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lilith-of-rivia · 3 years

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The Bard’s Sister Geralt XFeamle!Reader Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Masterlist

Summary: Its finally your birthday. You not only get a lovely gift from mum and dad but also from your brother and his companion who has taken a very big likening to you.

Trigger Warnings: Drinking, some cursing

Pairing: Geralt XFemale!Reader Jaskier XSister!Reader

Word Count: 8,979 (I know its a long one XD I fit a lot into one part)

If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!! So sorry this took so long. it was a lot of writing and I knew I wanted to get the party done in one part. the next part will be the beginning of the travels!! Would you guys rather have SMUT in the next part or wait till the part after that? let me know!!! All my love!! -Lilith

Sleep eluded me. After eating the meat pie from the kitchen and a nice hot bath I thought sleep would’ve come much quicker. I was tired, physically and emotionally. I could feel it in my bones but every time I closed my eyes I remembered that my brother would be leaving again in a few days. I had three more days with him but it didn’t feel like enough. Not after all the time we lost. I wanted to ask him to stay with me, but I knew it would be selfish of me.

Jaskier’s departure also meant Geralt would be leaving too. It was probably for the best… the feeling I have for the witcher shouldn’t exist. They shouldn’t exist, because I was not delusional. I knew the Witcher’s were re-programmed into believing they were not capable of love, that they were loveless monsters, not only incapable of giving love but incapable of receiving love. I didn’t believe any of those tales. I had studied the trails Witcher’s must go through to become what they are.

It is disturbing. They break young men’s wills. Make them believe the world will never offer them love, all to fuel their agenda. Witcher's never go through anything that makes them incapable of love. It’s very evident in my brother’s relationship with the witcher. Had Geralt not been capable of feeling “human” emotions, he would’ve left Jaskier to die when he was attacked by the Djinn. It was a perfect way for him to get rid of my brother, it wasn’t technically his fault or his doing. My brother could’ve died and he could’ve washed his hands clean of him.

The way he kissed my hand the first day we met, was like he was attempting to give his best first impression. He tried his best to show respect, maybe so my mother and father would like him more. He showed me kindness, tenderness. Any time he touched me was feather-soft. Maybe he was worried he’d hurt me or scare me away...

The way he kissed Hildi’s hand. The way he smiled at my brother’s stupid jokes. There was so much more to him than anyone realized.

I stood from my bed walking over to my desk. I sat down and lit the lantern with the candle from my bed. The fire in the corner of my room didn’t provide nearly enough light to reach me. I grabbed my journal and some charcoal. I moved over to the large windows and sat down. The glass was cold under my touch, the moon was nearly full. It lit up the garden below me. It was the most perfect view of the gardens my mother spent so much time tending. The light blue hue cascaded along the hedges. The flowers dimly lit. I scribbled down the date in my journal before I began sketching the view in front of me for what seemed like the 500th time. I always found something new. Tonight was a quick sketch, just of the basics. I was hoping it would make me sleep but nothing seemed to work.

My body was smothered in quilts, my arm draped lazily over my head as I tried my best to sleep. The thin nightgown I wore was perfect for warm summer nights. It kept me cool and didn't stick to my body when I sweat.

The night was still, everything in the walls of the castle was silent. I cul hear the crickets and the frogs below me, but nothing else.

Squeak squeak

My eyes snapped open, my heart beating rather quick at the sudden sound from the room behind my head. It took me a minute to remember that Geralt was sleeping next door. I had heard him go to bed hours ago and it had been completely silent since. But now I could hear him moving over and over in his bed.

“Geralt…” My voice was barely above a whisper. No one could hear me, no one but a witcher's ears. If he was awake I knew he could hear me.

“...if...if you’re awake, tap the wall twice.” I held my breath waiting for a moment. My cheeks turning red in embarrassment.

Tap Tap

I smiled at the small sound signaling to me he was awake.

“I can not sleep...care to take a walk?... Tap twice for yes.” I wondered if he could hear the smile through my voice.

Tap Tap

I smiled wider, getting up from my bed. I grabbed a candle from my nightstand after throwing on my silk robe. It wasn’t the warmest fabric in the world but the summer air wasn’t too cold.

I quietly tiptoed to the door, opening it slowly to not let it creak. There on the other side was Geralt. His hair was no longer pulled back in a tie out of his face, no it was messily about his head, some small knots in the thicker areas. Small strands stuck up everywhere. His eyes were hooded a little in sleep. He had a small smile on his lips, his hands tucked into his underarms as he waited for me. He reached out, taking the candle from me before offering me his free arm.

“Princess…” he greeted with a small cheesy bow of his head. I giggled, softly shaking my head. My hand gripped around his bicep, squeezing it softly. It was as hard as a rock, my hand barely made it halfway around it.

“Hello, Geralt,” I whispered and he smiled. We began walking down the corridor, the hall dimly lit by the moonlight and the few candles lit.

“No sleep?” He asked.

“No...my mind won't stop wondering…” we walked down the stairs, slowly as to not let the guards know anyone was awake.

“Care to tell me why, dove?” He whispered. His arm moved slightly, making me let go almost immediately. Before my hand reached my side his fingers laced in between my own, squeezing it. I could feel the warmth in my cheeks, the small act making my heart melt.

“Walk through the garden with me?” I whispered leaning in a little closer to him. He made me feel safe. Not that I didn't feel safe in my home, I knew how safe I was compared to many others but he just made me feel a type of safe I'd never felt.

“Of course, lead the way.” we continued down the hall, walking towards the gardens.

As we veered a corner Geralt's arm quickly wrapped around my waist as he silently, and quickly tucked us behind a suit of armor in the corner. His arm squeezed around my waist. I could feel his breath in my ear. It sent shivers down my spine making me twitch slightly. He chuckled lowly, his thumb stroking my stomach.

“Do I scare you?” his whisper was low, very close to my ear.

“Never,” I said with no hesitation. My head turned towards him, his eyes shining in the dark. He gently put his finger to my lips.

“Shhh.” I nodded my head, our eye contact not breaking. His fingers softly traced my jawline, moving till he was cupping my cheek. He broke eye contact for a second as his eyes flicked to the hall we just exited. Not a second after he looked me in the eyes again I could hear footsteps. They were walking down the hall towards us. Geralt took a breath in. After a minute the person was gone. Geralt’s hand was still on my cheek and the other hand wrapped around my waist.

“You are so beautiful.” My throat went dry. My hands started to get clammy.

Everything in my body urged me to just grab his face and kiss him, but that small voice kept me back. My fear overtaking the decision. I gently grabbed his hand that was on my face, leaning into him. I kissed his wrist softly. His skin was so warm, warmer than the average man for sure. I wanted to hold him. Feel his skin on mine.

“So are you,” I whispered. His eyes practically rolled out of his head as he smirked like I just made some lude joke. He grabbed my hand and led me to the hallway and out the door to the garden. The moon was bright.

Geralt started to walk in front of me, pulling me deeper into the garden. Soon we were surrounded by my mother’s Roses and lavender bushes. The smell was intoxicating. It was the center of the garden. Geralt grabbed my waist again. Pulling me closer to him. I was shivering slightly. The air was cold from the late-night rain we had. Colder than I thought it would be. My hands Gently went to his chest, softly pulling and toying with the strings on his tunic.

“You are beautiful Geralt. I wouldn't joke about that.” My voice was no longer a whisper, it was still low but he could hear me better.

“I have been called many things in my day dove, but never beautiful.” His arms were tighter around me, his shoulders were tense. He was more alert outside than he was inside, I understood. His training not wanting him to think anywhere is safe.

“If you want, I’ll make sure to call you that more often.” He chuckled softly at my words. I couldn't help but feel angry, not at him but at the world. The way they treated him, his kind for things they all don’t deserve. My hands went to each side of his face, as I gently made him look at me.

“Geralt you are so much more than this world will ever give you credit for...I can never say I understand what it feels like to live in your skin, but I can tell you that you do not deserve that cruelty that is thrown your way. I know not all witchers are like you, I know many of them live up to the expectations my kind has put on you. But you do not. You are far from a monster Geralt of Rivia. You-'' one hand rested on his chest above his slow beating heart “-you have a heart of gold. And I’m so sorry you've never been treated with the love and care you deserve and need.” his hand was now covering my own over his heart. His other arm is still tight around my waist. My face and his had drafted closer as I spoke, he leaned forward, pressing our foreheads together.

“Fuck…. (Y/N)...I’m not good with words. But - I, uh thank you…” his voice was so deep it made it hard to focus. His cheeks were light pink. His eyes flashing from my lips to my eyes. I couldn't help but giggle at how frazzled he got over words he deserved to be told. My heart yearned for his touch. Everything he touched was like a small fire deep inside me. I had courted many men in my life. Many I thought would be my endgame, but none ever made me feel the way he did. His lip inched closer to my own, slowly before they were centimeters apart. He wouldn't kiss me without permission.

“You may kiss me Ger-” his lips were on mine before I could finish my sentence.

My arms wrapped around his neck, his own wrapping tighter around me nearly lifting me off my feet.

Our lips moved together slowly, softly. I could feel every inch of his body pressed to my own. All my thoughts were him only. His intoxicating scent was filling my nose as I breathed slowly. He smelt of sandalwood, maybe a little bit of mint. Nothing I'd ever smelled before. The way his hands held my back, softly running up and down the silk of my robe. Everything he touched felt like a new fire was spreading. His lips were sweet, of honey. They were surprisingly soft. They made me feel like molten hot lava. My hand gently combed through his hair. His teeth softly nipped my bottom lip before his tongue infiltrated my mouth. Our tongues danced together, our hands wondering, touching, feeling every inch. The world around me didn't feel real. My body was in the garden but my head was in the clouds.

He pulled away from me, barely. The loss of contact made me whine softly. I felt colder without his lips on mine. His hot breath fanned my face as he breathed in and out. I opened my eyes, looking into his. His hands left my back moving to my face, his forehead back on mine.

“You are intoxicating, princess.” His words were velvet. They made my insides turn in the most delicious way. My body yearned for him. His fingers delicately traced the frame of my face.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” I leaned into his hand. The warmth of his palm being a decent replacement for his lips.

“Jaskier will leave soon...Three days from now.” his hand left my cheek, wrapping around my body, gently turning me so my back was to his chest. His arms circled my waist as he held me into him. His chin rested on my shoulder as he listened.

“When Jaskier leaves, you'll leave too...and I'll be alone again.” The thought of them leaving made my stomach ache. I had been alone most of my life. Yes I had my parents and they were great, but they were not my brother.

“All of my friends I grew up with are mothers now. They have lives of their own. My mother and father cannot be my friends, they are my parents. It's nothing the same. I never realized how much I missed Jaskier till he came back.” My throat tightened as I spoke, the feeling of my tears burning my eyes becoming more overwhelming. My hands went to his around my waist as I held them closer to me if it was possible.

“I don't want to be alone again…” The tears slipped freely down my face, my head dropping.

“I sometimes wish he never left. I know that is selfish of me, but I miss him so much. Sometimes it takes months for me to get the letters he sends me. I never know if he is alive or not.” My crying became a little more intense as I spoke. My voice wavering. I Let go of his hands, covering my face with my hands as I rubbed away the tears vigorously. I hated crying in front of people, it showed weakness, made me vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to put you in this awkward situation,” I whispered. One of his arms left my waist, only to wrap around my shoulders, pulling me tighter into his chest.

“Do not apologize princess…” His lips met my temple in a soft kiss. His lips lingered there for a minute.

“Who have you been training with?” He asked. I couldn't tell if he was trying to change the subject because he wanted me to stop crying or if he didn't know how to deal with me crying.

“You may know him, I'm not sure. He never spoke of anyone from his past. He’s a retired witcher. He stumbled into our kingdom when I was 15. My mother and father were scared of a looming war between my country and Lyria. One of my uncles had knocked up the king's younger daughter. A large threat was over my head for a couple of years. So they asked him when he came into our country if he would train me. So I could take care of myself if I was to leave under a new identity. For the last ten years he came for a couple of months, we started with book training rather dull if I do say-” I chuckled at the memory of how many times I fell asleep reading the dull books he would bring with him. “We gradually moved into combat training. I know he didn't train me nearly as hard as he had trained the witchers in his court. But there were days I felt like my limbs would fall off, but last year he told my parents that he was confident that I would not only be able to live on my own in the world, but he was confident I would thrive. His name is Vesemir. He’s due to show up for our training any day now.” Geralt’s eyes were looking at me when I turned to see him. He was smirking softly.

“What?”

“Vesemir was my instructor at Kaer Morhen. I’m the witcher I am today because of his training.” My eyes must have bulged out of my head. He laughed at me making my cheeks flush red.

“You are telling me, I’ve been trained by the same man who trained you? And he never bothered to tell me? What a jerk.” I turned my body around in Geralt’s arms, my head now laying on his chest, my arms around his waist resting on his back. He was much, much, taller than me.

“Vesemir has always respected my privacy, don't harp on the old man too much.” His heartbeat was distracting me. It was much slower than mine. It was like a lullaby. My hand covered my mouth as I yawned, his head tilting down as he looked at me.

“Common, you have to sleep. You've got a big day tomorrow.” He was talking about my party. His hands gently pulled me back from him, his fingers laced with mine as he led me back through the garden into the castle and down to my room.

We stood outside the door, his hands mindlessly fidgeting with my robe.

“Stay with me tonight?” My hands pressed softly to his chest.

“I don't know princess...I don't want your parents to get the wrong idea of me.” I nodded my head, understanding and respecting his wishes.

“Will you be my date to my party tomorrow?” I asked timidly, my eyes focused on his silver pendant.

“I would be honored, Princess (Y/N).” His fingers hooked under my chin tilting my head up so my eyes met his own.

“Jaskier has your clothes, the party starts at noon.” He nodded his head.

“I'll be here waiting for you, little dove.” his lips pressed to mine. It was the softest sweetest kiss I had ever shared. It wasn't long, only a few seconds. His hand reached behind me as he opened my bedroom door for me. I leaned up, kissing his cheek softly.

“Good night Geralt.” I backed up till I was through the threshold of the door, my eyes not leaving him. My hand went to the door.

“Goodnight (Y/N).” I smiled and closed the door softly. My forehead gently leaning on it. My heart raced faster than it ever had. I wanted him back with me and he hadn't even been behind the door for a minute.

I moved to my bed, hanging my robe on the wooden bedpost before climbing under the warm comforters. They were not nearly as warm as he was but they would do.

Tap Tap

A smile stretched across my face. My knuckles softly tapping against the wall in goodnight. As I drifted into sleep finally, Geralt was only on my mind.

“Princess (Y/N)...” The sound of someone's voice broke my sleep. My eyes fluttered open, the sun burning them as it shone brightly through my window.

“Princess…” There was a small knock on the door. I couldn't tell who was at the door. I sat up in bed, the quilt bunched at my hips. I rubbed my eyes messily, moving my hair from my face.

“Yes yes, please come in,” I called my voice hoarse from the lack of water throughout the night. The door opened and Fesca and Neshe entered. They were women who worked in our court. My father and mother never believed in having unpaid servants.

No one in my family did. Before my great-great-grandfather founded and rebuilt our kingdom my family lived in incredible poverty. Many of my late family died of famines and illnesses due to not having money or food. When my father took the throne he made sure to keep the rule alive. We had many workers in the castle. But they were all paid and had housing courtesy of my father and mother.

Behind the two women, their daughters followed. They were much younger than me, barely 18.

“How did you sleep, my dear?” Neshe asked a sweet smile on her lips as she moved to the curtains, drawing them closed. My feet met the hard cold floor as I stood and stretched my muscles.

“Very well thank you,” I said with a smile. The four women walked around my room, Neshe was getting my dress ready, while Fesca and her daughter were preparing items for a bath.

“Here you go, miss.” Ari, Fesca’s daughter said with a smile as she put down a tray of food at my vanity.

“What time is it?” I asked as I moved to the vanity, examining the plate full of fruits and a muffin.

“Nearly ten, miss,” Ari said as she made my bed.

“You don't have to do that,” I said looking back at her, smiling.

“I know.” She said back with a smile.

“Your mother instructed us to tell you that you are not allowed to leave your room until the party this afternoon,” Neshe said as she started to boil water over the fire for the bath.

“Knock knock!” My head turned to the door, it was Jaskier’s voice.

“Come in,” I called and the door burst open. Jaskier was standing in the doorway with a huge grin across his face. He was carrying a large bundle of flowers. All types from roses to tulips.

He walked over to me, setting the flowers on my bed before hugging me tightly. My arms wrapped around his waist, my head resting on his lower chest.

“Happy birthday baby sister,” he whispered into my ear. I smiled and squeezed him tighter.

“Thank you, Jaskier. Thank you for being here.” He stepped back from me, looking back to the door.

“Geralt common!” He called, my cheeks heated a little as he entered. He was wearing what he was last night. Part of me felt like it was all a dream, everything from his hand on mine to his kiss. Our eyes met and he smiled at me, winking softly. He too was carrying a large bundle of flowers.

“Oh gods Jaskier you didn’t have to get so many,” I said with a laugh as Geralt placed them on my bed next to the ones from Jaskier.

“Oh but I do, little sister. There are enough flowers in each bouquet for every birthday I’ve missed.” I smiled up at him, my heart swelling.

“Thank you, Jax”

“Eat.” Neshe nudged me as she began pulling hairpins and brooches out of my vanity. I grabbed the muffin and took a bite, Jaskier pulling my desk chair over so he was sitting in front of me. Geralt sitting on my bed. Neshe started detangling my bed head, separating and pinning sections back as she started on the intricate style she had thought of for the day.

“You washed your hair recently, correct?” She asked as she handed me a glass of orange juice.

“Yes ma’am,” I said with a smile before drinking the juice and setting the empty glass down.

“You are such a compliant princess.” Jaskier snickered.

“Much more than you were as a young child Jaskier. You gave me hell every single day.” Neshe said behind me.

“I respect them, Jaskier. They look out for me.” I said with a roll of my eyes finishing the muffin and grabbing the bowl of fruit and the fork. Jaskier reached overtaking a strawberry and plopping it into his mouth.

“Rude,” I mumbled under my breath as I ate the fruit. Neshe continued working on my hair as I finished eating, the other three women walking around my room, tightening up and getting the bathroom ready, the tub is filled with boiling water. Many different oils and flowers added, the room soon smelling fresh and fragrant.

“Knock knock.” My eyes flew to the door that had opened slightly.

There stood a man, not as tall as Geralt but very close. His hair was a white silver, but much shorter, straight too. It was pinned further back. His face was much older than Geralt’s, not only with wrinkles but scars. His build was large, he was a very intimidating man. But what Witcher isn’t.

“Vesemir!” I quickly moved from Nashe’s hands, walking over to where he was standing a bright grin on his face. He quickly engulfed me in a hug.

“How are you kid?” He asked, pulling back from me, eyes searching my face.

“I’m wonderful, I’m so happy you're back,” I said smiling brightly. I looked at him but his eyes were over on the other witcher in the room, who was now standing.

“Well well, look what the cat dragged in,” Vesemir said with a deep laugh. He gently let go of my shoulders walking over to Geralt who was smiling back.

“Could say the same for you old man.” They shook hands, before hugging each other very quickly. My brother stood up and looked from me to Vesemir.

“Jaskier! So good to see you again.” Vesemir said.

“How do you know my baby sister?” Jaskier said, looking confused.

“He’s the one I’ve been training with, Jaskier. Father and mother love him.” Jaskier let out a frustrated breath pacing slightly.

“So you mean to tell me you've been seeing my baby sister for years and never once thought it was important information to share with me??” Jaskier’s voice was getting louder and shrill.

I walked over to him gently putting my hand on his arm.

“Jaskier he was doing it to protect me and you. He wasn't allowed to tell anyone outside of these walls what we did when he came here. Father and mother made those rules. Don’t be mad at him for following the rules. Just as he did with you and Geralt. I had no idea-” Nashe’s hands were on my shoulders leading me back over so I was seated, her fingers working gracefully in my hair. “I had no idea he had trained Geralt until last night. He never told me because he respected Geralt and his privacy.” Jaskier sighed, nodding his head. His calm demeanor only lasted a minute before he looked at me and his eyebrows furrowed together.

“Wait, last night? When last night? When were you alone with him??” Jaskier turned his attention to Geralt, his hands on his hips like a tutting mother. I bit my lip gently looking away from him. Fesca came over clapping her hands together with a smile on her face.

“Okay gentleman, I'm going to ask you all to leave. We need to get her ready for the party. You can continue this reunion later.” Jaskier huffed frustrated before walking out of the room, leaving Geralt and Vesemir. They both looked at each other then at me, Vesemir smirking at me.

“Here you go, the first part of ya gift.” He handed me a book.

‘A Mage’s Guide to Healing’

“What is this? I'm no mage.” Vesemir smirked.

“You do not know everything Miss (Y/N). You may find it useful. ” With that, he turned and walked out of the room.

Geralt turned to me and smiled. He knelt in front of me so his eyes were level with mine, his hands grabbing mine. He gently kissed my knuckles. My stomach erupted in butterflies.

“You might need to talk to Jaskier before I do,” I said. He chuckled softly, our eyes meeting.

“What shall I tell him?” His thumbs stroked the back of my hands.

I shook my head forgetting Fesca was still working on my hair causing her to grunt in frustration, her hands holding the sides of my head so I sat still.

“My dear, if you want me to finish this so you can enjoy the company of the Wolf this evening, you need to sit still.” I smiled bashfully, glancing down at my hands with my eyes.

“Sorry, Fes…” I mumbled.

“I'm not sure what to tell him. Maybe you should decide.” Geralt nodded in agreement. He stood up slightly, leaning over and kissing my forehead softly. I could hear the women behind me ooing quietly.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours, dove.” I smiled up at him, squeezing his hands gently.

“Okay, Geralt. Maybe tell him outside.” He laughed softly walking to the door, his hand on the doorknob.

“Okay, dove.”

Once the door was shut Neshe appeared in front of me, she had a smirk on her face.

“You and the witcher my dear?” She sat in the chair Jaskier was in. Ari and Yennaa were behind me helping Fesca with my hair.

“There isn't anything other than what you saw. He cares for me, but we all know he can't care for me in the way I wish he could.” I said looking over the book in my lap.

“I don't know (Y/N)… the way he looked at you is how my pa looks at mum,” Yennaa commented. Her mother and father had been together longer than my mum and dad. The connection between how Geralt looked at me to how her father looked at her mum made my heart sore.

“I...I hope so...He makes me feel things no other man has.”

Fresca gently squeezed my shoulders, sliding a silk bonnet over my hair, tying it behind my head.

“Alright dear get in the bath, wash yourself up and we'll be back to help with your dress and makeup.” I nodded and thanked them as they left the room. I undressed quickly, before sinking into the hot bubbly water.

____________________________________________________________________________

“You look beautiful my dear. You wait here to get your mother and father.” I smiled brightly at Neshe and the other women.

“Thank you. And thank you so much for your help. "They smiled and left me alone in front of the mirror

The dress was so beautiful.

Hildi had completely outdone herself this year. The dress was dazzling baby pink, with hundreds of stars stitched into a beautiful mesh fabric. It had sleeves but they did not come up my arms. Instead, the sleeves came right above my elbows. My décolleté and shoulders bare, showing off my breasts a bit more than I normally did but I had never felt more beautiful. Fesca had outdone herself on my hair, every pin was perfectly placed, every curl held beautifully. My crown was dazzling in the noon sun, sending rainbows around my room as it sat gracefully on my head. My attention was turned to the small knock on the door. In stepped my mum and dad. My mum's hand went over her mouth with a small gasp.

“Oh my goodness. My baby girl is a grown woman. You look absolutely beautiful my love.” She came to me, hugging me into her tightly. My arms wrapped around her shoulders tightly. Her fingers stroked my back softly. I inhaled her scent, snuggling my face into her maroon dress. Her hugs were like none I'd ever had. They were everything I needed some nights...

“I love you, mum…” She pulled me back from her and looked me in the eye, her fingers stroking my face.

“I love you more than you will ever know. Now, your father has a gift for you.” My eyes went to him. He was dressed in a solid green velvet suit, a white button-down under his fest. He looked dashing. I smiled at him as he walked over to us, a small box in his hand.

“This is something I had made for you when you were born. We both wanted to wait till you were older to give it to you. I think now is a perfect time.” He handed me the box with a smile. I gently took the box and opened it.

“Dad….” It took my breath away. A beautiful ring was in the center of the box, gleaming in the sun.

There was an opal stone in the center, two little gold moons on each side of the opal, that symbolize a full moon. There were six diamonds embedded into the ring. Three on the top, three on the bottom. Everything had been placed on a gold band. I looked at my father, his eyes were welling with tears.

“You've always been my little girl, and no matter where you go or where I go, I never want you to forget how much I love you.” My arms wrapped tightly around him as I practically threw myself on him, tears slipping down my face. I felt my mother’s hand on my back as she hugged us.

“Jaskier you can come in now.” My mother called out. I could hear the door open, then soon my brother's arms were wrapped around my mother and me. All four of us were back together again.

“Happy birthday Little Pea.” My dad whispered with a small chuckle. Jaskier laughed in my ear, making me laugh softly. The nickname my brother called me for many years had been forgotten after he left. No one else is using it.

“I love you all.” My dad pulled me from his chest, whipping my face before grabbing the ring and putting it on my right ring finger.

“Okay we’ll leave you with your brother to go great with your guests. Don't be too long.” My mother said, booping my nose. I laughed softly nodding.

The two of them left the room, leaving just Jaskier and me. He turned to me, looking me up and down before bringing me into another bone-crushing hug.

“I'm so happy you're home Jax…” I whispered into his black velvet tunic. He too looked quite dashing. His shirt was tucked into some dark blue trousers a black leather belt holding them up, and some very nicely polished black boots up his legs. His hair was curly and his smile was bright.

“I missed you so much, Little Pea.” He pulled back and rubbed the back of his neck.

“So Geralt spoke to me earlier today.” I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks and ears.

“About…?”

“He told me about the kiss last night, told me he didn't want to hurt you. I told him he had to talk to mum and dad, not me.” I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Jaskier, it's not that serious. Why would you tell him that it's not-”

“He already did it love. They gave their blessing.”

“I...they did? For what?”

“To court you of course!” He said with a laugh.

“But you'll both leave soon-”

“Don't overthink it, common he's waiting outside.” He walked to the door opening it. Sure enough, there was Geralt. He was breathtakingly beautiful. He was dressed head to toe in black velvet, his hair clean and combed, pinned back, his face freshly shaved, a small rose pinned into his shirt. The first three buttons of the shirt were undone, revealing his deliciously hairy chest and his silver pendant.

Breath.

I took a deep breath, my eyes looking him up and down taking him in. It wasn't until we met eyes I realized he was doing the same to me.

“You look beautiful.” He breathed out, walking towards me. I reached my hands out to him, he gently took them pulling me into him, his left arm looping around my waist. Our faces inches apart.

“You look so handsome Geralt. You clean up quite well. Black velvet is your style.” I said with a smile, my hand on his shoulder, the other still in his hand. He leaned down and softly kissed me. It was short and sweet. Yet it filled my body with warmth and butterflies. I was sure he felt the temperature of my skin change.

“Common people are waiting for you, princess.” He whispered as he pulled away, my hand wrapping around his bicep. I looked at him as we walk down the hall towards the grand hall.

“You are a breathtaking creature (Y/N). I do not think I have seen anyone so beautiful in my 87 years.” My heart raced in my chest as he spoke, my hand gripping his arm a little tighter.

“No one told me I was falling for an old man.” I joked as we approached the door to the great hall. One of my father’s soldiers was waiting for us.

“Princess.” He said with a soft bow of his head. I smiled softly at him, curtsying to him softly.

“Derlor, it’s good to see you again.” I let go of Geralt’s arm, stepping towards Derlor hugging him gently. He was my father’s right-hand man, everything my father needed he went to Derlor. He had been working in my father’s court for nearly 30 years.

“This will be the first birthday that I don’t get to escort you. I’m not sure what to do with myself.” I smiled and shook my head.

“Relax, enjoy yourself. Maybe ask Hildi for a dance. You know she has a soft spot for you.” I said stepping back to Geralt’s side, my hand on his arm again. Derlor looked at the witcher next to me, eyed him up and down before stepping in front of him.

“I know her parents like you, and I trust their judgment but understand one thing Witcher; if you hurt her in any way I will kill you. You may be a feared monster slayer but you do not scare me.” I rolled my eyes softly, everyone was going to threaten the witcher on my behalf. Flattering but annoying nonetheless.

“If I hurt her. I will gladly lay down my blade and let you do your worst, sir.” Derlor smiled.

“Good. Now time for your entrance princess.” He walked to the door pushing it open. I could hear the people quiet down. Geralt leaned down and kissed my cheek quickly, leaving the spot hot in his wake. Derlor stood at the end of the red rug in the center of the room. He cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the lady of the hour, Princess (Y/N)!” Geralt and I started walking down the center of the carpet. On either side were people from all over our kingdom. Many nobles I had known for years. I smiled at the familiar faces, as we continued walking to where my mother, father, and Jaskier.

“As many of you know, we have been preparing our daughter to take over for us one day-“ My father said, stepping forward, taking my hand from Geralt and smiling at me.

“But seeing as myself and my wife are in great health and nowhere near the end of our reign. And as you can all see our son has returned from his many great travels.” Vesimer walked forwards, a smile on his face and a pack in his hands.

“Your mother and I both think you are ready my dear,” Father said looking me in the eyes.

“Ready for what dad…?” I whispered, my voice wavering slightly, my stomach flipping and swelling. His eyes drifted behind me, looking at who I guessed was Geralt.

“You will be leaving the kingdom for a while.” My mouth ran dry, my eyes going to Jaskier who was beaming.

“We know that you will be in good hands, not that you need it. You will be leaving with Jaskier and Geralt and traveling the Continent to your heart’s content.” My hands squeezed into his harder as he spoke, my eyes burning with tears, my eyes bouncing between him, Jaskier, and my mother who was also near tears.

“You need to see the world, see what you can help improve on when you take over. Meet people, taste danger a little.” My arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him tightly, my eyes closed the tears of joy slipping down my face.

“Thank you, dad…” I whispered and he chucked. He pulled me back and Jaskier came and stood in front of me.

“I've missed so much of your life, and I regret it so much. You have turned into such a wonderful young woman and it would be an honor if you joined us in our travels.” I could feel Geralt’s hand on my back as he stood next to me as I looked at Jaskier. My eyes gleaned at him, searching his facial features for any hesitation in the offer.

“You’re both serious?” I asked.

“Vesemir is very admin that you would be beneficial to me, in more ways then.” Geralt said with a small wink.

“So what do you say, do you want to come with us?” Jaskier asked, his hands holding mine.

“What a stupid question Jaskier! Of course, I want to!” The smile on my face nearly hurt, I had never been so happy in my life. I didn't have to say goodbye to Jaskier or Geralt, not for a while anyway. Jaskier grabbed me, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug which I gladly returned.

“Everyone please, enjoy yourself! Food will be brought out soon!! Ale. wine and mead are already out! We thank you all so much for coming to celebrate our daughter’s birthday!” My father said to the room full of people who all clapped and cheered.

I turned away from Jaskier to Geralt who was still standing next to me. I put my hands on his chest gently leaning into him, his hands going to my waist.

“Are you sure you're okay with me coming along? I would hate to be a burden on you.” Geralt shook his head, smiling softly, his fingers stroking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“From what Vesemir told me today, you will only be an asset to me and my travels. Unlike your brother who just annoys me.” I laughed softly, rolling my eyes.

“You love him,” I said with a smile. He huffed, taking my hand in his leading me to our spot at the table.

“If you didn’t you would have never followed him for weeks to an unknown country to meet a sister you had no idea existed. Face it witcher, my brother has weaseled his way into that heart of yours.” He was filling his plate with food and a smile on the corner of his lips as he listened to me.

He handed me the plate of food I thought he was preparing for himself.

“Thank you, love,” I said as I took the plate from him, watching as he got some for himself. The people around us talking, laughing, and beginning the party that would surely last into the night. He leaned over, kissing my cheek softly then he started to eat.

The party had been going for hours. Everyone was a bit drunk including me. The wine in my cup had been the fourth do far, and I'm a lightweight. My body was warm, the sweet taste of the cherry wine lingering on my lips as I listened to my brother sing and play his lute. As the song ended I put the cup down, nearly knocking it over in the process, clapping for Jaskier.

“Jaskier come here!” I yelled with a slight giggle. He came over to me, his face red as he breathed hard, he too was drunk.

“Any song requests my lady?” He said with a cheesy bow of his head making me laugh maybe a little too loud.

“Sing me the song you first wrote for Geralt?” His face lit up as he looked behind me to Geralt who was sitting at the table next to Vesemir.

“He hates that song (Y/N),” Jaskier said making me laugh more.

“Oh but he’s never had it sang to him here! Jaskier we love him here. Common the people will sing, children will dance. Maybe hell get some coins tossed at him!” Jaskier laughed with me.

“Okay okay fine, only for you.” Jaskier walked over to the stage with the other bards whispering something to them before yelling over the crowd of people.

“This song is for my baby sister. I haven’t sung this one in a couple of years, but I think you lot will like it more than anyone I’ve ever sung for!!!” The crowd clapped for him as they all looked at him. I glanced behind me looking at Geralt who knew what song was coming. Our eyes met. I giggles and winked at him.

“When a humble bard

Graced a ride-along

With Geralt of Rivia

Along came this song”

The crowd erupted into cheers, the smiles on their faces only growing, including my own. Many children ran into the middle of the room staring up at Jaskier as he sang, eyes gleaming.

“From when the White Wolf fought

A silver-tongued devil

His army of elves

At his hooves did they revel

They came after me

With masterful deceit

Brokedown my lute

And they kicked in my teeth”

People started singing along to the second verse. The room is filled with slurred, off-tune singing of my people. The warmth spread through my chest as I saw Jaskier’s face light up in a way I had never seen before. His attention went to Geralt momentarily looking at him with the same disbelief. I looked at Geralt to see he held the same expression. His smile was genuine, eyes wide as he listened to the people listen to the song about him. I left my spot from the middle of the room, quickly walking as to not trip in my drunken state. I got to the table in front of Geralt, my smile wide as I extended my hand.

“Care to dance with me witcher?” He cocked a curious eyebrow at me, probably due to my drunken state.

“I'm not much of a dancer, Dove.” He said, making me shake my head walking around the table, and grabbing his arm.

“Neither am I, that's what makes it fun.” He grunted standing, reluctantly following me into the crowd of people who cheered louder for him.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher

O' Valley of Plenty

O' Valley of Plenty, oh

Toss a coin to Your Witcher

O' Valley of Plenty”

Jaskier and the other bards stopped playing and singing, the crowd in front of him continuing the verse. Myself included. The sound of everyone singing my brother's famed song made my heart sore, everything was perfect. Even Geralt was smiling as he let me dance and spin with his hands, once taking his eyes off my body.

“You Witcher are a hero here!” I yellow over the music and crowd. He pulled me into him, his lips capturing my own in a very wet, sloppy kiss, impart due to my drunken state. The alcohol coring in my veins made me want to tear his clothes off then and there and let him have his way with me. But I wasn't drunk enough to let it happen. My arms wrapped around his neck as I kissed him back, the music and people drowning out of my ears as I tasted his lips. Everything about him was so intoxicating.

After a while he pulled back, my lips wet with his salvia, my chest heaving up and down, and my mind racing. I felt dizzy from the kiss.

“Common let’s get you some fresh air, dove.” He whispered, his arm wrapping around my waist as he led me out of the grant hall and onto a balcony. With one look from Geralt, the two love birds who were already out there left without a word. The cool night air hit my face and made me feel less dizzy. I walked over to the stone wall on the balcony, my hands resting on it, cooling me off more. Geralt's arms wrapped around my waist from behind holding me tightly and close to him.

“You are a rather drunk princess.” I giggled and nodded.

“I don't drink very often witcher, it goes straight to my head.” a large yawn interrupted my train of thought. Geralt chuckled and kissed my head.

“Would you like me to take you to bed?” My eyes felt rather heavy, the winemaking me more sleepy as time progressed.

“I'm such a dud, it's not even midnight,” I whined, smacking my hands on the stone softly. Geralt chuckled and ran his hands up and down my arms and shoulders.

“Common, you don't have to push yourself if you're tired.” Geralt started pulling me back to the door leading into the hallway.

“Fine. only because you're so nice to me.” I grumbled as he led me down the hall and into my room. He shut the door behind us as I walked over to the vanity, plopping myself down.

“I hope no one misses me too much. I desperately want out of this dress. It is beautiful but I cannot breathe.” Geralt chuckled from his spot at the door as he watched me attempt to pull the pins and brooches from my hair. I started to get frustrated, my hair being too intricately done for my drunk self.

Geralt wordlessly walked over to me and gently started to help me pull the pins from my hair. His fingers combed softly thru my hair, scratching my scalp gently as he worked to get them out of my hair. The small action was nearly lulling me to sleep in the chair. I heard a knock at the door which snapped me out of my sleepy state, my back straightening.

“Yes?” I turned around and saw Jaskier peeking through the door.

“You vanished, just wanted to check-in.” I smiled sweetly at him.

“I'm a very drunk Jaskier, I desperately want to sleep.’ He walked into the room and towards me. He was carrying a pitcher of water and a cup.

“I figured, drink this and-” He pulled out a vial from his pocket and handed it to me.

“-Vesemir gave this to me, says it is the perfect cure for a hangover. Also gave me one.” I smiled and placed the vile on my vanity along with the water and cup.

“Thank you, Jax.” He smiled and hugged me before turning and leaving to walk out the door, before he did he turned and pointed a finger at Geralt.

“If you decide to do anything dirty with my sister-”

“Jaskier!” I all but shrieked.

“Just, be quiet my room isn't too far away.” I could feel my face turn bright red, my fists balled at my side as I stood from the chair.

“I’m going to kill you.” Geralt’s arm wrapped around my waist pulling me back before I could attack my drunk brother. The door was shut and he was laughing down the hall.

“Such a prick.” I groaned and turned around pouring myself some water and drinking it. I grabbed the vile from the table pulling the cork out. Before it could be brought to my lips Geralt stopped my hand and brought the vile to his nose. He inhaled deeply a few times before realizing my hand,

“Just had to be sure.” I smiled and drank the contents. The taste was vile.

“Oh my god, that is awful,” I said coughing. Geralt laughed softly at me, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“Help me unlace my corset?” I turned my back to him. I felt his fingers delicately untied the lace one by one. I took a deep breath, breathing properly again. As the lace was losing the dress started to slip down my body. I quickly caught it before it dropped down my waist. Thankfully my back was to him. I heard him clear his throat.

“My night slip in on the bed, can you hand it to me?” I heard him move before the slip was in front of me.

“Could you, uh turn around?” I asked.

“Of course princess.'' After a minute I turned my head and saw he was facing the other direction. I let the dress fall from my body leaving me all but bare except for my undergarments, I slipped the night slip over my body and gently brushed his back. He turned around and smiled.

“Stay with me?” I asked softly.

“Of course dove.” He led me to the bed, pulling the quilts and sheets back allowing me to crawl in. I watched as he discarded his vest, and shirt leaving him in his tight trousers. My eyes wandered all over his scared torso and arms. He was breathtaking.

“You're staring dove.” He chuckled making me blush, hiding my face in the quilts.

“Can you blame me?” He laughed softly and walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” I asked, sitting up slightly.

“Just to grab something more comfortable to sleep in, Dove.” He walked out the door leaving it open. He returned minutes later, in the same sleep pants he was wearing the night before, less tight. He shut the door and the curtains, walking over to the other side of the bed before getting in.

He scooped me up, placing me closer to him, my head on his firm chest. I could hear his heartbeat it was slow, soothing. His fingers stroked aimlessly over my body. The last thing I felt before sleep took me was his warm lips on my forehead.

@weallhaveadestiny @ayamenimthiriel @niiight-dreamerrrr @rn7rocks @fire-in-her-veinz @eternallyvenus

#Geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt fanart #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt x you #geralt x yn #henry cavill #henry x reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill smut #geralt smut #jaskier witcher #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #the witcher #witcher netflix

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dreamwritesimagines · 4 years

Text

Beautiful and Damned 5- New Threats [Geralt of Rivia x Reader]

A.N: My darlings, your great feedback makes me so happy, thank you! Please don’t forget to tell me what you think of this chapter, kisses!

Reminder: This story will not follow the show’s plot, so even if you haven’t watched the series, you can still read it.

The previous chapters are on my masterlist!

Summary: Court can be a dangerous place for many.

Word Count: 3191

Warnings: Mentions of violence and death.

So, maybe the last few days had been quite tense. Maybe you still had some very specific dreams about Geralt, even though you were still furious at him.

Maybe you thought about what he had said to you in that hallway over and over and over again.

Just maybe.

Maybe, the whole reason why you had insisted to practice drawing with Ciri was to catch a sight of him- to glare at him.

Nothing more.

“No, I give up.” Ciri’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned your head.

“What? No!” you took a look at her sketch, “That’s not bad at all.”

“Not good either,” she pointed out and you raised your brows,

“I should tell Fin to show you some sketches I made when I was your age,” you said, “He still keeps them, possibly to make fun of me.”

Ciri let out a laugh as you leaned your head back to the tree trunk, then shielded your eyes from the sun.

“Fin is coming.” Ciri said and you turned your head, then waved at your brother who approached you, then sat down next to you.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” you said, “Can you please tell Ciri of my drawings when I was her age?”

“They were good.”

“Fin!”

“What? They were.”

“Told you,” Ciri said and you shook your head.

“Don’t believe him,” you told her, “Does mother still need Cassie?”

Fin nodded, “Yeah. Tried to save her but mother shooed me away- this is still better than when I try to draw,” he motioned at Ciri’s parchment and she arched a brow.

“You’re just saying that,” she said, and looked up when you heard her name being called. Your heart started slamming against your chest and Ciri made a face.

“I’m not Roach, Geralt, say what you are saying here,” she called out and out of the corner of your eye, you could see Fin’s eyes narrow as he sat up straighter beside you, keeping his gaze on Geralt. You pursed your lips and made yourself busy with your own parchment as Geralt and Jaskier approached you.

“Come on,” Geralt told her and she put her parchment beside her, but then frowned for a moment and looked between you as the silence fell upon all of you.

“Oh no,” she said, “What did you do?”

“Ciri.”

“No I’m serious, what happened?” she turned to you, “What did he do?”

You looked up from your parchment and raised your brows, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sir Geralt.”

“Your highness.”

Ciri groaned, “Fin?”

“If she doesn’t know, I don’t know either.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

She rolled her eyes, “Never mind, Jaskier can tell me.”

“I won’t.” Jaskier said as Fin’s gaze wandered off to him before snapping back to Geralt. Ciri stood up,

“I’ll find you later,” she said, and walked past Geralt, making him pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Jaskier,”

“I’ll be right behind you, give me a moment,” he told him, and Geralt left without so much as sparing you a glare.

You tried to ignore the sudden pang of pain shooting through you, but managed to turn your glances to Jaskier.

“Yes?” you asked him, and he cleared his throat.

“Your majesty, I was wondering if I- if….” He licked his lips, “If your maid is spoken for.”

Fin tilted his head like a confused puppy, his eyes narrowing once again as you raised your brows.

“Cassandra?”

“Yes.”

“You’d like to know if Cassandra is spoken for.” You smiled slightly, “Well, you have quite the competition then. Everyone in the court wants her favor. Lords included.”

“I think I got this, sister.” Fin stopped you and leaned back, “What is your name, bard?”

“Jaskier.”

“Never mind, I’ll just call you bard. What are your intentions?”

Jaskier looked between you, “My intentions?”

“Regarding my beautiful, beloved Cassie. What are your intentions?”

“I just….” Jaskier swallowed thickly, “Uh- I’d just like to know her better.”

Fin tut tutted, “See,” he said, “You’re a good looking man. Isn’t he a good looking man, sister?”

“I’d like to know what fault I have committed to deserve being a part of this conversation.” You muttered dryly, and Fin motioned at Jaskier’s face.

“You know, bright blue eyes and sweet voice and-“ he cleared his throat, “That is if you are into that sort of thing. But Cassie is our precious jewel, and a bard with not so serious intentions….” He clicked his tongue, and you rolled your eyes.

“Fin, stop scaring him off,” you reprimanded him, “Cassie likes flowers. You might as well make use of them while introducing yourself.”

“Or don’t introduce yourself.”

“Fin.”

“That’s also an option.”

“Don’t listen to him,” you said, “Flowers are a nice touch.”

Jaskier nodded, “Thank you,” he smiled and rushed to catch up with Geralt and Ciri, and you turned to Fin.

“Speaking of love,” you said, “Are we having that conversation yet?”

He had the audacity to look clueless, “What conversation?”

“You know what conversation.”

Fin pressed his lips together and turned his gaze to the court, crossing his arms, “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

“Y/N.”

“Fin.” You insisted, “You’re not fine.”

“Yeah, maybe I’m not fine because no one else but me in this damn court seems to know how it feels not to be able to touch the object of one’s desire,” he snapped and for a couple of seconds you gawked at him as what he had just said dawned on him.

“Oh I’m especially dumb today,” he told you, “Have you noticed that? I woke up dumb this morning.”

You scoffed a laugh, “It’s alright,” you said, “Who is it then?”

He clicked his tongue, and closed his eyes, leaning his head back.

“I’m afraid my heart will stay a desert, sister,” he mumbled and even if you wanted to ask again, you knew Fin way too well to do so.

He would tell you, eventually. When you least expected him to.

It had been like that since you were children.

“It won’t.” you heard yourself say, and he opened his eyes.

“How do you know?”

You shrugged slightly, “It would be terribly unfair if both of us were unhappy,” you murmured, “One victim is enough for a family. Fate could at least spare you.”

He squeezed your upper arm over your long sleeved dress and you smiled at him, then leaned back to the tree again, closing your eyes for a moment of peace.

***

Thankfully, your mother was so distracted by the preparations of the guests’ room that she barely had any free time, so that crossed out the possibility of her asking you about embroideries or Fin, or anything really. By the time Cassie was allowed to come back to you, it was almost night but you had already lost the track of time due to being so engrossed in your sketching.

It was almost strange, drawing him. Normally, you needed a model in order to draw them correctly, to have someone or something to sit still in front of you, but Geralt had somehow burned himself into your memory that you thought you could draw him with your eyes closed.

No matter how much you despised what he had done.

“Your majesty?” Cassie knocked on the door and cracked it open, “Hello. I just wanted to say I’m back.”

“Oh come in, come in!” you told her as you put the sketch under the others so that she wouldn’t see, “Fin tried to save you twice, and I sent a maid. Mother just doesn’t seem to want to let you go.”

She let out a laugh, “It’s quite alright, it’s my job.”

“Your job isn’t to help my mother.”

“Your mother is the queen, your majesty. It’s everyone’s job in this castle.”

You shook your head slightly, “I suppose,” you mumbled, and Cassie walked to the big bowl on the table, spilled some liquid from the small vials and added water before the nice smell spread over the room.

“Your brother was reprimanded though.”

“By mother?”

“Yes,” she looked up at you and started tidying up the table, “I suppose the queen does not really like when the future king says “Leave my beloved be, I need her to discuss our wedding.”, who knew?”

You rubbed your eyes, “I’m going to smack Fin.”

“He has a good heart.” Cassie let out a laugh, “Can you imagine if he really was in love with me?”

“Oh trust me, you would want to divorce him if that ever happened. I pity his future wife.”

Cassie shook her head slightly, still smiling and your head shot up,

“I forgot to tell you,” you said, “You have another admirer.”

She raised her brows, “What?”

“Yes, Gera- um, the witcher’s bard. Jaskier.”

“Dark haired, blue eyes?”

“Yeah, that one,” you scoffed, “Poor thing, Fin intimidated him I think. He does look quite sweet though, wouldn’t you agree?”

Cassie curled her lips, shrugging and you walked to your mirror, grabbed your comb but both of you turned your heads when a blood-curdling scream reached into the chamber, along with the hurried footsteps and shouting.

You felt your blood freeze in your veins and Cassie held her breath, taking a step back while you put your comb down, trying to control your breathing. Both of you had been in the castle for way too long not to know what it meant.

If you heard a scream the middle of the night, it meant someone was either in danger, or was already killed.

You rushed to the door to swing it open as a guard came to block your way.

“Your highness-“

“Who is it?” you managed to ask through panic, “Fin-?”

“No, prince Fintan is alright, please go back to-“

“Who is it?!” you snapped at him and he licked his lips, exchanging glances with Cassie.

“Prince Tiernan.” The guard said, making your eyes widen,

“Did he-?”

“Someone has him, in the second hall. They’re trying to- princess!” he shouted after you as you bolted for the second hall, lifting your skirts a little to run faster. Your heart was beating in your ears, you could swear the fear had taken a hold of your body but you managed to reach the second hall, which was quite crowded with a lot of people staring at-

One corner.

The man was holding your baby brother who seemed to cry his eyes out, trying to reach for your mother who looked almost frozen, staring at them. The blade against Tiernan’s neck made the hair behind your neck rise but your eyes caught a sight of Fin, who had cornered the man and was standing still, maybe not even breathing as he held his sword against him, ready to attack the moment he made a move.

“Whoever paid you for this, we can pay more.” Your father’s voice was almost too calm, as Cassie reached you and covered her mouth. Fin’s sharp, fiery glare was unwavering as the man chuckled.

“You think this is about payment?” he asked, “You couldn’t afford my loyalty.”

“There’s no way out of this,” Fin growled, “Give me the baby.”

“Take one step and I will make his death slower.”

“Stay here,” you murmured through frozen lips and Cassie frowned,

“Your majesty-“

“Stay here.” You repeated as you made your way out of the hall, and looked around.

When you were children, one of your favorite games to play with Fin was hide and seek. By the time you were eight, you had already memorized every single hidden passage in the court, and second hall, just like all the other halls, had one.

You dragged your fingertips over the wall, then as soon as you found the spot, you pushed it and walked into the secret passage. The smell of dust almost made you gag, but you covered your mouth with your arm and kept walking until you reached the entrance, and slowly, very slowly pushed it so as not to make a noise. Fin’s eyes found you over the man’s shoulder before they snapped back to him.

“Who’s making you do this?” he asked to get his attention, and the man chuckled.

“I volunteered,” he spat, “This is an honor.”

“It’s an honor to harm a child?” Fin asked him as you swallowed thickly, barely hearing them over the sound of your own heartbeat. You flexed your fingers, taking a step closer and raised your hand, holding your breath.

“When this is over, Prince Fintan-“ the man said, “All of you will be dead.”

You could feel the fury roaring through you at the threat, and that somehow made the fear go away for a moment, making everything clearer in your head.

Then you touched his neck.

It was almost too easy, really. It barely took a second until his breath was caught in his throat, his body going limp and Fin threw his sword aside to catch Tiernan before he fell to the ground with the man. Tiernan let out a bawl, holding onto Fin as tight as he could before Fin pressed a kiss on his head, then handed him to your mother and rushed to you.

“Are you alright?”

You kept your gaze on the man lying on the ground, his eyes open but almost blank before you managed to nod.

“Yes.” You murmured, “I am. Are you?”

Fin raised his hand to squeeze your arm, but stopped when he saw that he had no gloves.

“It’s alright,” your voice was almost numb like the rest of you before you raised your glances to Fin, who nodded at you and took a deep breath.

And right in front of you, he turned into a king.

“Tell the guards to lock the gates,” he ordered, and grabbed his sword from the guard who brought it, “Everyone will return to their chambers.”

“Fin-“

“I got this, father,” he said, “Mother, you stay with Tiernan, there will be at least five guards- you, by the hall, grab four men and escort them.”

“Yes my prince.”

“Cassie, you and my sister go back to her chambers, send someone to check on Ciri as well.”

“Of course your highness.”

“Commander Bradan, I want every room searched, any suspicious letter will be brought to me.”

“Yes my prince.”

“Commander Marcel, you and your men, follow me.” Fin turned around and walked out of the hall, cutting through the crowd while you tried your hardest not to look at the men, the bile burning your throat.

Just like that.

Easy as that.

Neither your mother nor your father made any attempt of talking with you. You all just stood there for a moment as the whispers circled you, reminding you that there were people watching.

No emotions, no weakness.

Even if you felt like you could faint, you took a deep breath, threw your shoulders back and followed your mother and father out of the hall, all of you going in different directions without saying anything to each other as soon as you were out.

Deep breaths.

In and out.

Keep walking.

***

You had sent Cassie to her room, insisting that you needed some time after the events of the night, and that you would eventually go to sleep.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to.

You had almost forgotten how easy it was for you to kill somebody. While it was true that you had made sure you wouldn’t touch anyone, always kept your distance and kept your gloves on whenever you were outside, the feeling itself had grown cold, like a distant memory, until tonight.

The slight creak coming from the window made you turn your head and you swung your legs over the bed to stand up, frowning.

Another attempt?

You could feel the nervousness filling your system once more and you looked around the room, then grabbed the huge golden candelabra, and walked to the window to stand right beside it, holding the candelabra over your head. You held your breath, and as soon as the figure pushed the window open and jumped into the room you slammed it over their stomach, the impact making you trip as he grunted and grabbed the candelabra to snatch it from your hands-

“Geralt?!” you exclaimed, instantly letting go of the candelabra and covering your mouth, “Oh Gods, are you alright?!”

He nodded, rubbing at the spot and shot you a strange look.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?!” you asked back, “Why are you climbing through my window?”

“They locked the whole castle down while I was in the woods. You can kill people by touch and candelabra is your weapon of choice?” he asked you, making your heart skip a beat as what had happened before flashed through your mind, while Geralt tilted his head.

“Were you crying?”

You sniffled and rubbed at your eyes before walking away from him to sit down on your bed.

“I could vouch for you, you should’ve just sent a guard.”

“Why were you crying?”

“Ciri is fine.”

“Why were you crying?”

“So you have no reason to worry, we made sure of that-“

“Princess,” he cut you off, obviously not in the mood for these games, “Why were you crying?”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat and rubbed your temples,

“Because,” you murmured, “They should’ve never let me out of that damn tower. I should’ve stayed there, no matter how much Fin and I begged father.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I killed someone,” you blurted out, “Tonight. He was going to hurt Tiernan, so I touched him and I killed him.”

“Princess-“

“I don’t feel bad about it.” You interrupted him, “At all. That’s why they should’ve left me there to rot, a good person feels bad about taking somebody’s life.”

“You stopped a grown man trying to hurt a baby.”

“By killing him.”

“Actions have consequences, sounds like he deserved it.”

“What about the next one?”

He frowned, “The next one?”

“Who’s to say it will be just him?” you asked him, “Who’s to say it won’t be someone that I don’t want to hurt, someone that I care about? What if it’s Fin, or Cassie, or-“ you wiped your eyes, sniffling, “Or you.”

A silence fell upon the room and you let out a bitter chuckle, looking up at him.

“Can you promise that I won’t hurt you?”

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, as if trying to see whether you were lying to him or not, but in the end he took a step towards you, then crouched down so that you could be eye to eye while you sat still on the bed.

“I can promise that I will do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t cry again,” his voice was low, and you blinked back tears, nodding slowly before wiping your eyes.

“Geralt if anyone sees you here you will be in trouble.”

He smiled slightly, “Right. Staring at each other, how dare we?”

A giggle you couldn’t stop left your lips and you bit down on your lip, stealing a look at his golden eyes that seemed to hold a soft light contrary to the usual.

“I’m glad you’re back safe,” you said as you sniffled and he raised his brows.

“Are you?”

“Of course I am.”

His eyes searched yours, then he cleared his throat,

“Princess, if I upset you,” he said “With my actions lately, it wasn’t….my intention.”

You licked your lips, suddenly feeling nervous as your stomach made a flip.

“I was merely under the impression that-“ you started, but then looked up when both of you heard the loud ring of the city bell.

Once, twice, three times-

Four. It rang four times.

“What does that mean?” Geralt asked and you swallowed thickly, trying your hardest not to focus on the last time you had heard it.

“Confinement.” You managed to say, “Of the city. No one goes in, no one goes out.”

He cussed under his breath and stood up, “I should-“

“Find Ciri. She’s in her chambers with two guards by her door, I made sure of that.” You stood up as well, “Go.”

He nodded before rushing out of your chambers and you walked to the window, then leaned your elbows on the sill and closed your eyes, the bell still ringing in your ears.

***

Taglist1: @rhabakoli @rmwest94 @theskytraveler @alwaysadreamingoptimist @marymegger @addictedtofictionalcharacters @bubblegumnnebula @justnerdystuffs @alytavzla @wickedrum @billywig-on-baker-street @thorohdamnson @abroadcastofthemind @siriusement @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @deputy-videogamer @geekyweed @tranquility-or-chaos @szhead31 @marvel-mystery @kahnacademyforfun @mellxander1993 @becs-bunker @mersers-moonypadfoot-prongs @flawedwanderer @onebatch–twobatch @emyyjemyy @theazm10 @darcia22 @imabookworm31 @secret-jester @peakyhardy @i-am-always-famished @nylalushlifexx @superwolfchild-fan @eleanorsparkz @never-saygood-bye @alina-barnes @teapartydreams @actuallyazriel @katalina-from-hellbound @greensadmoon @random-quartz @thenoblenomad @marauderskeeper @curlyhairedblueeyedangel @tessxblxckthorn @crazyandanonymous4u @a-banana-for-your-thoughts @firefly-in-darkness @shut-up-broccoli @ms-baekhyun @hangirl93 @nothingeverdies @beyond-the-ashes @loredanalore @annimalq @wasntpriscilla @unlikelyrsoulcollector @maelloute @claitynthewitcher @dreamers-wonderland @lettersofwrittencollective @sfyri

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia imagines #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt imagine #geralt imagines #the witcher imagine #the witcher imagines #geralt x reader #geralt #imagine #the witcher x reader #imagines #beautiful and damned

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

Hell on Earth

A Demon!Lambert x Aiden fic (feat. Werewolf!Geralt x Jaskier). Modern AU.

The edit of the lovely Paul Bullion as Lambert was done by @marvagon. Also on AO3.

____________

Aiden had always been fascinated by things he shouldn’t have been. It had gotten him into all sorts of trouble over the years. Luckily for him his housemate, Jaskier, was just as terrible as he was. Jaskier wrote novels, mostly fantasy but sometimes he dabbled in horror, and his thirst for knowledge was insatiable.

And that’s how they’d ended up with a chalk circle in the middle of the room with Jaskier singing a haunting melody as he lit the candles.

“This is terrible idea, Jask.” Aiden muttered but didn’t stop sketching in the last of the chalk lines on the floor. “If this works we are both going to die.”

Jaskier scoffed as he lit the final candle. “Look, it’s just research for my book. I’m not expecting it to actually work. Demons don’t exist. Geralt told me so.”

Aiden rolled his eyes. “How would Geralt know about demons?”

Jaskier grinned and winked. “Oh you know.”

“No. I don’t.” Aiden groaned. “You have never actually told me what your boyfriend does for a living. At this point I’m pretty sure he’s mafia.”

Jaskier just cackled but didn’t elaborate. “Right, I have the incantation, you ready?” His blue eyes were twinkling in the candle light.

Aiden sighed dramatically but his own pulse had spiked with excitement. He’d been obsessed with the dark arts as a child, much to his parents displeasure. As an adult that love of all things macabre hadn’t gone away. He had just learnt to channel it into his photography, creating the front covers for Jaskier’s novels.

Plus demons were just sexy.

When Jaskier had casually mentioned over breakfast that he’d found a spell in an old book to summon a demon, Aiden had almost had a heart attack on the spot. Jaskier was right, he didn’t expect it to work… but what if it did? What would the demon look like in real life? He was certain the drawings and films wouldn’t do it justice.

He smirked at his housemate and plucked the book from his hands. “Fine, but if we are doing this, darling,” He purred he Jaskier’s ear. The brunet blushed and swatted him in the arm. “I am doing the summoning. Wouldn’t want to risk that pretty face of yours, Geralt would kill me.”

Jaskier frowned and stuck his tongue between his lips. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow. “I was joking.”

“No. No he’d definitely kill you.” Jaskier chuckled.

“For fuck’s sake, Jaskier what does he do?” Aiden groaned, it was an argument they’d had many times over their years living together, ever since Jaskier had started dating the ever mysterious Geralt.

“Well.” Jaskier sang with a tilt of his head. “I would tell you.”

“But then you’d have to kill me. Yes, I know. Fuck it let’s just do the damn ritual.” Aiden flipped open the book until it was on the right page, the corner turned down by Jaskier like the heathen he was.

The writing in the book was barely legible but Jaskier had scrawled notes in the margins to help. Aiden winked at his friend as he started to read out the words. They sort of rhymed but the sentences made fuck all sense. He was so focussed on the words he didn’t noticed the flames on the candles start to grow, or even Jaskier’s shouts of excitement as the chalk circle glowed with an eery purple light. He just needed to read the words, the words were all that mattered. He could barely take a breath until the words were finished and his knees gave out underneath him. Jaskier caught him under the arms.

“Oh fuck!” Jaskier muttered and stumbled backwards away from the circle.

Aiden’s eyes snapped up as he managed to refocus back in the room. The circle was glowing, lighting up their entire living room, and there was a horned figure shimmering into existence. Aiden was entranced, he barely even noticed Jaskier scurrying away to hide behind the sofa.

“Shit!” Jaskier stammered. “I should call Geralt, he’ll know what to do.”

“Shh!” Aiden hissed at his friend as the figure finally solidified.

A redheaded amber-eyed demon was standing in their front room. Aiden felt his eyes go wide and his jaw dropped as he took in the beauty of the creature. Peeking out from thick fiery curls on his head were two horns. They were black as midnight, as if they were carved out of onyx. He was wearing long tattered black robes that Aiden was pretty sure was hiding one hell of a figure underneath the flowing material.

“The fuck?” The demon growled and glared fiercely at Aiden.

Aiden just beamed back at the confused demon. “Oooh you are gorgeous!”

The demon ran a hand through his hair and looked at Aiden with an exasperated expression. “Sorry, what now?”

Aiden winked at the magnificent creature before him and circled him, assessing every inch of the man in front of him. “The robes have got to go.”

“You summoned a demon… to give me fashion advice?” The demon snapped. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Aiden laughed. “How long have you got?”

“Ah, Aiden. Maybe let’s not antagonise the demon in our living room.” Jaskier called from his hiding spot.

The demon whipped round and glared at the brunet, but Aiden just put his hands on the demon’s chest, confirming that he was, in fact, ripped.

Fuck, Aiden was going to have fun with him.

“Steady now, darling.” He purred and then cupped the demon’s cheek. The demon glared at him but blushed a delightful red that almost matched the colour of his hair. “You can go, Jaskier. I’ve got this.”

His roommate stared at him and then nodded, gathering his notebooks and then fleeing from the room, probably to get Geralt.

“Now then, what’s your name, sexy?” Aiden purred, brushing a long curl from the demon’s face.

“I. Fuck… what?” He growled.

“You do have a name?” Aiden rolled his eyes. “Oh mighty demon.”

“Lambert.” He spluttered. “Seriously, the fuck? What year is it? Humans used to be terrified of demons… Shit. I’m so confused.”

“I’m not most humans.” Aiden smirked.

“You do realise I could kill you right?” Lambert muttered, still blushing redder than a tomato.

Aiden opened his arms wide. “Go on then!”

“I. What? No!” Lambert yelled. “That was not an invitation!”

“Well then, darling, stop making threats you won’t see through.” Aiden laughed as Lambert swatted his hand away from his face. “Now, I summoned you, Does that make me your master?”

“No.” Lambert snapped. “Maybe. Fine. Whatever.”

“And you’ll do as I ask?”

“They’ll be a price to pay.” Lambert glowered at him. “Normally your soul.”

Aiden tilted his head. “And what about my heart?”

“You’re crazy.” Lambert muttered but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Crazy about you.” He purred.

Lambert groaned. “Fuck. That was terrible. You’re terrible, and I’m the demon here. So what did two flannel wearing morons need with a demon?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Aiden hummed. “Curiosity mostly. Jaskier is writing a book.” Lambert looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Oh hey now, we didn’t think it would actually work… but fuck am I glad it is! Now seriously, clothes. I would love to see what you’re hiding under those robes.”

Lambert rolled his eyes but snapped his fingers. The robes fell away and he was wearing a tight blue t-shirt that Aiden was sure was two sizes too small, and tight black jeans that accentuated his thick muscular thighs. “Better?”

Aiden smirked. “Well, I was hoping to completely lose the clothes but I guess that is a bit soon for a first date.”

Lambert groaned and ran his hands through his hair turning around away from Aiden who squeaked. “You even have a tail!!”

“Of course I have a tail. I’m a demon.” Lambert snapped. “Look, if I kiss you will you shut up?”

Aiden raised an eyebrow at the redhead. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Lambert blushed even deeper. “It’s not… impossible.”

“Aren’t demons supposed to be the suave charming sort?” Aiden murmured as he stepped closer to the demon, his hands once again drawn to the soft curls on top of his head.

Lambert scoffed, his arms still in front of his chest. “You threw me off my game, kitten.”

“Kitten?”

“Suits you.” Lambert shrugged.

Aiden licked his lips and ran a finger over the tip of one of Lambert’s horns. His lips hovering over Lambert’s so he could feel the demon’s cool breath against his skin. It was so tantalising, almost irresistible. He brushed his lips along Lambert’s cheek as his hand moved from Lambert’s hair to his sinfully round arse. Lambert groaned under his touch. Aiden chuckled as he nipped at Lambert’s ear. “Do you want me to kiss you?” He purred.

“Fuck yes.” Lambert groaned.

Aiden chuckled and ghosted his lips up against the corner of Lambert’s mouth. God his scent, it was bitter and smokey, as if the demon himself could disappear into thin air at any moment.

“Fucking get on with it.” Lambert gripped him by the waist and pressed their bodies together. Aiden grinned and captured Lambert’s lips with his own, catching the bottom lip between his teeth. Lambert let out a delectable moan and Aiden was drunk on power. Here he was, a mere human with this remarkable power of darkness moaning under his lips. Aiden smiled against Lambert’s lips.

“If my heart is worth a kiss.” He whispered, not daring to open his eyes as they breathed in unison. “What would my soul be worth?”

Lambert growled pressed their lips together again. It was hot, burning passion. Not that one would expect anything less from a demon. Aiden felt as if he could feel his soul leaving his body under Lambert’s needy kisses, and perhaps it was.

He didn’t care.

He was completely under Lambert’s spell.

“You’re mine now, mortal.” Lambert hummed as his lips moved to Aiden’s throat.

Aiden just laughed at pulled Lambert’s head up by his hair. “Oh no, demon. You are mine.” He winked.

Lambert flushed and buried his face in Aiden’s neck. “Fucking humans.”

“Hmm. Yes, well. That is kind of the point, darling.”

Lambert growled and snapped his fingers. The room spun around them and suddenly they were tumbling onto the largest mattress that Aiden had ever laid eyes on.

“Oh this will do very nicely!” He purred and pulled Lambert back into a blistering kiss.

___________________________

Jaskier wasn’t panicking. Although, if he was panicking, which he wasn’t, he would be well within his rights to do so. After all, Aiden had just successfully summoned a bloody demon in their living room. Not only that, but his idiot housemate seemed determined to seduce the fucker.

Not that Jaskier could really talk. Geralt wasn’t entirely human himself, but Aiden wasn’t aware of that little fact.

“I’ve told you. Demons don’t exist.” Geralt growled.

“And I’ve told you they do!” Jaskier whined and tugged Geralt’s hand. “I don’t want to lose my housemate, Geralt. Aiden is the only one who puts up with me!”

“I put up with you.”

Jaskier threw a glare at his boyfriend. “That doesn’t count. You love me!” “Hmm.”

“Oh stop it. You do. Who else would wash the blood out of your fur on a full moon?” Jaskier muttered and rolled his eyes.

“I keep telling you not to do that. You’ll get hurt.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier just laughed. “Darling, you would never hurt me. You take one look at me and start wagging your tail. You are not as scary as you think.”

“I could kill you.” Geralt grunted but gripped Jaskier’s hand tighter.

Jaskier scoffed. “You would never, but if you could focus all that murderous energy on getting the demon out of my house, that would be lovely, thanks.”

They stood hand in hand in front of Jaskier’s house, which was thankfully not a pile of rubble. That had to be a good sign right?

Geralt growled next to him as he sniffed the air. “Fuck.”

“See!” Jaskier yelled and gestured wildly to the house. “Demon!”

“There’s definitely something. Stay here.” Geralt tried to pull away but Jaskier ran after him. “I said stay!”

“Yeah. No. Not happening. I have got to see this! A demon versus a werewolf. Oh ho ho! My next novel is practically writing itself.” Jaskier grinned and followed Geralt inside the house, ignoring his grunts of protest.

The chalk circle was smudged and the candles had all blown out. All in all there was no sign of the demon. Geralt kept sniffing the air as he peered around the living room. “It stinks in here, Jaskier.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Research?”

“No sign of the demon. No sign of Aiden either.” Geralt frowned. “This way. Wait no. You stay here.”

“Not happening!” Jaskier sang back happily and followed Geralt up the stairs.

Geralt crashed through Aiden’s door. Jaskier jumped back as wood splintered everywhere. “Geralt!” He whined. “You are paying for that, dearest.”

“Fuck!” Geralt growled and rolled out the way as a ball of purple fire flew from Aiden’s bedroom.

“Lambert, no!” Aiden yelled. “Jaskier, what the fuck?”

Jaskier peered into the room and then burst into laughter. “Aiden! You’re alive.”

His housemate was lying in the middle of a huge bed, that definitely hadn’t been there before, naked as the day he was born. He was lounging out luxuriously, looking very much like the cat that had gotten the cream. The demon, Lambert apparently and also very naked, was glaring fiercely at Geralt with fire balls burning in the palm of his hand. Geralt in response was growling and baring his teeth that were looking rather more wolf than human.

Jaskier put his hand on Geralt’s chest and Aiden pulled Lambert back to the bed.

“Geralt, easy.” Jaskier hummed softly. “It’s ok.”

“Kitten, there is a werewolf in your house.” Lambert growled. “Why are you protecting him?”

“Werewolf?!” Aiden glared at Jaskier accusingly.

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and glared right back. “Kitten?!”

Geralt shook Jaskier’s hand off and moved so he was standing in between him and Lambert. Lambert did the same with Aiden.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. He felt a lot calmer now that he could see that his friend was in fact, safe, or as safe as one could be when in bed with a creature of hell. “Ok then, Geralt. Let’s just leave them to it.” He cooed softly, putting his hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “We could go to the park, watch the stars. That always makes you feel better.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on, then.” He managed to pull Geralt out the doorway. He gave his friend a thumbs up as he left the room. Aiden returned it with a wink before pulling Lambert back into his arms.

As they left the house back into the cool air of the night Jaskier began to laugh. Geralt glared at him but he was hiding his own smile. “You owe me an apology!” Jaskier giggled as he gripped onto Geralt’s arm as they walked.

“Hmm?”

“Demons. Exist.” He announced.

Geralt smirked and kissed the top of Jaskier’s hair. “Happy Halloween.” He muttered dryly.

Jaskier snorted. “Happy Halloween, indeed.”

________

Taglist: @elliestormfound @slythnerd @caspertheassholeghost @feraljaskier @artistsfuneral @hailhailsatan

#the witcher #lambert x aiden #lambert/aiden #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #demon!Lambert #werewolf!geralt #halloween #wolfie's witcher writing #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #modern au #lambden

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mordoriscalling · 3 years

Text

Secret pt.2

A follow up to my fanfic about Geralt talking (and eventually confessing his love) to Jaskier in Polish, thinking that Jaskier doesn’t understand. @artistsfuneral came up with that glorious idea in this fic! Now, pt 2 is about how Jaskier learns the language, as requested by blue_midnight on AO3. Hope you enjoy!

(This fic also includes background, brief Lambert/ Aiden)

At the beginning, Jaskier suspects that it’s Geralt’s way of being as rude as possible. Why on earth act like that, he has no idea, but one thing is for certain: the rustling sounds leaving Geralt’s mouth, which Jaskier thinks are supposed to be words, are set to drive him insane.

It must be some kind of language. Geralt uses it when talking to his horse a lot. Jaskier almost finds the behaviour endearing but then the witcher speaks in that tongue when answering many of his questions. Jaskier just wants to get them better acquainted but Geralt couldn’t care less about the offerings of friendship, apparently.

Even though the witcher can be a right bastard like that, one thing is clear from the very start: Jaskier can only wish to be half the man Geralt is, but the world thinks it’s Geralt who is less than human. Jaskier finds he can’t stand by and let it happen.

It’s a simple exchange. They both need each other to prove that they’re more than what everyone thinks they are. The transaction is uncomplicated: Geralt fights monsters for Jaskier to sing about, Jaskier softens the hearts and the minds. As time passes, however, it changes and becomes more complex: they share food, rooms and coin, start caring for each other in all the small but significant ways.

Five years pass and it’s a friendship in full bloom, but Geralt still often talks to him and snaps at him in that damned tongue, like he doesn’t think Jaskier worthy of knowing his thoughts. It’s never stopped angering him but at this point, he’s also intrigued in what Geralt wants to hide and why the hell it seems to concern him so often. (A certain feeling that shall not be named blooms in his chest at the thought and he squashes it).

Then there’s that one bath. Geralt looks at him as if he was the most fascinating puzzle in the world which, fair, Jaskier is interesting if he does say so himself, but not that much. It’s on that day that he decides to learn that bloody language, even if it’s the last thing he does.

Jaskier goes to Oxenfurt that winter and searches the vast library through and through. The librarians shoot him looks indicating their suspicion about him being a maniac but Jaskier is simply a man on a mission. In the middle of winter, his madness finally bears fruit – he finds an ancient book written in a language he has never seen. “Wiedźmiński bestiariusz” the title says. Inside, there’s a loose piece of parchment with the first few paragraphs of the book translated, including the title – “Witcher Bestiary”. The book is full of sketches of monsters and descriptions, the words containing several strange letters. Many passages aren’t readable anymore because they’ve faded with age but Jaskier treasures the book anyway. He spends the rest of the winter copying all the legible pages, indulging in life’s pleasures much less, which only fuels the rumours of his insanity. All the while, he hopes that this is the language Geralt has been using.

The answer comes surprisingly quickly in the surprising shape of another wolf witcher. They stumble upon each other in late spring in Redania. It’s such a funny coincidence that there’s no way Jaskier’s not going to make the best of it.

“See, master witcher,” Jaskier says as they drink ale together, “When I rummaged through my university’s library, I stumbled upon an interesting volume.” He forgets to mention the translated passages as he pulls out his copy of the book and lays it on the table in front of Lambert. The witcher’s eyes widen when they rest upon the title and Jaskier knows this is it. He grins and carries on, “It seems to be full of precious knowledge and wisdom, yet it’s written in a language I don’t understand. It concerns monsters, so I was hoping a witcher could assist me in decoding this tongue.”

Lambert says nothing for some time, only regarding Jaskier with suspicion. “Why would you want to learn it?” he questions.

“Call it academic curiosity.”

The witcher’s eyes narrow. Hadn’t Jaskier spent so much time with Geralt, he would certainly squirm under the hot, searching gaze.

“It’s not a secret language of your guild, is it?” he asks to break the tense silence.

“It’s not,” Lambert answers, “But no one really bothered before, is the thing. Dunno what to make of you.”

Jaskier sighs and decides to reveal the malice of his intentions because, from what little Geralt told him of his brothers, he knows that Lambert will appreciate it. “Listen,” he says as he leans in towards the red-haired witcher, “just imagine how it’ll freak Geralt out when he finds out.”

Lambert lets out a delighted laugh. “Fuck, I wanna be there when it happens.”

Jaskier can’t make any promises of the sort, so he says nothing to that. Instead, he asks, “Do we have a deal, then?”

“We’ll see.”

Lambert’s reserve didn’t make sense at that moment but Jaskier almost wishes he didn’t find out why the witcher was so cautious about his enthusiasm.

It turns out the language is a demonic creation. Lambert starts explaining some basic words and phrases to him and it already makes Jaskier’s head spin – there are so many forms and conjugations that Jaskier’s task of achieving fluency in that damned tongue suddenly appears almost too daunting. Almost.

He still wants to see the look on Geralt’s bloody beautiful face.

Lambert lets Jaskier join him on the Path for a few weeks. Throughout that time, he teaches Jaskier a bit more, especially how to read in the language. The wonderful thing about it is that, once he knows all the rules of pronunciation, he can read everything out loud. The dreadful thing is that the pronunciation itself is so tough and tongue-twisting that it may as well be a form of diabolical punishment inflicted upon Jaskier for all the transgressions he committed.

Lambert laughs when he voices his frustrations. “Przyzwyczaisz się.” You’ll get used to it, the witcher answers, his voice producing the mad consonant clusters with ease.

“I doubt it,” Jaskier grumbles under his breath.

The two of them part ways as Jaskier pays for Lambert’s services with a song. Jaskier saw the wolf witcher take down a vampire in a truly spectacular manner, so it was no hardship. After Lambert leaves, Jaskier starts learning on his own. Whenever Geralt hunts, he reads out loud from his copy of the bestiary (and how Geralt never overhears it is truly beyond him. Melitele likes him calling upon her tits so frequently, it seems). He tries to decipher the words in the book using all knowledge he has, translating some more passages. He and Lambert also exchange letters but Jaskier fails at writing in the tongue miserably. The last one he wrote returns to him with a multitude of Lambert’s corrections and a short note from the witcher himself:

"Cały list do przepisania, skowroneczku." The whole letter needs rewriting, little lark.

Jaskier huffs at the nickname, ruffling his figurative feathers in indignation. Although a lark’s voice is beautiful, very much so, its plumage is too plain. Jaskier could never. He would be a blackbird at the very least. Or a siskin. A bullfinch, preferably. If Jaskier was honest, a peacock would best fit to describe his exterior, but the sounds peacocks make aren’t pleasant, so he would be willing to settle on some colourful songbird.

Damn Lambert, in any case. The witcher knows far too well how to rile him up. It’s a bit unnerving.

"Skowronek to nie jak ja." Lark doesn’t sound like me, Jaskier answers in the next letter.

"Rzeczywiście, tak ładnie nie śpiewasz." True, your singing isn’t that pretty, Lambert writes back.

Damn him indeed. Jaskier responds to that comment with a simple, efficient “fuck you”, to which Lambert replies “chciałbyś” you wish.

Jaskier can’t exactly deny this. He would certainly show his appreciation for Lambert’s fiery spirit if not for one little, tiny problem. The problem is so minuscule that Jaskier does everything in his power not to think about it. He seeks out lovers constantly and falls into the Countess de Stael’s arms almost every winter. She wants his attention now, as it’s a puppy love no longer, but during his stay at her palace, someone else always catches his attention. She kicks him out the moment she finds out. And so their romance goes, rinse and repeat.

No matter whether Jaskier winters at the Countess’s court, Oxenfurt, or some other place, he always devotes much of his free time to search for any book containing the Witcher tongue, as Jaskier started calling it. There isn’t much anywhere, and Lambert’s letters are few and far in between. Jaskier can feel himself getting stagnant in his learning and he can’t afford it. Not now, after six years of gargantuan effort that he’s put in already. Not when Geralt sometimes says something to him in that quiet, warm voice, and he still doesn’t understand.

Jaskier seems to enjoy more of Melitele’s blessing than he really should because, just when he’s getting desperate, there’s a godsend dropped on his way on a lovely spring day.

Quite literally dropped, since that witcher falls from a tree Jaskier’s about to walk under as he’s on his way to find Geralt. There’s a cat medallion around the witcher’s neck, and his body is gravely injured. He’s unconscious and Jaskier takes the liberty to use his witcher potions to help him not die. After he finally opens his eyes the next day, he introduces himself as Aiden.

It takes Aiden two more days to stand back on his feet. Soon after he manages that, Jaskier makes him trip when he speaks in the Witcher tongue to him, and the poor Cat witcher actually falls to the ground when Jaskier mentions Lambert. Sensing some story there, he sticks by Aiden’s side for a week or two. They make fast friends and promise to write to each other frequently.

Aiden’s letters are just what Jaskier needs to improve. The witcher is more expansive than Lambert and a touch flirty, which is perfect. As their correspondence goes on, Jaskier grows to like him only more and more. Not that much, though; he’s still stuck in the merry old mess of admiration and friendly affection getting out of hand. At least he’s not the only one – the story that Aiden and Lambert share is there in the letters, between the lines, and Jaskier is clever enough to see it.

Jaskier and Aiden meet for a drink in Novigrad once. When they’re deep into their cups, they start whining about their predicament.

“Cholerne wilki.” Damned wolves, Aiden grumbles.

“Cholerne wilki.” Damned wolves, Jaskier agrees wholeheartedly.

Ten years of learning the Witcher tongue have passed when Jaskier finds Geralt fishing for a djin in the lake near Rinde. He’s known Geralt for sixteen years now, so it takes him exactly one moment to see through the sorry excuse of insomnia. Destiny can’t be trifled with like that, he knows, so he doesn’t let it happen.

When Jaskier sings his friend to sleep, Geralt wonders about deserving him, that silly witcher. As if it wasn’t Jaskier who could only dream of deserving Geralt. As if Jaskier wasn’t a cheater, a homewrecker and a bastard who shouldn’t even deserve to look into those warm, gold eyes that allow a peek into the heart of gold.

As they meet Yennefer, the chemistry between her and Geralt is so strong that Jaskier can almost see the sparkles fly. Jaskier holds his breath all throughout their stay in Rinde. After they leave and nothing happens, there’s no relief. Now the witcher and the sorceress can get together any time and Jaskier turns bitter at the ripe, sweet age of thirty-four.

He lets go of many things after that. The silly affair with the Countess, caring about what the educated think about his works. He lives, breathes and grows, at last, fuelled by the one thing that he’s driven by best – sheer, absolute spite. Jaskier’s learnt the Witcher tongue out of spite (among other motives that he refuses to think about), and out of spite he will survive now, no matter how much he worries about a purple-eyes sorceress being such a great match for the White Wolf that even he wants to write a ballad about it.

Jaskier doesn’t ask, of course, and Geralt doesn’t say. They keep travelling together and Jaskier basks in the glory of knowing exactly what Geralt says about him when the witcher thinks he doesn’t understand. It’s wildly satisfying indeed but only up to a point – until the day Geralt calls him beautiful. Jaskier accepts the compliment with a smile, since it is the truth after all, but he can’t trust his voice to answer. He tries to fight the idiotic hope blooming in his chest and blames the warmth in Geralt’s gaze on the firelight. He reminds himself that Geralt doesn’t see him that way because it’s only women that the witcher’s ever been interested in. Life goes on.

Then his world crashes around him as he hears the words about love leaving Geralt’s mouth. That is when he can’t hold it in anymore and his secret is out. Or both his secrets, really.

It’s so freeing that he’s heady. Or maybe the giddiness can be all on Geralt. Or perhaps on the fact that, when Jaskier bares his heart in the Witcher tongue, it touches the witcher’s heart to its very core. He can feel it, in the way Geralt clings to him, and he already knows he won’t find any words to describe it properly in any language he knows.

That's how he knows it's something worth living and loving for - it means too much for words.

***

A/N: Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it! This fic is also available on AO3. Part 3 is coming, hopefully soon. It will be a 5+1 kind of thing about Geralt and Jaskier using the language.

Part 3

#myfic #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfiction #canon divergence

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yadds · 4 years

Text

Who wants another episode 6 fix-it fic??

When Geralt sees Jaskier a year after that bitter day on the mountain, Jaskier is surprisingly unenthusiastic about their reunion. Suddenly, he doesn’t seem to need (or want) Geralt anymore. Good. That’s exactly how he’s always wanted it. This is fine.

So, as is my nature, my oneshot has become longer than anticipated. I’m impatient with myself and decided to go ahead and post the first part. So enjoy part 1!

“Witcher,” a man hissed disdainfully, face hidden behind his collar aside from his eyes, which were spitting sparks of hate.

Geralt rolled his own eyes as he continued trudging through the village, covered in yet another creature’s guts. People got brave once he’d dispatched whatever monster they’d wanted gone.

He threw open the door to the inn where Roach was currently stabled, uncaring when the door slammed into the wall with a crash. He ignored the resulting silence that followed his entrance, stalking to the innkeeper standing behind the bar.

“It’s done,” he grunted.

“You got proof?” the innkeeper asked, lip curling as he was assaulted by the foul odor emanating from the witcher.

“Outside. Unless you’d like me to bring it in?” he asked with a cold smile.

“No, no, that’s quite alright,” the innkeeper hurried to say.

“Payment.” Geralt extended his hand expectantly.

The innkeeper eyed it for a long moment before ducking behind the bar to withdraw a small purse, tossing it onto the countertop and quickly pulling back, lest he accidentally come into contact with the witcher.

Snatching it and pulling it open, he plunged his hand in and felt the coin inside. “This is only half of what we agreed upon,” he growled.

“Well, I assumed you’d be wanting a room for the night. That, a meal, and lodging for your horse will all add up to the difference, I assure you,” the innkeeper said smugly. “But don’t worry, I’ll throw in a bath free of charge.”

The accompanying smirk slipped as Geralt glared in his direction, the loathing in his glowing yellow gaze palpable. “Now, sir,” the innkeeper prattled, realizing the potential danger and feeling trapped.

He snarled, unsurprised but already in a piss poor mood. His fists clenched, itching to slam the man’s head into the counter, but he refrained, instead turning sharply and heading for the stairs. “I’ll have that bath now,” he bit out, low voice carrying through the stillness that had fallen in the room once more.

He paused, one foot extended to the first step. Everyone in the crowded room was unmoving, an instinctual reaction like prey before a predator. All but one, who was shuffling quietly near the hearth. His eyes narrowed on the anomaly, noting the bright doublet and shaggy brown hair. He blew out a breath. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

He pushed his way through the crowd towards the man. Noticing the familiar lute leaning against the wall by the hearth, he grabbed it by the neck.

The waves of tension that rippled with each step Geralt took finally reached the fleeing man. He froze, stumbling before he turned slowly, eyes wide and wary as he remained silent.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grunted.

“Geralt,” Jaskier returned curtly.

Somewhat surprised by the lack of response, Geralt’s brows furrowed. “Forget something?” he asked wryly, holding up the lute.

Jaskier snatched it, cradling it protectively against his chest. “I was going to return for it,” he said, a stiff facsimile of a smile on his face as his eyes focused on the fire crackling behind the witcher. “As soon as you’d lumbered your way upstairs,” he continued, one hand flailing in the direction of the staircase. “Thank you for saving me the trouble.”

“Avoiding me, bard?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jaskier said bluntly. “I thought that was the expectation. Also, you smell absolutely terrible.”

“It’s always been the expectation. Doesn’t mean you’ve ever done it before,” Geralt quipped, ignoring the last comment.

He watched the muscle in Jaskier’s cheek jump as he clenched his jaw tight. “Yes, well, my apologies for not obliging you sooner,” he said with an attempt at a casual shrug. “And now I will bid you aideu, dear witcher.” Jaskier sketched a flourished bow before turning on his heel and marching out the door.

Geralt stood for another moment before turning as well and heading for the stairs again. He made it back to his room uninterrupted to find a steaming tub waiting for him.

He stripped quickly, letting his armor fall with a thump before sinking into the water with a sigh. He grabbed the small bucket near the tub and poured water over his sodden hair, fingers scratching through the muck.

He gazed into the murky water, loathe to admit that he’d been looking forward to Jaskier’s assistance when he’d sighted him in the tavern. Jaskier was always insistent on overseeing his bath after a particularly gruesome hunt, not allowing Geralt to skimp on cleanliness when Jaskier would have to smell his stench.

He’d stupidly come to expect Jaskier’s company as a certainty any time their paths crossed. It went against all his natural instincts; everyone left, he knew that all too well. Why would Jaskier be any different?

He grunted to himself as he sank deeper into the small tub, knees breaching the surface of the water as his head fell back against the edge. Despite the lukewarm water now engulfing his torso, the strange tightness in his chest wasn’t eased.

Geralt left the inn early the next day, glowering at the innkeeper on the way out before scanning the tavern.

Seeing a man he’d noticed nursing an ale the night before, Geralt stopped by his table. “Where’s the bard?” he questioned.

The man turned his head where it rested on the table, eyes rolling slowly up to meet Geralt’s. He blinked slowly before turning his head back down and grumbling, “‘the fuck would I know? Didn’t come back after you chased him off, least not that I saw.”

Huffing, Geralt made his way to the door but stopped when a man at the table in the corner said, “He left.”

Geralt stopped, turning his head to the man who’d spoken. “Where?”

The man shrugged, shoulders rustling his black curls. “Pretty sure he didn’t want you knowing, sir witcher,” he said mildly.

“Then why the fuck did you say anything at all?” Geralt snapped.

The man smiled in a way that made Geralt want to punch him. “What do you want with him?”

Good fucking question. “None of your damn business,” Geralt growled.

“Well, then I guess I can’t help you,” the man said with another shrug.

Geralt gave into the growing urge for violence and kicked a chair in the man’s direction. He found himself even more pissed off when the man did nothing but dodge slightly, seeming unconcerned by the wood splintering right behind his head.

Geralt’s lip curled before he jerked around and stormed out the door.

He paced through the roads, tense and restless with pent up energy.

He stopped at the apothecary to restock on ingredients for some of his potions, but it was a small affair, as was expected in a village of this size, and didn’t have much to offer. He refused to admit that he was looking for excuses to continue searching the village.

Annoyed with himself, he abruptly stopped and made his way back to the inn to retrieve Roach.

He’d spent the last ten years trying to get rid of Jaskier when he’d been sticking like an obnoxious burr in his blanket, with intermittent success. It had been nearly a year since he’d last seen Jaskier, not since that ill-fated day in the mountains where his life had taken a shittier turn than even he’d expected. That in itself wasn’t noteworthy; they’d gone longer without crossing paths in the past. What was new, however, was the lack of enthusiasm from Jaskier and his willingness to actually leave him be. And it aggravated Geralt to an absurd degree.

He saddled Roach, consciously gentling his hands so as not to take out his frustration on his one faithful companion. She huffed and butted his chest when he was done. He spared her a tight smile and a pat on her neck before turning and leading her out of town, concentrating his gaze only on the road in front of him.

Fuck Jaskier. He always knew one day he’d leave for good for one reason or another. And fuck his own cold, black heart for making him think he cared.

Two months later, Geralt was entering Redania when he noticed the gentle waving of the surrounding maize stalks wasn’t quite as gentle to his right. He reined Roach to a stop, hearing a muffled disturbance following the irregular motions.

He dismounted and left Roach at the road, creeping swiftly but silently into the field, sword drawn. Perhaps he’d lucked upon something that would get him some coin in the nearby town.

He slowed as he approached the creatures, which appeared to have stopped. He edged forward and was almost in view when he smelled the familiar notes of lavender and heard, “Come now, fellows, have mercy on a poor bard.”

Geralt dropped his stance, standing up straight and eyes rolling skyward. Of course. He shook his head and pushed forward to see the situation. There were three men surrounding Jaskier, burly farmhands by the look of them. Jaskier’s hands were spread in front of him, looking as unthreatening as possible.

“Don’t look so poor to me,” one man grunted, fingering Jaskier’s stupidly fine clothing carelessly.

“Well I wasn’t always poor,” Jaskier allowed, still managing to preen slightly. “But-but I assure you I am now!” he babbled quickly when the men advanced. “Seriously, look!” he said, fumbling at his belt.

The men tensed but Jaskier simply pulled out a worn coin purse and tossed it at their feet. One of the men picked it up and looked inside before snorting. “Boy, you ain’t lying. You got less than I do.”

“Right? You’d think with all this tension with Nilfgaard that people would want some good entertainment! But nooooo, no one wants to hear my new songs, which are frankly amazing if I do say so myself. Would you like to hear what I’ve been working on?” Jaskier asked eagerly, reaching for the case on his back.

The men backed up, the one holding the purse tossing it back to Jaskier, apparently uninterested in robbing someone less fortunate than themselves. Of course Jaskier would find the only decent would-be muggers on the Continent. “No. Now scram.”

Jaskier didn’t need to be told twice. He fumbled for his purse and didn’t bother resettling it on his belt before bolting right past where Geralt was lurking.

He followed behind, making sure the idiot got to the road in one piece, still undecided whether he was inclined to show his presence or not.

He watched Jaskier burst out of the field, hands on his knees as he heaved for breath before straightening, returning the coin purse to his belt, and moving on down the path, grumbling under his breath.

Geralt remained motionless, adrenaline still pumping but nothing to do with it. He couldn’t recall a single moment where Jaskier had been in trouble that he hadn’t had to intervene in some way. He felt strangely at a loss.

He shook it off, sheathing his sword and walking back up the road in the opposite direction to retrieve Roach.

The next altercation Geralt witnessed was decidedly more violent.

It was only weeks later when he’d been returning to an inn after eradicating a pack of wargs that had been attacking the town’s livestock. The pay wouldn’t be great, but this innkeeper at least allowed him a free night with a meal and a bath, which he’d not had in...too long.

The creatures only approached the town deep into the night and no one had been sure where they came from, so it was nearer to dawn than he’d like when he was through.

He heard a scuffle to his left and glanced to the side indifferently, having no interest in interfering in drunken squabbles. As he turned his head, the scent of lavender and fresh blood hit his nose and he was moving before he’d registered the connection, running soundlessly down the narrow, twisting alleyway.

He rounded the final turn just in time to see Jaskier thrusting a dagger into the hand of a man before spinning around and piercing a stiletto under the arm of another man that had been rushing him from behind, sword raised high.

Jaskier’s eyes jumped to Geralt as he appeared, flitting back to the scene before double-taking back to him and widening. “Go!” he hissed before turning back. But the distraction was already bearing consequence as a third man swung his heavy broadsword at Jaskier’s belly. He jumped back, twisting away, but was unable to avoid the blow completely, the glancing blow easily slicing through the thin doublet and scoring over his ribs and down to his hip.

Geralt rushed forward, plunging his own sword into the third man’s chest. The rattling gurgle as the man’s lungs filled with blood was strangely gratifying.

“Fuck!” Jaskier cursed. “You big oaf! If you were going to interrupt the least you could have done was finish the job properly,” he burst, gesturing angrily at the mouth of the alley where the first man had just fled, cradling his maimed hand.

“Job?” Geralt questioned, brows furrowed. “You an assassin now?” He asked scathingly, completely bewildered by what had just happened and irritated by his bewilderment.

“What? No! What?” Jaskier said incredulously. “No,” he said again, “I definitely did not start that. Seriously? But you let that bastard get away! And you just made my life a whole hell of a lot harder since he saw you. Fuck,” he swore again, gritting his teeth and holding his side.

Geralt kicked aside the corpse of the second man, kneeling down to remove the stiletto from between his ribs and pocketing it before approaching Jaskier cautiously, unsure of his welcome.

“I’m not sure why you’re here, but I’ve been working damn hard to stay out of your way so it’s not my fault. Now can you kindly return my dagger before you fuck off?”

“Jaskier. Don’t be an idiot. You need help,” Geralt rumbled.

A bitter laugh tore its way out of Jaskier’s throat. “Oh, that’s rich, Geralt. And I suppose you’re offering? I’m not sure why - what better guarantee could you have to not see my face again? Maybe destiny likes you a bit after all,” he grunted as he slumped against the wall behind him, blood pumping sluggishly between his fingers.

Rattled by the scent of Jaskier’s blood still fresh in the air, Geralt bent to grab Jaskier’s arm and throw it over his shoulder. Jaskier hissed in pain as the skin around his wound stretched to accommodate the movement. “Yeah, that’s not really gonna help, you giant behemoth. You’re way too tall for this to work.”

“Hm. Not my fault you’re so short,” Geralt replied lowly, falling easily back into their usual banter. “Now suck it up,” he growled, even as he stooped further to ease the strain, shuffling Jaskier out of the alley.

He waited for the inevitable overdramatic response from Jaskier but it never came. He glanced over to make sure he was still conscious. Jaskier’s face was slightly pale and drawn, but his gaze was focused furiously on the road in front of them, alert and astutely avoiding Geralt.

Geralt gritted his own teeth at the wave of irrational displeasure that swept over him. But if there was one thing that he was good at, it was shoving his phantom emotions deep, deep into the bowels of hell.

Finally to the inn, Geralt’s eyes automatically swept the room, noting no obvious threats in the few patrons still lingering at this early hour. A young girl was dozing with her head on her hand behind the bar. “Healer,” he barked in her direction.

She startled, head jerking up suddenly. “Wh-what?”

“Healer,” Geralt repeated impatiently. “I assume this godforsaken town has one?” When she nodded spastically, gaze edging away from him, he had to restrain a growl. “Send for him,” he ordered.

“If you would use a little tact, maybe you wouldn’t scare the poor girl into uselessness. Seriously, Geralt, you’re only getting in your own way. Or my way, since, you know, I’m the one bleeding out over here,” Jaskier rasped before lifting his gaze to the girl and offering her a pained smile. “I do apologize for his brutishness, but if you really could send for the healer, I would be,” he stopped and drew a sharp intake of breath as another wave of pain wracked him, leaving him limp and trembling, “oh gods, eternally grateful. Please, for the love of all that is holy, woman!”

The girl shook herself and rushed out the back.

Geralt lowered Jaskier into a nearby chair, supporting him with a hand on the nape of his neck. He was tense, on high alert for any possible threat.

“Why?” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier looked up at him before hanging his head again. “More than one word would be helpful. Why is the sky blue? I don’t know Geralt, maybe it’s Melitele’s favorite color,” he said caustically.

Geralt sent him a withering glare. “For fuck’s sake - you’ll be a pain in my ass until your very last breath.”

“What can I say? It’s a gift,” he wheezed, hands clenching the edge of the table white-knuckle tight. His eyes suddenly flew open. “W-wait a minute? Am I really dying? Geralt, I-I don’t want to die, please, I’m sorry,” he babbled, shifting listlessly.

Geralt knelt down and settled his hand on the side of Jaskier’s head, his thumb under one eye and fingers sifting through his hair. “Jaskier,” he said lowly. “Look at me Jaskier,” he ordered, grip tightening, anchoring him.

Jaskier’s eyes slowly rolled to meet his, glazed, breath hitching. “Hey, you’re going to be fine. I won’t let you die, you hear me?” Geralt insisted intently.

Jaskier’s lids fluttered shut, lips pressed tightly together as he finally nodded. He slumped further as the tension slowly bled from him.

“Hey!” Geralt barked. “No, stay awake, keep talking.”

He felt the stirrings of what he imagined to be panic simmering in his gut as he glanced down again at the wound. It was still bleeding, although the flow was intermittent and sluggish. But he had no idea how much blood Jaskier had already lost, or the likelihood of extensive internal damage. He may have promised Jaskier that he wouldn’t die, but Geralt wasn’t a fucking healer.

“Thought you wanted me to shut up,” Jaskier mumbled.

“Why were those men after you? You fuck one of their wives again?” he asked, partially to keep him talking but also because he wanted to know. Those weren’t your average village folk.

Jaskier choked out a short laugh that ended in a cough. “If only that were so - then I’d at least have a warm, fond memory to hold onto as I got cut down.”

When that seemed to be the end of what he had to say, Geralt rolled his eyes before prompting again, “Why, Jaskier?”

Jaskier was quiet for a long moment before he said reluctantly. “You.”

Geralt recoiled then returned his grip to the back of Jaskier’s neck, grasp tight but careful. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Jaskier’s eyes were darting restlessly and he couldn’t tell if it was because Jaskier was dizzy on the verge of unconsciousness or if he just wanted so desperately to avoid looking at Geralt. He refrained from shaking him when no further explanation was forthcoming, but it was a near thing.

“It’s not exactly a secret that we’re pretty closely associated. Or were,” Jaskier said with a trace of bitterness. “And you can be a bit of an ass,” he emphasized pointedly, cutting a sideways glance at Geralt, “so you’ve got more than your share of enemies.”

Geralt grunted in agreement. But when he simply continued staring expectantly at him, Jaskier scoffed. “Do I really need to spell this out for you? So they come after me looking for you. Gods above Geralt, I know people mistake you for a brainless baboon but I always gave you the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps wrongly so, I’m finding now.”

Geralt didn’t hear Jaskier’s derisive comments over the rushing noise filling his ears. “Who?” he choked out, tongue feeling heavy and clumsy in his mouth.

“I don’t know, I didn’t quite get that far before they tried to kill me. Believe it or not, real life isn’t like the stories where the villians wax poetic about their life story and grand plans! I found that out a long time ago, to my everlasting disappointment.” Jaskier’s voice was steady but growing weaker.

“I know,” Geralt replied softly, at a loss for what else to say.

Then his brain caught up to the conversation and his brows snapped down, eyes narrowed. “You speak as though this has happened before, Jaskier,” he growled.

Jaskier’s responding bark of laughter was almost too faint to hear. He held a hand up, palm out toward Geralt. “Aren’t I the victim here? Please, can the interrogation wait?” he pleaded softly.

Geralt took in the fine trembling of Jaskier’s outstretched hand, the beads of sweat gathering on his hairline, and nodded. “Fine,” he relented before looking hastily around the room as if the healer could have entered in the last few minutes without him having noticed. He clenched his jaw, tempted to tear through the town and drag the man here himself. But he looked again at Jaskier, noting how he swayed as he struggled to hold himself upright, breathing rapid and shallow. He couldn’t leave him alone.

Jaskier’s eyelids were drooping heavily when the door finally opened. Geralt immediately reached for his sword before he saw the girl from before. His hand slowly returned to Jaskier’s shoulder as she was followed by not a healer, but a mage. Triss. Of course. Despite how he didn’t wish to see her at the moment, he knew that Jaskier was in good hands.

“Geralt,” she greeted with a crooked smile. “And this must be Jaskier,” she guessed, eyes traveling to take in the bard under his hands.

“Heal him,” Geralt ordered.

Triss shot him an unimpressed look and lingered across the room.

“I’ll pay,” he continued. “Whatever it is you’re wanting, I’ll give it to you.”

“Well, I was just wanting a properly polite request, but now I may have to rethink my demands,” she mused, lips quirking.

“Triss, please,” he said beseechingly.

Her expression softened as she finally approached. She laid a hand on his forearm and assured him, “He’ll be fine, Geralt, I promise.”

She knelt in front of Jaskier, hand brushing gently across his cheek as his eyes fluttered open. “Hello, Jaskier. I’m Triss. I’m going to fix you up, alright? So just hang on a bit longer and you’ll be right as rain.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier croaked. Geralt squeezed his shoulder to let him know he was still there. “Are you sure I haven’t died? I’m pretty sure there’s an exquisite angel here.”

Triss chuckled as she straightened. “Why don’t you bring him upstairs and lay him down - he’s near unconscious already and my potions will only exacerbate his exhaustion.”

Geralt gathered Jaskier in his arms. Even he wasn’t cruel enough to toss him over his shoulder as he’d normally do in his current state. Jaskier groaned, curling in on himself despite Geralt’s attempts to not jostle his wounded side. “Shh,” he murmured. “You’re fine.”

Jaskier muttered something unintelligible in response. Geralt looked back up and locked eyes with Triss, who had a somewhat pinched expression. She turned away and gestured to Geralt to lead the way upstairs.

In Geralt’s room, he settled Jaskier gently on the sheets before withdrawing and leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, averting his eyes to watch the shadows on the wall move slowly with the rising sun.

Triss sifted through her potions before selecting a small green bottle. She held it to Jaskier’s lips. “Come on now, little bard, drink up,” she coaxed. “This will stop any internal bleeding.”

It was only a matter of minutes after Jaskier finished his dose that he was fully unconscious, his soft breathing and rapid pattering of his heart still too fast but steadier than before.

Triss pulled aside Jaskier’s tunic to close the wound. Geralt’s gaze now drawn and refusing to be moved from Triss’s hands on Jaskier’s flesh, his own skin buzzed with tension, fingers flexing against his biceps.

As she finished, Triss stood and faced Geralt, lips pursing as she took in his agitation. “He’s fine, Geralt,” she said yet again. “He lost a bit of blood but this was really quite minor to have you so worked up. He may sleep for the next 24 hours so don’t be alarmed,” she said briskly as she gathered her things.

“Thank you,” he said, gruff but sincere. “What do I owe you?”

She paused and looked at him again before shaking her head. “Nothing. I had hoped that we could perhaps reconnect after I’d heard that you and Yennefer had...parted ways. But I see that it appears I may have already missed my chance,” she said wistfully.

“There must be something,” he insisted, ignoring her other statement. She was right that they would not be ‘reconnecting,’ but how could she possibly know that?

“No,” she said as she closed her bag and turned to the door. “Just helping an old friend.”

Geralt grabbed her shoulder gently to stop her. “Triss. Really, thank you. I am in your debt,” he said intently.

He watched her eyes dart down to his lips and was prepared for a renewed proposition. He wouldn’t refuse again; it was an easy way to repay a debt that would sit heavy on the shreds of his conscience that remained.

But she simply smiled once again, with a soft, “Goodbye, Geralt. Take care.”

He watched her leave then settled on the floor at the side of the bed, removing his swords from his back and slinging them across his lap

#badass!jaskier #jaskier is not a damsel in distress #geralt is a dick #geralt doesnt like feelings #geralt is kind of a stalker #angst #kind of #eventually #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #fic #the witcher #yadds writes #geralt x jaskier

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

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Reader has been blinded and seeks the help of a Witcher to regain her sight. Jask takes this opportunity to describe himself as amazingly heroic, and reader starts liking him based on how he acts/describes himself. Then she gets her sight back and finally gets to see him and is like "whyd you describe yourself as different? I liked you already." 😍

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Jaskier x Reader Word Count: 1,163 Rating: G Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mycat-is-mylove @mynamesoundslikesherlock @kemmastan @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @amirahiddleston @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @daydreamer-in-training @morelikebyesexual a/n: Here you go! xo

You had spent months waiting for this moment.

Months of travel with the bard and the witcher, a strange third party for an already odd couple. You’d feared being a burden or that you would slow them down, unaccustomed to the sudden blindness you’d been cursed with, but both men had been reassuring, though the bard more vocally than the witcher. The bard, Jaskier, would sing you songs and described the sights around you in such vivid detail you felt you could see them yourself. In time the sight you wanted more than any other was of the bard himself. When you asked him to describe himself for you he paused and you’d begun to fear you’d overstepped, ready to apologize when he suddenly answered you.

“Tall,” he began, “And broad. Very strong.”

“What color is your hair?”

“Silver.”

“Silver? You don’t sound very old.”

“Oh I’m not! I greyed prematurely but in a sort of sexy way, you see.”

“I see… and your eyes?”

“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

“I’d believe anything you said. I’m at quite the disadvantage.”

“Untrue! I told you that you were the loveliest woman in all of creation and you brazenly denied it!”

“Your eyes, Jaskier, what color are they?”

“Amber.”

“Yellow?”

“More of a lovely golden hue.”

You’d sketched an image of the man in your mind and though it didn’t suit the voice you heard you had to admit that when he helped you over rough terrain you felt the swell of muscles in his arms, the shoulders broad, and the brush of hair on his chest that your hands skimmed over at night when you lay next to each other huddled for warmth seemed to align with the description.

Over time you asked him about his hobbies and he described his music and his adventures, his role as a hero and his skill with swords.

“Swords plural?”

“Ah yes, one steel and one silver.”

“Hmm.”

“What was that Geralt?”

“Geralt was just leaving, weren’t you Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

In the time you spent together as you grew closer to Jaskier you also began to fear that you would never regain your sight as you struggled to track down the mage who they said would help cure you. Then one night you’d been napping by the camp and the smell of lilacs and gooseberries woke you and a woman’s voice summoned you to join her. She did not take your arm and lead you, which you appreciated, but she described where to go and you did not have to go far before you were in a cold room.

And now here you were. She’d spoken some words and smeared something over your closed lids and then washed it away.

“Open them, you should be able to see now,” she said. You felt a strange trepidation, having grown used to the darkness though not overly fond of it. As if sensing your fear, the woman gently placed her hands in yours and raised them to your eyes.

“Open them slowly, you will see hands. Nothing scary about that, right?”

You felt silly but the idea of knowing what you would look at helped and you slowly and carefully peered out, wincing from the light but soon opening your eyes fully as you gratefully took in the sight of your hands, vowing to never take them for granted again. You lifted your gaze to the woman and startled, not only due to her loveliness but the strange violet shade of her eyes.

“Good gods am I the only one without an extraordinary eye color?” you exclaimed. The woman gave you a bemused look and then looked over your shoulder towards the door. You realized now that you could see him. You were just as nervous but more excited and you tore out of the room and nearly ran right into him.

He was tall and broad and had silver hair and amber eyes. He was clearly strong and you saw the two swords.

And yet.

“You’re not Jaskier,” you said decidedly.

“Hmm,” the voice came, the same one you’d heard before and confirmation of what you’d said. You looked around the room but all you saw was a man with brown hair and blue eyes who seemed to be shrinking in on himself as much as possible, nearly hiding in the shadows. He didn’t say a word but you crossed over to him, a curious and assessing expression on your face. You walked up close until you were nearly nose to nose, peering into his eyes, as he looked back breathlessly.

A slow smile crept across your face and you raised your hands, settling one gently on his shoulder and the other sliding through the parted doublet to feel the hair and skin and heartbeat that you’d turned to for comfort all this time.

“There you are,” you said softly.

“How… did you know?” he asked, in that voice you knew and loved and would never tire of hearing.

“I don’t know. I just did. I think I’d know you anywhere,” you answered. He gave a short laugh and then a brilliant smile lit up his face.

“But why did you lie?” you asked, brow furrowing in confusion. He looked a bit sheepish and his eyes looked askance as he answered you.

“Ah, well, to be honest? Woman tend to respond more favorably to Geralt’s appearance and I… I just found myself describing him and when you seemed interested I couldn’t bring myself to disappoint you with the truth. Which was unfair and a lie and I understand if you’re angry,” he said, the sapphire eyes raising to meet yours again.

“I’m not angry I’m just confused,” you replied, “I mean… why would I want him when I have you?”

“Thanks,” Geralt muttered from across the way. The mage muttered something that sounding vaguely placating to him but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the bard who was looking at you as you imagined someone might look at a sunset, with awe and a bit of reverence for the thing they witnessed.

“So you’re not disappointed?” he asked.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head and giving him a smile, amused by the thought that anyone could be disappointed by the sight of him. Though truth be told, you’d fallen for him long before this moment. His appearance was nearly overkill, frankly.

“I don’t really wield swords,” he said, still cautiously searching for the thing that would turn you away.

“Do you still sing and play the lute?” you asked.

“Yes!” he answered immediately, reaching for his lute as it to prove himself at once.

“And do you feel the same as you’ve said? The same as you’ve shown all these months?” you asked, now the one who was cautious. He raised a hand to cup your face, gazing into your eyes with a gentle intensity, closing only at the moment your lips met his.

#Anonymous #Jaskier x Reader #Jaskier imagines #Jaskier fluff #reader request

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kirk-spock-in-the-impala · 4 years

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Between You and the World (1 of 6)

Geralt’s senses are extraordinarily acute, allowing him to perceive far more than average. As necessary as those senses are for his profession, they can become overwhelming.

Five times Jaskier helps Geralt through sensory overload

________________________________________________________

Chapter One: Smell - Autumn Year 1250

Link to AO3

CW: mentions of mild self-harm; Geralt’s headspace; sensory overload.

The smell of fish pervaded the air. In this little collection of houses by the coast, too small to even rightfully be called a village, people scraped a living out of the sea and the coast. There were no fishmongers and no market, the people here were too few for those contrivances. Instead, the handful of weather-worn people who called this place home, all well into their fifth decade at least, worked together to haul in fish from the nets, to gut them on the shore, and to dry, smoke, or salt the catch for the long winter ahead.

It was subsistence living practiced in peaceful cooperation with neighbor and nature, an archetype of living off the land. Jaskier waxed poetic as they walked slowly through the collective, smiling and greeting all as he took in the wholesome sight, humming an upbeat tune under his breath. Clearly, a new ballad was already in the works, one, Geralt hoped, that would be both more accurate and less bawdy than “The Fishmonger’s Daughter”.

Geralt respected the hard work evidenced by small settlements like this. He knew how difficult it was to live off the land and how few people did that work honestly. He also appreciated the neutral welcome. With the curses and stones that had followed him throughout the last few villages on the coast, it was a welcome reprieve.

But, all the reprieve and respect in the world couldn’t change the smell. Fish drying in the brisk, salt air. Fish roasting over open fire pits, fat spitting off the burning peat below. Fish guts marinating in the slop buckets left out in full sun. Fish stew bubbling away in large stock pots, sending clouds of fish-scented steam over the narrow path through the village.

The smell was so strong Geralt could taste it, could feel it permeating his bones and coating his throat. He fought the urge to gag, to cover his mouth and nose against the powerful stench. Nothing was rotten – except maybe the fish guts – but the smell was all around them like a miasma, overpowering even the sharp, clean smell of the sea.

Geralt clenched his teeth and tightened his fists around Roach’s reins, willing himself not to give into the urge to bury his face in Roach’s neck to escape the stench.

Jaskier, other than a quick wrinkle of his nose when they passed the first rack of freshly filleted fish left out to dry, seemed unaffected by the ambient odor. Judging by his relaxed expression, the smell was noticeable but not overly so, at least not to average human senses.

Unless Jaskier was also affected, Geralt had to bear it as if he were equally unaffected. The people here had yet to spit or curse at him, and Geralt wasn’t going to give them reason to change their minds by drawing attention to his freakishly strong sense of smell, more akin to that of a wolf than a man.

Though the settlement was sparsely populated, it spread out over close to a mile of coast and the wind blew at their backs as Geralt, Jaskier, and Roach proceeded slowly on their way north up the coast. Not wanting to waste Roach’s legs or Jaskier’s fine boots without cause, Geralt kept the pace slow as they passed through the village, Jaskier’s humming changing to strumming as he pulled out his lute to start roughly sketching out the structure of his new ballad.

As they slowly walked along the narrow coastal road, Geralt’s fingers tightened until his nails cut into his palm, his teeth grinding as he fought to keep his expression neutral and resist the urge to bury his nose in something, anything, to dampen the smell. The stench of fish surrounded him, battering at his senses.

At the far end of the village, the smell only increased as they approached the large smokers, plumes of grey smoke pouring out from the top of each, almost shimmering from the high concentration of fish oil.

The cloying, greasy smell made the already difficult strain on Geralt’s sensory control completely intolerable. Geralt choked down the urge to retch, tightening his fists until the bones creaked, focusing on the stinging pain in his palms, the cramping in his jaw, anything to distract himself. It didn’t help, those small hurts rendered irrelevant in the face of such an overload on his senses. Geralt’s perception narrowed, nausea rising. The sudden drastic increase in his tension alarmed Roach and she danced under him, whites showing in her eyes as she looked for the danger causing Geralt’s extreme distress. Geralt couldn’t even bring himself to calm her, or to relax his stranglehold on her reins. Instinct and training kicked in, his body swinging down from Roach’s back without his conscious input. Geralt froze at Roach’s side, completely overcome.

Jaskier abruptly stopped strumming. “Geralt?” He asked, concerned at the sudden dismount, walking quickly to close the short distance between them. “What’s wrong?”

Geralt didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. The smell was everywhere, he couldn’t escape it, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. His eyes were fixed on Roach’s saddle, the knuckles on his left hand white with tension around the reins, his right clenched at his side, arm spasming as he fought the urge to cover his nose. His breathing was rough and quick, pulling air in through his mouth and forcing it out through his nose in a futile effort to clear the smell.

Jaskier placed a hand gently on Geralt’s right shoulder, alarmed by his silence and obvious distress. Geralt spun to face him, startled out of his fugue by the sudden contact. Geralt’s eyes were wide and unable to focus, wild tension cutting sharp furrows across his strong features.

“Easy,” Jaskier soothed, keeping a gentle contact on Geralt’s arm. “What’s wrong? Tell me so I can help.” He kept his voice calm, but it was laced with command.

Geralt focused on Jaskier’s voice, meeting his gaze but unable to answer, the words lost to the overwhelming sensory input. Without words, he stepped into Jaskier’s space, burying his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, breathing deeply of the familiar scent of rosin and honey. Brought down to his base reactions, Geralt’s body knew what his mind had yet to accept after their year of travelling together: Jaskier was safe. Jaskier wouldn’t spit or curse at him for this brief moment of weakness. Jaskier wouldn’t hurt him.

Jaskier’s arms came up around him, stroking his back in long, slow, soothing strokes, feeling the tension strumming through Geralt’s body, the hot breath panting against his neck.

As the tension in Geralt’s body slightly lessened and his breathing eased, Jaskier drew Geralt in closer, bringing one hand up to stroke through his hair. Gently, keeping his tone carefully light, he asked, “Geralt, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Geralt stiffened and pulled back, ashamed as clarity returned. But when he pulled away from Jaskier, the smell of fish flooded his senses again and he whined in pain before he could stop himself, the overwhelming odor that much worse for the brief respite. Jaskier’s hand tightened on the back of his head, drawing Geralt’s face back to the crook of his neck, fingers scratching soothingly on his scalp.

“Hey, now, I didn’t say anything about moving.” Jaskier admonished, keeping a steady pressure on the back of Geralt’s head. “I can see you’re hurting, but I can’t help you unless I know why.”

Geralt heaved a shaky sigh, pressing his face into Jaskier’s neck and breathing in the familiar scent. With the lessening of tension, with Jaskier shielding him from the smell, his words returned. “It’s the smell.” Geralt said, words shorted by embarrassment. “It’s too strong.”

Jaskier heard the shame tinging Geralt’s words. Knowing his dear Witcher hated to admit to anything he perceived, correctly or not, as weakness, he knew the smell must have been truly intolerable to garner such an extreme reaction. He also knew he would need to tread carefully to avoid Geralt completely closing off again, amazed he had been allowed to help at all.

“It is incredibly strong.” Jaskier agreed. “I’ve never seen fish in such quantity before. If it smells so strongly to me, I can’t imagine what havoc it’s wreaking on your perceptive nose! I have just the thing too. It absolutely saves me when I have to travel to Oxenfurt in the summer, the smell of the nightsoil baking in the sun in indescribable!”

As he spoke, Jaskier reached into the bag slung over his shoulder, keeping one hand firmly on Geralt’s head, holding him in place. He pulled out a large, linen handkerchief and small bottle of chamomile oil. With his teeth, he popped the cap off the oil and, one handed, pressed the handkerchief to the top of the bottle, tipping it over to deposit a small amount of oil in the center of the cloth. Carefully righting the bottle, Jaskier pushed the stopper back in with his teeth, tucking the bottle away before bringing the handkerchief up near Geralt’s face.

“Geralt, hold your breath for a minute, please. This will help, I promise.” Jaskier said gently, but firmly.

Geralt drew in a breath and held it as Jaskier stepped back just enough to affix the large handkerchief around Geralt’s nose and mouth, the small drop of chamomile oil directly under his nose. Tying it firmly around Geralt’s head, Jaskier stepped back further to inspect his work.

Geralt’s eyes were firmly shut, tension carving lines around his eyes and across his forehead. He still held his breath.

“Give it a try now.” Jaskier instructed. Geralt took a cautious breath, smelling only chamomile oil and, faintly, Jaskier’s natural rosin and honey scent. He took a deeper breath. The smell of fish was perceptible, but only barely, overpowered by the other, closer, far more pleasant smells on the handkerchief. Tension bled from Geralt’s face and shoulders as he found he could breathe easily again.

Jaskier smiled, seeing the relief on Geralt’s face. “Better?”

“Much.” Geralt said. “Thank you.” He reached up to touch the handkerchief. “How did you come up with this?” He asked as he pulled Roach’s reins over her head and started to walk up the path again.

Jaskier huffed a laugh, following at Geralt’s side. “Necessity, my dear Witcher. Oxenfurt was the first city I ever resided in and the smell during the winter was bad enough, what with the nightsoil carts and the manure in the streets. But when summer came and all that baked in the sun? I couldn’t tolerate it. Perhaps the noses of my classmates were simply burned into senselessness by years of exposure or perhaps I’m simply more sensitive to the smell of waste, but I couldn’t walk in the streets in the summer unaided. I tried a handkerchief in front of my nose, which helped, and one of my instructors was kind enough to share the secret of chamomile oil with me. After that, I could walk around without feeling faint! It was a relief.” Jaskier smiled at the memory of his classmates walking around with handkerchiefs tied about their faces. “I even started a trend!”

“Hm.” Geralt said, “Clever.”

“Oh? Was that a compliment I heard?” Jaskier teased, nudging Geralt with his elbow.

Geralt raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jaskier sideways before returning his gaze to the path ahead. They walked in silence for a time, putting distance between them and the fishing village. As the miles passed beneath their feet and the wind shifted, the smell of fish dissipated completely, taken over by clean, salt air and the rich scent of peat moss. Geralt breathed a sigh of relief, the last of the tension leaving him. He reached up and untied the handkerchief, folding it carefully before handing it back to Jaskier.

“All better?” Jaskier asked, deliberately casual, tucking the handkerchief back into his bag.

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded, leading Roach off the path to a suitable clearing for their campsite. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, and it was best to be settled before dark.

Jaskier helped Geralt set up camp, humming his new ballad ideas as he went through the familiar motions. Once camp was set up, Jaskier picked up the water bucket and Roach’s reins, intending to head out to the stream he could hear nearby. He usually gathered the water for the camp, and offered some to Roach, while Geralt explored the surrounding woods for forage or game, or, these past days, went fishing in the productive coastal waters.

Geralt stood by the packs, hand hovering over the fishing rod before picking up the crossbow and slinging the quiver over his shoulder, heading off into the woods. Jaskier watched him go, unsurprised at the choice, before heading off to complete his task.

Later, as dusk headed toward night, Geralt slowly turned the rabbit he’d caught for their dinner over the fire as Jaskier brewed some of their herb stash into a fortifying tea, tucking the metal pot into the embers to heat.

With his eyes fixed on his task, Geralt said quietly, shoulders curling in, “forgive me for earlier, I should have been able to control myself.”

Jaskier looked up at him, having expected embarrassment to follow the relief given Geralt’s proclivity to completely disregard his own needs, and said firmly, “there’s nothing to forgive.”

Geralt’s jaw clenched and his hands flexed around the stick on which he held the rabbit over the flames. Jaskier couldn’t tell if the color in his face was from the heat of the fire, or from shame, but he would have bet on the latter.

“It was a shameful display. I should be able to handle the smell of fish without falling apart.”

Jaskier stood and came around the fire to kneel next to Geralt, forcing Geralt to meet his eyes. “Now, none of that.” He said, “It was nothing so simple as the smell of fish, it was far more intense than that. I know how sensitive your sense of smell is and I’m amazed you tolerated it for as long as you did.”

Seeing Geralt’s mulish expression, he continued, “if anything, I have to beg your forgiveness for not noticing sooner. I noticed the smell, sure enough, but I didn’t think about how it would affect you and thereby withheld from you sorely needed aide.”

Geralt shook his head sharply, looking down. “No, you have no obligation to care for me and so there’s nothing to forgive. I should have controlled myself better.”

Jaskier shifted to sit directly next to Geralt, pressing into his side, curling his arm around Geralt’s and tracing a light pattern on Geralt’s forearm. He knew he wasn’t going to overcome the enormous well of self-flagellation Geralt carried in a single night, but he would do his best to chip away at it.

After a moment, he gently tugged on Geralt’s arm, prompting him to turn back toward Jaskier.

“Would you blame me for shivering in winter? For sweating in summer?”

“What?” Geralt said, brows furrowing. “No, of course not.”

“Of course not.” Jaskier agreed. “Because those are normal, physical reactions to external stimuli. I can’t stop sweating or stop shivering by sheer force of will.”

Geralt frowned, seeing the analogy. Jaskier continued before he could voice his disagreement.

“No amount of will or training can completely overcome the body’s reactions.” Jaskier said, firmly. “Your senses are enhanced well beyond what most men could fathom, let alone tolerate, and you manage every day without fuss. Your fortitude is astounding, but everyone has limits. Today was an extraordinary situation and there is no shame in accepting help when you need it.”

Geralt pressed his lips into a thin line, hearing the logic but unable to accept the conclusion. “Regardless,” he said, voicing his true shame, “I shouldn’t have forced you into that position.”

Jaskier’s heart broke for his friend. They had never discussed it in so many words, but he could tell by Geralt’s expectations and reactions regarding human interaction how poorly, how neglectfully, he’d been treated in the past. Jaskier hoped he had known kindness in his life before they met in Posada but did not believe it likely.

Jaskier reached out a hand and gently turned Geralt’s head to face him, thumb rubbing gently on his stubbled cheek. Geralt finally lifted his eyes to meet Jaskier’s.

“You didn’t force me into anything.” Jaskier said, his tone uncompromising. “You are my dearest friend and I will not stand by and see you harmed. Just as you would not leave me to die from a monster’s attack, I would not leave you to suffer, whatever the cause, if it is within my power to alleviate your suffering even a little.”

Geralt’s expression turned contemplative, considering Jaskier’s words in light of everything he’d learned to the contrary in his long life. He did not pull away from Jaskier’s touch.

Jaskier smiled, seeing Geralt softening his stance. He chose his next words carefully. “I know you’ve been taught you must be completely self-sufficient, but at least indulge me enough to let me help you in these small ways.” Jaskier knew that phrasing the ask as a way Geralt could help Jaskier would be much more effective than anything implying Geralt should take assistance for his own sake.

Geralt turned Jaskier’s words over in his head. He didn’t need, didn’t deserve, the sort of soft care Jaskier was talking about, but, if it would help his friend feel more at ease, maybe, just maybe, it would be all right to accept a little of what Jaskier was offering.

Geralt turned his face into Jaskier’s palm, closing his eyes in acceptance of Jaskier’s words. Jaskier smiled, heart warm in his chest at the display of trust. He leaned forward and gently, fleetingly, touched his forehead to Geralt’s.

Geralt opened his eyes as Jaskier pulled back, searching Jaskier’s expression for any signs of hesitation or reluctance. Or worse, pity. Finding only calm contentment and affection in Jaskier’s gaze, Geralt gave him a hint of a smile, pleased he had eased his friend’s heart and feeling an unfamiliar sense of calm and safety come over him.

Geralt had never had a friend to care for him, and he was certain he would never be worthy of the kind of care Jaskier talked about, but if Jaskier truly wanted to care for Geralt, then Geralt would not deny him. He would not insult his only friend by refusing his generous offer. He would never ask, could never ask for anything not freely given, but perhaps this little indulgence, this openly offered affection, was safe to accept.

Geralt turned back to the fire, pulling the rabbit off the fire. Jaskier leaned against his shoulder as Geralt cut the rabbit from the skewer and roughly chopped the meat into quarters, handing Jaskier his half on a clean piece of bark. Jaskier placed the rabbit on his lap and reached over to pull the metal pot from the embers, sleeve pulled over his hand to protect it from the heat, tipping the tea into the two earthenware cups he’d set out earlier. He handed Geralt his tea and leaned back into Geralt’s side to eat his dinner, humming quietly.

Geralt took a deep breath, smelling freshly cooked rabbit, herbal tea, the sea, and Jaskier’s rosin and honey. He relaxed into the firm pressure of Jaskier at his side, felt the warmth of the fire on his face and the fresh meal in his belly.

Perhaps, this was what the bards meant when they sang of peace.

#kirk-spock-in-the-impala writes #the witcher #witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #sensory overload #fic

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buttercup-of-kaer-morhen · 4 years

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Of Thorns and Buttercups

~Ch 5/?~

(Beauty and the Beast AU, Kiiiinda. It has definite elements of the original story cause I’m a sap for Fairytale AUs. I hope you enjoy. Also shout out to @sophiakuso1 for being my beta. Here you can find Beginning or Previous) Geralt tries to figure out how to break the curse while battling with his feeling this time.

Note: Lew is pronounced Lef because it is polish just as a heads up.

Primary Tags: Beast! Geralt, Belle! Jaskier, Memory Alteration Via Curse, It really only affects Jaskier right now Also on AO3!

————————-

Geralt sat in the destroyed room that night after dinner, staring at the cage. He was specifically trying to not think about the fact that not only was the bard trapped in the cursed castle with him, but the bard also somehow lost his memory, most likely due to said curse… and it was all Geralt’s fault. The guilt swirling around in his chest was sickening and unwelcome. He just kept dragging the bard down with him. Geralt ran circles through his mind trying to figure out what he should do about the whole damn thing. After a while, he decided that it would be better at that point if he were to just stay away from the man as best as he could. If he did, then Jaskier would slowly realize he was wasting his time on a monster like Geralt, just like on the mountain. Geralt just had to figure out how to get Jaskier past the thorn vines keeping them imprisoned, but the witcher had a sinking feeling that it would require the curse being broken.

Geralt sighed, finally looking away from the silvered metal vines trapping the cluster of buttercups and realized the moon was high in the sky, much further in its journey than when he had fetched the bard to eat. It felt like he was not only losing time, but it also couldn’t move any slower. Watching the clock or trying to solve a problem in his head to pass the time was like watching tree sap drip in winter, but if he got lost in his thoughts, it flew by without him realizing. The memory of the almost completely dead rose and the warning of petals falling had dread creeping up his spine. He had a limit on his time, whether it was choosing to go fast or slow, until who knows what would happen, and it was all very similar to waiting in a dungeon for his own execution. Except this time, he had a bard to drag to his death with him and he had no idea where to even start to try and stop it… Except the weird journal!

He wanted to smack himself for almost forgetting about its existence. He quickly collected the small book again and settled back onto the edge of the bed. He first flipped through, discovering that it was a journal of someone of the castle rather than magical notes or something of actual use, and oddly enough it only had the first few pages written in. Although it was just a journal, it reeked of magic, as did everything else in this place, which irked him a bit. Would nothing be easy?! A magical personal journal was most likely useful, but he didn’t know how yet until he actually read the damn thing. He sighed before settling further into the nest of fabric so he could at least be comfortable while slogging through the first entry that was most likely fraught with exaggerations he’d have to weed through. He did hope that more pages would fill as he read however, because perhaps there were magical inscriptions and spells on later pages… He could only hope.

[The Date is Unreadable]

The years grow long since I came to my lord’s court and was given the honor of my knighthood. We have fought many battles side by side and I have completed every task, be it political or mundane, which he has given me. Although this life leaves me fulfilled, I feel as though I am missing something. I crave the companionship of another outside that of my fellow knights, my lord, and the countries that seem ever present now. Although the ladies I have been introduced to as of late are fine of figure and mind, none fill the hollow feeling that has steadily grown in my chest.

I almost thought all hope was lost when while I was in the village today, I came upon the fairest maiden I had ever laid eyes upon. Her delicate features and poise rivaled that of any woman I have encountered across the lands on my travels. Her timid and delicate disposition only lends to her outward appearance, for as soon as I caught sight of her eyes, I could see the wild freedom that burned within. The fierce look called out to me and it lit my soul ablaze, but before I could make my way to her across the market, she was gone. Now I am haunted by the ethereal grace the lady has left instilled in my mind.

It is not my will to cage or steal away her free spirited nature. I only wish to partake in it with her so I may feel alive like I once did while seeing the world in a new light provided by her fire. I plan to go to my lord upon the sun’s arrival and I will beseech him to help me find her so that I may earn the permission from her family so I may be allowed to court her. I pray this evening for everything to work in favor of us all.

Geralt sighed heavily through his nose as his head fell back against the plush and he looked at the elaborate ceiling above. So far it was exactly what he feared it would be, the over-dramatized tellings of some Knight’s life that reads more like one of those sappy romantic tales Jaskier would constantly rave or sing about rather than an actual succinct telling of events. He couldn’t understand how any of this connected to the curse, but he begrudgingly decided to read on and see where he ended up.

[The Date is Also Unreadable on this Entry]

The leaves on the trees have turned to the colors of fire, and the world looks as though it has been set ablaze. I have only just returned from meeting with a neighboring lord, during which time I have gone nearly half a season without even a name of my lady love. Oh how she still torments my heart day and night with her absence. It is as though she has bewitched me, and I have no hold over my own self at present. My mind is filled almost entirely by her, and my only wish, if I am unable to win her affection, is to formally meet her.

My lord sent word that he would make enquiries on my behalf while I was away and now that I have returned, anticipation steals my breath. My fellow knights jest that I should have followed the path of a bard for how I constantly prattle on at them, waxing poetic of her spirit and sketching her form from memory, as we travel between our destinations. Although I know it is only light fun on their part, I find myself getting sentimental as I ever grow closer to the middle of my life. I wonder deep in the night whether I would have been more suited to another life but, it is quickly dismissed as nonsensical at this stage. My lord has also made mention, as we are good friends, he feels as though we are practically brothers with how much trust he allows me, and he will be glad to hire me as the official court bard if a change of profession ever truly struck my fancy. They all mock kindly but it warms me at my core to know there are those in my life who indulge my whims.

Still, Sir Gregor questions why I will not simply give my heart to one of the many ladies of the court who fancy me, and proclaims me mad in the head for not doing so. I have given up on trying to explain the incredible sensation she has left within me. He will never understand such yearning and passion that has filled me since I took the sight of her in for the first time. I feel pity for the man, but as I rest tonight, I hold hope in my heart for what my lord has to say come morning.

Geralt found reading this to be akin to dying slowly. Plodding through someone’s desperate yearning was the worst torture he has had to endure yet but at least there was something that hinted at magic in this passage. Geralt also observed that several pages were sketches of a beautiful woman with light hair, tawny skin, and dark eyes. He could not tell if the drawings were exaggerated by the knight’s besottment or if the woman could have possibly been fae or magic of some kind, glamoured just enough to hide the obvious parts while maintaining unnatural beauty. It could have explained why the curse magic was so strong and tricky. Magic was tricky in general, but fae magic was notoriously known for being a bitch, and he had been warned off from meddling in their affairs a long time ago for that exact reason… Now, here he was, knee deep in the shit. He’d have to figure it out one way or another. Deciding he’d be better off just reading the damn thing to completion rather than dithering on about what it could be, he turned his attention back to the book.

To his frustration, the rest of the pages remained blank. Unable to hold in his anger from hitting one road block after another, he threw the damned thing across the room with a growl and it landed with a satisfying rustle of paper before sliding somewhere out of sight. Unable to stand laying around anymore, he got up and began pacing through the quarters barely containing his aggravation. He wondered what to do now. That had been his last lead other than the meaningless riddle the beast had given him. He wanted to go out and train so he could take his frustrations out on something, but no, Jaskier was out there thinking he was just some random beast, and Geralt really didn’t want to add to the image his form presented currently. He wanted to break the curse, but he kept hitting wall after wall! He wanted… No. He needed someone to help him fix this entire mess, but there was no way for him to contact anyone other than the man who no longer remembered him. No wolves or powerful witches or plucky bards who glued themselves to Geralt’s side day and night were there to help him this time around.

“Fuck…” The defeated syllable slipped from his lips as he sank to the cold stone floor while holding his face in his hands, the fur feeling strange but increasingly familiar under his touch… Jaskier had called him a beast. Geralt had never thought the bard would ever-- He had been the only one who hadn’t ever called the witcher a monster or recoiled at the sight of him. On the contrary, he would often defend Geralt from villagers who called him vile names, and even went as far as to attack the truly aggressive offenders… But now the Witcher was a beast with no name. The bard’s voice uttering the word kept repeating over and over again in his head. Geralt only had himself to blame. If he hadn’t yelled, if Jaskier had still been by his side, then maybe the troubadour would have never lost his memories.

He had been so caught up in his own spiraling thoughts, Geralt almost didn’t notice the other voice suddenly filling the room. “Oi! Mopin’ about are we?” The warbled feminine voice cleaved through the once silent space but it came from seemingly nowhere as he scanned the area. Getting up, he searched as the squawking continued up until the point he came into view of a fractured mirror that had been hidden behind a moth eaten drape. As he looked in confusion at the mirror, due to the fact that the reflection was certainly not his own, the visage of the old hag from the town moaned in disappointment and shook her head at him from behind the reflective silver backed surface. “You fool Witcher! I-- I sent you to break the curse, not become cursed yourself, you nitwit!” She scolded with an exhausting scowl. If she were in her youth, he was sure she would remind him of Yen in some ways.

He couldn’t help growling in frustration as he met her steely scowl with his own. “How was I expected to break a curse you refused to give me proper information on?! And you seem to still have some magic, so why not do it yourself if you knew how to?!” He tried to keep himself from snarling at the hag, but she was infuriating and the worry, as well as the earlier frustrations, were just compiling together.

She took a moment to settle herself before sighing and gathering her thoughts, he assumed. In a calmer tone, she spoke again. “I cannot tell you about the curse in depth… Only pieces, and I cannot go there like yourself.” Her voice slowly became graver as she spoke and looked him directly in the eye. No lie then…

He grit his teeth before saying anything else, more civilly as Jaskier would have called it. “Why?”

“I just can’t… but I can help you as best as I can. This ain’t your curse, but you’re stuck with it--” It suddenly occurred to him that her accent was different from when they had met in her old shack which was… Odd.

“I know. I’m the making of my own curse. The beast said it before he died. Also, why do you sound different now?” He interrupted her as his annoyance rose again.

“Shut it, you daft tit! Don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to help!” She spat at him, shaking a frail fist at him from behind the glass while once again scowling at him. Then after a beat, she continued. “Came to these lands years ago from far off and regretted it. Folks don’t take kindly to those different, so I glamoured my voice.” She clarified with an eye roll. Yup. Definitely Yen if she were to ever age.

He chewed over the words as he felt some of the tension seep away. “Fair… So what can you tell me that will actually be useful?” He asked, sagging slightly, the memory of Jaskier looking at him in fear and no recognition was still a fresh would in his mind.

“Hmmmmm… Though the curse is harsh, it’s not cruel. Born of grief it was…” The hag looked as though she were fighting her own mouth before she sighed once again. “Although it imprisons, it’ll give you everythin’ you need to break the curse. Don’t be a fool. If anythin’ appears there, then it’s for a reason. Make use of it or dither till you die in a prison of your own design. Only you can figure why you’re cursed.” She spoke critically but at least it was something useful to which he nodded in thanks thinking that her image would fade then. “Witcher! If you’re in dire straits, knock thrice on the looking glass and think o’ where you wanna see, or to whom you wish to speak. Only I’ll be able to answer back, however.” She offered hastily and after he nodded again, she was gone in a blink of an eye. The mirror now only held his own beastly reflection.

He mulled over the words, realizing the night had grown long after that disaster of a dinner and it was now the witching hour; If he didn’t try to sleep now, then he would be tired and upset the next day, and he really didn’t need himself snapping at the bard again in misplaced irritation. So, he laid in the shredded nest of a bed and thought more on Jaskier. If he was brought here for a reason, then why steal his memories? And why would Geralt ever curse himself? Perhaps the magic was twisting a subconscious thought from the back of Geralt’s mind into something strange and problematic. But still, why the bard of all people? He drifted into an uneasy sleep thinking about all the new information.

When he woke, the world was bright outside the crystalline windows, and there was a fuzziness to the world that followed waking from a deep sleep. The room was better around him, healed of the scars of broken and shattered furniture. He supposed this had been what the hag had spoken of; the keep was providing things slowly. He moved through the morning muzzy headed, letting his body rely on muscle memory as he went through several tasks of morning preparation. His head was clearer by the time he visited Roach in the stables where she waited patiently to be tended to and given exercise. He saddled her and checked it twice over before seating himself in the saddle… which was odd, seeing as he was so much bigger now that he was cursed, but she made no indication that he was too heavy or bothersome. The fogginess was back and his concerns evaporated as he rode out into the fiery forest. The foliage in hues of red and orange rushed past as he went further and further, nearing the small hidden lake between the castle and the town. Its waters shone gold as though the water were a dragon’s hoard of coin and riches in the early hours, but the beauty of it could not compare to the figure standing at it’s banks.

Geralt barely remembered getting down from Roach or silently moving forward to observe the figure more closely, but then his mind cleared again and realization washed over him that the figure was in fact Jaskier. The bard was peacefully gazing out at the calm waters, but he wore odd clothing that Geralt swore he had never seen him in before. Instead of his usually short doublet, he wore a well fitted jacket of some sort that trailed all the way to the floor in the back and the front, but had slits up to the hips to show his well fitted trousers and tall boots. A part of it irked Geralt to no end, because it looked good, but strange and unlike the man at the same time. It was all reminiscent of a dress yet not. It was almost a coat he could imagine Yen wearing, but the garments were a soft blue trimmed in accents of red. It was a nostalgic reminder of Jaskier’s outfit from when they first met.

The situation was so bizarre that Geralt wanted to question what was happening but before he could think, his body took an unconscious step forward snapping a twig under his heel. Jaskier’s coat whirled around him as he spun and caught sight of him, but there was no fear in his eyes, only confusion and curiosity. “Apologies my lady, I did not mean to frighten you. I was merely curious when I spotted a figure as I rode passed. Are you all right?” What the fuck was that? Geralt understood that it was his voice that spoke but the words were not his own. Icy understanding filled his gut and he knew now that this obviously had something to do with magic.

“Very kind of you sir. I was just wanting to enjoy the still beauty of the morning and happened upon this lake.” Jaskier smiled brilliantly at him, his voice sounding exactly how Geralt remembered but there was an edge to it that sounded off. Unnatural. This was definitely not Jaskier.

“I… I’ve seen you in the town but I’ve never had the pleasure to meet your acquaintance in person. I hoped to speak with you, if not just hear your name. I am Lew.” Geralt introduced himself with a foreign name. That was definitely not his name, and he hated how it felt coming out of his mouth, but he seemed to have no control over himself. With dawning horror, Geralt now understood that this was someone else's memories that he was now occupying. It could have been Jaskiers, or someone else from the castle, or even the writer of the journal. Geralt couldn’t be sure yet, and the bard couldn’t be ruled out immediately since the witcher realized he knew practically nothing of Jaskier’s past… It just kept getting messier and messier as he was dragged further into the spell. Whoever wove the threads of this magic somehow got it completely tangled into a ball of shit.

“Ania. I have only come to live here a year or so ago, which is why we most likely have yet to meet formally.” Jaskier spoke in an amused tone, but Geralt was pretty damn sure that was not his bard’s real name. It was Jaskier. Maybe it wasn’t the bard’s memories after all. Geralt was going to have a difficult time remembering this was not actually the bard himself then but only the spell filling in a face with someone he knew. It was already getting so confusing in his mind, so Geralt decided to just keep using the name attached to the face he knew instead of using the ones he’d heard. Deciding it wouldn’t do much good to fight the memory, he settled in and let everything happen around him. The troubadour looked so much softer now than when they were ever on the road though. It made something in his chest flutter, but he was unsure if it was actually him or the owner of the memory feeling it.

The witcher found himself wanting to say more, ask more about Jaskier, but the words had left him and his mouth refused to work. It felt like it was his only chance and it was fleeting right before his eyes. The strange visage of the bard suddenly looked off into the distance behind himself before returning a sheepish look to Geralt. “I… I have to go.” His voice was hesitant as Geralt slowly reached a hand out to the man, as if not wanting the bard to leave, but still unable to find the words. Jaskier smiled gently, before biting his lower lip as though he were trying to decide something. The witcher didn’t understand why he was paying such close attention to everything Jaskier did but he was. “I hope our paths cross again, Lew.” And with that, the man fled into the forest with his jacket fluttering behind him. Geralt would have followed, curious as to if this person was human or not and get answers, but it would appear that the original “Lew” had been frozen with indecision in that moment. His heart raced, which felt strange to Geralt, but then things melted away and the Witcher was once again opening his eyes to the sunlight streaming through the windows. This time however, the room was still destroyed and the light was the cold shine of a winter morning. Geralt found himself staring up at the ceiling in complete bafflement, unable to really understand what the curse could have possibly thought he’d glean from that experience. He sat up in a huff and couldn’t help the puff of agitated words that slipped out of his throat. “What the fuck…” Then he was out of the chambers and headed for the stables to tend to Roach. If anything calmed him down and helped him to organize his thoughts, it was quality time with the mare.

#geraskier #Witcher #the witcher #witcher netflix #fanfic #geralt x jaskier #gerlion #Beauty and the Beast AU #beast!geralt #Buttercup's Writings

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

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YAY TH! 💛i was thinking plus size reader travels with Jaskier &Geralt, she's good friends with both but has always been in love with Jaskier She has notebooks she draws in & is so careful to never draw all of jaskier ON one page She's got pages of eyes, hands, chest, neck, hair, all the little parts of him she loves But she thinks he could never love her cuz she's not the typical kind of girl he goes with One day he finds her notebook he knows he shouldn't look she always swats him away 1/2

But he cant help it. He’s so curious and at first he doesn’t realize who it is, just thinks the art is beautiful. And then on the last page there’s an incredibly detailed drawing of a feild of buttercup flowers, maybe with Jaskier in the middle playing his lute in the sun. he talks to her carefully about it. Cuz she’s shy but she usually tells him everything, and he loves her too he just never wanted to make her uncomfortable. Then love confessions! Woo! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!! (2/2)

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,836Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle a/n: This was a really interesting challenge for me. I’ve been plus size my entire life and I don’t think I’ve ever once written a character who looked like me. Writing this was really eye-opening for me and made me really think about how to portray a plus size character in a way that was positive while still acknowledging the very real insecurities and struggles. I hope this is ok and what you were looking for and thank you for the prompt!

Being Jaskier’s best friend was glorious.

He always got invited to the best parties and insisted on bringing you along. He knew the best tailors who made you dresses that flowed perfectly with your body. Growing up you’d been forced into clothes that were the same cut and shape as others around you, just larger, which somehow left you feeling both swamped and pinched by the fabric as it tried to force your body into a shape it simply wasn’t. But the tailors Jaskier took you to fit wonderfully and if they ever rankled at or felt challenged by your size you never knew because Jaskier would have slain them where they stood if they even breathed a word to that effect. Jaskier was fun and affectionate but also fiercely protective in a way that made you feel cared for even if it did sometimes make your heart ache a little. When he turned away the men who came to ask you to dance or tried to pursue you he always declared it was because he knew their “reputation” and they “weren’t good enough for you” but a small part of you – well, alright, a very significant part of you – wished he were doing it because he wanted you all for himself.

He called you his muse though creative partner was a more fitting title. Being a ‘muse’ implied you just sat there and looked stunning and words flowed through the artist. In truth the pair of you talked through his song dilemmas. You challenged near rhymes and even though he put up a fuss in the moment, later on he would always thank you and give credit to you for helping him ensure a song flowed perfectly. In turn you would work on your drawing as he composed. You’d catch him sneaking a glance every now and then and you always swatted him away, but you’d been extra careful to ensure that even if he did look he wouldn’t realize what you were doing. Only one picture, drawn up after an especially beautiful day where he’d taken you to a field of buttercups, woven you a crown and declared you Queen of Springtime, exposed your deep secret. But he would never see it because you were too careful about keeping it close and he did respect your privacy after all

—–

Jaskier knew he shouldn’t do it.

You always kept your notebook on you and when you saw him try to take peeks you swatted him away. He knew it was private and important to you. So much so that he almost became jealous of the damn thing. When would you gaze at him the same adoring way you gazed at whatever you drew? His heart churned with jealousy at the thought that you were drawing someone. Some man he hadn’t been quick enough to push away. He felt a tinge of guilt at that, knowing it wasn’t fair to keep you from finding a partner when he was too afraid to make his intentions known. But he would tell you one day. As soon as he got any sort of sign that the feelings would be reciprocated. Or, if he knew you were interested in someone else, he was gracefully bow out and never tell you. And perhaps his answer was waiting in that notebook. And perhaps that was reason enough.

As he flipped through the pages he admired your great talent. The craftwork in drawing the hands, long-fingered and held in different poses. Some were positioned as though it was holding an invisible instrument while others were gestured openly or clasped together. Some hair that swooped to an angle, thick and fluffy in some though she’d also taken the challenge of drawing it wet, dripping down the neck into the collar of an undershirt. Then there were drawings of eyes. Though no color was etched into them the eyes were gorgeous. Light and filled with a light that nearly gleamed off the page. A thick neck, craning at an angle that attached to just the barest edge of a strong jaw. A picture of someone that only showed the collar bones down to the waist, an undershirt left open long enough to show an etching of thick, dark chest hair. He flipped through the photos feeling an odd sense of familiarity but mostly immense pride, already trying to figure out how to tell her that she must begin selling her art or at the very least not hide it away from the world any longer.

And then he flipped to the last page.

He almost missed it, skimming fast as the pages grew blank, but he saw a touch of color. He remembered the day he’d gifted you the colored pencils. Your face had lit up and you’d thrown your arms around him, pressing your soft, warm body against his and he’d taken the chance to hold you close for longer than your usual hugs, relishing the feeling of having you in his arms. That was the end of a perfect day. A day he’d almost told you, as he looked into your eyes, farmed by a crown of buttercups. He’d almost told you that even surrounded by the gorgeous blooms, you were the fairest thing by far. But his courage had failed him and so instead he’d found you the pencils, a technicolor declaration of love he worried he would never put into words. He’d wondered if you even used them since every drawing was in the same grey and white but there it was. A picture filled with color. And himself.

He sat cross-legged in the center of a wide expanse of buttercups, lute in hand. The same hands, he realized now, that he’d seen earlier in the notebook. The hands that held the book, trembling slightly as his heart swelled and took in the picture. You’d lovingly sketched every detail of his outfit from the cerulean of his doublet to the off-cream of his undershirt. His hair fell over his face slightly though did not obscure the brilliant blue eyes that gazed at the viewer of the photo much the same way he imagined he must be looking at it right now. His mouth was drawn open mid-song and he could even tell what lyric was passing through his lips. Your talent was truly spectacular. And you loved him. And he wouldn’t waste anymore time.

—–

When you returned from the market you were frazzled. You’d left your notebook behind and that was too dangerous. You’d practically run all the way back, arriving to camp winded and red faced. So much so that Geralt drew his sword, certain you were being pursued, and you had to convince him through gasps that everything was fine. And then you saw Jaskier walk into view, holding the notebook. Your heart sank and when Jaskier saw you he froze. He looked a little guilty but there was more there as well. You couldn’t place it, too anxious about your secret finally getting out. As he walked over to you, you began to try and form a lie that would cover it up and let things stay the way they were before.

“Geralt can we have a moment?” Jaskier asked once he reached you. Geralt opened his mouth to say something but Roach nickered and he sighed heavily and stood up, taking her reins and walking away without another word to either of you. Your heart pounded in your chest and you looked down at the notebook still in Jaskier’s hands.

“Y/N, I should apologize-”

“It’s fine just give it back,” you said quickly, reaching for the notebook but he pulled it away too fast.

“I should apologize, but I’m not going to,” he finished. Your eyes widened slightly and he held up a hand to staunch the angry tirade he could see welling up.

“Y/N, you’re amazing,” he said a little breathlessly, “Your art, your talent, it’s… it’s just beyond compare. I understand what it means, how important one’s creative works are and how personal, but please at least assure me that you aren’t hiding it away out of some misplaced sense of insecurity. Because you have nothing to feel insecure about, Y/N. Nothing.”

You fought back the tears that the words, hitting so close to so many parts of yourself you had never even told him about, brought to your eyes.

“Jaskier, how much did you see?” you asked, your eyes falling to the notebook.

“Everything,” he said, “I saw everything.”

“Fuck…”

“Y/N,” he tilted your chin up gently with one hand, raising your eyes to meet his. “I love you.”

“I know you do, Jaskier, we’re very good friends-”

“Y/N,” he said, cutting you off and gently resting the notebook on the ground so he could take your face in both of his hands as he stared into your eyes with his, brilliant blue and full of emotion, “I love you.”

The words resonated and even you couldn’t deny what he was saying. He wasn’t looking at you like a friend or a brother or anything but a man who was deeply in love and trying desperately to communicate it to the person he loved.

“But…” you began, and then bit your lip as you worried how to phrase it.

“What?” he asked, tenderly brushing away a tear.

“I’m not… you usually… I’ve… I’ve seen the women you’re with,” you began.

He nodded and waiting for you to continue.

“They are all very lovely and all very similarly bodied. That is, they’re, well, oh for god’s sake – they’re thin, Jaskier. You’re always surrounded by lovely, slender ladies and I am-”

“Lovely,” he finished the sentence for you.

“And plump,” you said pointedly.

“And plump,” he echoed, “Lovely and plump and talented and caring.”

“I just don’t want you to love me in spite of it,” you said, an old wound aching at the thought that he was listing the things that made your body an acceptable compromise.

He frowned and then before you could try and explain further he pulled you in for a kiss, his lips soft and warm against yours. His arms surrounded you and you pressed closer into the kiss. He pulled back and began to pepper your jaw with kisses, moving down to the slope of flesh beneath your chin and back up to your lips.

“I don’t love you in spite of anything. I love you for everything that you are, no exceptions, no alterations. Every inch, every ounce, every day. If you’ll have me,” he said, realizing you hadn’t actually said the words to him yet. You smiled and felt a weight you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying begin to lift off your heart.

“I love you,” you said. Jaskier’s face broke into a smile you knew you would never capture on paper but would spend the rest of your life trying to recreate.

Being Jaskier’s best friend was glorious.

Because Jaskier’s beloved is beyond words.

#disasterjaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier x plus size reader #jaskier imagines #reader request

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

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Helllooo May i request a fic where the reader is an art student in the university of oxenfurt and Jaskier come in as a model one day. She falls in love with him immidiatally and just cant stop painting pictures about him. Later Jask visits her in her studio and see all the stuff about himself. Then love confession( maybe he's been writing songs about her) and some soft kissing😇

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 2,099Rating: TTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan a/n: This was a lovely prompt, I hope you like what I did with i!

“Hmm… I don’t think you’ve quite captured me.”

You shook your head and a little smile turned up the corner of your mouth but you kept your eyes focused on your canvas.

“You are supposed to be a model and models don’t speak,” you murmured quietly.

“I’m so bored though.”

You glanced up at the man who posed in front of you. Jaskier was hunched over, chin resting on his fist. He looked more pouting than pensive as he was supposed to be but the moment your eyes met, he perked up a bit.

There was no one else in the art studio since it was after hours, class having ended long ago. You’d been sick one day and Jaskier had graciously volunteered to come by and help you catch up on what you’d missed. You were in week three of the “month long strip tease” as he called it, taking a layer off each time. This week he was down to a loosely untucked chemise, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and pants whose laces were undone but still rested just at the hip. Boots were long gone, leaving him barefoot. Indeed, if anyone who walked by the doors saw him in his attire and you, a bit sweaty with disheveled hair, tired after a long day of classes made longer by this extra work, they would have assumed something unsavory was happening. They would have been tragically mistaken.

“You didn’t have to agree to this. Hell, it was your idea,” you reminded him, extending the handle of your paintbrush to gently position his chin back to where it was supposed to be. He playfully nipped at the brush but then moved back into position dutifully.

“Hmm, yes, and why do you suppose I did that?” he asked. It was the same flirtatious tone he used with everyone and you knew that, but still you felt a little shiver of excitement at the tone. Perhaps one day someone would use that with you and mean it but it wouldn’t be Jaskier, the traveling bard with a thousand muses around the globe. He had no need for a simple art student with barely enough life experiences to count on one hand. That would change when you graduated, though. You were determined. Though as the day came closer you grew more anxious about those barely conceived plans.

“You are a patron of the arts of course,” you replied, mixing the shades of blue together. You’d known the first day he walked into the classroom that those eyes would torment you as you tried to create the right shade to capture them. You knew you’d never feel you truly got it right and so far you’d been correct. You’d made far more paintings than the three you’d done for class. In your personal studio you had what appeared to be a shrine to the bard. You just couldn’t get him out of your head and your fingers itched constantly to paint him again, to try and capture his likeness better, more accurately.

“I suppose that must be it,” Jaskier said in somewhat plaintive tone. Yet when you looked back at him again he gave you a little wink and you stopped worrying, rolling your eyes again and setting to get the portrait done.

You were finished before another hour passed and though he tried to catch a glimpse you successfully hid it from him.

“I offered you a deal,” you said, “You show me the song you’ve been working on and I’ll show you the painting that I’m working on. A fair trade of artistic sampling.”

“Perhaps another time,” he said, “May I walk you home?”

Since meeting in that first class nearly a month ago the pair of you had struck up an easy friendship. In truth you felt much more than that for him but you were happy just for the chance to talk with him, much less anything else. He was brilliant and funny and endlessly encouraging. When you told him of your dreams of traveling he’d insisted that you do it and even offered to introduce you to some nobles who had a keen eye for artists they wanted to support. In all of that time, though, you’d never seen each other away from the sprawling campus of Oxenfurt University.

“Alright,” you said a little reluctantly, nervous but also unwilling to pass up a single opportunity to spend more time with him. He gallantly offered you his arm and the pair of you walked through the streets. It was twilight and lamplighters were roving about to light the lanterns that would keep you safe as you walked, the skies bathed in a soft golden and pink watercolor.

“Are you excited to be finishing classes soon?” Jaskier asked.

“I should be,” you said. He laughed, but not unkindly. It was a laugh of understanding.

“I felt much the same when I approached graduation,” he said, “Sometimes I think that’s why I come back so often to lecture and just visit. I felt safe here.”

“Do you not feel safe out there?” you asked.

“No. But that’s part of the fun of it, right? The uncertainty, the potential for danger which makes it exciting,” he mused.

“I suppose so… But I do wish there was a way to both have adventures and be safe or at least feel safer,” you replied.

“Travelling with a witcher has helped a bit. You’re much harder to kill with one around,” he said.

“You’re also the target of more attacks though,” you countered. You’d heard him tell stories about his adventures to breathless students but you hadn’t joined in on their glee. Instead you’d grown more and more worried about the bard’s safety and whether you’d ever see him again once he’d left the school to join Geralt on his next hunt.

“Well there’s always a tradeoff,” Jaskier said glibly. You walked in silence for a time and when you reached your home you realized that at some point during the walk your hooked elbows had slid down to clasped hands. You both noticed at the same time and laughed a little nervously.

“Would you like some tea?” you offered instinctively, not wanting the moment to end. Jaskier eagerly agreed and followed you into your house. It was a humble place but he praised it as though it were a mansion, and he’d likely seen many in his time. Hell, as a viscount, perhaps he had even been raised in one.

“Make yourself at home,” you called as you walked to the little kitchen to get the fire going. Jaskier didn’t need telling twice, already walking around the room, looking at book titles and little drawings. He smiled at what appeared to be an early art piece of yours that had been lovingly framed by a family member, a drawing scrawled by a child that seemed to be… a dog? An elephant? Some animal. He continued to walk through the little house, glancing into the open door of your bedroom. There was a closed door and though he knew you probably would rather he didn’t, he couldn’t fight back his curiosity and opened the door.

—–

“Jaskier? Tea is ready! Jaskier?” you walked back into the little living area and saw no sign of him. You poked your head down the hall and almost walked back away, thinking he may have left suddenly, and then you saw a sliver of light coming from the door you knew had been closed. Your heart leapt to your throat and you ran towards it as though you could outpace what had already occurred.

There stood Jaskier, staring at a portrait you’d most recently completed, surrounded by sketches. Not all were of his entire face or body but you knew that he knew exactly whose disembodied hands and eyes and mouth and other randomly positioned angles of body they were.

“Fuck, ok, I can explain,” you began, heart beating a mile a minute. Jaskier turned to look at you but you didn’t see fear or disgust, just a soft look of surprise.

“Y/N?” he said.

He was giving you the chance to explain like you said you would but no words came to mind. You just stared at him blankly, panicking, feeling the walls close in around you.

“I think… I may be able to help,” he said. He walked past you and you waited to hear the front door open and close as he left, possibly to get the guards but most likely just to escape you. But then you heard him walk back, holding the leather notebook he drew in often but never showed you. He opened it to a page and handed the book to you, a nervous, expectant look in his pale, blue eyes. You took it with trembling fingers and at first you weren’t sure why he was showing it. Perhaps he thought that he should offer some exchange of art since he’d seen yours. Maybe he somehow didn’t recognize the man in the pictures as himself. Maybe this could all blow over and be nothing.

And then you saw your name.

“Jaskier what is this?” you asked, flipping the pages and finding more descriptions, not with your name specifically, but of a woman who sounded unmistakably like yourself.

“This is the bardic version of what this room shows, I believe,” he said, his voice soft, “They’re pieces dedicated to someone I have fallen very much in love with over the last few weeks.”

Your wide eyes tore away from the journal to meet Jaskier’s. Now he was the one who looked uncertain and scared, waiting for you to run from him.

“You don’t think it’s weird then?” you asked, gesturing to the room as you placed the journal on a shelf nearby, hands trembling too much to keep a secure hold of it.

“Oh no, it’s very weird. But love makes you do weird things. Like fill a journal full of half-formed songs about someone or stay late to pose for paintings or snoop in rooms you know you shouldn’t because you just can’t resist getting every little bit of them you can,” he replied, moving a bit closer and gently brushing his fingers against your cheek. Though he’d thrown on his doublet again the chemise was still unbuttoned and you rested your hands against his chest, fingers twining in the dark hair.

“Whoever said anything about love?” you teased, “I could just be incredibly enamored or perhaps a very artistic murderer.”

“Well I was speaking for myself mostly,” he answered, “But you’re right. I should be concerned. Shall I call Geralt to defend me against you and your wicked brush?”

“Ooh watch out, Jaskier, don’t sass me! You may find yourself having a brush with death,” you said, emphasizing the pun unnecessarily. Jaskier groaned and shook his head.

“Shut up and kiss me before I change my mind.”

You opened your mouth to make some other, terrible joke but he stopped you with a kiss, mouth brushing against yours with the barest touch but you recaptured his lips with yours and felt him card his hand through your hair as yours tightened against his chest. His kisses were soft and tender and nothing like what you’d expected the renowned rogue to offer but then the people who spread those rumors hadn’t known him like you did.

“Come with me,” Jaskier whispered against your lips.

“What?” you breathed back. His eyes found yours and you were struck again by the puzzling color. Was it blue? Or was it grey? Was it even the same thing all the time or did they change on you? You would spend the rest of your life trying to figure it out but oh what a happy quest.

“When you graduate you said you want to travel the world. You’re graduating soon. Come with me when you do. I’ll take you everywhere. I’ll show you the world. I can’t promise to keep you safe, there is always a tradeoff, but I will do everything I can and I promise you it won’t be boring,” he replied, words spoken in a hushed tone like someone offering a fervent prayer. You considered his words, thinking about the risks but more than that, thinking about the things that are worth taking risks for. And the people.

“Ok,” you breathed in response, “Yes. Take me with you. Show me everything.”

“Oh love,” he said, licking his lips which quirked into a wicked grin, “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

#Anonymous #jaskier x reader #jaskier drabbles #jaskier imagines #jaskier fluff #reader request

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