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bambirex · 8 months

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It's A Game We Play: Chapter 2

Pairings: Geraskier, Yennskier, Radskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Radovid, original female characters, Essi Daven, Priscilla, Ciri of Cintra, Valdo Marx

Additional tags: inspired by Mamma Mia! (movies), crack, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, omega jaskier, alpha geralt, alpha yennefer, beta radovid, awkwardness, jaskier is a good parent, protective jaskier, weddings, found family, post mpreg, fluff and humor, alternate universe - modern setting

Rating: teen and up audiences

Full word count: 4,816 words

Chapter word count: 2,430 words

Chapters: 2/?

Summary: Jaskier's daughter is about to marry the love of her life, and she decides she wants both her parents at her wedding. Only problem is that Jaskier has slept with a little too many people in his youth, so the identity of the other parent is a mystery. That does not stop the bride-to-be from inviting three potential daddy candidates and unleashing absolute chaos in the process.

Otherwise known as Jaskier's terrible horrible no good past decisions leading to terrible horrible no good outcomes. Also known as the Mamma Mia! AU nobody asked for, but I wrote it anyway.

Chapter summary: Amaryllis goes looking for clues in Jaskier's diary. She finds three of them.

Author's notes: All of your lovely feedback motivated me so much that I had to get this chapter out as soon as possible, thank you all!! ❤️ We're getting a glimpse into Jaskier's past and a very vague introduction to the three potential other parents.

Read on Ao3

Amaryllis knew she was facing quite the challenge with trying to figure out the identity of her other parent, but she was Jaskier's daughter; that meant she inherited the "never-backing-down-from-a-challenge gene". She was going to find out who it was, come hell or high water.

Her Papa was a little too tight-lipped about the whole ordeal. Amaryllis didn't know if it was because he actually had no clue, or because he just didn't want to reveal it, but it seemed like that if it remained up to him, Amaryllis would never find out.

Clearly, pressing Jaskier for further info wouldn't work, so Amaryllis needed a different method to investigate. And how lucky she was to have a father who was such a hopeless romantic with a great artistic streak, that he sentimentally kept a journal all these years- a journal that may or may not have contained the clues about what Amaryllis so desperately wanted to know.

She felt a little bad about rummaging through Jaskier's drawers to find his diary. She's made a promise she would never read his intimate thoughts, but desperate times called for drastic measures.

"Are you sure there's anything of substance in there?" Vera, one of her friends and bridesmaids, asked, as Amaryllis sat them down in her bedroom and waved Jaskier's diary in front of their noses.

"I know he used to write a lot," Amaryllis explained. She ran her fingers over the birds and flowers on the cover. "He even told me himself. It was a kind of comfort for him. Songs, short stories, just talking about his day... he still wrote in it when I was little."

"And you think he also wrote about all the people he's slept with," Marion, her other bridesmaid, pointed out with a chuckle. Amaryllis snorted.

"I know it sounds weird, but I think he did. He's exactly the type of person who would write epic poems about his romances, no matter how short-lived. I think if there's anything that could help us, it's this diary."

There was a chance she was wrong, of course, and that she wouldn't find anything in the diary. But she had to try: she's dreamt about this all her life. About someone who cared for Jaskier the way he deserved, who helped him through everything. Amaryllis knew she couldn't give Jaskier back all those lonely years of raising her alone, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to try and mend things. Maybe it was never too late to try and build the kind of family she and her father both deserved. It was her wedding, after all, which was the best opportunity to make everything perfect.

Taking a deep breath, Amaryllis sat between her friends and opened the diary.

They had to pass through many boring entries about Jaskier's mundane days, and then some angry rants about the one who shall not be named, even though everyone knew exactly, that those entries were about Valdo Marx, Jaskier's biggest rival. They attended the same theater group in high school, and they hated each other with a burning passion, being the two most talented of their peers. They competed with each other all the time, and they applied to the same college of performing arts.

Valdo got in, and Jaskier got pregnant. Jaskier didn’t immediately apply after finishing high school, because he decided to help his aunt on the island by working at the inn. And with having a baby so soon, he never even had the chance to get into that college. Amaryllis swallowed the guilt down heavily.

After many irrelevant drabbles interspersed with various ideas on how Jaskier was planning to murder Valdo, they reached a long segment with many glittery hearts and rainbows drawn on the margins, which caught their attention.

"Look at the date!" Marion squealed, "Summer of 2002!!"

"Shit," Amaryllis's heart sped up. This was it. She was born in the May of 2003, so the summer of 2002 was when Jaskier has spent the most time on the island, and has gotten pregnant with Amaryllis.

"That's a long entry," Vera chuckled. "Slept with a guy named Jonathan... Not very remarkable and he smells like gasoline. Cindy is cute... oh, Cindy is an Omega, we're crossing her off the list. Thomas took me behind a trashcan!? I'll never be able to look into your father's eyes again. Are you planning on going through all of these?"

"Well, we have to narrow it down," Amaryllis said. "Let's count quickly... I was born in May, so nine months back is... August. Let's focus on August."

"August the third, what a night!" Amaryllis read out loud. "After what felt like years of trying to convince him, Geralt finally agreed on spending the night together. Dear Diary, let me tell you, this man is a beast in bed!"

Oh, God. Amaryllis will also never be able to look into her father's eyes again.

"He's so hot, I can't control myself around him. It's been three weeks since he helped me after my car broke down on the road. His defined muscles are practically bursting out of his shirt. I still shiver just remembering the sight of him working on that flat tire... bloated biceps on display... his long, white hair falling into his eyes... those wild, amber eyes, like a wolf, how I wished he would devour me!"

Huh. Jaskier sure had a vivid imagination.

"My brave, strong Alpha knight in black armor! He always wears black. He's spending the month on the island, holidaying with his family. I hope he stays longer, though he says he has to go back to finish college. He's gonna be a personal trainer, which makes so much sense, just look at him! I wanna be in those strong arms all the time. He's a bit grumpy, and he doesn't speak a lot, and he seems so traditional, too, not wanting to jump my bones right away... But then... He did! Dear Diary, when I tell you that he has a huge... "

"Yikes," Amaryllis quickly passed the following, explicit lines about the night Jaskier and his big strong knight spent together. The night when maybe, a white-haired, muscled introvert has knocked up her father.

The next entry was Jaskier talking about being so in love with Geralt, who then broke his heart by telling him that he needed to leave the island earlier with his family, and he didn't want to make things complicated by continuing their romance.

The next entry came a week later. It told the story of Jaskier falling in love again.

"August the tenth, what a night! I was approached by a lovely Beta named Radovid. He is literally blond Prince Charming... not on a white horse, but in a white Bentley. And those blue eyes... and that smile... He's sweet but knows how to flirt. He just inherited his father's company (coconuts? He mentioned what they were trading but I forgot, I think it was coconuts), so he has lots of money. Has the idea of being a sugar baby crossed my mind for a hot second? Maybe. But actually, he could be completely broke and I would still end up in his lap with how smoothly he was talking me out of my pants all night."

"Oh, Papa," Amaryllis chuckled, "you're so easy, bless your little slutty heart."

"He told me I was the prettiest Omega he has ever seen, and that he would love to hear me sing one day! He looked so good in that maroon button up, I couldn't wait to get him out of it. He ordered me the most expensive drink. I didn't want to offend him by telling him it tasted like dishwater. The way he looked at me over the rim of his glass was worth it, though. He could peel an orange open with just one look. We spent a wonderful night together. Very gentle and generous lover! I especially liked it when he..."

"Dude," Vera groaned, "why does your father have to go into such details?"

"Well, he never intended this to end up in our hands," Amaryllis chuckled.

Of course, the Disney Prince left the same way Geralt, the big buff paramour did: his freshly inherited business called out for him, and he left a very sad, and possibly pregnant Jaskier behind on the island.

But Jaskier wasn't mourning for long.

"August the twenty-fifth, what a night! I think I've mentioned Yennefer the chef in training before, right? She's working at the inn for this summer, and I've been trying to seduce her for two months and she refused all of my advances! But then Auntie threw a little party, and this time, she was the one that came up to me! She's such a sassy Alpha. Insanely hot too. Very sharp tongue and also very talented, if you know what I mean... "

They didn't need to know what he meant because Jaskier described it quite vividly in the next paragraph.

"I'm pretty sure the guests heard us going at it the whole night, but it was worth it! She's so beautiful, I couldn't stop looking at her lying next to me, raven-haired, violet-eyed supermodel, God! I wish I could paint so I could capture her beauty as she lay bare next to me. I'm already sad knowing she will have to go home soon, but maybe I can try and convince her to stay..."

He didn't manage, clearly, because Yennefer also went home, oblivious to the fact that maybe she and Jaskier made a baby on that night.

Amaryllis put the diary down with a big sigh. So many emotions swirled inside her: excitement over finally finding clues, sadness for her father's broken heart, also a whole amount of nervousness realizing that three horses were in this race. Her other parent was one of the three that Jaskier played hanky panky with in August.

"It's one of them," Amaryllis said, staring down at the tiny sandpiper in the corner of the cover. "But God, which one?"

"It's hard to tell, like, we cannot exactly determine the date of your conception," Marion replied. "But, out of the thousand people your father has slept with, we managed to narrow it down to Muscle Man, Ritchie Ritch, and Savage Soufflé."

"That's still three people!" Amaryllis threw her hands up in frustration. "How am I supposed to decide which one's the real one?"

She dropped her hands into her lap with a deep sigh. She got closer to the solution, but instead of making things easier, this revelation actually complicated everything even more. Amidst the sea of people Jaskier has had sex with, stood out three islands, but they were so distant.

She couldn't figure it out just by looking at their names. And she couldn't figure it out by asking Jaskier. She looked down on the diary, then opened it again. On the margins, next to the tiny doodles, were addresses scribbled down- with a tiny note saying "if I'd be brave enough to go after them."

An idea formed in her head. A crazy one, perhaps, but right now, it felt like her only chance of finding the other parent she was longing for.

"I'd know if I met them," Amaryllis eventually said. Seeing her friends' confused faces, she continued. "I think if I saw them in person, if I talked to them... I would feel it. Papa wrote down their address. I could send them a letter."

"Or you could find them on social media like any normal person would," Marion told her. "A letter? In this century?"

"Yeah, well... they don't know me. But they know my Papa. And if I wrote in his name and asked them to come see him... they might. I don't want to leave any traces behind, and once something lands on the internet, it stays there forever... besides, I know my father is a hopeless romantic. If he were to write a letter to his previous beaus, he would go all traditional and write a letter with his own hands."

"And what are the chances their address is still the same?" Vera chimed in. "And that the mailman would deliver a letter to someone whose last name you don't even know?"

"I have to try. That's the only way I can figure out who it is. And not a word about this to my father!"

She stared at the hearts on the margins, and smiled. Her Papa will absolutely kill her if he finds out, but that was a risk she was willing to take if it meant finally finding the rest of her family.

Strange. Jaskier could have sworn his diary was in the third drawer, not the second. But maybe he remembered it wrong.

He sat on the bed and hugged his diary to his chest with a sigh. It was silly of him, to suddenly feel the need to take a trip down memory lane just now, but truth be told, Amaryllis's question triggered some memories; memories of passionate nights and happy mornings, syrupy-sweet romances and horrible heartaches.

His heart got broken, and he broke other people's hearts, many times. As a young, reckless Omega who fell in love with anyone, he didn't really stop to care.

But now, his adult daughter needed an answer that Jaskier brushed under the rug all the time. Did he not know who it was? He didn't, not really. Did he not have a clue?

Well. He wasn't very good at Math, but he was able to count to nine. It wasn't as if the idea never crossed his mind, and while he has went through half the population of the island that summer, there was only a handful of people he had sex with in August, shockingly.

But Jaskier promised himself he would never go there, even though those three somehow always stood out - his feelings for them ran a little deeper than for the rest. He even had half a mind to seek them out after he parted from them, but he was too much of a coward. And a slut, probably. Who knows, maybe one of his one-night stands that came after knocked him up. Anything was possible with how much he used to sleep around.

They were all in the past, anyway. Those three, and the several others, too. It would tear up too many scars to try and get into this too deeply.

He needed to focus on making Amaryllis's big day special, instead.

#the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #geraskier #yennskier #radskier #a/b/o #omega jaskier #alpha geralt #alpha yennefer #beta radovid #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #radovid #my fic #mamma mia au

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eskelwolfed · 1 year

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Closed Starter for RAIN @aggwaseon

Being an introvert and being the guitarist of a rockband didn't go hand in hand and Eskel had to acknowledge that just once more tonight. The band had landed a hit, then another, they changed contracts, gained thousands of followers on social media, they could choose the locations where they wanted to play instead of begging tiny venues. They slept in hotels instead of Lambert's stinky old van. All of this was intoxicating, at least for all the others, while it was a strain on Eskel. Everywhere he went he had to have someone shield him. Which just looked pathetic, Eskel was taller than any of his bandmates, and the bodyguards.

But Eskel wouldn't complain, as ever. He would do his job, the thing he loved. Being on stage and play and as long as he was up there and not in the middle of the crowd, as long as no one came too close and the stage lights blinded him, all he wanted was to keep performing.

Being famous had so many perks and while the others basked in the attention, the money, and stuff Eskel wouldn't want to be part of either. He found himself rather hanging out with ... the bodyguard. Or get back to the bus as quickly as possible and read a damn book. He found himself self isolating and soon he'd be called cold and untouchable, he was the one rumoured to have a girlfriend that's why he was never seen with fans at all but the truth was that Eskel was just ...enjoying his own company the most. Or the company of someone who he didn't have to talk much.

The tour went on and tonight there was going to be a concert in a big venue, around 7,000 people were expected to come since the concert was sold out after not even 12 hours. Rescheduling or booking a bigger venue didn't work and there was maybe a black market for tickets now. Things, that really bothered Eskel, but he couldn't talk about.

The meet and greet was held and Eskel tried to somehow snake his way out of it, but people paid to see and talk to them and he tried to smile, even when he felt overwhelmed by the starstruck fans. He was just a normal dude, but the amount of fans who wanted to talk to him and take photos was astounding.

The show itself was great for Eskel and he enjoyed the time up there to get lost and forget about his anxiety. But after the gig he wanted to leave as soon as possible but as the bodyguards informed them there was already a crowd waiting outside, occupying all the exits and entries known to the fans, Eskel grew nervous. He knew that especially his bodyguard was now well known because he was mostly shielding Eskel from photographs, only to be the one being prominent in pictures now. He felt like he would be spotted way too easily today and he could just go along the roadies packing the instruments up and put them in the sprinter.

Eskel showered and put new clothes on, stuffed everything in his backpack and then put a saggy hoodie on, not telling his bandmates and security that he'd sneak out early. With the hoodie conceiling his face he felt ready to get away to the bus unnoticed when he just walked out with the road guys.

When Eskel was outside he saw that a lot of people were waiting for the band to show up and ambush them for photos. Shit, he had to be quick or hope for someone else to show up- and he did. Jaskier stepped out, with his hair still moist from showering and immediately drawing attention from almost all the people outside. Of course he had two guards with him. He was the most popular of them, naturally.

Eskel seized the chance and after hiding behind the roadies for the distance between the door and the sprinter parked right behind the tour bus. He only had to smoothly walk past the sprinter on the side facing the hall, not the crowd and then sneak behind the bus. He pulled out his key card already that'd open any door of the bus for him, but as it slipped out of his hands he cursed softly and pulled the hood back that hid his face. God damn street lights, it was way too dark to see anything - that was the moment someone stepped in front of him, Eskel still searching for the key.

"I sent you so many messages," the stranger said in a hushed voice and Eskel's head shot up, looking in someone's face he's most likely never seen before.

"Uh, sorry," Eskel replied and he rose again, the key forgotten. "I receive a lot messages, but thank you! I'll check my phone and read them."

He didn't know why he said that. He didn't know what this guy even wanted from him. Gut feeling told Eskel it wasn't a selfie taken from them, sandwiched between the building and the tour bus where Eskel couldn't even open his arms for a half hearted hug. The bad lighting also didn't help.

"I've sent you messages every day, since I followed you. And you never replied."

Eskel made two steps backwards, his hands reaching out as if to defend himself. He was getting really creeped out.

"Yeah, sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, really. I promise I'll check them. When we're back on the road."

He started looking around, behind him, hoping that .. fuck, someone would just notice he was here. He was a few steps away from the sprinter. If he turned around and ran he could make it. But was that even necessary? It was just a fan. Who was pissed that he didn't reply to their messages. He would have to block them eventually. This wasn't healthy.

"It's too late for that. I really loved you, Eskel. I thought you'd understand me."

Eskel made another couple of steps backwards, but he didn't dare to turn around and leave them out of his sight. And then everything happened really fast.

Eskel yelled for Rain, automatically, as the fan in front of him jumped forwards, incredibly fast for small man and he collided with Eskel. His blood curdling scream was thrown back from the walls and the bus. Eskel wasn't fast enough to save himself and when he went down, still screaming for Rain, with the fan's weight pushing him down at the concrete. His ears rang, his head hurt and he tried to shield his face from punches he expected. But as sharp pain ran through his hand he pulled it away and tried to escape but the next painful stab hit his cheek. The pain was so much and Eskel couldn't fight back, even when a slash from just under his eye ran down to his lips.

He went blind, he went deaf, he could only feel the pain in his face. As something tore the guy off of him, Eskel was already blacked out.

#aggwaseon #keep reading for length

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seidenbros · 2 years

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Can I request ❛ is that my shirt. ❜ with Jaskier x reader? ❤️

My dear, you can request anything ❤️ Because I love doing these. This one was a lot of fun again, and it pretty much wrote itself, but it's not proofread, just so you know.

(Please feel free to request anything, and if you need inspiration, here are some prompt lists)

Prompt: Is that my shirt? Warnings: Angst and fluff Word Count: 2012

________________

This has been going on for months, nearly a year now, though you've known Jaskier for even longer than that. He'd come by your cottage to visit you whenever he was around, whenever Geralt and him were in the area, and you'd been able to offer them a place to stay – and even Roach had her place in your stables. It had been one cold night when it had just been Jaskier and you – and a bottle of wine. You'd both felt lonely, one thing had led to another and in the morning, you'd woken in Jaskier's arms, his head pressed between your shoulderblades, his soft breathing sending shivers down your spine. You hadn't wanted to wake him, but at the same time, you hadn't been sure whether he would regret what had happened. When he'd woken, though, he'd kept you in his arms and stayed with you for some more time like this, until he'd had to get ready for the day.

You hadn't really talked about this, only enjoyed each other's presence every time he'd come by, had spend some time with you. You'd fallen into a comfortable rhythm with each other, and you could actually tell, when he was coming around the next time. What this was between you? You didn't ask, didn't even want to, because you didn't want to destroy what you were having by asking questions, by trying to put a label on it. Of course you knew that there were other women along the road, and he probably had some that he visited whenever he was in their area, just like he did with you. Thinking about it burnt a hole in your chest, so you pushed that thought away every time it arose. Because you didn't want to imagine him lying in someone else's bed, telling them all the things he told you. Talking about his childhood, growing up and learning how to play the lute, where he went, when he was really feeling down, when he needed a break. You knew all these little things remembered them, and you didn't want to think about other women knowing these intimate details about him as well, because it scarred your heart.

Of course, you knew that you'd already fallen way too hard for the bard, but there was nothing you could do against that, now, because you didn't want to cut him out of your life, didn't want to miss out in the days you had with each other, because these were the days that you cherished the most. You could find yourself a suitable husband, if you wanted, settle down, but... it wouldn't be the same. Did you even really want that? You weren't sure. There was just so much out there to explore...

Jaskier was supposed to come back here in about a week. He couldn't give you a day, but an approximate time. The earliest date would be a week from now, but you were already humming to yourself while you were cleaning the house. Not exactly a chore that you liked doing, but it was necessary. You really found yourself looking forward to the day when he arrived, telling you all about the new adventures he'd lived through, the songs he'd written... As long as he left out the women he'd met along the way, it would be a pleasant day.

While cleaning, you also made the bed. Granted, you weren't the best housewife-material, so it wasn't always super tidy, which was why you did your best, when you knew that someone was coming to visit. That someone being Jaskier most of the time. So, when you made the bed, you found something beneath it. You'd barely touched the side that Jaskier usually slept on, though you couldn't really say why. Maybe because it helped you imagine that Jaskier was still there with you. Silly, you knew, but still... it held some truth. But that also meant, that you only now discovered the piece of clothing that was lying beneath the bed. Curiously, you picked it up and unfolded it, which made you smile immediately. It was one of Jaskier's shirts. He'd probably forgotten it the last time he'd been here, or hadn't found it when he'd gathered his belongings. You brought the shirt up to your nose, and it still smelled like him, making your heart beat faster. God, you really missed him. Maybe you should tell him....

Once you'd taken your bath this evening, you'd put on Jaskier's shirt. You simply couldn't resist, because it almost felt like he was right by your side. The fabric was so soft, his scent still there, that it made you calm. You cuddled up in bed, pulling the shirt up to your nose so you could smell him. It was the perfect way to fall asleep tonight, though you shouldn't get much sleep.

There were noises at the front door, you could hear that, and it immediately made your heard race in fear. In the dark, you reached for the dagger that you were hiding beneath the other pillow whenever Jaskier wasn't occupying this side of the bed. Whoever that was, you were prepared to fight them. As quietly as possible, you got out of your bed, naked feet hitting the floorboards. You knew which ones of them squeaked, so you did your best to avoid them in the dark. The door to your bedroom was already ajar, so you could see through it, once you reached it, hand wrapped tightly around the dagger.

There was a man walking through your dark home. He put something down, though you didn't know, couldn't see what, but it didn't look like he was armed. This was your only chance, so you pulled the door open and sprang forward, dagger pointing at him.

“Leave now, or you'll regret it!” Your hand was only shaking slightly, barely visible, but your voice was strong, unwavering, surprising even yourself, because you were scared. The man in front of you held his hands up, but didn't turn around straight away. He seemed to take a breath, before he slowly started to turn, showing you that he indeed did not have any weapons.

“Dear heart, is that really, how you greet your lover?” The smile was evident in his voice, and when you looked into Jaskier's face, you dropped the dagger. Shocked, relieved, but also pissed.

“Jaskier?” you asked just to make sure. When he took a step forward, you could make out his face in the moonlight that fell through the window.

“Yes, dear, did you expect anyone else?” That cocky smile on his lips nearly made you pick up the dagger again and throw it at him.

“I didn't expect anyone. I thought you were trying to ROB ME!” Good, expressing your anger was good, but it was gone in the next moment, when you took a deep breath, too happy to see him in front of you. “It's the middle of the night and you just came in here instead of making yourself noticeable!”

A few heartbeats passed, until he licked his lips and answered: “I didn't think of that, I'm sorry. But remember, you gave me that key, and I...” He shrugged his shoulders, holding up said key to present to you. Of course you remembered, you just hadn't thought of him getting here in the middle of the night, scaring the everloving shit out of you like this.

“Of course. But you could have still called out or...” waited till the morning.You wanted to say the words, but couldn't get them out. Because he was always welcome here, and you would have probably reprimanded him the next morning had he spent the night at an inn instead of coming to you.

“I know, and I thought of staying at an inn and not bother you in the middle of the night, but... I missed you.” There. The words that you weren't sure whether you were going to say them to him or not, and now it was him, saying them so nonchalantly, that they made your heart melt.

“Great, now I can't even be angry at you anymore.” You played it down, tried not to think too much about his words as you finally started to light the candles around the room. You weren't able to fall asleep now anyway, so you could use some time to catch up, talk or... do whatever.

“Good, because I don't want you to be angry at me,” he said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. He knew that he'd scared you, the last thing he'd wanted to do, but now the damage was done, and he wanted to make it up to you. He'd really missed you. More and more every day, so he'd gotten a head-start on Geralt and had made his way to you.

“I could never be angry at you long enough.” A confession you didn't plan on making. You wanted to be mad at him, but couldn't. When you turned to face him again, you could feel his eyes scanning over your body, practically burning your skin. You were very aware that you were wearing noting but his shirt that hit you about mid-thigh, revealing long legs and bare feet. He'd seen you naked many times now, in all kinds of positions, but right now, you felt more exposed to him than ever before.

“Is that my shirt?” he asked, though you couldn't determine from the sound of his voice what he was thinking.

“Yeah...” you answered after a pause, looking down the front of your own body, before returning your gaze to him. Your own fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying to pull it down a little bit, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I just... found it under the bed and...” Now it was your turn to shrug your shoulders, making the hem of his shirt rise up on your thighs for a moment. “And I missed you, too.” There, you'd said it, the words were finally out, and it wasn't so hard anymore, knowing that Jaskier had missed you, too. “And it still smelled like you, so I could pretend that you were here.”

Before you knew it, Jaskier had closed the distance between you to gather you in his arms and finally, finally kiss you. He'd wanted to do that the minute he'd stepped in here, but the tension had had to ease first. Seeing you dressed in his shirt though, made his mind run in a completely different direction. He'd actually just wanted to cuddle up to you tonight, wake up next to you in the morning, but now, he had other plans.

“So... that was okay?” you murmured between kisses, feeling his hands all over your body, exploring the bare skin of your arms, until he let his hands drop to your thighs.

“You joking?” he rasped against your yaw, pressing kisses there, slowly working his way down. “You look absolutely perfect in this.” More kisses to the side of your neck, until he reached your shoulder, pushing his own shirt a little to the side to expose more skin. “Mine,” he said, before he sucked on the soft skin on your shoulder, making sure that he would leave a mark there. Seeing you like this, in his clothes, it made him want to see you like this everyday. See that you were his, because he'd realized along the way, that you belonged together. He just hadn't had the courage to say it like this, to make commitments, because he didn't know where this would lead. But right now? Being close to you, kissing you, that was what he wanted and needed. So he picked you up, wrapped your legs around his hips to carry you to your bedroom, where he would claim his place on the other side of the bed – once he was finished with you.

#cause I was born to press my head between your shoulderblades #i had to use that line #staffi writes #the witcher imagine #the witcher fanfic #the witcher #jaskier #jaskier imagine #jaskier fanfiction #jaskier x fem!reader #jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier x y/n #I'm having so much fun doing these #so much inspiration

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some-stars · 4 years

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jeraskier prompts? a more inhuman or monstrous looking type of creature!jaskier being unsure of the witcher's reaction, and Geralt being especially soft and appreciative of all his particularly inhuman aspects? probably cliche, but it's a classic trope for a reason imo. ^^"

OK so this jaskier isn’t really that inhuman or monstrous, just bc of my personal preferences, but he is a snake person (snerson) so i hope that’s good enough. also i couldn’t get to the point of like, geralt kissing down all of jaskier’s scales worshipfully and making out with his snake tongue, but please assume that happens not long after.

(oblig disclaimer, i can’t edit replies to asks or the readmore goes away, please forgive any typos)

Approaching a witcher in the first place had been almost suicidally foolish, but Jaskier had been eighteen and bold and, let's face it, stupid, and he'd been drawn by Geralt's golden eyes—so like his own—and brooding silence. By the time he'd realized he was flirting with a monster hunter, it had been just too late to make the wise decision, not when actual adventure awaited just around the corner.

He hadn't, at first, intended to stay long with Geralt. But there was something magnetic about the man—something only partially attributable to the way he had said to the elf, "Don't call me human," and rung a bell in Jaskier's heart.

(I have learned to live with them, Geralt had said, so that I may live, and Jaskier, his glamour apparently strong enough to fool even elven sight, had fallen broken-heartedly in love with him.)

And after the way the song took off—well, it was only a wise career choice; he could justify it to himself that way. Geralt showed no signs of seeing through his glamour for the weeks that they traveled together, that first time, and when they'd parted Jaskier had known it wouldn't be the last time. There were too many stories to be had, and more than that...

Geralt, of course, spent the first two years of their acquaintance grunting and frowning at him, Jaskier only certain of his welcome by the fact that Geralt always accepted his return as, seemingly, an unavoidable fact of life, and made sure to provide enough food for them both (and cook it) when they slept outdoors. Jaskier, being young and virile and in good health and only, almost, human, entertained plenty of fantasies about Geralt, but it was better, he told himself, that they remain fantasies. Better to maintain enough distance, because—fantasies aside—he had no doubt of his fate should Geralt ever discover his true nature.

He was terribly careful, at first. His glamour wasn't as strong when he was asleep, so he made sure to wake early and lie still in bed until Geralt rose first. He needed nutrients, sometimes, that could only be found in the less savory parts of the animal, so he snuck rabbit and deer livers under the pretense of wanting to learn how to clean the animals Geralt killed, wanting to help. He did want to help, which helped to sell it. He wanted to do so many things for Geralt, lift some of the unbearable burden from his shoulders of being spat upon, cursed at, treated like an animal.

So he wrote his songs, and sang them everywhere he went, and by the fifth or sixth time he met with Geralt he was pleased to see the man had replaced his battered, hand-patched armor with a shiny new set, and looked reasonably well-fed. That sense of satisfaction—of having helped—was probably what made him let his guard down.

He'd gotten too comfortable, that was all; forgotten that his traveling companion wasn't actually a kindred spirit but a superhuman monster hunter whose sole purpose in life—much though Jaskier tried to impress on him a love of the finer things—was killing creatures like Jaskier. It was just—early on, when Geralt had given the impression that he might kill Jaskier for talking too loud, it had been easy not to let his guard down. It was only as they grew closer—as Jaskier started patching up Geralt's wounds and cleaning his armor, as Geralt started staying downstairs at inns and listening to Jaskier's playing, as they came to share a bed on occasion (chastely, to Jaskier's sorrow)—that Jaskier started relaxing, exactly the way his mother had warned him he mustn't.

The first slip-up was five years into their acquaintance, when Jaskier forgot to wake up early one morning, and of course it happened to be a morning that he was sharing a bed with Geralt. He woke with a start to light coming in through the window, and before he even had a chance to realize his mistake he felt Geralt's fingers brushing the nape of his neck, not ungently.

"What's wrong with your skin?" he asked, and Jaskier's heart flipped over in his chest. Luckily the room wasn't fully illuminated yet, and as he rolled over to hide the barely-glamoured scales, he quickly adjusted the image he was projecting.

"Oh, I've had a rash there since yesterday," he said breezily, trying and failing to will his heartbeat back to normal, knowing full well Geralt could hear it. "I've always had a bit of an allergy to shellfish."

Geralt eyed him—not suspiciously, but with intent. "Then why did you eat those oysters?"

Jaskier plastered a smile on his face. "Oh, I can't resist a good oyster," he said. "It's worth the itching for a day or two."

Geralt snorted, but apparently filed this away as just another ridiculous thing Jaskier had done, and said no more about it. By the end of the day Jaskier returned his glamour to normal, and he woke before dawn for the next week out of sheer anxiety.

The second slip, however, was the last. It had been two years since Geralt had gotten a glimpse at his scales, and though he sometimes looked askance at Jaskier in the full moonlight, when his glamour was at its weakest, Jaskier had managed to avoid any close inspection.

The contract Geralt had taken that day was for a lesser vampire—an ekimmara, Geralt called it. Jaskier had never seen one before, and insisted on coming along—it was a rare treat, after all these years, to get a chance to write about something entirely new.

"I'll stay out of the way," he promised, hurrying to keep up with Geralt as he headed into the woods. "I'll be ever so quiet, it won't even know I'm here. I just have to get a look at it, and anway, you said it wasn't anything too bad, nothing you can't handle—"

"Fine," Geralt growled, cutting him off, "fine, like I could stop you anyway. Just—stay out of the way."

"I will," Jaskier swore, and he meant it, in that moment. He found a solid tree to hide behind, woven thick with ivy and vines and leaves to peek through, and watched Geralt wait, silver sword shining in the moonlight, for the creature to appear.

It was always a thrill, watching Geralt hunt, and Jaskier found himself on edge listening to every faint sound the forest produced, every insect hiss and crackle of twigs and even the thick, present nature of the silence bearing down on him. Geralt, of course, heard the ekimmara's steps well before Jaskier did, and Jaskier watched him raise his head, his body keeping perfectly still, showing no other sign of alertness or wariness. And then Jaskier heard it—the scrape of claws against the carpet of dead leaves, a whsh-whsh sound that sent a shiver down his spine. When the thing finally emerged it was almost a relief, and he started taking frantic mental notes—hunched, on the short side, reddish black skin—long claws—shriveled face, all the details he'd need to write a good song.

He paid attention to the fight, too, the way Geralt dodged with even more agility than usual, never letting the thing land a blow on him. He moved, at times, too fast for Jaskier to see, and the shivering awareness of just how powerful Geralt was lit up his veins with desire (and the usual hint of fear). But there was no time to think about that, because the ekimmara, despite several silver blows, was closing in on Geralt, pushing him deeper into the woods, out of the small clearing he'd found. Before long Jaskier couldn't see them anymore, though he could still hear the thing's squalling cries and Geralt's heavy breaths.

Without thinking—of course without thinking, when did he ever think—Jaskier stepped out from behind his tree and moved to follow them. He made it almost all the way across the clearing, and he could see another good tree to hide in, one that would give him a decent vantage point on what he could now see only snatches of.

Then, of course, he tripped over a log and landed with a loud grunt as the air was knocked out of him. He stumbled quickly to his feet, but the damage was done; through the tangle of branches he saw the ekimmara turn its head and its black eyes lock onto him unmistakably.

"Fuck," Geralt snarled, "Jaskier," and Jaskier turned and ran, knowing it was useless. He made it all of five steps before the claws raked down his back, tearing through his clothing and deep into his flesh. He stumbled again, feeling his shirt fill with blood, and when the next slash of claws landed across his hip he fell, breathless with pain and terror.

Gods, he thought, let it be quick, and squeezed his eyes shut. A long, long second later he heard the sound of a sword plunging through flesh, and the horrid death-shriek of the ekimmara.

He tried to roll over and sit up, but his wounds were still pumping blood, and he felt impossibly weak. "Geralt," he rasped, and then there Geralt was, swearing at him viciously as his hands gently felt for Jaskier's wounds. Jaskier relaxed a little—Geralt could fix him, get him to a healer, everything would be fine—and then he looked down at his hand and felt his blood turn to ice.

He'd lost his glamour when he was wounded; the moonlight shone down on a hand quite covered in glistening green scales. Geralt tried to help him sit up and he went numbly, his body feeling heavy and stupid. The blood loss, no doubt; he tried as hard as he could to bring the glamour back up, but it didn't work. With his shaking hand, keenly aware of Geralt's eyes on him, he brought his fingers up to touch his face and felt scales there too, as he knew he would.

Jaskier didn't want to look at Geralt—didn't want to see the disgust in his eyes, the moment when he realized, when he finally pulled his sword (silver, of course, silver for monsters). But he was weak and dizzy and couldn't help himself. His eyes met Geralt's and he was shocked to see nothing but fear there as Geralt scooped him up into his arms, still muttering about what a fucking idiot he was, and carried him out of the woods.

"I'm sorry," Jaskier managed, though it took enormous effort to speak. He was vaguely aware that he hadn't stopped bleeding.

"Don't be sorry," Geralt snapped, "just stay put next time," and Jaskier didn't have the energy to say that that wasn't what he was sorry for before sleep, or something like it, took him.

—

He woke in a bed, his back and side burning terribly, and for a few sweet moments he didn't remember what had happened. Then Geralt's face hove into view above him and it came rushing back. Without much hope, Jaskier looked down at his own naked, bandaged body, and sure enough his scales were on full display. If he'd had a mirror to look in, he was sure he would have seen yellow, slitted eyes.

"Jaskier," Geralt said, and the relief in his voice was utterly incongruous. Could he not see what was in front of him? And why had he gone to the trouble of bandaging Jaskier, rubbing that stinging salve into his wounds, if he was just going to have to kill him later?

Because that was what witchers did, of course. They killed monsters. And Jaskier knew—had always known—that he was a monster.

But Geralt made no move for his sword. In fact, he sat down on the bed next to Jaskier and reached out a hand to touch his forehead. Jaskier's brow wrinkled in confusion.

"What are you doing?" he asked, lacking the courage to ask what he really meant—why aren't I dead yet?

"Checking for fever," Geralt said. "Ekimmara claws are nasty, and you could have an infection. But the wounds look all right, and your temperature is normal." He frowned uncertainly. "Well, I think it's normal. Do you run the same as a regular human?"

Jaskier opened his mouth, then closed it, utterly at a loss. He stared up at Geralt and couldn't think of a single thing to say as Geralt watched him, all brusque concern.

"A little cooler," he said finally. "Geralt, aren't you going to kill me?"

Geralt flinched. "I'm not going to kill you. What do you take me for?"

"A monster hunter," Jaskier said, he thought quite reasonably. "And I'm—I mean, look at me." He gestured at his body, shimmering with green scales all down his sides and most of his legs, his hands and forearms, his neck. He'd never known what he was, exactly, other than the latest incarnation of the family curse. His mother had hidden him away until he was old enough to learn his glamour, and he'd never forgotten it since—not even, anymore, when he was alone.

Of course, he'd never been clawed half to death by a lesser vampire, either, and apparently that kind of thing broke one's concentration somewhat. He could probably pull it back up now, but what would be the point? Geralt knew, and any moment, surely, he would get over whatever sentiment was holding him back and do what had to be done.

Only it didn't look like was getting over it. It looked like he was watching Jaskier with impossibly sad eyes, those golden eyes that had drawn Jaskier to him in the first place. Jaskier held his breath and waited.

"You're not a monster," Geralt said eventually. Jaskier stared at him disbelievingly.

"I have scales," he said. "And fangs—" He bared his teeth to show them. "I mean, they're retractable, but still. And I have to eat at least a pound of liver and pancreas a month or I get horribly sick. I'm not human."

Geralt shrugged. "Plenty of people aren't human," he said, as if it were that simple.

"And you're not—" Jaskier stopped, embarrassed, because he had been about to ask, And you're not disgusted by me? As though that mattered, what Geralt thought of his weird half-snake body. As though Geralt thought of his body at all, when it wasn't wounded.

"You don't think it's hideous?" he asked finally, unable to hold it back.

Geralt let out a low chuckle. "It looks wonderful," he said. "Like a snakeskin bag, but shimmering and alive."

Slowly, not quite believing it, Jaskier exhaled. "As long as you don't plan to make me into leather," he said, and managed a smile.

"How about next time, you stay put like I tell you to," Geralt said, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, "and we'll forgo the snakeskin bags. Though I'm sure I could fetch a pretty price for them."

"That," Jaskier informed him haughtily, "is offensive, I'll have you know." He felt dizzy again, but this time with relief. And there was a dull pain missing in the back of his head—the exhaustion, he realized, from keeping the glamour up full time all those years. Gods, it felt amazing to let it go.

He'd have to keep it up around other people, of course. He had no illusions about how well-received his true form would be by people who found golden eyes and white hair on an otherwise handsome human man unforgivable mutations. But just knowing he'd be able to let it down around Geralt was such a blissful thought he couldn't hold back a thoroughly stupid smile.

Geralt matched it with his own, smaller and more dignified, and for the first time that he could remember, Jaskier felt safe.

#the witcher #prompt fills #my fic #sorry they don't smooch in this one #but trust me #later there is so much smooching #snake smooching #snooching #answrs

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