#and Jaskier did all the things right where it counts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starfirewildheart · 4 months

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Chapter 5

The Wolf and the Flame

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

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

Words: 3,266

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wolf?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know his name?” Vesimer asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know who attacked?” Vesimer asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guide?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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welikeimagines-andfandoms · 6 months

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Kinktober Day 8: Master and Slave- Jaskier

Summary: it has been far too long since Jaskier visited you and that deserves a punishment

Word count: 3,150 words

The bard and the Witcher had been travelling for a lot longer than either of them cared for. Tired, hungry and honestly a little smelly, all they wanted was a nice bath, a feed and maybe a pint, or five. At this point honestly any town would do, they just hadn’t come across one in a long while.

As they trod down the road, the path felt familiar to Jaskier. He swore he’d been here before. As he passed a little abandoned cottage he knew exactly where they were going towards. He’d been to this town years ago and he knew an inn keeper who was very hospitable.

Thoughts of you shooting through his mind made his dick instantly become strained in his pants. He was sure Geralt could smell the aroused on him at this point.

“There’s a town about 30 more minutes down the road. I know we wanted to get back sooner but surely a night or two couldn’t hurt.” Jaskier told his friend as his horse began to catch up with Roach.

Geralt was hoping to make better time but honestly the bard was right, they were in need of a good rest and getting off this road.

“Fine.” Was all Geralt grunted out as they continued on.

*********

Riding through the town to find the stables, Jaskiers eye catches a glimpse of your tiny inn. He hoped and prayed you’d have a room for him and the Witcher, not just so he could sleep in an actual bed for once but so he could feel your touch again.

They managed to find a stable to keep the horses in for a couple of nights. Jaskiers heart beat faster and faster as he and Geralt approached your inn. His racing heart must have sounded like a loud speeding drum to the Witcher.

As Jaskier walked through the front door memories of that wonderful couple of nights he spend with you raced back. All of a sudden he was desperate to have your hands around his throat again and your hands brutally tugging on his hair. He wanted you to hurt him, punish him; he could practically hear your words of degradation as his pants began to become tighter again.

They approach the clerk desk to inquire about a room for the night, before Geralt had the opportunity to ding the little bell, you had already appeared. Giving Geralt a smile and welcoming him as he inquires about the room, your gaze never leaving the Witcher’s.

Jaskier started to get antsy as you put all your attention on Geralt, you hadn’t even glanced at him, though you gave very intense eye contact and even pushed your chest forward as you spoke to Geralt. Jaskier was so desperate, he wanted your attention so badly. He stood there awkwardly moving from foot to the other as he played with his fingers and giving you big puppy dog eyes, feeling like a child needing a teachers attention.

You knew Jaskier stood there, you knew the moment he walked into your inn, you wanted to make him sweat, wanted to get him all needy before you’d even touched him. You did make sure to touch the Witcher however, lightly touching his fingers with yours when you handed him the key and even squeezing his bicep as he went to go up the stairs from the entrance.

“Are you bard by any chance? Sorry I didn’t catch your name.” You ask, playing dumb.

“J-Jaskier, me Jaskier, Uh- ah, ye-yes. I’m I’m a bard.” Jaskier stammered out, all of a sudden extremely nervous as all your attention was zeroed in on him, you still refusing to touch him though.

“Good, I have an event tomorrow night and our bard cancelled on us. Would you meet me here after you’ve put your things away and we can discuss it?” You ask him, body now extremely close to his and yet still not touching as you hold an intense gaze and a cheeky smirk.

“O-okay.” Jaskier stammered out once again.

“Good.” You simply said, lightly touching Jaskiers forearm and quickly prancing away, making sure to move your hips a bit more than necessary.

That small touch of his forearm was enough to make Jaskier almost cum on the spot. Looking to his Witcher friend, he found him with a smirk on his face as they both head up to their seperate rooms.

*********

Only a few minutes later, Jaskier was back down the stairs and in your front lobby, waiting for you, already trying to be your good boy.

“Alright, bard, follow me.” You stated as you walked past him and led him out the door. Walking ahead of him as you lead him to the barn behind your inn.

You didn’t say a single word on the short walk there, not even a glance over your shoulder.

As you got in the barn you were quick to grab a wooden chair and sit right down on it, making your breasts bounce as you did, Jaskier definitely noticing.

“Close the doors.” You said to him with a stone cold face. He knew he was in trouble and he couldn’t be happier.

“On your knees, in front of me.” Came your next command as the doors were quickly closed.

Obediently he dropped to his knees right between your split legs. Taking your hair down and loosening your bodice top, you leaned back and roughly grabbed onto his hair, pulling him closer to you.

You lean forward, coming extremely close to his face, you pull his hair back. You can see his breath speeding up and gulping as his body quaked.

“Now, little slave of mine, you’ve been very naughty.” You growl at him, pulling his hair harder.

“I’m sorry, mistress.” He moaned out.

“It’s been so long and you haven’t visited me, my little slave.” You tauntingly sway his head side to side.

“Mistress I’m sorry, please let me make it up to you!” He gasped and moaned desperately.

“Oh no, little slave. You’d like to eat mistresses pussy. Oh no, little slave, you’re going to get a proper punishment. I’m going to punish you properly and you’re going to take it. You’re mine, slave!” You gruffly scold him.

“If you take your punishment like a good boy then mistress might ride you and might even let you cum.” You look down on him with a cheeky smile, hand now removed from his hair and instead place on either side of his face, gently stroking his cheeks.

“Now go be a good slave, lock the barn doors and strip down for me.”

Jaskier was quick to lock the large doors and was even more quick when removing his clothes. He stood in front of you awkwardly for some time. You just watched him, wanting to make him more and more nervous. You could see the way he shuddered for the slight chill of the night and how hard he tried to always bring his eyes back to you.

“Hands and knees in front of me, head facing the door.” You finally spoke, causing Jaskier to relax a little. As before he was once again quick to obey orders, on hands and knees, perfectly in front of you.

Leaning down you admired the almost too eager bard beneath you. Taking your hands you laced them in his gorgeous brown locks once again, slowly pushing his head down into the rough ground of the barn. As his head went down his behind pushed up and out.

Once he reached the ground you replaced your hand on his head with your boot, pushing his head further into the rough ground. As your boot pushes down harder he lets out a mix of a grunt and a moan.

You push the chair further forward so you can lean over him, your hand snaking along his right hip. Feeling his trembling form underneath your hand just made you more excited.

“Now, little slave, you haven’t returned to me in about 2 years so that’s about 24 months. How about because I’m feeling generous, we round it down and say that I give you 20 slaps. How does that sound?” You ask him seductively as your hand begins to stroke his cheeks.

“Yes, mistress. Twent-ty would be goo-ood.” Jaskier stammers as he realises just how many that is. It scares him a little but the thought of your hand coming down on him so many times and the feel of your words and the sting of your hits just excites him so much.

“You know it’s difficult punish such a dirty little slut. Your cocks already so hard it’s digging into the dirty. You’re a filthy boy, slave and you’re going to take your punishment. You’re also going to count for me. I do worry though, I mean twenty I’d such a big number for such a stupid little bard. Do you think you’ll be able to count that high.” You taunt him, knowing he loves your harsh words.

“Y-yes mistress, I’ll count each one for you. I’ll be a good boy.” You complies, almost begging for you to begin.

“We’ll see.” You simply say as the first blow hits him.

“One, mistress!” Jaskier yells out.

He continues calling out with each blow. His words becoming more stammered and indistinguishable with each hit.

By the time your last blow lands and the final number falls from his lips, he’s a a crying and babbling mess. His ass red and body quaking much more than when you began.

Releasing your boot from his head you lightly drag his head up off the ground. Dirt is caking his face as it’s mixed with his tears and perspiration. Lightly brushing away the dirt on his face and hair, you cradle his sweet face.

Jaskier looks at you with a dazed face and glassy eyes. Lightly you wipe away his tears and kiss his sweet face.

“You took your punishment so well, my good boy.” You encourage him, your once cruel words now becoming soft and kind.

“Thank you, mistress.” He gently whispers back with a dizzy smile.

“Do you want mistress to ride you now? Show you how good she can make you feel?” You ask him gently as he begin to stroke his face.

Even in his dazed state he still lights up as the promise of you riding him, meeting you with a boyish smile. Seeing you on top of him, staring intently into his eyes as you draw his pleasure out from him.

“Yes, mistress.” He answered softly.

“Okay then, my good boy, let’s get you dressed and we’ll go inside. A nice comfy bed for my good boy to pleasure his mistress.” You sweetly tell him, now helping him to his feet.

Dressing him together you both show your more softer sides of times like this. Gently putting on his clothes, especially his trousers, as you both stop often to kiss and hold one another.

Once Jaskier is dressed and checked in on you take his hand and lead him back to your little room right next to the front desk. Luckily it was later in the evening and it was not likely that there would be any new visitors, and ones you did have were all sleeping or busy in the tavern.

Lightly pulling on Jaskiers hand you directed him into your little bedroom attached to the clerks desk. Once you were in the room you situated yourself at your desk and stared at Jaskier intently.

“Take off your clothes for me, Jaskier. Nice and slowly.” You told him, beginning to loosen the bodice of your dress to free and play with your breasts.

You watched him intensely with every move of his body as each item of clothing was once again removed, and like the good boy he is, neatly placed them on top of your dresser.

By the time he was completely naked, one of your feet was already on a small stool as you lightly rub your clit, giving Jaskier a nice little show. He stood there looking between your eyes and your fingers as they spread your wetness across your pussy. His eyes so desperate and needy, his cock bobbing with excitement.

Looking directly into Jaskiers eyes, you hold his gaze intensely, feeling like he could cum just watching you alone. Before he could get too excited, you stopped abruptly, taking your foot off the stool and throwing the skirts of your dress back down as you stood.

“Lay on your back on the bed. Hands above your head and don’t you dare move them.” You ordered, now standing directly in front of him, grabbing his face.

“Yes, mistress.” He moaned as his eyes fluttered close.

Once you released his face he ran to the bed and followed your instructions exactly. Seeing the handsome bard laid out on your bed, cock rock hard and twitching, made your skin tingle and your pussy throb.

Slowly you began to strip out of your own clothes. First putting your leg up on the desk and throwing your skirts up your leg as you began to untie your boots. Next you teasingly removed your skirts, slowly and methodically as your eyes raked over your little bard.

Jaskier looked at you hopefully, internally begging and waiting for you to climb onto his lap. A frown formed on his face as instead of making your way to the bed, you went to your dresser drawers.

“I got a couple new toys for us since your last visit,” you tease him as you pull out a mouth gag and pieces of rope to show him “I’d hoped you’d be around again and I remembered how loud and fidgety you were last time, my little slave.” You tease him seductively.

Slowly you begin to approach the bed and just like he’d been waiting for you crawled up his body, leaving kisses and love bites all up his legs, thighs, stomach and chest. Finally finding your spot on his lap you begin to teasingly rub your wet folds on his hard cock, causing you both to moan.

“Palms together and mouth open.” You ordered as you continued grinding on him.

Reaching down you plunged your tongue into Jaskiers waiting mouth, kissing him in a heated and almost feral attack as you quickly replace your mouth with the gag. Once fastened behind his head you grab at both of his cheeks, squishing them and tauntingly moving his head side to side.

“Such a pretty little slut. Only good for taking orders and filling my pussy.” You taunt him with a wicked smile, lightly slapping his face before tying the rope around his hands and to the head board.

Sitting back you stopped your grinding and looked at the bard in front of you. Spit falling out of his mouth and covering his lips, trying so hard to stop himself moaning. Strong arms pulled all the way up and tied above his head. Sexy little bard in your bed and he was all yours, he’d do anything you said and would beg you to use his body just for your own pleasure.

“You ready, whore.” You whisper in his ear, hand coming down to twist and play with his sensitive nipple.

“-es -issess” he mumbled through the gag. Coming up from his ear you lightly kiss his face as you position yourself over his cock.

You begin to slowly tease him again, lowering and grinding on him at a maddening pace. You knew how you tortured him. As his eyes begin to close you slam your hips down, causing his head to fly back and a loud gagged cry to escape him.

“Fuck, that’s a pretty sound.” You smirk down at him, pressing your hands into his chest as you bounce on his cock.

He’s a drooling and moaning mess, trying to hard to keep his eyes on you. He needs you to slow down, already feeling too overstimulated, but you don’t. You could see he was close already.

“You better not fucking cum yet, you whore!” You growl at him as your bouncing continues, hard and unrelenting.

“-lese” he begged through his gag, tearing now falling down his face.

“Can’t even hold your cum, huh? Such a desperate little whore. Can’t even make mistress cum first. Maybe I should bring that Witcher down here, he could make me cum.” Hearing this Jaskier moans even louder.

“Aaaww, does my little slave like that idea? Want to embarrass you? See the big strong Witcher fuck his mistress right in front of him? Fuck, might even tie you to the chair, force you to watch. He could fuck me for hours and not cum.” You taunting continues as you ride him hard and stare right into his eyes.

“Mistress will let your hands go so that you could touch her clit. If you touch her anywhere else then I won’t let you cum. You understand?” You ask grabbing his face once again.

Gag in mouth and your hand roughly grabbing his face he can’t really produce many words but you do get an eager nod in return.

“Good.” You reply harshly as you undo the knots on his hands.

One of his hands landing beside him on the bed as the other reaches for your clit. Rubbing it with the same harsh pace as your thrusts you cum also immediately.

“Oh fuuuuckk!” You scream out. “Cum, Jaskier, cum for me!” You shout as your orgasm pulsates through your body.

Almost immediately Jaskier cries out through his gag, head thrown back and tears falling from his eyes.

Slowing your movements you watch the bard with fascination and care, making sure he was okay but also relishing in his stupid blissed out state.

Your thrusts come to a halt as you gently reach up and remove his gag, kissing his swollen lips and the tears that have fallen down his face.

“You did good, baby boy. Mistress is going to get up now but she’s just going to get a nice cloth to clean you up and another blanket.” You tell him, stroking his face, making him rub his face into your hand.

Slowly you rise off his softening cock, causing him to whimper out. Going to the corner of your small room you wet a little cloth with water from the basin and pick up a nice big warm blanket.

Returning to the bed you gently wipe him and yourself clean, making sure to be gentle and soft. Once you were sure he was okay you placed the blanket over the both of you.

“Do you think a swollen ass and I drained cock would be a good enough excuse to convince Geralt to stay here a couple more days?” He asked lightly chuckling as he drifts off to sleep.

#jaskier #Jaskier imagine #Jaskier x reader #witcher #witcher imagine

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flowercrown-bard · 11 months

Note

Hi there ♡ Could I request a fluffy Jaskier/Eskel ficlet where Jaskier leaves little notes or poems on towns notice boards and Eskel collects them, following the trail until he comes across Jaskier again. It would be even sweeter if it was a first kiss fic.

Thank you ♡♡ feel free to tweak the idea however you like.

Thank you for the prompt!

word count: 2k

Witcher Wanted

Larger cities were a strange thing. Some of them were more progressive, more open towards the other and willing to treat witchers somewhat kindly. Other times, however, it was quite the opposite. More people meant a potentially bigger mob, should things go south. So when Eskel entered Novigrad, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He kept his shoulders hunched forward, so as to appear smaller and less threatening and kept his hood up to cover his scars. For the most part, people ignored him, which was better than he had hoped for. Still, the longer he went ignored, the more did the hole in his chest grow. It had been so long since he had laughed with his brothers, cuddled with his goat or melted at the sound of Jas-

No. He shook his head, stopping himself from finishing that thought. It was no use reminiscing of the times he had stumbled upon the bright-eyed bard, who looked at him without fear and did all he could to coax a smile from him, as if he didn’t even notice the way his scars would turn his happiness into a grotesque grimace.

It was only when someone gave him a strange look, that Eskel realised that the memory alone had made the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

He had to stop this or he would do something foolish - like abandon his usual route to head to Oxenfurt. Chances were that Jaskier wouldn’t even be there anyway. It was no use to dream about seeing him again. Eskel had to focus. There had been a reason why he had come here. Though big crowds could prove dangerous to witchers, they were also an easy target for all sorts of malevolent creatures. The year thus far hadn’t been kind to Eskel and chances were that he would find a well paying contract in the big city.

He ignored his grumbling stomach and the ache of his tired muscles and led Scorpion to one of the notice boards. That was another thing about larger cities: There were multiple notice boards. If you didn’t find any interesting notes on one of them, you might be more lucky looking for more.

Luck, for once, seemed to be on Eskel’s side. There, right in the middle of the first notice board he checked, hung a piece of parchment - expensive paper, flourishing writing. Clearly, the person who had written it, had coin to spare. And as it would seem, they were willing to use it to pay for a witcher’s service.

Witcher wanted

If a witcher reads this, please come to the Bread and Butter Bakery, as soon as possible. Your assistance is dearly needed.

Eskel frowned, as he took the note off the board. He turned it around, to see if there was any more information on the back, but no. Nothing. No description of the monster plaguing the bakery, nor an estimate of what they were willing to pay for the contract. Well, maybe it wasn’t wise for a bakery to proclaim that something hairy or slimy was haunting the place where they were selling food. It was worth looking into.

Eskel folded the parchment, put it into a pocket in his jacket and went off looking for the Bread and Butter.

It didn’t take long to find. Soon enough, the scent of fresh bread and sweet cakes guided him towards the bakery. Eskel pressed a hand against his stomach to keep it from twisting painfully. Each step that brought him closer to the bakery made him more and more aware of how long it had been since he had last eaten. Hopefully, whatever plagued this place could be done with quickly and if he was lucky, it would pay enough for him to be able to indulge a little into the bakery’s wares.

He pushed the door open and a little bell that hung above the entrance chimed merrily. A soft looking woman with red cheeks looked up. A strange expression crossed her face, when she took in the sight of Eskel, who made himself smaller. Her scrutinising gaze was uncomfortable, though not unkind.

“What can I help you with?” The woman asked.

Awkwardly, Eskel pulled out the slip of paper.

“This says, you’re in need of a witcher?”

“Oh thank Meletile!” The baker wiped her hands on her apron. “I thought you’d never come.”

“Is the situation that dire?” Eskel asked, tensing. His eyes darted around the room and he strained his ears, but he couldn’t find anything wrong here.

“Dire?” The baker let out a strained laugh. “Dire, he says! Yes, it most definitely is.” Instead of elaborating, she hurried through the backdoor behind the counter, leaving Eskel lost and confused. After a moment, she came back, holding a bundle of something smelling like warm dough and honey. Eskel’s mouth began to water. His eyes went wide, when the baker thrust the bundle at him unceremoniously.

“What -”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep these warm and fresh when I don’t even know how long I’ll have to do so?” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “Next time you place an order, you better specify a time.”

Eskel was so dumbfounded, that he forgot to protest. All he could come up with was, “I have no coin.”

The baker gave him another strange look. “So? It’s already paid for. Now, if you’ll excuse me, now that these are finally off my hands, I need to get back to my other orders.” She left again to the backroom. For a moment, Eskel simply stood there, honey cakes in hand and more confused than he had been in a long time. But there clearly wasn’t anything for him to do here, so for lack of a better idea, he left the bakery. He carefully stowed the cakes into one of Scorpion’s saddlebags - but not before taking a small bite off one of them. He closed his eyes and could barely suppress a moan as the flavour melted on his tongue. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten something as delicious as that. He almost ate the rest of the cakes right then and there, but he forced himself to go on. Best to get a room first, so he could sit down, rest his weary bones and savour the cakes fully.

And in order to do that, he had to get coin first. So off to another notice board he went. And wouldn’t you know it, he found another note, written by the same hand and on the same expensive parchment.

Witcher wanted

If a witcher reads this, please come to theFlourishing Florist, at your earliest convenience. Your assistance is dearly needed.

A creeping suspicion rose in Eskel, as he neared the small botany shop. People were going in and out, and not a single one looked unsettled at the least. No one - but the shop owner, who pressed a huge bouquet of dandelions into his hands, muttering something about how keeping such weeds around made him appear like some cheap amateur.

Next, Eskel found a note proclaiming he needed to go to a tailor, who turned out to have been booked for the entire day, for the sole purpose of fixing any holes he might have in his clothing and provide him with a new pair of gloves.

After that, Eskel found a note that sent him to a stable, where there was a box ready for Scorpion.

With each note he found, the harder it got to stop from smiling. He sped up his steps in his pursuit of the next notice board, when he caught sight of someone sitting by a fountain at the marketplace. The hunched over figure was clad in bright blue and hastily scribbling something down, while their tongue was sticking out in concentration. Eskel’s heart leaped in his chest and he made a strange sound that must have been louder than he had anticipated, for the figure looked up from their writing. Blue eyes widened when they landed on Eskel and the quill scratched across the parchment, splotching ink all over it.

“No!” Jaskier scrambled to his feet. “You can’t be here!”

A pang went through Eskel’s chest at the words, but before his mind could spiral, Jaskier added, “I’ve not finished this one yet.” He waved the parchment through the air, making the still wet ink run slightly. “It’s taking forever to make all of these preparations and pay people off. You’re still supposed to be at the bakery eating! Did you not find that note yet?” With each word that was spilling from Jaskier’s lips, the warmth in Eskel’s chest grew.

“I kept the cakes,” he said softly, though there were a hundred other things he would have rather said. He didn’t think he’d be able to find the right words for any of those things. “I wanted to make the most of them.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of red. “You liked the surprise then?”

At that, a laugh bubbled up in Eskel’s chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel the need to cut it off. He let it spill freely from his split lips.

“Like it?” He repeated incredulously. “Jaskier, that - I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to. I just - well, I hoped I could give you a little happiness.”

Jaskier made to scratch the back of his neck. Apparently, he had forgotten about the quill he was holding, for he accidentally drew a dark spot onto his cheek.

“You do,” Eskel said, perhaps too quickly. He swallowed and almost took his words back, but then he took a deep breath and a step forward. “The flowers, the food - everything. You have no idea what that means to me.” After a moment of hesitation, he reached out and wiped gently at the smudged ink on Jaskier’s cheek. “But the greatest happiness is finding you.”

Jaskier’s lips fell open into a silent ‘Oh.’

Eskel wanted to pull his hand away, but Jaskier leaned into his touch and suddenly breaking the contact was the hardest thing in the world.

“Then I suppose, I don’t need to finish this message?” Jaskier half-joked and waved the letter he had been writing.

A smile tugged at Eskel’s lips. “You don’t,” he agreed and cocked his head to the side. “Though I’m curious. What would that note be for?”

“A room at an inn,” Jaskier said. He turned a shade darker and averted his eyes. Nervously, he picked at the edges of the parchment. “Though I suppose, now that you’ve found me, I could just invite you to share my rooms? I have a benefactor here and my rooms are big enough for two. You don’t have to - obviously, you don’t, I just thought -” “Jaskier.” Eskel caressed Jaskier’s cheek with his thumb and Jaskier fell silent.

“Yeah?” “I would love to share a room with you. And as much time as you’re willing to give.”

“Oh. Good.” Jaskier’s tongue darted out and it looked like he was debating something with himself. Then, he glanced back at Eskel. “In that case, though…could I change the note?”

Confused, Eskel simply nodded and let go of Jaskier, who turned around and quickly scribbled something onto the paper. He all but thrust it at Eskel and fiddled with his thumbs. Eskel’s breath caught in his throat, as he read.

Witcher wanted.

That was it. Not a single word more. In fact, all the other words that had previously been written, where crossed out.

“What does this mean? Witcher wanted?”

“Exactly that,” Jaskier said softly, uncharacteristically shy. “And not just any witcher. You. When I heard, you were in town, I - I just wanted to spend time with you. I want you.” He looked away and tugged at some strands of his hair that had fallen into his eyes. “If you want me too, that is.” “I do.” Eskel gently took Jaskier’s chin in his hand and tilted his head until their faces were only inches apart. “Believe me, I do.” Slowly, to give Jaskier enough time to pull away, Eskel leaned in. Jaskier did not flinch back. Instead, he flung his arms around Eskel’s neck and pulled him closer, capturing his lips and sealing his widening smile with his own lips.

Tomorrow, Eskel might make a comment about how he now could see the appeal of big cities. For now though, there was not a single thought on his mind, other than that he was finally holding his happiness in his arms, and impossibly making Jakier happy in return.

#sorry i didn't edit this #jaskel #jaskier #eskel #jaskierxeskel #fic #witcher #my writing #thank you for the prompt!

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thelostgirl21 · 7 months

Text

Am I the only one that somehow can't get over how confused Jaskier looks whenever Radovid is interacting with his lute?

I once made a post about headcanoning Jaskier as having ADHD, and, one of the many things people with ADHD also have, is a tendency to personify objects and get attached to them (not exactly as much, or in the same way, as human beings, but yeah...).

And I remember Jaskier going "Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn't she?" in reference to the lute Filivandrel gave him in season 1...

Since the way Radovid's own brain works appear to share a certain similitude to Jaskier's, and object personification is not actually exclusive to ADHD; at times, it feels like the lute becomes its own character.

Because one of the things I've always found kinda funny, in the scene where Radovid catches Jaskier's lute, is that he's totally ignoring Jaskier and Philippa at first, and really just looking at the lute, turning her over, studying her... Like mentally going:

"Hey... Hey there. Now where did you come from? It's okay, you're safe now... Not going to hurt you... I'm Radovid, by the way..."

He only looks up when Philippa breaks his focus and starts talking to him.

And poor Jaskier just basically freezes and stands there while watching Radovid be totally captivated with his "girl"; apparently ignoring that she's already in a "relationship" with someone...

"Okay, so... He's just saved her life... Does this means she's his now, or... Should I ask to get her back?"

Because, to be fair, Jaskier is sort of the reason someone threw her off a balcony and she was endangered in the first place! She wouldn't even be "existing" anymore, if not for Radovid.

So what's the protocol in these situations? "Catcher's keeper"? Is she his lute now?

At least, Radovid's being very gentle with her and seems to like her... Might be less uncomfortable if his damn lute didn't look like she liked him back...

"Wait. What's fortunate? Why are you looking at me like that? Oh no, you're hot. She's hot. You and my lute look hot together and it's all very hot. Things are usually hot, but not that hot. Fuck. I mean me, preferably. Fuck me."

Later, when Jaskier keeps saying that he's not in the mood for singing... Radovid just goes:

"Here. Help me out please, would you? He's being really stubborn about this. So, maybe you could help me convince him?"

And poor Jaskier realizes his lute is actually on the prince's side... Plus, she basically just took an arrow for him a few days ago, so it's not like he can just say "no" to her after that, right?

"Alright, fine! You win, you traitor! We'll play for him, if you insist. But we'll be so talking about this later... *Sigh* You're really lucky he's cute..."

"Stupid dumb sexy lutes and stupid dumb sexy princes... Joining forces together, determined to ruin my life..."

"Yeah, I know, I started playing while strolling in first because I was totally counting on him taking the opportunity to check out my arse. Don't judge me! I'll have you know it's a perfectly fine arse, and if I'm going to be uncomfortably aroused during that performance, so shall he!"

Of course, Radovid asks for one more song, providing Jaskier with a rather unique opportunity to make a genuine connection, while also leaving himself "a way out" (i.e. pretending the song wasn't specifically meant to be about him, but he was simply singing about "universal matters" of love and intimacy, you know?) should Radovid fail to respond.

"Yeah, I think you're right... I think, deep down, he does like me as more than 'just a fan', too. The prince might be more likely to take a risk at being honest with us if I show him I'm not just 'playing games' with him first... It's worth a shot, at least."

And respond, Radovid does...

"Well, fuck my life, then... I'll just have to ensure my brother keeps Ciri safe with us like I promised, try to show Dijkstra there are better ways to get shit done than constantly seeking to control and use people, find a way to protect Jaskier and his family from - well, pretty much everyone at this point! - and make things work between us... *Sigh* Stupid dumb sexy bards playing their stupid dumb sexy lutes... Again, why did I ask for this?"

Then, when Radovid decides to properly attempt to woo our bard, he reaches, once again, for Jaskier's lute. And, at first, Jaskier's definitely not too sure about this...

"Okay, fine. You can hold her. But seriously, though, what is it between you two? Should I start being jealous? Is she the best thing you've met - thanks to this whole mess - or am I? It's all getting quite a bit confusing!"

The moment Radovid has the lute in hands, he's once again really focusing on her, like:

"Look, I'm going to be honest with you... My playing is not very good, but it does come from the heart... So, I'm hoping you'll help me sound okay... I swear, I'm being sincere and I really, really like him... Please don't let me mess this up..."

Meanwhile, Jaskier is just looking so adorably intrigued, while watching Radovid get settled to play...

"What are you...? Wow. Okay... so you really do know how to hold her, then? Firm and secure, but not too rough... Nice form... Didn't expect things to get so intimate between you two so fast... Are you... actually planning to letting me watch whilst your caress her strings? Not that I'm complaining, but..."

And Radovid is just trying to be really brave about this...

"Alright, we've got this... I trust you. Just, don't let me down... I really appreciate the help, by the way... Did I mention it's the first time I do anything like this for anyone?"

And the moment he starts playing, poor Jaskier looks like his legs are just about to give up on him...

"Oh Gods.... That's just... the most erotic thing I've ever heard and seen in my life... I swear, if he keeps going much longer, that stupid dumb sexy prince with his stupid fluffy hair, dumb nimble fingers and deep sexy voice will just end up making me come untouched!"

"That's it! For the record, you can get as close, as fast, and as intimately as you want with my lute as long as I'm allowed to watch and listen. So please... just continue gently strum those strings, firmly wrap your hand around her neck, and hold her safely against your body in a tight embrace as much as you'd like... Actually, can I be a lute, too? I've never wanted to be a musical instrument so badly in my life!"

And poor Radovid is so focused on his actual playing that he never notices the way Jaskier has been looking at him during the entire performance...

He's just still nervously moving his fingers along her neck, shifting his hold, unsure of how well he did...

"So um... Yeah... Once again, thanks for the help... Whatever happens, just so you know, you were perfect. I just wish I was a better player..."

Meanwhile, Jaskier is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the prince not only learned his song after having listened to him perform it only once, but genuinely looks like he's got absolutely no idea how affected he is by the whole experience...

"You know, I really think you should play my song again... On me this time..."

Radovid is just looking a bit hopeful there...

"Okay, so... this is good, right? I mean, he doesn't look displeased that I learned his song... I think...."

Totally oblivious to the fact that, thanks to him, Jaskier has suddenly discovered himself a new kink...

"Yeah, you should definitely play me next... I'd love to explore all the sounds you could manage to get out of me if you held me by the neck like like you just did with her, kept my back firmly pressed against your chest, stroked my body, caressed all those strings, and let it all resonate..."

Meanwhile, poor Radovid's going into 'gay panic mode', apologizing for his playing being "shit", with his full attention returning to the lute...

"I'm so sorry I dragged you into this, luv... I didn't mean to embarrass you, I promise... I just thought that maybe we - Wha - umf?!"

Seriously, this moment kills me every time, because you've got Jaskier confidently advancing towards Radovid - like a missile locked on target - and Radovid's just awkwardly standing there, staring at the lute, totally oblivious to what's happening to the point where he manages to be caught off guard by the kiss!

Small detail, but I really like the way that Jaskier's eyes move fom Radovid's forehead when he's gently pulling his hair away from his face, to briefly seeking his gaze, and then his lips... Especially with the way his left hand comes to frame and tenderly hold his face on the other side, too...

There's just so much care and attention that goes into the whole gesture, that it really gives the impression that the kiss is driven by a need to express physical intimacy and sensual attraction first, and sexual passion second.

Actually, there's another moment in that scene that I feel hasn't been praised enough, so I'm just going to take a few seconds to express my appreciation for just how beautiful and perfect it is...

This. This little moment right here...

Where - although they are no longer kissing - Jaskier just continues to hold Radovid close as they breathe together, lips and faces touching, looking so very soft for each other and febrile...

Just the way their shoulders suddenly relax together on that deeper exhale (it's most obvious on Jaskier's side, but if you pay close attention, Radovid has the same physical response...), with such a sense of togetherness and relief...

They're just so in tune with each other, and it's so gorgeous to watch, and it feels so loving, intimate, and peaceful, and okay I'll have to stop now, else all I'll be doing for the next 15 minutes is talking about all the tiny details of this freaking kiss (well, technically it's two kisses, with one of the most gorgeous moments of physical intimacy I've ever seen depicted on screen sandwiched in between them...)...

But yeah! Let's get back on track!

Somehow, Radovid manages to be caught off guard by the kiss, initially just going very stiff and freezing a bit before relaxing into it..

And if Radovid is so concerned about his lute playing skills, well...

"How are you even real? I swear..."

So, basically, what I'm saying is that Jaskier's lute is essentially the ultimate "wingwoman" in season 3, and that, from the very moment Radovid caught her, she totally decided that she would get these two together!

#Jaskier #Radovid #Radskier #The Witcher #Jaskier's lute #Headcanons #Of the slightly crack variety #My Posts #My Thoughts #My Stuff #ADHD #Adult ADHD #I'm still not sure how my own brain works at times!

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fandom-junk-drawer · 7 months

Text

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 2

Geralt 'hmm'ed distractedly as he watched the tv. He was vaguely aware that Jaskier was talking, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Jaskier was always talking, or singing, or making some kind of noise.

Geralt blinked as something Jaskier had said brought itself to his attention. It had been something about his mouth, and balls.

"Hm?"

"I said 'How many cheeseballs do you think I could fit in my mouth?'"

Geralt shrugged, "I don't know, one? They are pretty big."

"That's what she said!" Jaskier said almost automatically, then contiued, "Not the actual ball of cheese ones, I mean the little crunchy snack ones that come in the barrel."

"I don't know, three? Four?"

"How many do you think you could fit in your mouth?"

Geralt shrugged. They looked at each other for a moment, then Geralt said, "I'll get the keys."

One quick trip to the grocery store later, and they were sitting on the couch, shoving cheeseballs into their mouths and grunting muffled numbers at each other

"What the f**k?" Yennefer asked, having walked in to see them covered in orange cheese dust, and looking like chipmunks getting ready for winter. They made grunting and mumbling noises at her, excitedly trying to sign numbers at her.

"Never mind, I don't want to know."

From then, it became a sort of competition. Geralt and Jaskier would see a small food item and try to see how many they could fit in their mouths.

Yennefer walked by the kitchen one morning to see Geralt and Jaskier standing at the table, a variety of small food items arranged before them. She didn't even try to entertain the idea that they were being considerate enough to make lunch.

Neither of them could cook a decent meal to begin with. They regularly sent Yennefer photos of their failed endeavors. Broken dishes, melted kitchenware, shattered knives, food on the ceiling, food on fire... She's seen it all.

No, this was not an attempt at a meal. The foods laid out on the table were too small, and while they had the odd vegetable and fruit sprinkled in, they were mostly junk foods like chips, candies and other sweets.

It was some kind of stupid game, Yennefer knew. She could tell by the score card and how Geralt was carefully counting out loud as Jaskier stuffed blueberries into his mouth, which didn't look like it had room for much more.

Yennefer poked her head in the doorway, said "Dookie!" then walked away as Jaskier spat his mouthful of blueberries all over the floor and wailed in dismay.

They had to try to either play the game while Yennefer was out, or play in secret. It was exceedingly difficult to play if Yennefer was around because she would sneak up on them and yell random things that would make one of them spit their food out.

"Bumhole!"

"When his pickle tickles the back of your throat!"

"Mud cupboard!"

"Starting out small with the ball gargling training?"

"Butt nuggets!"

"Stink wrinkle!"

"Beef hula hoop!""

"Titties!"

"Bum fluff!"

"Hershey squirts!"

P*ss flaps!"

"You going to spit or swallow?

"Peepity poo!"

"Dirt star!"

It was almost always Jaskier who ended up spitting everyting out and almost choking.

So now they were out on the back porch, trying to be really quiet, which wasn't at all suspicious, while they tried to see how many twinkies each of them could fit in their mouth

Yennefer happened to walk by and see them. Jaskier and Geralt both had their mouths stuffed to where they almost couldn't close them. It was equal parts disgusing and humorus.

Jaskier was right in the middle of using both hands to cram one more twinkie into his mouth. Yennefer could not stop herself.

She paused at the door and asked, "Did Geralt fill that twinkie for you?"

Jaskier immediately started giggling, and fumbled, trying to catch the bits of mushy twinkie that fell out of his mouth. Then he tried to stuff them back in while making incoherent noises, which, judging by the tone, were strings of cuss words.

The sight made Geralt laugh, and with his mouth full of snack cake, he'd sounded like a barking seal.

Jaskier lost it. He gagged his twinkies onto the porch and laughed so hard he wheezed.

Geralt laughed even harder, which made Jaskier laugh more.

The bard went to grab the edge of the small table to support himself, and slipped in the twinkie mush, landing right in it. Geralt just gave up and dropped on the ground, barking around his mouthful of sponge cakes.

Geralt: *seal noises*

"A-a seeeeaal! A f***ing...sEAl!" Jaskier guffawed.

They laughed until their sides ached and Geralt finally got smart and spat the massive hunk of twinkies out.

It was hours later before either of them remembered that Yennefer had f**ked up their count, and even after they did remember, all they could think about was Geralt's stupid Seal Laugh.

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dragonsandwolvesohmy · 9 months

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A Lord by the name Jaskier

A collection of stories where Jaskier is in a position of nobility/power. Reverse Warlord AUs, if you will.

hooked by peaktotheocean.

Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, hadn't been expecting to see invading Witchers on his riverbanks. Nor had he anticipated being named king to serve the White Wolf. Unfortunately, those were just the start of his problems.

Long Live the King by stockholm_syndrom.

Geralt placed the crown on his head before kneeling at his side, and the weight of it felt heavy on Jaskier’s brow. Jaskier’s path to becoming king, takes place five years after the fall of Cintra.

My Lord, have mercy on me. By SunnyInTheSun

"Where are we? I'm not sure I visited this country before." Geralt's eyes drift to the castle not very far from the forest they were hiding for a few hours. He feels his breath accelerate but he doesn't have another option: they have to hide there. Cirilla needs to rest and it's not safe to travel further if they will not rest enough. "This is Letthenove. I have a friend there, he will help us." If Jaskier is there and he's lucky enough to not be thrown out after what he did. * Geralt is traveling with Cirilla, trying to not be captured by the Nilfgaardian soldiers. He can't stop, he can't take a break and he can't think of anything else but take Cirilla to Kaer Morhen and let her be safe... until they find themselves on Letthenove. Geralt knows Cirilla needs to take a break and rest so he goes even if he's not sure if Jaskier wants to meet him after what he did. But what he finds when he knocks on the door is not Jaskier: is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Lord and Viscont of Letthenove. His bard is not the same anymore

Without you, I'm Stronger, I'm no Longer filled with Wonder by Jassy

Another post-mountain fic (such fertile grounds they gave us!) Jaskier's father dies and, having just been summarily told to fuck off by Geralt, Jaskier sees no reason not to take up the title of Count de Lettenhove. It all just kinda gains its own momentum from there.

Discovering Viscount Jaskier and His Lands by merthurlocked.

It begins with the bard leaving all he once knew behind, It starts when he discovers a certain witcher, It nearly ends when the witcher demands he leaves, It finishes when the two idiots find one another again, and learn how to stay. (Or post mountain, Geralt and Ciri are on the run when they discover Viscount Julian de Lettenhove's lands and find them to be a place of safety that neither want to leave.)

King by MaroonDragon

(Inspired by The Accidental Warlord and his Pack by Inexplicifics and by the song King from Florence and the Machine) After what happens on the mountains, Jaskier just wants a moment to lick his wounds. He doesn't want to sing about the White Wolf and his heroics. So he goes to the only place he can go where he's not expected to perform: Lettenhove. Unfortunately, going home means facing his past and his lingering claim to a title he does not want. Frustrated with the state of the world, with his life and what people expect of him as an Omega, Jaskier has had enough. Hell hath no fury like an Omega scorned. If you want something done, you better do it yourself. Jaskier is done singing about other people's heroics and hoping that they'll make the world a better place. Let them sing songs about him for a change. He's not a father. He's not a husband. He's a king.

This is a Warlord Jaskier AU by @jaskiersvalley here on Tumblr I thought should be included here.

Refuge in Lettenhove by Descarada

Geralt and Ciri are on the run from Nilfgaard. After a narrow escape from certain death, they seek refuge in a Lettenhove court. Geralt is shocked to find that the viscount, (and secret leader in the resistance) is none other than the man he scorned on the mountain. But Jaskier is acting as though he’s never met him before in his life. Is this is the chance Geralt needs to set things right?

the viscount & the hound by Kales and sheepishwolfy (this is one of my personal favorites)

How many Julian Pankratz could there be in all the world, let alone in Redania, let alone in Lettenhove? Even if he kicked Geralt out on his ear—and that would be his right, after the mountain, after all this time—even if he refused the witcher, Jaskier would shelter Ciri. Geralt knew it in his heart and his soul and his very bones. Jaskier would keep her safe, and get her to the other wolves, or to Yennefer. With winter swift approaching, and a scared, starving child to care for, a half-dead Geralt of Rivia has no choice but to seek aid from the last person who wants to give it: Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz.

Lettenhove times by Seiramallipop

Lettenhove, Jaskier's home, becomes a safe haven for all persecuted. This is a series of interconnecting small stories about different people ending up at Lettenhove and how they reacted to hospitality and niceness.

Of Witchers, Bards, and Broken Hearts by dhwty_writes

Six months have passed since Geralt and Ciri found each other. Since then, they have been on the run from... well, everyone, basically. Geralt is tired, Ciri is hungry, Roach is dead. And then they stumble across a very particular viscounty named Lettenhove. The problem? Geralt broke the Viscount’s heart on a mountain and Julian ‘Jaskier’ Alfred Pankratz, a bard, a friend, a lover, is slow to forgive.

Solace and Sanctuary by Igneum807 (Be warned this is part of a series, but this fic can be read as stand-alone.)

The people of Lettenhove listen to every song that Jaskier writes. He is their viscount, after all. The songs speak of witchers as heroes, as saviors, and the people believe them. When Eskel stumbles on the town in a desperate state, he discovers an unexpected safe haven in Jaskier's home and sets off a chain of events that quickly spirals into something powerful. Something the poets call destiny. The destiny of a manor and its people. Because after all these years, after all the hatred and the scorn, the witchers of Kaer Morhen have found a place to call home.

#jaskier #the witcher #accidental warlord au #warlord jaskier

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year

Text

The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter Five

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 6 - Ch 7

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I recommend reading it there

Warnings: canon-typical violence (blood, gore, disturbing ways of killing people), angst, grief mention, swearing

Word Count: 2799

Masterlist

Tag List Form

“Viper!”

You shot up, dagger held out, ready to defend yourself. You were met with wide, blue eyes. Once your mind caught up, you sighed and dropped it back into your lap.

“Hurry up,” he breathed out urgently. “Eyck is missing and Hendrick, he’s… well…”

“He’s what, Jaskier?” You rubbed sleep from your eyes. Where the hell were you? Oh, yeah, that’s right. Jaskier slept in your bed last night and you slept sitting on the floor. No wonder your arse hurt like hell.

The bard sighed. “Someone killed him.”

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. There were no lies to be found in the sympathetic look he held. You pushed yourself up, rushing past him and out of your tent, to see for yourself what had become of your employer.

You burst through the tent flap, eyes wide and wild. Geralt was already there, kneeling by the Temerian man who lay dead in his cot, neck sliced open. The body was hours old - blood no longer poured from his neck, already cooled into a thick, dark ooze. The Wolf’s eyes found yours. They held just as much sympathy as Jaskier’s.

“Oh, fuck.” Yarpen came up by your side, keeping his distance from the pool of blood. It soaked through the soles of your boots. You didn’t care.

“Was bound to happen eventually.” You didn’t have to turn to know it was a Reaver talking. What was their ringleader’s name? Broheni? Bolbolm? Something Redanian, you knew that much. He stood just at the tent opening, peering inside with a forced grimace. His dark gaze turned from the corpse to you. “A Nilfgaardian guiding a Temerian?” He scoffed. “Like a rat fucking a hag.”

You ignored just how Yarpen stepped away from you, as though you were going to slit his throat open next.

“Our people used to mine these mountains. We know a shortcut that will take half a day off our journey.” The Reavers were far ahead by now. The rest left behind slowed down to listen to Yarpen. “Let the Reavers take the long way around. We’ll nab the treasure before they even set foot in the cave. We’ll watch each other’s backs until we reach the next peak, then every man for himself.”

Two bodies were found that morning. Yennefer’s escort, Sir Eyck of Denesle, and your employer’s, Hendrick of Temeria. Nobody else suspected Yennefer of killing Eyck. You, on the other hand…

All morning, you had trudged along far behind everyone else. Still, they glanced and peered over their shoulders to make sure you weren’t about to make a move against them. The only few who trusted you - Borch and his guards, Jaskier, and Geralt - could not sway the minds of the Reavers and Dwarves. Yennefer, you suspected, did not trust you for your title as a Nilfgaardian alone.

“What say ye?”

“Let’s go!” Borch answered.

“Only thing: that murderer can’t come,” Yarpen spat, glaring at you as he spoke to Geralt.

The White Wolf’s lips curled into an offended snarl, brow furrowed and eyes burning with a fire reserved only for monsters. But before he could say anything, your hand was on his shoulder, turning him away from the Dwarf to face you. The flaming eyes of the Witcher met with your own, gleaming with the warmth and comfort of an amber mead after a long day.

“I’ll meet you at the top.”

You both just stared at each other, as if speaking with your eyes. You were deadlocked once again, only this time it was not with blades.

If Geralt tried to insist you come along, he could be left behind, as well. It was pertinent to reach the top before the Reavers, who would not think twice about slaying the dragon. But doing nothing left you at a disadvantage. You would be forced to follow the Reavers.

The scowl faded from his lips.

“Fine.” The word was grit out between clenched teeth. Even as the group began moving, he lingered for a moment longer, searching your eyes to make sure this was alright. They gave nothing away.

The Dwarves led the way down a side route, Borch and his guards following close behind. You stood at the crossroads. Your path was to follow the Reavers, the group of arsehole dragon-killers who framed you for murder; there was nothing you could now do to prevent it. If you were lucky, you would be able to sneak ahead while they slept.

Jaskier stopped to stand by your side, watching as Geralt chased after Yennefer to bring her along on the shortcut. He sighed.

“Guess I’ll see you at the top, then? You don’t really have to come now that… Well…”

You scoffed softly. “I wouldn’t wish to pass up the opportunity of seeing a dragon.” You turned to look at him, nodding down the side path. “You best catch up before they leave you behind.”

He glanced over the hill the Reavers crested moments ago. “So should you.”

You lifted your hood. The dark cloth ghosted your face with shadows, hiding your eyes and making you appear more intimidating. The easy, almost playful, grin on your lips ruined the illusion. “Stay safe, Jaskier. I would hate to hear what treachery you encounter without me.”

He chuckled, calling after you as you began the trek down the main road. “I won’t leave anything out!”

“I hold you to that!”

And in moments, you disappeared over the hill, and Geralt returned with the Witch in tow.

The dragon was dead when you arrived. Long, slender neck and powerful body curled around her still unborn child. It made your soul ache. To see a creature so magical, so formidable, being protective over a life so small…

When you neared, Téa and Véa appeared from the shadows, weapons armed and prepared to cut you down. You could not even spare them a glance, far too entranced in the ‘monster’ behind them. You mindlessly removed your blades and tossed them to their feet as you whispered a promise not to touch the egg or they could kill you where you stood.

They watched, prepared to do just that, as you carefully rounded the egg and sat by her head. Her scales tingled with magic as you brushed her snout, but she was cold; she had been for a while now. The stench of rot tainted the air around her. You wished you did not know the smell as well as you did.

Your chest was tight with emotion. Not mourning, but a semblance of something like it. She did not just remind you of home, of Stuldweck protecting and caring for you as she did now for her egg, even in death. She reminded you of a home you once had. Of your own mother, and father, and that big old farm horse. Of the frogs, and the well, and stitching by the fire. Of that grand oak on the hill.

Through the haze of a long-lost life, you heard boots scuffing against loose dirt and hard stone. Rushing in, carrying all manner of mismatched weapons, were Reavers. They charged head first into battle. Geralt, the Zerrikanians, and the Witch, all defending the egg.

You could mourn later.

You carefully sidestepped the egg, keeping your eyes up on the fight as your hands reached down and grabbed your abandoned sheaths. Holding the hilts, you flicked your wrists, and the leather casings flew away, revealing curved blades laced with Basilisk venom.

Reavers charged for you, confident they could kill a Witcher trained for killing humans. They were wrong. You cut them down, one after the next. You almost didn’t think about it anymore. Your mind was solely focused on defending the egg and the dragon laying with it; you could not feel the tension against your arms as you plunged your weapons through flesh and muscle, nor their own weapons landing hits on you.

You were snapped back into the fight when a long blade from behind sliced through your armor and traced almost directly over an old scar. You had to grit your teeth to hold back the scream. You turned and caught the man in the temple. Your hilt touched his skull. Someone bodied you, forcing you to abandon the silver dagger in his head.

You stood from the blow, raising your dagger defensively. There, not even ten feet away, was the Reaver that taunted you. His deep, sunken eyes stared at you from within yellowed skin. Crooked teeth malformed into a crooked grin. In his hand was a heavy, two-handed war hammer.

He charged forward, closing the distance, and driving the spike of the hammer in an upward swing. You dodged back sharply. He struck again and again and again. A seemingly endless barrage of attacks.

He got in close, swinging for your chest. You couldn’t block it. The war hammer would shatter your wrists before ever slowing down. All you could do was dodge. He was counting on this.

He swung. The adrenaline in your veins clogged your judgement; you dodged the wrong way. The butt-end of the hammer slammed against your sternum, sending you careening toward the hard floor. You landed hard on your arm. Your ribs bent, a sharp prick shooting through your side. Lightning-hot fire shot up the cut in your back.

“It would be easier to lay down and die, wouldn’t it, Rat?”

You couldn’t stop. You only had a second to look up. His teeth grit together, flames alight in his dark irises. The war hammer was coming down on you, sharp end poised to puncture. You bit back a groan as you rolled out of the way, just in time for the spike to impale the floor instead.

“But you have to get up. You have to fight.”

He ripped the hammer out of the stone. You kicked his knee, forcing him to kneel as he grunted in pain. One handed, the other clutching his knee, he swung again.

“C’mon, Rat. Fight.”

A scream tore from your throat as you reached up to meet his hand with your dagger. It was your bad arm. White, searing hot shocks of pain ran all the way down your shoulder to your wrist. You gripped your dagger with enough force to break the skin of your knuckles as the blade connected with his wrist and sliced through it.

The hammer, still gripped in a disembodied fist, flew past your head and skidded across the cavern. He screamed. You took in a breath, preparing yourself, holding it in your chest. You forced yourself up and jabbed the steel into the hollow of his throat.

His whole body froze. Wide eyes reflected your disheveled state back at you. His tongue moved inside his gaped mouth, forming words without the oxygen to speak them. Blood soon flooded it, pouring from the corners of his down-turned lips and into your lap.

The blade crunched and squished as you pulled it from the hollow. His expression was frozen. His body collapsed toward you, unable to stay upright any longer, before you shoved it to the side.

Waves of agony washed over you as the adrenaline fully left your system. Your hands trembled as you forced yourself to your feet. Nausea settled in your gut as the tight pain in your chest reached the forefront of your mind.

You were covered in blood. Most of it was his, you knew that much. You could taste the distinct, mutated flavor of copper on your tongue. Every breath was agony. But you could breathe, and that was worth something.

You scanned the room. The floor was littered with corpses. One was burnt; the closest to the egg. The egg…

You whipped around, much too quickly. Blood rushed to your head, your vision spinning with your mind. Rough, but surprisingly gentle, hands grabbed you. Their face came into focus before you could slash at them.

“Calm down,” Borch advised. The slight scratchiness of his voice, undertoned with knowledge and age, clicked immediately. He held you upright by your shoulders, waiting patiently as you shut your eyes and let the world catch up to you. “You have fought valiantly.”

You looked at him again. His face no longer blurred or warped. He smiled.

“Thank you for protecting her.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but could find no words. He seemed to understand, though, as he let you go. He turned back to the green dragon. His shoulders hunched, as if a heavy weight rested on his shoulders. You did not stay to watch.

Jaskier was the first one to greet you outside.

“Well, you look like shit.” You forced your eyes to focus on him. He was dirty and unkempt, watching his every step as to not walk on any of the many bodies strewn about. He was a welcome sight. His grin at his little joke fell when you did not react. “What’s wrong? What happened?” His hands floundered around, hovering over your arms and shoulders as he tried to figure out whose blood was where.

“I’ll tell you later.” Your voice was so quiet. You blamed it on exhaustion, but the ache in your chest was not purely from the war hammer.

His brows knit together in concern, but he nodded nonetheless. He made a motion, gesturing as he tried to find the words. “Uh, uhm, potion- Swallow. Do you have any…?”

You nodded. You lifted your arm, drawing his attention to the line of bottles along your belt. Your sheaths and silver blade were still discarded inside. You loathed the thought of having to go back for them, but you would not be leaving without them.

You tried to reach for one of the vials, but he stopped you when you winced. “Here, let me.” He didn’t touch you - as much as he could avoid it, anyway. Nimble fingers slipped it out of its holder, uncorked it, and held it out to you. You tossed back the strange liquid without hesitation.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

The words echoed through the mountain valleys. Jaskier’s fingers rubbed together, itching for anything to fiddle with as the insults sank into his chest. His throat felt tight. His eyes burned. Someone he had considered a friend - someone he could trust, depend on - only thought of him as a burden, wreaking havoc on his life.

“You fucking bastard.” Geralt’s piercing gaze shifted from glaring at Jaskier to where you sat up on the hill. You grunted as you forced yourself to your feet. The potion was working - it didn’t hurt as much to breathe, and you could use your arm again, but you hadn’t had time to clean and bandage the cut along your back. For now, the blood was slowed down enough you weren’t immediately concerned about it. Loose pebbles and rocks shifted under your boots as you shuffled down them until you stood protectively in front of the bard. “No one asked you to claim the Law of Surprise, or make that wish with the djinn. You only have yourself to blame.”

The Wolf’s lips curled into a sneer. “If he hadn’t dragged me-”

You scoffed bitterly, stumbling the rest of the way down the hill to stand directly in front of Geralt. “No one forced you to go! Friend or not, you could have declined, you pompous git! You did this to yourself! No one else!” You stepped back. Despite your injuries, you stood with your shoulders squared, ready to fight. Your eyes burned into his own, daring him to test the waters. You would fight at a disadvantage to protect Jaskier, who he saved over and again just to throw away.

But Geralt’s shoulders fell. He averted his eyes, staring pointedly at the distant horizon. He would not be fighting you.

“Congratulations. Your blessing has been granted.” You stepped back, watching the Witcher to see if he would do anything. Instead of gearing up for an attack or trying to argue again, he just huffed and turned to gaze out at the view. The tension in your muscles faded, eyes losing the burning anger.

He was your last opportunity for a family. For brotherhood.

You turned your back to him and clambered back up the hill. Jaskier was speechless for once. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Geralt. You touched his shoulder, and blue eyes, wide and glossy, tore through you like a knife. You offered him a thin-lipped grin.

“C’mon, Jaskier.” You nudged him gently away from his old traveling companion. He glanced back once, before swallowing down his hurt and helping you climb. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be halfway down the mountain by nightfall.”

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@adozenforks

@plaguedoctorsnake

@solomonssimp

#fanfic #fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #jaskier x reader #jaskier #jaskier the bard #witcher jaskier #the witcher jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt & reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gn reader #x gn reader #cross posted on ao3

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marchtothefuckingsea · 2 years

Text

Bitter Water - Geralt of Rivia

My Masterlist.

I usually don’t do this kind of thing, but this was heavily, heavily inspired by some songs, so I included them as they’re used if you want to listen. If not, that’s fine too! They’re not needed at all the get the jist of the story.

Geralt x fem!Dandelion (Jaskier still exists, it’s mostly just a placeholder name that I thought fit her really well. she’s a bard too!)

Bittersweet fluff.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: None. This is my first time writing in something other than first person, so excuse any mistakes.

Summary: It’s the utterly stupid song that makes Geralt realize that he’s in love with the bard. Undeniable, irrevocably, helplessly in love with her.

He watched the fire dance in her eyes as she stared at it, while a light smile graced her lips from something the male bard to her right had said; most likely a jab at the witcher sat across from them. His own lips curled up in a barely noticeable smile.

The close trio had spent the last week traveling in search of another beast, and had finally caught up to it and defeated it the day before. They had been paid with a bag of coin for their efforts and-though they had more than enough to rent a room or two in a tavern- the witcher and, most especially, the female bard had insisted upon sleeping outside while the weather was still nice, much to Jaskier's disapproval.

And, like always, Geralt would give her the world if she asked. Not that she ever did; she was a simple person. She didn't judge harshly, and she wasn't loud or obnoxious like her fellow bard. In fact, she was quite quiet, only speaking what was needed most of the time. She only came out of her shell during times like these, and when she sung. Gods, was she beautiful when she sung.

He immediately shook his head at that thought, as if shaking away a fly. The witcher turned his head back to the two bards, who had fallen quiet, now whispering to each other, Jaskier with a wide grin on his face, and Dandelion with the beginnings of one on her own, both looking at him.

"What?" He grunted, glaring at them half-heartedly.

"Nothing. Just having a good old chat." Jaskier piped up, unable to wipe the grin off of his face.

The witcher snorted. "I'm going to bed."

"Bed? You mean like the one I- I mean we- could have been sleeping on if you two weren't being fools?" Jaskier had suddenly included Dandelion in on his jeers. She rolled her eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully.

"Where's your adventurous spirit, poet?" She mocked him back just as teasingly. Geralt just grunted again, leaving the two to have at it. He sunk into his sleeping bag a sigh, listening to the bards joke with each other. After a while they quieted down and, with his elevated hearing, he heard the crunch of leaves beneath her quiet footsteps. His lips quirked up in a small smile; she had learned well, unlike the other bard. Had he the normal hearing of a human, he would not have heard her at all. Feigning sleep, he listened as she slid into her sleeping back with a contented sigh, sidling up closer to him.

"Geralt?" Her voice was quiet, not wanting to wake Jaskier who had already passed out several feet away. His snoring broke through the background noise of the last remaining crickets and cicadas of the warm season.

He considered pretending to be asleep, but he couldn't. “Yes?” He asked back just as quietly. Something about the moment felt intimate, and he couldn’t bear to be the one to ruin it.

“I- I thought you were asleep. Sorry-” She began to apologize, but he cut her off.

“What were you about to say?”

“I was going to ask you if..ugh it was stupid. Forget it.” The moment had been ruined.

“Geralt, I have to talk to you. It’s important.” Dandelion had crept up behind the witcher, surprisingly unbeknownst to him. Had he not traveled with her for over a year now, he would have took her tone for being serious, but her voice was just a few octaves higher than it would have been if she was actually, in fact, serious. He wondered why he knew that, and cleared his throat, clearing the thought away with it. The witcher was suddenly aware of another pair of footsteps; they were relatively quiet, but still clumsy and uncoordinated.

“No you don’t.” He grunted, returning to sharpening his hunting knife.

“No, I do.” She insisted impatiently. “I told you, it’s important.” Her voice grew louder as the clumsy footsteps grew closer, and he could tell she was trying to cover up the other bard’s footsteps with her voice.

“Is it about Jaskier trying to be quiet and sneak up on me once you have me occupied?” He retorted sourly.

“It’s- what are you even talking about?” Her voice wavered for a split second, giving him all the confirmation he needed.

“The gods only know what he has in that bucket of his. It smells sour.” He frowned, scrunching his nose up at the faint smell.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She took two steps back, unable to contain her nervous laughter. He couldn’t help the smug grin that crept onto his face.

“Oh come on!” Jaskier exclaimed, dropping his pail onto the ground and making himself known. “What a killjoy!”

Geralt’s nose really scrunched up then, the fowl smell becoming stronger. “What is that?”

“Mud.”

“From where??”

“The swamp where the zombies were.”

“That would explain the rotten corpse smell.” Geralt stood, towering over his companions, who were now backing up quickly, before he could retaliate.

How he ended up with two annoying bards was entirely unknown to him.

The next night, the witcher leaned back against a tree, distancing himself from the fire that the two bards huddled close to. His muscles ached from fighting the rest of the zombies that had managed to evade them earlier in the day. Another day, another job well-or not so well- done.

A soldier, a poet, a king

Dandelion strummed her guitar quietly, experimentally, glancing over to the seemingly sleeping witcher. Jaskier sat across from her, clearing his throat as he began to tap softly on the body of his lute, creating a soft drumming sound. The witcher listened quietly, feigning sleep as he rested his sore body. Iris had fought too, but she was far from tired.

“There will come a soldier, who carries a mighty sword.” She sang softly. “He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.”

“Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lord. He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Jaskier joined in for the chorus, but not playing his own instrument the way it was meant to be played. He still tapped on the side of it, and Dandelion began to tap her heel against the log she was seated on in time with the rhythm.

Geralt, who had actually been drifting off to sleep, tensed in surprise. He had never heard the self-proclaimed bard sing before. He had heard her hum tunes before, and even that was music to his ears. Her soft voice carried to his ears easily.

“There will come a poet, whose weapon is his word.” He cracked his golden eyes open, and he found his gaze meeting hers. “He will slay you with his tongue. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” She smiled gently, her face illuminated warmly by the fire. His heart seized in his chest unfamiliarly. Had he been bitten?

“Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lord. He will slay you with his tongue. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Jaskier, at that moment, had been completely forgotten by the two of them, their eyes locked on each other. It was strangely intimate.

“There will come a king, whose brow is laid in thorn. Smeared with oil like David’s boy. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” He watched her soft lips form the words of the familiar song he had heard sung by a number of different voices before. But her voice easily eclipsed the others; it was magic.

“He will tear your city down. Oh lei, oh lai, oh….” She trailed off, ending the tune with a last strum of her guitar that lingered in the air. She did not break her gaze from his, staring back at him with just as much intensity.

He didn’t want it to end.

Several nights later, after another job well done, the witcher sat in a tavern, watching his two companions sing. Jaskier played his lute, which had a higher pitch and produced a distinct timbre than Dandelion’s own stringed instrument that resembled a guitar. Not her energy nor her instrument matched the bard’s, but they played together well anyway. She strummed out the last, deep note to the tune, before Jaskier tilted his head towards hers, and a smile graced her face as she nodded, agreeing with whatever he had said. Jaskier strummed out a note that sounded vaguely familiar, and when Iris joined in with her guitar, Geralt groaned at the realization. Not this song again.

Toss a Coin To Your Witcher (Female voice)

He listened with an indifferent frown as they played the intro, stretching it out longer than they usually did. He noted that Dandelion looked nervous; That was unusual.

“When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song.” His jaw dropped against the brim of his mug as Dandelion began to sing the song, in that sweet voice of hers. Every muscle in his body tensed in surprise, and he gripped the handle of the beer mug until his hand ached and his knuckles were a deathly white.

“From when the white wolf fought a silver tongued devil, his army of elves, at his hooves they did revel.” Her voice was hesitant and tinged with anxiety that was only noticeable to the witcher that sat quietly against the wall, almost in a trance. “They came after me, with masterful deceit, broke down my lute, and they kicked in my teeth. And while the devil’s horns minced our tender meat, and so cried the witcher, he can’t be beat.” He smiled, noticing that the female bard had changed up the song, filling it in with the correct word that he remembered her and Jaskier arguing over constantly weeks ago as the bard had worked on the song.

“Toss a coin to your witcher, o’ valley of plenty, o’ valley of plenty.” Jaskier’s voice joined hers at the chorus, giving Geralt the smallest bit of control to rip himself out of the trance she had put him under.

“At the edge of the world, fight the mighty hoard that bashes and breaks you, and brings you to mourn.” She wavered slightly when Jaskier trailed off, shoving the spotlight back onto her. Geralt could tell she was nervous, and he recalled her admitting that, although she was a self-proclaimed bard, she rarely sang in front of people. Though Jaskier had encouraged her since she had joined them in their travels, and she had grown comfortable singing around the fire with the witcher and the other bard.

“He thrust every elf far back on the shelf. High up in the mountains from whence it came. He wiped out your pest, got kicked in his chest. He’s a friend of humanity, so give him the rest.” Her tone was defiant as her eyes swept over every person in the room in the same glare that several of them had given Geralt when they had entered the tavern.

He wondered if any of the others in the room were affected by her voice like he was.

“That’s my epic tale, our champion prevailed. Defeated the villain, now pour him some ale.”

“Toss a coin to your witcher, o’ valley of plenty, o’ valley of plenty. Toss a coin to your witcher, a friend of humanity.” Her voice filled the tavern, the anxiety that had tinged it at the very beginning of the song dissipating as she grew more confident. She continued the chorus on her own this time-in that sweet, entrancing voice of hers- and Geralt felt realization hit him like a brick wall.

Geralt had never felt helpless, had never felt so uninhibited, in his entire life. But now that it was there, he couldn’t shake the feeling. He was frozen in place during her song, but as soon as she drew out the last note breathlessly-with a smile on her face that made the witcher breathless, too-he stood abruptly, leaving the room and ignoring her quizzical glance that he felt on his back. As much as it pained him to do so, he needed to be alone. He needed to gather himself and his thoughts, his emotions that he had absolutely no control over like he had thought. He was painfully aware, now, that he had lost the ability of control ever since he had met her.

He was in love with her.

He was utterly, irrevocably, helplessly in love with her.

“Fuck.” He breathed out. He sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as he breathed in deep breaths in an attempt to regain some semblance of control. He had danced around his feelings for a while now; months, perhaps even longer. Ever since that night that he had heard her sing, she must have put a spell on him. After that, her normal voice even sounded sweeter to his ears.

Geralt was the last person that would believe in fate. But maybe, he thought, maybe she was his fate. He cursed himself under his breath again for thinking like a damned fool.

Dandelion watched as Geralt stood up and abruptly left the room, confused. She ignored Jaskier calling her back for another tune, walking after the white-haired witcher before suddenly stopping in the hallway, uncertain. What right did she have to go after him like that? He wasn’t hers to worry about. She needed to get that into her head.

With a sigh, she turned back to the tavern, Jaskier’s lute traveling to every corner of the room as he started the next song without her. She sat at the bar, ordering a mug of ale. The bartender opened her mouth as if to make a comment, then shut it, sliding the drink across the counter to the bard. She gulped down a third of it in one go, only parting from the glass for air.

She struggled with her emotions, tears welling up in her eyes, then anger taking over. Anger at herself for even allowing herself to develop feelings towards the obvious lone wolf.

“ I guess they call him the white wolf for good reason.” She muttered to herself with a bitter laugh, downing the rest of her drink with a forlorn feeling settling in her gut as the alcohol began to work its magic. She ordered another glass, running her hands through her hair in frustration before Jaskier sidled up in the seat beside her.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked, sensing her distress.

“Yes, yes I do.” She slurred, her face tearstained and her voice strained.

“Is this about Geralt?” Jaskier was straightforward with his question. He could see the chemistry between the bard and the witcher, even though the two of them were completely oblivious-or in denial. Any fool could see it.

“Wha? ‘Course not.” The bard stumbled over her words, spinning on her stool to face him and nearly falling off in the process. He steadied her by her biceps, letting go when she jerked away from him.

“I think it is.” He insisted as she turned back to the bar, slumping over the counter and resting her head in her arms.

“No, ‘s just about me being an idiot.” She mumbled.

“Look, why don’t we just get you to bed. I’m sure you’ll feel better i-” He tried to tug her off of the stool, scrambling back in surprise when she spun around to face him, narrowing her eyes at him.

“No.”

“I’m not leaving you here, you’re going to end up doing something stupid.”

“I’m not going.” She said stubbornly.

“I’ll get Geralt.” Jaskier threatened.

“I don’t care. Go get the big oaf. He’s probably busy with some other woman anyway.” Dandelion muttered, disappointment clear in her voice. She turned back to the bartender, ordering another drink. Jaskier left the room in a hurry.

It felt like minutes later-maybe hours, he wasn’t sure at this point-that he heard a knock at his door. He almost thought he was imagining it, until the knocking came again, louder this time, and more urgent. He cursed under his breath, crossing the room and opening the door.

“Fuck off bard.” At the sight of Jaskier, he slammed the door shut. Jaskier shoved his foot in the door though, hissing in pain at the strength of the door slam and glaring at the witcher.

“What do you want?” He growled.

“It’s Dandelion .” Geralt's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name and he silently cursed himself.

“What about her?” He asked flatly, leaving the door hang open and walking back into the room. Jaskier took this as an invitation, quickly following him.

“She’s drunk.”

“And? How is that my problem?”

“I- I don’t know, it just is. I don’t want to deal with her! She won’t listen to me!” Jaskier pleaded.

“She’s an adult, she can take care of herself, Jaskier.”

“You know what happened last time she got drunk and we left her there.” He deadpanned. Geralt did; she had gotten herself into a nasty fight, earning a black eye and a busted lip.

He huffed in frustration, pushing past the bard. “Fine.”

Dandelion saw the witcher approach out of the corner of her eye as she chugged down her second mug of ale. She slumped over the bar with a groan, hiding her head in her arms.

"Dandelion." Geralt grunted, taking residence on the bar stool to her right where Jaskier had been not half an hour before.

"Geralt." She greeted him, her voice muffled by her arms. She didn't want him to see her tear-stained face.

"You're drunk." He said plainly.

"'s that obvious?"

"More than. Come on." Grabbing her by her shoulders, he hauled her out of her seat despite her muttered protests.

"No, I'm not done." She protested, pulling against his grip. He just shook his head, towing her out into the hallway.

"Don't make me stay with Jaskier, he snores." She complained, slouched over his arm that supported her by her shoulders. He froze, realizing she didn't have a room. Looking down at her, he saw he'd head slumped forward, nearly passed out. He towed her over to Jaskier's room-right across the hallway from his-and began pounding insistently on the door.

"Go away!" The bard shouted. "She's all yours!" He could hear the grin in the bard's voice, and he scowled.

"Fuck." He grunted, hauling her across the hall to his room and clumsily kicking the door closed behind him. Dumping her rather unceremoniously onto the mattress, he immediately fetched his water canteen. By this time, the female bard had curled into a ball on one side of his bed, fast asleep. He sighed, debating if he should wake her or not, until she made the decision for him. She raised her head tiredly, blinking at him with glassy eyes.

"Here." He thrusted the canteen to her, and she took it, looking confused until she tilted it back and the cool water ran down her throat. She pulled back with a cough, gagging.

"You drank too fast."

"Someone cares?" She teased boldly, her throat still scratchy. The alcohol in her system gave her a new kind of bravery.

He grunted in response and she frowned. She had wanted a better reaction than that.

"Why'd you come back to the bar?" She asked.

He groaned in annoyance, pulling up a chair beside the bed and settling into it as she waited impatiently. "For you."

"Like I'd believe that." She snorted. "No pretty ladies?"

"What?"

"I said, no pretty women?? No one catch your eye?"

"Nope." He replied shortly.

"Come *onnn. You can tell me."

"Jaskier told me you were drunk, so I came to get you."

"I don't believe it, I can see it in your eyes." She insisted, leaning forward and dramatically locking eyes with him. "You're so smitten. But for who…" She trailed off, raising her eyebrows, encouraging him to spill his guts to her.

And spill them he did.

"You. Alright? Happy?" Geralt bit out, his tone sounding sharper than he had intended.

"Me?" She looked taken aback.

"Give it some time, alright? I just need to reign it in. I know you don't-" She leaned forward the rest of the way, cutting him off with an impulsive, forceful kiss. Her lips tasted of the strong ale she had gotten drunk off of earlier.

"What if I don't want you to reign it in?" She asked quietly.

"You're drunk." He muttered, pushing her away. His heart was about to beat out of his chest.

"That doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about." She argued, but she didn't press it. She sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples and groaning as her head began to pound. "I'll take the couch." She mumbled to no one in particular, staggering around the dividing wall. He listened as she flopped onto the couch, and as she shifted around. He listened until her breathing evened out before daring to move from the chair. Quietly getting into the bed, he laid there, feeling as if he had just ruined everything.

Dandelion was gone from the room entirely before he awoke. He found her in the dining area of the tavern, at a table in the corner by herself with a forlorn look on her face. He ignored the way his heart clenched painfully in his chest, walking by the table and grunting out a "We're leaving" as he passed, not trusting his voice. Jaskier waited outside by Roach. Iris nodded, looking up to see the witcher was already out the door. She sighed uncomfortably, almost considering staying behind.

Finally pushing that thought away, she left her payment on the table and followed in Geralt's footsteps out the door, finding him loading their things onto Roach. He barely spared her a glance, afraid of his eyes revealing too much.

It was after that night at the tavern, that Geralt had absolutely no clue how to approach her; especially after what he had admitted to. They set out on the road again, and she was oddly quiet as she fell into step beside Jaskier, only nodding along to what he said, and occasionally responding shortly when he prompted her to.

"What's going on?" Jaskier asked her, hesitant to touch on the subject, but his nosy nature allowed him to leave it no longer.

"Nothing." She muttered.

"Come on, I'm your friend, your fellow poet! You can tell me."

"It's nothing, okay?" She didn't mean to snap at the bard, who now wore the expression of a kicked puppy. "I'm sorry I just- I'm sorry." She mumbled, falling even further behind him; an indication that the conversation was over. The bard sighed.

Dandelion trailed behind the witcher and the bard, feeling nauseous and her head pounding in a painful hangover. Her body ached when she realized they would be traveling a long way that day. With her head hung and eyes trained on the ground, she barely realized when they had stopped, almost colliding with Jaskier. She raised her head, squeezing her eyes shut when her head pounded from the sudden light.

"We're stopping here." She frowned. They were supposed to make it to the next village by nightfall, and they still had plenty of daylight left. But she didn't question the witcher's decision, nodding slightly in response. She was just grateful for the chance to rest, her aching body desperate to lie down.

She unloaded her sleeping bag from Roach, flinching when her fingers brushed Geralt's as he tried to help her. His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second, and she saw no hostility. With a sudden bout of bravery, she laid her sleeping bag beside his as she always did, before volunteering to fetch wood and kindling for their fire. Jaskier stepped in, volunteering instead and immediately setting off before anyone had the chance to argue. Now left alone with the witcher, she stood awkwardly, shuffling her feet away from him.

"Wait." He said, making her raise her head at the emotion in his voice. She swallowed thickly.

"Did you mean it?" She asked quietly. "Because I- I did."

The female bard found her feet rooted to the ground as the witcher stepped closer to her, giving her every opportunity to step away and decline his advance. But she did not. He carefully reached to cup her face, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone before leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss. She immediately kissed back, only pulling away eventually for air.

"I meant it." He told her, his voice low and sincere. "I've never meant anything more in my entire life."

Bitter Water

The witcher and his bard watched from their table as Jaskier danced and sang his tune, trailing the final note out before leading into another song. Geralt couldn’t help but to roll his eyes as he recognized the song from the first note now. Thanks to Dandelion, the entire, foolish song now held a place in his cold heart. He watched a small smile grace her features as Jaskier played out the tune, humming along. The song held a dear place in her heart, too; it had been the first time she had ever sung in front of people she didn’t even know.

“When the humble bard, graced a ride along, with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song.” The witcher listened as she hummed along quietly, the smile on his face growing ever present.

“From when the white wolf fought a silver tongued devil, his army of elves, at his hooves they did revel.” The witcher found himself humming along quietly, and his eyes met the female bard’s, her smile breaking out into a grin.

“They came after me, with masterful deceit. Broke down my lute and, they kicked in my teeth. While the devil’s horns, minced our tender meat. And so cried the witcher, he can’t be bleat.” Geralt grinned back at her now, remembering the time she had first sung the song, and how she had changed the lyric up. It was a fond memory between the two of them.

“Toss a coin to your witcher, o valley of plenty, o’ valley of plenty.” Geralt cleared his throat, dipping his head down to his mug.

“You know,” He started. “This song has grown on me.”

Dandelion smiled. “It has, has it?”

The witcher nodded fondly. “It’s when I realized I love you.” The words that had been impossible for him to say before, tumbled out of his mouth easily now, as they did the past several months of their courtship. She reached across the table, taking his larger hand in hers and tenderly tracing the lines of his palm. He sighed, relaxing at the now familiar feeling. He had found himself relaxing more in the past few months than ever before in his life.

Their intimate moment was interrupted, however, by the obnoxious bard who came bounding up to them like a loyal dog, a grin on his face. “Dandelion! Join me!”

The female bard hesitated, before she smiled at him, nodding. “Sure. I’ll be right there!” She matched his enthusiasm, before turning back to the witcher at her side with a much wider smile on her face, her eyes gleaming.

She left her guitar, and stood beside Jaskier now. “May I?” She asked him, gesturing to his lute. He gave her a slightly confused look before nodding. Strumming the instrument experimentally, she began the tune, a nervous lump in her throat.

“Oh-oh-oh. Oh-oh-oh.” Her voice wavered, and she stopped, stretching the tune out to allow her to collect herself.

“Oh fair and flighty love. My aerolite above, the only dove I see.” She sang, referencing his pet name for her and making his heart skip a beat in his chest.

“Could you love me more, if by the sun and moon I swore, that I would never flee?” Her eyes quickly met his before she closed them, unable to meet his gaze without her voice wavering. She had put the song together weeks now; everything she felt. Each line referencing something he had said to her, doubts he had expressed, doubts she felt, and things left unsaid.

“Well I still taste you on my lips, lovely bitter water.” In his trance, he remembered the time she had gotten injured on a job. He remembered when she drank down the healing potion, and how she had grimaced, saying it tasted like bitter water. He had kissed her then, nodding and agreeing.

“The terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue. And I know I shouldn’t love you. I know I shouldn’t love you.” Her eyes finally opened, meeting his in an intimate stare. At that moment, they were the only two in the room. “I know I shouldn’t love you; But I do.”

“I feel it in my soul, I feel the empty hole. The cup that can’t be filled. I feel it in my blood, in the fire and the flood.” She closed her eyes again, melting into the song. “The beast that can’t be killed.”

“Even now, you mark my steps. Lovely, bitter water. Oh the days of our delights, are poison in my veins.” She turned away from him, beginning to pace as she became one with the song, her body unconsciously swaying to the tune. The witcher, his back leaning against the wall, sat, once again entranced by her voice. She never failed to leave him breathless; in more ways than one.

“I know I shouldn’t love you. I know…” She trailed off, strumming the other bard’s lute and turning back to the witcher, a sad smile on her face.

“I am not a fool entire. No, I know what is coming.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’ll bury me beneath the trees I climbed when I was a child.” He remembered their first argument, while he had been digging the healing potion out his bag.

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” He had growled, his sharp golden eyes snapping up to meet hers.

“But I didn’t! I saved your ass!” She retorted, sitting up and swinging her legs over the bed in the tavern, even though the action caused her to grimace.

“I don’t care! I don’t want to have to bury you!” He burst out, unable to contain it anymore. “I love you, don’t you get that? I can’t lose you!” His voice wavered.

She immediately softened, a guilty frown forming on her face. “I’m sorry.” She apologized quietly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s my fault. You shouldn’t even be traveling with me.” Her eyes widened.

“Geralt, don’t even go there.” She said softly, sternly. He refused to meet her gaze, his eyes glued to the leather bag even though he wasn’t searching anymore. Gripping the hide in his fist, he sucked in a shaky breath. “Geralt.” He looked back up at her, eyes filled with pain.

“You don’t understand, it’s a curse. My entire life is a curse, and it spreads to those around me.” His voice was flat, but the bard could hear the strain behind it.

“Don’t say that.” She leaned forward to embrace him, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply. “Don’t you ever say that.” She repeated fiercely.

He sucked in another breath, composing himself before pulling away from her and handing her the potion. She scrunched her nose up at it as she uncorked it, but downed it in one gulp anyway.

“It tastes like bitter water.” She grimaced. The witcher suddenly captured her in a kiss, swiping his tongue across her lips before pulling away and nodding.

“I agree.”

“I know I shouldn’t love you.” He was pulled out of the memory when her eyes met his once again, a bittersweet feeling spreading through him until it faded entirely, leaving nothing but love in its wake. He had never felt so…so- He couldn’t explain it. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I know I shouldn’t love you.” She strummed the lute, swaying to the song. He was just as entranced by her as the day he realized he was so helplessly in love. The pause was unbearable as she drew it out, maintaining eye contact with the witcher she loved so dearly.

“But I do.”

210 notes · View notes

seidenbros · 2 years

Note

Hey :) OMG I LOVED YOUR GERALT IMAGINE YOU POSTED YESTERDAY ❤️❤️ Therefore I also wanted to ask for a Geralt imagine where the reader is maybe his true love (and also a Witcher) but they separated ways long time ago. Then he comes back to Kaer Morhen only to see her being carried in by Eskel, terribly hurt and barely alive. Geralt then cares for her and waits till she wakes up to tell her he still loves her and wants a second chance. It's all cute then and he insist on taking care of her the whole time. Maybe something like that and I hope this is fine for you ❤️

Hey there!

Thank you so, so much for these kind words, they already made me amile when I read them for the first time, and they did so as well right now. 💚

This was MORE than fine for me, because I loved writing this. (I'm a sucker for soft and worried Geralt tbh). So I hope you'll enjoy what came out in the end 💚

(I’m always happy to receive requests, so if you want to, send some in. If you need inspiration, here are some prompt lists )

Pairing: Geralt x (Witcher)Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, soft Geralt

Word count: 2648

_______________________

I Will Love You Until My Dying Day

With high hopes, Geralt retired to Kaer Morhen for the winter. He'd talked to Jaskier for a long time, after he'd managed to make the Witcher open up. Jaskier knew how he was, that he didn't talk much, that he looked grumpy most of the time, but the last couple of months – ever since Geralt had met up with him again after the winter – he'd been worse. Even less words, always on edge, so that he'd even lashed out at Jaskier again. That had happened before, but an apology had quickly followed, since Geralt's anger hadn't really been directed at him, but Jaskier had just been there in that moment. This time, Jaskier had demanded an apology for his stupid behaviour. He'd gotten that, but Jaskier had also wanted more: An explanation for his behaviour, what had happened over the winter, that he'd returned with an even worse attitude than before.

With a sigh Geralt had told him that you hadn't returned home for the winter. He'd been so worried about you, but had quickly found out from the other Witchers that you were fine, that you were just spending the winter with a friend instead of coming home – because you didn't want to see Geralt. He'd brought that upon himself, he knew that, because he'd been the one to break you heart.

For some time, you'd been happy together, been travelling together even with Jaskier. So Jaskier knew what had been going on between you and why Geralt had broken up with you, why he'd thrown all these years of happiness together over board: Because he thought that you deserved better.

Ridiculous! Jaskier had told him how stupid that was, because Geralt clearly still loved you, and he did, but that was why he had to let you go. So that you could really be happy with someone else, and not worry about him all the time, because he was more reckless than you were when it came to fighting monsters. You'd always been a great team, but he'd seen your worried face too many times over his wounded body, when he'd finally woken up again. He never wanted to see that look on your face again, so breaking your heart and pushing you away from him was the logical thing for him to do. To save you. To Jaskier, that was just ridiculous, because you two clearly still loved each other, kept each other in check, and Geralt thought that leaving you would be the best thing for you. What a giant idiot.

The first year after your separation, it had been strange between you at Kaer Morhen. Geralt had tried his best to get out of your way, but every time you were alone, there had been awkward silence. You hadn't wanted to talk to him most of the time, because you'd still been in too much pain, while Geralt hadn't known what to say to you, wishing everything could have gone back to normal. You were one of them, part of there family, so it had been logical for you to return home, but it had been... painful.

The second year, you'd stayed away from the keep, had written Vesemir a letter to let him know, and though he'd missed you terribly, he'd completely understood. Ever since you'd left Kaer Morhen the spring before, you'd only seen Geralt once, when you'd stayed in the same town, but you'd done your best to get away as quickly as possible. So by now, it was well over a year that you hadn't seen him, but whenever you'd met one of your brothers, you'd asked them about him.

The last winter, you hadn't been able to return, had needed to stay away, instead of being up there in close proximity to Geralt. You'd needed more time to heal your aching heart, get to the point where you could stand in front of Geralt and treat him as a friend again and not have flashbacks of the love you'd shared before. It had been good to spend the winter with a friend, even though you'd missed your family. But that was why you were coming back this winter – at least that had been the plan...

When Geralt arrived at the keep – he'd taken Jaskier with him this time, not wanting to leave him on his own after what happened the previous winter where he'd nearly gotten himself killed – there were only two people missing. Everyone had already arrived except for Eskel and you. Geralt didn't want to get his hopes up about you, but he couldn't deny that he wanted you to walk through that door so that he could wrap his arms around you, tell you how sorry he was. Jaskier had made him realise how stupid he'd been, how much happier he'd been with you by his side. Now, he was just miserable and put himself in even more danger than before, because he didn't have anything to lose, did he?

Wrong!

Jaskier had made it clear, that there was so much he had to lose, that he was miserable without you, and that he was jealous of the person you'd spent the last winter with. That much had been obvious to all his brothers as well, because they'd teased him about it. None of them had understood why Geralt hat broken things off with you in the first place. All his reasoning for this kind of behaviour had slowly vanished over time, and he'd admitted to Jaskier that he missed you, that he still loved you and never wanted to hurt you, but pushing you away had seemed the best idea to him, instead of someday making you suffer even more when he got himself killed one day.

“It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all!”

Jaskier words were still ringing in his ears while he was waiting for you to walk through that door, day after day. Nobody had heard anything from you, which he took as a good sign. After all, the year before you'd let Vesemir know that you wouldn't come here. This year, he didn't know anything.

When the door finally opened, Geralt detected your smell, even before he turned around. Eskel's smell as well, but something else. The scent of blood. He whipped his head around and was on his feet even before Eskel's lips opened.

“I need help!” he yelled, carrying you in his arms, your heart barely beating, breathing coming shallow, unconscious.

“Let me!” Geralt said before carefully taking you from Eskel's arms, giving you a once over. “Fuck...” It didn't look good. You'd lost a lot of blood, and the cold had affected you as well in your weakened state. Right now, he couldn't see all of your injuries, but he'd make sure to tend to them.

Eskel hadn't protested when Geralt had taken you from him, knowing that it wouldn't end well if he did. He knew what Geralt felt for you, how worried he was, so he let him take charge. Eskel was worried as well, yes, but getting in Geralt's way right now, would be lethal for him. So he stood by and watched Geralt take you away, Vesemir and Jaskier following him.

“You have to do something,” Geralt said to Vesemir putting you down, beginning to strip you of the clothes that were in the way of your injuries, to see what exactly had happened. He didn't need to hear it from Eskel, it was more than enough to see the damage you'd taken.

“You need to breathe, Geralt.” Vesemir's words were calm as he started to tend to your wounds, but Geralt was still scanning you to figure out just what he could do to help you. Seeing you like this... it tore his heart apart.

“I can't lose her, Vesemir.”

“I know.” He'd always known and though Geralt more than stupid for his behaviour, but he'd never said a word.

Feeling Jaskier's hand on his shoulder, the presence of his friend by his side, Geralt relaxed a tiny little bit, but was more than happy to help, when Vesemir told him what he needed. Geralt could probably have taken care of some of your injuries himself, maybe even all of them, but right now, he wasn't able to think straight. So he let Vesemir do the work, gave him everything he needed, let him stitch you up, while Jaskier was taking care of your clothes, bringing some new ones into the room as well as blankets and furs to keep you warm.

“She needs a lot of rest now,” Vesemir said, putting another fur over you, the last one Jaskier had brought in here.

“I'll stay here,” Geralt said immediately. He wouldn't find peace anyway, so he'd watch over you.

“Just... let me know when you need some rest and I'll come and swap places with you.” Jaskier meant well, he always did, but Geralt wasn't having it.

“No need. I won't leave her side.”

Vesemir and Jaskier exchanged glances, but said nothing more. They knew better than that, and so they left the two of you alone.

For two days, Geralt only left your side for a couple of minutes, because he didn't want to be absent once you woke up. He had a couple of things to say to you and didn't want to waste any more time than necessary. He slept next to you on a chair, ignoring the pain in his back and his butt. Most of the time he was covering your hand with his, but now and then he got up to walk a few steps, always keeping his eyes on you. If the others hadn't brought him something to eat, he would have completely forgotten about that as well. His focus was on you, on your well-being, nothing else mattered to him.

It was the evening of the third day, when you finally opened your eyes. Everything still hurt, so the first sound you made, was a groan, blinking several times to focus on what was in front of you, or rather who was there.

“Geralt?” you managed quietly, voice croaky because your throat was dry. Geralt acted immediately, helping you sit up slightly, so that you could down some water.

“Y/N... Just take it slow. You've been injured and unconscious for three days, so please don't strain yourself.” Geralt's voice was unusually gently as well as his touch when he pushed a couple of loose strands from your face.

“I'm sorry I worried you.” A sigh left your lips. Yes, your injuries were bad, you knew that, felt it as well, but you were here and they'd taken great care of you. They always did. But still, you were more concerned about what your family had gone through, specifically Geralt. You'd tried your best to put distance between him and you, to tell your heart that you weren't allowed to love him anymore, because that would only end in more pain. But your heart hadn't listened, had never thrown Geralt out, and instead, it was still beating for him. You knew that he'd pick up on that, but hopefully, he'd just attribute that to what was going on.

“I'm the one who needs to apologize,” Geralt said quietly, clearing his throat, before he took your hand in his again. “I never should have said all these things to you.”

“What do you mean?” You were confused, because you hadn't talked in a very long time, so you weren't sure what he was talking about.

“When I said that I didn't love you anymore and you should go and be happy with someone else.” There, these words were out at least. He could see the surprise in your eyes, but you didn't know what to say to that, because you didn't know what exactly he meant with his words. You didn't want to interpret too much into his words.

“I never stopped loving you, Y/N.”

That made your heart beat even faster, and now you were sure that he knew that it was due to his words. Tears were pricking at the backs of your eyes, but you tried to hold them at bay. Needless to say: you failed big time. All these years with a broken heart, and now he was telling you that he'd loved you all along?

“Why did you...” you tried to say, but couldn't get more words out.

Geralt let go of your hand to carefully wipe away your tears, letting his fingers linger on your cheeks a little longer than necessary.

“Because I was an idiot. I thought you were better off without me. Every time I got hurt, I saw that worried look on your face, and I didn't want to be the reason for that any longer. I wanted you to find someone that loves you just the way you deserve and that you don't need to stitch up and fear that you'll lose him any time there is a monster to fight.” Geralt heaved a sigh, brushing his thumb over your cheek. He was calm, calmer than he'd been in a very long time, all because of you. “I wanted what was best for you, and so I thought that leaving you was the best way to achieve that.”

“You were the best thing for me, Geralt. I was happiest when I was with you.” The hint of a smile grazed you lips.

“I still love you... Last winter when you weren't here I was going crazy, because I thought of that friend you were staying with.” Geralt shook his head.

“Say that again!” Your smile widened a little at his words.

“What?”

“That first part... Everything else doesn't matter anymore.”

Geralt's lips twitched up in a smile, when he leaned down. “I still love you, Y/N. Always have, always will,” he whispered against your lips before he kissed you. A soft, lingering kiss that made you feel more alive the longer your lips touched.

“I love you, too,” you whispered against Geralt's lips, raising your hand to let your fingertips graze the stubble on his cheek and chin.

“Do you feel well enough to move? I'll carry you!”

“Move where?”

“To my room. We'll have some privacy to talk, because SOMEONE is eavesdropping.” You heard shuffling at the door, knowing that Jaskier had been listening to the two of you the whole time, which only made you chuckle. “I'll get us some food and we'll take the blankets, and just-”

“Yes!” You pulled him down to kiss him again, before you slowly sat up.

“I need you for myself for some time. I think we have a lot to catch up on.”

“Oh yes, we do!”

Geralt got everything set up in his room, which gave you a little time to talk to the rest of your family, before he pretty much whisked you away again, only to bed you in even more furs than before, so that it was comfortable for you. You only talked for a little bit, before Geralt fell asleep. His head bedded on your stomach, your hand in his hair, and he'd closed his yes. The last days had held very little sleep for him, and now that he knew that you'd be alright, now that he'd told you what he'd needed you to hear, he could finally sleep peacefully in your presence. There were many more days when you could talk, but for now, you were more than happy to stroke his hair and watch the man you loved sleep for some time.

#Asks #staffi writes #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher fanfic #geralt imagine #geralt fanfic #geralt x reader #geralt x female reader #requests #geralt x fem!reader #geralt x witcher!reader #imagine-all-the-fandoms

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cherryjuicegf · 2 years

Text

yennskier one-shots

one last time, love | 1.9k, T, fluff, read on tumblr

Five times Jaskier told Yennefer he would take his clothes off if she asked and one time she did.

a little bit of light | 862 words, T, emotional hurt/comfort, read on tumblr

“Do you remember the stars, Yennefer?”

“You think it’s a good time for poetry, bard?”

“No,” Jaskier shakes his head and feels his heart aching. “Just for some light.”

Yennefer can’t sleep in the dark. The darkness of the cell isn’t helping.

my dearest love, i’m not done yet | 5.2k, M, angst, mcd (temporary), read on tumblr

It’s a funny thing, really. A last memory. As if every memory before that counts for nothing, as if that last one will define a love of a life. As if she would love him less if she saw him in agony. As if her heart wasn’t already given away and thrown aside with the most violent way. As if the sound of the bottle shattering on the floor wouldn’t wail in her ears forever.

A death for a life, a potion and four days. Yennefer wishes it was that simple.

of lutes and broken hands | 1.3k, T, emotional hurt/comfort, read on tumblr

The lute feels heavy in her hands, the weight of past melodies, and Jaskier is staring at her in confusion. Or hope. Or despair. She’s tired of guessing wrong. Only this feels right anymore.

“Here,” she says and gives him the lute, and it feels like giving away her heart. And he takes it.

His hands are trembling.

bring you home | 888 words, T, emotional hurt/comfort, read on tumblr

He’s gentle now too, he really is. Loving. One’s core is not that easily broken and yet, they were so close, so terrifyingly close, that sometimes she catches a fleeting glance of a ghost darkening his stare, something distant as if he’s momentarily losing himself in an endless abyss of despair with no memory of where it started. He scares her. A faint smile curves her lips, bitter. At least they’re even in that.

Sometimes his fingers tremble when he strokes her hair, and she can hear the whimper trapped in his throat.

she’s a tear that hangs inside my soul forever | 955 words, T, emotional hurt/comfort, read on tumblr

“Do you think he knows?”

“Knows what?” A silent corner of his heart knows the answer and he clears his throat, vainly.

Yennefer sighs, shoulders slumped ever so slightly, as if she refuses to show weakness about this. It can’t be for any other reason. He has already seen her weak. “That I’m alive,” she says and it’s like a knife again, only that this time the blade is turned at herself.

the fools | 1.2k, T, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, read on tumblr

Something in the way his eyelids drop resigned, and his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes makes her control slip between her fingers, laughing mockingly.

And just for a little bit, she finds she doesn’t mind.

Jaskier stares at her, reading her, and she never remembered being so easy to read. Then, as though he sees something, perhaps in her look or how she stands like she doesn’t intend to leave, he lets his shoulders slump. Sighs. “What do you want, Yennefer?”

Did he always sound so tired?

you’ll make me brave | 922 words, T, emotional hurt/comfort, read on tumblr

“You’re a coward.”

He chuckles. So warm, the abyss, like the hands creeping up his arms, like the fingers stoking his skin, like the seething tears that won’t escape her eyes only much later. A coward. “I am,” he admits, he’s been a coward all his life, if an artist is ever one. Then, he rests their foreheads together. “Just not with you.”

exploding love | 743 words, T, fluff

In which Jaskier loves Yennefer and blows up a kitchen.

today i somehow understand | 1.1k, T, emotional hurt/comfort, read on tumblr

“Is everything alright?”

Why, why, why does he care so much? She raises an eyebrow. “It should be.” Eventually, prehaps. She’s not one to hold out hope anyway.

Sometimes the answer lies in the caring.

i’ll stay because | 3.6k, E, fluff & hurt/comfort, read on tumblr

Five times Jaskier stayed and one time Yennefer understood the reason.

the water is fine | 1.2k, T, fluff, read on tumblr

Loving her is like loving the sea.

“It’s cold. You’ll drown.”

“Perhaps. We’ll both do.” Her eyes look like they’re whispering an apology. She huffs, bittersweet. “Still better than drowning alone.”

what we've found | 977 words, T, emotional hurt/comfort, read on tumblr

It doesn't matter, she decides. His body is warm and smells of comfort but it doesn't matter. She cannot go down this path, not again, not with a light heart. The only thing she can do is leave first. Choose the ending. The heartbreak. Something.

It has to work.

It's so hard to look away from him.

tender weapons | 489 words, G, fluff, read on tumblr

She meets his eyes, glinting as though with a look they can share the same thoughts. "The crow's feet are new," she whispers with the ever triumphant smirk yet her voice is tender, amused, as if she just made a discovery of an old habit, one that she's willing to visit over and over again.

And he, he laughs.

a long way down to reach the sea | 13k, E, hurt/comfort, domestic yennskier, read on tumblr

Drained, devoid of purpose and having escaped mages and soldiers alike, Yennefer and Jaskier hide in a cottage by the sea. It may or may not be as pleasant as it sounds.

lover, terror and beloved | 7.2k, M, angst with a happy ending, time loop, read on tumblr

A terrible time loop escape, a curse, and happily dying by your lover's hand to break it. This is a love story.

(my masterlist)

#the witcher #yennskier #yennefer x jaskier #chrysa writes #masterlist tag #fic recs #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg

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d--dandelions · 6 months

Text

tagged by @chaos-monkeyy and @cordeliaperry for what i didn't initially realise were two separate ask memes 😂 thank you 💛

i'm gonna merge them both into one big list so this is going to be enormous, sorry in advance 😂🙈🙈 edit: it's horrifyingly big, i had to hide it behind the cut for everyone's good

1. when did you post your first ever fanfic?

july of 2020

2. first character you wrote for:

jaskier XD who i have since written. lots. for. 🙈

3. main character(s) you’re currently writing for:

i feel very unequipped to answer this one XD

4. character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan on writing about soon:

....same with this one XD i have a couple of thronebreaker wips and haven't written for that before so let's go with that

5. fandom(s) you’re currently writing for:

picture me looking awkwardly between my quiet ao3 and my tangled jungle of google docs in bafflement

6. platonic pairing(s) you currently write for:

i simply Have Not done that XDD 🙈 i don't tend to read/watch a lot of romance-heavy stuff outside of fanfic and so fic is basically my one outrageously sappy outlet and i take full advantage of that

7. romantic pairing(s) you currently write for:

...see previous fandom question 🙈

8. your top 3 tags on AO3 (if you post your works on AO3):

watersports

omorashi

wetting

can we all just pretend we're shocked? XD

9. your current platform where you post your works

'tis i

10. snippet of the wip you’re currently working on:

oh no, the thing i'm bad at 🙈 have a unpolished bit of radskier from right at the beginning of that free-use fic

He felt loose and liquid. Something in the wine, maybe. Or, more likely, in the time spent beforehand, with Radovid laying him down on the cushioned table and readying him. Loops of soft rope, wrapped to display rather than confine and, finally, a band of thin leather wrapped around the base of his cock, enchanted so his own pleasure didn’t get the better of him too early.

meme the second:

How many works do you have on AO3?

i've got 15

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

47,634

3. What fandoms do you write for?

so far i've only written for the witcher and sga but who knows what the future holds 👀

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

poached, reunion, got you on my mind, hold that thought, distractions

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

oh absolutely every time!! putting fic out there is vulnerable and terrifying and it means the world to me when someone takes the time to comment 💛 and, having been on the other side of it, i know how nerve-racking it can be to leave a comment 🙈 so even if it takes me ages, i like to say something back and let them know they're appreciated

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

oh god XD maybe this one? i'm a sappy fuck

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

....pretty much all the others XDD due to aforementioned sappy fuckiness

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i don't think so, at least, no one's ever put any where i could see it. i think i tend to fly pretty under the radar in fandom spaces and i normally stay in my nice damp niche

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

fuck yeah 😏😏 although i often lean more into kink than outright smut 🤔 it's all horny shit, which is what counts XD

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

i haven't yet!! maybe someday, although i think i lean more fusion than crossover (disclaimer: i have written neither XD)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not as far as i know

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

that's another no

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

i have not, i'm not sure i'd be any good at that XD

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

i have never and could never be able to choose 🙈

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

hmmm, i try to leave my options open and never fully count out a fic 🤔 but there's more than one i kind of lost confidence in and am now too scared to open the google doc for 🙈 sigh

16. What are your writing strengths?

i don't think i can answer that

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i sort of mentioned this before but i think a lack of confidence? sometimes, often, i talk myself out of a fic before i've really given it a try, or i get too bogged down in self-doubt and end up struggling to get any of the actual writing done. double sigh

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

hmm, it's never really come up for me. i would say, unless it's a fictional language or a super common, easily translatable phrase i'd probably avoid outright writing in another language unless i could check it with a native speaker. just in case 🙈

19. First fandom you wrote for?

the witcher <3

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

i think i'm a little biased towards my first published fic? just because it was huge for me to finish and post something and i'm still amazed i pulled it off XD🙈🙈

#whoof that's a lot of dd thoughts #thanks for tagging <333

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flowercrown-bard · 1 year

Text

Not a Real Marriage

(arranged marriage au - part 16)

previous part / masterpost / ao3

word count: 10700

Geralt wasn’t sure what he had expected Jaskier to look like the morning after an evening spent drinking with his brothers. If he was being completely honest, he didn’t expect to see much of Jaskier at all. He must be sporting quite the headache after last night, considering even Geralt with his witcher-metabolism had quite the ringing in his head this morning. If he hadn’t had duties to fulfil - and Vesemir’s dressing-down to look forward to if he neglected to do his tasks for the day - he would have stayed in bed until midday. Jaskier, however, looked rosy cheeked and surprisingly well rested, when Geralt bumped into him on his way back from feeding the chickens.

For some reason, Jaskier was bundled up in several layers of clothes Geralt had lended him over the weeks. The red scarf he was wearing was so big that Jaskier’s nose barely peeked out.

“Going somewhere?” Geralt asked, ignoring the hammering behind his temples.

“I am,” Jaskier replied cheerfully. “At least I hope so.”

“Hmm?”

“I believe I’ve been promised to be shown around the mountain? We haven’t done it yet and Vesemir said that the snowstorms are going to start soon so we don’t have much time left to go out.”

Geralt blinked. “You want to go on that ride today?”

“If you’re amenable. I would love to.”

Where Jaskier’s cheeks weren’t hidden away by the scarf, they turned a lovely shade of red. Geralt’s heart picked up speed and he did his best to blink away the misery of a hungover morning. He would be damned if he missed the chance of going on a ride with Jaskier because of a stupid thing like a hangover.

“Yes,” he said quickly and with a little teasing smile added, “It would be a shame if you had to get undressed again after going through all the trouble of putting on all those clothes.”

“I wouldn’t mind getting undressed,” Jaskier muttered, the words muffled by the scarf.

Geralt choked, forcibly forbidding his thoughts from straying into dangerous territory. Instead he focused on thinking of places he could show Jaskier.

“Meet me at the gate? I need to get my cloak and get Roach saddled.” He waited for Jaskier to nod his agreement, before he turned away. After a couple of steps, he paused again. “Is there anything I should pack? Food? Some wine maybe?”

“No wine,” Jaskier said quickly.

Geralt’s lips quirked up. Ah, so Jaskier wasn’t immune to the effects of a night of revelry after all. Jaskier was a brilliant actor, if he could just pretend to have a clear head this morning.

“Are you sure you want to do this today?” Concern crept into Geralt’s posture. “We can do this some other time when you don’t have a headache.”

He glanced out of a nearby window. The sky was already filled with snow-heavy clouds. Vesemir was right. They didn’t have much time until they would be trapped inside the Keep.

“I don’t.” Jaskier grinned boyishly. “Vesemir gave me a cure for the headache. And a lecture about drinking with Lambert.” He let out a chuckle that warmed Geralt’s insides even more than the alcohol had warmed him the night before. “I take it he didn’t extend the same courtesy to you?”

Geralt snorted.

“No. He thinks if he doesn’t help us with the headaches, we’ll learn some sort of lesson.”

“How lucky you are,” Jaskier said theatrically, as he reached into the pockets of his cloak, “to have a husband as charming and persuasive as me. Catch!” Without further warning, he tossed something to Geralt, who reacted on instinct. He caught the small bottle mid-air, popped the cork and sniffed. It smelled like bitter herbs.

“What did you do to get him to give you this?” Geralt asked, perplexed and downed the tincture in one go. He shuddered at the bitter taste, but it would be worth it, if it meant he’d get to fully enjoy the day with Jaskier.

“I told him that I wanted to go out today and that you wouldn’t be able to protect me if you had a hangover - and surely it wouldn’t be great for the treaty if I got hurt.”

Geralt lifted a brow. “Really? You played the political consequences card?” “Of course not. But I did tell him about my plans for the day and he agreed that it would be better if you didn’t have a headache for that.”

“Should I be concerned about your plans?”

“Not at all,” Jaskier said, something tentatively soft entering his voice. “I think - I hope you’ll like them.” “I’m sure I will.”

He lingered another moment, unwilling to leave Jaskier, despite knowing that he’d see him again right away.

He shook himself and went on his way to get ready. He rushed through getting dressed appropriately for the weather, though he refused to be hectic around Roach, as he saddled her. When he led her to the gate, Jaskier was already waiting for him, bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. When he caught sight of Geralt walking towards him, his face lit up. It almost reminded Geralt of their wedding day. Only this time, it was their choice to come to each other and Geralt didn’t feel like being led to the gallows.

It was only when Jaskier began to fiddle with the strap of a backpack, that Geralt realised that Jaskier was holding onto one. It looked stuffed and when Jaskier moved to fasten it onto Roach’s saddle, there was jingling and light clanging.

Geralt gave him a questioning look that Jaskier waved away. “You’ll see,” he simply said. He gave Geralt a scrutinising look that had Geralt shifting on his feet. He was suddenly painfully aware of the state of his old cloak; the fraying at the bottom and the holes on his shoulders, where his sword scabbard rubbed against the wool. It was probably not necessary to take his weapons with him, so he had left the steel sword in his room, but the weight of the silver sword on his back grounded him and helped settle his nerves.

In one less than elegant motion, Jaskier unwound the scarf from around his neck and draped the red cloth around Geralt instead. He smoothed it out gently.

“There,” he said, satisfied, “Now you won’t go cold.” Geralt frowned and already opened his mouth to protest, when he inhaled and caught the scent clinging to the scarf. It smelled of lute wood, paper and that distinct smell that was purely Jaskier’s. His breath caught in his throat. The scent was far too prominent for how little he had seen Jaskier wear this scarf. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said that Jaskier had used the scarf as an additional blanket in the night, but that was … he caught Jaskier’s eyes. There was a hopeful shyness in his eyes. Oh. Jaskier knew. He remembered what Coën and Aiden had told him yesternight about sharing clothes. And still he was wearing Geralt’s clothes. More even, he was giving Geralt something that smelled like him. Any words he could have spoken dried on Geralt’s lips, but he got the impression that Jaskier noticed his realisation even so. His shyness morphed into relief and he turned away to put a hand on Roach’s saddlehorn. He looked over his shoulder to Geralt. “Give me a hand?”

Jaskier was more than capable of mounting a horse by himself, of that Geralt was sure by now. But he didn’t mention it. Instead, he stepped closer and folded his hands together so he could give Jaskier a boost. Once Jaskier was seated, Geralt swung himself behind him into Roach’s back.

With a content sigh, Jaskier leaned back against him and Geralt wound one arm around his waist, making sure he was safe and secure, before he gave Roach the nudge to move. He didn’t take the direct path to the spot he had decided on. Instead he steered Roach this way and that, wherever he thought Jaskier might like. Past a small waterfall, across a wooden bridge some bear-witchers had built, through a patch of flowers that still resisted the cold. Every once in a while, he explained the mountain to Jaskier.

“This is where Eskel and I used to run off to as children.”

“This bit is part of the Trail we had to run as novices.”

“This is how far I got when I decided to steal Roach and run away with her, before I got lost and had to wait for Vesemir to take me back home.”

“This is where Lambert set of his first bomb and almost burned Vesemir’s moustache off.”

Those things weren’t full stories yet, but maybe Geralt would find the right words to tell Jaskier more about what these places meant to him and his family one day. Even so, Jaskier gave soft hums, chuckled and offered stories of his own. He talked about his own attempt at running away to become a bard - an attempt that had ended rather abruptly when he had realised that his dancing shoes weren’t exactly made for long distance walking. He talked about his sisters and travelling with his father. As he talked about his family at Lettenhove, Geralt realised that he used almost the same fond tone he used when talking about Eskel, Lambert, Coën or Aiden. Not Geralt though. The tone Jaskier used to talk to Geralt was reserved only for him.

After a while, they quieted down again, except for when Jaskier let out soft gasps, whenever he saw something he liked. Every time there was a particularly interesting root of a tree, a rabbit scuttling away or a pretty cloud, Jaskier looked over his shoulder to Geralt; always making sure he was seeing the pretty thing as well. Always letting him know that this ride was already making him happy.

With every passing moment, Geralt felt himself being swept away by Jaskier's excitement more and more. It was contagious and made him see the mountain that was his home with changed eyes. When he finally pulled Roach to a halt, there was a small smile tugging at his lips, that he knew wouldn't leave anytime soon.

He helped Jaskier dismount, his hands lingering on his waist, even after Jaskier had come to stand securely on solid ground. Jaskier's hands in turn were holding onto Geralt's upper arms. After a moment, he let them slide down, over his forearms, until he was clasping Geralt's hands in his gloved ones.

Geralt took it as an invitation to guide Jaskier along the hidden path leading them through thick pine trees. Roach followed dutifully and the anticipation was coming off of Jaskier in waves.

Geralt pushed some branches aside, revealing the sight of a small lake. Along the edges, some yellow and purple flowers were blossoming that had stubbornly endured the harsh autumn and were now facing the impending winter with their heads held high. Jaskier gasped, and squeezed Geralt's hand.

“It's beautiful,” he gasped. He worried at his lip, visibly hesitating. “Does this place have meaning to you too?”

“Not yet.”

Jaskier softened at that admission.

“Would you mind giving me an Igni?”

The question came so unexpectedly that Geralt took a step back, dropping Jaskier's hand.

“What?”

“Fire,” Jaskier explained needlessly. “That day at the hot springs, you said I could ask you if I ever needed a light again.” He went to Roach, pulling the bag he had fastened onto her, down. There was clanking again, and then, Jaskier was holding up two lanterns, small enough that they could fit into the palm of a hand. Judging by the bulge of the bag, there probably were at least four more lanterns in there. Jaskier brought them over to Geralt and held them up for him to light them. Jaskier’s face was cast in a warm orange glow, when Geralt cast the sign carefully. The flames danced in his eyes, making him look like something otherworldly. Jaskier gave him a beaming smile and placed the lanterns on the ground at the edge of the lake, before fetching the rest of the lights. The glow was reflected on the water that rippled softly in the breeze. Soon, the lanterns would be the only source of light here, with the sun going down in the afternoon already this season. And here Jaskier was, bringing with him light and warmth, as he always did.

After Jaskier had put the last lantern in place, he pulled a blanket out of the bag and laid it out on the ground. “Are you sure that’s warm enough?” Geralt asked, eying the blanket with distrust. “The ground is almost frozen.”

“Right you are,” Jaskier said without a care in the world. “But I seem to recall that a certain husband of mine is far more resistant to the cold than me.” He patted the blanket invitingly. “And I also seem to recall that this husband doesn’t mind having me in his lap.” Despite the teasing tone, Jaskier’s raised brows and tilted head made it obvious that it was a question rather than an assumption.

Geralt hummed in affirmation and lowered himself onto the blanket, making sure to sit in a way that would allow Jaskier to sit in his lap as comfortably as possible. Once Jaskier realised that Geralt truly didn’t mind, his face lit up and he snuggled against him, chest to chest, laying his head on Geralt’s shoulder. On instinct, Geralt raised one hand to cradle the back of Jaskier’s head. Idly, he played with Jaskier’s hair, eliciting a soft sigh from the bard.

“I’m happy,” Jaskier sighed. “Here, with you.” He paused. “Always and anywhere with you, really.” “Me too.”

Jaskier lifted his head a little and their eyes met. With Jaskier’s back to the lanterns, his face was cast in deep shadows. Geralt’s eyes followed the shadow of Jaskier’s lashes. They fluttered, as Jaskier’s eyes dipped lower, to Geralt’s lips.

“I’ve got something for you,” Jaskier said, a blush creeping over his cheeks. He reached into his pockets and pulled out something small and tangled. He cursed under his breath and fiddled with the thing until Geralt could recognise it as a braided bracelet.

“It’s not as big as giving you a shirt,” Jaskier said sheepishly and Geralt’s breath caught in his throat.

So Jaskier truly remembered that conversation. Giving him the scarf hadn’t just been something he had done on a whim. There was no ambiguity about whether he knew what sharing clothes meant to Geralt and he had still done it. And now he was giving him something else. His thoughts were so loud that it took him a moment to realise that Jaskier was still speaking.

“-and not as big of a statement as the dagger you gave me.” He patted his hip and only now did Geralt notice the sheathe Jaskier had fastened onto his belt. Something inside him unwound and he leaned closer to Jaskier, as if pulled in by chaos.

Jaskier pulled off his gloves and took Geralt’s hand, clasped the bracelet around his wrist.

“I made it out of old lute strings. Since the song isn’t something you can carry with you.” He paused. “And since you haven’t heard it fully yet.”

Geralt looked down at the bracelet and caressed the tightly interwoven strings, until the tips of his fingers reached Jaskier.

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly. “It’s perfect.”

The corners of Jaskier’s eyes wrinkled with joy, before a frown suddenly appeared between his brows. He pulled back, crinkling his nose.

“What-” Geralt began to ask, but then he saw a snowflake land on Jaskier’s nose and Jaskier pulled the same face again.

A chuckle rose up in Geralt’s chest, starting out small, then quickly turning warm and loud like a roaring fire. He watched enraptured as the confusion on Jaskier’s face melted alongside the snowflakes and morphed into wonder.

“Geralt!” A delighted giggle slipped past his lips. With all the grace than a newborn foal learning to run, he got to his feet and spread his arms, as if trying to catch the entire cloud that was hanging in the sky and all the snow it would bring. “It’s snowing!” Ignoring Geralt’s protests that he should put his gloves back on before his fingers froze off, Jaskier dropped the gloves to the ground and held his hands up, giggling like a child whenever he caught a snowflake in his palm. He spun around, as more and more snow began to fall around him. He must have gotten dizzy from all the twirling, for he staggered right into Geralt, who caught him.

“Careful,” Geralt said, as he let go.

“Guess I’m in danger of falling for you,” Jaskier replied with a cheeky wink. He tilted his head back and thankfully missed the flustered expression on Geralt’s face. He was far too busy sticking out his tongue and trying to catch snowflakes with it.

“Don’t just stand there all judgy,” he said, after catching one snowflake and grinning at Geralt triumphantly. “Join me.”

Geralt shook his head fondly but decisively.

“Oh come on.” Jaskier tugged at Geralt’s arm, not making him budge in the slightest. “Don’t tell me now is the time that you remember you don’t know how to have fun.” “I’m having plenty of fun.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Geralt said softly, refusing to match Jaskier’s challenging tone. “It’s nice - seeing you be happy. Even though I still think you should put your gloves back on. You’re going to regret touching snow with your bare hands.”

“And I’m willing to endure you telling me ‘I told you so’ when it happens.” A mischievous spark gleamed in Jaskier’s eyes. “Besides, with cold hands, I can do this!”

Quick as lightning, Jaskier flung himself at Geralt, getting up on his tiptoes and stuck a hand in the back of Geralt’s cloak, right beneath his collar. A shiver ran down Geralt’s spine, as Jaskier’s icy hand pressed against the back of his neck and he lifted his shoulders instinctively.

“Aha! So you’re not quite as immune to the cold as you always claim!”

“I am,” Geralt grumbled. “You just surprised me.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Jaskier snorted. “You look like a disgruntled cat.”

Geralt growled and bared his teeth in reply. Laughing, Jaskier jumped back, thankfully - regrettably - removing his hand from Geralt’s neck. He evaded Geralt, as he half-heartedly made to snatch Jaskier, spouting nonsense about throwing him in the lake as revenge.

“Roach, save me!” Jaskier squealed, as he ducked behind the mare, who gave Geralt a decidedly unimpressed look, as if saying ‘really? This is the man you fell in love with?’, but she didn’t move away, when Jaskier pressed his hands against her neck with a dramatic sigh. “Ahh, my dear lady, you are a much better hand-warmer than my husband.”

“Call her a hand-warmer again and she’ll bite you,” Geralt said amused, when Roach swatted at Jaskier with her tail, as if he was a pesky fly and crossed his arms.

“Nah, she wouldn’t. You love me too much to let anything happen to my hands.” He wiggled his fingers and gave Geralt a boyish grin. Maybe he expected a reply, some teasing or protest, but Geralt was frozen, all words remained stuck in his throat, because yes. By the gods, yes, he loved Jaskier. Hearing him say it, even if only in jest, made something inside him soar. It made him want to say it as well.

“Besides,” Jaskier continued, evidently unaware of Geralt’s swirling thoughts, “I can pay her back for her services. I promised to write a poem about her, remember?”

Truth be told, Geralt had forgotten all about that promise, but the thought of Jaskier taking the time to write about Roach made his heart beat faster.

“Let’s hear it then.”

Jaskier cleared his throat, straightened his spine and put on the exaggerated expression of an arrogant poet. When he spoke, his voice took on a serious note that demanded attention.

“The mightiest mare,

The sturdiest steed

The heroic-est horse

She is indeed.

Prickly and pretty

and petty is she.

In conclusion:

The best horse that ever I did see.”

He kept up the haughty expression for another moment, then a grin broke through, when Geralt snorted with laughter.

“Heroic-est?” Geralt asked with a grin.

“‘Most heroic’ didn’t fit the metre,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “If that’s your only criticism, I consider that high praise. This shall be my best work yet.” With exaggerated swagger, he came back to Geralt, spreading his arms dramatically. “It’ll be known far and wide. Lords and ladies will demand that this poem be performed at all their courtly functions.”

Geralt shook his head in amusement. Jaskier was absolutely ridiculous. He loved him so much.

He came to stand before Geralt and swept down into a low bow. When he came back up, some snowflakes fell from his head. Geralt couldn’t stop himself. Tenderly, he brushed some of the remaining ones that were stuck in Jaskier’s hair away. A small cloud of mist left Jaskier’s lips and when he looked up at Geralt, there were snowflakes clinging to his eye lashes. The playfulness from before was gone, leaving only softness and something fragile and beautiful. Jaskier’s eyelids fluttered close, but for just a second, Geralt caught something in his eyes. A reflection of movement, where there should be none.

He whirled around, pushing Jaskier back with one hand and reaching for his sword with the other, just in time to see a hideous beast with spidery legs burst through the surface of the lake.

Vaguely, he noticed Roach rearing up with a panicked neigh and dashing away, but he had no time to get her to stop. Behind them, the kikimora scuttled out of the lake, pincers clacking and front legs poised to strike.

Geralt cursed himself as he pushed Jaskier behind him with one hand. He should have noticed the monster before. Fuck, he should have checked the lake for danger before bringing Jaskier here, instead of stupidly trusting that any kikimoras were already in hibernation. He should have known better than to let himself get distracted by hearty laughs and soft looks.

"What the hell is that?" Jaskier's terrified hiss snapped Geralt to attention. The bard’s hands were clutching his cloak tightly. It was all wrong. He should be running, getting to safety, leaving Geralt.

But Jaskier had promised to stay by his side. For the first time, Geralt wished desperately that Jaskier would break his vows. But Jaskier stayed.

"Geralt?"

At the sound of his voice that had gotten shrill with fear, the kikimora's ugly head snapped around. Its beady eyes fixed on Jaskier.

For a single heartbeat it stood frozen. Then, its instincts took over. Its feet scratched on the frozen ground as it darted towards them, toppling the lanterns as it did. The fire sizzled and died, but for the briefest second, the kikimora shrunk back, as it touched the hot metal of the lantern. The moment passed too quickly. Spurned on by the rage of having been burned, the kikimora darted forwards with renewed vigour.

And Jaskier still wasn't fucking leaving Geralt's side.

Geralt pushed him back. His eyes didn't leave the attacking monster, but he could hear a thump as Jaskier's body hit the ground. It took all of his strength not to turn around and make sure he was alright. Gripping his sword tighter, he bolted forwards. As he moved, he formed Igni, heating his blade until it glowed hot red. He swung at the beast with all his might. Had he been on his own, it would have been an easy fight. But he was distracted by worry and the kikimora was furious with starvation from the cold months. It moved with lightning speed, striking Geralt’s wrist with an armoured leg. There was a clang. A jostle went through Geralt’s arm. The pain flared up a second later, but it was nothing compared to the horror twisting his gut, as his grip slipped. In a high arch, his sword was flung from his hand and landed uselessly on the ground. Geralt darted towards it, but the kikimora blocked his way. He barely dodged the next attack and pulled up a Quen shield. The sudden light confused the monster for but a second. It reared up with an enraged screech. Geralt readied himself to cast another sign, when out of the corner of his eyes, there was a flurry of movement. His golden shield flickered, as his attention snapped to Jaskier.

Jaskier, who was running past him, with his arms raised up to protect his face.

“No!” Geralt shouted, a sound so wild that his voice nearly broke. “Get back!”

But Jaskier didn’t listen. Though his face was distorted by fear, he ducked beneath the kikimora’s hacking legs and towards the sword. There was not a heartbeat of hesitation. Jaskier reached for the weapon. As soon as his hand touched the handle, Jaskier let out a pained gasp that shook Geralt to the bones, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to draw his hand back. It took Geralt a second to understand, but when he did, his blood froze. Jaskier wasn’t wearing gloves and unlike Geralt, his skin hadn’t been mutated to withstand heat. And now, Jaskier was holding a scorching hot sword in his bare hands, because Geralt had let himself get disarmed within a single strike.

“Geralt,” he shouted and visibly gathering all his strength, he tossed the sword towards him. Despite his efforts, Jaskier wasn’t strong enough to throw the sword all the way to Geralt. It landed between him and the kikimora, leaving both Geralt and himself weaponless. Geralt could only hope the monster would attack the bigger threat.

Of course, he wasn’t that lucky. Startled by the sudden shout, the kikimora turned. Its pincers clacked and one of its piercing legs shot towards Jaskier.

"No!" the sound ripped from Geralt's throat in pure agony. He flung himself forward, but even as he did so, he knew he would never reach Jaskier in time to push him away.

The world became a blur. The only thing that mattered was Jaskier's terrified expression. There was movement, as Jaskier brought his hands up to protect his face -

No. His hands didn't stop there, they went further up, towards the kikimora that suddenly hissed in pain. Something was glinting in Jaskier's grip. Silver and sharp.

With a start, Geralt recognised the weapon. It was the dagger he had given Jaskier as a wedding gift. To protect him when Geralt couldn't.

Relief and horror battled inside his chest, as he watched Jaskier slash at the kikimora. His movements were frantic and uncoordinated and he was holding the dagger in his non-dominant hand; the other was cradled against his chest. He clearly had no idea how to fight and the first hit stayed singular. It must have been a lucky strike when the beast hadn't expected its prey to fight back. There was no chance that Jaskier would survive for long if he had to keep fighting on his own.

But he didn't have to. That first strike had bought Geralt the time to get close enough to pick up the sword. He leaped onto the kikimora's back. With an ugly snarl, he gripped his sword in both hands and thrust downwards. The kikimora buckled beneath him, as the blade pierced the armoured flesh right behind its head. Geralt fought to keep his balance, twisting the sword.

Finally, the ear piercing screeching stopped and the creature's body collapsed.

It narrowly missed Jaskier, who saved himself with a quick jump backwards.

For a moment, Geralt remained where he was, irrationally afraid that the kikimora would get back up, if he removed his sword. He waited for any sign of life. But the beast only twitched in response to him moving his blade. Before him, Jaskier was panting and clutching his hands close to his chest.

"Geralt?" he asked in a small voice and took a staggering step forward.

And just like that, Geralt could move again. His grip on the sword slackened and he leaped down onto the muddy ground, hastening towards Jaskier. He held his arms wide open and Jaskier didn't waste a single second before flinging himself into Geralt's embrace.

"That was reckless," Geralt mumbled into Jaskier's hair, as his hand came up to cradle the back of his head. "Reckless and stupid and…"

The words dried up in his mouth, when he noticed the shivers that shook Jaskier's frame. Quickly, he unwound the scarf from around his neck and put it back around Jaskier’s.

"We should get back," Geralt said as he pulled away. "You need to get back into the warmth. "

Jaskier nodded mutely. Somehow this silent compliance was the worst of all. Geralt pulled Jaskier’s uninjured hand from his chest and took it, praying that his touch would be grounding for Jaskier. When he turned to where he had left Roach however, his heart dropped once more. Roach hadn’t just staggered away during the fight. She was fully gone. Fled, when Jaskier wouldn’t.

“It’s alright,” Jaskier said weakly, when he saw Geralt’s stony expression. “We’re going to find her. I’m sure she’s alright.”

He sounded so hopeful, so bloody optimistic that Geralt didn’t have the heart to tell him that Roach’s wellbeing for once wasn’t what he was worried about. They had to find Roach, and quickly too, if they wanted to make it back to the keep before the night fully fell. Already, there was barely any daylight left and the snow was no longer simply drifting through the air daintily.

“Let’s go then,” he said and lightly tugged on Jaskier’s hand.

The one good thing about the snow was that it had started to form a thin layer on the ground, making it easy to spot where Roach had run off to. Geralt let go of Jaskier’s hand, as they began setting off after her at a brisk pace and tucked him against his side instead, doing his best to shield him with his body. Geralt bit back a curse, when he followed the tracks and saw them taking a turn - in the opposite direction of the Keep. He sped up his walk, but with every minute that passed, Jaskier’s feet dragged more on the ground, until he staggered more than he walked. Around them, the woods were getting dark quickly, making it impossible for Jaskier to see where he was going. Bitter wind tore at Geralt’s hair and turned the snowflakes into biting needles that pricked his exposed skin painfully. Next to him, Jaskier lowered his head and pulled his shoulders up, trying in vain to protect his face from the biting cold. The skin of his hand was an angry red. Fuck. In his hurry to find Roach, Geralt had forgotten to pick the damn gloves up again. They needed to get to Roach. Now.

Growling in frustration, Geralt picked up Jaskier, cradling him against his chest. Like this, he could move faster, but he couldn’t shield Jaskier from the wind as well as he had before. He hoped he would not come to regret that trade off.

He didn’t know for how long he was marching through the woods - too long, that was for certain - before finally, he heard soft snorting not far ahead. Roach.

Geralt sped up. He nearly missed the cave, hidden by trees and overhanging ivy, but the sound of Roach scraping at the ground with her hooves alerted him. He heaved a sigh of relief, when he entered the cave. It was big enough to allow Roach to find shelter at the entrance, only narrowing towards the back. A quick look revealed an old bedroll, crossbow bolts and dry kindling someone had left here. Likely another witcher, who had equipped this cave with the bare essentials, in case he had to seek shelter again.

Geralt grit his teeth, as outside, the wind howled louder than before. Jaskier stirred weakly in his arms. He had to get him back to the Keep. He wasn’t safe here. But who knew how long it would take them to get back? Geralt couldn’t risk Jaskier’s body cooling down even more by riding with him through the storm.

Deep breaths. Geralt closed his eyes, doing his best to focus on the beating of his own heart, as if he was meditating. Shutting his emotions down. Not letting himself get distracted. But beneath the layers of numbness he forced around his heart, he wasn’t strong enough to stop a part of himself to vigilantly listen in on Jaskier’s heartbeat. It was steady and strong as ever. Geralt had known it would be. Jaskier might be cold and hurt, but he had not gotten nearly injured enough to be in immediate danger and he was bundled up as warmly as he could be. Still, Geralt’s hands and breath were shaky, as he carefully placed Jaskier on the ground. It was too cold, too damp. Every part of Geralt screamed in protest, when he let go of Jaskier, but he had to. Just long enough to get a fire started.

Deep breaths. He couldn’t let his mind get clouded by worry and that uncomfortable squirming in his stomach that threatened to take away his ability to act rationally.

As quickly as he could, Geralt put the kindling into a pile and lit it up. Then, he hurried back to Jaskier’s side.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked. His eyes were glassy as he blinked up at him.

“I’m here.” Carefully, Geralt scooped Jaskier back up and pulled him into his lap, so he wouldn’t have to sit on the cold stone floor. “You’re going to be alright. We just have to wait a little, until the snow eases up.” Jaskier shivered and pressed closer against Geralt, who draped his cloak over him as best he could. Jaskier in turn wrapped his arms around Geralt’s middle to get even closer to his warmth, but as he pressed his hands against Geralt’s shoulder blades, he drew back with a hiss.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt sat up in alarm.

“Nothing,” Jaskier said too quickly. His smile that clearly was meant to be reassuring looked brittle, with a flash of pain staining it. He must have noticed Geralt’s disbelief, for he added, “It’s just my hand…”

Immediately, Geralt reached for said hand. He cradled it as gently as if holding a butterfly, yet Jaskier still sucked in a sharp breath. Geralt glanced up at him and was relieved when he found no more pain in his expression than there had been before. Jaskier gave him a brittle smile. Carefully, Geralt turned his hand over. His heart dropped.

There, across Jaskier’s fingers and palm were angry red blisters. How could he not have noticed just how badly Jaskier had burned himself?

‘You love me too much to let anything happen to my hands.’ The memory of Jaskier’s words echoed cruelly in his mind.

“We need to get ointment on that,” Geralt said and his voice shook only a little. He was sure no one who didn’t know him in and out would notice. Jaskier’s brows knitted together and Geralt swallowed thickly. “We have some at the infirmary.”

He glanced at the entrance of the cave. At the snow falling steadily still, cast about by the wind that seemed to pick up by the minute. Alone, he might have been able to make it through that weather. But Jaskier’s hand was so cold in his. His teeth were chattering and the brim of his trousers, where they hadn’t been protected by his cloak, were drenched with snow.

Geralt couldn’t risk exposing him to the elements any more before he was properly warmed up. Subconsciously, he shifted closer to Jaskier, offering him a little more of his own body heat.

“Well, at least it’ll be no trouble cooling the burn,” Jaskier, who must have read Geralt’s thoughts, joked with the hint of a smile.

“Ever the optimist,” Geralt replied, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice despite his worry. “One of us has to be. But I don’t think it’s optimism. I just trust you.”

He said it so easily. As if there was no doubt in his mind about it. As if Geralt’s incompetence wasn’t the cause for him getting hurt in the first place.

A warmth spread through Geralt’s chest, flowing into the rest of his body, until he felt his face heating up. Clearing his throat, he averted his eyes.

“We’ll need to at lead bandage your hand,” he said. “And keep you warm.”

Jaskier made an affirmative noise. Geralt looked at Roach, mentally itemising the things he had packed. Naturally, bandages hadn’t been included in his preparation for their trip.

His eyes fell on the red scarf around Jaskier’s neck. Geralt reached for Jaskier’s dagger at his hip and with a harsh movement cut off a long thin stripe of the scarf. It wasn’t ideal, but it had to do. At the very least, it would do the job of warming Jaskier’s hand.

He moved, so he was kneeling opposite Jaskier and could have a better view of what he was doing. He was so focussed on his task of wrapping Jaskier’s hand, that he didn’t notice how strangely quiet Jaskier had gotten, until he realised that his hand was trembling.

Gralt stopped. His eyes snapped up to meet Jaskier’s.

“Are you -”

“Don’t worry,” Jaskier said with a choked laugh. “It’s nothing bad.” Unconvinced, Geralt made a questioning noise.

“I just…” Jaskier lifted his bandaged hand a little, “the red cloth? It reminded me of our wedding day.”

“A joyful memory to add to an already perfect day,” Geralt snarked. All the sarcasm couldn’t hide the bitterness and hurt he felt. Jaskier had been so excited for today. As he had been for his wedding. And Geralt… no. He had to stop that train of thought. They were friends. Jaskier liked him. This marriage might not be what either one of them had imagined, but it still was good. It was good.

Jaskier wasn’t the fragile little lordling Geralt had feared him to be. He was so much stronger than he looked and he would get through this too.

As if to prove Geralt’s thoughts right, a genuine smile stole onto Jaskier’s lips.

“It is.” Swiftly, he leaned in and let his lips brush against Geralt’s cheek. “There. Now it’s just like then.”

His lips felt icy on Geralt’s skin, but they left a hot tingle in their wake, when he pulled away. A lump formed in Geralt’s throat. His hand rose without his permission and he cupped Jaskier’s cheek. With his thumb, he caressed the freezing skin and felt him shiver beneath his touch. “Dance with me.” The words left his lips before he could think about them.

Jaskier blinked at him. A small cloud escaped his mouth, as he gasped lightly.

“What?”

Decades of rejection and fear made Geralt’s courage want to shrivel and hide away. But Jaskier still hadn’t flinched from his touch and would never do so.

“Dance with me,” he repeated slightly louder. “You’re going to freeze if you don’t move. We need to keep you from falling asleep and warm you up.” He got to his feet and held an inviting hand out for Jaskier to take. “And I never gave you that wedding dance.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered nervously in his chest, as Jaskier stared at his hand. Slowly, like the sun pushing through clouds, Jaskier’s lips stretched into a smile and he placed his uninjured hand in Geralt’s, letting him pull him up. Jaskier’s feet must have been well on their way of falling asleep and the cold was already getting to him, for he stumbled into Geralt’s chest with little grace, only catching himself by placing his other hand on Geralt’s shoulder. He kept the touch of his injured hand light, yet it burned into Geralt, as if he was clutching him tightly.

Geralt let the hand not holding Jaskier’s slide down to his waist and hold him close. Jaskier’s face was so near to his. The urge to hold Jaskier close was a flame raging through every vein of his body.

They stood frozen, unmoving.

“I believe I was promised a dance,” Jaskier whispered, his voice barely audible over the howling of the wind and the cackling of the fire.

Geralt could do nothing but nod. He took a step back, pulling Jaskier along and began to awkwardly sway them. The movements would have looked clunky even with a band accompanying them, but without any music at all to give them a guiding rhythm, it must have looked utterly ridiculous. The pathetic attempt of a witcher to give something soft.

But Jaskier was looking up at him, a smile dancing around his lips and in his eyes, and Geralt felt the knot of anxiety unwind in his chest. All would be well. Jaskier was moving and smiling. He would make it through this.

Geralt’s tongue darted out to wet his lips - a nervous tick he must have picked up from Jaskier - and did what he normally only dared to do after drinking with his brothers: He sang.

Or rather, he hummed. It was a clumsy attempt. He had never been musically inclined and the wedding seemed so far away now, he barely remembered the tune the wedding band had played. The only thing he remembered was how important the song was. So he did the best to shape the rumble in his chest into the right notes. Jaskier’s eyes widened and his lips parted into a silent ‘oh.’

Geralt stumbled and faltered, but the rising awe in Jaskier’s expression kept him going and after a moment of silent listening, Jaskier joined in. His humming was much steadier than Geralt’s awkward attempt at singing and Geralt did his best to follow his lead. Then, Jaskier’s humming deviated from the melody Geralt had repeated before. Heat and shame rose in Geralt’s cheeks. He hadn’t realised how badly he had hummed the tune, but then he realised that his own notes weren’t dissonant to his husband’s. Jaskier was harmonising.

Geralt faltered, disguising his misstep as part of the dance and Jaskier followed without hesitation. Geralt swayed them to the side, led his husband through a spin and pulled him back in. Close, so close. His hand wandered from Jaskier’s waist up to rest between his shoulder blades. He could almost imagine feeling the beat of Jaskier’s heart through the thick layers of clothing.

He didn’t notice coming to a standstill, but then Jaskier placed his head on his shoulder and Geralt wouldn’t have been able to move if he had wanted to. He couldn’t let go of Jaskier anymore, not even for the brief moment it would take for him to twirl. Geralt ran his hand up and down Jaskier’s back. When Jaskier’s hand wandered from his shoulder to the nape of his neck to play idly with his hair, Geralt closed his eyes and let his head fall forward to rest it against the crown of Jaskier’s head. A soft sigh ghosted over his skin as he held Jaskier as close as he could.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt didn’t know what to reply, so he remained silent, except for the rumble in his chest that he knew Jaskier found so much joy in. The soft sound of Geralt’s contentedness and the fast beat of Jaskier’s heart were the only sounds around.

Geralt’s brows furrowed. No sound. The wind had stopped howling. His head snapped to the entrance of the cave, where the fire had almost burned down completely. Blinking, he scrutinised the dark world beyond the cave and - it was dark. No more treacherous white was flying through the air, beautiful but deadly. The snowstorm had passed. Geralt left Jaskier’s side to get a better look at the sky. Night had fully fallen and the sky was clear. With a sky like that, it would only get colder, but the stars shone bright, offering comfort.

The sound of Jaskier’s footsteps followed Geralt, and he pressed himself against his side, seeking warmth once again. Geralt laid an arm around his shoulders and rubbed his arm.

“We can leave,” he said, trying to put as much optimism into his voice as he could. “Do you think you can ride? It’s going to be cold.”

“I can,” Jaskier replied confidently, though Geralt couldn’t help but notice the slightest tremor in his voice.

“I’ll keep you warm,” he promised.

Jaskier nodded, but trepidation stole itself onto his face.

“I know this mountain is your home,” he began slowly, his injured hand picking at the red cloth, “but are you sure it’s safe to leave in this dark? What if Roach stumbles or slips on the snow? I don’t even know where we are anymore. It all looks so different cast in white…”

“It does,” Geralt agreed. Jaskier’s face fell and his eyes dropped to the ground, as he likely prepared himself for a night of freezing in the cave after all.

“But there’s one thing that hasn’t changed.” Geralt cupped his chin and tentatively tilted his face back up, first to meet his eyes and then farther up still. “Do you see it?”

“What?” Jaskier asked automatically as he squinted up into the night sky. Geralt could see the moment he realised what Geralt was talking about. “Oh.” His eyes softened. “There it is. Our secret constellation.”

“We’ll follow it home,” Geralt said, and something melted in his chest, when Jaskier echoed tenderly, “Home.”

The ride back to the Keep wasn’t a pleasant one. Geralt did his best to shield Jaskier against the cold with his body and distract him from the pain in his hand by recounting any tales that came to mind. More than once did he feel Jaskier go limp, as sleep threatened to take him into its embrace and Geralt felt a pang of guilt each time he had to jostle him awake again.

“Soon,” he would whisper. “We’ll be there soon. Stay awake for me a little longer.” “Alright,” Jaskier would mumble, “for you.”

Then, without fail, Jaskier would sit up straighter and his head would tilt up - his eyes fixed on their constellation. The stars above the path leading them home.

By the time Kaer Morhen’s gates came into view, Jaskier’s head had found its home against Geralt’s chest and his eyes were drooping again. Still, he fought valiantly to keep his promise and stay awake.

Geralt spurned Roach on one last time. When they finally passed the gate, it felt as if a heavy stone sat in his chest was crumbling to dust. They had made it. Jaskier was truly safe again.

Geralt hurried to put Roach in her box in the stables and despite Jaskier’s protests that he could walk, he picked him up and carried him into the Keep. He only took a quick detour to get the ointment to treat burns from the infirmary and apply it to Jaskier’s palm, before rebandaging it. Then, he picked up Jaskier again. His mind was filled with images of holding Jaskier close at night, safe and sound in his arms. Those images were the only thing giving him the strength to keep going and climb the stairs to their room.

Perhaps it was the fact that Geralt had accompanied Jaskier to his room so many times that it felt like second nature at this point, or maybe he simply let himself be lulled to inattention by the familiar home-scent of Jaskier; whatever it was, it made Geralt forget with every step he took, that it was Jaskier’s room and not theirs until he got fully lost in his comforting fantasy. It was only when he pushed the door open with his shoulder and laid eyes on the room that held no trace of Geralt ever having spent a single night here, that the realisation crashed into him like a bucket of ice water. This wasn’t theirs. He had no place in Jaskier’s bed.

His instinct told him to drop Jaskier off quickly and retreat, but he forced his body to move gently, slowly, as he undressed Jaskier and helped him put on dry clothes to sleep in. Then, he placed Jaskier on the bed and pulled the blankets over him and snuffed out the candles he had lit upon entering.

“Now you can sleep,” he whispered into the darkness of the room, running his hand soothingly over Jaskier’s head.

Jaskier blinked up at him and narrowed his eyes. Geralt reckoned he tried and failed to make out more than Geralt’s general shape in the dark. “Geralt?” he asked quietly and reached out blindly.

Geralt caught his hand mid-air and clinging to the last remnants of that foolish inattentiveness that had made him forget that he wouldn’t spend the night holding his husband close, he pressed a kiss against his palm.

“You’re safe.” He rubbed a small circle into the back of Jaskier’s hand with his thumb. “Goodnight, Jaskier.” There was a long pause, in which Geralt started to believe that maybe Jaskier had fallen asleep already, before Jaskier replied, “Goodnight.”

With that, he pulled his hand from Geralt’s grasp and turned away, pulling the blanket so high up that Geralt could barely see his face anymore. He hesitated, taking in the sight of Jaskier snuggled up warm and cosy and safe - and so clearly dismissive of him - one last time. Then, he turned around, pulling the door close as quietly as he could. The walk back to his own room had never felt that long, lonely and cold.

Jaskier is safe, he repeated over and over in his mind, nothing else matters.

Only, it did. It fucking mattered, because Jaskier had lit lanterns around a lake. Because he had caught snowflakes with his tongue and laughed as though nothing in the world could make him happier than sharing that moment with Geralt. Because Geralt’s cheek still tingled where Jaskier had kissed it and because Geralt wished he’d had the courage to dance with Jaskier during their wedding. It mattered, because Geralt wore a bracelet Jaskier had made for him.

It mattered, because with every fibre of his being, Geralt loved Jaskier.

And it mattered, because when he entered his room, it was cold and empty.

His movements felt wooden and reluctant, as he made himself walk over to his bed and put on his sleeping clothes. He let himself fall onto the bed heavily but even as he sat down and finally rested his feet, he knew his mind and heart would know no rest that night. With a deep sigh, he slumped forward, put his elbows on his knees and burrowed his hands in his hair. He closed his eyes, but only images of the day, of dancing and laughing and Jaskier trusting him so wholly, flashed through the darkness. When he opened his eyes again, they landed on the parchment that had been laying on his nightstand for the past months. Ever since he had gotten word of the engagement. Despite knowing exactly what he would find, he reached for the parchment and looked at it. Jaskier’s smiling face looked back at him. Geralt’s heart clenched painfully, as he traced the laughter lines around the drawing’s eyes with a gentle finger. In the past months, he had come to know those lines perhaps more intimately than anyone else. Certainly more than he had ever imagined he would. He knew how Jaskier sounded when he laughed, how he felt leaning into Geralt or holding onto him because he had to physically share his joy, how he looked so utterly radiant with his lips stretched wide and his head thrown back.

He knew that no painting in the world, no matter how masterfully done, could ever come close to the real thing. Geralt could look at this drawing before going to sleep however many times he wished - it would make no difference. It was no substitute for holding Jaskier in his arms.

He didn’t think. For once, maybe his mind and his heart would have told him to do the same thing anyway. Without wasting another moment, Geralt got up and crossed his room. It was stupid. If there was any mercy, Jaskier would already be deep within the realm of dreams by now. Yet, Geralt didn’t stop. He had to go see him. He had to tell him. Jaskier deserved that much. He deserved to know that he was loved.

Geralt was just stepping out of the door, when something came crashing right into him and tumbled back with an indignant little squeak. A very familiar sound.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, perplexed, all thoughts of his intentions wiped away by the unexpected sight of Jaskier standing in his doorway. “Geralt!”

“What are you doing out of bed?” Geralt took Jaskier’s shoulders gently and looked him over intently for any signs of hurt or fright. “Did you have a nightmare? Is there anything you need?”

“No - that is, yes. Actually. There is something.” Jaskier started fidgeting with his bandage. “Could I maybe come in?”

“Of course.” Geralt took a step to the side and Jaskier slipped into his room. Geralt occupied himself with lighting some candles so Jaskier could see, but in truth, he simply needed the time to get his racing heart back under control. When he finally felt ready to face Jaskier again, he found him looking at the portrait of himself, a strange expression on his face.

“Ah,” Geralt said awkwardly, “That…came with the letter your parents sent us. To arrange the engagement.”

Jaskier’s lips quirked up a little and he slung his arms around himself. Geralt desperately wanted to wrap his own arms around him, but if Jaskier had sought him out after the day he just had, he must be truly distressed and Geralt wasn’t sure how to act.

“I never got a picture of you,” Jaskier said.

“Oh.” He swallowed. “So, the first time you learned what I looked like was…”

“Just before our wedding. Yes.”

“That’s…” Geralt trailed off, not sure how to end the sentence. A part of him that clung to learned behaviours wanted to apologise, but a different part saw the warmth of affection in Jaskier’s eyes.

He cleared his throat. “What is it you need?”

Jaskier’s brows shot up and his mouth opened into a little ‘oh’ as if he had forgotten the purpose of his seeking Geralt out. “I - I suppose I just didn’t want to be alone.” Jaskier furrowed his brows. “No, that’s not it. I wanted to be with you. For tonight. If that’s alright.”

“It is,” Geralt blurted out immediately and his heart jumped, when that elicited an actual smile from Jaskier. “I want to have you with me tonight too.”

He wanted to have him by his side every night and every day for the rest of his life. His entire being longed to share his bed, his Path, his world with Jaskier. The flutter in his chest got stronger, when Jaskier pulled back the furs on Geralt’s bed to get in. It was so perfect. So much like what Geralt wished for, what he had selfishly dreamed of in the solace of his lonely nights.

A sudden pang of guilt shot through him and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Wait. There’s something you should know first.”

Jaskier dropped the fur. “What is it?”

“I -” Geralt’s throat went dry. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth and it was as if he had forgotten every word he had ever known. How could he tell his husband he loved him? How, when longing and fear had been at war inside him for so long that it felt impossible to end the fight now.

But Jaskier had come to him. Over and over he had chosen him. It was time Geralt did the same.

“I never made my wedding vows. To love and cherish you,” Geralt said finally, the words feeling inadequate and rough, “But I made you another promise. To tell you if I ever did fall in love. And I am. In love. It’s terrifying and - and beautiful and I don’t think I could fight it if I wanted to. I don’t want to. Not anymore.”

A guarded expression crossed Jaskier’s face, but beneath it, Geralt thought he could see hope. He clung to that slither of hope with the desperation of a drowning man. With the faith of a man in love.

“Do I have your permission, Jaskier?” He stepped closer, slowly at first, then with more confidence, when Jaskier gravitated towards him as well. Geralt took Jaskier’s uninjured hand and pressed it against his chest, right above his heart that beat to the rhythm of Jaskier’s song. “Do I have your permission to love you?”

“Geralt -” Jaskier broke off, his voice too choked to speak.

“You don’t have to love me back. I - it would be enough to love you.”

“No,” Jaskier said firmly.

Something broke inside Geralt and a gaping whole opened up where his heart had just beaten with hope. He averted his eyes and pressed his lips together. He gave Jaskier a court nod, as he took a step back. But Jaskier refused to let go.

“No, that would not be enough,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt back in. “Because I love you, Geralt. I love you.”

“You do?” Geralt’s eyes widened. “I - I had hoped, but I didn’t think -”

“Stop thinking then,” Jaskier interrupted him. “I think we’ve done far too much of that. It didn’t do us any good.”

Geralt’s lips tilted up. “It didn’t.” He twisted his hand to weave his fingers with Jaskier’s, linking them together. It felt right. So right to finally do this and have Jaskier know what it meant.

“Jaskier,” he asked tentatively. “I know I don’t know how to do this right, but…may I court you?”

“What?” A startled laugh tumbled from Jaskier’s lips.

“May I court you?” Geralt repeated, looking Jaskier in the eyes and doing his best to show his sincerity.

“Geralt, I don’t know how to tell you this, but we’re already married.”

“I know,” Geralt said, feeling the corners of his mouth quirk up in response to Jaskier’s laugh. “Gods, believe me I know. But what we have isn’t a real marriage. I want to be with you for real. I don’t want to hold you and always know that we are only married on paper. We didn’t say our vows, I refused to dance with you, we didn’t kiss. You deserve better. You deserve a real wedding. This is not whatI want or what you deserve. I don’t just want a marriage based on politics and without the promise of…”

“Devotion?” Jaskier tilted his head to the side and gave Geralt’s hands a squeeze. “I can make you that promise right now, if you want. I gave it to you so many times over and you didn’t even notice.”

“I noticed,” Geralt said. “I just…”

“I know.” Jaskier looked down at their joined hands. “Me too.” “I want to do this right,” Geralt said. “I wasted so much time going about this the wrong way. You deserve to be courted. You deserve - lights and flowers and…and…”

“A husband who loves me?” Jaskier offered. “And whom I love? Because I believe I already have that.”

“I want to give more to you. I don’t want to rush this. Being with me isn’t easy. The Path is harsh and life with me will be hard. I want you to know this - really know this. Give me a year of courting you, of showing you my life, before you decide if you want it to be your life as well.”

Jaskier looked at him for a long time. “I don’t think my opinion will change, but yes.” A choked sound escaped his lips, as they stretched into a brilliant smile. “Yes, I want to be courted by you. I want to be with you in whichever way you want.”

He didn’t wait for Geralt’s reply, simply flinging himself into his arms. Geralt held him tightly, so tightly. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest and he couldn’t have stopped himself from smiling wide as a fool, if he had wanted to. Maybe he was a fool. But he was a fool in love, with the one who held his affections in his arms.

Jaskier’s slim frame shook and Geralt worried that he was sobbing, until he recognised the muffled sounds against his chest as laughter. He hummed questioningly, making Jaskier giggle only more.

“So, does this mean we should get a divorce?” Jaskier asked, pulling away just enough to be able to look at Geralt. “So we can court again?” He jabbed a finger at Geralt’s chest. “Because if so, then I change my mind. I refuse to be divorced. I quite like being your husband.”

Geralt snorted. “I quite like it too. And I don’t think our families would be too happy about having their contract nullified.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, pulling a face. “Bureaucracy. What a romantic topic to bring up. So, no divorce then? We just continue as we have but without all the -” he waved his hand through the air, “not-talking-about-feelings?”

“Sounds perfect.” Geralt paused. “Maybe we could also change the sleeping arrangements?”

“Please!”

Without waiting another second, Geralt scooped Jaskier up. His heart skipped a beat, when Jaskier let out a delighted little squeal and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck to steady himself.

“Is this really necessary?” Jaskier said in between giggles. “The bed is right there. I could have walked three steps.” “It is,” Geralt said firmly, something soft coiling in his stomach. “Maybe I just like holding you close.”

“How convenient then, that I just so happen to like being held by you.” One of Jaskier’s hands left Geralt’s neck to cup his cheek instead. “Something tells me that we could make great husbands.”

“I think you might be right. I’d love to find out what we are like being husbands with purpose.”

“So do I.”

“But courting first.”

Jaskier heaved a heavy sigh, but gave Geralt a fond look. Geralt was loath to part from Jaskier for even a heartbeat, so as soon as he laid him down on the bed, he got in right next to him and put an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. They fit perfectly together. He felt the rest of the stress of the past months fall away as he melted against Jaskier. His husband. The man he loved and would court. Jaskier, in turn snuggled as close to Geralt as possible, his hand tracing random patterns on his chest.

“There’s one more thing I want to change,” Geralt whispered.

“Hm?”

“I know this should probably not happen before the courting comes to an end but…can I kiss you?”

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasped in mock-affront, his eyes crinkling at the sides, as he failed to hold in his laughter. “Are you seriously asking me - your lawfully wedded husband! - to share a bed with you and kiss you? Unchaperoned? How scandalous!”

Geralt rolled his eyes fondly at Jaskier’s antics. “Is that a ‘yes’, then?”

Jaskier’s giggles quieted down and an expression of pure softness and open love replaced the amusement.

“It’s a yes,” he whispered back and leaned forwards, closing the space between them. The kiss was chaste and over quickly, yet Geralt could not imagine a more perfect kiss.

Except, of course, as he drifted off to sleep with Jaskier curled up against him, his mind was already wandering to the future. To flowers and song and, if he was lucky - and something told him that for once, he would be - another kiss from his husband on their second wedding.

—

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