"

Your expression never faulted. You didn't dare. You had told yourself for almost a month while Jaskier had been playing at this pub that you wouldn't be one of the many to fall prey to his sweet smile and his even sweeter words. "Because the only conversation you want to have is one where it ends with you getting into my pants." You said it so sternly. So casual. Without a lick of embarrassment as if it were a passing comment, lacking any source of meaning.

But Jaskier's response had proved different. He stiffened and struggled to swallow the ale that lingered on his tongue. "Can't blame a man for trying." His response came a second too late - attempting to get over the initial shock that had stunned him too much to speak straight away.

"I can when, despite getting your answer, you're still trying." You didn't break. With every word, you lean slightly closer, till there were only inches between you.

"Well," He sighed lightly and leaned back, "I still haven't heard you tell me to stop."

You couldn't help but laugh, "I know you're a bard, but you're not stupid, surely."

"You didn't have to go there." He quipped. "I personally don't think you want...this to stop." His words were as cautious as one in a sword fight. One wrong move and he was frightened you were about to stab him in the back.

For the first time, you became hesitant. You were uncertain. Of course, you could admit Jaskier did have that sweet smile and the charm to accompany such. He also was easy on the eyes, had a slick manner and was, as much as you hated to admit it, the type of bachelor you could see yourself spending the night with - or several. But he was infamous for such behaviour. He travelled from town to town, bed to bed, and you were not about to the 90th woman on his list. That of such, was what you refused.

So you shifted, and slipped back into your stern facade as if nothing had ever happened, like there had never been a blink of uncertainty. "This," You pointed between the two of you, "Never even started." Words so sharp they cut through Jaskier's heart like a knife to butter. While the man was fine to break others' hearts, his was too just as fragile and sensitive. And to hear such from a woman he had grown to admire over the weeks shook his core. With the words written out in front of him, he knew he could no longer ignore them.

And so you straightened your back and stared at the boy you were forced to resist. "You finish your ale, I'll close up." You announced, without any input from him. Normally, he would last at least another three drinks. But tonight, neither of you wanted the company of the other. The air between you had become tense and rigid. Air of which you were not in the mood to breathe.

So you took it upon yourself to make that decision. You started stacking the chairs around the pub, cleaning the sticky tables and making sure everything was as it should be. The only thing left was Jaskier. He took his final sip. He placed the cup back on the bar and let out a deep breath; he knew this was the end. This was the point in which you had drawn the line, you had told him no once and for all. And you had given him no choice but to listen.

There as he stood, he turned to you. At first, he looked you up and down, taking in the last of what remained—this night marked the end of what could have been. He locked eyes with you. Neither of you moved. Neither of you said a word. After that moment of acceptance passed, he provided a nod. With that, he left the Inn without a trace. That night, in your lonely bed, you struggled to sleep, plagued by the ever-yawning question of if you just made a mistake.

By the next morning, you came to face the consequences of your own actions. You strolled in for your shift as you always did to find the Inn relatively empty. In fact, more empty than it ever had been in the past month. The only ones to occupy the Inn were the same stragglers which never seemed to leave. It didn't take you long to figure out why; the lack of strumming music in the Inn was likely the culprit. And, after that conclusion, you came to assume that it was partly the fault of yourself and a certain encounter from the night before.

"No bard today?" You queried your boss, the Innkeeper, as he stood cleaning the wooden bar.

"No bard anymore." He answered. A part of your brain was tugged with curiosity, the other knew that you shouldn't want to know. You cut the ties. You were at fault. You should leave things as they were. "Get used to how things used to be. Just the regulars again." That was one, if the only, good thing about Jaskier: the customers he brought. You could never deny his lyrical beauty and the lull of his lute. So brilliant, in fact, it almost brought you a pay rise.

Your head dropped in thought. No matter how much you wanted to accept this, a part of you wondered if this decision came from a reaction of the night prior. "Where is he staying?" You spat the words out before you could stop yourself. "The bard?" You added, suddenly aware of how strange that question may sound to your boss.

To be expected, the man raised a brow, "I'm not sure," He shrugged his shoulders lightly. "That cheap Inn up the road probably. Or a bench." With that, the grumpy old Inn keeper turned his back to you, going back to sort out the several types of ales.

For a moment, you stared. But the thought nagged you too much; Why not? He was leaving, what else was there to lose? He was sweet, admirable and you couldn't help yourself. You had only wished you had realised such fact the night before. Without thinking twice, you left. You took off without another word and headed to that cheap Inn your boss had pointed to.

By the time you arrived, you came to realise it was perfect timing. Jaskier was getting ready to depart. He had a couple of bags hung over his shoulder as he slung them over a horse. His expression was, until you came into his sights, set into a stern hold. And then, a glint of wonder reached his face, and the very corners of his lips twisted upright just slightly. He wouldn't admit it yet, but he was happy to see you had come back to him.

"And the barmaid returns." He gleamed, trying to not let that smile on his face grow any more than it already had done.

You tilted his head at him, "You didn't tell me you were leaving last night." You stated, choosing it best to ignore his greeting.

"You think that would have changed how things went?" There. You caught it right as it happened; that flirtatious speck in his pupils that never seemed to leave him - sometimes, no matter who he was talking to. When he received only a stern expression in return, he sighed and changed his tone as if he had never made that comment. "I didn't know I would be leaving until after I left." He answered, honestly.

A moment of silence passed as you settled in the realisation. You only needed confirmation: "Was it what I said?"

Another grin graced his face. But not flirtatious or cheeky, rather bittersweet. "I know you're just a bard maid, but you're not stupid." He reiterated your own words from last night.

For that, you swallowed the lump which had suddenly grown in your throat. Then, with a breath, you replied, "You don't have to leave, the money's good here, no?" You knew your boss must have been paying him a decent paycheck.

He shifted on his feet, "I don't like staying in the same place for too long." The boy admitted.

"Then why did last night change your mind?"

He took a moment and fought himself so as not to repeat what he had said prior. "Most of the time, I can find anyone to entertain myself with, no matter where I am. But," He paused, thought on his words as if they were of utter importance, "But just the way when I walked into your Inn-"

You cut him off, "You mean when I told you to piss off because we didn't like silly lute music being played?" Saying that now was laughable.

And Jaskier had let out a chuckle, "Yes, then. I thought you were a shell I wanted to break and I found myself not bothered with anyone else. Not even with the mistresses at the Brothal. I wanted to get to know you and, I don't know, I looked forward to every night when I'd finish my set and it would be just the two of us in the bar." He explained, him too going off the idea of what else was there to lose now? "You didn't want me and it made it all the more enticing. To fight with the idea of hatred boarding on love was something intoxicating and it only made me want you more."

And, honestly, you were at a loss for words. It wasn't often many people spoke to you in such a poetic way, with such romance trickled into their words as it rolled right off the tongue like smooth butter. Most of the time, you were only met with drunk stragglers, boarding their words on sexual harassment. So this was only a breast of fresh air and you were indulging in it like it was some sort of drug.

When you looked back to Jaskier, you were at a loss for words. You weren't quite the lyricist he was. "I think-" You took a breath as if it were giving you the courage needed in that very moment. "I think I did want you. Oh, I know I did. But a bard who, as you said is always on the move, wasn't something I could get involved in." Like that, a weight slipped from your shoulders like melting ice.

Jaskier took a step forward, cautious in his action. When you showed no sign of disregard, he settled. "You've no idea what I would change just so you would get involved with me." There, his flirtatious smile return. And, this time, you couldn't resist it.

He started leaning in and rather than stopping it, so did you until your lips met in a soft embrace. It was long overdue and you could see how addicted you could get to that feeling if you weren't too careful. But a part of you had started to put trust into Jaskier - you just preyed the bard would never break it. As now, this was the start of something. Something neither of you wanted to ever end.

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artistsfuneral · 10 months

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part 18

"What really happened to me?" Geralt asks, his voice so deliberately neutral it makes Jaskier sick. Black dots dance across his field of vision. It's getting harder to breathe.

"You asked me to do it. And I didn't want to, of course I didn't want to,” he gasps, “but you told me you'd be fine- You promised- Geralt, you promi-” Jaskier's head falls to the side and hits the ground.

You see, the bard muses, the funny thing about time traveling is that it is very similar to passing out. Jumping through time is as easy as falling unconscious – you don't really have to think about it to do so and the more often it happens the better you get at not hitting your head. The catch though – because even if you're not literally caught there's always a catch, isn't it – is that no matter how many times it happens to you, waking up is always incredibly disorienting. So Jaskier can't really be blamed when he wakes up with his head in Geralt's lap and for a moment thinks that everything is alright again, that they're on the Path, camping somewhere out in the woods waiting for Ciri to join them.

Reality has never been that forgiving, so when the familiar wooziness leaves him it takes Jaskier's wishes and dreams with it. He gratefully accepts the waterskin that Geralt hands him after helping him sit up again and drains it in one go, before solemnly apologizing for passing out on the witcher mid conversation. Geralt doesn't say much at first, but Jaskier can see that there's a lot on the witcher's mind.

The silence between them is uncomfortably heavy and Jaskier can't stand it. Just as he's about to open his mouth Geralt finds his voice again. “It was blood magic.”

Their eyes meet. Geralt's golden orbs dark, almost angry and Jaskier's blue full of surprise. He remembered more. “It was a trap,” Jaskier fills the space in Geralt's thoughts. “The sorcerer was already dead, but Ciri wanted us to look for an artifact she needed. We- We thought it was safe. Good riddance, the place was already dusted over!”

“It made us careless,” Geralt adds, looking lost in his thoughts.

“It was my fault,” Jaskier says, full of anger. “I activated the curse, because I wasn't paying attention, but you-” His eyes met Geralt's again and he shook of anger and despair. “You told me not to worry! You told me you knew what you were doing, that I just had to trust you! And I did, I bloody fucking did because the walls were caving in around us and I was so fucking scared we wouldn't make it this time and I thought I would be fine with it, I thought if I died by your side it would be alright, but I just couldn't stop thinking about Ciri, about Yennefer, about your brothers, our family waiting for us to come home just to be frightened more and more every day we didn't show and I-” He gasps, ringing for breath as his body continues to shake uncontrollably.

“I stabbed you, Geralt. I put a knife through your chest, because you promised me it'd be fine. And I believed you, because you are the love of my life and I trust you to keep us safe.”

remember to like and reblog if you voted :)

Only two more parts 👀

Sooooo for the next story I was thinking you will have to navigate Jaskier through the wilderness to find Kaer Morhen? Eat the berries, Jaskier, it will be fiiiine, Jaskier. (possibly with someone in tow? Ciri, or Aiden? Or maybe a witcher turned into a child? 🤔🤔)

tell me if you (don't) want to be tagged :)

(x) @fingons-rad-harp @sinfulpetgirlrd @wren-of-the-woods @basilikum7 @eveljerome @this-is-not-a-slow-burn @araglas1989 @alaskawho @cinary @swan--writes @mirrorthoughts @chaoticfandomthot @sonatabee @gregre369 @awitcheress @yaskefer @hannibard @myfeelisfunny @kore888 @filledepluie @pathsofpassion @joyfulcherryblossombasement @ryuuhana91 @toapoet @nerdymuffinbonkcloud @ineffably-a-fangirl-99 @starlghtstarbrite @siriusly-the-best-bi @cowboybuttconnoisseur @logastellus21 @chasinggeese @whump-der-it-is @inanoldhousewrites @reluctantbroodingdads @professorjaskier @ourbooksuniverse @life-as-a-gamergirl

#the witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard

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fangirleaconmigo · 2 years

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Ok let's play a game called:

I Can't Believe It's Not Fanon.

Otherwise known as...

Witcher facts that sound like Geraskier fic writers made them up, but that are, in fact, book canon.

PART ONE:

We've all read the fics where bad guys kidnap Jaskier in order to get to get to Geralt. These bad guys always regret it when Geralt slaughters every single one of them.

Well, good news! In Season of Storms, starting on page 310, this very thing happens.

(TW: Violence and gore)

Geralt is attending a royal wedding and once again, powerful people are trying to get him to do something he doesn't want to do. He enters a room to find:

Dandelion was as white as a sheet and clearly terrified...He was sitting on a chair with a high backrest. Behind the chair stood a skinny character with hair combed and plaited into a queue. The character was holding a misericorde with a long, narrow, four-sided blade. The blade was pressed against the poet's neck, below his jaw, slanting upwards.

"No funny business," warned Ropp. No funny business witcher. One false move, even one twitch, and Mr Samsa will stick the minstrel like a hog. He won't hesitate."

So, these particular assholes have accurately surmised that Geralt's weakness is Dandelion. There were any number of people they could have kidnapped, but they chose the poet. Of course, they underestimate Geralt, like so many people do.

Geralt tries to warn them that this is a very very bad move.

"You're making a mistake, Ropp."

They don't listen to him. They keep going, making increasingly florid violent threats to Dandelion's safety.

"Now," said the captain..."Now you will confirm that you've understood the task and will execute it. Should you not, before I count to ten under my breath, Mr Samsa will rupture the minstrel's right eardrum...if the desired result does not ensure, Mr Samsa stabs the other ear. And will then gouge out the poet's eye. And so on, to the bitter end, which is a jab to the brain. I'm starting to count, witcher."

What does Dandelion do? Well, he's terrified but he tries to be brave.

"Don't listen to him Geralt!" Dandelion somehow managed to make a sound from his constricted throat. "They won't dare to touch me! I'm famous!"

This is hilarious and very, very Dandelion. But also, it's not entirely unreasonable. Dandelion's fame often protects him, and sometimes it protects Geralt too. However, it doesn’t seem to be doing either at the moment.

Geralt says to Mister Samsa:

"First, move that dagger away from the poet's ear."

Mister Samsa seems to think that they have succeeded and Geralt is negotiating with him, so he complies. (this guy makes one bad decision after another)

"Ha," snorted Mister Samsa, lifting the misericorde high over his head. "Is that better?"

Geralt simply answers:

"Better."

Then without another word, Geralt kills them all, violent and bloody. It is a descriptive, vividly gory passage. He slices carotid arteries and groins. One man's neck spews blood onto the chandelier and ceiling. But I find what Geralt does to Mister Samsa to be particularly significant and satisfying.

The Witcher jerked the sword from the scabbard before Ropp fell, and with one fluid movement coming out of a short spin, hacked off Samsa's raised hand. Samsa yelled and dropped to his knees.

So Geralt’s actions say...you use your hand to hold a blade to *my* poet's neck, and I will chop that motherfucker off. Let's see you do that again without a hand, you piece of shit.

It's a gory passage. I'll skip to the end. The royal instigator comes into the room to investigate and asks Geralt about the one man he has left (sort of, temporarily) alive.

The instigator examined the captain, who was lying, stretched out in a pool of urine, salivating copiously, and trembling incessantly.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Shards of nasal bones in the brain. And probably several splinters in his eyeballs."

"You struck him too hard."

"That was my intention," said Geralt, wiping the sword blade with a napkin taken from the table. "Dandelion, how are you? Everything in order? Can you stand?"

I find that pretty hot. Geralt has corpses and blood all around him, and he's being asked questions by the authorities. They could arrest him. They could lock him up. They could execute him. Geralt does not give a single solitary fuck. He is going, you're goddamn right I did that. He is casually wiping his sword blade with a napkin and asking Dandelion if he's alright. He has accomplished the important thing (saving Dandelion) and doesn't care about anything else.

Dandelion is freed and vomiting all over the floor. (Poor guy. He doesn't have a stomach for violence and gore. Joey portrays this well in the show.) He answers, babbling:

..."For fuck's sake, I've never been so afraid. I felt like the insides were falling out my arse. And that everything would drop out of me, teeth included.

God I love that part. Hilarious and very relatable. I'm sure if someone kidnapped me and put a knife to my throat, I would feel the same. (Dandelion is always the human/the reader stand in.) But the next part is so sweet.

But when I saw you I knew you'd save me. I mean, I didn't. But I was counting strongly on it. How much sodding blood there is! How it stinks in here! I think I'm going to puke again."

He knew Geralt would save him. When he saw him, he knew. *sob*

Then, Dandelion's cousin (the royal instigator is Dandelion's cousin) says he is going to take Geralt to the king to resolve this, and for Julian (Dandelion) to stay there. (People who knew Jaskier as a kid call him Julian.) Dandelion refuses.

"Fuck that. I'm not staying here for a moment. I prefer sticking close to Geralt."

I don't blame you, buddy. Who else is going to slaughter a bunch of people for you?

--fin---

Ok, I have a lot more of these fic sounding witcher facts, like:

A shape shifter reads Geralt's mind, then turns into Jaskier because he knows that’s the best way to protect himself.

Geralt and Jaskier share beds.

Geralt and Jaskier share clothes.

Geralt travels with Jaskier for years but has no idea that he is a viscount. When he does find out, it is in public, from a third party, and yes it is hilarious. (Bonus. Ciri finds out this way as well)

Geralt may play it cool to his face, but he thinks Jaskier has a gorgeous voice.

Jaskier has a voice so beautiful, it can calm a monster.

Geralt drops everything to protect Jaskier, every time, even in the middle of battles when there are other people around to protect.

Geralt can smell lust

They also share a kiss in a few of the translations, but not all. It's a very "y yo también" situation.

If people like this post, I can make it a series, pulling book passages for each of the others. Let me know!

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #gerlion #the witcher books #canon or fanon #i can’t believe it’s not fanon

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geraskierfanficprompts · 14 days

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Prompt 4

Geralt is the captain of a pirate ship, named "Kaer Morhen." Perhaps he's still a witcher, perhaps he's just a regular old human (with white hair and golden eyes? Lol) His brothers (and "cousins" from other witcher schools) Now I can see this going two different ways, so choose a favorite (or make up your own, I am only the beginning, I hold no affront of being anything more) Jaskier is a nobleman's son, aboard his family's ship, possibly on his way to be forced into a marriage to a woman he doesn't love. And either he falls overboard or he's shoved off as a murder attempt, but he's lost in the ocean. Lambert (or someone else, but I love to imagine how Lambert would attempt to call this out to his captain who he doesn't take seriously 90% of the time, #brothers) calls that he spots a man bobbing in the sea, and they haul him up. The majority of the crew sees sight of his jewels and finery and insists on holding him ransom. But when the prisoner wakes up and isn't afraid of death, Geralt looks into this a little more. Apparently their prisoner won't get a ransom because his entire family despise him and his want to run away and become a bard. Funny. Most pirate ships have entertainers aboard to help the pirates deal with months of nothing but ocean. Perhaps they'll have use of this dumb twink after all. OR, option number two Jaskier is a nobleman's son, chained and starved for the crime of wanting to become a bard and not wanting to marry some prissy noblewoman. He hears a lot of loud noises and screams and then a bunch of burly men in fur cloaks stomp down and start rifling through their supplies. One catches eye of him and immediately yells to the captain. The captain is a very handsome man with silver locks and bright eyes, and the dreaded pirate captain is treating Jaskier with more kindness and gentleness than his family or their workers ever have. The pirate hauls Jaskier up into his arms and carries him to their own ship, laying him down in his own bed, and looking over his injuries and sending one of his crewmembers to make hm a fine meal. Jaskier begins telling the captain of his abusive life beforehand and mentions that all he's ever wanted is to spread music and love, and shockingly enough, this big scary (gorgeous) man doesn't even laugh at him for it.. Oh fuck he's falling in love-

♡!Optional addons!♡ • Geralt gayly teaching his bard how to swordfight!!!

• Perhaps Jaskier's family is crueler and has done more than beat him, perhaps they've stabbed him or something, and the very last thing he sees before he passes out from bloodloss is Geralt (Maybe he even thinks he's an angel! Lmfao)

• Geralt getting lovingly bullied by his brothers for taking care of his songbird so well

• Geralt's crew revenge-robbing or revenge-killing Jaskier's family if we do Option one for the story (attempted-murder route), since it's implied it happens in Option Two while they ransack the ship-

• Perhaps I'll do a sequel for this prompt one day for Mermaid Jaskier, I do LOVE mermaids, take this as a much smaller and much less detailed prompt for if you want that idea, too! Perhaps the Pankratz ship has a captured mer aboard, parched and dehydrated (I just mostly think it'd be funny if Geralt was checking his pulse and if he has any injuries while random other witches dump buckets of sea water on him-)

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starfirewildheart · 4 months

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Chapter 5

The Wolf and the Flame

Summary: Geralt had just found Ciri and was headed to Kaer Morhen when something drew him into the woods. He found a woman near death and things changed for them all. (I suck at summaries just read please!) Yennefer is bad in the start of this but she and Geralt work on their friendship. Eskel is a dick at first but there is a reason and it works out. Will have a happy ending. Ciri is younger here than in the netflix show. She is about 12.

Warnings: abuse history, injuries, hurt comfort, no one under 18 to be safe, will add when I need to

Words: 3,266

Yennefer cursed under her breath as she heard Geralt returning faster than she’d expected. He’d gone into the woods while Ciri and Jaskier were packing their things on the horses. She had to do this now if it was going to happen and she knew it. She’d helped Naurel to her feet with the guise of leading her to the horses just before she threw down the vial that caused the portal to flicker open.

“YENNEFER!” Geralt yelled when he saw the air ripple and wave to life. He ran toward it diving just in time to grab Naurel and pull her back causing all of them to topple to the ground. He rolled to his feet as did Yennefer and she tried to bolt toward the portal. It faded just before she reached it.

“Fuck,” she tried to figure out what to do. Had he seen her open the portal? If he hadn’t seen her do it then maybe she could claim surprise. If he had seen her could she make it to Ciri in time to take her instead since Geralt had his hands on Naurel? She only had one more potion to open a portal and she had to make it count. Movement caught her attention and Geralt’s as they both turned to see six Kikimora running toward them from where the portal had been.

“Fuck,” Geralt grabbed an elixir from the holster on his thigh and drank it as he pulled his sword from his back. He stopped one of them from slicing into Naurel by cutting its front legs off then stabbing it through the head. “Stand with Ciri and Jaskier,” he ordered. She ran to them and they all huddled together near the horses.

His sword arced through the air sending black blood flying as he fought against the monsters. They were fast and vicious as they encircled him instinctively knowing if they took out the biggest threat together the humans would be no match for them.

“Geralt!” Ciri gasped as one Kikimora stabbed into his thigh as another sliced across his side while he cut the head off of another with his sword. She hid her face in Naurel’s shoulder.

Naurel saw them spitting venom at the witcher and could see the smoke rising from his skin as it was melting away. Her hand was searching Geralt’s saddlebags while keeping her eyes on the battle trying to find anything that would help. By the time her hand closed around the handle of a dagger Geralt had killed four of the six creatures but he was fading from blood loss and the acid-like venom they had spit on him. “Jaskier, take Ciri,” she said, shoving the girl to the bard. Naurel stepped carefully toward Geralt and the two remaining Kikkimora’s just as the witcher hit his knees. “Hey!” she yelled to get their attention as she sliced across her arm.

“No!” Geralt’s voice was different, more dangerous and demanding with the elixir. “What the fuck are you doing?”

She held up her hand letting the blood flow freely knowing it would drive them crazy. Everything after that happened so quickly it was a blur. Geralt was on his feet right behind them swinging his sword and cutting them to pieces. He cut one’s head from its body and with a huge leap through the air he stabbed the other one from the top of the head through, driving his sword in the ground with a squish.

Geralt saw another portal open to his right and four people running toward them. On instinct, he raised his blade to the first one but stopped short of killing him. “You look like day-old shit,” he rasped before dropping his weapon to the ground and leaning heavily on Naurel while grasping the bleeding gash on her arm.

Eskel was shocked when he saw Geralt was the one at the site of the attack, Their amulets had all alerted them to the presence of monsters nearby, and with Triss at the keep, she offered to portal them so they didn’t have to ride in the snow. He hadn’t expected to see his brother at the other end.

“What the fuck happened here?” Lambert asked as he saw the four humans and the six dead Kikkimoras.

“A portal opened and released the kikimora,” Geralt explained. “Nothing else came through though,” his confusion was clear. “Did you see anything?” he looked at Naurel.

She wasn’t sure what happened. It looked to her that Yennefer used a potion to open a portal but why would she do that? She was a witch, she didn’t need a potion for that. “I..I don’t know. I just saw Yennefer drop a potion and then everything went wavy.

All eyes turned to Yennefer who thought up a lie quickly. “I had made a potion for Naurel and was about to give it to her when the portal opened. I didn’t see anything come through besides the creatures. I’m sorry I wasn’t of more help but I was trying to get her to safety.” Geralt could hear her heart racing but he didn’t question her. She breathed a sigh of relief.

It was decided that Geralt, Naurel, Ciri, Yennefer, and Jaskier would accompany Triss and Eskel to Kaer Morhen through a portal while Lambert and Cohen brought the horses up the path. It ensured that the keeps location remained a secret and also that Geralt and his friend could be treated quicker.

When they stepped out of the portal he put his arms around Ciri and Naurel ushering them into the great hall with Yen and Jaskier following with Eskel. “Look who we found,” Eskel shouted at the other witchers.

“We thought you were dead,” one of them yelled.

“Not yet,” he grinned as they all moved to embrace their brother. Naurel and Ciri smiled as they watched them interact.

“Wolf?”

Geralt turned toward the newest voice. “Vesimer,” he hugged the old witcher then introduced his companions.

“Damn three women and a bard,” one of his brothers smirked. “You must be in hell.” Naurel grinned and shook her head at their banter before allowing Triss to guide her to a seat at one of the tables.

Once greetings were shared and everyone started drinking and telling stories Geralt sent Ciri and Jaskier off in search of rooms and Triss, Vesimer, Geralt, and Naurel all moved to the laboratory. Naurel insisted that Geralt be looked over too after all of the venom and he smiled. “I’m a witcher. I will heal on my own.”

She wasn’t happy about it but she relented and let Triss expose her wounds. Vesimer stepped forward but stopped, “May I?” she nodded her consent, grateful he’d asked before touching her. After much looking and touching, even drawing blood for testing she was on edge but covered in salves and most of her wounds were healed by Triss. She wasn’t hurting nearly as much now.

Knowing that she’d agreed to come here to help Geralt figure out why he was so drawn to her she knew she had to come clean now. She looked at him, “You’re sure they can be trusted?” After all the things that had happened she was terrified of their reaction and them turing her over to the enemy again.

“Yes,” he assured her as he slipped his arm around her for support.

Vesimer looked at them both in question but gave her the time she needed to find her words. “I.. I’m not sure where to start to be honest. I was a slave in Centra all my life, sold when I was three, and just traded around to a few families. There was nothing about my life that seemed important at all. It was really boring, to be honest, until the day I was sent to the market to buy a sweet cake for the master's child’s birthday. You see his mother didn’t like to cook and she feared that he was already too reliant on me so if I made him a birthday cake that it would make him look to me more than her,” she knew she was babbling but couldn’t stop herself.

“I went to the market after lunch and bought a sweet cake and a wooden soldier that my master wanted to give him as a present. As I was walking from one merchant to another there was a group of guardsmen wandering around and one of them made a crude comment to me. I ignored him and finished the shopping but they were waiting for me as I left.” A shiver wracked her body at the memory and Geralt rubbed her back soothingly. “They cornered me and kept trying to touch me making lewd comments about things they wanted to do to me or me to do to them. I tried to walk past again and one of them grabbed my breast. I..I slapped him,” her voice wavered and tears spilled down her face. She looked at Geralt with wide, pleading eyes as she tried to explain her actions like she was going to be punished for them again. “It was stupid I know but I didn’t even realize I was doing it until I felt my hand connect with his cheek.”

His heart broke at the fear that was coming off of her. Geralt hugged her close to him rockinging her gently to try and sooth her. When she was finally able to speak through the sobs she started again. “They knocked me down in the mud and started hitting and kicking me as they ripped at my dress. That’s when I heard someone yell he’d been robbed and he came running over to the guard. They spoke in whispers and suddenly they were going through my basket. I just sat there with my knees pulled to my chest trying to cover myself where they’d ripped my dress while they dumped everything on the ground.” She looked up at Geralt with tear-filled eyes, “I watched him drop the bracelet onto the pile of things. He took it from his pocket and just dropped it. The guard saw him do it but he arrested me anyway.”

He wanted to go kill the guardsmen but he was pretty sure they were likely already dead. “Is that where you were tortured?”

“N..no. The man who accused me of stealing, the one who put the bracelet in my things, He requested I be turned over to him as punishment. Queen Calanthe agreed to his request and I was taken to his carriage and bound to it.”

“Do you know his name?” Vesimer asked.

“No. No one ever said his name in my presents. I don’t know how long he held me captive and tortured me. He would starve me until I was too weak to fight back then he would do all sorts of medical experiments,” she shivered at the memory. “When he got tired of cutting things and breaking my bones he moved to magic.” She looked at Triss, “It was nothing like you do. It felt,” she paused and searched for the proper words. “It felt wrong, like it was fueled by hate but I had never even seen the man. What did I do to make him hate me?” she questioned.

“Some people are just evil, girl,” Vesimer told her. “We witchers were made to fight monsters and protect humans but when they created us they didn’t consider that some humans were monsters.”

“It blurred the lines of what we do that’s for sure,” Geralt agreed.

She rested her head on his shoulder. All the emotions were draining her energy. “He cast all sorts of spells, forced potions into me, performed rituals, injections” she shook her head. “I don’t know what he did to me but I felt as if all the warmth from my body was turned to ice. I’ve never been warm since. I’m always weak and tired and it takes all my energy to just walk sometimes.”

Triss put some water in a cup and handed it to Naurel. She accepted it gratefully but her hands were shaking so bad that Geralt had to help her steady it to take a drink. Not realizing how thirsty she’d been till the cool liquid hit her tongue she drank it down quickly then blushed when she realized she’d gulped it down. “Were you always on the move like when Geralt found you,” Triss asked.

“No, I was kept in a dungeon most of the time. I don’t know why they moved me but one night, I guess it was night, I had no way of seeing the sky, they moved me and I was whisked away in some traveling camp. It was on the third day of being kept in the camp that the attack happened.”

“Do you know who attacked?” Vesimer asked.

Naurel hesitated unsure if she should tell them. She felt Geralt lift her chin and turn her head so that he was looking into her eyes. “Please, we need to know. You can trust us.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just,” she sighed. “It’s so unbelievable.”

“More than mutant warriors who fight monsters?” he smiled at her trying to ease her tension.

“He was about to kill me. I guess with everything going on it was too much trouble to keep experimenting on me. Just as he held the blade high to stab me in the chest, howls ripped through their air and he froze. I heard the soldiers screaming and then yipping and barking. The mage fled the tent to see what was happening and I forced myself to roll off the table and crawled out of the tent. I don’t know if I was just trying to see what was happening or hoping he’d come to finish what he’d started but I did not expect what happened next.”

“A wolf pack, three grays, and one huge white wolf had killed all of them except the mage. I saw him open a portal and flee. I lay on the ground unable to run as the white wolf stalked toward me. He stood over me and I was positive he was going to kill me but instead, he laid down and wrapped himself around me. We stayed like that for three days. He kept me warm and tried to feed me by dropping random chunks of the guards on me and when I refused he started to get upset. On the third day, he stood over me and tried to pour a mouth full of blood into my mouth. I curled up so that he missed and he gave a growl that terrified me before he howled loudly. It wasn’t long after that, maybe ten minutes, before you arrived.” She took a shaky breath, it felt better to get it out. Not having to hide her crazy meant that they could lock her away and be done with it.

They were all three staring at her but it was Vesimer who spoke first. “Geralt’s guide is a white wolf.”

“Guide?” she asked.

“When you become a witcher you go through different trials,” Geralt explained. “Some witchers find spirit animals that help guide them on their tests. My animal was a white wolf.”

“It’s a rare thing for a witcher to have a spirit guide, it’s one of a few things that makes Geralt special among us. Geralt was destined for something more and we’ve always known that but we just don’t know what it is. It seems that you are destined to be a part of that too,” Vesimer told her.

“I noticed something when I met you but I didn’t think anything of it until now,” Triss said. “The way the two of you interact is different. He says something and you lower your head and bare your neck to him, other times you look like you want to argue but you can’t.”

Naurel’s face burned red as she tried to hide behind her hair. “He has this rumbling growl that makes me listen even when I don’t want to and this scent that will almost make me enthralled.” There, now her embarrassment was complete.

“I find myself drawn to her, even before I knew her,” Geralt continued. “I can’t stand for her to be out of my sight and I’m so protective of her that sometimes even friends touching her causes a reaction. She smells,” his eyes close, “like safety and home.” He looked at her, his pupils blown wide, “I fight the urge to mark her every second.”

Vesimer and Triss share a look before the sorceress goes to retrieve a book. “Geralt was injected with a mutagen that had wolf DNA in it. He picked up the aspects of the wolf,” Triss said as she handed them the book. “He is an alpha, the strongest in his pack and you my dear seem his mate.”

“What? No,” Naurel shook her head. “He already has a mate. He’s bound to Yennefer, not me. I came here so that one of you could free me from whatever magic binds us and he can be free of me.”

“I’m not bound to Yennefer,” Geralt growled.

“Did you not wish..” she argued but he cut her off.

“I made a fucking wish that our deaths be bound. She was trying to kill herself by becoming host to the Djinn. It's the only reason she agreed to help Jaskier to begin with. She thought he was the one with the wishes. When I came for him she was trying to capture the Djinn in her body, to become the vessel. A Djinn can not kill its master so I used the last wish to bind our deaths.”

“But you… after,” Naurel waved her hands as if to signify what she wasn’t saying.

“I couldn’t fucking sleep!” he roared like that explained everything. “I was tense and frustrated,” he growled.

“You slept with Yennefer too?” Triss asked, petulantly.

“You whore,” Naurel snapped. Triss gasped but then saw the woman was looking at Geralt and not her. “I guess you have a thing for witches!” She stood and started to walk out but he grabbed her arm and stopped her.

Geralt glared at Vesimer who was not even attempting to hide his laughter before turning back to Naurel. “That was years ago before I even knew who you were! You can’t judge me on my past.”

She really wanted to argue but realized he was right and it made her sort of angry because he was hers. Wait, where had that thought come from? “Fine but what are you going to do about Yennefer? She thinks you are mates.”

“I will talk with her,” he promises as he pulls her close and breathes in her scent.

Wolf and flame tag list

@kneelforloki

@shellyshellshell

@warriormirkwood

Wolf and flame tag list

#witcher fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill characters

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 11 months

Note

Yennefer saying 1, Yenskier

Here's some post-season 2 Yennskier with background Geraskefer.

"Could you hold me? Please."

Yennefer knows that casting the spell will probably kill her. All of Tissaia’s dire warnings about what happens when a mage burns themselves out ring in her head. She barely survived Sodden Hill and she know she shouldn’t risk that kind of loss of control again, especially not so soon after regaining her powers.

But soldiers found her, Geralt, Jaskier, and Ciri in the little farmhouse where they’ve been hiding for weeks now. Geralt is injured, his movements clumsy as he holds off three soldiers. She doesn’t know where Ciri is. The princess is hopefully hiding somewhere, but she’s probably about to do something reckless and dangerous. She can hear Jaskier shouting, taunting their attackers as he tries to draw them away from Geralt.

Yennefer turns and finds the bard backed up against the wall, holding a ladle like it’s a bludgeon and making anatomically improbable suggestions about the mother of the soldier approaching him with a sword. The soldier raises his blade and Yennefer knows there’s no time for her to hesitate. She may not survive, but she needs to make sure that Geralt, Jaskier, and Ciri get out of this alive.

For the second time in less than a year, Yennefer throws out her hands and lets her chaos run wild.

***

Yennefer wakes in the middle of the woods, her mouth tasting of ash and blood and her entire body aching. Her head is cushioned on a scratchy woolen cloak that reeks of horse and there’s a blanket thrown over her. A few feet away, a campfire crackles merrily and on the other side of the fire, Jaskier strums his lute. There’s a furrow in his brow and his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

She takes a moment to observe him before she croaks, “Geralt? Ciri?”

Jaskier’s head jerks up, pure relief flashing across his face. “They’re off catching dinner.”

“Hurt?”

“No, love.” He puts down his lute and rounds the fire to sit next to her. “Geralt caught a sword to his side, but you know witcher healing. He bled a lot, took a couple of potions, and then started acting like nothing ever happened. Ciri doesn’t have a scratch on her.”

“You?”

“I’m perfectly fine.” He brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Thanks to you.”

“Idiot. Shouldn’t taunt people with swords.”

“I’ve spent over two decades taunting a man with a sword. It’s worked out pretty well for me so far.”

“Idiot,” she says again, too tired to hide the fondness in her voice.

“You scared the shit out of us, Yenn,” Jaskier says. “You slept for two days. We didn’t think you were going to wake up.”

“They were going to kill you and Geralt and take Ciri.” Yennefer closes her eyes, trying to block out the memories. “Are the soldiers dead?”

“All of them. And the house is burned to the ground. With all my favorite clothes inside, I may add.”

“Pity you were able to save your lute.”

“Yes, I got luck—hey!”

Yennefer smirks, eyes still closed.

She feels him let out a long sigh. “You nearly got yourself killed.”

“You nearly got stabbed for insulting a soldier’s mother.”

“Well, I had to do something to piss them off enough that they wouldn’t go after Geralt.”

Yennefer grits her teeth. “Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

“You impossible fucking bard.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “You impossible fucking witch.”

She hates this fucking man. She would tell him that at length, but moving her mouth is starting to feel like too much effort. She’s exhausted and acutely aware that the hard, cold ground she’s lying on is much less comfortable than the bed she’s been sharing with Jaskier and Geralt for weeks now. She’s gotten used to not having to sleep on the ground.

Jaskier sighs. “Anything I can do for you, Yenn?”

Yennefer hesitates, then asks, “Could you hold me? Please?” A few months ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of asking for such a thing. It still feels odd to show that kind of vulnerability. But she’s cold, hurting, and all too aware of how close she came to never being held by Jaskier again.

“Of course.” The blanket lifts off her for a moment as Jaskier slides under it, curling against her side and tucking the blanket around both of them. Eyes still closed, Yennefer lifts her head off the cloak to settle it against Jaskier’s shoulder, a far finer pillow. His arms wrap around her, warm, secure, and achingly familiar. Yennefer settles against him, soothed by the feeling of him against her. The ground is still hard and her body still aches fiercely, but it’s a little more bearable with him holding her.

“Do me a favor,” he says softly. “Don’t almost die on me again.”

Yennefer knows she can’t promise that. None of them can, not when they’re on the run with the most wanted princess on the Continent. She can’t imagine how the four of them will all manage to get out of this alive. But Jaskier doesn’t need to hear that and she’s not above lying to her bard when necessary.

“I won’t,” she says. “So long as you don’t taunt any more men with swords. Except for Geralt. He would miss it.”

“No more taunting men with swords.” She knows he’s lying, just like she’s sure he knows she’s lying. But right now, curled up together on the ground, holding each other, they can both pretend that they believe it.

***

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #yennskier #jaskier x yennefer #prompt fills #ghost's writing

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catscraftsandcommentary · 4 months

Text

@dahliavandare building on that post about various nobles taunting Jaskier to go full Insulted Bard and Geralt needing help pulling him out...

(That post was getting long, so I started a new one, shh)

Lambert hears through the witcher rumor mill (which is TOTALLY A THING, work with me, okay?) that a) Geralt is nearby with his bard b) the bard will be performing at some fancy party soon c) the bard has A Habit of making A Scene during such parties, and if anyone who knows Geralt is in the area, PLEASE HELP.

Lambert and Aiden share a look. "I really want to, but if someone doesn't kill this chort [or other horrible monster], this village is gonna get wiped out. And I'm better at them than you."

Aiden nods. "I could help your brother. Leave you our bombs and potions, anything you think you'll need, and go be a distraction at the party."

"Just don't let him stab you, or I'll have to dye his fucking hair a godsdamned rainbow this winter."

Which is how Aiden ends up sneaking into the rafters of a nobleman's ballroom just as some idiot challenges a brightly dressed bard to play a certain song.

When a white-haired witcher growls very quietly and starts looking into the shadows of the ceiling, Aiden figures he's found the right pair. So he mutters (just loudly enough for the other witcher to hear him) "Lambert says you still owe him for stealing his devourer teeth last winter" and drops down while Geralt is still getting over his surprise.

(Because how the hell does some random - Cat witcher?!? - know Lambert well enough to know about them borrowing potion ingredients from each other?)

Aiden grins at Jaskier, who has done a masterful job of not showing his surprise st having a witcher land right in front of him. "Hi! I'm your brother-in-law. Let's dance."

And he pulls the bard into a tango just as the White Wolf launches himself forward. The next several minutes are spent in a three way dance, with Geralt trying to either rescue Jaskier or strangle Aiden, Aiden working to thwart Geralt, and Jaskier demanding answers regarding the "brother-in-law" comment.

Eventually Aiden pulls Jaskier through an open window and escapes with him (carried bridal style, of course) to lead Geralt on a merry chase back to the spot where he and Lambert agreed to meet up earlier, once Lambert finished his contract.

Of course, by now Jaskier has the gist of the situation - Geralt's brother sent Aiden to help, Geralt wasn't expecting Aiden, Aiden and Geralt's brother Lambert are both very excited to meet Jaskier - and has moved on to questions about if witchers each have their own hunting styles, preferred monsters, etc.

#jaskier what are your priorities #just let a total stranger carry you off #the witcher #jaskier the bard #geralt the witcher #aiden the witcher

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merlot-and-chardonnay · 4 months

Text

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 11

Chapter 10

"COME OUT AND FACE ME, WITCHER!" Daemon shouts from outside the castle, "Or are you too much of a coward to face the dragon?!"

"I'm just going to go out on a limb here," Jaskier speaks up, "but I think he's talking about you, Geralt."

"What the fuck does he want Geralt for?" Lambert asks.

"I, uh, may have mentioned my past lover's relationship with Geralt when I was with Daemon," you point out, nervous smile on your face.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Lambert frowns.

"Yeah, (y/n), why?" Jaskier agrees.

"I thought if Daemon knew I wasn't a virgin, he'd leave me alone!" you exasperate, "at least I thought that was why he was trying to seduce me in the first place, he does have a reputation for deflowering maidens. I was wrong."

"Anyway," you continue, "it's not really Geralt he wants. It's me. He's come to take me and Aemma away."

"...I won't let him," Geralt says, placing a hand on your shoulder, "you made me make a promise. And I intend to keep it."

"Come out and face me, Witcher!" Daemon calls out once more.

"I'll handle this," Geralt tells the others.

"But...what if that dragon appears?" Coen asks. "If we have to, we'll all take the beast head on," Vesemir answers, placing a hand on Geralt's shoulder, "we'll be waiting."

Geralt nods and open the doors to the keep slightly.

He slowly walks out, approaching the prince.

Once face-to-face, Daemon and Geralt stare at each other, almost as if sizing one another up.

Geralt was the first to speak, "You wanted to see me?"

"So, you're the witcher," Daemon says, head tilted lightly like he was curious, "the famous White Wolf from the Continental minstrels' ballads. I must admit, you're not at all what I expected. I'd thought you'd have fangs or horns or something like that."

"I've heard that joke before," Geralt says with a faux smile, "I had them filed down. What do you want? I know you didn't come all this way just to admire me, Daemon Targaryen."

"You know who I am?" Daemon asks. "I know enough," Geralt deadpans, "now answer my question."

"You have something that belongs to me," Daemon states in a threatening way, drawing his Dark Sister from its sheath and pointing it at Geralt, "I've come to take it back."

Geralt stares at the sword, fascinated by the metal that was used to create it. He turned his gaze towards the prince again, "there is nothing here that belongs to you," the witcher states with confidence, "I suggest you leave. Go back to your homeland."

"I'm not leaving," Daemon stubbornly sneers, "not until I have what I have come for. I don't care what special powers you possess from that mutant body of yours, I will cut you down if you don't stand out of my way."

"Leave. Now," Geralt warns, drawing his silver sword, taking a fighting stance, "I won't ask again. Prince or not, this is my home, and you are trespassing."

The standoff continued for a few more moments.

The the impulsive Daemon charged at Geralt and the two soon clashed swords. Daemon may be faster, but Geralt was the older and more experienced out of the two. He parried each blow from the prince's swords, getting the upper hand with each pirouette and lunge.

At one point, Daemon managed to get the upper hand and push Geralt to the ground.

The prince was about to stab Geralt through the head, but the witcher dodged and got back on his feet.

The two clashed swords in a stalemate.

"Tell me, witcher, how does it feel?" Daemon taunts, "to have (y/n) in your arms every night, knowing you could never give her what I could?"

Geralt only grunted in response.

"Maybe that's why you took her away from me, is that it? Are you planning to turn my child into a mutant freak, like yourself?"

Geralt jumped back and kicked Daemon in the chest, pushing him back slightly, "did it ever occur to you that (y/n) left of her own volition?" the witcher sneers, "that she was trying to get away from you? That she didn't want you to find out?"

"She wouldn't do that," Daemon insists, wiping the blood from his mouth, "not after everything I ever provided for her, both in and out of the bed. After I kill you, witcher, I'll take that trinket of yours as my trophy," he points his sword to Geralt's medallion, "I'll have her wear it every night while I fuck her until my seed grows inside her womb once more. A further testament that the blood of the dragon cannot be matched by that of the impotent white wolf."

Geralt only chuckled at that statement, knowing full well Daemon was only trying to provoke the witcher by insulting his manhood in an immature fashion. "You find this amusing?"

"Not at all," Geralt answers, though in a tone that suggests that he did, "the way you carry on in this manner, prince, I'd say you're the one who is overcompensating."

As expected, this angered the prince, and he charged at Geralt once again.

Geralt then cast the Aard sign, forcing Daemon onto his back.

"Do you think we should go in there and help him?" Ciri asks as you, her, and Jaskier watch the fight from inside the keep.

"Does Geralt really look like he needs help?" Jaskier points out, "he just knocked the man to his feet. He's got this."

The silver medallions from the witcher memorial started to hum along with the ones around the witches' necks.

"Maybe don't speak too soon, brother," you say, nervousness creeping up from knowing what was about to happen.

Daemon groaned, disoriented from the impact. He was about to reach for his sword, but Geralt step on his arm to stop him.

The witcher pointed his sword at Daemon's neck.

"You've overstayed your welcome, prince," Geralt speaks, "yield now. Leave and return to where you came from."

Daemon only chuckles in amusement as a response.

Geralt was confused by the prince's reaction, but the moment his medallion started humming, the moment he heard the high pitched shriek, he looked up and knew what was coming.

"Shit!" Geralt backs away.

Right on cue, Caraxes climbed up the mountain, his long slender neck reaching out till his head was right under Daemon, who was smiling from in victory from the tables being turned.

The red dragon faced Geralt and roared in anger.

In this moment, the witcher only had one word to say...

"Fuck."

Chapter 11.5

Masterlist

#geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #ciri #daemon #daemon targaryen #geralt x reader #hotd #the witcher #vesemir #eskel #lambert #coen

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wannastayugly · 1 year

Text

Second and final part of this thing I wrote about the Storyteller showing itself to Jaskier as Geralt. TW for hurt character, but they're fine! Thank you very much for such a positive feedback! I'm very insecure about my writing, but I really love putting these little stories in the world and knowing you're enjoying them makes everything better!

Jaskier sits on the stool letting out a low groan of pain. He holds his chemise over his lap with both hands and keeps his eyes there, missing the warmth of it as a cold breeze invades the room and touches his exposed injured back.

It's been two months since Jaskier met the Storyteller. Two months of new poetry and ballads he has still not sang to anyone and which are fated to remain only as a collection of words in his notebook, ready to feed the fire.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice fills his ears with kindness, and Jaskier looks up as the witcher walks closer and touches his shoulder. He holds a wet towel and a bowl of salve, but Jaskier's attention goes to the blood stains on his black shirt. "Are you alright?"

Jaskier gives an insincere, almost inaudible positive answer and looks away. He remembers the monster's claws hurting his skin and the terror in Geralt's voice when he called his name. The singer had saved the witcher that morning, decided to give his life for him in his foolisher impulsive act of the season. But, together with the pain, Jaskier found a mad and surprising bit of relief when he realized there, again on a bloody floor, that whatever the Storyteller had meant when comparing him to Éile, his story would never follow the same tragic path, for Jaskier would never, in any reality, have the bravery to be the one killing the man he loved instead of letting himself be killed.

"Jaskier."

"Yes! Yes, I am fine." Geralt doesn't buy it. He slips his hand from Jaskier's shoulder to his neck and gives him an unpleased look. He can tell he has a fever by now, although the touch also leaves his cheeks warmer.

Touch. That's something Geralt only offers him every now and then, and Jaskier appreciates the attention now.

While Geralt starts taking care of his wounds, he thinks about the ballads he composed about the bard and her witcher, and how the simple act of writing those two words together in a song made him feel exposed. Every verse of fear, of desire or sorrow, spoke about his own heart. Forbidden to be heard, those words burn in his chest just like the soft touch of Geralt's calloused fingertips do now; like the wood that burned between them during the cold nights among trees and starry skies.

He closes his eyes, wanting to lean into the touch, clutching the fabric in his hands.

"I read your new songs."

The confession comes to wake him up like a bucket of cold water. His blue eyes go wide, his face is molded in shock and the world stops for a second, almost making him wonder if the Storyteller has frozen time again.

"What"

"Some days ago. Didn't mean to." Geralt continues. There's a bit of guilt and discomfort in his voice this time. Done cleaning Jaskier's wounds, he now applies salve to them, lessen the pain; his fingers now travelling the bard's lower back. Jaskier wishes he could still focus on them. "Witchers don't lose control like that. In case you've ever wondered."

"What- shut up"

"The stabbing bit was concerning, though."

"Shut the fuck up!" For Geralt's surprise, Jaskier's tone rises with rage, and, enduring the sharp pain of his damaged flesh, the bard stands up and finally faces him. Geralt stands still, a perfect portrait of regret. He still holds the bowl, unsure about what he should do with it. Now, it's Jaskier's eyes that burn. "You didn't have the right! You weren't- you-"

For a moment, Jaskier's own screams reminds him of their last major fight.

Caingorn.

He remembers letting out a confession when not even him knew what it was. He remembers Geralt's words stabbing him and pushing him away, and how he wished something would come from the woods and eat him alive while he walked down the mountain alone, feeling like he was leaving shards of his heart behind.

"Jaskier, look at me!"

Jaskier doesn't notice the tears rolling down his chin. Panic has now invaded him, bringing all his worst fears into his mind like a sadistic devil and enjoying his shivers when making him travel between all the reasons why he could now lose the little he had and was grateful for.

Not again, he mourns.

Geralt finally leaves the bowl aside and approaches him, too unsettled for a supposed emotionless man. Although the bard takes a step back, he doesn't want to avoid Geralt's closeness. Never really did.

Don't leave me alone again.

"I'm sorry, bard." Geralt's embrace is loose, careful not to touch him on the wrong spots. Jaskier groans in frustration when he sees himself hiding his face on the pale neck of the man who now caresses his hair.

"I didn't want this", Jaskier murmurs.

"I know."

He punches Geralt's chest softly. His eyes shut. Fear now gives space to shame, although he doesn't know exactly what he is ashamed of. I hate you, he thinks. A silly thing to say. Just like the Storyteller, Geralt has already known his truth for a long time.

"I love the fuck out of you, too."

Saying that, Geralt breaks the embrace to cup his face, presses their foreheads together and smiles. Gets lost in the eyes that stare back at him. A love song in blue and golden shades.

It doesn't take much for their lips to meet in an intense, rushed act. Jaskier digs his nails into the other man's skin and every bite, every touch on his exposed skin after that is like a fever dream.

"I should've done this a long time ago" the witcher would whisper breathless into his ear after a while; his hand slipping into Jaskier's now unbuttoned trousers, "right in the first time I heard your heartbeat run. Right in the first time the temperature of your body rose and you smelled like this."

That day, having Geralt with, on, in him; being allowed to taste his sweat, smiling against his lips, feeling his scars under his fingers and laughing of his concerned expressions when he'd touch the wrong places, Jaskier found himself alive for the first time in a long while. And in Geralt's arms, he contemplated in awe his own story, the most fascinating poem he had ever written.

#geraskier #jaskier the bard #geralt of rivia #fic

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aramblingjay · 11 months

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Let the sea birds cry Geraskier, pre-relationship (1K)

Jaskier wants Geralt to have a holiday. In the summer, when it’s warm and sunny, and preferably by the coast. He resorts to creative measures to make that happen. Or: When Jaskier said “we could head to the coast”, it’s because they’d already been there once before.

ao3

“I want to go to the coast,” Jaskier says brightly one evening.

Geralt looks up from counting potions (there’s a few he needs to replenish, but the current stock will tide him over until they come across an herbalist) to Jaskier lounging against a log beside the fire, popping nuts into his mouth between words. He looks, despite every evidence Geralt has seen to the contrary over the last seven years, like he belongs out here amidst the forest, as familiar to walking the Path as Geralt himself.

“Hmm?” Geralt asks, because Jaskier hates when he doesn’t respond, and Jaskier looks too beautiful illuminated in the red-orange glow of the firelight to sulk.

Nearly a decade of experience must mean Jaskier correctly parses that particular hmm into the intended set of questions, because he responds as though he’s heard Geralt verbalize every one of them explicitly.

“Anywhere along the coast, I’m not picky. Yes, I do mean now. It’s the birth of summer, the season of sun and warmth and happiness, Geralt. This is the perfect time to take a break. Just for a week or two. No contracts, no monsters, just sun, sand, waves, and music.”

The request hasn’t come entirely out of nowhere. Geralt is aware that Jaskier has a fondness for the coast, likes to winter as near to the water as he can manage without actually going for a swim (or encountering any of the numerous nobles he’s pissed off, which can be a difficult proposition in some coastal towns). And he’s often wondered how many years Jaskier can keep this up, being his companion on the cold and dirty and dangerous Path without complaint, when a man of his talent and nobility could certainly afford to spend his days in much greater comfort.

Jaskier deserves better. He deserves two weeks relaxing by the coast, away from this life.

Still, it feels like stabbing himself in he heart with a dagger when he says, “Okay. You should go.” There’s a flash of hurt in Jaskier’s eyes that he doesn’t understand, but hates all the same, and Geralt tries to rephrase. “I want you to enjoy the coast. In summer, when it’s warm. You should—you should go? Yes.”

He feels clumsy, closer to the child fumbling with his new senses after the Grasses than the decades-old monster-killing machine he knows himself to be. Jaskier always manages to draw out that buried part of him, somehow.

The hurt in Jaskier’s eyes dissipates, leaving something—sad? Fuck, now he’s made Jaskier sad. This is why Geralt tries not to open his mouth if he can help it.

“Geralt, I didn’t mean I want to leave you to go to the coast. I meant, I’d love a holiday, and we’re—well. I meant that we’d both go. I’m aware you have to walk the Path, et cetera, et cetera, but I’ve yet to see any stipulation on exactly how long you have to be out here in the muck killing monsters continuously for it to count. And we took down a whole—okay, yes, you took down that whole striga nest a week ago, which surely counts as multiple monster hunts all in one, so really, if you ask me, we’re ahead of schedule and due a vacation.”

The very idea of abandoning the Path for several weeks to relax by the seaside is abhorrent. Witchers don’t go to the coast and rest. That isn’t—that isn’t how it works.

“Jask, I—” Geralt doesn’t know how to say this in a way that won’t upset him. He wants Jaskier to go, Jaskier deserves to go. But as with many things, the Path means Geralt can’t just do as he pleases. “I can’t,” he finishes inelegantly.

Jaskier frowns. “Okay, don’t think of it as a vacation then. Think of it as a contract. I’m going to the coast, and because I’m just a poor, helpless bard, I need a witcher bodyguard to make sure I don’t get killed before I dip my toes in the sand. You in? I can pay you, make it all proper and everything.” He sounds so earnest it hurts, eyes wide and gleaming.

“I don’t want your coin,” Geralt snaps, because that’s the easiest part to focus on.

“Is that a yes?” Jaskier asks with barely-contained glee, seeing through his surliness as always.

Could this work? Technically, there’s no rule book he’s ever seen that dictates what does and doesn’t constitute a contract. And Jaskier looks so eager—and as much as it’s a ruse, the bard truly would be highly likely to run into trouble if he travelled alone—and it wouldn’t be his first time accompanying Jaskier somewhere he would never go himself, just the longest journey he’s had to undertake to do so.

“Fine.”

Jaskier punches the air in delight, and Geralt can’t find it in himself to regret this.

The coast is everything the Path is not.

Warm, so warm. Sun in the sky for hours on end, lighting the sand a brilliant white. Even the sand is warm. It nestles between his fingers like a friend that’s too attached, and Geralt loves it so much he pulls off his boots and lets it nestle in his toes, too. Soft and warm.

The rustle of the ocean is different than the trees, but the quiet, rhythmic hum-whoosh of the waves seeps into his very bones, and he starts to wonder if maybe he could become a coastal Witcher, hunting only drowners and the occasional sand monster.

And then there is Jaskier. If he looked strangely at home on the Path, he’s positively unleashed here—strumming his lute jauntily at every man, woman, and child who walks past, earning more than a pretty copper for his trouble, and immediately wasting every single coin on some special kind of salted sea nut they don’t make in the woods.

(The nuts are good, Geralt can admit that much, but it’s not worth all the coin they have.

The way Jaskier smiles after every bite though, wide and dimpled and unabashedly happy, that might be.)

It’s inevitable, in some ways, that after two weeks covered in nothing more nefarious than sand and saltwater, pulling out his sword only to clean the ocean rust off and put it back under the bed—after two weeks of looking at Jaskier in the golden light of the coastal sun—he wakes up in the morning to the bard snoring in the other bed, hair askew, drool spilling into a little puddle by his mouth, and thinks—

Oh.

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #*fic #*writing

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haveyoureadthisfanfic · 18 days

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Summary: Shortly after his graduation and not-so-willingly leaving the city-house inhabited by the Countess de Stael, Jaskier finds himself on the road with nothing but a bit of food in his pockets, a stolen bottle of wine and the lute on his back. As it turns out, he has a penchant not only for music but also for encountering Witchers. - Over the years, Dragon!Jaskier hoards Witchers instead of gold, stabs some people and falls in love along the way.

Author: Quine

#official fic poll #haveyoureadthisfic #pollblr #fanfiction #fandom culture #fanfic #internet culture #tumblr polls #fandom poll #A Hoard of Witchers #the witcher #witcher #twn #geraskier

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dapandapod · 2 years

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To trust and to hold

For the @thepassifloradiscord a/b/o event, I chose the “I have to bond with you to save your life, sorry.” prompt. MUCH fun was had! Geralt bonds Jaskier to save his life from ouchies.

Warnings: Major character injury, hurt/comfort, Geralt is bad at emotions TM, recovery, angst? i guess? Because they are idiots in love who just doesn’t understand the other’s feelings. Also mostly Jaskier being very hurt, poor boy.

Betaread by my ever bestest @kuripon, whomst deserves all the love on this planet. all of it.

Please enjoy! On Ao3 here

“Fuck, Jaskier, stay with me!”

Jaskier can barely make out the words. His entire body hurts, his blood burning in his veins. The world comes and goes, always dark around the edges.

“We are losing him,” someone says from the side. Jaskier doesn’t understand what that means, but something is hurting like the fucking seven hells in his abdomen. He tries to curl in on himself, but his arms are too heavy, and all he can manage is a weak whimper.

“You have to do it, Geralt. He will die if you don’t.”

Is that what this is? Dying?

Jaskier had always thought dying would be peaceful. He should have known better, living a life on the path, realizing the brutality of life by the side of a witcher.

Death has taken many forms on their travels; sometimes as mercy, sometimes of necessity, sometimes cruelty.

It just never occurred to Jaskier that the cruelty of death would happen to him.

But evidently it was. A spasm passes through him, sending new spikes of pain through his body. Crying out hurts even more, and he gasps for air, fingers curling around nothing.

“Geralt!”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier.”

Hot hands cradle the side of his face, a breath next to his ear.

“Please forgive me.”

Teeth sink into his neck, and for some reason it hurts more than anything he’s experienced so far.

But soon, the excruciating pain overpowers anything else, making him blissfully numb, and Jaskier falls into darkness.

The first thing he registers is the throbbing pain in his stomach. From there it is only downhill, when every hurt and ache makes itself known and grabs at his attention.

Opening his eyes takes most of what little energy Jaskier has, and the world is blurry around him still. It is hard to concentrate, eyes roving across the room, trying to find something clear or familiar enough to focus on, but it just makes him dizzy.

Jaskier fades again, unconsciousness and blissful numbness calling him away. He imagines he can hear Geralt’s voice, feel his hand against his cheek.

Jaskier smiles faintly at the thought before he passes out again.

Waking up is less terrible this time. Jaskier’s lips feel so dry they could crack at the slightest movement, but breathing doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

Upon opening his eyes, he finds the world is slightly clearer, but not by much.

Jaskier doesn’t recognize the room. The wooden beams have grayed with time, the paintings are unfamiliar, and the rough patchwork blanket around his legs and hips a stranger’s work.

Frowning and smacking his lips, Jaskier flexes his fingers, but the ache is almost gone. He seems to be alone in the room, but a chair is pushed up next to his bed, and on the bedside table is a bowl of water and some clothes. There is blood staining them.

Jaskier finally dares to look down at his chest.

He’s heavily bandaged around his abdomen, angry dark bruises peeking out where the bandages end just under his solar plexus.

Fuck.

His arms are not much better off, but it doesn’t seem as if any bones are broken.

There are some nasty marks on his left bicep, and Jaskier can’t really recall what may have caused them. All he remembers is the stabbing pain, his insides feeling like they’d been torn out, and then the numbing bite-

Oh.

Gingerly, Jaskier raises a hand to his neck.

Bandages block his touch, and when Jaskier presses his fingers into it, he finds the covered skin tender, but surprisingly soothing to touch.

Of course, that is when Geralt enters the room, amber eyes quickly darting over Jaskier’s form, lingering on his hand over the bite.

“You are awake,” he breathes, and then yells over his shoulder, “HE IS AWAKE!” In less than a minute, Jaskier is surrounded by people. He recognizes none of them, but there is a familiar voice in the crowd. A voice belonging to the woman who is currently making him follow her finger with his eyes.

“You were there,” he croaks, and she tuts and helps him sip from a glass of water before letting him speak again. “You were there,” he repeats.

“I was. You almost died. You are very fucking lucky that Geralt was there to bond you.”

Jaskier’s eyes snap to Geralt, who stays back, hovering restlessly by the wall.

“What do you mean?” Jaskier feels dizzy all over again, especially as Geralt looks so damn sad. He senses it too, the guilt and self loathing trickling towards him through their bond. “Geralt, what does she mean?”

Strong hands angle his face towards the woman again, and Jaskier must tear his eyes away from the witcher.

“Look at me. Deep breaths. No, look at me. Breathe through the panic. You are alright, you are safe.”

No, this is not alright.

Geralt bit him, Geralt bonded him, tied them together.

‘I need no one, and the last thing I need is someone needing me.’

Fuck.

Jaskier gasps sharply, tears pricking his eyes, and the woman tries to keep his focus on her. Then her hands are replaced with hot, familiar hands as Geralt takes her place.

Geralt cradles Jaskier’s face, their eyes locked together.

“Slow breaths. Follow me.”

Geralt leans down, knocking their foreheads together. It is hard to force the air to stay in his lungs, but he tries, Jaskier tries so fucking hard for Geralt.

Soothing hums calms him down slowly, worry and guilt and affection still running through the bond.

The fucking bond.

But eventually, Jaskier breathes evenly again, the world coming back to focus. Geralt keeps his hands on Jaskier, but now his hands are resting on his shoulders, inches from where the bandage covering the bite.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted. But I couldn’t let you die, couldn’t let you leave me, Jask. We’ll talk about it later. You need to rest now. Heal.”

Jaskier looks up confused at Geralt, but he says nothing more. The woman moves Geralt to the chair next to the bed, so she can keep examining him, another two women at the edge of the bed returning to the task of changing bandages and checking him over.

Geralt holds his hand, thumb tracing back and forth over the back of his hand.

The woman makes him drink more, but Jaskier belatedly realizes that it’s not water.

It pulls him under, dreams dragging him down, Geralt’s hand in his the only thing anchoring him to reality.

It was an Arachas, they tell him. A big, spider-like creature with pincers, sharp teeth, and venom glands. Jaskier has no recollection of it, but there had been a contract. A temple in dire need of rescue from what apparently was the Arachas.

It had pierced Jaskier’s stomach, the venom killing him in minutes. The woman, who he now knows as Landina, told him he got lucky.

They had found his suppressants and realized what he was, and then the bond burned through everything in its way.

The puncture wound in his stomach aches, a painful reminder of what he cost Geralt.

It feels unreal. Bittersweet.

Jaskier had long accepted Geralt’s need for independence. As soon as it was clear to him that Geralt would not form any bond with any omega for any reasons, Jaskier started taking suppressants. Took efforts to hide who he is.

“They say witchers are unfeeling. But no such bond can form where there are no attachments,” Landina tells him the next day. “You are lucky to be alive.”

When he is alone again, Jaskier touches the bite once more.

Lucky, she says. Tied to a man who wants no one, who doesn’t want him, who despite saving him feels guilt and remorse. It’s there, clear as day. Jaskier is not sure what he is sending through their bond, but Geralt has not returned to his room yet.

The loneliness aches in him, the empty chair mocking him for his hope. Geralt doesn’t want him. Geralt just didn’t want him to die. Geralt is kind and caring and good, and not once has he shown a sign that he wants them to become more.

That’s not entirely true, he admits quietly to himself.

Two years ago, Geralt had kissed him. The memory burns at the back of his mind, a perfect picture of torture when Jaskier is left alone during the winter.

It was just a kiss. They had been at a wedding, the liquor had been flowing and the spirits had been high. Together they had stumbled into the barn wall, laughing and smiling, and then Geralt had pressed himself against Jaskier and captured his lips, slow and searing, his hands on Jaskier’s hips gripping him tightly.

The night had ended and they had never spoken of it since. And Jaskier never pushed. He tries to tamp down the longing, the loneliness, but Jaskier realizes that he has no secrets now. And Geralt is nowhere to be seen.

The fever creeps in during the night.

His body shivers with cold as he burns up, tossing and turning as much as his aching body allows. His skin feels too tight, and he whimpers when Landina lays a hand on his forehead.

“Hurts,” he pants, squirming to get away from her. “Geralt.”

But Geralt isn’t here. Why would he be? Landina was wrong, only the threat to his life got Geralt close to him.

“What’s wrong with him? He was healing.” One of the apprentices asks quietly by the door.

“He is rejecting the bond. It is incomplete, and his body is fighting it.”

Jaskier doesn’t understand what they are saying, but when they say rejection, pain lances through his body, and he gasps sharply.

“Get Geralt,”Landina orders.

Geralt feels it even before the apprentice can depart the room.

The sense of wrongness wracking through him, unsettling him. He is about to burst through the door to Jaskier when he hears Landina.

“He is rejecting the bond. It is incomplete.”

Heart plummeting, Geralt’s hand freezes on the handle.

“Get Geralt.” The head priestess instructs, and the door is flung open to reveal him standing there frozen.

There is a brief pause where the young apprentice stares up at him, and then Geralt’s eyes catch on Jaskier, sickly pale with deep red patches on his chest and cheek.

“Leave us,” Landina tells the others, and they hurry out of the room around him. “Geralt. You have to make a decision.”

“About what?”

“If you want to keep your claim on him, or if you will let it burn away. He thinks your bond is one of duty, not affection, and he is trying to set you free.”

“... He can do that?”

“It is not uncommon in arranged marriages, when one part thinks the other indifferent. Usually caused by a distance between the two newly bonded, and usually mended by proximity. If that is something you want.”

Geralt hesitates. It is selfish of him, wanting to keep the bond. It was a one sided decision born of desperation. Geralt hadn’t even been trusted with the knowledge of Jaskier’s presentation, and the second he had known, he had bit him.

“What happens if it burns out?”

Landine studies his face before replying, hand clasped over her apron.

“Then the fever will run its course. If it doesn’t get worse, he should be fine, but his strength is already depleted. The bond would be severed and you would be free to go your separate ways.”

“We couldn’t be together?”

“You could. But remember, witcher, this is because he thinks you don't want him, not the other way around.”

“If I reinforce the bond, what then?”

Landina tilts her head and smiles up at him.

“That, master witcher, is up to you and your bard. He loves you dearly, that one. I think his heart has been breaking for many years.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. The priestess nods her goodbyes, then she leaves him with a feverish Jaskier.

Even from here, Geralt can smell his misery. Through the bond, there is strangely little.

Before he even knows what he is doing, Geralt is moving towards the bed. There is a lonely candle lit by the bedside table, the flickering light deepening the shadows.

“Jask,” he murmurs, sitting down next to him. The bed dips down, and Jaskier’s body presses against his leg.

Jaskier opens his eyes, watery with fever, but they focus on him anyway. Geralt can’t help but reach out, touching his clammy cheek, stroking it soothingly.

“Hi,” Geralt whispers, and Jaskier holds his wrist, looking up at him.

“You came,” Jaskier whispers, and oh. Geralt fucked up, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry. I know it is the wrong time to ask this, Jask, but I can’t decide this on my own, not again.”

“Are you staying?” Jaskier asks, fingers twitching as if he wants to hold on, but he doesn’t hold any tighter.

“If you want the bond, I will.”

“But you don’t want it,” Jaskier says, and he sounds so heartbroken and sure as he pushes Geralt’s hand away.

“What?” Geralt blinks.

“You don’t want a bond, and not with me. I’m sorry I forced you to bond with me.”

“Jaskier, what are you talking about? I was the one who bit you.” Geralt wants to touch him again, but Jaskier is still holding his wrist away from his face, grasping it if he has forgotten he is holding it.

“But I forced your hand. You are so good, so kind. You don’t want this bond.”

“Jaskier. Do you want this bond?”

Jaskier doesn’t respond, and Geralt aches, a trickle of emotion making its way through the bond now that they are touching.

“Jask. Do you?”

With the smallest voice, looking anywhere but at Geralt, Jaskier replies.

“I do.”

Fuck.

Geralt shifts, moving Jaskier so that they both fit in the bed. It is tight, but Geralt arranges them so that Jaskier is tucked under his chin, their legs tangled together.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier whispers, even as he nuzzles closer, seeking comfort where Geralt’s scent is the strongest.

“I didn’t want to force this on you. But if you really want this, we will keep it.”

“You noble idiot,” Jaskier mutters, his eyelids getting heavy. “I will only hold you back.”

“Being with you is not a burden, Jask. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

They don’t talk much after that. The fever pulls Jaskier under again, squirming against Geralt’s chest as shivers wrack his body.

Geralt is not sure what he expected would happen, a miraculous recovery or something, but he surely didn’t expect Jaskier to be sweating and whining through the night as fever dreams plague him.

More than once, Jaskier says his name, clinging hard when Geralt reaches for the cloth to wipe Jaskier’s brow. It’s a long night, and come morning, the fever has yet to break.

Landina enters the room, noticing Geralt holding Jaskier and nods. Swiftly she takes control of the situation, ordering her apprentices around, making them fetch ointments and soup and some breakfast for the witcher.

With her bustling around, Jaskier wakes up enough to accept medicine and soup. As soon as he is done, he tucks back in against Geralt, sighing contently as sleep claims him again.

It is… a strange feeling for Geralt. To be trusted like this, for Jaskier to so obviously find comfort in him. The bard has always been tactile, always leaning into Geralt, touching him, smiling at him, but this experience is on another level.

Geralt has a vague memory that tastes more like a dream, where they had danced, and Jaskier had smiled at him so sweetly and Geralt couldn’t help but kiss him.

It replays in his mind now, as he watches Jaskier sleep. It’s not the first time he has done that.

Sleeping always is a fickle thing for him, and to get any rest at all, meditation is what has kept him sane. During those times, it is soothing to listen to Roach chewing, the forest singing its night time song, and Jaskier’s easy breaths.

Geralt tucks a strand of hair behind Jaskier’s ear. Allows himself to think of what Landina said. About how Jaskier’s heart had been breaking for years. About how Jaskier blames himself for them bonding, as if that is not something selfishly wants.

While Geralt is waiting for Jaskier to recover, he plans. There are things he needs to tell his bard.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Jaskier croaks to Landina, who chuckles when she checks his temperature.

“Someone is feeling better,” she remarks, sending Geralt a look. When Jaskier woke up, Geralt had still been in bed with him, which had been an… experience. For now, the witcher sits next to his bed, but still holding his hand.

Most of his body is very much bruised up still, and his muscles are sore from shivering and cramping through most of the night, but his head feels clearer. He has a feeling Geralt asked him something important last night, but he doesn’t feel like asking with everybody else around them.

It takes almost half an hour before Landina is satisfied, feeding him with more soup and medicine and sitting him up properly in bed.

When the door finally closes behind her, Jaskier sneaks a peek at Geralt, who is already watching him.

“Do you remember what I asked you yesterday?” the witcher asks, always straightforward when he has a goal.

“Not really? I remember you asking something, and that it felt important.”

Geralt grips his hand a little tighter, gathering his thoughts a moment before he speaks.

“I asked if you wanted this bond.”

Ah. Shit.

“And I realize I have not been a very good friend to you.”

This makes Jaskier look up in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“It seems I have made you think I don’t care about you. That I loathe being bonded to you.”

Jaskier looks down. Wants to pull back his hand. Whatever this is, Jaskier isn’t sure he wants to hear it.

What is strange though, is what he senses through their bond.

“I bit you, because I can’t face a future without you. And it was selfish of me, and I bound you to me because of it.”

Opening and closing his mouth, Jaskier is stunned. He is sure he looks like a gaping fish, but he can’t think of one good thing to say right now. His heart is hammering in his chest, and his mind is racing.

“Why did you ask me if I wanted the bond last night, Geralt?”

“Because your body was rejecting it. Landina said it can happen when part of the bond feels rejected. I bit you once without your consent, Jaskier. I didn’t want to take that choice from you a second time.”

“Oh, you noble idiot,” Jaskier mutters, and for some reason Geralt chuckles and sits a bit closer. Jaskier finds himself leaning forward too, their hands trapped between them, fingers dancing over each other.

“I know we have a long way yet to go, but there is something that I can’t get out of my head.”

“Yes?” Jaskier breathes, eyes caught on the way Geralt’s lips move when he speaks.

“May I kiss you?”

Of all the things, this is not what Jaskier expected.

Meeting Geralt’s eyes again, Jaskier nods. He can’t move forward, the angle is harsh for his bandaged stomach, but Geralt doesn’t mind. He moves so he sits opposite Jaskier on the bed, and with a gentle hand he tilts Jaskier’s jaw up.

Geralt’s lips are dry on his, careful in a way he wasn’t two years ago.

Taking a moment to read Jaskier’s face, Geralt decides to lean in again, guiding Jaskier back towards the mattress, leaning over him to kiss him more, like once wasn’t enough.

There is indeed a long way to go still. Jaskier needs to heal, and Geralt needs to deal with the surviving endrega nest not far from where Jaskier was hurt.

They have time.

And for once, Jaskier feels like Geralt wants to spend that time with him.

#geraskier #hurt/comfort #whump #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #major character injury #recovery #a/b/o #bonding #and geralt is feeling things about that #dapanda writes #getting together #idiots in love

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